[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.]
[ Derek's the one who asked for a kiss, but he's also the one who delays actually having it. Tate leans up and Derek smiles a little, right there in the corner of his lips, letting Tate wait as if he's fully intending to leave him hanging - and only when Tate starts to look confused or annoyed or impatient does Derek actually dip down to meet him.
The kiss is... soft, and it's not chaste, exactly, but it's the kind of kiss they don't ever share all too often. It's romantic and it lingers and Derek keeps his eyes shut through the whole thing, wanting to experience the moment in a way he doesn't when they're just-- furiously biting at one another's lips, desperate to touch and taste and have. He nudges Tate's cheek with his nose when he finally pulls back, grinding between his thighs a little faster. ]
Yeah.
[ He digs his nails into Tate's leg, little moon-shaped bite marks that don't hurt. There's something stirring in his chest that Derek normally doesn't feel - a muted, quiet jealousy, lingering enough to make his stomach hurt without taking him over and making him furious in the protective, werewolfish way it usually does. Derek sighs softly, slowing down, the slippery hold of Tate's thighs around him getting him too close to the edge already. He wants to take his time. ]
Have you... who did you...?
[ Have you done this before - who did you do this with. The questions are pretty obvious, even if Derek's having trouble asking. ]
[Their lips barely touch - Tate strains for it, brows pinching before Derek gives him what he wants with what looks like an amused touch. It's warm and it inviting, the kiss, and with the heat of the sun on his skin and the utter acceptance of today - Tate's never really felt better. He feels loved, he loves, he feels lost in a swell of good feelings in his chest. Feelings that take pause when they break apart, and Derek looks down at him while his hips pivot forward and his cock rubs between his thighs.
He's asking questions that Tate immediately can pick up on - breathing in a steady breath and letting it go before he answers. The irony is that this question asked a month ago might've upset him, brought up the feelings in his chest that were raw and cut open. But he's moved on, like he always moves on, obsession to obsession and Peter's just something of a mark left in a book. A signed name that he's already forgotten about, book back on the shelf. He blinks a few seconds, and diverts his eyes away when he replies.]
Peter.
[Ages ago. He doesn't know how to talk about this, like this, when they're doing this. It's not something they've done before. Talked about fucking other people while in the midst of it together. Derek's jealous, Tate's jealous, they're not the kind of people who share easily. It's better left unsaid. Nonetheless-]
[ It's... not usually difficult for Derek to keep how he feels to himself. Sure, more often than not, his awful poker face and his predictable reactions make however he's feeling clear to someone like Tate, who at this point, knows him pretty fucking well - but he can always bite his tongue, he can always keep his thoughts muted and concealed under defensive insults and rolled eyes. He can always keep himself, at the core of things, silenced.
Now's not "usually". Derek doesn't slow down - he threatens to fuck into Tate faster, actually, each push of his hips making him grind against Tate's cock with gradually increasing urgency before middling out - but when he leans down for another kiss, it's even sweeter than the last, feather-light and slow, the tip of his nose gently touching Tate's as he pulls away. He grinds into Tate one last time before pulling back, letting his knees go, disentangling the both of them from one another. He gets his hands on Tate's boxers and carefully pulls them down as he talks. ]
I'm sorry.
[ For bringing him up. For asking. Derek pries Tate's clothes from his body and leaves them in the sand, and when he realigns them, he's - ignoring Tate's thighs, now. He's resting his cock against Tate's, taking both in one hand, holding his arm steady while he rocks into his own fist. He's got his eyes open, gaze intense, staring at Tate like - like his own pleasure doesn't matter here, not as much as Tate's. ]
... Do you ever think about me being with other people?
[ Physically. Sexually. A pause. He drags the pad of his thumb up over his head, getting it wet with precum that he then brings, slowly, to Tate's lips. ]
Do you ever think about me when you're with other people?
