[ Tate sounds frantic and needy and Derek feels the exact same fucking way. The begging, the breathing - Derek has to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning as loud as he wants to, but it still slips out of him in fractured, muted noises, wanting and wanton and hopeless. He flexes his muscles and stands straighter against the wall, shutting his eyes, and he presses his phone closer to his ear while he strokes, starting to sweat.
They haven't been doing this for long at all, but Derek - really, really can't hold back. ]
Okay. Count of-- of five, okay? I'm gonna...
[ He can't think clearly. Can't say the words. He's panting like he's ran a marathon, he's rattling the tin of paint behind him with his elbow. He strokes faster and faster still, choking out numbers as he goes, his voice laden with lust and hard to hear through each shuddering breath - five, four, three. He swallows, presses his heel into the concrete. Two. His breath hitches again. One.
Derek's climax hits him like a fucking truck. He pushes back into the shelves and blows, choking out strangled noises, barely managing to keep from being heard. He shoots his load on the ground in front of him, vision going white, and he's almost sobbing with how fucking good it feels. He thinks of Tate, curled up in bed, stretched open for him and ready. He thinks of cumming on his chest, his face, marking him, claiming him, doing everything he wants to him. His chest hurts from how tight his lungs burn, and his legs shake from the power of his orgasm.
He comes down with blurry vision in a few minutes, sweaty and laughing a little, and - jesus. Without hanging up, he takes a quick set of photos - one of himself, hair dishevelled and face flushed red, one of his load, painting the concrete in forceful white streaks. One of his cock, slowly going limp, cum still dripping from his head. He sends each photo off to Tate, pressing his phone back to his ear. ]
[Tate doesn't remember the moments leading up to the count down, or during it - not past the extent that his stomach clenched with anticipation and his hand kept moving. The closer to zero they got, the faster his palm moved and the tighter he curled his hand so that he could fuck up into it with solid lifts of his hips. He went all out, in those last few seconds, murmuring Derek's name in breathy little grunts and gasps. Kept picturing him, what he'd imagine he looked like, maybe seated against a hoisted up car or sitting on a bench at the back of the garage.
When he comes, he arches his whole back with it and takes a long few seconds to really milk out the fullest extent of his load. It hits his thigh and hip, a little bit of his chest and it's all over the back of his hand. Even after he's slowed, leaving himself to lay there panting, he makes a further mess by dropping his hand down over his abdomen and smearing the white across his pale, heaving chest. He was a lot louder when he came, voice crying out in the tree house where nobody else was around to hear. Cobain might be scandalized, if she's even still around.
Derek sends him photos and Tate - Tate doesn't get to looking at them until Derek speaks, stirring his eyes open again. He lifts his phone to look at the alert, breathing hard still before he laughs - just as breathless. It's always after he comes that Tate kind of realizes how... extra things got leading up to it. But he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed, not really. He saves the photos, all of them.
Then he wipes the last bit of cum from his hand off on his face, a smear wiped off by his nose to look - lewd, on purpose - for the photo he sends back to Derek. Cum on his face, his chest - he sends two photos of that before one of his spent cock, laying against his equally messy thigh.]
[ Derek's, uh. Derek's feeling a little mindblown. There's this prickly feeling of guilt replacing the moment of exhilaration that coursed so heavily through his body, and the world suddenly feels louder and less sealed away by the high he was chasing. He needs to clean up, he needs to fix his clothes. He needs to look like he didn't just fuck his hand in the middle of his shift.
There are twin chimes, one after the other, so Derek pulls his phone back and scrolls through the new messages Tate sent, his jaw dropping a little at the sight of each photo. The cum on his face, the-- the way it makes him look freshly fucked, freshly used. Derek's chest tightens with want, but he sallows the feeling down, making himself presentable, wiping some sweat off his forehead and putting his phone back up to his other ear. Definitely could have been fired for this, back home. ]
Soon.
[ He's just gotta finish his shift. Derek scratches at his eyebrow, still kind of breathless. He wants to play that audio file back. Wants to loop it while he works. The good thing about working in a garage is the abundance of rags and towels around here, so - he finds one, dropping it on the floor, quietly doing his best not to pray for death. The air smells like sex and cum and he knows someone's going to ask him if he got lucky. ]
I'm gonna bring some things to the treehouse, so. Just - relax. Recover. Get ready for me.
