[ There's always this element of give and take in everything he and Tate do together - pleases and thank you are just solidifying expressions of the trades they've been dancing around since before they even built the treehouse. Derek gives Tate freedom and Tate uses that freedom to stay with him, most of the time - Derek gives Tate his trust, and Tate gives Derek his trust back.
Tate begging him now gives Derek the same excited, thrilling jolt of power he gets when Tate talks about being his beta, or when Tate asks him for his help with something. Derek loves Tate, he really does - but he loves giving him things so much more than just selfishly taking what he wants, and his heart does a little dance in his chest having Tate admit that this is something he wants.
He sets his hand on Tate's stomach, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths, feeling himself sweat a little at the small of his back. He nods at Tate to take off his jacket, the car starting to feel too hot between the both of them for it to be reasonable to ask him to keep it on any longer, and he sinks into Tate until he's balls deep, holding himself there with the camera trained on his face. ]
Tate -
[ -- I love you sits on the tip of his tongue, staying unspoken. He wets his lips, starts to fuck into Tate a little faster, feeling himself change. There's a spark of red in his eyes that he quickly blinks back, because he still remembers what Tate said a few months back - he doesn't want to need blood, he doesn't want red to help him. ]
[Derek gives him the go ahead to shed the jacket and aside from briefly lifting his shoulderblade from the cushion, Tate does nothing - it feels like too much effort to slither out of the leather that's sticking to his skin, even for the rush of relief it'd grant him. He lays there in Derek's jacket, shirtless beneath it, and just moans his name instead as he feels Derek's balls slap up against him. His lips part in a silent 'O' when Derek sits there, holding on and fiercely beginning to fill him.
He thinks for a second that he's imagining the sudden stretch, the gentle swell of Derek's cock that starts to push him back to his limits. Derek fucks into him harder, making Tate slip against the seat until he lifts his legs to hook them around Derek's waist, anchoring around him to hold on so that - at the very least - he's dragged back with him between thrusts and not left crunched up into the door in the back seat.]
Come on - come on.
[His voice is ragged and he's egging Derek on to go harder, to really wolf out. He might have said he doesn't want the red anymore or to rely on it, but it'd be a lie to say it doesn't still give him a flare of attraction. Tate works his hips to slam back up against Derek, trying to get them back to that near impossible bliss in the booth. He wants to be raw and hurting, he wants to - be fucked so wildly in the back seat of this car that neither of them will forget it. He wants to make memories that Derek cannot ever top. Never replace. Never need to replace.]
[ Tate's getting impatient now. This happens every time they're together - eventually, he pulls the right string, finds the right thing to say, and chips away at whatever parts of Derek's self-restraint he hadn't already found a way to chip away at. Derek slows down, just for a second, maybe two, looking down at Tate like there's a part of him that actually believes he'd capable of holding back and teasing him a little while longer, maybe making him beg a little more, maybe making him call him sir.
But then he's shifting in place, digging his knee into the leather seat and grabbing Tate's calf with his free hand, using it to hold his leg up straight, demanding better access. He grunts, just once, squeezing Tate's phone a little tighter, and as he starts to pick up speed with every rolling wave of his hips, he struggles to keep his expression neutral and unaffected by the workout Tate's giving him. Every time he pounds his body back against Derek, Derek gets a little more lost to himself, feeling harder and distant and closer to coming, and it doesn't take long before something in him snaps. ]
Fuck, fuck, here-- here, hold--
[ Hold this, he's trying to say, dropping Tate's phone onto the seat and leaving it up him to record. Derek grips Tate's shoulder with his now free hand, throwing his body forward, snapping his cock as deep into Tate as it can go before rapidly dragging back out. He's getting faster, rougher, his eyes unfocused, vision hazy with lust, and when he starts to breathe a little faster, when he starts to swell, when the car starts to creak beneath them like they're going to break the fucking suspension, he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. ]
[Tate likes the way Derek looks down at him - predatory, to say the least. He's heaving heavy breaths and fucking into him like an animal, wet slaps of their bodies hitting together definitely going to be picked up by the camera. The camera that wanders a bit as it takes in Tate from this angle, writhing and and rolling his head side to side each time he's fucked down against the car's seat. He swears, at some point, that he feels like he's going to actually end up going through it with how hard Derek's hips are pistoning in against him.
