#wickedbeatboy

[thexanderzone]

❌

“Orgasm Denial.” He was grinning. 

[thexanderzone]

♚ u g h ♚

l o o k 

[thexanderzone]

wickedbeatboy replied to your post:"Man, how do you do this romance shit? Like what...

“You’re the fucking worst Cage.”

"I’m the best at what I do. That just isn’t romance.” 

[200crashes-blog]

"Where are you Tenn? I...you aren't dead right? Cause you're too stubborn and-- T-That wouldn't be you on the news? You're not the body they pulled out the river you fucking can't be you asshole--! I...j-just come back. I need you."

This one showed up right after the other, and he didn’t let it finish all the way before he was hanging up and dialing Nicks. Shit shit shit. Tennyson was already on the way to the liquor store to buy out half their vodka section. It was taking too long to pick up, and he maybe clipped a couple cars because who paid attention when the only man who’d ever actually cared about you suddenly thought you were dead? 

“Yo, this is Nicks, leave it at the tone.”

Shit was he mad at him? 

“Nicks, I ah,” what did he even say? Before he could take another full breath, it all came pouring out, 

“I was on an important stakeout because I’d got some new information about one of those suspicious plane crashes, right? You know th’ones I’m always on about. And then I poked th’wrong bear, and I’ve spent the last month in a black site. Th’food was good, really. Probably because of which one it was. I’m not suppose t’know which one it was, but it was th’one outside’ve Louisville. Yeh’d think they donnae have any there, but there’s actually four of ‘em within a 500 mile radius, but anyway, I just managed t’get maself out yesterday, an’ I’m goin’ t’grab ye some vodka. Are y’still at X’s place? I should be there in maybe ten hours, unless I hit traffic. I’m sorry, it’s not like those communists let yeh make phone calls. I’m comin’ I promise. Iloveyoubye.” 

Wait.

Shit. Had he said that out loud? 

“Siri, redial!”

“Dialing,”

“Nicks, c’mon,” maybe he could head him off before he heard that message.

[200crashes-blog]

"I hate you so fucking much leaving me here. I'm gonna burn all your classified files and take a piss on the ashes. It's been weeks man and not one fucking call or text. Fuck you."

That was his fault, but Tennyson’d never blame Nicks for it, nope. He’d blame himself and his own obsessive arse that he checked his voicemail and had forgotten to turn his brightness down. 

This black site actually had a decent chef. And surprisingly easy access to the knock-out drugs, once he’d been able to get a layout kicked up in his mind. He was horrified at the prospect that Nicks had burnt any of his files, those were hard to get, some of them irreplacable. 

[200crashes-blog]

"I caught a cold and it's your fucking fault and Cage made me stay on his fucking moldy couch. Him and kim chi are fucking like rabbits but what else is new and-- and-- I miss you idiot. Get your fucking ass here already and bring me some vodka."

So now he was biting his tongue so hard he could taste the copper to avoid laughing. Tennyson was on a stakeout, and he was hiding, and it was bad enough he was checking his voicemails in this bush(and frankly surprising he had any service). He couldn’t get caught, because then he’d end up in some black ops site he wasn’t supposed to know existed–but he did, he knew where they all were.–again. And he’d only just gotten out. 

He put a quick note in his phone to make sure not to show up without vodka. 

[200crashes-blog]

"...[sigh] listen man, I just. I freaked out alright? It got real and fuck, I don't know what the fuck- I didn't mean those other things yknow? Well you still have a hairy ass."

God, was he really this transparent, at his age? Or did he just happen to fall for this skinny little twerp so hard it mattered what he thought so much that this apology could make him smile. But as he was listening to it, he got another vibration. Another message. He saved this one. 

[200crashes-blog]

"Why the fuck aren't you answering your phone?"

He hadn’t meant to let seven–Seven??–voicemails pile up like this. Tennyson sighed, deleted this one and moved onto the next. He would listen to every single one before he replied, because he didn’t want to be uninformed, or to have missed something. Even if he felt like more insults were coming.