[Tate can't say for sure if he's come this hard before - he's never come like this, but in ways that are similar. And in comparison to those, this takes the cake. He's always had a thing for being choked, the surrender of it and the trust it takes to put your life in someone else's hands... it's something Tate considers romantic, to the fullest extent. Intimate beyond measure. And here he is, choking on cock like a champ, and aside from some tears streaming down the sides of his face - he's doing damn well, too.
His orgasm hits him like a truck which is good, because it leaves him momentarily stunned enough not to feel the harsh thrust of Derek's hips that follows it because he's too swept into enjoying the feeling of a hot tongue over the cotton of his boxers, wondering how something so obscure could feel so good. He's clawing at Derek's sides for something to grip, red and white lines criss-crossing his skin from his nails.
One shallow fuck lets Tate gasp in a breath that fills his lungs before Derek's cock is buried in him, cutting his air off and making him violently squirm beneath his hips when it pins him there. His eyes are shut tight, throat flexing when he feels the urge to retch and gag, and seconds drag into what feels like years before Derek's cock twitches and shoots. The sensation of his cock moving is all he feels until Derek pulls out, cum hitting the back of his throat and coating his tongue catching him by surprise. He's coughing on that when more streaks his face, and Tate feels utterly wrecked - he can't even lift a hand to blot it out with Derek still over top of him.
He rolls off and leaves Tate laying there, sputtering and tear-streaked as he turns over onto all fours to choke on a mouthful of cum. He spits it out in a sticky strand, but seems to think twice about the gesture and catches what pools out of his mouth in his upturned hand, as if he'll get chastised for wasting it. He's blinded by a flurry of tears and what is likely a shot of cum that slips down the inner curve of his nose, running down his face as he wheezes.
Tate crumples forward, down onto his forearms with his forehead against one of them and his shoulders tucked in. He's breathing raspy through a few retching gags that are loudly audible, but he manages not to lose his lunch. It just takes a long, long moment before he can lift his head again and look at Derek - one eye shut and the other glassy. He swallows hard before swiping his tongue over his upper lip slowly, as if tentative to move a muscle - as if even that licking moment is somehow inspiring soreness in the wake of all that.]
[ As time passes and the high of Derek's orgasm fades away, his dick steadily softening and laying flat down his thigh, he feels less like he's underwater and more like all the sounds he's hearing are... real. Less faded, less outside of himself. Tate's still retching, coughing enough for Derek to suddenly realize the gravity of what just happened and hastily wonder if he's seriously bruised this poor kid's throat, and he sits up with a start, fast enough to make his head spin with vertigo. He clutches at one of the floorboards for balance and warily watches Tate recover, his heart half-sinking with guilt and half-soaring with primal, masculine pride.
He did that. He wrecked Tate. His Tate. This was a long time coming, and Derek maybe gets that now.
Tate asks him if it was good, and Derek doesn't have it in him to laugh, just - sore all over, and knowing Tate must feel the same. Worse. He sits up, watching the cum drip into Tate's hand and just - pool all over him, and he very softly, very affectionately, starts to clean him up. He reaches around for his own shirt, grabbing it from wherever the fuck it was discarded, and he holds one hand in Tate's hair to keep him steady. ]
I got... carried away. I'm sorry.
[ That's not an answer, but - fuck, Tate felt how hard he came. How forcefully. He knows god damn well that it was good. Derek plays with Tate's hair a little, and when he's all cleaned up, Derek leans in to press the lightest possible kiss against Tate's eyelid. He drops his shirt - gonna have to wash it in the ocean before he goes back home - and sets that hand on Tate's side, just... touching, for the sake of touching.
Tate said he could handle what Derek did to him, but - again - the weight of everything is starting to press down on his shoulders, making him kind of nauseous. He feels like he has to ask this. ]
[He's recovering, bit by bit, but each breath he takes still feels a bit wet at the back of his throat and he clears it once or twice to no avail. But he pushes up onto his knees, almost pulling away from Derek when he starts to clean him up - still in the head space of not wanting to disappoint but there's an ungodly amount of cum on his face. He lets Derek wipe it off. And then quietly, his shoulder shakes with amusement when Derek says he got carried away.]
I'm fine.
[Tate finds his voice to feel a bit surreal to hear, hoarse and hollow, but he's not sure what else he expected. Derek kisses his eyelid and Tate holds still, blinking a few times on contact before looking up at him softly. He then drops his gaze to his hand, swiping his tongue over his palm like a cat cleaning its paw - mopping up that last little smudge of cum he can before swallowing and raising his brows to show that yeah, he's cool. And if that doesn't do it?
Tate pushes up on his knees and leans a bit closer to Derek, invading his space to toe the line and lay his lips to Derek's in a hesitant kiss. He doesn't touch him, save for a hovering of his palm over Derek's chest, and the kiss is chaste and sweet. A claiming of something all his own, because he feels much more assured of himself after he does it.]
[ For a moment, Derek feels like he's back where tonight started. Tate can't talk as well as he could earlier, and the air wasn't heavy with sex and sweat an hour ago, but the shake of amusement and the reassurance that he's okay makes Derek feel... safe, maybe. Not that he didn't feel safe before, but - safer. Like he did when they were just swinging their legs over the side of the platform and sharing a burger together.