[Tate doesn't like the apology; it sits in the air like something of a cooled breeze, even though for Tate it doesn't feel that way. He was really screwed up after losing Peter but his brain rewired - he found a new crush, another teenager just disentangled enough from him to date and feel sweet around without ever having to show a true side of himself to. He's replaced him already, but he knows that's not exactly normal or healthy - so he takes pause the way he should, the way he knows he ought to, gaze again diverted before it finds its way back to Derek.
He murmurs something indistinct about it being alright - fine, really - and then they're changing position a bit. Tate's worried, at first, that that was the end of it but Derek's only helping him out of his boxers. Then their cocks are together in the grip of Derek's fist and Tate's eyelids flutter, pale lashes together as he rocks up into it too. It's good, it's always good. His eyes stay closed.]
I don't like thinking of you with other people. And - And...
[Shit, he parts his lips - lapping his tongue out against Derek's thumb after sluggishly opening his eyes. He's successfully horny again, sending sand sliding as his arm moves and he squirms beneath Derek's body.]
[ Things get better fast. The second Tate squirms, the second he tastes Derek's pre, the mood is back to where it was. Derek stays stationary for a moment or two, letting Tate grind up against him, and then he's curling each long, slender finger of his back around the both of them, squeezing the soft yet calloused palm of his hand tight around them, welcoming and warm. His fist gets a little wetter, a little louder, the more he strokes, with Tate's precum mixing with his own and making this easier, slicker, faster. Derek - exhales.
He twists his hand in circles around the head of Tate's cock, around the head of his own. I don't like thinking of you with other people. Derek strokes faster. Faster. ]
I do.
[ He drops his body down, slinking forward, all self-assured and vaguely feline. He rests his free arm above Tate's head, warm in the sand, leaning over Tate like he's shielding him from the sight of the sun, and he strokes-- faster. Faster. Demanding, now. Demanding to see Tate squirm. Demanding to make his heart beat even faster. ]
Anytime I'm with someone. I always think of you. I only think of you.
[ Because it's - easier, to think of Tate, the safest constant he has in Duplicity, than it is to think of the stranger beneath him, the friend beneath him who might one day disapepar, or the boyfriend who already left. It's easier to avoid dwelling on his fears and his self-conscious anxieties if he instead thinks of the person who so successfully manipulated Derek into feeling comfortable and safe around him.
But that's not how Derek sees it. He thinks of Tate because of-- something else. Something good. Better. ]
[Tate doesn't say anything to that - he likes hearing it, and feels somewhat surprised. He feels a sick sense of satisfaction, though, a warm thud in his chest because months may have gone by but he's still trying to stick it to a kid who's long gone by showing him that he's wormed his way even closer to Derek than ever before. That Derek's thinking of him instead when he fucks someone - even though there's something about that that could be bad, too. Stiles is still a sensitive subject, maybe he avoids him on purpose. Maybe Tate's just second pick.
He doesn't think about that. Doesn't even begin to - not when Derek's got his hand around their cocks and keeps giving him something tight to fuck up into. He feels the weight of Derek shift forward, feels the sun shaded from his eyes by his body. Tate's panting now, lifting a hand to Derek's side and grazing his nails over it as he works them together. Shit - shit, shit. He's cursing lightly under his breath, eyelids fluttering again and eyes nearly rolling back.]
Keep going - shit. This way you can come on me if you want. Where do you want to?
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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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The kiss is... soft, and it's not chaste, exactly, but it's the kind of kiss they don't ever share all too often. It's romantic and it lingers and Derek keeps his eyes shut through the whole thing, wanting to experience the moment in a way he doesn't when they're just-- furiously biting at one another's lips, desperate to touch and taste and have. He nudges Tate's cheek with his nose when he finally pulls back, grinding between his thighs a little faster. ]
Yeah.
[ He digs his nails into Tate's leg, little moon-shaped bite marks that don't hurt. There's something stirring in his chest that Derek normally doesn't feel - a muted, quiet jealousy, lingering enough to make his stomach hurt without taking him over and making him furious in the protective, werewolfish way it usually does. Derek sighs softly, slowing down, the slippery hold of Tate's thighs around him getting him too close to the edge already. He wants to take his time. ]
Have you... who did you...?
