[These were the epitome of boardwalk entertainment in the 90s, also a staple piece in the various arcades and movie theatres of the time. It was, as he mutters under his breath, a lot cheaper back then 'for four fucking photos' but he's sliding his own money into the machine rather than ask Derek for it. Naturally, like how it determined their designation - the screen lights up with 'DOMINANT APPROVAL - GRANTED?' and a yes or no button for Derek to touch.
Tate tries not to get riled by that, but sits back and shifts his weight into the corner of the booth to give Derek a little more space. The last time he was in one of these was - a long ass time ago. Ninety two, maybe? Maybe before that. He's a little curious about the filters and frames, waiting for the machine to show them a blinding red light to ready up.]
[ To Derek's credit, or maybe his detriment, he's gotten so used to being asked to second guess Stiles' decisions by this point that he doesn't think twice about indicating approval when prompted. There's still a tickle of guilt in his chest and an anxious uptick in his BPM, but he doesn't give Tate any apologetic looks or quiet mumbles. He just - pushes on.
The rise of cellphones and selfies sort of killed these back in Beacon Hills - he's seen them around, but the only people who use them are 16 year olds on shitty dates. Scott and Allison used one, once - but this is Derek's first time. Paige wasn't into these kinds of things, and Kate didn't really do dates at all.
Derek doesn't say cheese. He blinks, actually, the first time the photo is taken, closing his eyes tight like the red light prompting him to pose was a little too bright. The second photo doesn't fair much better - Derek does this lopsided, half-hearted peace sign and looks pretty anxious as he stares at the camera and dulls his eyes to prevent that fucking lens flare. The third photo is oncoming, and Derek shoots Tate a nervous side eye. ]
We're gonna have to do another set. This was a practice run.
[Tate's had mild experience with shitty teenage dates, so he's far more comfortable with the glaring red light and the indication to pose. He only offers up a smile - and then in the second photo, a surprised look mid-snort at Derek's peace sign. The countdown is going off for the third photo and Tate's still in a stupidly elated mood, made better by the idiotic good nature of Derek next to him. Fucking idiot.
He waits until the countdown's nearly done and with a forward-facing smile full of shit eating satisfaction, slams his hand down to grab Derek by the dick right as the photo is taken. The squeeze he makes through the denim is pretty generous, too, which he considers appropriate in ratio to dick to be grabbed.]
[ A part of Derek saw something like this coming, but a different, bigger and suddenly semi-erect part of him sure as fuck didn't. Tate grabs him like a viper striking at a hikers ankle, and Derek lets out this startled yelp of a laugh and jumps a little in his seat. His eyes don't change, not in person, but his reflection on screen shows something different - two small, star-like bursts of light where his eyes should be, glowing over slightly pink cheeks and a smile that's a very rare kind of unguarded genuine for him.
The last photo rolls around and Derek is still reeling too much to notice until the countdown is at 2. Leaning closer, Derek lightly jabs Tate in the arm a second before he's leaning over and snatching a kiss, his hand going straight to Tate's balls to give him a warningly playful squeeze. Just enough to feel barely shy of uncomfortable.
The camera snaps and all four photos are on screen for them to print out - Derek doesn't notice at first, too busy biting at Tate's lower lip and hesitantly dragging his thumb indecisively over his belt - but the little robot voice on screen keeps asking if they want to reshoot, and Derek gets annoyed enough to pull away.
His eyes are closed in that last photo, so the third one is the only victim of Reflexive Werewolf Lensflare, but Derek's still mildly annoyed enough to consider trashing the entire set. He doesn't - he just looks at Tate, marginally more relaxed, letting him decide what to do. This is for Tate, after all. ]
[One reaction sparks another and Tate's lips part quicker than a prostitutes legs - dissolving into the kiss that's pinned on him before biting into Derek's lip with a half-mewled response to the squeeze of his own balls in retaliation. He liked that a little too much and has his hand up on the side of Derek's throat in an instant, fingers skimming over warm skin and stubble before Derek's pulling away.
Tate has to blink a few times to come back into the moment - looking at the screen before tilting his gaze back at Derek. Derek whose hand he wants back on him and more intimate in nature, preferably before their chow mein is ready. Hell, knowing this place their food's probably already sitting on a heater because the owners saw them head into this booth. He swallows hard, licking at his lip before gesturing at the screen.]
Yeah. But - I want those ones too. Print them.
[While and if Derek does as instructed, Tate's reaching back down to fondle his cock through his pants - feeling the tenting shape all the way up to the zipper and button which he then casually goes about undoing. All while looking up to meet Derek's gaze should he glance back or try to stop him, staring with an eerie calmness.]
[ Derek's been gradually becoming bolder and bolder with Tate, when it comes to sex. What started out as an almost reluctant offer to keep Tate's quota out of the red has turned into a sort of... pack bonding experience, for Derek, who finds the connection he makes with his beta to be similar to the connection he'll make with him when they finally share the bite. They're not tentatively touching each other in the framework skeleton of the tree house - after being told time and time again that Tate likes every incremental introduction to some of the things Derek can do, it's hard not to feel wanted and supported even as a werewolf, and Derek's getting pretty addicted to that feeling.
So when Tate starts slowly undressing his zipper and hinting that they're going to go pretty far in this thing, Derek lights up, eager over anything else. He rolls his hips up into Tate's hand, his dick straining with a painful tightness against his clothes, biting his bottom lip to keep quiet. He slaps blindly with one hand towards the print button, the photo booth dutifully doing as it's told, and he barely manages to keep it together long enough to order another few rounds of photos. ]
Yeah? Tell me.
[ He's speaking a little too loud while trying to sound hushed, his smile as much in his voice as it is on his face. ]
[Tate says - voice an elevated whisper, his heart giving away how thrilling it feels to see Derek's instantaneous reaction. He's bucking up into his hand and he likes that, working Derek's jeans open and slipping his fingers under the band of his boxers. It's a tight fit, both in Derek's pants and in the booth itself - he frees his cock, gripping it in a few solid pumps.
