[Tate hisses just gently when Derek slips free of him and he uses Derek's help in getting off his lap, shifting over onto the bench seat while Derek stands and begins to pull up his pants. His legs are pins and needles, feeling like jelly when he flexes his toes. Derek's cleaned them up with his shirt, leaving Tate pale and bare chested as he tries to navigate his returned jacket with post-fuck fog. The sleeves inside out so it's like a puzzle to him, punching it back through.
The camera blinks red for ready and Tate's ready to ignore it, but Derek elbows him and he looks up responsively. Derek flashes a peace sign but when the photo's taken, it shows Tate less enthused (still looking disheveled to say the least,) with his eyes turned to Derek as if amused by him but also quietly, quietly judging. Makes him wonder what else the camera caught, though, and Tate wants to get out of the booth to find out.]
Give me your jacket... mine's - there's cum on it.
[Might as well be honest.]
There's cum on everything. Everything but your jacket.
no subject
The camera blinks red for ready and Tate's ready to ignore it, but Derek elbows him and he looks up responsively. Derek flashes a peace sign but when the photo's taken, it shows Tate less enthused (still looking disheveled to say the least,) with his eyes turned to Derek as if amused by him but also quietly, quietly judging. Makes him wonder what else the camera caught, though, and Tate wants to get out of the booth to find out.]
Give me your jacket... mine's - there's cum on it.
[Might as well be honest.]
There's cum on everything. Everything but your jacket.