Tate laps at his hand and tastes Derek's cum and there's suddenly-- a very real, very strong urge to go a second round. Derek stares in silence, his dick racked with exhaustion and sensitivity but still swelling to a lazy half-hardness, watching Tate with a mixture of awe and visible, painful attraction. I don't want to fuck you, he said, once. You know, like a liar.
Whatever he's thinking gets cut off half-way. The kiss is... unexpected, and not as unwelcome as Derek thought it might be, though it takes a second or two of deliberation before he reciprocates. He sets his hand on Tate's neck and holds him close, tasting himself on his lips and chasing after him a little when he starts to pull back. It's warm and it's doting and when it's over, there's still fondness in Derek's eyes. ]
Good.
[ A part of him still wants to apologize. He's not sure why. Just - this feeling, somewhere in his chest, that maybe Tate deserved better than this. Maybe he's done something wrong, to Tate, even if all of this started because he was trying to help. Maybe they've changed their relationship for the worse, rather than for the better.
But at this point, what's done is done. Derek's hand slides down Tate's neck, and... he gets a little harder, as he sets his palm over Tate's throat. He just... leaves his hand there, for a second, thinking something, and then slowly and uncertainly takes his hand away. He stands up, putting some distance between them, and he starts searching out the rest of his clothes. ]
You're, uh. Probably gonna have to wear the sweats again.
[Tate's lips part ever so slightly when Derek holds his neck, feeling expectant of something that doesn't come. He'd lean against his palm if he had a few seconds more to react, but Derek pulls away and Tate sits back on his calves and touches his fingertips to his adam's apple gingerly, feeling sore and hoarse - wondering how long it'll last before it fades on him. He's still thinking of the kiss, wondering if he did right by it, but when Derek's up and looking for his clothes all it takes is a glance at his dick to think he did.
Christ.
He looks down at himself, raising his brows at the mess in his jeans before giving an absently agreeing shrug. Takes an attempt to get up on his feet, feeling more exposed than ever when he starts peeling off his sneakers and jeans. Boxers are definitely toast, but are the jeans that bad? He holds them up to Derek, raising his brows.]
[ Derek doesn't look back at Tate. He just says, kind of confidently, kind of like he's bragging - ]
I made you come pretty fucking hard, bro.
[ - which is kind of fucking terrible, because bro just slips out of him without his notice. That fifteen year old jock dude who wanted to become a professional basketball player is rearing his ugly head, and it's honestly the worst thing. The worst possible thing.
Derek grabs the sweats and throws them over to Tate, walking naked across the platform and very narrowly managing to avoid slipping in a particularly nasty puddle of cold, cold cum. Derek decides halfway through picking up his clothes that he's not gonna get dressed again. No point. He kicks his jeans and his boxers and his ruined shirt into a little pile for the morning and then just - saunters on back.
After a pause, Derek wriggles down into the sleeping bag, patting the fabric and silently telling Tate that he's willing to share now. There's... nothing to say that Tate's going to be okay with Derek sleeping up against him, naked as the day he was born, but it feels like there's been a shift in how they are around each other, now. Tate talked so fucking heavily about how they were pack, about how he should trust him, and - well, Derek trusts him. Derek trusts him with everything. He wants to share everything with Tate, from here on out. That's how pack should be. ]
[Tate's brows pinch together as he regards Derek, seeing that jockism for what it is, and shaking his head ever so lightly in dismay. Truth be told he kind of likes it, even if it makes him wanna roll his eyes at the cringe factor - he thinks he'd hate the cocky teenager Derek used to be. He'd suck his dick still, probably, but at what cost? He watches Derek move by and realizes clothes aren't coming back into the equation when Derek settles down with the sleeping bag.
It takes Tate a moment but he drops his jeans next to Derek's, peeling off his sticky boxers and using them to wipe dry before picking up the sweats. He doesn't have the confidence (in the comfort of laying on lumber - not the situation,) to stay naked, so he slips them up his hips. He peels off his shirt as if to compensate, leaving the one piece of clothing that's relatively clean as far away from the rest as he can. And then he goes to kneel down, feeling like his bones are lead as he collapses next to Derek.]
Gonna tell me a bedtime story?
[He asks, looking back over his shoulder as he resumes his little spoon position - with a gap between them, just so they don't fall into a vicious cycle they can't escape. He lays his head down on his arm and closes his eyes for a beat, smelling the freshly laid out wood and - well, the scent of fresh laid wood too.]
[ Tate's back is to Derek while he strips, so... he won't ever know if Derek watched him get changed or not. Either way, he joins him in the sleeping bag and Derek can tell that he's exhausted, but he's also not entirely comfortable with having this much space between them. This wasn't... an easy night, in a lot of ways, and Derek's stomach is in knots thinking about the home Tate's going to go back to after his night in the treehouse, but. That's all the more reason to make him feel comfortable, right? Safe? Loved, the way pack should be?
So - cautiously - Derek moves in closer, draping his arm around Tate's bare stomach, moving closer until his chest is pressed flush to his back. He doesn't need to exert much strength at all to drag Tate up against his body, pulling him in as tight as possible, allowing his body heat to bleed into Tate. He leans forward, his nose against the side of Tate's neck, and when he talks, his lips are soft against his shoulder. ]
[Tate trails off, adjusting again to how he's laying - now that he's flush with Derek, pulled tight so easily. Like a set of magnets, didn't take much effort at all for them to settle together. He's a bit grateful for the sweat pants, they put a little barrier between them that helps him not be able to tell where Derek's cock is really sitting, or how tucked up against him it really is again. He's happy to feel Derek's arms around him and the touch of his nose, and nuzzles back against it like a lazy and affectionate cat seeking comfort.
