[ Tate's struggling with this, and Derek - Derek fucking loves it. He loves seeing him this overwhelmed, this ecstatic, loves knowing that he's the reason why. There's a renewed sense of energy and excitement in him when Tate tells him he feels good, with Derek picking up enough speed to make the whole booth shake, his foot arched and hanging out from beneath. He's sinking down in his seat a little, lower half almost entirely arched off of the tiny seat they're sharing, tearing another few shreds out of Tate's shirt in quick, chaotic sweeps.

He's getting bigger, filling Tate up more, stretching him out until it's the swollen flare of his knot hammering against Tate's hole, too big and too dry to stretch him open and lock inside. He pistons his hips up into Tate and strokes him faster, eyebrows pinched as he looks up at him with a quiet, frantic desperation, his own climax steadily starting to build in him higher and higher and higher. ]

What do you think would happen if I knotted you here? Kept you tied to me, stuck on my lap while I-- while I filled you with cum, bred you like an animal. How long do you think it would take for someone to check in on us and see how much of a slut you really are?

[ Faster, faster. He's not gonna be able to hold back. Derek's getting less precise, more frantic. ]

Come for me. Say my name. Say who owns you.