He moves as if to start slipping between Derek's knees, but there - just isn't enough room. He hooks one of his legs over Derek's and ends up elbowing the wall, hunching toward his chest and bracing against it with a hand holding on to his shoulder. The bottles clink between Derek's legs, showing there's no real room down there - and Tate curses under his breath, looking down. Plan failing before his very eyes.]
[ Fuck, Derek loves hearing Tate's heart beat. He's grinning, wolfish and full of excitement - when he left with their new contract tucked away safely in his back pocket, Derek had been in a pretty dour mood, but now? He looks like his birthday and Christmas came at the same day. ... You know - more than it usually does.
This is the first time they've touched since signing a contract together. Derek actually laughs when Tate pulls open his pants and tries to sink to his knees, all the positive energy and warmth bubbling through him and if he's disappointed by the shambling carcass of a plan they've ended up with, he's not showing it. ]
Doesn't matter. I don't wanna be blown.
[ He sets his hands directly on Tate's ass, pulling him closer and guiding him to stay close to his lap. Derek starts tugging Tate's jeans off, getting his waistband to his thighs as the camera shutters behind them, quickly doing the same to his underwear. ]
I wanna fuck you. Just like this. Til the whole fucking building shakes.
[Tate feels a warm, sensuous shudder roll down his back when Derek manhandles him - he settles forward, gripping on to Derek's shoulders to help facilitate the way he yanks his jeans down. He has to keep his head bowed so he doesn't risk smacking it on the ceiling of the booth, blond hair hanging in his eyes as he rests his forehead against Derek's. For a second he'd been unsure what to think when Derek said 'I don't want to be blown' but this quickly makes up for it.
With denim around his knees keeping them from splitting apart too far, Tate's pinched into straddling Derek's lap - it almost feels like locking his legs in place, which churns his gut pleasantly and ensures his dick is now lifting against his boxers before they're tugged the rest of the way down. He's fucked in alleyways and bathrooms before - gone down on someone in the midst of a party - but this has that same, icy thrill that's not at all diminished. It's taboo, it's - risky and dangerous and hot.
He doesn't know when he started breathing so shallow, nor does he know precisely when heat flooded to his face and warmed his skin this much. He brushes his cheek against Derek's, feeling the itch of his stubble like a cat would - scratching up against it in a nuzzling embrace, arms slipping around Derek's neck.]
[ Derek has the tips of two fingers held between his lips already, coating them with saliva even before Tate tells him to fuck him. He's smirking as they come away from his tongue wet and shiny, and he slips his hand between Tate's legs, circling his hole with spit-lubed fingers and pulling him closer by the waist with his other arm. ]
That's the plan. You're mine, now. Gotta consummate, right? Make this official.
[ Derek squeezes Tate's ass with his free hand as he presses one finger into him, meeting slight resistance without real lube, but not enough for this to hurt. He slaps his hand against Tate's cheek right as the camera clicks again, flesh hitting flesh loud enough for people to easily overhear through the thin curtain protecting their privacy. Derek can hear footsteps, voices, and not because he's a wolf. People are close. ]
[Derek with fingers in his mouth is - also hot, alluring in a way that makes Tate a little sick with lust. More so when Derek takes those slickened fingers and drops them out of Tate's field of view, giving him only a few seconds to prepare for the nudge right between his legs that has them tense. His stomach flexes and his shoulders tighten up, grip on Derek briefly slipping before he relaxes after that first touch. Only to tense again not when Derek's finger enters him - no, he manages to be coolly calm for that - it's the slap to his ass that gets him unaware.
He curses and half laughs in response, feeling like he doesn't know how to respond to the stimuli it's receiving at first. Derek's finger is familiar and yet still uncomfortable, with Tate feeling tight and calmly bowing his head a little further while trying to relax. He rests his cheek against Derek's neck and breaths out in short little pants.]
I'm more worried about - nhh, our food getting cold.
[Tate places his teeth to Derek's neck and bites, light and playful. Cobain's habits are wearing off on him because his nails scratch in soon after that, skimming down the back of Derek's shirt beneath his jacket. Tate's starting to feel hot and bothered, his own jacket shrugged down off his shoulders. He can't get it all the way off and so struggles with the motion.]
[ It'd be easy enough to help Tate out of his jacket, but there's something kind of hot about watching him try to do it himself. Derek laughs, not unkindly, as Tate tries to slip his jacket further down over one elbow, though his voice turns into something close to a moan when Tate's teeth press against his neck just enough for him to really feel it. Derek closes his eyes, pushing his hips up in one slow, gradual rise, and sighs through his nose, as happy as he is aroused.
He fucks his fingers into Tate a little faster now, pressing deeper, down to the first knuckle. He swoops forward for a kiss when he has the opportunity, his hand balancing Tate by the small of his back as he brings him a little closer to his body. He's impatient, curling his fingers against Tate's prostate, softly stroking the explosion of nerves and wondering, briefly, if he could make him come just from this.
But - he'll find that out another day. It's barely a minute before Derek's drawing his fingers from Tate and lining the head of his cock up to his entrance, dragging his head against it and all but covering him with pre. He breaks the kiss, waning his shoulder blades back into the cramped, unforgiving discomfort of the photo booth, looking up at Tate with a dazed, horny little smile. ]
Shit. You'd think they'd at least put some pillows down or something.
[Tate's not going to protest any part of this, breathing hot and short in between fits of trying to get his jacket off that start to piss him off when leather sticks to his skin. It's an audible relief when he gets off one sleeve, letting gravity pry off the other by shaking his arm downward behind him. His t-shirt is pulled up a bit at the hem, black and threadbare over his pale skin.