He likes this. Better than the first time, because he'd been plenty comfortable then - and about to fall asleep easily enough - now he's got the bonus of settling euphoria to make the sleep he's bound to fall into all that much deeper and relaxing. Derek, behind him, also no longer just feels like a friend. They're pack, after all - the intimacy's so much better this way.]
I just - figured... it might be better for you with space. If you're comfortable, I'm comfortable. Just don't get mad if my ass is against you, okay?
I don't want there to be space between us anymore.
[ Not just now, tonight, but - in general? Derek's talked such a big fucking game about being pack, and Tate's only ever fed into that feeling and made him want it more, and here, finally, Derek's beginning to feel like they're there. It doesn't make sense anymore. Tate's willing to be bitten, Tate's willing to sign a contract, Tate's willing to let Derek take care of him whenever he needs it. Space is just - inhibiting what they should have had together weeks ago. That's what Derek's feeling.
Tate makes a joke about his ass and Derek responds by moving his hips, angling his cock to rest heavy and mostly soft between his thighs. He slips his hand down Tate's stomach, up to his chest, and then back down to his hip. Derek leaves a kiss on the back of Tate's neck, his beard scratching over his skin, and he sets dull, flat teeth against his shoulder, lightly biting down. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to keep his attention. He's touching and feeling Tate like he's his, because - now, more than ever - he is. ]
[Tate could ask to clarify what Derek means - if they're talking physical or metaphorical right now but he gets the idea without needing to. It's a bit of both, with how secure it feels to lay in his arms and how Tate grunts, softly, to the feel of teeth against his neck. He reaches back with his hand, lazily touching Derek's cheek and guiding his fingers back to touch his hair. It's surprisingly affectionate - but he just wants to coax out more of that warmth.
With a short yawn, Tate lets his eyes close half-mast before adjusting his weight to lean back against Derek and stay nestled to his chest. He lets his arm slip down to rest again over Derek's, finger idly tracing the valleys of his knuckles as he breathes in deep and truly relaxes.]
[ Derek settles in, shutting his eyes. There's something so fucking fulfilling about being able to physically provide comfort and security to someone he's promised to protect. It's different with Stiles, where the love between them isn't based on power dynamics or well-meaning promises or anything other than raw, uncomplicated feelings - with Tate, it always feels like there's something slightly off, like there's a loose thread just waiting to be pulled, bringing everything undone. Here - tonight - despite all the anxiety and the worries over Tate's safety, their relationship feels stable. Solid.
Derek believes - maybe for the first time - that he can be a good alpha. That he can be a good something. He can be a good-- whatever it is Tate wants him to be. He roams his hands over Tate's body like it's just... comfortable, because it is, and as he's drifting off to sleep, he says one last, tired thing. ]
[Tate murmurs in reply, feeling like it's the right thing to say. It's comforting, being this close and feeling like should anything happen... he's got an angry, naked wolf-man to take care of him? Tate sleeps the deepest when he's in the arms of someone else, feeling like the world's something less scary to exist in, and so his head gets heavy fast and his breathing is quick to even out. He sighs just one before he drifts off, fingers resting over Derek's.]
The sleeping bag is starting to feel cramped and they hadn't accounted for bugs - they're lucky enough to have been left alone by mosquitoes, and contrary to popular belief, Derek doesn't have any fleas to worry about, but there are cicadas and crickets that sound unbearably loud to Derek, even if they're dead silent to the rest of the world. They wake him up in an hour or two, and Derek's disoriented and a little unaware of where he is, but Tate's still curled against his chest and breathing peacefully, and it's enough to keep him stable until the world pieces itself together.
He sighs, rubbing his ear against the arm he's using as a pillow, willing his hearing to dull itself down. Everything fades, and Derek relaxes, closing his eyes.
But he can't get back to sleep. Not when he's this hard.
Derek tries. A good ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass, and Derek tries so hard to pass out again, but sleep refuses to take him; Tate's sweats have dipped down his hips, and Derek's cock is laying thick against his ass, pressed up between his bare back and his own stomach. Every shift Tate makes in his sleep rolls Derek's foreskin back or spreads precum down his spine, and Derek - tries to be good. He tries.
Carefully, quietly, after a long, guilty moment of consideration, Derek reaches his arm back from around Tate, sets it over his hip and just - pauses. He knows Tate's asleep, but... ]
[That's all Derek gets in response - a sleepy murmur from a still rather out of it kid, who's curled up on his side and breathing in deep. He's being fished out of REM and sits warily in the upper echelons of drowsy meets sleepy - eyelids fluttering but his whole attention not stirring yet. He only feels the warmth of being close to someone, the heat from the sleeping bag radiating around them and keeping a faint sheen of sweat over his temples. It was good to take his shirt off and it'd feel better to kick his sweats off, feeling only a tangle of fabric around his thighs that he puts his hand to as if to nudge away. Only he doesn't, because his hand snags in the fabric and stays there, and his head lolls down against the wood.
He doesn't notice the weight of Derek's cock against his back, doesn't know the extent to which he's suffering his hard on. He just was having a nice dream that's already been forgotten, pushed out of his head the second the world started coming back into focus. With the crink in his neck and the hard floor beneath them. He doesn't want to wake up, going back to sleep's so easy.