His fingers graze the backs of the front seats and the door behind him as he struggles to find something to hold on to, failing and falling into a helpless state of just... going with the motion. It makes him even hornier, having no options and being dragged back and forth until his lower back's due to feel raw and sore. But Tate doesn't care, he squeezes his legs tighter around Derek and welcomes the deep, forceful fucking that's going to make the whole of him raw and sore by the end.
Derek drops Tate's device on him and it slaps against his chest, momentarily recording the black of the ceiling and Derek hunching forward. That's what Tate records - briefly, admittedly - angling it up to see his own POV shot of Derek as he plows into him. It's only a handful of seconds, twenty at best, because Tate's overwhelmed and lets the device fall to the wayside to sit on the floor of the backseat. It's still recording their huffs and groans, the squeaky seat and the lewd noises of a sticky second round.]
Derek...
[Tate's breath is fucked out of him and he's gripping his hand against Derek's wrist for support, feeling his weight pushing down on his shoulder with a pained but blissful grunt. He feels him really hitting deep, deeper than it feels they have before, maybe because it seems easier than any other time. Tate's been fucked twice within the span of an hour, he's pliant and malleable and surrendering to Derek's whims. He feels Derek swell and squirms at first like he wants away from it, but there's no avoiding it. He says 'yeah' several times, slurring the cheering on as the pain chatters his teeth together and makes his cock spurt precum between them. How is he always this quick to come, even after feeling exhausted from the first time? He can feel it building, quick and hot - and blushes red from being so easy.]
[ Derek isn't close to done. He can smell it on Tate, feel it in the race of his pulse and the tight clench of his body as he tries to will himself back, and Derek only grunts, determined, to see it through. He's fucking Tate with this well-practiced, animalistic speed, pushing him further back into the seat he's laying on and probably repeatedly bumping his head against the inside of the door, but again - he either doesn't notice or he doesn't care.
He could grab Tate's cock, jerk him off, give him the satisfying rush of an orgasm milked out of him, but he doesn't. Instead, Derek drops down against Tate, chest to chest, body to body, his abs grazing over Tate's dick while they fuck and giving him only the barest amount of friction to help him through this. He pounds his ass, rearranging his arms to wrap beneath Tate's torso and head, pulling him in close, and he doesn't have it in him to tell Tate to come for him, he just-- fucks him harder, faster, like he was fucking built to do this, the telltale scratch of claws and teeth against Tate's skin all he needs to know he's losing himself.
Tate might have already come, but Derek doesn't notice when he does. He's at his biggest, the ball at the base of his dick fat and thick and hyper-sensitive already. He's fucking into Tate and slapping the surface of his knot against his hole with increasing, almost angry frustration, bucking his hips forward but never quite getting enough strength or force in his body to breach Tate with the size of him. Derek sees a flash of white, pressing the sharp points of his teeth down into the bridge of Tate's shoulder, and he just--
He just keeps trying. His knot keeps slapping against Tate's hole, stretching him a little when Derek presses his entire body onto Tate's, crushing his ribs and forcing him down into the seat until it sounds like the metal holding the car together might bend if he keeps this up. Derek's grunting and snarling and lapping at Tate's throat and neck with his tongue, each radically faster thrust getting a little more give out of Tate's hole, until finally, finally, he does it.
Tate gets filled with his knot with one hard, tearstained shove, stretching him open to his limit, and Derek's grunting like he's a bitch in heat, dropping Tate back onto the seats and holding himself up with one fist in the leather. He laughs, like he's proud of himself, flush body to body with Tate. His knot, like always, is the most sensitive part of his body, and between the shallow squeeze of Tate's ass and the scrambling heat of just how good it feels to fuck someone with his own load, it won't take much to get close. ]
[Derek's arms envelop him, pulling him close and making each thrust and grind all that more brutally passionate. Tate's cock is rigid and so close to blowing his load against Derek's abs when he lays over him, coaxing hoarse groans and shouts as Tate's arms reach around Derek's chest to hold on to him. His nails drag over the broad sides of his back, scratching red lines that criss and cross the longer this goes on.
