[ Everything picks up. Derek moves faster, more frantic, hammers into Kavinsky like it's the last thing he'll ever do. Somewhere in these past few mintues, his eyes have changed - lost their human hazel, gained that inhuman red. Derek bites Kavinsky harder, nearly enough to pierce skin, certainly enough to scare Derek when this is all done with how close he got to turning him while they fucked. He pounds into Kavinsky's hole like a fucking machine. Like he was made for this.
And then he knots.
It's as insane a feeling as it always has been. Something grows at the base of his dick, catching on muscle as it tries desperately to push itself into Kavinsky, incapable of breaching him without a real show of force. The bed is creaking beneath them, desperately trying to hold itself together under the unstoppable strength and speed of just how hard Derek is fucking Kavinsky. He doesn't catch into Kavinsky's hole, doesn't fully tie him, but christ, he's trying.
He's slamming against Kavinsky's hole, his whole body shivering as his knot bangs insistently against Kav's entrance, and Derek lets out a groan of need and frustration when he just can't fucking make it fit. He bites Kavinsky's neck again, but it's more of a nip, this time, a show of almost childish, canine irritation that he doesn't know how else to express. He moves Kavinsky again - pulls him up even higher, lifts half his body off the fucking mattress, holding him by the small of his back like his weight is fucking nothing - but no matter how hard he rams against Kavinsky, no matter how much he slams the top of Kavinsky's skull against the headboard, no matter how much he sweats and grunts and plows into Kavinsky with drool pooling at the corners of his mouth and teeth looking ever sharper and more dangerous, it just-- ]
Too-- too fucking tight.
[ He could make it work. He could really, really make it work, if Kavinsky let him, but even as his eyes burn red, even as it's hard to think about anything other than this-- this impulse, this need to breed and mark and claim, knock Kavinsky up, keep him as his own, tie him up and never let him leave, his, mine-- he knows he doesn't want to hurt him. He's hurting himself, just by not knotting Kavinsky. His knot's fucking insanely sensitive, and depriving himself of that perfect, perfect heat, it's almost enough to make him cry. He hisses out what he says next like he's torn between being angry and being apologetic. ]
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And then he knots.
It's as insane a feeling as it always has been. Something grows at the base of his dick, catching on muscle as it tries desperately to push itself into Kavinsky, incapable of breaching him without a real show of force. The bed is creaking beneath them, desperately trying to hold itself together under the unstoppable strength and speed of just how hard Derek is fucking Kavinsky. He doesn't catch into Kavinsky's hole, doesn't fully tie him, but christ, he's trying.
He's slamming against Kavinsky's hole, his whole body shivering as his knot bangs insistently against Kav's entrance, and Derek lets out a groan of need and frustration when he just can't fucking make it fit. He bites Kavinsky's neck again, but it's more of a nip, this time, a show of almost childish, canine irritation that he doesn't know how else to express. He moves Kavinsky again - pulls him up even higher, lifts half his body off the fucking mattress, holding him by the small of his back like his weight is fucking nothing - but no matter how hard he rams against Kavinsky, no matter how much he slams the top of Kavinsky's skull against the headboard, no matter how much he sweats and grunts and plows into Kavinsky with drool pooling at the corners of his mouth and teeth looking ever sharper and more dangerous, it just-- ]
Too-- too fucking tight.
[ He could make it work. He could really, really make it work, if Kavinsky let him, but even as his eyes burn red, even as it's hard to think about anything other than this-- this impulse, this need to breed and mark and claim, knock Kavinsky up, keep him as his own, tie him up and never let him leave, his, mine-- he knows he doesn't want to hurt him. He's hurting himself, just by not knotting Kavinsky. His knot's fucking insanely sensitive, and depriving himself of that perfect, perfect heat, it's almost enough to make him cry. He hisses out what he says next like he's torn between being angry and being apologetic. ]
Don't want to hurt you.