calloused: ᴇᴀꜱʏꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ (184.)
ᴅᴇʀᴇᴋ ʜᴀʟᴇ ♔ ([personal profile] calloused) wrote 2019-05-07 01:21 am (UTC)

[ The mood sours, and that's - fine, because sour is nothing, sour is manageable. Tate pulls himself up against Derek's body and Derek doesn't make a noise, doesn't push him away. His jaw hurts from how tight he's locking it together, and his eyes are tired and glassy as he stares out at the platform ahead of him, but he doesn't move.

Tate's voice is right up against his ear, when he tells Derek to jerk off.

Derek swallows. Tate might not be a werewolf yet, but he has to be able to hear how hard Derek's heart is beating in his chest. A rhythmic baseline brought on by the surge of adrenaline released in his body, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Derek's-- obviously not going to jerk off, but he's obviously not going to be able to sleep, either, not like this. Slowly, carefully, he rolls onto his back. He doesn't make an effort to move Tate away, choosing instead to let his arm stay draped over his stomach when he moves, and he stares pointedly up at the stars, barely there behind a thatch of branches and leaves.

His mouth feels dry. He needs another beer. Fuck, he wishes alcohol worked on him. He's not really thinking when he speaks again, still addressing the sky instead of Tate. ]


Saying things like that's just going to make it worse.

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