[ Fresh flareups of guilt light up in Derek pretty fucking often, when he's with Tate. He gets another one here - Tate sounds sleepy and peaceful and Derek wants nothing more than to soothe him back to bed, feeling like a piece of shit for disturbing him. He leaves his lips on the bridge of Tate's shoulder, lightly sucking, just enough to turn his skin pink, the feeling a gentle, barely there hum. A silent, affectionate apology for waking him up, and - maybe, on some level, an unspoken question, that Tate might be too tired to make sense of. A gauge of interest, to see if he'd be... okay, with them going again, even though Derek knows that they shouldn't.
Cautiously, though, Derek inches Tate's sweats down a little more, moving his waistband to just above his knees. Barely, barely moving, he brings his hand back to the base of his cock, angling it down, dragging it down Tate's ass and - as he shifts an inch or two further into the sleeping bag - setting it behind his thigh. Derek swallows, kissing Tate's back, reaching his hand back up to settle on Tate's stomach. Every touch, every movement, it's all barely there, so as not to disturb Tate too deeply out of sleep, and when he talks, the length of his dick urging against the back of Tate's leg, he's barely speaking at a whisper. ]
[Tate thinks for a blissful second that he's going to be able to just keep his eyes shut and fall back asleep. Derek's not rustling around and his voice is low and warm, rumbling over his shoulder beneath the soft suckle of his lips. Tate's lulled by that, breathing in a shuddering, slow breath before exhaling it in another sigh. He feels Derek drag down his sweats and doesn't care, doesn't do more than nuzzle in against his own arm until he's sensing Derek ask more questions.
His eyelids flutter again, dark eyes wearily opening only to shut tight once more. His face screws up in a tired manner and it's still dark out - the middle of the night, easy enough to distinguish - and he doesn't know what Derek wants and frankly doesn't care. He nods, murmuring a soft 'yeah' before flexing his leg a bit and pushing back against Derek. He's losing his grasp on sleep but for a few blissful seconds more, he can lose his focus on reality and close his eyes.]
[ Derek's supposed to be better than this. Above all this mindless, animal lust the city beats through his veins, above the... the primal parts of him that lack the civility he's supposed to have. Thinking with his dick has only ever gotten him into trouble, and - that's not what this is supposed to even be. This arrangement was just supposed to help Tate meet his quota, and-- no matter how he tries to argue it, no matter what justification he tries to make to himself, he's waking him up in the middle of the night because he wants to be taken care of again. He wants more of Tate, before daybreak takes him away. Back to somebody else. Kavinsky. Peter. The memory of Violet. Whoever.
Someone who isn't him.
He gives Derek the go ahead and Derek makes the tiniest crack of a sound from the back of his throat, his breath catching. He swallows and closes his eyes tight, letting Tate press up against him with only the smallest, shallow rut of his hips to meet him. He kisses along the bumps of Tate's spine as he moves his hand back down between them, adjusting himself in the warmth to carefully, carefully press his dick between the tight squeeze of Tate's thighs.
Swallowing, he pushes forward, resting his forehead against Tate's back, his entire body heating up and almost vibrating with excitement. He's trying so, so hard to be quiet, or - to at least not move as much as he could, if he allowed himself to take everything he wanted. He keeps his thrusts slow and barely there, covering Tate's leg with his arm to hold his thighs together with as small of an amount of force as he can manage, and he barely gets the first inch of his cock between the warm hold of his body every time he presses in. In, out. In, out. So, so fucking slow, like Tate will break if he uses him too hard.
He's less quiet, as he exhales hot and shaky down Tate's shoulderblade. ]
[Some other time, Tate might've been able to lull himself through this. Maybe if they were curled up on an actual fucking bed, it'd be easier not to feel every movement for the disturbance it is. Tate keeps his eyes closed but he's too awake now, fighting the sluggishness that sits in his veins to keep his dark eyes open and staring off into the night as he feels Derek move and shift behind him. He's kissing his skin and leaving goosebumps in the wake of his lips and Tate feels the subtle pressure against his legs, which results in a tensing all his own when he recognizes Derek's cock rutting against him.
One little sigh, almost exasperated, before Tate's resigned to being awake. It's not that he's annoyed or anything - he's just tired. But that ebbs out of him when he grazes his hand down, feeling between his legs to touch the head of Derek's cock when it peeks through between the meat of his thighs. He flexes them tighter together, groaning just a little when he pushes his hips back to meet Derek.
He's done this with Peter - the other way around, though. He knows what it's like to fuck a tense, tight pair of thighs and how it can almost feel like the real thing. How in many ways its even better, because for how hard he choked on Derek's cock when it was in his mouth - Tate's not sure he'd fair all that much better with it in his ass, with little prep and the fucking woods all around them. This is much better, although he starts kicking his legs a bit to try and worm himself out of his sweats all together.]
You can go harder. Fuck me harder.
[Still an element of sleepiness to how he says that, but his attention's there - he looks back over his shoulder at Derek, dark eyes glinting with a sheen of moonlight. He laughs, light and airy, burying his face down against his bent arm before snorting soon after that.]
You're pretty horny for a guy who said he'd never fuck me.
