[Tate doesn't have a retort to that - nothing but a soft snort of air and a tilt of his head, baring his neck for Derek's touch. Derek has a way of prying from him docility with touch, making him feel like he's simmering under the surface as he rolls his hips and gets pulled this way and that as his jeans are wrenched off. Tate feels Derek's hand creep up his boxers and he touches his hand to Derek's bicep, fingers curling inward to hold on as a shiver goes down his spine.
Derek can go again and again and well - Tate's starting to learn how to do that too, but it doesn't mean he's not a little bit overworked after what just transpired. Nonetheless, he doesn't protest, combing his other hand's fingers through Derek's hair and closing his eyes as the warmth from the sand radiates up underneath him. It's like bathing more directly in the sun.]
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Derek can go again and again and well - Tate's starting to learn how to do that too, but it doesn't mean he's not a little bit overworked after what just transpired. Nonetheless, he doesn't protest, combing his other hand's fingers through Derek's hair and closing his eyes as the warmth from the sand radiates up underneath him. It's like bathing more directly in the sun.]
I knew it meant more than you'd ever let on.