[Tate's just - yeah, he's going to lay here. He stretches his legs out, arches his back and just lets his limbs stretch before curling back in on himself. Another set of sheets that'll need to be washed, especially now that he's wiping cum off his face onto them by nuzzling down against the mattress. He rolls over onto his stomach, voice a bit muffled as he sits up while holding the phone to his ear.]
I'll stay just like I am, waiting.
[He's hungry though, so he'll just take a short trip down to the main landing to find where he left the granola bars. Feeling oddly at home walking around the now enclosed space fully nude. He wipes his hip off with one of the tea towels in the kitchen area, wrinkling his nose as he looks around for where to put it before just hanging it back up on its hook.]
[ Derek hangs up, soon after that. The rest of the afternoon is trying, because after a few minutes of cooling down, he's back to being stuck in his head and thinking about that fucking video, that fucking voice. It's hard to focus on his work, and Derek makes mistake after mistake until his shift is over; slamming his finger under car hoods, giving himself cuts and bruises and burns from not paying attention. People know he's distracted, and with the hard on pressed against the inside of his legs, it's probably not too difficult to guess why.
He gets done, before too long, and within a few hours, he's scrambling up the treehouse with a little too much eagerness for an adult his age. He's got a bag in his hand and a light sheen of sweat on the side of his neck when he busts into the front door, half-jogging, half-not. He's breathing pretty hard, but he's keeping his mouth set and his expression stern to try and act like he didn't rush back as quickly as he could. It, uh. Mostly just makes him want to yawn.
The treehouse is big enough and full enough now that Tate isn't always just going to be in the temporary front room like he used to be; it's a full on loft now, an actually developed Definitely Totally Legal property for him to hide away in whenever he's not at home, and Tate isn't waiting for him as soon as he enters. He must be inside. Closer to the beds, like he said he would be.
Cobain's there. Derek stands still in the entrance, trying to figure out how to get past her. Jesus, this is the last thing he needs. ]
[Tate's not there, it's true. And he doesn't respond at first, leaving Cobain to sit on the table with her tail swishing side to side as she watches Derek with wide, unblinking eyes. Her paws are poised to launch her forward and slowly, so slowly, her back hips lift as if she's readying for lift off. But Tate's voice softly carries, a sleepy murmured noise that immediately placates Cobain into a soft, purring kitten for when Tate walks over from the small balcony he was out on and runs his hand over her head.
His skin's warm from the sun outside, curls kissed by it and how many days he's spent outdoors since arriving. He's still naked albeit cleaned up, traces of cum on his skin for Derek to notice but if he'd been clothed he'd seem otherwise presentable. He was laying in the hammock and maybe had fallen asleep, but he's waking from it now - smiling slightly at the sight of Derek before patting Cobain on the ass and shooing her. She hops off and trots out where he came from, likely to lounge in the same spot of sun Tate was in moments ago.]
She really scare you? Damn.
[He's playful, dark eyes glinting as he notices Derek's come home with a bag and now he's - interested in finding out what's in it. He walks closer, reaching out to trace his fingers up Derek's arm. It's weird, for a second, after that sexting-nudes-phone sex thing only a few hours ago to suddenly see each other like it's any other day. He's... allured, really, and looks up at Derek expectantly.]
[ This fucking cat. Derek presses his jaw together, meeting her stare with one of his own. He's going to do better this time - no roaring, no gnashing of his teeth, no threats to tear her open with his claws. He just watches, and he waits, and as far as standoffs go, this one's pretty tense. Derek's grateful when Tate disarms her.
Tate looks - good. Warm. The cum on his body, the light bronze-gold of his hair - he looks comfortable, he looks safe, and when Derek looks at him, he sees everything he wants in his pack. Someone who looks so incredibly, perfectly taken care of. Someone who looks so at peace with being in Derek's life. Derek's a little speechless, and for the first time in a while, he feels his heart skip a beat when he looks at Tate. He's... pretty fucking aroused by the sight of him, yeah, but more than that, he's just - emotional. He's proud. He loves this little shit.
