The sleeping bag is starting to feel cramped and they hadn't accounted for bugs - they're lucky enough to have been left alone by mosquitoes, and contrary to popular belief, Derek doesn't have any fleas to worry about, but there are cicadas and crickets that sound unbearably loud to Derek, even if they're dead silent to the rest of the world. They wake him up in an hour or two, and Derek's disoriented and a little unaware of where he is, but Tate's still curled against his chest and breathing peacefully, and it's enough to keep him stable until the world pieces itself together.
He sighs, rubbing his ear against the arm he's using as a pillow, willing his hearing to dull itself down. Everything fades, and Derek relaxes, closing his eyes.
But he can't get back to sleep. Not when he's this hard.
Derek tries. A good ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass, and Derek tries so hard to pass out again, but sleep refuses to take him; Tate's sweats have dipped down his hips, and Derek's cock is laying thick against his ass, pressed up between his bare back and his own stomach. Every shift Tate makes in his sleep rolls Derek's foreskin back or spreads precum down his spine, and Derek - tries to be good. He tries.
Carefully, quietly, after a long, guilty moment of consideration, Derek reaches his arm back from around Tate, sets it over his hip and just - pauses. He knows Tate's asleep, but... ]
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The sleeping bag is starting to feel cramped and they hadn't accounted for bugs - they're lucky enough to have been left alone by mosquitoes, and contrary to popular belief, Derek doesn't have any fleas to worry about, but there are cicadas and crickets that sound unbearably loud to Derek, even if they're dead silent to the rest of the world. They wake him up in an hour or two, and Derek's disoriented and a little unaware of where he is, but Tate's still curled against his chest and breathing peacefully, and it's enough to keep him stable until the world pieces itself together.
He sighs, rubbing his ear against the arm he's using as a pillow, willing his hearing to dull itself down. Everything fades, and Derek relaxes, closing his eyes.
But he can't get back to sleep. Not when he's this hard.
Derek tries. A good ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass, and Derek tries so hard to pass out again, but sleep refuses to take him; Tate's sweats have dipped down his hips, and Derek's cock is laying thick against his ass, pressed up between his bare back and his own stomach. Every shift Tate makes in his sleep rolls Derek's foreskin back or spreads precum down his spine, and Derek - tries to be good. He tries.
Carefully, quietly, after a long, guilty moment of consideration, Derek reaches his arm back from around Tate, sets it over his hip and just - pauses. He knows Tate's asleep, but... ]
... Are you awake?