[Tate grew up being told he was handsome, especially in comparison to his siblings - it was the one thing his mother could never let go of. Her perfect little cherub child, after all the others he finally came. Tate never really put stock into compliments about his appearance because of that, and also because he had no real connection to how he looked. He just existed. He knew he was attractive, he heard everything you could say about that but his life wasn't really affected by it. So compliments tend to bounce off, and he only really uses his looks to get what he wants - which may be the very reason why he cares right now. Derek says he's beautiful, which he could laugh at on another day, but it means something. Means Derek cares about him again, after that threat of it never happening.
Tate's - pleased. He smiles, just weakly and around the edges of his mouth. His lips stay parted the whole way through because of soft little gasps and pants, with Derek's tongue touching down his dick and his hand pumping him soon after that. Shit, this is a pretty good blowjob, now that he's blotting out all the factors he doesn't really care about. He nudges his hips closer, and curls his fingers into Derek's shirt.]
I missed you too.
[Tate says the words half in truth, half just to make sure he keeps Derek close. He's terrified of him turning away again, of leaving or thinking less of him. The opinions of certain people always have mattered to Tate more than they should, while what the rest of the world thought of him couldn't matter less. He wets his lips and leans back a bit, staring down into Derek's eyes from an angle.]
I'm not going anywhere. I promise. Do you promise?
[ When Derek first came back, he was - convinced, honestly, that he and Tate were done. No more friendship, no more pack. There wasn't a single part of him that believed Tate, at first, when he said that he signed with Kavinsky again because he had to, just like there wasn't a single part of him that believed Tate suddenly gave a shit about his own mortality after the war scared the fear of a new death into him. There were a few days there where Derek saw Tate as exactly who he was - selfish and conniving. Unkind.
And then Tate rode it out. Tate's been getting so much better at riding out Derek's reactions. He didn't cry, didn't fight, he just - promised to be better, than did just enough to convince Derek that he was wrong to have doubted him. Derek still hasn't signed Tate's name to the ledger, because Stiles hadn't done that, and there's some small, unconscious part of him that remembers that - but nobody's around to stop Derek from trusting him. From believing that this is - fine. That they're good again. That they'll always be good again. That this isn't just Jennifer again. Kate.
Yeah. Yeah, Derek promises. He doesn't answer verbally, but there's that smile again. Trusting and affectionate and so full of loyalty. Derek always looks so much younger when he smiles. ]
Alright - shut up. Let's get this over with.
[ After that - Derek's gonna really focus, now. Tate wanted this over fast, and Derek's not going to be sidetracked by whatever stewing affection is stuck beating behind his ribs. Derek takes a firmer hold of Tate's cock and sticks out his tongue, lightly dragging it over the underside of Tate's shaft. He's not worried about being noisy, or-- looking like a whore in front of these guys. He sucks the head of Tate's dick with loud, wet sounds, swallowing him down to the base, bobbing his head back up and leaving Tate shiny and slick with his spit. He hums softly and bobs forward again, pressing his nose to Tate's jeans and closing his eyes, swallowing while he easily, expertly deep throats the guy.
He comes up for breath, swipes his tongue over Tate's tip, tasting whatever precum he might have earned already. Derek takes Tate in his fist again, jerking faster now, the side of his fingers brushing over the most sensitive nerves in his head every time he strokes up. Slowly, Derek takes Tate's head back in between his lips, sucking hard and playing with him with the very end of his tongue, and he still holds eye contact. Still takes in every breath, every reaction, like that's the entire reason he's doing this. ]
[Even non-verbal, the promise means a lot to Tate. It means that he's got back one of the few relationships here that he's really invested in. And things with Derek are easier now that Stiles is gone, a thorn that had started to stick in his side. A lot of things are working out in that Tate feels he can draw more from what they have than he could before - less hoops, more reward. He's invested now and willing to keep doing whatever it takes to stay at this level of cherished, this level of wanted and... well, needed.
He lost a lot of people, here and back home, and finally he's feeling like he's coming out of a dip by doing okay. Derek came back and that defied the odds - so this is meant to be, right? He'll fight tooth and nail to prevent it being taken back away from him. All while, most likely, working against himself out of other blind and selfish needs. So for now his touch is tender, fingers raking back through Derek's hair as he shudders at that warm, wet touch of his tongue. He feels bolstered by Derek, able to keep from focusing on all the things that would make him uncomfortable here in lieu of enjoying the way he swallows down his cock.
Tate... stares. He's seen Derek from this angle before but there's something so overtly lewd about it now, where his dark eyes widen a few degrees and his knees turn inward as his feet press down against the floor. It feels good - fucking good - and he's saying such in breathy little mutterings under his breath, but he's not paying attention. He's just... hooked, leaning in and rolling his hips, trying his hardest not to just push Derek's face back down his dick to watch it yet again disappear.]
[ Judging by the long, low whistle from one of the men watching this all play out, their bystanders agree. Tate says it's good and there's the shuffling of feet as people move to get a better look, and Derek hesitates, just for a second, before he dives back down onto Tate's dick, swallowing him deep again. They're supposed to be doing this fast, and Derek - Derek wanted to ease Tate for a second there, wanted to tell him that they need to get Tate into the habit of saying sir. Thank you, sir, that feels good, sir - really play up this whole dom/sub thing, for once.
