[ Whatever Derek might be feeling, he's hitting the point now where he knows he's talked enough. He does his best to look at Tate with the same soft, neutral expression he's learn to wear when he talks to him, but that hand around his cock is only making him harder and less able to focus. His pulse rises as the hot water spikes against his back, and when his eyes fall half-lidded with lust he starts to look at Tate less like someone he wants to make feel better and more like a meal to be eaten.
The kiss doesn't take him by surprise, but there's a part of him startled by the zeal he returns it with. When he kisses Tate back, he intends to just be soft, at first, the kind of gentle, reassuring kiss that doesn't take control of too much power in their dynamic, but the feel of Tate's lips against his own has him surging forward and taking more. He deepens this, dropping his hands to Tate's hips, holding him steady, nails biting marks into his skin, and when he pulls back, he's - impatient. He needs to fuck. ]
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The kiss doesn't take him by surprise, but there's a part of him startled by the zeal he returns it with. When he kisses Tate back, he intends to just be soft, at first, the kind of gentle, reassuring kiss that doesn't take control of too much power in their dynamic, but the feel of Tate's lips against his own has him surging forward and taking more. He deepens this, dropping his hands to Tate's hips, holding him steady, nails biting marks into his skin, and when he pulls back, he's - impatient. He needs to fuck. ]
Turn around. Face the wall.