[ That's the whole point of all this, isn't it? The citations he's racked up, the late fees, the constant, imminent fear of realignment - he wouldn't be dealing with any of it if he were better at being a sub. Derek's dismissive and annoyed, giving no indication that he's willing to move here, and that's when Tate twists the dial higher. Derek senses it before it hits, the irritation in his expression giving way to an apprehensive, slightly shameful eagerness - but it still hits hard when it does.
The vibrations intensify right against his prostate, and Derek gets through the first acceleration okay, hissing in air through his teeth and letting his eyes drift shut, but it's the higher setting that really fucks him up. He chokes on his breath as he moans and arches his back from the bed, grabbing at the sheets for support with what little freedom his hands have. His cock jumps and flexes against his abs, precum slapping against his skin and running in a river down his shaft, and when he thinks he's actually gonna come like this, when he starts to feel the frustrating, unsatisfying build of a hands-free orgasm, Tate drops the setting back down and lets Derek catch his breath.
He-- swears, more than once. Quiet fuck, fuck, fucks said under his breath. He opens his eyes, slightly watering, the ceiling spinning behind the boundary of thin black cloth. He doesn't move onto all fours right away, but the idea of being kept on that edge or pushed even more ferociously towards it is kind of daunting, and it's only going to make his impatience worse. Carefully, after another long, long, long stretch of silence, Derek does as he's told, moving and positioning himself on his elbows and knees, hands starting to get uncomfortable from being bound for so long. ]
no subject
[ That's the whole point of all this, isn't it? The citations he's racked up, the late fees, the constant, imminent fear of realignment - he wouldn't be dealing with any of it if he were better at being a sub. Derek's dismissive and annoyed, giving no indication that he's willing to move here, and that's when Tate twists the dial higher. Derek senses it before it hits, the irritation in his expression giving way to an apprehensive, slightly shameful eagerness - but it still hits hard when it does.
The vibrations intensify right against his prostate, and Derek gets through the first acceleration okay, hissing in air through his teeth and letting his eyes drift shut, but it's the higher setting that really fucks him up. He chokes on his breath as he moans and arches his back from the bed, grabbing at the sheets for support with what little freedom his hands have. His cock jumps and flexes against his abs, precum slapping against his skin and running in a river down his shaft, and when he thinks he's actually gonna come like this, when he starts to feel the frustrating, unsatisfying build of a hands-free orgasm, Tate drops the setting back down and lets Derek catch his breath.
He-- swears, more than once. Quiet fuck, fuck, fucks said under his breath. He opens his eyes, slightly watering, the ceiling spinning behind the boundary of thin black cloth. He doesn't move onto all fours right away, but the idea of being kept on that edge or pushed even more ferociously towards it is kind of daunting, and it's only going to make his impatience worse. Carefully, after another long, long, long stretch of silence, Derek does as he's told, moving and positioning himself on his elbows and knees, hands starting to get uncomfortable from being bound for so long. ]
You're such a little bitch.