[ For a moment, Derek feels like he's back where tonight started. Tate can't talk as well as he could earlier, and the air wasn't heavy with sex and sweat an hour ago, but the shake of amusement and the reassurance that he's okay makes Derek feel... safe, maybe. Not that he didn't feel safe before, but - safer. Like he did when they were just swinging their legs over the side of the platform and sharing a burger together.
Tate laps at his hand and tastes Derek's cum and there's suddenly-- a very real, very strong urge to go a second round. Derek stares in silence, his dick racked with exhaustion and sensitivity but still swelling to a lazy half-hardness, watching Tate with a mixture of awe and visible, painful attraction. I don't want to fuck you, he said, once. You know, like a liar.
Whatever he's thinking gets cut off half-way. The kiss is... unexpected, and not as unwelcome as Derek thought it might be, though it takes a second or two of deliberation before he reciprocates. He sets his hand on Tate's neck and holds him close, tasting himself on his lips and chasing after him a little when he starts to pull back. It's warm and it's doting and when it's over, there's still fondness in Derek's eyes. ]
Good.
[ A part of him still wants to apologize. He's not sure why. Just - this feeling, somewhere in his chest, that maybe Tate deserved better than this. Maybe he's done something wrong, to Tate, even if all of this started because he was trying to help. Maybe they've changed their relationship for the worse, rather than for the better.
But at this point, what's done is done. Derek's hand slides down Tate's neck, and... he gets a little harder, as he sets his palm over Tate's throat. He just... leaves his hand there, for a second, thinking something, and then slowly and uncertainly takes his hand away. He stands up, putting some distance between them, and he starts searching out the rest of his clothes. ]
You're, uh. Probably gonna have to wear the sweats again.
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Tate laps at his hand and tastes Derek's cum and there's suddenly-- a very real, very strong urge to go a second round. Derek stares in silence, his dick racked with exhaustion and sensitivity but still swelling to a lazy half-hardness, watching Tate with a mixture of awe and visible, painful attraction. I don't want to fuck you, he said, once. You know, like a liar.
Whatever he's thinking gets cut off half-way. The kiss is... unexpected, and not as unwelcome as Derek thought it might be, though it takes a second or two of deliberation before he reciprocates. He sets his hand on Tate's neck and holds him close, tasting himself on his lips and chasing after him a little when he starts to pull back. It's warm and it's doting and when it's over, there's still fondness in Derek's eyes. ]
Good.
[ A part of him still wants to apologize. He's not sure why. Just - this feeling, somewhere in his chest, that maybe Tate deserved better than this. Maybe he's done something wrong, to Tate, even if all of this started because he was trying to help. Maybe they've changed their relationship for the worse, rather than for the better.
But at this point, what's done is done. Derek's hand slides down Tate's neck, and... he gets a little harder, as he sets his palm over Tate's throat. He just... leaves his hand there, for a second, thinking something, and then slowly and uncertainly takes his hand away. He stands up, putting some distance between them, and he starts searching out the rest of his clothes. ]
You're, uh. Probably gonna have to wear the sweats again.