His thighs are squeezing to Derek's sides, calves cramping from how hard he's holding on with his legs in addition to his arms. He's moving with Derek's every dip and plunge, starting to feel frantic with how raw he's become and how Derek shows no signs of relenting. No signs of slowing down. If anything, it will only get worse - Tate feels the swell of Derek's cock enough to predict what's coming and as soon as he notices that thick bulge slamming up against him he's not surprised. Concerned, maybe, because for all Derek's efforts to jam it inside him - he doesn't seem to make it happen. And Tate feels like he's being torn apart in the process, so very on the verge of panicking from the overwhelming pain and pleasure.
He doesn't think he can do this. There's no way he can? His voice is a hoarse rattling cry the harder Derek fucks him and the more he somehow stretches, tears slipping out the corners of his eyes when it finally happens. He pushes and he pushes and he pushes and Tate stretches. He pushes some more and Tate's legs jerk and his toes curl, and he bites down on Derek's neck with his own level of skin-breaking ferocity. The knot slides in past his tired, ruined hole and settles inside him like an anchor. One Tate squirms against, not for displeasure but because he's in the throes of a sudden orgasm. Somewhere mixed with the pain and the final relief of having him inside, Tate came - jets of white between their bodies, painting them both as Derek sunk to pin him down.
Tate can't imagine how he looks, tear stained and blushing red - his eyes are glossy and unfocused, rolling back behind fluttering lashes as he feels the never-ending push against his prostate and the utter fullness. They're stuck together at this point, joined in a car that now smells of sex and sweet and sour pork. Tate's chest is heaving and his heart rate is through the roof - but he manages to stop jerking and whimpering, looking up at Derek with shiny lips and a well fucked smile.]
[ Nothing feels better than this. The pain bursting over his back as Tate scratches hard enough to almost, almost draw blood, the pressure of Tate's body milking his dick and demanding another load from him - it's stripping Derek free of whatever conscious thoughts he has, and he's barely aware of what he's doing when he bites shallow marks into Tate's neck and throat, pressing his entire body down on him with enough weight to make it hard for Tate to breathe.
It takes so much fucking force for Derek to tear Tate apart enough to hilt the full weight of his cock inside of him, but when he does, locking the two of them together in the enveloping heat of their own bodies, Tate blows his load. Derek doesn't, not yet, but the frantic spasms of his body and squeezing, clenching twists around his cock are making his toes curl and his vision go spotty, and Derek can't even whisper the encouraging things he always does when Tate comes, the whispers of good boy and keep going. He's just-- wrecked, pushing weakly into Tate despite already at his limit, tied in place by the swollen girth of his knot. ]
Nn.
[ There's cum on his stomach and blood on his shoulder, and the smell of sex and sweat in the air is making Derek needy and desperate. He pushes shallow, full-body thrusts into Tate to get what little friction he can when he's stuck this deep and incapable of pulling out, but it's the way Tate smiles at him, the way he looks satisfied and taken and his, it's the way his heartbeat ricochets around in Derek's own chest and makes him teary with affection and want and lust -- that's what makes him hit his edge. ]
C-coming. I'm gonna--
[ He yells, when he comes, body wracked with shudders that make his muscles scream with pain. He's holding eye contact, looking deep into black-brown colour as jet after jet of his load fills Tate up, locked into place by the unyielding seal of his knot. He collapses mid-climax, burying his nose back into Tate's shoulder and squeezing his entire body in the tightest bearhug he can, coming and coming and coming, and when he's finally, finally done, the world feels fuzzy and fake and underwater. He lets out a hard, rattling breath, and he just--
Stays there, on top of Tate, hypersensitive and still bucking hard into him every few seconds, even when there's nothing in him left. Fuck. ]
[Every little motion makes Tate react, muscles clenching and relaxing like he's being softly shocked. It's a weird feeling, much as it was when that knot was nestled behind his teeth - when Derek pulls back against him, he's forced to move with him as there's no give and sliding out. That hurts a bit - hurts a lot, actually - but Tate doesn't make a noise. He's too blissed out and fucking tired all of a sudden, still shuddering in the aftershock of his orgasm.