Tate asks what he brought him, makes some joke about Cobain, and Derek just kinda stumbles over himself for a second, lightly pink with want and something else. He scratches at his nose, shrugs one shoulder, sniffs. He rolls out his arms and looks at the bag in his hand, going through it, but he just sorta-- stares, for a second, at the contents of each box hidden away in here, his mind a million miles away. Tate just... Tate looks really, really good. ]
Um.
[ Something. God. His brain isn't working. He shakes his head, laughs kind of awkwardly, then scratches the back of his neck. He looks up, gives Tate another once over, taking in that endeared smile, the expectant look. Tate's touching his arm and Derek feels weirdly flustered, mumbling a quick right, okay, remembering the phonecall, remembering the garage. ]
So - here. Just...
[ Just - go through them. He hands the bag over to Tate, ignoring the way Cobain's back arches from the doorway she's leaving through when Derek moves so suddenly. It's... a pretty varied stash of supplies. Toys, ropes. Things that vibrate, things that don't. There should be more subtlety and grace in how he... presents all of this, but Derek clearly doesn't seem to give a shit. This isn't the first time he's bought toys in this fucking city. He's worked out all his shame already. ]
[Tate's eyes flick over the features of Derek's face, picking at the little subtleties that show that something's off. Not in a bad way, he can tell that right away, but it's an air of - quiet avoidance, nervousness or some layer of shyness that masks the usual bravado Derek wears on his chest. It's cute, really, and Tate cocks his head thoughtfully to the side before he's offered the bag instead of an explanation. And that works well enough for him.
Cobain shoots one last look back at Derek before she disappears, tail curled to the doorway until she vanishes through it. Tate backs up to sit down on a futon chair they have where the bed used to sit on the main floor, before relocating up to the loft. It's cushioned and soft, and he sinks back with the bag in his lap to paw through it. His eyes light up and his smile quirks almost instantaneously when he sees what he's been given. He looks up at Derek.]
You're spoiling me. I don't know what half of this stuff is.
[Is that a lie? Is that the truth? Tate's pulling things out of the bag with a sense of wonder that could lean either way. He clicks on a vibrator and startles just a bit when it buzzes violently in his hand, before turning it off and laying it next to him. He looks at a set of shiny black plugs and vinyl cuffs, shoots a dry look up at Derek when he sees a cock ring and then holds up the next item with vague amusement. He then takes that o-ring gag and tries it on, lips around the metal ring as it takes him a few attempts to figure out how it's supposed to sit before he's buckling it behind his head loosely. When he speaks, it's with a lisp:]
[ Derek feels oddly shy as he drifts after Tate, ghosting silently along behind him. He drops back into the futon and Derek crosses one arm over his chest, massaging his shoulder, quiet and guarded. He watches Tate with a bubbling, nauseous anxiety in his stomach, like he's expecting Tate to just laugh or call him sick and bail, his eyes drifting down over his body. Tate really does just - radiate comfort, sometimes. Derek loves that he can give him that.
It's that dry look at the cock ring that snaps Derek out of his mood, making him laugh and feel slightly less pensive. He doesn't smile too much, just an uptick in the corner of his mouth, but he feels less tense. He stands over Tate a little more closely and watches him pull out the gag, which Derek... didn't really expect him to use. Same reason he bought a squeaky dog toy gag for Stiles that ultimately went unused - he just grabbed what he could, half trying to be funny, half trying to be... something. Exploratory. Helpful.
Tate clips it on, slurs his words, and Derek just stares at him, deadpan. ]
You know that doesn't unlock for, like, two hours or something once it's on, right?
[Tate just shrugs, hands still in the bag before he uses his lips to move the gag around - it's loose enough it slides down almost against his chin, allowing him to speak after tonguing it out of his mouth. Takes a little finagling to have it not keep speaking with a lisp but not enough effort to warrant really taking the gag off.]
Guess this is my life now.
[He shoots a gaze up at Derek like he's challenging him to have him keep the gag on, but gets distracted by a small device he pulls out. Like the vibrator before it, turning it on surprises him by making something buzz - but it's not the thing in his hand. What he thought was another shiny plug like the first, albeit a crystalline and glittered pink, vibrates by the control of the remote. He experiments with it before just - turning it back off.
