[ It's difficult for Derek to let himself relax. It's always hard for Derek to let himself relax, they just fucking talked about that, but here and now, especially, there's so much on his mind. Seperating himself from worries about Kavinsky, worries about Tate's quota, worries about whether or not he's doing the right thing as an Alpha, worries about everything, feels like an impossible task.
But he's still hard. He's still reacting to every exploratory touch of Tate's tongue, every gentle squeeze of tight, wet pressure, with pure, unfiltered interest. His cock flexes again, dripping precum on Tate's tongue, and his balls pull a little tighter to his body. Tate's clumsy and eager and that's-- honestly part of what's wearing Derek down, making him want more, making all of this feel even better. He won't admit that he likes this - but Tate's trying for him. Being good. Derek fucking loves that feeling.
And then Tate goes further, takes more of him in, and if he's not halfway down, he's at least close. Derek feels a jolt of worry as he watches him take more and more of his cock down his throat, and the part of him that's still thinking clearly wants to tell him to back off in case he hurts himself, or-- can't handle it, or something, but a more selfish side of him, a more primal, wants to see what Tate can do. Wants to see what he's learned, since coming here.
Like a lot of things Derek's been thinking tonight - maybe that's fucked up, too.
He's glassy eyed and out of it while he watches Tate work, and it takes a second for him to realize he's asked him a question once he's pulled off. Everything catches up to him at once, even as his cock flexes in Tate's hand and silently begs for his mouth again, and he realizes that Tate's asking for permission. Reassurance. Fuck, that's almost enough to make Derek come. He takes a breath, holds it in his chest, and trails his eyes down to Tate's slick, wet fingers.
Derek nods. Derek would nod, no matter what Tate asked, but he nods for this because he wants it. He curls his fingers through Tate's hair and smooths his fringe away from his eyes, wanting to see them, wanting the intimacy of eye contact. He's still stroking through his hair, languid and soothing and not half as rough or as demanding as his instincts tell him to be, when Tate dips back down onto his cock. His fingers press against his hole and Derek tenses, and he's tight, because - he might not be a virgin, but he's only ever done this once or twice. He reacts like it's something new, drawing his knees up a few centimeteres and holding his breath. ]
Do you... uh.
[ This isn't an offer for more. He doesn't think it's an offer for more, but - maybe it is. If it's an offer for more, it's - an offer disguised as clarification. ]
no subject
But he's still hard. He's still reacting to every exploratory touch of Tate's tongue, every gentle squeeze of tight, wet pressure, with pure, unfiltered interest. His cock flexes again, dripping precum on Tate's tongue, and his balls pull a little tighter to his body. Tate's clumsy and eager and that's-- honestly part of what's wearing Derek down, making him want more, making all of this feel even better. He won't admit that he likes this - but Tate's trying for him. Being good. Derek fucking loves that feeling.
And then Tate goes further, takes more of him in, and if he's not halfway down, he's at least close. Derek feels a jolt of worry as he watches him take more and more of his cock down his throat, and the part of him that's still thinking clearly wants to tell him to back off in case he hurts himself, or-- can't handle it, or something, but a more selfish side of him, a more primal, wants to see what Tate can do. Wants to see what he's learned, since coming here.
Like a lot of things Derek's been thinking tonight - maybe that's fucked up, too.
He's glassy eyed and out of it while he watches Tate work, and it takes a second for him to realize he's asked him a question once he's pulled off. Everything catches up to him at once, even as his cock flexes in Tate's hand and silently begs for his mouth again, and he realizes that Tate's asking for permission. Reassurance. Fuck, that's almost enough to make Derek come. He takes a breath, holds it in his chest, and trails his eyes down to Tate's slick, wet fingers.
Derek nods. Derek would nod, no matter what Tate asked, but he nods for this because he wants it. He curls his fingers through Tate's hair and smooths his fringe away from his eyes, wanting to see them, wanting the intimacy of eye contact. He's still stroking through his hair, languid and soothing and not half as rough or as demanding as his instincts tell him to be, when Tate dips back down onto his cock. His fingers press against his hole and Derek tenses, and he's tight, because - he might not be a virgin, but he's only ever done this once or twice. He reacts like it's something new, drawing his knees up a few centimeteres and holding his breath. ]
Do you... uh.
[ This isn't an offer for more. He doesn't think it's an offer for more, but - maybe it is. If it's an offer for more, it's - an offer disguised as clarification. ]
... What do you want to do?