[ As time passes and the high of Derek's orgasm fades away, his dick steadily softening and laying flat down his thigh, he feels less like he's underwater and more like all the sounds he's hearing are... real. Less faded, less outside of himself. Tate's still retching, coughing enough for Derek to suddenly realize the gravity of what just happened and hastily wonder if he's seriously bruised this poor kid's throat, and he sits up with a start, fast enough to make his head spin with vertigo. He clutches at one of the floorboards for balance and warily watches Tate recover, his heart half-sinking with guilt and half-soaring with primal, masculine pride.
He did that. He wrecked Tate. His Tate. This was a long time coming, and Derek maybe gets that now.
Tate asks him if it was good, and Derek doesn't have it in him to laugh, just - sore all over, and knowing Tate must feel the same. Worse. He sits up, watching the cum drip into Tate's hand and just - pool all over him, and he very softly, very affectionately, starts to clean him up. He reaches around for his own shirt, grabbing it from wherever the fuck it was discarded, and he holds one hand in Tate's hair to keep him steady. ]
I got... carried away. I'm sorry.
[ That's not an answer, but - fuck, Tate felt how hard he came. How forcefully. He knows god damn well that it was good. Derek plays with Tate's hair a little, and when he's all cleaned up, Derek leans in to press the lightest possible kiss against Tate's eyelid. He drops his shirt - gonna have to wash it in the ocean before he goes back home - and sets that hand on Tate's side, just... touching, for the sake of touching.
Tate said he could handle what Derek did to him, but - again - the weight of everything is starting to press down on his shoulders, making him kind of nauseous. He feels like he has to ask this. ]
no subject
He did that. He wrecked Tate. His Tate. This was a long time coming, and Derek maybe gets that now.
Tate asks him if it was good, and Derek doesn't have it in him to laugh, just - sore all over, and knowing Tate must feel the same. Worse. He sits up, watching the cum drip into Tate's hand and just - pool all over him, and he very softly, very affectionately, starts to clean him up. He reaches around for his own shirt, grabbing it from wherever the fuck it was discarded, and he holds one hand in Tate's hair to keep him steady. ]
I got... carried away. I'm sorry.
[ That's not an answer, but - fuck, Tate felt how hard he came. How forcefully. He knows god damn well that it was good. Derek plays with Tate's hair a little, and when he's all cleaned up, Derek leans in to press the lightest possible kiss against Tate's eyelid. He drops his shirt - gonna have to wash it in the ocean before he goes back home - and sets that hand on Tate's side, just... touching, for the sake of touching.
Tate said he could handle what Derek did to him, but - again - the weight of everything is starting to press down on his shoulders, making him kind of nauseous. He feels like he has to ask this. ]
Are you okay?