Derek's just going to stand there, he thinks, and Tate still wants to put on a bit of a show for him - to get him riled up again, this time when he's close enough to put his hands on him. He's not hard at all and really, still kind of spent from earlier but he can make his libido return. Just takes a little effort and a wet swatch of lube from the new container in the bag over his thumb and then on the glittery plug. It looks small enough that he's... really hoping it's not going to impair what he's about to do. Prays his ass doesn't let him down.
Tate leans back against the futon, spreading his legs and reaches down to touch the toy to his hole. He's watching Derek more than he's paying attention to what he's doing, at least to start, and he has to add more lube before he can start edging in the tip. It's flared before the hilt and for a guy who's never fucked around with toys? He's immediately finding it more than he expected but keeping level faced. Even when trying to press it into him and feeling tension.]
[ Derek doesn't mind this. Passively watching Tate go through his new supply of toys, which feels less and less like kind of a weird thing to dump on someone the more comfortable Tate seems to be with being dick-deep in a bizarrely perverted christmas. He finds the most expensive item Derek shelled out for, rose-pink and remote controlled, and Derek watches Tate explore it in his hands, half convinced he's treating all of this like a joke rather than as... whatever it was Derek was hoping this would be. Something for them to explore together, maybe.
But then Tate's leaning back, getting himself ready, and Derek folds his arms across his chest as he watches him go. He shifts his weight to his other foot and looks like he's just-- watching a fucking business presentation, or something, idly interested without committing to wanting this out loud. Tate spreads his legs, gets himself slick, and Derek swallows, trying not to be so obvious in how much he's staring. Despite wanting this as badly as he does, there's every possibility he'd stay quiet and stoic and unattached if it wasn't for Tate snapping and telling him to get involved.
He steps forward, watching Tate work the tip of the toy into him, and - he bends down, kneeling beside the chair. He takes over, batting Tate's hand away and grabbing the plug himself, and - and Tate's still loose enough that he doesn't need to be as roughly worked open as he usually is. Derek leans in, kissing the side of Tate's thigh, and he gently, gently starts to push further in, breaching Tate an inch at a time, spreading him more and more apart, slowly and methodically. ]
[Derek swoops in with only one prompt and Tate's happy to let him take over, planting his palms on the cushion to either side of him and slumping back further to the futon chair. His head lolls to the side and his back slowly arches, hips lifting and legs straining to spread further apart. Takes a moment before he remembers breathing will help him, eyelids fluttering closed so he can hone in on the feeling of being filled. The feeling of stretching around the toy, a toy that's in Derek's hands and not his own.]
Fffuck.
[It's not painful but it's edging on it, feeling his hole clench and pulse around the toy, trying to fight through the urge to stay tense and loosening himself up. He feels it sink into him bit by bit, moaning gently as he bats open his eyes and looks down at Derek - his head feels heavy and full of rocks, rolling forward so his chin rests against his chest. His fingers reach out to comb through Derek's hair, both hands raking through it.
The toy's sinking in and he knows it's just a matter of pushing over that last little bit of discomfort to really seat it in him, so he grits his teeth and nods his head - encouraging Derek to push it in the rest of the way. His breath is shallow and his face heated, knees starting to bow in to tuck against Derek's body reactively.]
[ Derek... loves this. He loves taking control. He loves feeling Tate fall apart around him. Fall apart because of him. He holds Tate's leg close to his shoulder, anchoring himself against his weight, smoothing an errant river of lube up Tate's ass and back over the plug with his thumb. He's careful, pressing into Tate centimetre by centimetre, stopping and restarting every time Tate looks uncomfortable or close to pain, and he doesn't realize he's holding his breath until his lungs start to burn.
Tate scratches his fingers through his hair and Derek's surprised by just how fucking badly that affects him. His dick flexes in his clothes, laying straight against his thigh, and he lets out a hard, shuddering breath, tilting his neck to kiss Tate's thigh again, moving upwards. He twists the plug, coating Tate with a little more lube, and by the time he's encouraging him to fill him entirely, Derek's breath is ghosting over the base of Tate's cock, close enough to take him in his mouth if he wanted to.
