[ Tate's getting impatient now. This happens every time they're together - eventually, he pulls the right string, finds the right thing to say, and chips away at whatever parts of Derek's self-restraint he hadn't already found a way to chip away at. Derek slows down, just for a second, maybe two, looking down at Tate like there's a part of him that actually believes he'd capable of holding back and teasing him a little while longer, maybe making him beg a little more, maybe making him call him sir.
But then he's shifting in place, digging his knee into the leather seat and grabbing Tate's calf with his free hand, using it to hold his leg up straight, demanding better access. He grunts, just once, squeezing Tate's phone a little tighter, and as he starts to pick up speed with every rolling wave of his hips, he struggles to keep his expression neutral and unaffected by the workout Tate's giving him. Every time he pounds his body back against Derek, Derek gets a little more lost to himself, feeling harder and distant and closer to coming, and it doesn't take long before something in him snaps. ]
Fuck, fuck, here-- here, hold--
[ Hold this, he's trying to say, dropping Tate's phone onto the seat and leaving it up him to record. Derek grips Tate's shoulder with his now free hand, throwing his body forward, snapping his cock as deep into Tate as it can go before rapidly dragging back out. He's getting faster, rougher, his eyes unfocused, vision hazy with lust, and when he starts to breathe a little faster, when he starts to swell, when the car starts to creak beneath them like they're going to break the fucking suspension, he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. ]
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But then he's shifting in place, digging his knee into the leather seat and grabbing Tate's calf with his free hand, using it to hold his leg up straight, demanding better access. He grunts, just once, squeezing Tate's phone a little tighter, and as he starts to pick up speed with every rolling wave of his hips, he struggles to keep his expression neutral and unaffected by the workout Tate's giving him. Every time he pounds his body back against Derek, Derek gets a little more lost to himself, feeling harder and distant and closer to coming, and it doesn't take long before something in him snaps. ]
Fuck, fuck, here-- here, hold--
[ Hold this, he's trying to say, dropping Tate's phone onto the seat and leaving it up him to record. Derek grips Tate's shoulder with his now free hand, throwing his body forward, snapping his cock as deep into Tate as it can go before rapidly dragging back out. He's getting faster, rougher, his eyes unfocused, vision hazy with lust, and when he starts to breathe a little faster, when he starts to swell, when the car starts to creak beneath them like they're going to break the fucking suspension, he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. ]