He looks at Derek while lolling his head back, dark eyes glinting with lust as his pale lashes flutter between motions. Derek's fingers feel great - prying him open but not taking their time, curling into him in a way that sparks a few jolting muscles and a flexing tension in his belly. He makes a few lewd grunts, hips gyrating for more, but Derek's fingers leave him and his hole flexes in response.
Derek's cock smears pre over him and the slick mess he can feel is - dirty, out in public like this. With only a curtain to disguise them, Tate can't help but feel both exhilarated and terrified that they could be discovered like this. Intimate and close in a way they always reserved for more private places. Private, familiar places.]
Just fuck me already.
[Tate's grinning, a whole slew of things on his mind that he'd say if he had the breath to say it. Comments about how they probably want to discourage wild sex and orgies in their filthy little photo booths. In a place that serves food - it can't really keep it to code, can it? But he surrenders to his wants instead, clawing at the back of Derek's neck for a grip as he pushes his hips down to try and work Derek into him by his own merit. He feels himself spread, but pulls back before dropping his weight down a second time more testingly, head tipping farther back when he really feels himself start to be pressed open and keeps going.]
[ The jacket hits the ground eventually, landing on Derek's ankle until he kicks it off, leaving one sleeve poking out from beneath the curtain for any passerby to see. Derek laughs through his nose, a soft brush of air that tickles the side of Tate's throat, and Derek marks the spot with a soft, toothless hickey, humming soft vibrations as he stains Tate's skin pink. This happened so fucking fast - one minute they were talking about food, the next, this. There's a heat in owning Tate that wasn't there without the piece of paper between them. Maybe things are always gonna be like this, now - hard, desperate fucks that come from Derek thinking with his dick instead of his head.
Tate gives him an order and Derek laughs, though it's cut off with a sharp hiss as Tate takes things into his own hands and takes the head of Derek's cock far too fucking quickly. Derek's eyelids flutter shut as he grinds his hips upwards, hard muscles tense beneath the tight grip of his shirt. He leans his head back against the wall of the booth as best as he can, smiling up at Tate and showing off his pretty, white teeth. ]
Greedy.
[ He grips Tate's ass with both hands, spreading him apart like a toy designed to be fucked, using just the upward thrusts of his hips to steadily sink another inch into Tate's body. He's breathing hard without any regard to being heard, and after pulling Tate further and further down, pressing him flush to his body after gradually, roughly, painfully fucking into him as deep as he can at this angle, Derek sinks one hand into the back of Tate's shirt, holding on for dear life. ]
Gonna do this hard and fast. You're gonna come for me, and you're not gonna hold back. I want you... [ His other hand drifts to Tate's cock, wrapping his palm over the head and smearing his palm with precum. ] ... to shoot as soon as you're ready.
[It's indeed a little too fast and a little too much because Tate feels Derek fuck into him with a sharp stab of pain, toes curling in his sneakers as he's got nothing to do but let it happen. He sinks on Derek's cock, feeling each inch of it stretch him open starting with the bulbous head and settling around the girth near the base of his cock with a flexing tense of his muscles. It burns, it hurts and yet it feels so good to be full. He presses every inch inside Tate, making him whine from the pressure and give a little kick of his leg when they shift and he gets a surge of pleasurable discomfort.
Has he been saying fuck under his breath for the last five seconds? Yes, yes he has.
The camera's still going off in staggered intervals, punches of light here and there that Tate fully ignores. He's clutching to Derek with an arm slung over his shoulder, the other bracing against his chest with his fingers splayed. He looks down, face still nuzzling against Derek's, but his eyes dropping to watch his hand curl around his cock. Tate tries to fuck toward it but he's still so earnestly full of cock that the motion jars him and he moans loud and unobscured.]
[ It would be so fucking easy to just forget where they are, but Derek doesn't let himself zone out and focus on Tate, regardless of how beautiful and captivating he might look from this angle; all red-faced and well-fucked when they've barely even started. He likes being hyperaware of the footsteps outside, the camera clicks from the booth, the intermittent printing of a new set of stickers before the next set cycles and starts automatically. This isn't like him - Derek doesn't get like this without this city pumping him full of aphrodisiacs and breaking down his boundaries - but that's all Tate's ever done to him, right? Pushed and pushed until Derek became more of the Derek he wanted.
Derek snaps his hips up, the hard slap of his body against Tate's ass making his vision go white. Tate's so fucking tight, and Derek, like always, can't get enough of him. He leaves bites on his neck and kisses down his jawline, he leans his weight back so Tate can use him as support as much as he wants, and he finds a rhythm in this. He fucks into Tate with sharp, aggressive cracks, getting easier and less forced the more new rivers of precum run back down his shaft and slick Tate up from the inside, and he strokes Tate's cock with hyper-focused precision, playing with every sensitive nerve between strokes to push him as close to the edge as quickly as he can. ]
Tell me how you feel. I wanna hear you say it.
[ The grip he has in Tate's shirt gets-- tighter, and Derek doesn't realize he's cutting shreds in the fabric until he connects the sound of tearing cotton to the feeling of something stuck under his quickly unsheathed claws. Derek's too far gone to apologize, and just-- grabs a part of Tate's shirt that isn't damaged, holding on tighter. ]
[Derek thrusts upward and it moves Tate up into the air like he's riding a wave, one that crashes their bodies back down afterward with a roll of pleasure straight through his core. Tate's finger slide and grip at Derek's neck and arms, his head bowing forward as he bites back louder noises as he feels Derek's cock bury into him. At first it hurts, unaided by the precum that gushes out soon after, which Tate feels trickling down between his cheeks in time - slickening Derek's cock and making it move in bolder, longer thrusts.
Up, down and then a middle ground where Tate feels Derek's cock shift inside him, setting up for the next rise and fall. He's breathless, feeling the slap of Derek's balls hitting his skin and not even noticing the shredding of the back of his shirt. He just wants more, more of the raw edged feeling of pleasure he gets every time Derek fills him and more of the tight seal of his hand around his cock, milking precum from Tate with ease.]