He doesn't. Not yet. One staggered push and Tate stretches as much as he needs to to fit the flared bottom of the toy in his hole, swallowing it to the base. Derek's dry-mouthed and completely taken by the moment, leaning back and wiping the remnants of his lube off on Tate's dick, giving him one long, slick pump with his hand. After that -
He grabs the remote. Derek strokes Tate in long, feather-light pulls, dragging his thumb over the control with his free hand. If he were feeling more devious, he'd just-- turn this on to full, see if Tate could handle it. Instead, he's still feeling... affectionate, if anything, and he wants to ease Tate into this. Who knows how long that might last, once he starts thinking with his dick. ]
Have you ever...
[ Derek wets his lips. He looks up at Tate, holding the remote between his thumb and forefinger, shaking it a little. ]
[The whole process is - intimate, but not in a way that makes Tate feel shyly embarrassed. Maybe all it took was a citation turned knotting accident to make Tate have a hard time feeling ruffled around Derek when it comes to sex acts, especially when Derek has this... calming nature about him. Like no matter what they do, he's going to look out for Tate in the end - that Tate can believe he'll be safe, even in the most extreme of situations. That blind loyalty, that desire for trust... Tate thrives on it. So when Derek takes the lead, twisting and nudging the plug into him, he lets him. He breathes hard and sighs, lips parting wider and wider as that last nudge comes in to play. Then it's in.
Tate feels a small beat of relief, but then a sudden discomfort as his hole clenches around the toy and feels the bulk of its girth inside him. His leg gives a little kick and he lays back against the chair, shifting his hips and finding that just makes it... a little worse. Peter wasn't wrong about it feeling... full. And good. But the pressure's hard to get used to and Tate just wants to lay down, but settles for arching his back a bit and blinking at Derek. His eyes fall low lidded, nearly closed, while he adjusts.]
No.
[If it's not obvious from the expression on his face, he makes it clear with a soft whisper and a shake of his head. His teeth click together lightly and he blinks open his eyes, focusing on the remote in Derek's hand. He's barely had more than fingers in him withe exception of two dicks, and very scarcely at that. He's still learning what he likes, what he can take and... what's still able to surprise him.]
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no subject
They haven't been doing this for long at all, but Derek - really, really can't hold back. ]
Okay. Count of-- of five, okay? I'm gonna...
[ He can't think clearly. Can't say the words. He's panting like he's ran a marathon, he's rattling the tin of paint behind him with his elbow. He strokes faster and faster still, choking out numbers as he goes, his voice laden with lust and hard to hear through each shuddering breath - five, four, three. He swallows, presses his heel into the concrete. Two. His breath hitches again. One.
Derek's climax hits him like a fucking truck. He pushes back into the shelves and blows, choking out strangled noises, barely managing to keep from being heard. He shoots his load on the ground in front of him, vision going white, and he's almost sobbing with how fucking good it feels. He thinks of Tate, curled up in bed, stretched open for him and ready. He thinks of cumming on his chest, his face, marking him, claiming him, doing everything he wants to him. His chest hurts from how tight his lungs burn, and his legs shake from the power of his orgasm.
He comes down with blurry vision in a few minutes, sweaty and laughing a little, and - jesus. Without hanging up, he takes a quick set of photos - one of himself, hair dishevelled and face flushed red, one of his load, painting the concrete in forceful white streaks. One of his cock, slowly going limp, cum still dripping from his head. He sends each photo off to Tate, pressing his phone back to his ear. ]
That was, uh.
[ ... ]
Unexpected.
no subject
When he comes, he arches his whole back with it and takes a long few seconds to really milk out the fullest extent of his load. It hits his thigh and hip, a little bit of his chest and it's all over the back of his hand. Even after he's slowed, leaving himself to lay there panting, he makes a further mess by dropping his hand down over his abdomen and smearing the white across his pale, heaving chest. He was a lot louder when he came, voice crying out in the tree house where nobody else was around to hear. Cobain might be scandalized, if she's even still around.
Derek sends him photos and Tate - Tate doesn't get to looking at them until Derek speaks, stirring his eyes open again. He lifts his phone to look at the alert, breathing hard still before he laughs - just as breathless. It's always after he comes that Tate kind of realizes how... extra things got leading up to it. But he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed, not really. He saves the photos, all of them.
