[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.]
[ More and more, there's this invasive, guilty feeling scratching under his skin, making Derek feel worse and worse. This was-- rash, and it was impulsive, and yeah, it felt good, but it was kind of a reprehensible thing for them to do. He's fucked in public before, he's been ashamed of hooking up in Duplicity before, but he always had the excuse of-- of aphrodisiacs, or threats, or an addled state of mind to lean back on. This was just...
This was all him. This was him wanting Tate and being too impatient to wait, this was... this was eight months of being stuck in a city that celebrated fucking at every corner finally getting the better of him and making him realize that he didn't have to have the modesty he had back home. People are looking at Tate like they want a fucking turn on him, and Derek wants to leave before Tate even asks to go. He feels like this is what LIES wanted from him.
Derek grabs their food and the booze he left on the floor of the booth, pulling Tate out of here by the wrist with the hand he's still holding onto his clothes with, and he forgets to grab their photos, but hopefully Tate snags them before they go. His car's not actually too far a walk from here, and Derek makes a direct beeline towards it, not saying a word until he's back at the driver's side in a sheltered carpark, popping it open and shoving all his shit inside.
[Tate does everything he can not to make a noise when Derek pulls him by the wrist, guiding him out of the shop in a pace that's just slightly too fast for him. He manages, he hurries along, teeth grit together as his muscles ache even after they stop to at the car park. Tate then tugs back, leaning back against the back end of the car and rubbing his hand over his lower abdomen. A little bit of color's in his face, soaking up from his neck when he sheepishly looks over to Derek.
In, he says, and Tate looks slightly submissive - like he's about to circle around and climb in the passenger side door before he hesitates. He moves closer to Derek instead, and gestures to the nook of space behind his driver seat. The back bench tucked in behind.]
[ It takes Derek a second for him to realize why Tate might want to lay down, and he's quickly flushed with a little more shame. Jesus Christ - he walked Tate too far given how rough they just were together, too impatient to get him away from the sharks in the water to think about how much pain he might be in. Derek's cheeks go red, and he nods, but then pauses, reaching out after putting his things on the driver's seat to take Tate's wrist again. ]
Wait.
[ Siphoning Tate's pain isn't new for him - they've been doing this for a while now, with sedation before bed being the only thing keeping him afloat some nights. Derek chews the inside of his cheek as he drains some of Tate's discomfort through sharp, black ropes that itch the inside of his veins. He doesn't let Tate go until he's completely sure that he's taken enough. ]
[Tate surrenders his wrist if only to cut the edge off of what he's feeling - he knows it will fade in time but this isn't like a rough fuck in the treehouse, where he can lounge and sleep it off. He doesn't usually wake the morning after with an ache because his body just heals, it knits back together and stops the cramping before it starts. But that was a rather brutal fuck made worse by a hurried walk and Tate almost says I'm okay before just shutting up, watching Derek's veins go black as he makes it... all better. The way he does.
It's easy to see Tate's relief, written over his face with how his features relax and how his heart steadies. His fingers flex and he tugs back when he's had enough, not wanting to get sleepy and sedated yet. He'll just slide into the back seat when ready, stretching out over it but staring out at Derek. He pushes up on his elbow, wincing only slightly at a distant pain.]
You still hard? I can sit up there, maybe jerk you off as you drive. If you want.
[ Derek's reluctant to let go of Tate when he's told, but he follows orders willingly enough, eyebrows pinched and jaw tight. He takes a step back just to stop himself from taking a little more pain, just to be sure that Tate's completely and totally okay after everything they just did, and then he's sighing through his nose, waving off Tate's offer like it annoys him. He's done enough to this poor kid for one day. ]
No. C'mon, fuck off.
[ It's just - werewolf dick being werewolf dick. It'll go. He's the idiot who got into what they were doing enough to whip out the ol' dog boner. Derek waves Tate off and all but shoves him into the backseat, closing the door once he's forced him inside and heading back to the driver's seat, pushing everything over onto the passenger's side. For a second, he just leans back into the leather, eyes closed and calming down in the silence. Tate's heartbeat helps. ]
Did you... grab the photos? Should probably go drown them at the beach. And then each other.