Sweat clings to his brow as he stares up at the roof of the car, feeling Derek's teeth scratch up his neck and throat. He looks into his eyes when he pulls back, staring right back at Derek when he comes - mesmerized by the look on his lover's face before curling his arms tight around him when he settles. His legs have relaxed but really have nowhere to go, the tight space of the car keeping them twisted up with Derek's.
This is the moment he's been wanting, the moment he's been looking forward to. They didn't have this, in the booth, because they had to scramble to put themselves back together and leave. They couldn't enjoy the afterglow the same way they couldn't take it farther than far. Tate felt but never felt Derek's knot then but he sure as hell does now as it still rocks into him even after he's blown his load. Tate's nails skim down his back, soothing swipes instead of dug in grooves. He can't really breathe easy but he manages because he likes the weight of Derek sitting on him like a rock.
He can't tell if he can feel Derek's cum pumping into him on account of the still-rigid cock, but he's realizing with a wry press of his lips to Derek's throat that the mess now is going to be faaaar worse than it was before. And he has no extra shirts to spare.]
[ This is the moment that Derek's been wanting, too. This warm, sleepy safety he only finds with the people closest to him - he's exhausted and boneless and hypersensitive, twitching and fucking shallow, upward thrusts into Tate with these intermittent little gasps, eyes closed tight, toes curling every time Tate scratches him or breathes against him. This is what he wants - this feeling of total, raw connection between him and his pack, this feeling of satisfaction and bliss that comes half from what he just did and half from knowing he made his beta happy. His submissive.
He's gonna be painfully hard until his body decides that Tate's been well and truly bred, and Derek's too well-fucked and happy to care. Tate makes some kind of quiet, throaty joke about the state of Derek's car, and Derek just laughs, sleepy and safe, kissing a few loving, affectionate kisses to Tate's neck. ]
Don't care.
[ Not his car, after all - he'll clean up, make things a little nicer, but his boss fucking expects him to get laid in the backseats of everything he borrows. That's Duplicity, for you.
Derek's too tired to lift his weight off of Tate, and he doesn't want to lose that connection, anyway, so he stays where he is, draped over him and breathing long, languid breaths against his skin through his nose. He's holding Tate as closely as he possibly can, soothing his hands up and down his back, wherever he can reach, and the combination of how good it feels to get laid and the excitement of everything they've done today chips away at the walls he keeps up. When he talks again, it's a whisper, said right up against Tate's ear, like he's afraid of being overheard. ]
I hope I'm enough for you. I want us to... always be like this.
[Tate laughs, light and genuine, when Derek declines to care about the soon to be messy state of his car. His head just lolls back while Derek's kissing his neck and he laughs, feeling surprisingly unanchored and light despite being pinned beneath Derek's bull-like weight and tethered to him by the absurd reality of his cock. He just feels like he's gotten sweet release, something that cleared his head and makes him feel steady on his feet again. Or on his back, in this instance.
His leg's cramping and he tries to move it, but there's really nowhere for his heel to find better purchase. Aside from that, he feels good - treasured, by Derek's wandering hands, and made to feel like he really is the only thing that matters to him. For now, anyway. That bubble will dissipate with sobering reality later, but for now - Tate's dopey and happy, eyes dulled with afterglow and a smile still touching to his lips on and off, like the small thrusts Derek still does instinctively.]
Yeah, you're good.
[Better than good. This might be the closest he's been able to feel to someone since coming here, and not for a lack of trying. Kavinsky was close, in the desperate need for need. Violet would've been ideal if she'd - loved him any. Derek still has someone else he considers his first, though, and always will. Tate will never find his perfect match.]
Dunno about - always being like this though. Might be inconvenient.