But they need to get this done. Derek swallows when he feels the head of Tate's cock pressing up against the very, very back of his throat, every suck and every quiet, purposeful hum sending vibrations through Tate. He spreads his fingers out beneath Tate's stomach and firmly pushes him back down against the bench, keeping him from fucking into his mouth like he might want to. Derek promised he'd take care of him, so - he's in charge.
He finds a rhythm, sucking and bobbing with circular twists of his head, taking Tate deep and then sliding back up. He's-- focused, getting faster now, breaking eye contact when he ends up losing himself in the moment, closing his eyes just to taste Tate and enjoy every part of this. The repair shop smells like the mechanic's in the Up, all motor oil and grease, but Derek kind of - likes that. It makes this feel familiar. Easier. ]
[Tate makes a slightly higher pitched noise, half bitten back - he doesn't want to be as wanton as he was when they were in the photobooth if only because he feels like he's lost a bit of his power here. There it was funny, being public - at least until they realized how public they were. To be overheard is one thing, but to be openly watched and admired? Tate doesn't want to play to the fantasies of others right now, but the only thing keeping him this side of uncomfortable is the fact it's Derek on his knees. He would've felt far more humiliated in a reversed situation, bowing to his alleged dominant and not serviced by him.
He's breathing shallow breaths, leaning back and still trying to squirm his hips upward - Derek stops that but he still moves, stomach flexing and his sneakers sliding on the floor. He grips Derek's shoulder, twisting his fingers into his shirt and pulling - starting to feel on the cusp of getting to his orgasm. Soft little 'yeah's give that away - his eyes fluttering shut.]
[ Derek can tell that Tate's getting close. He's - salivating, a little, making the inside of his mouth wetter and warmer and better, each hard, determined suck adding tighter, tauter pressure. There was a time when every blowjob Derek gave in this place was methodical and clinical and just designed to get things done, and with Tate wanting this over quickly, maybe that's the kind of blowjob he would have preferred - but right now, in spite of the surly attitude and furrowed eyebrows, Derek is openly enthusiastic. He wants to make this good for Tate, yeah, but more than anything, it's obvious that he's really, really enjoying himself.
He twists his fist over Tate's dick in furious strokes, wet sounds of rapid friction making Derek forget, for a second, that they're being watched. He pulls off of Tate with a soft, clearly aroused gasp for air, then plunges forward again, swallowing him to the root. The more Derek does this, the sluttier he looks - like he fucking lives for Tate's cock, like he's at his happiest when he's seconds away from tasting someone's load. He's hard in his jeans, and Derek doesn't touch himself, both hands too busy focusing on Tate, but he rocks his hips forward in gradual, barely there movements, unaware of what he's doing.
One of the guys says fuck yeah, cum in his mouth, and that's the only thing someone could've said to make Derek let Tate cum on his face right now. Mildly annoyed, Derek leans back on the balls of his feet the more frantically Tate starts to breathe, pulling his lips from his cock and flicking the tip of his tongue in circles around the head, instead. He strokes Tate faster, refusing to stop, looking up, holding eye contact. Silently asking him to come. ]
[It's a lot easier when his eyes are closed. The word blots out and in the dark all he has is the ringing in his ears, the muffled noises that deafen out as he feels... pleasure. Simple pleasure - his hips buck and he really tries to fuck up into the heat, the cavernous warmth of Derek's mouth as it envelops his cock and invites him straight to the back of his throat. He moves so rhythmically, so practiced, that Tate's already losing any grasp he had on himself.
Derek pulls back and it's - enough of a change that Tate knows he's lost his grip entirely. His eyes open weakly, inky black and welling with lusty tears - he just gets a moment of eye contact with Derek before his head lolls back, his shoulders roll back, his whole body arches and he's losing his load. Barely parting his lips in a silent 'o' before he's painting Derek's lips white and shuddering with the sudden jolt that pulls him out of a moment of slow motion to the white hot pleasure just as it ebbs away.
He nearly slumps backward, reaching out to grab Derek's shirt at his shoulder to stay grounded.]
[ Tate's climax hits hard, the satisfying pride that Derek gets from feeling him tighten and burn beneath him running down his spine like electricity. He smirks, just for a second, focusing again when Tate shoots his load - he gets a taste of it, a rope or two of cum that gets on his tongue, but most of it lands on his face; a shot across his nose, his cheek, running down his lips and his chin. Derek strokes Tate through it, eager and willing, and there's a part of him, distantly, that knows he never, ever would have done this back home. Never would have been okay with being seen. Never would have let himself be a prop for someone else's voyeurism. Duplicity has... changed him.
His pulse is thudding in his ears, mingling with the heartbeats of the men around him, but as some of them laugh and thank Tate for the show, wandering off to get back to their jobs or to jerk off in the privacy of a bathroom stall - he hears something else. A slow, rising beat, steadily cooling down and warming up at the same time. Derek...
Derek knows that heartbeat. ]
I can - ah.
[ He stands, bumping his knee on the bottom of the workbench. All of a sudden, his hands are on Tate's chest, frantic and clumsy. Through all the nervous agitation, he knows he's touching Tate's heart, his hand pressed in right against his ribcage, confirming with a few steady beats what he already knew. Derek's eyes are wide and he looks-- awestruck, even with the cum still there on his face, openly degrading him. He's touching Tate like he's fragile, hands nervously clinging to Tate's shirt like he's afraid to let go, and he can't - he can't stop staring. It's in his ears. A steadily increasing, steadily stabilizing, all too familiar heartbeat.
