[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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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.
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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.]