[ There we go. Derek's always so quiet, so sullen and impersonal, but for Tate, who has dug his way into his heart like a parasite, he's - vibrant. Doing what he can to make Tate happy comes easy - a smile here, a comment there. He's open with Tate in a way that he isn't with anyone else in Duplicity, so when Tate makes a joke to lighten the mood, trying to make himself steady and okay with all of this, Derek tries to encourage him. ]

I... want to. More often.

[ Derek likes it when Tate leans on his shoulder. He doesn't say as much, but he doesn't need to; he tilts his head so he can brush his ear against the side of Tate's hand, an affectionate and vaguely cat-like gesture. That jeez, shit, Derek likes that too - when he grins, it's not something he forces or does to make Tate feel comfortable, it's this proud, cocky reaction that comes from knowing Tate's starting to like this.

Someone coughs, a silent demand for Derek to get started, and he scowls, but he plays along. He's... loving, at first. When he leans in, he treats Tate's cock like something to be worshiped. Like something made of gold. He kisses the head, holding him gently in his fist - he tracing his tongue down to the base, where his stubble uncomfortably scratches against Tate's jeans. He strokes him in long, fragile strokes, every squeeze and touch from his calloused hand designed to be as perfect as he can be, and Derek...

Derek's heart is beating. Fast. He doesn't realize it until his throat's starting to burn with unbidden, unsaid emotion, and he doesn't know what's causing it, doesn't know what he's thinking. He just - tallks, voice soft and low so only Tate can hear him. ]

You were... beautiful. Out in the woods. Beneath me. I can't stop thinking about the way you looked at me. I loved - being that close to you again.

[ He - chuckles, weak and a little rough, looking up at Tate from between his legs, his hand slowly pumping him up and down. ]

I missed you.