[ Fuck, the bite. Derek makes these wanton, breathy sounds, squeezing his arm around Tate's waist hard enough to hurt and leaning into it, almost crying out from how much he adores the feeling of teeth against his throat. The longer this goes on, the less he fucks Tate like he's trying to get them both off, and more because the friction between them and the scent of his precum and the heat of his body are the only things Derek can even fucking think about. He ruts against Tate more and more like he's made of instinct and need more than thoughts and civility, and every hard, labored thrust comes with undignified sounds and moans and gasps rolling from the back of Derek's throat. He's not holding back. Doesn't even pretend to try.
Tate's grips onto Derek's finger as he pulls it back out of him, tight enough that it's like he's refusing to let go. Derek shivers, bucking his hips up, rustling the sleeping bag around him. He presses two fingers to Tate's hole, this time, wanting to see how much he'll stretch for him. He presses almost urgently against Tate until he yields and he takes him, dragging his fingers down to their second knuckles, insatiably needy and barely prepped. Fuck, fuck, he's so tight. ]
Fuck, Tate. [ He finds a rhythm, slower and smoother than each grind of his cock over Tate's. It takes a monumental effort to keep it that way. ] Fuck, you're so-- fuck, I bet you feel amazing. You'd make me come so fucking fast, you'd make me come harder than I've ever...
[ He swallows, shaking his head, cutting himself off. Tate's hole is intense, but Derek isn't going to push things too far. They need... time, they need a bed, they need proper, solid prep. He can't be greedy. ]
[If he's already left a deep mark on Derek's neck already, he leaves a deeper one still when he feels his fingers press into him. Tate nearly breaks the skin for how hard he bites, relenting only to loll back his head with a cry as Derek's fingers stretch him open, sliding deep enough into him that his leg kicks all on its own. He wants nothing more than to feel more, to make the motion constant and all consuming, because he's on the fast track to being overwhelmed and losing it.
Each slide of their bodies together provides the friction that leaks pre from his cock, making him ache to keep on rutting until he can come. But Derek's fingers keep him from pushing things, they keep him dazed almost with how much he enjoys it. He's tight, clenching tighter still around two fingers - partially in surprise and then just partially due to the fact he's still not used to this. His body never seems to adapt, to stretch and stay that way. He always reverts.]
Ff... Fuck.
[He breathes out hard through his nose, clutching to Derek and starting to plead under his breath each time they move. Pleading for more, trying to push against Derek's fingers while also staying in line for the way he's being rutted against in those desperately slow grinds. His cock twitches, aching to come and he knows with a soft whimper it's not going to take more than a few more rolls of Derek's hips or a stroke of his fingertips to make him seize. He just fights it off as best he can, features screwed together and his teeth showing in a pleasured grimace.]
[ Derek isn't going to last. It's a miracle, actually, that he's lasted as long as he has already. Derek sinks his fingers further into Tate, seeking out his prostate, curling his knuckles back when he finds it. He doesn't just graze against it, soft and tantalizing and teasing like he's trying to enhance things - he presses, trying to overload Tate with sensitivity, trying to make him see stars.
But - Derek still comes first. It doesn't happen suddenly. He's grinding against Tate so slowly and so easily that his climax builds in him agonizingly, agonizingly gradually, almost painful in how much time it takes to reach its peak. He's sweating and he's rigid and his mouth is dropped open in a silent moan, looking at Tate with half-lidded, unfocused eyes, clouded over by lust. He's barely fucking into Tate at all, when he gets there - just lightly frotting the head of his cock over Tate's, getting himself off through nerves over friction.
He comes almost as hard as he did the first time. Maybe harder, it's difficult to say. His hips bunch forward and he shoots between them, covering himself and Tate with the heavy shots of his load, his voice cracking and exhausted when he exhales out a fractured grunt of release. Derek's fingers shake a little and press more urgently into Tate, willing him along, trying to get him off at the same time. Trying to experience this together. ]
[Derek's fingers slide into him and Tate's already groaning from the feeling of being stretched around them, the subtle spark of pain that burns with each movement but he's not prepared for the jolt that courses through him when Derek presses into his prostate and makes him blank out. He croons a soft noise, halting in every little movement he makes for a few seconds before forcing himself to continue - barely managing that when Derek grinds against him so steadily.
He's breathing shallow, clutching to Derek with a grip that's too-tight in an unaware way, teeth set together so hard they start to hurt. Derek's cum hits him on the chest and Tate knows he's already at the cusp of coming, hovering right on the edge with a heady noise and staggering breath. One wrong move and he could lose it, the most precarious of positions - up until Derek's fingers drive into him and the warmth washes through him with a sudden, jagged edged release timed just seconds after Derek's.
Tate lets out a wrecked noise, head lolling heavily to the side as the quakes of it ring through him. He clenches tight to Derek's fingers, the feeling of them probing in him milking out an extra shot of cum that slides down his cock after the rest splatters between their bodies, the musky scent of sex and sweat hard to miss when he shifts and fails at lifting his head back up.]
[ It takes Derek-- a while, to remember where he is. To come down from the ridiculous fucking animalistic high of his orgasm and stop his body from trembling. Tate whispers I can't right against his ear and Derek panics, in that way where his body reacts before his head does; he feels a jolt of worry before he realizes that voice belongs to Tate and reasons out what he means. That he's exhausted, that he's wrecked. The same as Derek.
The lack of sleep he's had tonight fucking gets to him. Derek steadily, steadily withdraws himself from Tate's ass, feeling a little alone when he loses the warm heat of him. His chest aches like he's been breathing too hard for his lungs to keep up with. He doesn't disentangle himself from Tate, even though he should - he just drops his arm around his side, heavy and dead. ]
Fuck.
