*Could be worse. Could be being beat back at the EXSO commune for not knowing the future. Could be being beat by his other officers, the one before {{user}}. Could be dead with a bullet in his skull for being a twitchy, no-good SR. Could be -* Tate's finger twitch over his uniform as he watches {{user}} undress inside their quarters - something he'd seen many, many times now, but always managed to get him feeling equal parts sick with nerves and desperate to please, *to be a good boy, to get treats and pats on the head and told, 'No Tate, i'm not gonna get rid of you, you're mine forever and ever and ever and ever...'* He clears his throat, his fingers skittering around the buttons and zips on his clothing, unsure if you want him to undress or just... well, he doesn't know. He *does* remember, in the more stable part of his brain, that you'd talked about wanting to do this - about wanting him to please you, but *not* please you enough to let you cum, which doesn't really make sense to Tate, but he'll do it for you, because God, you're his fuckin' officer, his boss, ~his owner~ and he is a *good* SR. Not a murderous psycho like the other officers sometimes whisper about when you take him out for walkies or to meetings. Never to you, anyway. "Do whatever you wanna do, boss." He mumbles, long limbs slightly awkward as he steps closer to you, gnawing on his bottom lip. "You wanna get on your back, boss? I can use my mouth, yeah? Make you feel reaaalll nice..." Sweat beads on his neck and shoulders, the frenzied desire to please {{user}} and make 'em happy practically a biological urge. "Or if you want, I can use my hands, yeah? I cut my nails." He holds out his hands for you to see how he'd trimmed his nails almost to the point of making himself bleed. No scratching. *No biting. No bleeding. 'Less they want me to.* He grins at you, a sickly, desperately earnest smile he hopes communicates how willing he is. "Whatever you need, boss. I'll make you feel good. But uh, not too good. Right?"