[ Derek can tell that Tate's starting to feel kind of trapped, the little wiggle of his leg giving it away as much as the uncomfortable twinges of pain Derek can sense coming from his body. It's... difficult to move, both from a physical standpoint and just out of how fucking tired he is, but when Tate jokes about this being, uh, inconvenient, he decides he's gotta give it a try. ]
Sorry.
[ He apologizes with a sleepy sort of mumble, putting all of his willpower into rolling onto his side, dragging Tate along with him like he doesn't weigh a thing. Derek shifts a little so that they're both facing the back of the seat they're laying on, breath hitching here and there when Tate squeezes reflexively around his still so sensitive cock, ankles straightening out every now and then when he wants to pound into Tate and can't.
They settle again, eventually, clumsy and difficult, and Derek wraps his arms around Tate's stomach and chest, not quite squeezing him but not quite not. Every time he exhales he blows air against the back of Tate's neck, and his eyes are closed like he could fall asleep like this. ]
You know what I mean, though. You... make me happy. Make me want to be a better person. I want... I want to give you everything in the whole wide fucking world, I want-- I want to change for you, I want to...
[ He wants to get it right, this time. He wants to be an Alpha to be proud of. Derek sighs, softly, his lips against Tate's shoulder, his voice cracking from tired misuse, dropped so low it's barely audible. ]
I just want to do everything right. You're my pack, you're-- you're worth so much to me. I never want to lose that feeling.
[Tate grunts when they move, voice caught somewhere in his throat as they shift - he clenches more than he'd like to, reminded with a little now uncomfortable shudder that Derek's still in him. Rigid, rather unmoving, it makes him ache a bit as his body stays stretched and taut around him rather than healing and tightening up. As his body cools, all he feels is slightly more sweaty in this leather jacket - but he butts his forehead against Derek's and then lets him mouth at his neck.
Derek's crooning all the right words - the things Tate wants and wants to be able to promise. He wants to be everything and give everything, to live so wrapped up and entwined with someone that they're one. Makes him wish he could've been that for Violet all the more, and he coaxes his fingers through Derek's dark hair before sighing and nuzzling in against his chest.]
You won't. We won't. We're pack now.
[Sort of. Tate's voice is low and reassuring, spoken with the softest murmur.]
It'll only get better from here. I'm yours, you're mine. That's how it's going to be now.
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Tate begging him now gives Derek the same excited, thrilling jolt of power he gets when Tate talks about being his beta, or when Tate asks him for his help with something. Derek loves Tate, he really does - but he loves giving him things so much more than just selfishly taking what he wants, and his heart does a little dance in his chest having Tate admit that this is something he wants.
He sets his hand on Tate's stomach, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths, feeling himself sweat a little at the small of his back. He nods at Tate to take off his jacket, the car starting to feel too hot between the both of them for it to be reasonable to ask him to keep it on any longer, and he sinks into Tate until he's balls deep, holding himself there with the camera trained on his face. ]
Tate -
[ -- I love you sits on the tip of his tongue, staying unspoken. He wets his lips, starts to fuck into Tate a little faster, feeling himself change. There's a spark of red in his eyes that he quickly blinks back, because he still remembers what Tate said a few months back - he doesn't want to need blood, he doesn't want red to help him. ]
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He thinks for a second that he's imagining the sudden stretch, the gentle swell of Derek's cock that starts to push him back to his limits. Derek fucks into him harder, making Tate slip against the seat until he lifts his legs to hook them around Derek's waist, anchoring around him to hold on so that - at the very least - he's dragged back with him between thrusts and not left crunched up into the door in the back seat.]
Come on - come on.
[His voice is ragged and he's egging Derek on to go harder, to really wolf out. He might have said he doesn't want the red anymore or to rely on it, but it'd be a lie to say it doesn't still give him a flare of attraction. Tate works his hips to slam back up against Derek, trying to get them back to that near impossible bliss in the booth. He wants to be raw and hurting, he wants to - be fucked so wildly in the back seat of this car that neither of them will forget it. He wants to make memories that Derek cannot ever top. Never replace. Never need to replace.]
C'mon Derek - fuck me!