[Tate says that - quick and almost amused, because after everything's said and done? It is pretty funny. He gets comfortable on the back seat, arranging his legs and slouching enough that he's actually comfortable before he moves around to feel which pocket he put them in again. He sticks his hand in, but doesn't yet pull it out. They're tucked away from the world inside the car and - like the booth - it makes it their space. Tate's still so visibly relaxed, he ends up laughing.]
I don't know if I wanna see what they look like. What if I look like a total slut?
[He's - shifting again, this time drawing out the photos, which stack up in his hand.]
[ Derek's not at the point where this is funny, but. Tate feeling like that is something of a relief, cutting Derek short when he starts to spiral and panic about whether or not this whole debacle is a fucking be-all end-all sign that their contract is doomed to be an embarrassing failure from the start. He's not sure he's got the guts to ask Tate to show him the photos, but he kicks the car into gear, pulling out and driving out towards his and Stiles' place. ]
[He doesn't trust the sea not to carry these into someone else's horny hands. He's flipping through them with a few groans, one or two made by being jostled in how he's laying by the car should it go over a bump or two. But the rest of his attention is on flicking through the photos, caught at various intervals of them going at it. A lot of Tate from behind, perched and sinking into Derek's lap and Derek shredding his shirt.
To be honest, some of these make Tate feel aroused again - seeing what it looks like to have a cock up his ass? It's embarrassing, wholly, and yet his cock is twitching in his pants like it wants a little more. You can't, in the angle of this shot, really tell it's Tate aside from the messy blond hair. He'd probably jerk off to this if it wasn't him. Might... jerk off to it, even though it is him.
He keeps flipping through photos but decides it's time to be honest:]
[ Great, cool. Derek laughs, humorless and forced, quietly wanting to die. Better to burn them than to let poor Stiles stumble across them. Or Kavinsky. Or - anyone, really. This whole fucking in public thing would have been a better idea if Derek didn't have, like, a thousand people he wanted to keep his sex life with Tate seperate from.
Tate mentions the screen on the booth, and no, Derek didn't see that. He looks into the rearview mirror, tries to get a better glimpse of Tate, but it's hard, given where he's laying. Derek pays attention to the road again. ]
[Or good ass, depending on what was probably on display. Tate is still preoccupied looking through the photos, trying to find one of Derek's dick that showcases how bizarrely huge it gets when he's really worked up. The more he looks through these and gets past the embarrassment of them existing, the more he... wants to keep them. Tucked away in a loose floorboard space in the loft, where only he can find them. Maybe he'll do that.]
It showed what was going on in the booth. So while we have the mementos, anyone nearby had a free show.
[Tate's - adjusted to the idea now, and now that he's removed from the location? He no longer cares about how it made him feel at the time. People aren't looking at him like a pet anymore, so... he can forget about it. He laughs again though, sitting up a bit to toss a photo over the passenger side headrest, letting it rest on the cushioned seat. It shows Derek pounding in to Tate, but with a little pixel border of balloons. Guess some of them had filters after all.]
[ Oh, that's-- horrible news, Derek's pretty sure they're going to end up on the fucking internet, then, sooner or later. Derek groans, grip on the steering wheel getting tighter and knuckles going white. He's not entirely sure if he's angry, embarrassed or kind of horny, but either way, it's not a great vibe. He again tries to find Tate in the rearview mirror, just barely managing to see the corner of his arm as he holds out a photo for Derek to take.
He reaches back, sees the balloons, sees Tate's ass, sees his dick, and then he's rapidly slapping at Tate's hand to take it back. Nope. Still too soon. Definitely embarrassing. He'll look when he gets home. ]
Gonna make me crash the car.
[ God. God? God. He drives a little faster. ]
You're a bad influence on me, you know. I'm not fucking Stiles out in public. We use a bed, like normal people. Or, like - a car. Sometimes the couch. The shower. The kitchen, one time. But.
[ ... actually they got together in the first place because they jerked each other off in a room full of people, so. Derek, uh. Derek driiiiives a little faster. ]
I met Peter in an alley. I could be the bad influence too.
[But he's not sure how he feels about knowing where Derek's fucked Stiles, for some reason. Doesn't put him off but it also doesn't really interest him. It does remind him of the awkward handjob he shared with Stiles, something that makes his hip shift in a way he's grateful to have excuses to hide the reason for. Photos. Post-fuck bliss. Bumpy car. He hasn't thought about Stiles that way since that day, and he's gotta stick that back away in the recesses of his mind. Never happened.