Derek looks up at Tate, just... smiling. He laughs, eyes scrunching up a little. He didn't think this would really happen. This is the first time the city's really done something good, since bringing him and Stiles together. ]
[Tate feels that burst of pleasure and then it ebbs away, rolling through him with a deep breath of relief and a sudden relaxation that seeps into his bones. He slumps a little, looking at Derek through low lidded and tired eyes as his excitement becomes apparent. It doesn't register with Tate immediately, that thud in his chest, but once Derek's hands are on him he starts to clue in - it's what they're here for, after all.
His lips twitch and he touches his hand to Derek's wrist, feeling happier just because he's happy in turn. It really wouldn't have ever bothered Tate to never have it back but he knew he had to, for Derek's sake. Even if it makes things trickier to navigate - he's confident it'll be fine. He tips his head to the side and raises his brows at Derek, before looking down at his hands, and then himself. Quietly putting away his dick now.]
[ Derek's overwhelmed in a way he so rarely, rarely is. He's lit up like the sun, all carefree and full of joy, touching Tate's chest a little firmer, now, like he's letting himself believe that this is going to last. It's possible that Tate's never seen him this happy, honestly - this was a face only ever reserved for Stiles, who could pull it from him with a smile or a joke rather than with a tremendous life-altering change born out of a public act of indecency. ]
Yeah. Yeah, it's--
[ Derek nods, as fast as he can. It's worth it. It's the same. Derek laughs, kind of watery, pressing forward like a dog reuniting with its owner, dropping his head against Tate's shoulder and just - staying there, for a second. He closes his eyes tight, wraps his arms around Tate's waist, and he just - holds on, for a second. He's known so many people who have gone through so many horrible, awful things - so many people who have lost so much. He's overwhelmed, knowing that finally, someone's getting something back.
He pulls back, eyes glossy, sniffing and rubbing his nose with his knuckle. He's still gotta get his tattoo taken, the guilt scratched into his throat - but he doesn't care about that right now. Derek grabs Tate's wrist, tugs, and starts pulling him towards the entrance. They're getting out of here - Derek's gonna drive Tate straight back to the beach by the den, if he'll let him, knee jumping anxiously in the driver's seat as he goes. ]
[Tate's never had this situation really happen to him before - this overwhelming sense of having done good, of having someone be so fucking pleased with him. Violet loved him - loves him - and maybe they had moments like this where she put aside the rolling eyes just like Derek to unabashedly admire him but those feel like a lifetime ago, so do they even count? His heart hammers more solidly in his chest as his hand touches up to smooth over Derek's arm, and he melts back into the touch.
It doesn't last long - Derek's getting up and that's a bit of a surprise to Tate, whose legs don't really want to work under him so fast. He stumbles, sneaker dragging on the floor before he's got one hand down trying to hold up his jeans while he's dragged along by the other wrist. He looks back to the bench, to the workers, and then to Derek as he's being lead away.]
[ They're just - going. Away, somewhere else, somewhere better. Derek doesn't answer Tate's question as he leads him back to his car, all but throwing him into the passenger seat as he gets behind the wheel and heads out. He pulls out of the repair shop with a hard squeak of his tires, black marks left on the asphalt as he spins them ]
It's-- I'm fine, we've--
[ We've gotta go. Frustrated, Derek hurriedly wipes himself clean with the edge of his sleeve, exhaling a hard, annoyed breath of air as he drives out of Insincerity and back to the main city. He's not answering Tate while they drive, assuming Tate tries to talk to him, and it's not because he doesn't want to, it's just because he can't - he keeps focusing on that heartbeat, keeps hearing it over anything else, and he's just... too happy with how things turned out to think straight. Everything he says for the next little while is non-committal and clearly distracted.
They get to the den, and - the dog's inside, Derek remembers that, Derek briefly thinks about just taking Tate inside so he can meet her - but he doesn't. He gets out of his car, realizing only when he's opening the door that he never put his seatbelt on, and he's walking straight towards the beach, nodding and telling Tate to come with him. ]
[Tate's silent for the majority of their trip back toward the den and the beach. He's gotten his jeans buttoned up and combed his fingers through his hair - feeling a little less like he's just been fucked by the time they pull to a stop. All the while he's stolen looks at Derek, intrigued by the fire lit in him from something so simple as his heart beat being back. He told Tate a handful of times it wasn't as big a deal as he thought but it turns out it was. It always had been.
Derek's climbing out of the car and Tate sluggishly follows, circling around the jeep to follow him toward the beach. He casts one look back at the den but then hurries in stride to catch up to Derek, who still looks like a man on a mission. He reaches out to touch to his sleeve by his elbow with a gentle tug.]
Derek? What are... where are we going?
[The beach? The tree house? Definitely not the den.]
[ They're heading to the beach, yeah, though it's not a decision that Derek actively makes - it just happens. He's taking off his gloves while they walk, stashing them in his jacket pocket, which he starts stripping from his shoulders as he walks closer and closer to the sand. He's aimlessly walking parallel to the shore, only snapping back to attention when Tate gently touches his arm. ]
Just - just needed to get you out of there.
