[ It's... not usually difficult for Derek to keep how he feels to himself. Sure, more often than not, his awful poker face and his predictable reactions make however he's feeling clear to someone like Tate, who at this point, knows him pretty fucking well - but he can always bite his tongue, he can always keep his thoughts muted and concealed under defensive insults and rolled eyes. He can always keep himself, at the core of things, silenced.

Now's not "usually". Derek doesn't slow down - he threatens to fuck into Tate faster, actually, each push of his hips making him grind against Tate's cock with gradually increasing urgency before middling out - but when he leans down for another kiss, it's even sweeter than the last, feather-light and slow, the tip of his nose gently touching Tate's as he pulls away. He grinds into Tate one last time before pulling back, letting his knees go, disentangling the both of them from one another. He gets his hands on Tate's boxers and carefully pulls them down as he talks. ]

I'm sorry.

[ For bringing him up. For asking. Derek pries Tate's clothes from his body and leaves them in the sand, and when he realigns them, he's - ignoring Tate's thighs, now. He's resting his cock against Tate's, taking both in one hand, holding his arm steady while he rocks into his own fist. He's got his eyes open, gaze intense, staring at Tate like - like his own pleasure doesn't matter here, not as much as Tate's. ]

... Do you ever think about me being with other people?

[ Physically. Sexually. A pause. He drags the pad of his thumb up over his head, getting it wet with precum that he then brings, slowly, to Tate's lips. ]

Do you ever think about me when you're with other people?