[ Fresh flareups of guilt light up in Derek pretty fucking often, when he's with Tate. He gets another one here - Tate sounds sleepy and peaceful and Derek wants nothing more than to soothe him back to bed, feeling like a piece of shit for disturbing him. He leaves his lips on the bridge of Tate's shoulder, lightly sucking, just enough to turn his skin pink, the feeling a gentle, barely there hum. A silent, affectionate apology for waking him up, and - maybe, on some level, an unspoken question, that Tate might be too tired to make sense of. A gauge of interest, to see if he'd be... okay, with them going again, even though Derek knows that they shouldn't.
Cautiously, though, Derek inches Tate's sweats down a little more, moving his waistband to just above his knees. Barely, barely moving, he brings his hand back to the base of his cock, angling it down, dragging it down Tate's ass and - as he shifts an inch or two further into the sleeping bag - setting it behind his thigh. Derek swallows, kissing Tate's back, reaching his hand back up to settle on Tate's stomach. Every touch, every movement, it's all barely there, so as not to disturb Tate too deeply out of sleep, and when he talks, the length of his dick urging against the back of Tate's leg, he's barely speaking at a whisper. ]
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Cautiously, though, Derek inches Tate's sweats down a little more, moving his waistband to just above his knees. Barely, barely moving, he brings his hand back to the base of his cock, angling it down, dragging it down Tate's ass and - as he shifts an inch or two further into the sleeping bag - setting it behind his thigh. Derek swallows, kissing Tate's back, reaching his hand back up to settle on Tate's stomach. Every touch, every movement, it's all barely there, so as not to disturb Tate too deeply out of sleep, and when he talks, the length of his dick urging against the back of Tate's leg, he's barely speaking at a whisper. ]
Can... can I...?