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But then he's shifting in place, digging his knee into the leather seat and grabbing Tate's calf with his free hand, using it to hold his leg up straight, demanding better access. He grunts, just once, squeezing Tate's phone a little tighter, and as he starts to pick up speed with every rolling wave of his hips, he struggles to keep his expression neutral and unaffected by the workout Tate's giving him. Every time he pounds his body back against Derek, Derek gets a little more lost to himself, feeling harder and distant and closer to coming, and it doesn't take long before something in him snaps. ]
Fuck, fuck, here-- here, hold--
[ Hold this, he's trying to say, dropping Tate's phone onto the seat and leaving it up him to record. Derek grips Tate's shoulder with his now free hand, throwing his body forward, snapping his cock as deep into Tate as it can go before rapidly dragging back out. He's getting faster, rougher, his eyes unfocused, vision hazy with lust, and when he starts to breathe a little faster, when he starts to swell, when the car starts to creak beneath them like they're going to break the fucking suspension, he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. ]
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His fingers graze the backs of the front seats and the door behind him as he struggles to find something to hold on to, failing and falling into a helpless state of just... going with the motion. It makes him even hornier, having no options and being dragged back and forth until his lower back's due to feel raw and sore. But Tate doesn't care, he squeezes his legs tighter around Derek and welcomes the deep, forceful fucking that's going to make the whole of him raw and sore by the end.
Derek drops Tate's device on him and it slaps against his chest, momentarily recording the black of the ceiling and Derek hunching forward. That's what Tate records - briefly, admittedly - angling it up to see his own POV shot of Derek as he plows into him. It's only a handful of seconds, twenty at best, because Tate's overwhelmed and lets the device fall to the wayside to sit on the floor of the backseat. It's still recording their huffs and groans, the squeaky seat and the lewd noises of a sticky second round.]
Derek...
[Tate's breath is fucked out of him and he's gripping his hand against Derek's wrist for support, feeling his weight pushing down on his shoulder with a pained but blissful grunt. He feels him really hitting deep, deeper than it feels they have before, maybe because it seems easier than any other time. Tate's been fucked twice within the span of an hour, he's pliant and malleable and surrendering to Derek's whims. He feels Derek swell and squirms at first like he wants away from it, but there's no avoiding it. He says 'yeah' several times, slurring the cheering on as the pain chatters his teeth together and makes his cock spurt precum between them. How is he always this quick to come, even after feeling exhausted from the first time? He can feel it building, quick and hot - and blushes red from being so easy.]
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He could grab Tate's cock, jerk him off, give him the satisfying rush of an orgasm milked out of him, but he doesn't. Instead, Derek drops down against Tate, chest to chest, body to body, his abs grazing over Tate's dick while they fuck and giving him only the barest amount of friction to help him through this. He pounds his ass, rearranging his arms to wrap beneath Tate's torso and head, pulling him in close, and he doesn't have it in him to tell Tate to come for him, he just-- fucks him harder, faster, like he was fucking built to do this, the telltale scratch of claws and teeth against Tate's skin all he needs to know he's losing himself.
Tate might have already come, but Derek doesn't notice when he does. He's at his biggest, the ball at the base of his dick fat and thick and hyper-sensitive already. He's fucking into Tate and slapping the surface of his knot against his hole with increasing, almost angry frustration, bucking his hips forward but never quite getting enough strength or force in his body to breach Tate with the size of him. Derek sees a flash of white, pressing the sharp points of his teeth down into the bridge of Tate's shoulder, and he just--
He just keeps trying. His knot keeps slapping against Tate's hole, stretching him a little when Derek presses his entire body onto Tate's, crushing his ribs and forcing him down into the seat until it sounds like the metal holding the car together might bend if he keeps this up. Derek's grunting and snarling and lapping at Tate's throat and neck with his tongue, each radically faster thrust getting a little more give out of Tate's hole, until finally, finally, he does it.
