[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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no subject
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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?