[ Derek holds Tate down until he's at his breaking point, then holds him down a few seconds longer. His dick's a fucking mess when Tate finally gets a chance to surface - covered in bubbles and spit that make it shine glossy and wet in the dim, outdoor lighting. Tate takes a hard, ragged breath like he's just been drowning, and Derek won't admit to himself that seeing him this wrecked, this fucked up, makes him... proud. Proud of being the biggest Tate's taken, proud of himself for being able to shape Tate into something tear-stained but happy, proud of knowing he's capable of giving Tate something that he needs. Proud of Tate for doing something he clearly wanted to do. Just - proud.
Tate fucking says he did it, and Derek's cock jumps, his expression just - darkening, like it's the hottest thing he's ever heard. He wants more. Derek sits up, leans down, and wipes some of the drool and the precum from the corner of Tate's lip, connected in a thin, transparent string to the head of his cock, and then - impulsively - he pushes his thumb back into Tate's mouth, letting him lick it clean. ]
Yeah.
[ That's enough. He could come. Derek takes his hand back and leans in close, brushing the hair out of Tate's eyes again so he can see him better, wiping away his tears and prettying up his face. He's fucking close, at this point - achingly hard in Tate's hand, getting right up to the edge - so it wouldn't do much for Tate to get him off. But he'd kill, to feel that again. To feel Tate struggle and try and succeed, all for him.
He looks at Tate, leaning back on his forearms, letting his eyes drift a little further down. Thoughtfully, Derek wets his lips, and then - without any warning, he stands up, snapping his fingers at Tate like he's talking to a dog. His legs are surprisingly shaky, and his breath is too ragged to sounds as commanding as he might want to. ]
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Tate fucking says he did it, and Derek's cock jumps, his expression just - darkening, like it's the hottest thing he's ever heard. He wants more. Derek sits up, leans down, and wipes some of the drool and the precum from the corner of Tate's lip, connected in a thin, transparent string to the head of his cock, and then - impulsively - he pushes his thumb back into Tate's mouth, letting him lick it clean. ]
Yeah.
[ That's enough. He could come. Derek takes his hand back and leans in close, brushing the hair out of Tate's eyes again so he can see him better, wiping away his tears and prettying up his face. He's fucking close, at this point - achingly hard in Tate's hand, getting right up to the edge - so it wouldn't do much for Tate to get him off. But he'd kill, to feel that again. To feel Tate struggle and try and succeed, all for him.
He looks at Tate, leaning back on his forearms, letting his eyes drift a little further down. Thoughtfully, Derek wets his lips, and then - without any warning, he stands up, snapping his fingers at Tate like he's talking to a dog. His legs are surprisingly shaky, and his breath is too ragged to sounds as commanding as he might want to. ]
Lay down. On your back.