[ There are some sand dunes a ways down the beach, making a little cliff-like alcove they can hide behind for the sake of privacy. It's - unnecessary to do that, given that the only two people who come to this particular beach are he and Tate, but Derek heads straight for them, and the second he's there, he's pushing Tate against one. Once Derek has Tate's back pushed flush against one of the dunes, coming out here feels intimate enough to be worth it.
Derek's handsy, going straight for Tate's belt. tugging him forward on his toes with how quickly he starts trying to get it undone. His pulse is racing, all because he can hear Tate's again. ]
[Sand's soft until you're thrust down in it, and it hits you in the back with the punch of concrete. Tate lays back anyway, watching Derek make quick work of his belt with eager hands and he can't say he didn't expect this or doesn't want it. He does, he's nodding in agreement because he gets it. They just did this but Derek didn't get to blow his load so far as Tate knows, and that whole ride home must've been straining misery. He reaches down to cup Derek through his jeans, just to get a gauge of it.]
You can just admit you're hot for me, it's cool.
[It's meant to be a joke, eye-roll worthy, but Derek's knuckle grazes him and he's still pretty sensitive so he goes breathy with a grunt. His head lolls back and sand slides down the dune all around him, ready to get in all the wrong places and make a moment of passion something full of friction and regret later. His heart is quicker, just like his breathing.]
[ He's not in the mood for snippy, sarcastic bullshit, so Derek's trying to cut Tate off at the pass with genuine honesty and a rough kiss to the neck. He's running his hand up beneath Tate's shirt now, climbing up his stomach, stroking his thumb over the middle line of his chest, sucking softly against faded pink marks he left on Tate's throat not that long ago. Making them brighter, again. Deeper.
He gets Tate's belt open, gets him unzipped, and he tugs Tate's jeans down to his thighs hard enough to hear a stitch break. He's using his tongue more than his teeth, as he laps at Tate's neck, kissing him more than anything else, and when he slips his hand up the leg of Tate's underwear, he doesn't go straight for his cock. He just - strokes his thigh, soft and easy. ]
[Tate doesn't have a retort to that - nothing but a soft snort of air and a tilt of his head, baring his neck for Derek's touch. Derek has a way of prying from him docility with touch, making him feel like he's simmering under the surface as he rolls his hips and gets pulled this way and that as his jeans are wrenched off. Tate feels Derek's hand creep up his boxers and he touches his hand to Derek's bicep, fingers curling inward to hold on as a shiver goes down his spine.
Derek can go again and again and well - Tate's starting to learn how to do that too, but it doesn't mean he's not a little bit overworked after what just transpired. Nonetheless, he doesn't protest, combing his other hand's fingers through Derek's hair and closing his eyes as the warmth from the sand radiates up underneath him. It's like bathing more directly in the sun.]
[ Somewhere between leaving blunt teeth marks in the bridge of Tate's shoulder and brushing against the very top of his thigh with his fingertips, Derek actually... starts to calm down. He's still incredibly fucking eager, still demanding in that way he always gets when he's blindly horny and needs that connection - but when Tate tells him that this must have meant more, it's kind of sobering. He slows down. ]
Yeah.
[ Yeah. He leaves his hand against Tate's thigh, still halfway up his boxers, but the hickeys he's leaving on Tate's neck turn gentle. He kisses him, feather-light, up to his jawline - and then he pulls back, propping himself up to look directly into Tate's eyes, casting a shadow over the top of him. He just... stops, and he looks, and the guilt of getting this carried away, this happy, is finally starting to eat at him. ]
I'm a coward. Heartbeats are... comforting.
[ He - shrugs, slightly. He doesn't want Tate to think that Derek likes him more like this, because that's not what this is about - he just missed being able to hear the steadying thump of Tate's heart, he missed having that insight into what he was thinking, how he was feeling. It's so much easier to trust him, when he doesn't sound... hollow. Dead. ]
[He feels the change in demeanor with a soft blink of eyes, staring off toward the treeline as Derek's hickey making turns softer and his hand still against his skin. He looks at Derek when he pulls back, staring at him in silence for a moment before his lips twitch and he smiles. He warms and he reaches to take Derek's hand, the one not currently next to his junk, and put it right over the center of his chest beneath his shirt.]
I would've done it sooner if I'd known.
[He had no real intention of hurrying before but if he'd known that it would please Derek to such a degree, he would've tried harder to get this done. Rather than trying to find other ways or just adjusting to the void like he had before. What didn't bother him obviously bothered Derek. That was a mistake and Tate doesn't want to make any more mistakes.]
[ Maybe Derek should have been more vocal about how it felt, always seeing Tate as just a shell. Never being able to rely, instinctively, on the things he's always instinctively relied on when talking to a person - the listening, the sensing. Tate lost his life back home - suicide, he'd said, after years of heartache Derek's foolishly sure he never deserved - and every time Tate snuck up on him or stared at him in deafening silence or just felt like he disappeared when Derek couldn't see him, he always remembered that.
And maybe it's cowardly to not want to, but. He's already called himself a coward. Tate moves his hand and Derek lets him, thumb smoothing over his heart. He closes his eyes and listens for a while. The repetitive thuds, back where they should be. Hope that Tate could still be alive here, somehow. Could still leave here alive. ]
It's a part of you. I didn't want to lose... I didn't want you to lose... a part of you.
