[Tate sluggishly turns around, lifting his arms so that they hang over each of Derek's thighs - palms zigging back in to rest against the denim of his jeans. It's intimate and he'll get to joking around with that in a bit - especially as he leans against the taut stretch of Derek's pants over his crotch - but Tate just looks up for a beat, quiet and wide eyed with faux innocence. And some genuine curiosity.]
You rather I don't? It's gonna grow back. I thought it was getting shaggy.
no subject
You rather I don't? It's gonna grow back. I thought it was getting shaggy.