I... I-
[Tate's still breathless, looking pained. Derek tells him to speak and he knows he has to, knows it's an order he wants to obey but instead - for a second - he writhes. He's already so close to coming it's embarrassing, a shade of red bled over his face as his cock throbs in Derek's palm.]
[ Tate's struggling with this, and Derek - Derek fucking loves it. He loves seeing him this overwhelmed, this ecstatic, loves knowing that he's the reason why. There's a renewed sense of energy and excitement in him when Tate tells him he feels good, with Derek picking up enough speed to make the whole booth shake, his foot arched and hanging out from beneath. He's sinking down in his seat a little, lower half almost entirely arched off of the tiny seat they're sharing, tearing another few shreds out of Tate's shirt in quick, chaotic sweeps.
He's getting bigger, filling Tate up more, stretching him out until it's the swollen flare of his knot hammering against Tate's hole, too big and too dry to stretch him open and lock inside. He pistons his hips up into Tate and strokes him faster, eyebrows pinched as he looks up at him with a quiet, frantic desperation, his own climax steadily starting to build in him higher and higher and higher. ]
What do you think would happen if I knotted you here? Kept you tied to me, stuck on my lap while I-- while I filled you with cum, bred you like an animal. How long do you think it would take for someone to check in on us and see how much of a slut you really are?
[ Faster, faster. He's not gonna be able to hold back. Derek's getting less precise, more frantic. ]
[Derek threatens Tate with his knot - something he can feel now, ramming up under him with each powerful thrust. He can tell Derek's cock has swollen too, painfully tight again as they find an absurdly lewd rhythm to work with. Derek could fuck him here so brutally that they could get stuck together, and it's that sickening allure that makes Tate really feel right on the edge. The idea of being - used so carelessly, pushed past his limits and made just to pleasure someone he cares about?
He's groaning again. A low and guttural moan just slips past his parted pink and shiny lips. Tate's knees hurt but he doesn't dare move them, head lolled back again as his chest heaves several panting breaths. He can feel Derek get him to the edge so vibrantly, there are tears collecting in his lashes and they spill forth when he drops his head forward, tears traveling down his cheeks to drop off against Derek's collarbone. It hurts. It feels good. It's-]
D-Der...
[Yeah, that's all he got - the rest of his name garbling as Tate violently convulses forward, shooting hard against Derek's palm and coating his fingers in sticky white cum - more than usual, since it keeps coming in a few slow dribbles as Tate's tightened clench against Derek's cock milks it out of him.]
Derek lasts another few ragged, desperate pumps before he's burying his nose in Tate's shoulder and crashing into his own orgasm, eyes shut tight and breath stuck in his chest. Despite all the dirty talk and the rough, callous quickie this turned into, the moment they share when they come together is one of the most intimate they've ever had; Derek's coaxing Tate through his climax while he buries himself in his own, whispering to Tate that he's amazing, that he loves him, needs him, all tiny little fractured words that he's barely aware he's saying, catching every drop of Tate's load in his hand and encouraging him through the feeling. He's shooting so hard into Tate that it's giving him fucking vertigo, quiet bubbles of laughter getting out of him between Tate, Tates and fuck, i need you, i need you.
And then it's done, and Derek isn't in the quiet, blissful place where his body is warm and light and relaxed. He's in a busy restaurant, tucked away in a cramped photo booth with cum running down his balls and pooled in his hand, with scraps of Tate's shirt littering his thighs. Derek slowly drifts back to consciousness, feeling awfully warm, but that doesn't stop him from leaning up and kissing Tate affectionately on the bottom of his chin. Fuck, they gotta move. ]
[Tate's still moving in little rocks of his hips, barely there motions that are more just instinct than anything - just to feel the burn of Derek stretching him open, to feel the warmth of his cum trickling down him. He feels his own drop off of Derek's hand against his thigh, his cock twitching in Derek's palm as all of Tate's bones feel like they've vacated his body. He slumps forward against Derek, overheated and still shuddering from being pushed so far.
Shit. His heart is hammering against his rib cage like it wants to be free from him, and he presses his face in tight against Derek's neck. He can feel a cool breeze up his back, only then realizing something feels off about his shirt. He reaches back weakly with one arm and - skims over his lower back, feeling skin and the shredded hanging remnants of fabric. He doesn't understand immediately, just drops his hand back down to Derek's side and groans again, low and soft. He can't feel his legs. His ass hurts. Jesus, is that still Derek's knot-]
You fucked up my shirt.
[The words are slurred, Tate's lips against Derek's throat. He aches and it only occurs to him now he's going to have to limp home, with cum down his thighs. He tries to use Derek's shoulders to brace and lift up but fails, legs quivering and his body sinking back down flush with Derek. Predictably, he makes a near-whimper.]
[ It takes a bit for Derek to register what Tate's telling him. He's hyperaware of just how quickly they need to leave, but Tate's weight on him is comforting and he doesn't want this to stop. It takes a few seconds before he's gently trying to disentangle himself from Tate's body, still precariously balancing a handful of cum he has no fucking idea what to do with. He could swallow it? He's getting less and less hard as time goes on, so that's starting to feel less sexy and more just kinda nasty. ]
Sorry.
[ There's cum on his jeans from pulling out of Tate and he's not... gonna be able to do anything about that, whoops, but he gets Tate to pull off his shirt through the power of gentle manhandling, and he cleans themselves up with the scraps of that, laughing kind of awkwardly as he dries off. Jesus. There's barely enough room for him to stand up in this place, but he does, just to get Tate's jacket from the floor and to let Tate sit on the chair a while and find his sea legs. He offers Tate the jacket, but Tate looks so half-dead that Derek isn't sure he'll be able to put it on.
