[Tate wants to take Derek's words to heart, to really listen and try but this feels even harder than it was to physically train with him in hand to hand fucking combat. He wasn't good at that but - oddly enough, he feels a bit better about this the more he works at it. He might not have the strength to put a bruise on Derek but he can force himself to bruise in order to service him, to hear him moan and writhe with a sense of accomplishment. So he does. He pushes his limits and groans, low and rumbling as he bobs forward and tries not to feel so close to coming from being praised as he is.
If he comes in his pants he'll - well, he'll be pissed off for sure. Luckily distraction comes in the form of a bolt of panic in his chest when he feels Derek's cock forcing its way along his tongue and the thick head of it going far beyond where he was comfortable taking it. He's not stretched or loose, he just feels like he's immediately about to retch soon as he can suck in a breath. Which, of course, won't be soon either.
He can't breathe, can't move, can barely think - he feels how flush he is, nose brushing Derek's skin and the heat of his balls against his chin telling him he did it. The pain at the back of his throat, the feeling of suffocating fullness adds to it - nails dug into his scalp and pulling at his hair sparking tears to fall from the corners of his eyes, wetness sitting in his lashes. He paws at Derek without meaning to, the stress of it making the heels of his palms push against Derek's hips to try and put space between them.
When Derek finally pulls him halfway off after what feels like an eternity, Tate scrambles to pull himself the rest of the way off - coughing, sputtering and gagging against the back of his hand. Hard to gasp for breath when you're trying not to vomit, but he's got this. Got it. Totally fine. Sounds wrecked, even though he's not even done:]
Did it.
[He looks up at Derek, eyes glossy but wide; he's still breathing in short little shudders, eyes stinging but blinking away the tears before he's reaching out again and gripping Derek's cock and trying to bow back down to suck it. Takes a false start, lips grazing before he looks up at Derek.]
Is it enough - Is.
[Hoarse, he has to swallow hard before continuing:]
no subject
If he comes in his pants he'll - well, he'll be pissed off for sure. Luckily distraction comes in the form of a bolt of panic in his chest when he feels Derek's cock forcing its way along his tongue and the thick head of it going far beyond where he was comfortable taking it. He's not stretched or loose, he just feels like he's immediately about to retch soon as he can suck in a breath. Which, of course, won't be soon either.
He can't breathe, can't move, can barely think - he feels how flush he is, nose brushing Derek's skin and the heat of his balls against his chin telling him he did it. The pain at the back of his throat, the feeling of suffocating fullness adds to it - nails dug into his scalp and pulling at his hair sparking tears to fall from the corners of his eyes, wetness sitting in his lashes. He paws at Derek without meaning to, the stress of it making the heels of his palms push against Derek's hips to try and put space between them.
When Derek finally pulls him halfway off after what feels like an eternity, Tate scrambles to pull himself the rest of the way off - coughing, sputtering and gagging against the back of his hand. Hard to gasp for breath when you're trying not to vomit, but he's got this. Got it. Totally fine. Sounds wrecked, even though he's not even done:]
Did it.
[He looks up at Derek, eyes glossy but wide; he's still breathing in short little shudders, eyes stinging but blinking away the tears before he's reaching out again and gripping Derek's cock and trying to bow back down to suck it. Takes a false start, lips grazing before he looks up at Derek.]
Is it enough - Is.
[Hoarse, he has to swallow hard before continuing:]
Is it enough to make you come like that?