[ He didn't like that Tate changed. Derek sighs, dropping his head forward, nudging his nose against Tate's neck in a silent demand for physical affection. He ghosts his other fingers back down Tate's thigh and up to his waist, instead, following the V of his hip. ]
We don't have to do anything. If you're too tired. But.
[Tate answers, before any silence hangs between them. Derek's hand is lightly resting on his leg and he likes that - it's an innocent and intimate touch rolled into one, something that stirs his cock a little but doesn't get him fully hard. He could, by now, though. But he's just not sure he wants to be so overwhelmed - he blinks up at Derek and nods, before pushing up his shirt to get it off overhead and lay his shoulders back bare against the sand.
His dark eyes droop down to Derek's waist, where he's been straining ever since they left the repair shop. Tate'd spared him a few looks on the way here, but now he brings up his hand again to cup Derek through his pants and jerk him off just gently through the fabric - scratching his nails over denim while adjusting the spread of his knees.]
What do you want to do to me? I can blow you, or... you can come between my thighs if you want. I don't care.
[ Thigh-fucking. Of all the suggestions Tate could have made, that one's pretty surprising - partially because it's new for them, primarily because it's not something he would have assumed Tate was familiar with. Derek arches an eyebrow, looking briefly down Tate's body, like he's trying to figure out if this is something he's... done before. Interesting.
He doesn't vocalize his answer, but he rarely ever does. Derek leaves Tate in the state he is now, shirtless but still only partially undressed, going still when he mercifully starts to touch him. He lets Tate draw him out, exposing his dick to the air with a relaxed, content sigh, grateful for the lack of pressure pressing against his cock - and then shifts up on his knees to get closer. He hooks his elbows under Tate's knees, dragging him down towards him a few inches. He positions himself above Tate, rolling his hips forward for a second to grind his cock against Tate's through the thin barrier of cotton between them. ]
[Tate's really only fucked a set of thighs before but became pretty familiar with the act albeit through that one-sided view. There's a lack of lube and soft bedsheets in the equation right now but nonetheless he still feels an anticipatory tug in his gut - he scrambles to acquiesce to Derek's request by relaxing back and letting him position him more soundly against the dune. He blinks up at Derek and wets his lips, knees turning inward with a flex of muscle. With a flex of want.
His head lolls back and he looks up to the patch of sky beyond Derek, blinking at it for a few steadying breaths - a few hammering heartbeats - and then drops his gaze to look at him again. It's like the first time all over again, a weird sense of shyness to him as they try something new. But Derek's - warm, he's safe, and Tate's guard stays nonexistent. His lashes flutter when they grind together, and he lifts his hips in return.]
[ Even now, Tate finds it in him to be bossy. Derek laughs, unamused, just to cover the thrill that still bolts through him every time he hears his heart pick back up again. Derek aligns himself with Tate, moving as slowly as he can, just to be a tease, and when he presses Tate's legs together and gently glides the pre-slick head of his cock between the soft, new feeling of his thighs pressed together, it's...
Shit, it's actually pretty good. This doesn't have the burning heat of legitimate, penetrative sex, but there's a silk-smooth warmth that makes Derek a little more speechless with each experimental push forward. He holds Tate's knees tighter and rolls his hips forward faster now, coating Tate's legs with pre the more he fucks him. Derek... shit, Derek wishes he'd tried this sooner. ]
Fuck. Fuck, okay, I...
[ Shit. Derek drops his weight forward, leaning more heavily on Tate for support. He angles his hips so that every time he fucks between his thighs, he brushes against Tate's cock beneath his boxers, and he can't quite lower his head enough to touch foreheads with Tate, but - he wants to. He leans in as much as he comfortably can, holding eye contact, swallowing drily. ]
[Tate wasn't hard before but all it really takes is the tensing of his legs together, thighs pushed to meet by Derek's calloused hands to make him start to ache inside his boxers. His lips part in a wordless motion and when Derek's cock grazes against his skin, wetting it with pre, he breathes in slow and deep. He fills his lungs with air and holds it there, heart beating at his ribs like a mallet as his toes curl and he bends to Derek's will.
It's an interesting feeling - this side of it. He's not sure he loves or even likes it as much as he thought he might, but it's good enough once Derek grinds into him enough to graze his cock. He digs the heel of his palm into the sand for a hold that doesn't really take, and leans forward when prompted to try and press their lips together needily. He wants to taste Derek - to feel connected.]
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Tate's - pleased. He smiles, just weakly and around the edges of his mouth. His lips stay parted the whole way through because of soft little gasps and pants, with Derek's tongue touching down his dick and his hand pumping him soon after that. Shit, this is a pretty good blowjob, now that he's blotting out all the factors he doesn't really care about. He nudges his hips closer, and curls his fingers into Derek's shirt.]
I missed you too.
[Tate says the words half in truth, half just to make sure he keeps Derek close. He's terrified of him turning away again, of leaving or thinking less of him. The opinions of certain people always have mattered to Tate more than they should, while what the rest of the world thought of him couldn't matter less. He wets his lips and leans back a bit, staring down into Derek's eyes from an angle.]
I'm not going anywhere. I promise. Do you promise?