[ Again, it's easy for Derek to feel ashamed of himself around Tate. The exasperated sigh hits him a little hard, and for a second, Derek stops moving, afraid of having gone too far, but - but he can't have. Tate palms the head of his cock and makes Derek hiss in air through his teeth, bucking his hips forward without meaning to and keening his forehead against Tate's back, burying his nose against him. He swears again, under his breath, feeling his legs tense, and Tate gives him more, making himself tighter, moving, fucking groaning. The words fuck me harder go straight to his cock and Derek bares his teeth out of sight, feeling precum leak between them and stain the inside of Tate's sleeping bag.
He looks up, when Tate looks back at him, only his eyes and the top of his nose visible from behind the curve of Tate's shoulder. He's making fun of Derek, and Derek... can't deny him, with the way his dick's almost red with need, the way his body feels hotter than it's ever felt. He audibly swallows and takes the joke kind of seriously, looking away from Tate, gently scraping his teeth over his skin to make him shiver before answering. ]
I... was trying to be good.
[ Trying to be good for Tate. Give him what he needs, rather than what he wants. Trying to be better than Kate was to him. Tate's convinced him that this is better, and that this is what he needs, and if that ever changes - they'll have to stop doing this.
He doesn't fuck Tate any harder, though, not yet. He buries his cock between Tate's thighs roughly half way deep, then moves his own hand to rest just an inch above Tate's dick. He's not sure if he wants to come again - he's not even sure how to ask - but he's giving Tate the suggestion of an offer to help, if he wants to take it. Quietly, he speaks up again. ]
[He was trying to be good? Tate would laugh but the words sit with such a strong anchor of certainty that he doesn't, he just blinks and looks at him with a calm sense of affection before turning back to stare forward when Derek starts to thrust. He reaches out to brace against the floor of the platform, fingers splayed to give himself a little bit of leverage to rock back. He doesn't know how tight to hold his thighs, but he figures Derek'll make it tighter if he wants - it doesn't even feel silly, Tate just softly groans as the motions start to make him horny too.
Made better, of course, by Derek's hand hovering over his dick. Tate's quick to swat at it, to pull it down over him to wrap around his cock. He squeezes his own fingers around Derek's to emphasize the needy point, his own cock half-hard but swelling the second he feels Derek's palm. He wants him to jerk him off, to keep this going - until he's told to turn over. And he pauses, looking back at Derek with a soft glance.
He pulls his hips away and thighs apart from one another, rolling over softly with a crinkling noise of the sleeping back and one last errant kick to ensure he's naked beneath it's cover. He faces Derek with a bit of a red face, blond curls damp to his forehead but his hands reaching out to touch Derek in an intimate way for the first time. He nods his head and shifts closer, thighs back together.]
[ Tate is more eager than Derek thought he would be. He doesn't guide Derek's hand down so much as he directs him to do as he's told, and Derek dutifully curls his fingers around his cock, exhaling another shaky, anticipatory breath. Touching Tate so directly for the first time is... a lot, for Derek, who still hasn't really adjusted to having sex as often as this city allows, despite having fucked around so much when he first arrived. Between that, and learning how to treat sex as a duty he has to fulfil as an Alpha, and adjusting to the fact that he's fooling around with Tate, of all people, it's...
It's still intimidating, on some level. He jerks Tate off in light, exploratory touches, his own cock made harder by the feeling of Tate filling his hand. He doesn't make a sound when Tate pulls back and obliges him by turning over, even though he feels kind of empty in those few seconds where they're apart, and when they're facing each other and Tate starts giving him shit, Derek just. Pulls a face. ]
Talking too much.
[ But this is what he wanted - eye contact, intimacy, a physical version of the closeness he should have tried harder to forge with his pack back home. Derek moves his hand to Tate's ass and pulls him closer, biting back the moan that threatens to rock out of him when the movement presses Tate's thighs back around him. He closes his eyes, gives himself time to adjust, then opens them again.
Tate's nose is right in front of his. In the dim light of the moon, Derek can see how long his lashes are, and vaguely, he can see that Tate's irises aren't black, but a very dark brown. He can feel Tate's breath against his lips, he can feel his cock hard against his stomach. He feels connected, and he slowly, slowly starts to fuck the tight gap of Tate's thighs, his hand squeezing Tate's ass like he's holding on for balance. He swallows, and he lets go, and he rests his arm up Tate's back, actually - embracing him. ]
Look at me. Don't... close your eyes.
[ He said it before, but - he wants to see Tate. Just like this. ]
[Tate toys back, before he shuts himself up by biting his lip when Derek tugs him close. He's right up in his face, staring into his eyes and feeling the heat bounce back off his chest. His cock is brushing against Derek's abdomen while Derek's is nudging back between his legs and Tate's so keenly aware of every little motion they make. It feels like Derek's actually fucking him when he starts moving between his thighs again, for how close they are and how Tate really has nowhere else to look but directly into Derek's hazel eyes.
He holds his palm up against Derek's bicep, kneading his fingertips into it before sliding it under to hold on to his ribs instead. He finds a way of moving that helps go with what Derek's doing, gaze dropping only when he shifts his hips or feels like he wants to see how he's rocking but getting nothing but a spell of darkness and their bodies flush together. He's red in the face when he stares back into Derek's eyes, gingerly tipping forward his head to kiss him again - almost afraid to, but not sure what else suits the moment.]
