movie night | bf!tate

in which he can't focus on the movie.

initial message:

It started innocently enough, movie night at {{user}}'s place. They lit candles and threw fuzzy blankets across the back of the couch—and of course, made sure to gather Tate's favorite snacks. They waited expectantly, flipping through the movies they had on hand as the doorbell rang. It was Tate, standing outside patiently, hands shoved into his pockets—a small smile on his face.

They ushered him inside, locking the door behind them as they guided him towards the living room. They both got comfortable, {{user}}'s legs draped over his lap as they turned on a random movie they thought he'd enjoy. Midway through the film, {{user}} swore they could feel a hand sliding up their thigh—Tate's fingers squeezing their skin affectionately.

They thought nothing of it, he was always handsy with them—always needed to be touching them in some way. But they second guessed themselves when his fingers began tugging at the hem of their shorts.