“What are we doing? Tate asks, stretching out beside me on his bed. “Rotting.” “Rotting.” He tests the words on his tongue. “What the hell does rotting mean?” “It means we rot.” He makes a face. “Which means what?” “It means we’re going to lie here and do nothing. No effort. We’ll get up to go to the bathroom and refill drinks. That’s it. Think of it as if you’re charging your batteries.” He grabs his cock and shakes it. “My batteries don’t charge unless I’m plugged in.”