There's one photo left to be taken, and when they're done getting at least a little more presentable, Derek elbows Tate and points to the screen, silently telling him to say cheese. He bends down to fit in frame and flashes another one of those awkward, clumsy peace signs, looking tired and drained as the last of what he paid gets spent. ]
[Tate hisses just gently when Derek slips free of him and he uses Derek's help in getting off his lap, shifting over onto the bench seat while Derek stands and begins to pull up his pants. His legs are pins and needles, feeling like jelly when he flexes his toes. Derek's cleaned them up with his shirt, leaving Tate pale and bare chested as he tries to navigate his returned jacket with post-fuck fog. The sleeves inside out so it's like a puzzle to him, punching it back through.
The camera blinks red for ready and Tate's ready to ignore it, but Derek elbows him and he looks up responsively. Derek flashes a peace sign but when the photo's taken, it shows Tate less enthused (still looking disheveled to say the least,) with his eyes turned to Derek as if amused by him but also quietly, quietly judging. Makes him wonder what else the camera caught, though, and Tate wants to get out of the booth to find out.]
Give me your jacket... mine's - there's cum on it.
[Might as well be honest.]
There's cum on everything. Everything but your jacket.
[ God. He shrugs out of his jacket, throwing it at Tate's face rather than helping him into it, because he's looping around from the quiet, calm, affectionate buzz of his climax and back into the general, overall grumpiness that comes from being stuck in a cramped box for longer than he needs to be. He stands hunched over between Tate and the screen, gathering up Tate's foregone clothes and holding them against his stomach, and before too long, he figures he's gonna have to face the outside world.
Wait, shit, his dick's still out, still hard despite his complete disinterest in wanting to keep this going. He gives an awkward little leg-shuffle as he tucks his cock back into the waistband of his underwear and pulls his henley down a few inches, pinching the bridge of his nose like a disappointed father watching his daughter waddle away to Stitches by Shawn Mendes. This was dumb. He feels dumb. Happy, but. Dumb. ]
Gonna check if the coast is clear.
[ He ducks out of the curtain, and - well, there are obviously some glances, but it seems like the place has thinned out quite a bit, and other than a few congratulatory grins of recognition from other Doms that make his skin crawl, everything seems... fine. There's a little side-table with their order all wrapped up and waiting for them right beside the photo booth, which is kind of embarrassing, given that someone would've just come over and left it here for them, but. What's done is done. Derek grabs his food, knocking on the side of the booth to give Tate the all clear to come out. ]
[Tate just slips on Derek's jacket, smelling the leather and finding familiarity in it. His own is - good, but not the same. This feels different, like a piece of Derek himself, and Tate likes when he can get away with taking it. He'd keep it if he could. Derek takes what things Tate doesn't put back on, and leaves him in the booth to regroup. He feels - slick and sore, more so once he's up on his feet and waiting for Derek to tell him it's clear.
Clear of what? There's always going to be a walk of shame after something like this. He pushes the curtain aside and steps out, lips firmly together and his heart a little fast. He's hurting, obvious from his stance, and otherwise uncomfortable. Bathed in afterglow but miserable all the same - he's looking on the outside of the booth for the printed pictures. And slowly his eyes track upward to an LCD screen that shows a live feed of the booth's interior.
It doesn't click at first, but when it does - Tate sucks in a breath but says nothing. He just grabs the photos and turns around, putting them in his pocket without looking at them. He hates the way a few people are looking at them, Doms leering at Tate after he emerges well fucked and clearly claimed by the Dominant he came here with. He feels stupid, all of a sudden, for thinking that was a sane thing to do.]
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no subject
[These were the epitome of boardwalk entertainment in the 90s, also a staple piece in the various arcades and movie theatres of the time. It was, as he mutters under his breath, a lot cheaper back then 'for four fucking photos' but he's sliding his own money into the machine rather than ask Derek for it. Naturally, like how it determined their designation - the screen lights up with 'DOMINANT APPROVAL - GRANTED?' and a yes or no button for Derek to touch.
Tate tries not to get riled by that, but sits back and shifts his weight into the corner of the booth to give Derek a little more space. The last time he was in one of these was - a long ass time ago. Ninety two, maybe? Maybe before that. He's a little curious about the filters and frames, waiting for the machine to show them a blinding red light to ready up.]
Say cheese?
no subject
The rise of cellphones and selfies sort of killed these back in Beacon Hills - he's seen them around, but the only people who use them are 16 year olds on shitty dates. Scott and Allison used one, once - but this is Derek's first time. Paige wasn't into these kinds of things, and Kate didn't really do dates at all.
Derek doesn't say cheese. He blinks, actually, the first time the photo is taken, closing his eyes tight like the red light prompting him to pose was a little too bright. The second photo doesn't fair much better - Derek does this lopsided, half-hearted peace sign and looks pretty anxious as he stares at the camera and dulls his eyes to prevent that fucking lens flare. The third photo is oncoming, and Derek shoots Tate a nervous side eye. ]
We're gonna have to do another set. This was a practice run.
no subject
[Tate's had mild experience with shitty teenage dates, so he's far more comfortable with the glaring red light and the indication to pose. He only offers up a smile - and then in the second photo, a surprised look mid-snort at Derek's peace sign. The countdown is going off for the third photo and Tate's still in a stupidly elated mood, made better by the idiotic good nature of Derek next to him. Fucking idiot.
He waits until the countdown's nearly done and with a forward-facing smile full of shit eating satisfaction, slams his hand down to grab Derek by the dick right as the photo is taken. The squeeze he makes through the denim is pretty generous, too, which he considers appropriate in ratio to dick to be grabbed.]
no subject
The last photo rolls around and Derek is still reeling too much to notice until the countdown is at 2. Leaning closer, Derek lightly jabs Tate in the arm a second before he's leaning over and snatching a kiss, his hand going straight to Tate's balls to give him a warningly playful squeeze. Just enough to feel barely shy of uncomfortable.
