confiscated: (⇀ with resentment birthing)
Brooks Myers ([personal profile] confiscated) wrote in [personal profile] calloused 2020-01-11 08:49 am (UTC)

[Tate doesn't like the apology; it sits in the air like something of a cooled breeze, even though for Tate it doesn't feel that way. He was really screwed up after losing Peter but his brain rewired - he found a new crush, another teenager just disentangled enough from him to date and feel sweet around without ever having to show a true side of himself to. He's replaced him already, but he knows that's not exactly normal or healthy - so he takes pause the way he should, the way he knows he ought to, gaze again diverted before it finds its way back to Derek.

He murmurs something indistinct about it being alright - fine, really - and then they're changing position a bit. Tate's worried, at first, that that was the end of it but Derek's only helping him out of his boxers. Then their cocks are together in the grip of Derek's fist and Tate's eyelids flutter, pale lashes together as he rocks up into it too. It's good, it's always good. His eyes stay closed.]


I don't like thinking of you with other people. And - And...

[Shit, he parts his lips - lapping his tongue out against Derek's thumb after sluggishly opening his eyes. He's successfully horny again, sending sand sliding as his arm moves and he squirms beneath Derek's body.]

I think about you a lot. Do you think about me?

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