He smiles though, smug and satisfied when Derek tells him he's going to be distracting and speeds up as a result. Tate can feel the car go faster and has no qualms with it. He'd survive a crash. So would Derek. Makes him think of a few things for a future ride, when he really is in the front seat with him and able to be even more of a distraction. Tate rests the photos on his chest and lays back against the seat, his hand slipping down his pants just to adjust himself and also... yeah, still covered in cum.]
[ Maybe they're just bad for each other, then. It's just a thought that drifts through him in passing, here one minute and gone the next. Derek doesn't realize how right he is. ]
Not gonna stop you.
[ If Tate wants to keep the photos, Tate gets to keep the photos. Derek... likes that Tate isn't gonna throw all of them away, and he can't exactly hide that, given the smile that betrays him by creeping into his voice, but he's sure as shit not going to admit that he wants to keep some too. He just keeps driving, heading home. ]
I can tell what you're doing, you know. Your heartbeat's picking up.
[Tate's immediate response is an embarrassed one, mostly because he wasn't actually going to touch himself the way it veeeery obviously looks like he was. His heart hitches predictably and there's heat in his face, his hand still tucked down his waistband with his fingers resting against his stomach. He sighs, like he's annoyed (at getting caught,) before relaxing away from that shameful twinge and then actually wrapping his fingers around his dick. Not exactly hard. Not exactly that horny. But.]
Just - keep your eyes on the road. And your ears outta my chest.
[ Derek - laughs. Tate's annoyed, and Derek always did love to annoy him. He's grinning a little, tongue pressed to the inside of his lip to try and rein it in. A part of him just wants to pull the car over and slip into the back seat for a while. Another part of him just wants to drive even faster. ]
That... was pretty fun. I don't think we've ever been together like that. I felt like if I didn't get my hands on you, I'd literally die.
[Tate's teasing, evident by the tone of his voice and the thrilling thud of his heart when he gets to feel satisfied with the fact he was alluring to Derek. That he's got - a hook in him, something that he wants. That maybe he can't replace. Tate feels wanted and it makes him radiate a special kind of happiness, mingled with a sexual spark as he quietly jerks off lazily to the concept of them. He loosens his jeans to aid in the gesture - which is languid and slow, since he's not exactly popping a tent.]
I liked it. I uh, I really...
[Mmh. He lolls back his head so his face can't really be seen, and breathes in the scent of the seats as he tries to wonder why he's even saying this:]
Your fault. I needed you. I don't need just anyone like that.
[ It's... amazing, as always, to hear Tate admit that he likes the more animalistic sides of Derek, the parts of him so innately tied to his lycanthropy. He smiles a little less, but not because he's any less happy; he can hear the rustle of fabric and the sound of skin on skin, and suddenly this all feels a little more serious. ]
It was just - kind of a rush. Signing. It didn't hit me until we were getting our photos taken, but - we're in a contract. I can give you everything I have, now, I can - I can take care of you. Make every day feel amazing. I can give you a future, I can show you how much I care about you.
[ Faster, faster. Nearly at the beach, now. Derek misses a red light and doesn't even notice. ]
You can sleep over without having to go home to someone else. That's - exciting.
['I don't need just anyone like that' and I can give you everything I have, now, I can - I can take care of you' are some of the best things Tate's had told to him, and they sing right into his heart. He's jerking himself a little firmer now, taking that praise like it's its own brand of dirty talk. His chest rises and falls a little deeper now, the more he thinks about how Derek owns him. Really, really owns him. There's no mistaking his pack - no abandonment on the horizon. For the next three months, Derek belongs to him as much as he belongs to Derek.]
Yeah. Yea... h.
[He gets a bit breathy there, for obvious reasons.]
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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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This was all him. This was him wanting Tate and being too impatient to wait, this was... this was eight months of being stuck in a city that celebrated fucking at every corner finally getting the better of him and making him realize that he didn't have to have the modesty he had back home. People are looking at Tate like they want a fucking turn on him, and Derek wants to leave before Tate even asks to go. He feels like this is what LIES wanted from him.