[ This is the second kiss they've shared, and it's the second that Tate's initiated. It's almost like Derek waits for permission whenever they do this; Tate breaks the seal, chaste and cautious, and Derek responds by leaning into him hard and fast and turning everything up to eleven. He exhales like he's relieved that Tate took the first step, catching his tongue against Tate's and whining a rough, throaty noise against his lips, and his hand glides down Tate's back, resting on his tailbone. ]
Fuck.
[ He's covering the inside of Tate's legs with precum, making him slick and warm and almost real. Derek keeps alternating between holding Tate still and letting him move, urging him to buck his hips against his own and help him, but through it all, he holds eye contact. He doesn't go in for a third kiss, but he leaves his lips apart so he can breathe Tate's breath, feel him, see the perfect brown of his eyes. It's - intense, like this. Real. ]
I... I wanna make you come again.
[ His hand moves lower, and lower still, until he's resting his middle finger against Tate's hole. He pitches his eyebrows up, like they're asking the question, asking for permission, rather than him. ]
[He's never sure if the kisses should last, if they're wanted or just given to him because Derek would seemingly give him anything he asks for at this point. He thinks there's a hunger in there he can feel, that he can taste, so he kisses Derek with a warm passion until their lips break and he's back to feeling breathless in his alternating movements to make Derek, in turn, feel good too.
The moment is so absurdly intimate with how Tate stares into Derek's eyes, looking into the depths of his pupils and almost seeing something there beyond it all. His eyes briefly go out of focus before he blinks a few times in quick succession, Derek's finger pressing between the cheeks of his ass and making his movements suddenly stutter, clumsy and out of sync.
He nods his head, breath shallow and his features pinching because he doesn't know how to move properly for this. He wants to part his legs to encourage Derek's finger but struggles instead to keep them closed, for the sake of the cock bobbing between his thighs. He shifts forward to tuck his head in against Derek's chest, hoping he'll take the hint and lead how he wants to lead - because Tate's hand is skimming down between them to rub his cock, which is now hard from brushing against his abs.]
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His orgasm hits him like a truck which is good, because it leaves him momentarily stunned enough not to feel the harsh thrust of Derek's hips that follows it because he's too swept into enjoying the feeling of a hot tongue over the cotton of his boxers, wondering how something so obscure could feel so good. He's clawing at Derek's sides for something to grip, red and white lines criss-crossing his skin from his nails.
One shallow fuck lets Tate gasp in a breath that fills his lungs before Derek's cock is buried in him, cutting his air off and making him violently squirm beneath his hips when it pins him there. His eyes are shut tight, throat flexing when he feels the urge to retch and gag, and seconds drag into what feels like years before Derek's cock twitches and shoots. The sensation of his cock moving is all he feels until Derek pulls out, cum hitting the back of his throat and coating his tongue catching him by surprise. He's coughing on that when more streaks his face, and Tate feels utterly wrecked - he can't even lift a hand to blot it out with Derek still over top of him.
He rolls off and leaves Tate laying there, sputtering and tear-streaked as he turns over onto all fours to choke on a mouthful of cum. He spits it out in a sticky strand, but seems to think twice about the gesture and catches what pools out of his mouth in his upturned hand, as if he'll get chastised for wasting it. He's blinded by a flurry of tears and what is likely a shot of cum that slips down the inner curve of his nose, running down his face as he wheezes.
Tate crumples forward, down onto his forearms with his forehead against one of them and his shoulders tucked in. He's breathing raspy through a few retching gags that are loudly audible, but he manages not to lose his lunch. It just takes a long, long moment before he can lift his head again and look at Derek - one eye shut and the other glassy. He swallows hard before swiping his tongue over his upper lip slowly, as if tentative to move a muscle - as if even that licking moment is somehow inspiring soreness in the wake of all that.]
Good?
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He did that. He wrecked Tate. His Tate. This was a long time coming, and Derek maybe gets that now.
Tate asks him if it was good, and Derek doesn't have it in him to laugh, just - sore all over, and knowing Tate must feel the same. Worse. He sits up, watching the cum drip into Tate's hand and just - pool all over him, and he very softly, very affectionately, starts to clean him up. He reaches around for his own shirt, grabbing it from wherever the fuck it was discarded, and he holds one hand in Tate's hair to keep him steady. ]
I got... carried away. I'm sorry.
[ That's not an answer, but - fuck, Tate felt how hard he came. How forcefully. He knows god damn well that it was good. Derek plays with Tate's hair a little, and when he's all cleaned up, Derek leans in to press the lightest possible kiss against Tate's eyelid. He drops his shirt - gonna have to wash it in the ocean before he goes back home - and sets that hand on Tate's side, just... touching, for the sake of touching.
Tate said he could handle what Derek did to him, but - again - the weight of everything is starting to press down on his shoulders, making him kind of nauseous. He feels like he has to ask this. ]
Are you okay?
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I'm fine.
[Tate finds his voice to feel a bit surreal to hear, hoarse and hollow, but he's not sure what else he expected. Derek kisses his eyelid and Tate holds still, blinking a few times on contact before looking up at him softly. He then drops his gaze to his hand, swiping his tongue over his palm like a cat cleaning its paw - mopping up that last little smudge of cum he can before swallowing and raising his brows to show that yeah, he's cool. And if that doesn't do it?
Tate pushes up on his knees and leans a bit closer to Derek, invading his space to toe the line and lay his lips to Derek's in a hesitant kiss. He doesn't touch him, save for a hovering of his palm over Derek's chest, and the kiss is chaste and sweet. A claiming of something all his own, because he feels much more assured of himself after he does it.]