The camera snaps and all four photos are on screen for them to print out - Derek doesn't notice at first, too busy biting at Tate's lower lip and hesitantly dragging his thumb indecisively over his belt - but the little robot voice on screen keeps asking if they want to reshoot, and Derek gets annoyed enough to pull away.
His eyes are closed in that last photo, so the third one is the only victim of Reflexive Werewolf Lensflare, but Derek's still mildly annoyed enough to consider trashing the entire set. He doesn't - he just looks at Tate, marginally more relaxed, letting him decide what to do. This is for Tate, after all. ]
Again?
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Tate has to blink a few times to come back into the moment - looking at the screen before tilting his gaze back at Derek. Derek whose hand he wants back on him and more intimate in nature, preferably before their chow mein is ready. Hell, knowing this place their food's probably already sitting on a heater because the owners saw them head into this booth. He swallows hard, licking at his lip before gesturing at the screen.]
Yeah. But - I want those ones too. Print them.
[While and if Derek does as instructed, Tate's reaching back down to fondle his cock through his pants - feeling the tenting shape all the way up to the zipper and button which he then casually goes about undoing. All while looking up to meet Derek's gaze should he glance back or try to stop him, staring with an eerie calmness.]
I've got an idea.
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So when Tate starts slowly undressing his zipper and hinting that they're going to go pretty far in this thing, Derek lights up, eager over anything else. He rolls his hips up into Tate's hand, his dick straining with a painful tightness against his clothes, biting his bottom lip to keep quiet. He slaps blindly with one hand towards the print button, the photo booth dutifully doing as it's told, and he barely manages to keep it together long enough to order another few rounds of photos. ]
Yeah? Tell me.
[ He's speaking a little too loud while trying to sound hushed, his smile as much in his voice as it is on his face. ]
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[Tate says - voice an elevated whisper, his heart giving away how thrilling it feels to see Derek's instantaneous reaction. He's bucking up into his hand and he likes that, working Derek's jeans open and slipping his fingers under the band of his boxers. It's a tight fit, both in Derek's pants and in the booth itself - he frees his cock, gripping it in a few solid pumps.
He moves as if to start slipping between Derek's knees, but there - just isn't enough room. He hooks one of his legs over Derek's and ends up elbowing the wall, hunching toward his chest and bracing against it with a hand holding on to his shoulder. The bottles clink between Derek's legs, showing there's no real room down there - and Tate curses under his breath, looking down. Plan failing before his very eyes.]
Guess I can't blow you.
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This is the first time they've touched since signing a contract together. Derek actually laughs when Tate pulls open his pants and tries to sink to his knees, all the positive energy and warmth bubbling through him and if he's disappointed by the shambling carcass of a plan they've ended up with, he's not showing it. ]
Doesn't matter. I don't wanna be blown.
[ He sets his hands directly on Tate's ass, pulling him closer and guiding him to stay close to his lap. Derek starts tugging Tate's jeans off, getting his waistband to his thighs as the camera shutters behind them, quickly doing the same to his underwear. ]
I wanna fuck you. Just like this. Til the whole fucking building shakes.
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[Tate feels a warm, sensuous shudder roll down his back when Derek manhandles him - he settles forward, gripping on to Derek's shoulders to help facilitate the way he yanks his jeans down. He has to keep his head bowed so he doesn't risk smacking it on the ceiling of the booth, blond hair hanging in his eyes as he rests his forehead against Derek's. For a second he'd been unsure what to think when Derek said 'I don't want to be blown' but this quickly makes up for it.
With denim around his knees keeping them from splitting apart too far, Tate's pinched into straddling Derek's lap - it almost feels like locking his legs in place, which churns his gut pleasantly and ensures his dick is now lifting against his boxers before they're tugged the rest of the way down. He's fucked in alleyways and bathrooms before - gone down on someone in the midst of a party - but this has that same, icy thrill that's not at all diminished. It's taboo, it's - risky and dangerous and hot.
He doesn't know when he started breathing so shallow, nor does he know precisely when heat flooded to his face and warmed his skin this much. He brushes his cheek against Derek's, feeling the itch of his stubble like a cat would - scratching up against it in a nuzzling embrace, arms slipping around Derek's neck.]
Then fuck me.
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That's the plan. You're mine, now. Gotta consummate, right? Make this official.
[ Derek squeezes Tate's ass with his free hand as he presses one finger into him, meeting slight resistance without real lube, but not enough for this to hurt. He slaps his hand against Tate's cheek right as the camera clicks again, flesh hitting flesh loud enough for people to easily overhear through the thin curtain protecting their privacy. Derek can hear footsteps, voices, and not because he's a wolf. People are close. ]
You think we'll get caught?
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He curses and half laughs in response, feeling like he doesn't know how to respond to the stimuli it's receiving at first. Derek's finger is familiar and yet still uncomfortable, with Tate feeling tight and calmly bowing his head a little further while trying to relax. He rests his cheek against Derek's neck and breaths out in short little pants.]
I'm more worried about - nhh, our food getting cold.
[Tate places his teeth to Derek's neck and bites, light and playful. Cobain's habits are wearing off on him because his nails scratch in soon after that, skimming down the back of Derek's shirt beneath his jacket. Tate's starting to feel hot and bothered, his own jacket shrugged down off his shoulders. He can't get it all the way off and so struggles with the motion.]
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[ It'd be easy enough to help Tate out of his jacket, but there's something kind of hot about watching him try to do it himself. Derek laughs, not unkindly, as Tate tries to slip his jacket further down over one elbow, though his voice turns into something close to a moan when Tate's teeth press against his neck just enough for him to really feel it. Derek closes his eyes, pushing his hips up in one slow, gradual rise, and sighs through his nose, as happy as he is aroused.