Tate gets filled with his knot with one hard, tearstained shove, stretching him open to his limit, and Derek's grunting like he's a bitch in heat, dropping Tate back onto the seats and holding himself up with one fist in the leather. He laughs, like he's proud of himself, flush body to body with Tate. His knot, like always, is the most sensitive part of his body, and between the shallow squeeze of Tate's ass and the scrambling heat of just how good it feels to fuck someone with his own load, it won't take much to get close. ]
Ffffuck. Fuck, Tate.
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His thighs are squeezing to Derek's sides, calves cramping from how hard he's holding on with his legs in addition to his arms. He's moving with Derek's every dip and plunge, starting to feel frantic with how raw he's become and how Derek shows no signs of relenting. No signs of slowing down. If anything, it will only get worse - Tate feels the swell of Derek's cock enough to predict what's coming and as soon as he notices that thick bulge slamming up against him he's not surprised. Concerned, maybe, because for all Derek's efforts to jam it inside him - he doesn't seem to make it happen. And Tate feels like he's being torn apart in the process, so very on the verge of panicking from the overwhelming pain and pleasure.
He doesn't think he can do this. There's no way he can? His voice is a hoarse rattling cry the harder Derek fucks him and the more he somehow stretches, tears slipping out the corners of his eyes when it finally happens. He pushes and he pushes and he pushes and Tate stretches. He pushes some more and Tate's legs jerk and his toes curl, and he bites down on Derek's neck with his own level of skin-breaking ferocity. The knot slides in past his tired, ruined hole and settles inside him like an anchor. One Tate squirms against, not for displeasure but because he's in the throes of a sudden orgasm. Somewhere mixed with the pain and the final relief of having him inside, Tate came - jets of white between their bodies, painting them both as Derek sunk to pin him down.
Tate can't imagine how he looks, tear stained and blushing red - his eyes are glossy and unfocused, rolling back behind fluttering lashes as he feels the never-ending push against his prostate and the utter fullness. They're stuck together at this point, joined in a car that now smells of sex and sweet and sour pork. Tate's chest is heaving and his heart rate is through the roof - but he manages to stop jerking and whimpering, looking up at Derek with shiny lips and a well fucked smile.]
You fit.
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It takes so much fucking force for Derek to tear Tate apart enough to hilt the full weight of his cock inside of him, but when he does, locking the two of them together in the enveloping heat of their own bodies, Tate blows his load. Derek doesn't, not yet, but the frantic spasms of his body and squeezing, clenching twists around his cock are making his toes curl and his vision go spotty, and Derek can't even whisper the encouraging things he always does when Tate comes, the whispers of good boy and keep going. He's just-- wrecked, pushing weakly into Tate despite already at his limit, tied in place by the swollen girth of his knot. ]
Nn.
[ There's cum on his stomach and blood on his shoulder, and the smell of sex and sweat in the air is making Derek needy and desperate. He pushes shallow, full-body thrusts into Tate to get what little friction he can when he's stuck this deep and incapable of pulling out, but it's the way Tate smiles at him, the way he looks satisfied and taken and his, it's the way his heartbeat ricochets around in Derek's own chest and makes him teary with affection and want and lust -- that's what makes him hit his edge. ]
C-coming. I'm gonna--
[ He yells, when he comes, body wracked with shudders that make his muscles scream with pain. He's holding eye contact, looking deep into black-brown colour as jet after jet of his load fills Tate up, locked into place by the unyielding seal of his knot. He collapses mid-climax, burying his nose back into Tate's shoulder and squeezing his entire body in the tightest bearhug he can, coming and coming and coming, and when he's finally, finally done, the world feels fuzzy and fake and underwater. He lets out a hard, rattling breath, and he just--
Stays there, on top of Tate, hypersensitive and still bucking hard into him every few seconds, even when there's nothing in him left. Fuck. ]
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Sweat clings to his brow as he stares up at the roof of the car, feeling Derek's teeth scratch up his neck and throat. He looks into his eyes when he pulls back, staring right back at Derek when he comes - mesmerized by the look on his lover's face before curling his arms tight around him when he settles. His legs have relaxed but really have nowhere to go, the tight space of the car keeping them twisted up with Derek's.