Derek grabs their food and the booze he left on the floor of the booth, pulling Tate out of here by the wrist with the hand he's still holding onto his clothes with, and he forgets to grab their photos, but hopefully Tate snags them before they go. His car's not actually too far a walk from here, and Derek makes a direct beeline towards it, not saying a word until he's back at the driver's side in a sheltered carpark, popping it open and shoving all his shit inside.
He looks - kind of angry, but. When doesn't he. ]
In.
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In, he says, and Tate looks slightly submissive - like he's about to circle around and climb in the passenger side door before he hesitates. He moves closer to Derek instead, and gestures to the nook of space behind his driver seat. The back bench tucked in behind.]
Can I lay back there?
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Wait.
[ Siphoning Tate's pain isn't new for him - they've been doing this for a while now, with sedation before bed being the only thing keeping him afloat some nights. Derek chews the inside of his cheek as he drains some of Tate's discomfort through sharp, black ropes that itch the inside of his veins. He doesn't let Tate go until he's completely sure that he's taken enough. ]
Should've done this. During.
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It's easy to see Tate's relief, written over his face with how his features relax and how his heart steadies. His fingers flex and he tugs back when he's had enough, not wanting to get sleepy and sedated yet. He'll just slide into the back seat when ready, stretching out over it but staring out at Derek. He pushes up on his elbow, wincing only slightly at a distant pain.]
You still hard? I can sit up there, maybe jerk you off as you drive. If you want.
[He'd rather just lay here and relax, but.]
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No. C'mon, fuck off.
[ It's just - werewolf dick being werewolf dick. It'll go. He's the idiot who got into what they were doing enough to whip out the ol' dog boner. Derek waves Tate off and all but shoves him into the backseat, closing the door once he's forced him inside and heading back to the driver's seat, pushing everything over onto the passenger's side. For a second, he just leans back into the leather, eyes closed and calming down in the silence. Tate's heartbeat helps. ]
Did you... grab the photos? Should probably go drown them at the beach. And then each other.
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[Tate says that - quick and almost amused, because after everything's said and done? It is pretty funny. He gets comfortable on the back seat, arranging his legs and slouching enough that he's actually comfortable before he moves around to feel which pocket he put them in again. He sticks his hand in, but doesn't yet pull it out. They're tucked away from the world inside the car and - like the booth - it makes it their space. Tate's still so visibly relaxed, he ends up laughing.]
I don't know if I wanna see what they look like. What if I look like a total slut?
[He's - shifting again, this time drawing out the photos, which stack up in his hand.]
Jeeeeesus...
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That doesn't sound good.
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[He doesn't trust the sea not to carry these into someone else's horny hands. He's flipping through them with a few groans, one or two made by being jostled in how he's laying by the car should it go over a bump or two. But the rest of his attention is on flicking through the photos, caught at various intervals of them going at it. A lot of Tate from behind, perched and sinking into Derek's lap and Derek shredding his shirt.
To be honest, some of these make Tate feel aroused again - seeing what it looks like to have a cock up his ass? It's embarrassing, wholly, and yet his cock is twitching in his pants like it wants a little more. You can't, in the angle of this shot, really tell it's Tate aside from the messy blond hair. He'd probably jerk off to this if it wasn't him. Might... jerk off to it, even though it is him.
He keeps flipping through photos but decides it's time to be honest:]
Did you see the screen on the booth? The outside.
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Tate mentions the screen on the booth, and no, Derek didn't see that. He looks into the rearview mirror, tries to get a better glimpse of Tate, but it's hard, given where he's laying. Derek pays attention to the road again. ]
Uh. No. That doesn't sound good, either.
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[Or good ass, depending on what was probably on display. Tate is still preoccupied looking through the photos, trying to find one of Derek's dick that showcases how bizarrely huge it gets when he's really worked up. The more he looks through these and gets past the embarrassment of them existing, the more he... wants to keep them. Tucked away in a loose floorboard space in the loft, where only he can find them. Maybe he'll do that.]
It showed what was going on in the booth. So while we have the mementos, anyone nearby had a free show.
