[Tate's voice is tired, especially when he sees him turn away - it makes him sit there, annoyed and mystified by what's happened and what it means if anything. Derek's told him straight faced before that he doesn't want to fuck him and well, he always felt that was somehow true. But he's seen a few of the looks he's gotten, messages mixed up by the things he's said as well. How teenage Derek would've been all over him, or whatever. Tate rubs at his face and hates that Derek's turned away from him now.
He thinks of him and Stiles, in the precarious situation they got themselves into and how - well, they never look back on that aloud. It never happened, so to speak, but it served a purpose. And he wonders if this is another moment like that, where he's supposed to make a move more strategically than he can think to. Have it all line up.]
Fine.
[Annoyed, Tate slumps back down against the thin layer of the sleeping bag and does what Derek tells him to. He lays down, only he faces Derek and spitefully leans close to take over as big spoon with his arm draped over Derek's side from behind. No groping, no grinding, just Tate pressing his face in against the center of his back and curling in against the broadness of it to soak up the warmth.]
no subject
[Tate's voice is tired, especially when he sees him turn away - it makes him sit there, annoyed and mystified by what's happened and what it means if anything. Derek's told him straight faced before that he doesn't want to fuck him and well, he always felt that was somehow true. But he's seen a few of the looks he's gotten, messages mixed up by the things he's said as well. How teenage Derek would've been all over him, or whatever. Tate rubs at his face and hates that Derek's turned away from him now.
He thinks of him and Stiles, in the precarious situation they got themselves into and how - well, they never look back on that aloud. It never happened, so to speak, but it served a purpose. And he wonders if this is another moment like that, where he's supposed to make a move more strategically than he can think to. Have it all line up.]
Fine.
[Annoyed, Tate slumps back down against the thin layer of the sleeping bag and does what Derek tells him to. He lays down, only he faces Derek and spitefully leans close to take over as big spoon with his arm draped over Derek's side from behind. No groping, no grinding, just Tate pressing his face in against the center of his back and curling in against the broadness of it to soak up the warmth.]
Just saying if you wanna jerk off, you can.