[ 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
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?