Then he wipes the last bit of cum from his hand off on his face, a smear wiped off by his nose to look - lewd, on purpose - for the photo he sends back to Derek. Cum on his face, his chest - he sends two photos of that before one of his spent cock, laying against his equally messy thigh.]
Shit. Ah... When are you coming back?
no subject
There are twin chimes, one after the other, so Derek pulls his phone back and scrolls through the new messages Tate sent, his jaw dropping a little at the sight of each photo. The cum on his face, the-- the way it makes him look freshly fucked, freshly used. Derek's chest tightens with want, but he sallows the feeling down, making himself presentable, wiping some sweat off his forehead and putting his phone back up to his other ear. Definitely could have been fired for this, back home. ]
Soon.
[ He's just gotta finish his shift. Derek scratches at his eyebrow, still kind of breathless. He wants to play that audio file back. Wants to loop it while he works. The good thing about working in a garage is the abundance of rags and towels around here, so - he finds one, dropping it on the floor, quietly doing his best not to pray for death. The air smells like sex and cum and he knows someone's going to ask him if he got lucky. ]
I'm gonna bring some things to the treehouse, so. Just - relax. Recover. Get ready for me.
no subject
I'll stay just like I am, waiting.
[He's hungry though, so he'll just take a short trip down to the main landing to find where he left the granola bars. Feeling oddly at home walking around the now enclosed space fully nude. He wipes his hip off with one of the tea towels in the kitchen area, wrinkling his nose as he looks around for where to put it before just hanging it back up on its hook.]
Don't give me time to tighten up, okay?
no subject
[ Derek hangs up, soon after that. The rest of the afternoon is trying, because after a few minutes of cooling down, he's back to being stuck in his head and thinking about that fucking video, that fucking voice. It's hard to focus on his work, and Derek makes mistake after mistake until his shift is over; slamming his finger under car hoods, giving himself cuts and bruises and burns from not paying attention. People know he's distracted, and with the hard on pressed against the inside of his legs, it's probably not too difficult to guess why.
He gets done, before too long, and within a few hours, he's scrambling up the treehouse with a little too much eagerness for an adult his age. He's got a bag in his hand and a light sheen of sweat on the side of his neck when he busts into the front door, half-jogging, half-not. He's breathing pretty hard, but he's keeping his mouth set and his expression stern to try and act like he didn't rush back as quickly as he could. It, uh. Mostly just makes him want to yawn.
The treehouse is big enough and full enough now that Tate isn't always just going to be in the temporary front room like he used to be; it's a full on loft now, an actually developed Definitely Totally Legal property for him to hide away in whenever he's not at home, and Tate isn't waiting for him as soon as he enters. He must be inside. Closer to the beds, like he said he would be.
Cobain's there. Derek stands still in the entrance, trying to figure out how to get past her. Jesus, this is the last thing he needs. ]
Tate? Call your cat. She's back.
no subject
His skin's warm from the sun outside, curls kissed by it and how many days he's spent outdoors since arriving. He's still naked albeit cleaned up, traces of cum on his skin for Derek to notice but if he'd been clothed he'd seem otherwise presentable. He was laying in the hammock and maybe had fallen asleep, but he's waking from it now - smiling slightly at the sight of Derek before patting Cobain on the ass and shooing her. She hops off and trots out where he came from, likely to lounge in the same spot of sun Tate was in moments ago.]
She really scare you? Damn.
[He's playful, dark eyes glinting as he notices Derek's come home with a bag and now he's - interested in finding out what's in it. He walks closer, reaching out to trace his fingers up Derek's arm. It's weird, for a second, after that sexting-nudes-phone sex thing only a few hours ago to suddenly see each other like it's any other day. He's... allured, really, and looks up at Derek expectantly.]
So what did you bring me.
no subject
Tate looks - good. Warm. The cum on his body, the light bronze-gold of his hair - he looks comfortable, he looks safe, and when Derek looks at him, he sees everything he wants in his pack. Someone who looks so incredibly, perfectly taken care of. Someone who looks so at peace with being in Derek's life. Derek's a little speechless, and for the first time in a while, he feels his heart skip a beat when he looks at Tate. He's... pretty fucking aroused by the sight of him, yeah, but more than that, he's just - emotional. He's proud. He loves this little shit.