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And then Tate rode it out. Tate's been getting so much better at riding out Derek's reactions. He didn't cry, didn't fight, he just - promised to be better, than did just enough to convince Derek that he was wrong to have doubted him. Derek still hasn't signed Tate's name to the ledger, because Stiles hadn't done that, and there's some small, unconscious part of him that remembers that - but nobody's around to stop Derek from trusting him. From believing that this is - fine. That they're good again. That they'll always be good again. That this isn't just Jennifer again. Kate.
Yeah. Yeah, Derek promises. He doesn't answer verbally, but there's that smile again. Trusting and affectionate and so full of loyalty. Derek always looks so much younger when he smiles. ]
Alright - shut up. Let's get this over with.
[ After that - Derek's gonna really focus, now. Tate wanted this over fast, and Derek's not going to be sidetracked by whatever stewing affection is stuck beating behind his ribs. Derek takes a firmer hold of Tate's cock and sticks out his tongue, lightly dragging it over the underside of Tate's shaft. He's not worried about being noisy, or-- looking like a whore in front of these guys. He sucks the head of Tate's dick with loud, wet sounds, swallowing him down to the base, bobbing his head back up and leaving Tate shiny and slick with his spit. He hums softly and bobs forward again, pressing his nose to Tate's jeans and closing his eyes, swallowing while he easily, expertly deep throats the guy.
He comes up for breath, swipes his tongue over Tate's tip, tasting whatever precum he might have earned already. Derek takes Tate in his fist again, jerking faster now, the side of his fingers brushing over the most sensitive nerves in his head every time he strokes up. Slowly, Derek takes Tate's head back in between his lips, sucking hard and playing with him with the very end of his tongue, and he still holds eye contact. Still takes in every breath, every reaction, like that's the entire reason he's doing this. ]
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He lost a lot of people, here and back home, and finally he's feeling like he's coming out of a dip by doing okay. Derek came back and that defied the odds - so this is meant to be, right? He'll fight tooth and nail to prevent it being taken back away from him. All while, most likely, working against himself out of other blind and selfish needs. So for now his touch is tender, fingers raking back through Derek's hair as he shudders at that warm, wet touch of his tongue. He feels bolstered by Derek, able to keep from focusing on all the things that would make him uncomfortable here in lieu of enjoying the way he swallows down his cock.
Tate... stares. He's seen Derek from this angle before but there's something so overtly lewd about it now, where his dark eyes widen a few degrees and his knees turn inward as his feet press down against the floor. It feels good - fucking good - and he's saying such in breathy little mutterings under his breath, but he's not paying attention. He's just... hooked, leaning in and rolling his hips, trying his hardest not to just push Derek's face back down his dick to watch it yet again disappear.]
That's - that's good. That's really good.
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But they need to get this done. Derek swallows when he feels the head of Tate's cock pressing up against the very, very back of his throat, every suck and every quiet, purposeful hum sending vibrations through Tate. He spreads his fingers out beneath Tate's stomach and firmly pushes him back down against the bench, keeping him from fucking into his mouth like he might want to. Derek promised he'd take care of him, so - he's in charge.
He finds a rhythm, sucking and bobbing with circular twists of his head, taking Tate deep and then sliding back up. He's-- focused, getting faster now, breaking eye contact when he ends up losing himself in the moment, closing his eyes just to taste Tate and enjoy every part of this. The repair shop smells like the mechanic's in the Up, all motor oil and grease, but Derek kind of - likes that. It makes this feel familiar. Easier. ]
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He's breathing shallow breaths, leaning back and still trying to squirm his hips upward - Derek stops that but he still moves, stomach flexing and his sneakers sliding on the floor. He grips Derek's shoulder, twisting his fingers into his shirt and pulling - starting to feel on the cusp of getting to his orgasm. Soft little 'yeah's give that away - his eyes fluttering shut.]
C'mon... c'mon.
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He twists his fist over Tate's dick in furious strokes, wet sounds of rapid friction making Derek forget, for a second, that they're being watched. He pulls off of Tate with a soft, clearly aroused gasp for air, then plunges forward again, swallowing him to the root. The more Derek does this, the sluttier he looks - like he fucking lives for Tate's cock, like he's at his happiest when he's seconds away from tasting someone's load. He's hard in his jeans, and Derek doesn't touch himself, both hands too busy focusing on Tate, but he rocks his hips forward in gradual, barely there movements, unaware of what he's doing.
One of the guys says fuck yeah, cum in his mouth, and that's the only thing someone could've said to make Derek let Tate cum on his face right now. Mildly annoyed, Derek leans back on the balls of his feet the more frantically Tate starts to breathe, pulling his lips from his cock and flicking the tip of his tongue in circles around the head, instead. He strokes Tate faster, refusing to stop, looking up, holding eye contact. Silently asking him to come. ]
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Derek pulls back and it's - enough of a change that Tate knows he's lost his grip entirely. His eyes open weakly, inky black and welling with lusty tears - he just gets a moment of eye contact with Derek before his head lolls back, his shoulders roll back, his whole body arches and he's losing his load. Barely parting his lips in a silent 'o' before he's painting Derek's lips white and shuddering with the sudden jolt that pulls him out of a moment of slow motion to the white hot pleasure just as it ebbs away.
He nearly slumps backward, reaching out to grab Derek's shirt at his shoulder to stay grounded.]
... Shit.