I liked it.
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Tate laps at his hand and tastes Derek's cum and there's suddenly-- a very real, very strong urge to go a second round. Derek stares in silence, his dick racked with exhaustion and sensitivity but still swelling to a lazy half-hardness, watching Tate with a mixture of awe and visible, painful attraction. I don't want to fuck you, he said, once. You know, like a liar.
Whatever he's thinking gets cut off half-way. The kiss is... unexpected, and not as unwelcome as Derek thought it might be, though it takes a second or two of deliberation before he reciprocates. He sets his hand on Tate's neck and holds him close, tasting himself on his lips and chasing after him a little when he starts to pull back. It's warm and it's doting and when it's over, there's still fondness in Derek's eyes. ]
Good.
[ A part of him still wants to apologize. He's not sure why. Just - this feeling, somewhere in his chest, that maybe Tate deserved better than this. Maybe he's done something wrong, to Tate, even if all of this started because he was trying to help. Maybe they've changed their relationship for the worse, rather than for the better.
But at this point, what's done is done. Derek's hand slides down Tate's neck, and... he gets a little harder, as he sets his palm over Tate's throat. He just... leaves his hand there, for a second, thinking something, and then slowly and uncertainly takes his hand away. He stands up, putting some distance between them, and he starts searching out the rest of his clothes. ]
You're, uh. Probably gonna have to wear the sweats again.
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Christ.
He looks down at himself, raising his brows at the mess in his jeans before giving an absently agreeing shrug. Takes an attempt to get up on his feet, feeling more exposed than ever when he starts peeling off his sneakers and jeans. Boxers are definitely toast, but are the jeans that bad? He holds them up to Derek, raising his brows.]
They really that bad? What do your wolf eyes see?
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I made you come pretty fucking hard, bro.
[ - which is kind of fucking terrible, because bro just slips out of him without his notice. That fifteen year old jock dude who wanted to become a professional basketball player is rearing his ugly head, and it's honestly the worst thing. The worst possible thing.
Derek grabs the sweats and throws them over to Tate, walking naked across the platform and very narrowly managing to avoid slipping in a particularly nasty puddle of cold, cold cum. Derek decides halfway through picking up his clothes that he's not gonna get dressed again. No point. He kicks his jeans and his boxers and his ruined shirt into a little pile for the morning and then just - saunters on back.
After a pause, Derek wriggles down into the sleeping bag, patting the fabric and silently telling Tate that he's willing to share now. There's... nothing to say that Tate's going to be okay with Derek sleeping up against him, naked as the day he was born, but it feels like there's been a shift in how they are around each other, now. Tate talked so fucking heavily about how they were pack, about how he should trust him, and - well, Derek trusts him. Derek trusts him with everything. He wants to share everything with Tate, from here on out. That's how pack should be. ]
C'mon. It's late.
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It takes Tate a moment but he drops his jeans next to Derek's, peeling off his sticky boxers and using them to wipe dry before picking up the sweats. He doesn't have the confidence (in the comfort of laying on lumber - not the situation,) to stay naked, so he slips them up his hips. He peels off his shirt as if to compensate, leaving the one piece of clothing that's relatively clean as far away from the rest as he can. And then he goes to kneel down, feeling like his bones are lead as he collapses next to Derek.]
Gonna tell me a bedtime story?
[He asks, looking back over his shoulder as he resumes his little spoon position - with a gap between them, just so they don't fall into a vicious cycle they can't escape. He lays his head down on his arm and closes his eyes for a beat, smelling the freshly laid out wood and - well, the scent of fresh laid wood too.]
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[ Tate's back is to Derek while he strips, so... he won't ever know if Derek watched him get changed or not. Either way, he joins him in the sleeping bag and Derek can tell that he's exhausted, but he's also not entirely comfortable with having this much space between them. This wasn't... an easy night, in a lot of ways, and Derek's stomach is in knots thinking about the home Tate's going to go back to after his night in the treehouse, but. That's all the more reason to make him feel comfortable, right? Safe? Loved, the way pack should be?
So - cautiously - Derek moves in closer, draping his arm around Tate's bare stomach, moving closer until his chest is pressed flush to his back. He doesn't need to exert much strength at all to drag Tate up against his body, pulling him in as tight as possible, allowing his body heat to bleed into Tate. He leans forward, his nose against the side of Tate's neck, and when he talks, his lips are soft against his shoulder. ]
Is this okay?
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[Tate trails off, adjusting again to how he's laying - now that he's flush with Derek, pulled tight so easily. Like a set of magnets, didn't take much effort at all for them to settle together. He's a bit grateful for the sweat pants, they put a little barrier between them that helps him not be able to tell where Derek's cock is really sitting, or how tucked up against him it really is again. He's happy to feel Derek's arms around him and the touch of his nose, and nuzzles back against it like a lazy and affectionate cat seeking comfort.
He likes this. Better than the first time, because he'd been plenty comfortable then - and about to fall asleep easily enough - now he's got the bonus of settling euphoria to make the sleep he's bound to fall into all that much deeper and relaxing. Derek, behind him, also no longer just feels like a friend. They're pack, after all - the intimacy's so much better this way.]
I just - figured... it might be better for you with space. If you're comfortable, I'm comfortable. Just don't get mad if my ass is against you, okay?