Tate asks what he brought him, makes some joke about Cobain, and Derek just kinda stumbles over himself for a second, lightly pink with want and something else. He scratches at his nose, shrugs one shoulder, sniffs. He rolls out his arms and looks at the bag in his hand, going through it, but he just sorta-- stares, for a second, at the contents of each box hidden away in here, his mind a million miles away. Tate just... Tate looks really, really good. ]
Um.
[ Something. God. His brain isn't working. He shakes his head, laughs kind of awkwardly, then scratches the back of his neck. He looks up, gives Tate another once over, taking in that endeared smile, the expectant look. Tate's touching his arm and Derek feels weirdly flustered, mumbling a quick right, okay, remembering the phonecall, remembering the garage. ]
So - here. Just...
[ Just - go through them. He hands the bag over to Tate, ignoring the way Cobain's back arches from the doorway she's leaving through when Derek moves so suddenly. It's... a pretty varied stash of supplies. Toys, ropes. Things that vibrate, things that don't. There should be more subtlety and grace in how he... presents all of this, but Derek clearly doesn't seem to give a shit. This isn't the first time he's bought toys in this fucking city. He's worked out all his shame already. ]
no subject
Cobain shoots one last look back at Derek before she disappears, tail curled to the doorway until she vanishes through it. Tate backs up to sit down on a futon chair they have where the bed used to sit on the main floor, before relocating up to the loft. It's cushioned and soft, and he sinks back with the bag in his lap to paw through it. His eyes light up and his smile quirks almost instantaneously when he sees what he's been given. He looks up at Derek.]
You're spoiling me. I don't know what half of this stuff is.
[Is that a lie? Is that the truth? Tate's pulling things out of the bag with a sense of wonder that could lean either way. He clicks on a vibrator and startles just a bit when it buzzes violently in his hand, before turning it off and laying it next to him. He looks at a set of shiny black plugs and vinyl cuffs, shoots a dry look up at Derek when he sees a cock ring and then holds up the next item with vague amusement. He then takes that o-ring gag and tries it on, lips around the metal ring as it takes him a few attempts to figure out how it's supposed to sit before he's buckling it behind his head loosely. When he speaks, it's with a lisp:]
Am I thexy?
no subject
It's that dry look at the cock ring that snaps Derek out of his mood, making him laugh and feel slightly less pensive. He doesn't smile too much, just an uptick in the corner of his mouth, but he feels less tense. He stands over Tate a little more closely and watches him pull out the gag, which Derek... didn't really expect him to use. Same reason he bought a squeaky dog toy gag for Stiles that ultimately went unused - he just grabbed what he could, half trying to be funny, half trying to be... something. Exploratory. Helpful.
Tate clips it on, slurs his words, and Derek just stares at him, deadpan. ]
You know that doesn't unlock for, like, two hours or something once it's on, right?
[ He's lying, obviously. ]
no subject
Guess this is my life now.
[He shoots a gaze up at Derek like he's challenging him to have him keep the gag on, but gets distracted by a small device he pulls out. Like the vibrator before it, turning it on surprises him by making something buzz - but it's not the thing in his hand. What he thought was another shiny plug like the first, albeit a crystalline and glittered pink, vibrates by the control of the remote. He experiments with it before just - turning it back off.
Derek's just going to stand there, he thinks, and Tate still wants to put on a bit of a show for him - to get him riled up again, this time when he's close enough to put his hands on him. He's not hard at all and really, still kind of spent from earlier but he can make his libido return. Just takes a little effort and a wet swatch of lube from the new container in the bag over his thumb and then on the glittery plug. It looks small enough that he's... really hoping it's not going to impair what he's about to do. Prays his ass doesn't let him down.
Tate leans back against the futon, spreading his legs and reaches down to touch the toy to his hole. He's watching Derek more than he's paying attention to what he's doing, at least to start, and he has to add more lube before he can start edging in the tip. It's flared before the hilt and for a guy who's never fucked around with toys? He's immediately finding it more than he expected but keeping level faced. Even when trying to press it into him and feeling tension.]