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His pulse is thudding in his ears, mingling with the heartbeats of the men around him, but as some of them laugh and thank Tate for the show, wandering off to get back to their jobs or to jerk off in the privacy of a bathroom stall - he hears something else. A slow, rising beat, steadily cooling down and warming up at the same time. Derek...
Derek knows that heartbeat. ]
I can - ah.
[ He stands, bumping his knee on the bottom of the workbench. All of a sudden, his hands are on Tate's chest, frantic and clumsy. Through all the nervous agitation, he knows he's touching Tate's heart, his hand pressed in right against his ribcage, confirming with a few steady beats what he already knew. Derek's eyes are wide and he looks-- awestruck, even with the cum still there on his face, openly degrading him. He's touching Tate like he's fragile, hands nervously clinging to Tate's shirt like he's afraid to let go, and he can't - he can't stop staring. It's in his ears. A steadily increasing, steadily stabilizing, all too familiar heartbeat.
Derek looks up at Tate, just... smiling. He laughs, eyes scrunching up a little. He didn't think this would really happen. This is the first time the city's really done something good, since bringing him and Stiles together. ]
I can - I can hear it? I can hear you.
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His lips twitch and he touches his hand to Derek's wrist, feeling happier just because he's happy in turn. It really wouldn't have ever bothered Tate to never have it back but he knew he had to, for Derek's sake. Even if it makes things trickier to navigate - he's confident it'll be fine. He tips his head to the side and raises his brows at Derek, before looking down at his hands, and then himself. Quietly putting away his dick now.]
Worth it, right?
[Another upward look.]
It sound the same as before?
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Yeah. Yeah, it's--
[ Derek nods, as fast as he can. It's worth it. It's the same. Derek laughs, kind of watery, pressing forward like a dog reuniting with its owner, dropping his head against Tate's shoulder and just - staying there, for a second. He closes his eyes tight, wraps his arms around Tate's waist, and he just - holds on, for a second. He's known so many people who have gone through so many horrible, awful things - so many people who have lost so much. He's overwhelmed, knowing that finally, someone's getting something back.
He pulls back, eyes glossy, sniffing and rubbing his nose with his knuckle. He's still gotta get his tattoo taken, the guilt scratched into his throat - but he doesn't care about that right now. Derek grabs Tate's wrist, tugs, and starts pulling him towards the entrance. They're getting out of here - Derek's gonna drive Tate straight back to the beach by the den, if he'll let him, knee jumping anxiously in the driver's seat as he goes. ]
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It doesn't last long - Derek's getting up and that's a bit of a surprise to Tate, whose legs don't really want to work under him so fast. He stumbles, sneaker dragging on the floor before he's got one hand down trying to hold up his jeans while he's dragged along by the other wrist. He looks back to the bench, to the workers, and then to Derek as he's being lead away.]
What are - where are we going?
[Didn't Derek have shit to do? Doesn't-]
Don't you wanna...
[He hesitates.]
You know, clean up?
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It's-- I'm fine, we've--
[ We've gotta go. Frustrated, Derek hurriedly wipes himself clean with the edge of his sleeve, exhaling a hard, annoyed breath of air as he drives out of Insincerity and back to the main city. He's not answering Tate while they drive, assuming Tate tries to talk to him, and it's not because he doesn't want to, it's just because he can't - he keeps focusing on that heartbeat, keeps hearing it over anything else, and he's just... too happy with how things turned out to think straight. Everything he says for the next little while is non-committal and clearly distracted.
They get to the den, and - the dog's inside, Derek remembers that, Derek briefly thinks about just taking Tate inside so he can meet her - but he doesn't. He gets out of his car, realizing only when he's opening the door that he never put his seatbelt on, and he's walking straight towards the beach, nodding and telling Tate to come with him. ]
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Derek's climbing out of the car and Tate sluggishly follows, circling around the jeep to follow him toward the beach. He casts one look back at the den but then hurries in stride to catch up to Derek, who still looks like a man on a mission. He reaches out to touch to his sleeve by his elbow with a gentle tug.]
Derek? What are... where are we going?
[The beach? The tree house? Definitely not the den.]
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Just - just needed to get you out of there.
[ There are some sand dunes a ways down the beach, making a little cliff-like alcove they can hide behind for the sake of privacy. It's - unnecessary to do that, given that the only two people who come to this particular beach are he and Tate, but Derek heads straight for them, and the second he's there, he's pushing Tate against one. Once Derek has Tate's back pushed flush against one of the dunes, coming out here feels intimate enough to be worth it.
Derek's handsy, going straight for Tate's belt. tugging him forward on his toes with how quickly he starts trying to get it undone. His pulse is racing, all because he can hear Tate's again. ]
I know - I know we just did this, but -
[ He didn't get to come. ]
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You can just admit you're hot for me, it's cool.
[It's meant to be a joke, eye-roll worthy, but Derek's knuckle grazes him and he's still pretty sensitive so he goes breathy with a grunt. His head lolls back and sand slides down the dune all around him, ready to get in all the wrong places and make a moment of passion something full of friction and regret later. His heart is quicker, just like his breathing.]
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[ He's not in the mood for snippy, sarcastic bullshit, so Derek's trying to cut Tate off at the pass with genuine honesty and a rough kiss to the neck. He's running his hand up beneath Tate's shirt now, climbing up his stomach, stroking his thumb over the middle line of his chest, sucking softly against faded pink marks he left on Tate's throat not that long ago. Making them brighter, again. Deeper.
