[ Fuck. Fuck, Derek wants nothing more than to stretch Tate open again, feel the tight, compressing warmth around his cock instead of his fingers. He's already an inch deep on Tate, his fingers sucked in like they're being fucking welcomed, like they belong to Tate as much as Tate belongs to him. Derek's so fucking needy, barely keeping himself from whimpering a little when he curls his knuckle and Tate tells him to break him. Neither of them are gonna be able to walk by tomorrow morning.
Tate tugs at his jacket and Derek sets his other hand on his chest, leaning his weight on his ribs for support while stopping him from moving his arms too much. Tate looks beautiful in his jacket. Derek doesn't want to lose that image. ]
Leave it on.
[ He finds a rhythm, fucking Tate with his fingers with minimal restraint. He's stroking through him with long, practice strokes, brushing up against his prostate every fourth or fifth thrust, but it's taking all his willpower to stop himself from going hard. They need to pace themselves - or at least attempt to. ]
We should - we should take more photos. I don't - I don't ever want to forget how you look right now.
no subject
Tate tugs at his jacket and Derek sets his other hand on his chest, leaning his weight on his ribs for support while stopping him from moving his arms too much. Tate looks beautiful in his jacket. Derek doesn't want to lose that image. ]
Leave it on.
[ He finds a rhythm, fucking Tate with his fingers with minimal restraint. He's stroking through him with long, practice strokes, brushing up against his prostate every fourth or fifth thrust, but it's taking all his willpower to stop himself from going hard. They need to pace themselves - or at least attempt to. ]
We should - we should take more photos. I don't - I don't ever want to forget how you look right now.