[Tate looks behind him at Derek when he's draping the coat over his shoulders, awkwardly accepting it before settling into it when he's moved away. He's not quite up to the task of maneuvering his arms into it yet but he lifts his hands to the lapels, holding it on. He's quiet for a long moment and it might be hard to tell why - he's zoning in and out of focus but after a period of thought (or lack there of,) Tate moves closer to Derek's side. Like a feral cat brushing up against his legs, Tate sticks close to his shadow.]
Thanks. It's... warmer.
[Something about feeling Derek's body heat spikes his heart beat, a jumble of memories in his head from the orientation room. From experiences between then and now with other people, and the curbed inhibitions he's been having today his excuse - he looks up at Derek's face while holding his breath for a beat.]
You know.
[He doesn't know if this is right, if he's going to be shut down again - to feel that prickling sensation of being played the fool, but. He's not really thinking with much more than the throb of arousal that lives in his pants. Why else would Derek take him home if not to...
Yeah - He can think of other reasons. But they bother him. They don't fit the slots the way he wants them to, so he pushes them away. He reaches out to drag his fingertips along the waistband of Derek's jeans, fingers navigating the strip of denim from belt hoop to the button. Slow, steady, deliberately pressing in against his abdomen when he reaches the closure.]
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Thanks. It's... warmer.
[Something about feeling Derek's body heat spikes his heart beat, a jumble of memories in his head from the orientation room. From experiences between then and now with other people, and the curbed inhibitions he's been having today his excuse - he looks up at Derek's face while holding his breath for a beat.]
You know.
[He doesn't know if this is right, if he's going to be shut down again - to feel that prickling sensation of being played the fool, but. He's not really thinking with much more than the throb of arousal that lives in his pants. Why else would Derek take him home if not to...
Yeah - He can think of other reasons. But they bother him. They don't fit the slots the way he wants them to, so he pushes them away. He reaches out to drag his fingertips along the waistband of Derek's jeans, fingers navigating the strip of denim from belt hoop to the button. Slow, steady, deliberately pressing in against his abdomen when he reaches the closure.]
We're alone now.