[Tate surrenders his wrist if only to cut the edge off of what he's feeling - he knows it will fade in time but this isn't like a rough fuck in the treehouse, where he can lounge and sleep it off. He doesn't usually wake the morning after with an ache because his body just heals, it knits back together and stops the cramping before it starts. But that was a rather brutal fuck made worse by a hurried walk and Tate almost says I'm okay before just shutting up, watching Derek's veins go black as he makes it... all better. The way he does.
It's easy to see Tate's relief, written over his face with how his features relax and how his heart steadies. His fingers flex and he tugs back when he's had enough, not wanting to get sleepy and sedated yet. He'll just slide into the back seat when ready, stretching out over it but staring out at Derek. He pushes up on his elbow, wincing only slightly at a distant pain.]
You still hard? I can sit up there, maybe jerk you off as you drive. If you want.
no subject
It's easy to see Tate's relief, written over his face with how his features relax and how his heart steadies. His fingers flex and he tugs back when he's had enough, not wanting to get sleepy and sedated yet. He'll just slide into the back seat when ready, stretching out over it but staring out at Derek. He pushes up on his elbow, wincing only slightly at a distant pain.]
You still hard? I can sit up there, maybe jerk you off as you drive. If you want.
[He'd rather just lay here and relax, but.]