This is the moment he's been wanting, the moment he's been looking forward to. They didn't have this, in the booth, because they had to scramble to put themselves back together and leave. They couldn't enjoy the afterglow the same way they couldn't take it farther than far. Tate felt but never felt Derek's knot then but he sure as hell does now as it still rocks into him even after he's blown his load. Tate's nails skim down his back, soothing swipes instead of dug in grooves. He can't really breathe easy but he manages because he likes the weight of Derek sitting on him like a rock.
He can't tell if he can feel Derek's cum pumping into him on account of the still-rigid cock, but he's realizing with a wry press of his lips to Derek's throat that the mess now is going to be faaaar worse than it was before. And he has no extra shirts to spare.]
Your car's going to be a mess in twenty minutes.
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He's gonna be painfully hard until his body decides that Tate's been well and truly bred, and Derek's too well-fucked and happy to care. Tate makes some kind of quiet, throaty joke about the state of Derek's car, and Derek just laughs, sleepy and safe, kissing a few loving, affectionate kisses to Tate's neck. ]
Don't care.
[ Not his car, after all - he'll clean up, make things a little nicer, but his boss fucking expects him to get laid in the backseats of everything he borrows. That's Duplicity, for you.
Derek's too tired to lift his weight off of Tate, and he doesn't want to lose that connection, anyway, so he stays where he is, draped over him and breathing long, languid breaths against his skin through his nose. He's holding Tate as closely as he possibly can, soothing his hands up and down his back, wherever he can reach, and the combination of how good it feels to get laid and the excitement of everything they've done today chips away at the walls he keeps up. When he talks again, it's a whisper, said right up against Tate's ear, like he's afraid of being overheard. ]
I hope I'm enough for you. I want us to... always be like this.
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His leg's cramping and he tries to move it, but there's really nowhere for his heel to find better purchase. Aside from that, he feels good - treasured, by Derek's wandering hands, and made to feel like he really is the only thing that matters to him. For now, anyway. That bubble will dissipate with sobering reality later, but for now - Tate's dopey and happy, eyes dulled with afterglow and a smile still touching to his lips on and off, like the small thrusts Derek still does instinctively.]
Yeah, you're good.
[Better than good. This might be the closest he's been able to feel to someone since coming here, and not for a lack of trying. Kavinsky was close, in the desperate need for need. Violet would've been ideal if she'd - loved him any. Derek still has someone else he considers his first, though, and always will. Tate will never find his perfect match.]
Dunno about - always being like this though. Might be inconvenient.
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Sorry.
[ He apologizes with a sleepy sort of mumble, putting all of his willpower into rolling onto his side, dragging Tate along with him like he doesn't weigh a thing. Derek shifts a little so that they're both facing the back of the seat they're laying on, breath hitching here and there when Tate squeezes reflexively around his still so sensitive cock, ankles straightening out every now and then when he wants to pound into Tate and can't.
They settle again, eventually, clumsy and difficult, and Derek wraps his arms around Tate's stomach and chest, not quite squeezing him but not quite not. Every time he exhales he blows air against the back of Tate's neck, and his eyes are closed like he could fall asleep like this. ]
You know what I mean, though. You... make me happy. Make me want to be a better person. I want... I want to give you everything in the whole wide fucking world, I want-- I want to change for you, I want to...
[ He wants to get it right, this time. He wants to be an Alpha to be proud of. Derek sighs, softly, his lips against Tate's shoulder, his voice cracking from tired misuse, dropped so low it's barely audible. ]
I just want to do everything right. You're my pack, you're-- you're worth so much to me. I never want to lose that feeling.
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Derek's crooning all the right words - the things Tate wants and wants to be able to promise. He wants to be everything and give everything, to live so wrapped up and entwined with someone that they're one. Makes him wish he could've been that for Violet all the more, and he coaxes his fingers through Derek's dark hair before sighing and nuzzling in against his chest.]
You won't. We won't. We're pack now.
[Sort of. Tate's voice is low and reassuring, spoken with the softest murmur.]
It'll only get better from here. I'm yours, you're mine. That's how it's going to be now.