[ It would be so fucking easy to just forget where they are, but Derek doesn't let himself zone out and focus on Tate, regardless of how beautiful and captivating he might look from this angle; all red-faced and well-fucked when they've barely even started. He likes being hyperaware of the footsteps outside, the camera clicks from the booth, the intermittent printing of a new set of stickers before the next set cycles and starts automatically. This isn't like him - Derek doesn't get like this without this city pumping him full of aphrodisiacs and breaking down his boundaries - but that's all Tate's ever done to him, right? Pushed and pushed until Derek became more of the Derek he wanted.
Derek snaps his hips up, the hard slap of his body against Tate's ass making his vision go white. Tate's so fucking tight, and Derek, like always, can't get enough of him. He leaves bites on his neck and kisses down his jawline, he leans his weight back so Tate can use him as support as much as he wants, and he finds a rhythm in this. He fucks into Tate with sharp, aggressive cracks, getting easier and less forced the more new rivers of precum run back down his shaft and slick Tate up from the inside, and he strokes Tate's cock with hyper-focused precision, playing with every sensitive nerve between strokes to push him as close to the edge as quickly as he can. ]
Tell me how you feel. I wanna hear you say it.
[ The grip he has in Tate's shirt gets-- tighter, and Derek doesn't realize he's cutting shreds in the fabric until he connects the sound of tearing cotton to the feeling of something stuck under his quickly unsheathed claws. Derek's too far gone to apologize, and just-- grabs a part of Tate's shirt that isn't damaged, holding on tighter. ]
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Derek snaps his hips up, the hard slap of his body against Tate's ass making his vision go white. Tate's so fucking tight, and Derek, like always, can't get enough of him. He leaves bites on his neck and kisses down his jawline, he leans his weight back so Tate can use him as support as much as he wants, and he finds a rhythm in this. He fucks into Tate with sharp, aggressive cracks, getting easier and less forced the more new rivers of precum run back down his shaft and slick Tate up from the inside, and he strokes Tate's cock with hyper-focused precision, playing with every sensitive nerve between strokes to push him as close to the edge as quickly as he can. ]
Tell me how you feel. I wanna hear you say it.
[ The grip he has in Tate's shirt gets-- tighter, and Derek doesn't realize he's cutting shreds in the fabric until he connects the sound of tearing cotton to the feeling of something stuck under his quickly unsheathed claws. Derek's too far gone to apologize, and just-- grabs a part of Tate's shirt that isn't damaged, holding on tighter. ]