[Tate's - adjusted to the idea now, and now that he's removed from the location? He no longer cares about how it made him feel at the time. People aren't looking at him like a pet anymore, so... he can forget about it. He laughs again though, sitting up a bit to toss a photo over the passenger side headrest, letting it rest on the cushioned seat. It shows Derek pounding in to Tate, but with a little pixel border of balloons. Guess some of them had filters after all.]
Take a look at that one.
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He reaches back, sees the balloons, sees Tate's ass, sees his dick, and then he's rapidly slapping at Tate's hand to take it back. Nope. Still too soon. Definitely embarrassing. He'll look when he gets home. ]
Gonna make me crash the car.
[ God. God? God. He drives a little faster. ]
You're a bad influence on me, you know. I'm not fucking Stiles out in public. We use a bed, like normal people. Or, like - a car. Sometimes the couch. The shower. The kitchen, one time. But.
[ ... actually they got together in the first place because they jerked each other off in a room full of people, so. Derek, uh. Derek driiiiives a little faster. ]
Maybe I'm the bad influence.
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[But he's not sure how he feels about knowing where Derek's fucked Stiles, for some reason. Doesn't put him off but it also doesn't really interest him. It does remind him of the awkward handjob he shared with Stiles, something that makes his hip shift in a way he's grateful to have excuses to hide the reason for. Photos. Post-fuck bliss. Bumpy car. He hasn't thought about Stiles that way since that day, and he's gotta stick that back away in the recesses of his mind. Never happened.
He smiles though, smug and satisfied when Derek tells him he's going to be distracting and speeds up as a result. Tate can feel the car go faster and has no qualms with it. He'd survive a crash. So would Derek. Makes him think of a few things for a future ride, when he really is in the front seat with him and able to be even more of a distraction. Tate rests the photos on his chest and lays back against the seat, his hand slipping down his pants just to adjust himself and also... yeah, still covered in cum.]
I might actually keep a few of these.
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Not gonna stop you.
[ If Tate wants to keep the photos, Tate gets to keep the photos. Derek... likes that Tate isn't gonna throw all of them away, and he can't exactly hide that, given the smile that betrays him by creeping into his voice, but he's sure as shit not going to admit that he wants to keep some too. He just keeps driving, heading home. ]
I can tell what you're doing, you know. Your heartbeat's picking up.
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[Tate's immediate response is an embarrassed one, mostly because he wasn't actually going to touch himself the way it veeeery obviously looks like he was. His heart hitches predictably and there's heat in his face, his hand still tucked down his waistband with his fingers resting against his stomach. He sighs, like he's annoyed (at getting caught,) before relaxing away from that shameful twinge and then actually wrapping his fingers around his dick. Not exactly hard. Not exactly that horny. But.]
Just - keep your eyes on the road. And your ears outta my chest.
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That... was pretty fun. I don't think we've ever been together like that. I felt like if I didn't get my hands on you, I'd literally die.
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[Tate's teasing, evident by the tone of his voice and the thrilling thud of his heart when he gets to feel satisfied with the fact he was alluring to Derek. That he's got - a hook in him, something that he wants. That maybe he can't replace. Tate feels wanted and it makes him radiate a special kind of happiness, mingled with a sexual spark as he quietly jerks off lazily to the concept of them. He loosens his jeans to aid in the gesture - which is languid and slow, since he's not exactly popping a tent.]
I liked it. I uh, I really...
[Mmh. He lolls back his head so his face can't really be seen, and breathes in the scent of the seats as he tries to wonder why he's even saying this:]
I really like it when you get that... excited.
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[ It's... amazing, as always, to hear Tate admit that he likes the more animalistic sides of Derek, the parts of him so innately tied to his lycanthropy. He smiles a little less, but not because he's any less happy; he can hear the rustle of fabric and the sound of skin on skin, and suddenly this all feels a little more serious. ]
It was just - kind of a rush. Signing. It didn't hit me until we were getting our photos taken, but - we're in a contract. I can give you everything I have, now, I can - I can take care of you. Make every day feel amazing. I can give you a future, I can show you how much I care about you.
[ Faster, faster. Nearly at the beach, now. Derek misses a red light and doesn't even notice. ]
You can sleep over without having to go home to someone else. That's - exciting.
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Yeah. Yea... h.
[He gets a bit breathy there, for obvious reasons.]
I'm yours and I like it. I know.
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