[ Derek's supposed to be better than this. Above all this mindless, animal lust the city beats through his veins, above the... the primal parts of him that lack the civility he's supposed to have. Thinking with his dick has only ever gotten him into trouble, and - that's not what this is supposed to even be. This arrangement was just supposed to help Tate meet his quota, and-- no matter how he tries to argue it, no matter what justification he tries to make to himself, he's waking him up in the middle of the night because he wants to be taken care of again. He wants more of Tate, before daybreak takes him away. Back to somebody else. Kavinsky. Peter. The memory of Violet. Whoever.
Someone who isn't him.
He gives Derek the go ahead and Derek makes the tiniest crack of a sound from the back of his throat, his breath catching. He swallows and closes his eyes tight, letting Tate press up against him with only the smallest, shallow rut of his hips to meet him. He kisses along the bumps of Tate's spine as he moves his hand back down between them, adjusting himself in the warmth to carefully, carefully press his dick between the tight squeeze of Tate's thighs.
Swallowing, he pushes forward, resting his forehead against Tate's back, his entire body heating up and almost vibrating with excitement. He's trying so, so hard to be quiet, or - to at least not move as much as he could, if he allowed himself to take everything he wanted. He keeps his thrusts slow and barely there, covering Tate's leg with his arm to hold his thighs together with as small of an amount of force as he can manage, and he barely gets the first inch of his cock between the warm hold of his body every time he presses in. In, out. In, out. So, so fucking slow, like Tate will break if he uses him too hard.
He's less quiet, as he exhales hot and shaky down Tate's shoulderblade. ]
no subject
Someone who isn't him.
He gives Derek the go ahead and Derek makes the tiniest crack of a sound from the back of his throat, his breath catching. He swallows and closes his eyes tight, letting Tate press up against him with only the smallest, shallow rut of his hips to meet him. He kisses along the bumps of Tate's spine as he moves his hand back down between them, adjusting himself in the warmth to carefully, carefully press his dick between the tight squeeze of Tate's thighs.
Swallowing, he pushes forward, resting his forehead against Tate's back, his entire body heating up and almost vibrating with excitement. He's trying so, so hard to be quiet, or - to at least not move as much as he could, if he allowed himself to take everything he wanted. He keeps his thrusts slow and barely there, covering Tate's leg with his arm to hold his thighs together with as small of an amount of force as he can manage, and he barely gets the first inch of his cock between the warm hold of his body every time he presses in. In, out. In, out. So, so fucking slow, like Tate will break if he uses him too hard.
He's less quiet, as he exhales hot and shaky down Tate's shoulderblade. ]
Fffffuck.