Gonna just stare at me, or what?
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[ Derek doesn't mind this. Passively watching Tate go through his new supply of toys, which feels less and less like kind of a weird thing to dump on someone the more comfortable Tate seems to be with being dick-deep in a bizarrely perverted christmas. He finds the most expensive item Derek shelled out for, rose-pink and remote controlled, and Derek watches Tate explore it in his hands, half convinced he's treating all of this like a joke rather than as... whatever it was Derek was hoping this would be. Something for them to explore together, maybe.
But then Tate's leaning back, getting himself ready, and Derek folds his arms across his chest as he watches him go. He shifts his weight to his other foot and looks like he's just-- watching a fucking business presentation, or something, idly interested without committing to wanting this out loud. Tate spreads his legs, gets himself slick, and Derek swallows, trying not to be so obvious in how much he's staring. Despite wanting this as badly as he does, there's every possibility he'd stay quiet and stoic and unattached if it wasn't for Tate snapping and telling him to get involved.
He steps forward, watching Tate work the tip of the toy into him, and - he bends down, kneeling beside the chair. He takes over, batting Tate's hand away and grabbing the plug himself, and - and Tate's still loose enough that he doesn't need to be as roughly worked open as he usually is. Derek leans in, kissing the side of Tate's thigh, and he gently, gently starts to push further in, breaching Tate an inch at a time, spreading him more and more apart, slowly and methodically. ]
Relax. Let me do this.
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Fffuck.
[It's not painful but it's edging on it, feeling his hole clench and pulse around the toy, trying to fight through the urge to stay tense and loosening himself up. He feels it sink into him bit by bit, moaning gently as he bats open his eyes and looks down at Derek - his head feels heavy and full of rocks, rolling forward so his chin rests against his chest. His fingers reach out to comb through Derek's hair, both hands raking through it.
The toy's sinking in and he knows it's just a matter of pushing over that last little bit of discomfort to really seat it in him, so he grits his teeth and nods his head - encouraging Derek to push it in the rest of the way. His breath is shallow and his face heated, knees starting to bow in to tuck against Derek's body reactively.]
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Tate scratches his fingers through his hair and Derek's surprised by just how fucking badly that affects him. His dick flexes in his clothes, laying straight against his thigh, and he lets out a hard, shuddering breath, tilting his neck to kiss Tate's thigh again, moving upwards. He twists the plug, coating Tate with a little more lube, and by the time he's encouraging him to fill him entirely, Derek's breath is ghosting over the base of Tate's cock, close enough to take him in his mouth if he wanted to.
He doesn't. Not yet. One staggered push and Tate stretches as much as he needs to to fit the flared bottom of the toy in his hole, swallowing it to the base. Derek's dry-mouthed and completely taken by the moment, leaning back and wiping the remnants of his lube off on Tate's dick, giving him one long, slick pump with his hand. After that -
He grabs the remote. Derek strokes Tate in long, feather-light pulls, dragging his thumb over the control with his free hand. If he were feeling more devious, he'd just-- turn this on to full, see if Tate could handle it. Instead, he's still feeling... affectionate, if anything, and he wants to ease Tate into this. Who knows how long that might last, once he starts thinking with his dick. ]
Have you ever...
[ Derek wets his lips. He looks up at Tate, holding the remote between his thumb and forefinger, shaking it a little. ]
Have you ever... used anything like this before?
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Tate feels a small beat of relief, but then a sudden discomfort as his hole clenches around the toy and feels the bulk of its girth inside him. His leg gives a little kick and he lays back against the chair, shifting his hips and finding that just makes it... a little worse. Peter wasn't wrong about it feeling... full. And good. But the pressure's hard to get used to and Tate just wants to lay down, but settles for arching his back a bit and blinking at Derek. His eyes fall low lidded, nearly closed, while he adjusts.]
No.
[If it's not obvious from the expression on his face, he makes it clear with a soft whisper and a shake of his head. His teeth click together lightly and he blinks open his eyes, focusing on the remote in Derek's hand. He's barely had more than fingers in him withe exception of two dicks, and very scarcely at that. He's still learning what he likes, what he can take and... what's still able to surprise him.]
It feels okay, though. Weird. But okay.