[ In these last few months, maybe even a little longer - maybe even since Stiles left - sex with Tate has been more casually familiar than the intense, guilt-ridden thing it used to be. Derek never really pieced it together, after caving and promising to help Tate with his quota, that there was more at play during Tate's initial seduction of him than just fear of the city and desperation to get away from his Dom. He never really realized that Tate had staked a claim on him, that first time they fucked in the treehouse. Never really realized that Tate never had a problem meeting his quota.
But this doesn't feel casual. There's no jokes or sarcasm, no underlying atmosphere of taunts and teasing, when Tate beckons him over and grips onto his shirt. Rather than just-- relaxing in his win, relaxing in his routine, Tate's taking something of a lead, soon kissing Derek in a way that gets him hard and makes him feel wanted in a way he hasn't really felt for a while. The way he's touching Derek, pulling him in close, it's - a lot, already. Not in a bad way.
Derek kisses back, slow, at first, trying to match Tate's pace, but those little breaths and ticklish touches against the back of his neck are driving him kind of crazy. Before long, Derek's stepping forward and guiding Tate back towards the sofa, running his hands down Tate's bare sides and brushing his thumb across the small of his back. He's kissing harder, moving a little faster, and it only takes a few seconds before he's pushing Tate down and tearing off his own shirt. ]
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But this doesn't feel casual. There's no jokes or sarcasm, no underlying atmosphere of taunts and teasing, when Tate beckons him over and grips onto his shirt. Rather than just-- relaxing in his win, relaxing in his routine, Tate's taking something of a lead, soon kissing Derek in a way that gets him hard and makes him feel wanted in a way he hasn't really felt for a while. The way he's touching Derek, pulling him in close, it's - a lot, already. Not in a bad way.
Derek kisses back, slow, at first, trying to match Tate's pace, but those little breaths and ticklish touches against the back of his neck are driving him kind of crazy. Before long, Derek's stepping forward and guiding Tate back towards the sofa, running his hands down Tate's bare sides and brushing his thumb across the small of his back. He's kissing harder, moving a little faster, and it only takes a few seconds before he's pushing Tate down and tearing off his own shirt. ]
Fuck.