i was reading up on what to do to help blondie lose a few pounds it was all about how dogs like chasing shit, having goals. prey drive, i guess? so i figured you'd probably have that too
but not like in a fucked up fort harm way just kind of in a kinky way see how long it takes u to find me some night
Sometimes you say these things and I honestly can't tell if you're riding baseline levels of horny or if you're trying to fuck with me. "My fat dog needs exercise, so I thought of you". So insulting.
[ unfortunately, he is into that idea, so. probably says more about him than it does about tate. ]
[ because - yeah, come on, it was obvious he was already putting on his shoes and hightailing it out of the den. he's not actually expecting tate to be fucking chased, he's way too lazy for that, but he is vaguely expecting him to go ghost-invisible in the treehouse for a while, watching derek search him out until he gets bored enough to show himself. might as well get this started, if that's the case. ]
[ Tate really did die in the 90s. Derek leaves Tate hanging, after that, slipping down the steps from his side balcony and crossing the thankfully now trash-free sands of his beach towards Tate's place. It takes a little time to get there, largely because Derek's trying to mask his approach more than he normally does; he's walking slow, hiding his footsteps, so that when he does climb up the treehouse and slide on inside, he might be able to get the jump on Tate. He doesn't enter through the main door - he slips around to the first open window he finds and vaults on through, just like the good old days. ]
[Derek arrives and the treehouse is predictably empty, but it lingers with a few clues of what Tate was doing precisely leading up to that arrival. His sweater is on the bed, still faintly warm - scented of him with Derek's underlying tones on account of how he was wearing a stolen henley below it. Which is discarded to the side, headed down the steps to the loft where at the top sit the rest of his clothes.
A can of still fizzing soda is on the counter in the kitchen, next to a half-eaten sandwich. Beady eyes peer out from under the sofa, a little black claw reaching out if Derek should come near enough - batting at his bootlaces before clicking in a silent chirp. Probably trying to tell him what he can't see or sense - that Tate's standing unseen in the corner, a wisp of energy, watching Derek with wide brown eyes.
When Derek's across the room proper, that's when Tate does the most cliche thing he can think of and bats a book of the ledge next to him. Poltergeist style. Then he moves out of the way to go stand elsewhere.]
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That's one of the few things I can do here that other guys can't.
Can't have you getting used to it.
But it has been a while.
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[Besides using your dead mom's fingernails to do memory shit, or whatever.]
do you remember fort harmony
there was this part of it
a chase in the woods kinda deal
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An advantage is an advantage.
I remember Fort Harmony.
[ hard not to, all things considered. ]
What, you want to be chased?
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it was all about how dogs like chasing shit, having goals.
prey drive, i guess? so i figured you'd probably have that too
but not like in a fucked up fort harm way
just kind of in a kinky way
see how long it takes u to find me some night
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"My fat dog needs exercise, so I thought of you".
So insulting.
[ unfortunately, he is into that idea, so. probably says more about him than it does about tate. ]
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only it's socially acceptable to let you rail me
provided you can find and catch me.
it's ok if u don't think u can
we can just let u rail me without the foreplay
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Besides, you've got the video.
That'll keep you company.
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i guess i'll just go to bed.
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Now I know where to find you.
Sucker.
[ because - yeah, come on, it was obvious he was already putting on his shoes and hightailing it out of the den. he's not actually expecting tate to be fucking chased, he's way too lazy for that, but he is vaguely expecting him to go ghost-invisible in the treehouse for a while, watching derek search him out until he gets bored enough to show himself. might as well get this started, if that's the case. ]
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takes a few seconds to strip it all off and hide
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[ Tate really did die in the 90s. Derek leaves Tate hanging, after that, slipping down the steps from his side balcony and crossing the thankfully now trash-free sands of his beach towards Tate's place. It takes a little time to get there, largely because Derek's trying to mask his approach more than he normally does; he's walking slow, hiding his footsteps, so that when he does climb up the treehouse and slide on inside, he might be able to get the jump on Tate. He doesn't enter through the main door - he slips around to the first open window he finds and vaults on through, just like the good old days. ]
... Tate.
no subject
A can of still fizzing soda is on the counter in the kitchen, next to a half-eaten sandwich. Beady eyes peer out from under the sofa, a little black claw reaching out if Derek should come near enough - batting at his bootlaces before clicking in a silent chirp. Probably trying to tell him what he can't see or sense - that Tate's standing unseen in the corner, a wisp of energy, watching Derek with wide brown eyes.
When Derek's across the room proper, that's when Tate does the most cliche thing he can think of and bats a book of the ledge next to him. Poltergeist style. Then he moves out of the way to go stand elsewhere.]