He gets Tate's belt open, gets him unzipped, and he tugs Tate's jeans down to his thighs hard enough to hear a stitch break. He's using his tongue more than his teeth, as he laps at Tate's neck, kissing him more than anything else, and when he slips his hand up the leg of Tate's underwear, he doesn't go straight for his cock. He just - strokes his thigh, soft and easy. ]
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Derek can go again and again and well - Tate's starting to learn how to do that too, but it doesn't mean he's not a little bit overworked after what just transpired. Nonetheless, he doesn't protest, combing his other hand's fingers through Derek's hair and closing his eyes as the warmth from the sand radiates up underneath him. It's like bathing more directly in the sun.]
I knew it meant more than you'd ever let on.
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Yeah.
[ Yeah. He leaves his hand against Tate's thigh, still halfway up his boxers, but the hickeys he's leaving on Tate's neck turn gentle. He kisses him, feather-light, up to his jawline - and then he pulls back, propping himself up to look directly into Tate's eyes, casting a shadow over the top of him. He just... stops, and he looks, and the guilt of getting this carried away, this happy, is finally starting to eat at him. ]
I'm a coward. Heartbeats are... comforting.
[ He - shrugs, slightly. He doesn't want Tate to think that Derek likes him more like this, because that's not what this is about - he just missed being able to hear the steadying thump of Tate's heart, he missed having that insight into what he was thinking, how he was feeling. It's so much easier to trust him, when he doesn't sound... hollow. Dead. ]
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I would've done it sooner if I'd known.
[He had no real intention of hurrying before but if he'd known that it would please Derek to such a degree, he would've tried harder to get this done. Rather than trying to find other ways or just adjusting to the void like he had before. What didn't bother him obviously bothered Derek. That was a mistake and Tate doesn't want to make any more mistakes.]
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And maybe it's cowardly to not want to, but. He's already called himself a coward. Tate moves his hand and Derek lets him, thumb smoothing over his heart. He closes his eyes and listens for a while. The repetitive thuds, back where they should be. Hope that Tate could still be alive here, somehow. Could still leave here alive. ]
It's a part of you. I didn't want to lose... I didn't want you to lose... a part of you.
[ He didn't like that Tate changed. Derek sighs, dropping his head forward, nudging his nose against Tate's neck in a silent demand for physical affection. He ghosts his other fingers back down Tate's thigh and up to his waist, instead, following the V of his hip. ]
We don't have to do anything. If you're too tired. But.
[ He clearly wants to. ]
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[Tate answers, before any silence hangs between them. Derek's hand is lightly resting on his leg and he likes that - it's an innocent and intimate touch rolled into one, something that stirs his cock a little but doesn't get him fully hard. He could, by now, though. But he's just not sure he wants to be so overwhelmed - he blinks up at Derek and nods, before pushing up his shirt to get it off overhead and lay his shoulders back bare against the sand.
His dark eyes droop down to Derek's waist, where he's been straining ever since they left the repair shop. Tate'd spared him a few looks on the way here, but now he brings up his hand again to cup Derek through his pants and jerk him off just gently through the fabric - scratching his nails over denim while adjusting the spread of his knees.]
What do you want to do to me? I can blow you, or... you can come between my thighs if you want. I don't care.
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He doesn't vocalize his answer, but he rarely ever does. Derek leaves Tate in the state he is now, shirtless but still only partially undressed, going still when he mercifully starts to touch him. He lets Tate draw him out, exposing his dick to the air with a relaxed, content sigh, grateful for the lack of pressure pressing against his cock - and then shifts up on his knees to get closer. He hooks his elbows under Tate's knees, dragging him down towards him a few inches. He positions himself above Tate, rolling his hips forward for a second to grind his cock against Tate's through the thin barrier of cotton between them. ]
Lay back.
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His head lolls back and he looks up to the patch of sky beyond Derek, blinking at it for a few steadying breaths - a few hammering heartbeats - and then drops his gaze to look at him again. It's like the first time all over again, a weird sense of shyness to him as they try something new. But Derek's - warm, he's safe, and Tate's guard stays nonexistent. His lashes flutter when they grind together, and he lifts his hips in return.]
I'm waiting.
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Shit, it's actually pretty good. This doesn't have the burning heat of legitimate, penetrative sex, but there's a silk-smooth warmth that makes Derek a little more speechless with each experimental push forward. He holds Tate's knees tighter and rolls his hips forward faster now, coating Tate's legs with pre the more he fucks him. Derek... shit, Derek wishes he'd tried this sooner. ]
Fuck. Fuck, okay, I...
[ Shit. Derek drops his weight forward, leaning more heavily on Tate for support. He angles his hips so that every time he fucks between his thighs, he brushes against Tate's cock beneath his boxers, and he can't quite lower his head enough to touch foreheads with Tate, but - he wants to. He leans in as much as he comfortably can, holding eye contact, swallowing drily. ]
C'mere.
[ Sit up a little. Derek's asking for a kiss. ]
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It's an interesting feeling - this side of it. He's not sure he loves or even likes it as much as he thought he might, but it's good enough once Derek grinds into him enough to graze his cock. He digs the heel of his palm into the sand for a hold that doesn't really take, and leans forward when prompted to try and press their lips together needily. He wants to taste Derek - to feel connected.]
It's good, right?
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