[ Fuck, the last thing Derek wants is for Tate to feel-- dissatisfied. Maybe it's the chemosignals, maybe it's just that he knows him now, but there's this acrid feeling of letting Tate down swimming in the air that works its way into Derek's lungs and doesn't let go. He looks down at him, willpower fading. He's scared of what would happen, if he let Tate leave here wanting. Worried who he'd end up with to satisfy Tate's need to be treated like shit. He can't let Tate go, can't put him with someone dangerous. That's the justification he has in his head to allow himself to be a bad alpha.

Tate takes his finger away and Derek's resistance fucking crumbles. His brows pinch, and he feels empty, sighing in frustration. Between that and the attention to his cock, it's - a lot. Too much. Derek's so much more needy than most, more desperate, more eager, more sensitive, when it comes to sex. Easily manipulated. Easy to shape. ]

I really... I really want to. You have no idea how badly I want to.

[ Derek's voice is coming out hard, padded with labored breathing. Tate's pushing forward, ignoring any of Derek's concerns, sloppy and wet and keeping Derek overwhelmed and overloaded. Cautiously, Derek sets his hand on the back of Tate's head, and he doesn't push, not yet. He feels like there's precautions that need to be taken, feels like he needs to tell Tate to say poptart if things get too rough, or something, but -

Precautions only seem to piss Tate off. Derek bites his worries down. Steadily, he adds pressure on the back of Tate's skull when he starts to pull back, not letting him come up for air. He raises his hips, just a little, sliding the tip of his cock to the back of Tate's throat again. He swallows, curls his fingers in Tate's hair tighter than before, and starts slowly, slowly moving him down his length. ]

Fuck. Fuck, just-- commit to this. If-- if you commit, so will I.