[ It comes out more like fhck, because Derek's dropped his head down, his lip pulled back by the bicep he's using as a pillow and slurring because of it. Derek swallows, looking at Tate with a smile that's more dopey and drained than anything else. Derek looks almost blissful. That was... that was really, really fucking good. He feels fucked out. Drained. Happy. ]
[Tate still feels himself twitching, stomach flexing tight as the feeling gently ebbs away. He's emptier without Derek's fingers, feeling the slickness on his chest but not managing the effort to reach for that tragically filthy t-shirt of Derek's to clean up. He just lays there, just as heavy and carved of stone, breathing hard before pressing his forehead closer to Derek. He rests it against him, eyes closed, deciding just to lay there and worry later.
If he were more with it, he'd chide Derek for waking him up only to use him and flop back asleep. But Tate's tired too, more so now than ever, and he makes a still-hoarse sounding noise of acknowledgment that's almost a fond agreement. He's gonna pass out too, he thinks. But for a few moments of silence, Tate just lets his eyelids feel heavy and knows that he's safe? This feeling, he can trust it.]
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Tate's grips onto Derek's finger as he pulls it back out of him, tight enough that it's like he's refusing to let go. Derek shivers, bucking his hips up, rustling the sleeping bag around him. He presses two fingers to Tate's hole, this time, wanting to see how much he'll stretch for him. He presses almost urgently against Tate until he yields and he takes him, dragging his fingers down to their second knuckles, insatiably needy and barely prepped. Fuck, fuck, he's so tight. ]
Fuck, Tate. [ He finds a rhythm, slower and smoother than each grind of his cock over Tate's. It takes a monumental effort to keep it that way. ] Fuck, you're so-- fuck, I bet you feel amazing. You'd make me come so fucking fast, you'd make me come harder than I've ever...
[ He swallows, shaking his head, cutting himself off. Tate's hole is intense, but Derek isn't going to push things too far. They need... time, they need a bed, they need proper, solid prep. He can't be greedy. ]
Fuck.
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Each slide of their bodies together provides the friction that leaks pre from his cock, making him ache to keep on rutting until he can come. But Derek's fingers keep him from pushing things, they keep him dazed almost with how much he enjoys it. He's tight, clenching tighter still around two fingers - partially in surprise and then just partially due to the fact he's still not used to this. His body never seems to adapt, to stretch and stay that way. He always reverts.]
Ff... Fuck.
[He breathes out hard through his nose, clutching to Derek and starting to plead under his breath each time they move. Pleading for more, trying to push against Derek's fingers while also staying in line for the way he's being rutted against in those desperately slow grinds. His cock twitches, aching to come and he knows with a soft whimper it's not going to take more than a few more rolls of Derek's hips or a stroke of his fingertips to make him seize. He just fights it off as best he can, features screwed together and his teeth showing in a pleasured grimace.]
no subject
But - Derek still comes first. It doesn't happen suddenly. He's grinding against Tate so slowly and so easily that his climax builds in him agonizingly, agonizingly gradually, almost painful in how much time it takes to reach its peak. He's sweating and he's rigid and his mouth is dropped open in a silent moan, looking at Tate with half-lidded, unfocused eyes, clouded over by lust. He's barely fucking into Tate at all, when he gets there - just lightly frotting the head of his cock over Tate's, getting himself off through nerves over friction.
He comes almost as hard as he did the first time. Maybe harder, it's difficult to say. His hips bunch forward and he shoots between them, covering himself and Tate with the heavy shots of his load, his voice cracking and exhausted when he exhales out a fractured grunt of release. Derek's fingers shake a little and press more urgently into Tate, willing him along, trying to get him off at the same time. Trying to experience this together. ]
Tate-- Tate--
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He's breathing shallow, clutching to Derek with a grip that's too-tight in an unaware way, teeth set together so hard they start to hurt. Derek's cum hits him on the chest and Tate knows he's already at the cusp of coming, hovering right on the edge with a heady noise and staggering breath. One wrong move and he could lose it, the most precarious of positions - up until Derek's fingers drive into him and the warmth washes through him with a sudden, jagged edged release timed just seconds after Derek's.
Tate lets out a wrecked noise, head lolling heavily to the side as the quakes of it ring through him. He clenches tight to Derek's fingers, the feeling of them probing in him milking out an extra shot of cum that slides down his cock after the rest splatters between their bodies, the musky scent of sex and sweat hard to miss when he shifts and fails at lifting his head back up.]
I... I can't.
[Move. Breathe. Think.]
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The lack of sleep he's had tonight fucking gets to him. Derek steadily, steadily withdraws himself from Tate's ass, feeling a little alone when he loses the warm heat of him. His chest aches like he's been breathing too hard for his lungs to keep up with. He doesn't disentangle himself from Tate, even though he should - he just drops his arm around his side, heavy and dead. ]
Fuck.
[ It comes out more like fhck, because Derek's dropped his head down, his lip pulled back by the bicep he's using as a pillow and slurring because of it. Derek swallows, looking at Tate with a smile that's more dopey and drained than anything else. Derek looks almost blissful. That was... that was really, really fucking good. He feels fucked out. Drained. Happy. ]
Gonna... m'gonna pass out. I think.
no subject
If he were more with it, he'd chide Derek for waking him up only to use him and flop back asleep. But Tate's tired too, more so now than ever, and he makes a still-hoarse sounding noise of acknowledgment that's almost a fond agreement. He's gonna pass out too, he thinks. But for a few moments of silence, Tate just lets his eyelids feel heavy and knows that he's safe? This feeling, he can trust it.]