[ Some unconscious part of Derek fills in the sights he can't see. He can picture Tate taking the last of his clothes off and his dick twitches with one sharp feeling of want, his tongue darting briefly between his lips, dry and cracked as they are. He's not taken by surprise when he feels weight resting against him, but being blindfolded like this gives everything more substance - the softness of Tate's skin, the slightness of his frame, the nimble dexterity of his fingers as they touch the sensitive curves of his head. Derek exhales, lips parted, unconsciously more expressive like this than he ever is without a blindfold. He looks wrecked already.

But he keeps his voice calm. ]

I like... being able to take care of you... when you're submissive for me. Everything you feel - pleasure, frustration, a need to be touched, fucked, kissed, anything - that's all because of me. I get to... be the one to make you feel good. I have ownership over-- how you feel, in any given moment.

[ Derek angles his head - he can't see anything other than a grey-ish black wall of fabric, but he can see blurs of shapes and lights where Tate should be. He swallows and tilts his chin up, looking where he thinks Tate's eyes might be. ]

You're mine, when you're like this. I don't have to share you with... whoever you're dating, or... whoever you're friends with. You belong to me, for a while. You exist - solely for me. Nobody else. I like that feeling.

[ Derek likes having people. Possessing them. Few, if any, as explicitly as Tate. ]