He fucks his fingers into Tate a little faster now, pressing deeper, down to the first knuckle. He swoops forward for a kiss when he has the opportunity, his hand balancing Tate by the small of his back as he brings him a little closer to his body. He's impatient, curling his fingers against Tate's prostate, softly stroking the explosion of nerves and wondering, briefly, if he could make him come just from this.
But - he'll find that out another day. It's barely a minute before Derek's drawing his fingers from Tate and lining the head of his cock up to his entrance, dragging his head against it and all but covering him with pre. He breaks the kiss, waning his shoulder blades back into the cramped, unforgiving discomfort of the photo booth, looking up at Tate with a dazed, horny little smile. ]
Shit. You'd think they'd at least put some pillows down or something.
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He looks at Derek while lolling his head back, dark eyes glinting with lust as his pale lashes flutter between motions. Derek's fingers feel great - prying him open but not taking their time, curling into him in a way that sparks a few jolting muscles and a flexing tension in his belly. He makes a few lewd grunts, hips gyrating for more, but Derek's fingers leave him and his hole flexes in response.
Derek's cock smears pre over him and the slick mess he can feel is - dirty, out in public like this. With only a curtain to disguise them, Tate can't help but feel both exhilarated and terrified that they could be discovered like this. Intimate and close in a way they always reserved for more private places. Private, familiar places.]
Just fuck me already.
[Tate's grinning, a whole slew of things on his mind that he'd say if he had the breath to say it. Comments about how they probably want to discourage wild sex and orgies in their filthy little photo booths. In a place that serves food - it can't really keep it to code, can it? But he surrenders to his wants instead, clawing at the back of Derek's neck for a grip as he pushes his hips down to try and work Derek into him by his own merit. He feels himself spread, but pulls back before dropping his weight down a second time more testingly, head tipping farther back when he really feels himself start to be pressed open and keeps going.]
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Tate gives him an order and Derek laughs, though it's cut off with a sharp hiss as Tate takes things into his own hands and takes the head of Derek's cock far too fucking quickly. Derek's eyelids flutter shut as he grinds his hips upwards, hard muscles tense beneath the tight grip of his shirt. He leans his head back against the wall of the booth as best as he can, smiling up at Tate and showing off his pretty, white teeth. ]
Greedy.
[ He grips Tate's ass with both hands, spreading him apart like a toy designed to be fucked, using just the upward thrusts of his hips to steadily sink another inch into Tate's body. He's breathing hard without any regard to being heard, and after pulling Tate further and further down, pressing him flush to his body after gradually, roughly, painfully fucking into him as deep as he can at this angle, Derek sinks one hand into the back of Tate's shirt, holding on for dear life. ]
Gonna do this hard and fast. You're gonna come for me, and you're not gonna hold back. I want you... [ His other hand drifts to Tate's cock, wrapping his palm over the head and smearing his palm with precum. ] ... to shoot as soon as you're ready.
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Has he been saying fuck under his breath for the last five seconds? Yes, yes he has.
The camera's still going off in staggered intervals, punches of light here and there that Tate fully ignores. He's clutching to Derek with an arm slung over his shoulder, the other bracing against his chest with his fingers splayed. He looks down, face still nuzzling against Derek's, but his eyes dropping to watch his hand curl around his cock. Tate tries to fuck toward it but he's still so earnestly full of cock that the motion jars him and he moans loud and unobscured.]
Y-Yeah, yeah. Okay. Okay.
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Derek snaps his hips up, the hard slap of his body against Tate's ass making his vision go white. Tate's so fucking tight, and Derek, like always, can't get enough of him. He leaves bites on his neck and kisses down his jawline, he leans his weight back so Tate can use him as support as much as he wants, and he finds a rhythm in this. He fucks into Tate with sharp, aggressive cracks, getting easier and less forced the more new rivers of precum run back down his shaft and slick Tate up from the inside, and he strokes Tate's cock with hyper-focused precision, playing with every sensitive nerve between strokes to push him as close to the edge as quickly as he can. ]
Tell me how you feel. I wanna hear you say it.
[ The grip he has in Tate's shirt gets-- tighter, and Derek doesn't realize he's cutting shreds in the fabric until he connects the sound of tearing cotton to the feeling of something stuck under his quickly unsheathed claws. Derek's too far gone to apologize, and just-- grabs a part of Tate's shirt that isn't damaged, holding on tighter. ]
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Up, down and then a middle ground where Tate feels Derek's cock shift inside him, setting up for the next rise and fall. He's breathless, feeling the slap of Derek's balls hitting his skin and not even noticing the shredding of the back of his shirt. He just wants more, more of the raw edged feeling of pleasure he gets every time Derek fills him and more of the tight seal of his hand around his cock, milking precum from Tate with ease.]
I... I-
[Tate's still breathless, looking pained. Derek tells him to speak and he knows he has to, knows it's an order he wants to obey but instead - for a second - he writhes. He's already so close to coming it's embarrassing, a shade of red bled over his face as his cock throbs in Derek's palm.]
I feel g-good. And I'm... I'm...
[A short, ragged gasp.]
You're gonna make me come.
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He's getting bigger, filling Tate up more, stretching him out until it's the swollen flare of his knot hammering against Tate's hole, too big and too dry to stretch him open and lock inside. He pistons his hips up into Tate and strokes him faster, eyebrows pinched as he looks up at him with a quiet, frantic desperation, his own climax steadily starting to build in him higher and higher and higher. ]
What do you think would happen if I knotted you here? Kept you tied to me, stuck on my lap while I-- while I filled you with cum, bred you like an animal. How long do you think it would take for someone to check in on us and see how much of a slut you really are?
[ Faster, faster. He's not gonna be able to hold back. Derek's getting less precise, more frantic. ]
Come for me. Say my name. Say who owns you.
