[ Oh, that's-- horrible news, Derek's pretty sure they're going to end up on the fucking internet, then, sooner or later. Derek groans, grip on the steering wheel getting tighter and knuckles going white. He's not entirely sure if he's angry, embarrassed or kind of horny, but either way, it's not a great vibe. He again tries to find Tate in the rearview mirror, just barely managing to see the corner of his arm as he holds out a photo for Derek to take.

He reaches back, sees the balloons, sees Tate's ass, sees his dick, and then he's rapidly slapping at Tate's hand to take it back. Nope. Still too soon. Definitely embarrassing. He'll look when he gets home. ]

Gonna make me crash the car.

[ God. God? God. He drives a little faster. ]

You're a bad influence on me, you know. I'm not fucking Stiles out in public. We use a bed, like normal people. Or, like - a car. Sometimes the couch. The shower. The kitchen, one time. But.

[ ... actually they got together in the first place because they jerked each other off in a room full of people, so. Derek, uh. Derek driiiiives a little faster. ]

Maybe I'm the bad influence.