[ Have you done this before - who did you do this with. The questions are pretty obvious, even if Derek's having trouble asking. ]
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He's asking questions that Tate immediately can pick up on - breathing in a steady breath and letting it go before he answers. The irony is that this question asked a month ago might've upset him, brought up the feelings in his chest that were raw and cut open. But he's moved on, like he always moves on, obsession to obsession and Peter's just something of a mark left in a book. A signed name that he's already forgotten about, book back on the shelf. He blinks a few seconds, and diverts his eyes away when he replies.]
Peter.
[Ages ago. He doesn't know how to talk about this, like this, when they're doing this. It's not something they've done before. Talked about fucking other people while in the midst of it together. Derek's jealous, Tate's jealous, they're not the kind of people who share easily. It's better left unsaid. Nonetheless-]
But not - not like this.
[Other way around.]
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Now's not "usually". Derek doesn't slow down - he threatens to fuck into Tate faster, actually, each push of his hips making him grind against Tate's cock with gradually increasing urgency before middling out - but when he leans down for another kiss, it's even sweeter than the last, feather-light and slow, the tip of his nose gently touching Tate's as he pulls away. He grinds into Tate one last time before pulling back, letting his knees go, disentangling the both of them from one another. He gets his hands on Tate's boxers and carefully pulls them down as he talks. ]
I'm sorry.
[ For bringing him up. For asking. Derek pries Tate's clothes from his body and leaves them in the sand, and when he realigns them, he's - ignoring Tate's thighs, now. He's resting his cock against Tate's, taking both in one hand, holding his arm steady while he rocks into his own fist. He's got his eyes open, gaze intense, staring at Tate like - like his own pleasure doesn't matter here, not as much as Tate's. ]
... Do you ever think about me being with other people?
[ Physically. Sexually. A pause. He drags the pad of his thumb up over his head, getting it wet with precum that he then brings, slowly, to Tate's lips. ]
Do you ever think about me when you're with other people?
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He murmurs something indistinct about it being alright - fine, really - and then they're changing position a bit. Tate's worried, at first, that that was the end of it but Derek's only helping him out of his boxers. Then their cocks are together in the grip of Derek's fist and Tate's eyelids flutter, pale lashes together as he rocks up into it too. It's good, it's always good. His eyes stay closed.]
I don't like thinking of you with other people. And - And...
[Shit, he parts his lips - lapping his tongue out against Derek's thumb after sluggishly opening his eyes. He's successfully horny again, sending sand sliding as his arm moves and he squirms beneath Derek's body.]
I think about you a lot. Do you think about me?
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He twists his hand in circles around the head of Tate's cock, around the head of his own. I don't like thinking of you with other people. Derek strokes faster. Faster. ]
I do.
[ He drops his body down, slinking forward, all self-assured and vaguely feline. He rests his free arm above Tate's head, warm in the sand, leaning over Tate like he's shielding him from the sight of the sun, and he strokes-- faster. Faster. Demanding, now. Demanding to see Tate squirm. Demanding to make his heart beat even faster. ]
Anytime I'm with someone. I always think of you. I only think of you.
[ Because it's - easier, to think of Tate, the safest constant he has in Duplicity, than it is to think of the stranger beneath him, the friend beneath him who might one day disapepar, or the boyfriend who already left. It's easier to avoid dwelling on his fears and his self-conscious anxieties if he instead thinks of the person who so successfully manipulated Derek into feeling comfortable and safe around him.
But that's not how Derek sees it. He thinks of Tate because of-- something else. Something good. Better. ]
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He doesn't think about that. Doesn't even begin to - not when Derek's got his hand around their cocks and keeps giving him something tight to fuck up into. He feels the weight of Derek shift forward, feels the sun shaded from his eyes by his body. Tate's panting now, lifting a hand to Derek's side and grazing his nails over it as he works them together. Shit - shit, shit. He's cursing lightly under his breath, eyelids fluttering again and eyes nearly rolling back.]
Keep going - shit. This way you can come on me if you want. Where do you want to?