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He's groaning again. A low and guttural moan just slips past his parted pink and shiny lips. Tate's knees hurt but he doesn't dare move them, head lolled back again as his chest heaves several panting breaths. He can feel Derek get him to the edge so vibrantly, there are tears collecting in his lashes and they spill forth when he drops his head forward, tears traveling down his cheeks to drop off against Derek's collarbone. It hurts. It feels good. It's-]
D-Der...
[Yeah, that's all he got - the rest of his name garbling as Tate violently convulses forward, shooting hard against Derek's palm and coating his fingers in sticky white cum - more than usual, since it keeps coming in a few slow dribbles as Tate's tightened clench against Derek's cock milks it out of him.]
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Derek lasts another few ragged, desperate pumps before he's burying his nose in Tate's shoulder and crashing into his own orgasm, eyes shut tight and breath stuck in his chest. Despite all the dirty talk and the rough, callous quickie this turned into, the moment they share when they come together is one of the most intimate they've ever had; Derek's coaxing Tate through his climax while he buries himself in his own, whispering to Tate that he's amazing, that he loves him, needs him, all tiny little fractured words that he's barely aware he's saying, catching every drop of Tate's load in his hand and encouraging him through the feeling. He's shooting so hard into Tate that it's giving him fucking vertigo, quiet bubbles of laughter getting out of him between Tate, Tates and fuck, i need you, i need you.
And then it's done, and Derek isn't in the quiet, blissful place where his body is warm and light and relaxed. He's in a busy restaurant, tucked away in a cramped photo booth with cum running down his balls and pooled in his hand, with scraps of Tate's shirt littering his thighs. Derek slowly drifts back to consciousness, feeling awfully warm, but that doesn't stop him from leaning up and kissing Tate affectionately on the bottom of his chin. Fuck, they gotta move. ]
I... don't know what just happened.
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Shit. His heart is hammering against his rib cage like it wants to be free from him, and he presses his face in tight against Derek's neck. He can feel a cool breeze up his back, only then realizing something feels off about his shirt. He reaches back weakly with one arm and - skims over his lower back, feeling skin and the shredded hanging remnants of fabric. He doesn't understand immediately, just drops his hand back down to Derek's side and groans again, low and soft. He can't feel his legs. His ass hurts. Jesus, is that still Derek's knot-]
You fucked up my shirt.
[The words are slurred, Tate's lips against Derek's throat. He aches and it only occurs to him now he's going to have to limp home, with cum down his thighs. He tries to use Derek's shoulders to brace and lift up but fails, legs quivering and his body sinking back down flush with Derek. Predictably, he makes a near-whimper.]
Shit.
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Sorry.
[ There's cum on his jeans from pulling out of Tate and he's not... gonna be able to do anything about that, whoops, but he gets Tate to pull off his shirt through the power of gentle manhandling, and he cleans themselves up with the scraps of that, laughing kind of awkwardly as he dries off. Jesus. There's barely enough room for him to stand up in this place, but he does, just to get Tate's jacket from the floor and to let Tate sit on the chair a while and find his sea legs. He offers Tate the jacket, but Tate looks so half-dead that Derek isn't sure he'll be able to put it on.
There's one photo left to be taken, and when they're done getting at least a little more presentable, Derek elbows Tate and points to the screen, silently telling him to say cheese. He bends down to fit in frame and flashes another one of those awkward, clumsy peace signs, looking tired and drained as the last of what he paid gets spent. ]
This was one of the dumber things I've done.
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The camera blinks red for ready and Tate's ready to ignore it, but Derek elbows him and he looks up responsively. Derek flashes a peace sign but when the photo's taken, it shows Tate less enthused (still looking disheveled to say the least,) with his eyes turned to Derek as if amused by him but also quietly, quietly judging. Makes him wonder what else the camera caught, though, and Tate wants to get out of the booth to find out.]
Give me your jacket... mine's - there's cum on it.
[Might as well be honest.]
There's cum on everything. Everything but your jacket.
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[ God. He shrugs out of his jacket, throwing it at Tate's face rather than helping him into it, because he's looping around from the quiet, calm, affectionate buzz of his climax and back into the general, overall grumpiness that comes from being stuck in a cramped box for longer than he needs to be. He stands hunched over between Tate and the screen, gathering up Tate's foregone clothes and holding them against his stomach, and before too long, he figures he's gonna have to face the outside world.
Wait, shit, his dick's still out, still hard despite his complete disinterest in wanting to keep this going. He gives an awkward little leg-shuffle as he tucks his cock back into the waistband of his underwear and pulls his henley down a few inches, pinching the bridge of his nose like a disappointed father watching his daughter waddle away to Stitches by Shawn Mendes. This was dumb. He feels dumb. Happy, but. Dumb. ]
Gonna check if the coast is clear.
[ He ducks out of the curtain, and - well, there are obviously some glances, but it seems like the place has thinned out quite a bit, and other than a few congratulatory grins of recognition from other Doms that make his skin crawl, everything seems... fine. There's a little side-table with their order all wrapped up and waiting for them right beside the photo booth, which is kind of embarrassing, given that someone would've just come over and left it here for them, but. What's done is done. Derek grabs his food, knocking on the side of the booth to give Tate the all clear to come out. ]
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Clear of what? There's always going to be a walk of shame after something like this. He pushes the curtain aside and steps out, lips firmly together and his heart a little fast. He's hurting, obvious from his stance, and otherwise uncomfortable. Bathed in afterglow but miserable all the same - he's looking on the outside of the booth for the printed pictures. And slowly his eyes track upward to an LCD screen that shows a live feed of the booth's interior.
It doesn't click at first, but when it does - Tate sucks in a breath but says nothing. He just grabs the photos and turns around, putting them in his pocket without looking at them. He hates the way a few people are looking at them, Doms leering at Tate after he emerges well fucked and clearly claimed by the Dominant he came here with. He feels stupid, all of a sudden, for thinking that was a sane thing to do.]
Get the food. Can we go?
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