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[ Not just now, tonight, but - in general? Derek's talked such a big fucking game about being pack, and Tate's only ever fed into that feeling and made him want it more, and here, finally, Derek's beginning to feel like they're there. It doesn't make sense anymore. Tate's willing to be bitten, Tate's willing to sign a contract, Tate's willing to let Derek take care of him whenever he needs it. Space is just - inhibiting what they should have had together weeks ago. That's what Derek's feeling.
Tate makes a joke about his ass and Derek responds by moving his hips, angling his cock to rest heavy and mostly soft between his thighs. He slips his hand down Tate's stomach, up to his chest, and then back down to his hip. Derek leaves a kiss on the back of Tate's neck, his beard scratching over his skin, and he sets dull, flat teeth against his shoulder, lightly biting down. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to keep his attention. He's touching and feeling Tate like he's his, because - now, more than ever - he is. ]
I want... this.
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With a short yawn, Tate lets his eyes close half-mast before adjusting his weight to lean back against Derek and stay nestled to his chest. He lets his arm slip down to rest again over Derek's, finger idly tracing the valleys of his knuckles as he breathes in deep and truly relaxes.]
I want this too. I feel so... free right now.
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[ Derek settles in, shutting his eyes. There's something so fucking fulfilling about being able to physically provide comfort and security to someone he's promised to protect. It's different with Stiles, where the love between them isn't based on power dynamics or well-meaning promises or anything other than raw, uncomplicated feelings - with Tate, it always feels like there's something slightly off, like there's a loose thread just waiting to be pulled, bringing everything undone. Here - tonight - despite all the anxiety and the worries over Tate's safety, their relationship feels stable. Solid.
Derek believes - maybe for the first time - that he can be a good alpha. That he can be a good something. He can be a good-- whatever it is Tate wants him to be. He roams his hands over Tate's body like it's just... comfortable, because it is, and as he's drifting off to sleep, he says one last, tired thing. ]
This was... good. We're good like this.
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[Tate murmurs in reply, feeling like it's the right thing to say. It's comforting, being this close and feeling like should anything happen... he's got an angry, naked wolf-man to take care of him? Tate sleeps the deepest when he's in the arms of someone else, feeling like the world's something less scary to exist in, and so his head gets heavy fast and his breathing is quick to even out. He sighs just one before he drifts off, fingers resting over Derek's.]
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The sleeping bag is starting to feel cramped and they hadn't accounted for bugs - they're lucky enough to have been left alone by mosquitoes, and contrary to popular belief, Derek doesn't have any fleas to worry about, but there are cicadas and crickets that sound unbearably loud to Derek, even if they're dead silent to the rest of the world. They wake him up in an hour or two, and Derek's disoriented and a little unaware of where he is, but Tate's still curled against his chest and breathing peacefully, and it's enough to keep him stable until the world pieces itself together.
He sighs, rubbing his ear against the arm he's using as a pillow, willing his hearing to dull itself down. Everything fades, and Derek relaxes, closing his eyes.
But he can't get back to sleep. Not when he's this hard.
Derek tries. A good ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass, and Derek tries so hard to pass out again, but sleep refuses to take him; Tate's sweats have dipped down his hips, and Derek's cock is laying thick against his ass, pressed up between his bare back and his own stomach. Every shift Tate makes in his sleep rolls Derek's foreskin back or spreads precum down his spine, and Derek - tries to be good. He tries.
Carefully, quietly, after a long, guilty moment of consideration, Derek reaches his arm back from around Tate, sets it over his hip and just - pauses. He knows Tate's asleep, but... ]
... Are you awake?
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[That's all Derek gets in response - a sleepy murmur from a still rather out of it kid, who's curled up on his side and breathing in deep. He's being fished out of REM and sits warily in the upper echelons of drowsy meets sleepy - eyelids fluttering but his whole attention not stirring yet. He only feels the warmth of being close to someone, the heat from the sleeping bag radiating around them and keeping a faint sheen of sweat over his temples. It was good to take his shirt off and it'd feel better to kick his sweats off, feeling only a tangle of fabric around his thighs that he puts his hand to as if to nudge away. Only he doesn't, because his hand snags in the fabric and stays there, and his head lolls down against the wood.
He doesn't notice the weight of Derek's cock against his back, doesn't know the extent to which he's suffering his hard on. He just was having a nice dream that's already been forgotten, pushed out of his head the second the world started coming back into focus. With the crink in his neck and the hard floor beneath them. He doesn't want to wake up, going back to sleep's so easy.
But fuck. Is Derek talking? The hell?]
What?
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Cautiously, though, Derek inches Tate's sweats down a little more, moving his waistband to just above his knees. Barely, barely moving, he brings his hand back to the base of his cock, angling it down, dragging it down Tate's ass and - as he shifts an inch or two further into the sleeping bag - setting it behind his thigh. Derek swallows, kissing Tate's back, reaching his hand back up to settle on Tate's stomach. Every touch, every movement, it's all barely there, so as not to disturb Tate too deeply out of sleep, and when he talks, the length of his dick urging against the back of Tate's leg, he's barely speaking at a whisper. ]
Can... can I...?
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His eyelids flutter again, dark eyes wearily opening only to shut tight once more. His face screws up in a tired manner and it's still dark out - the middle of the night, easy enough to distinguish - and he doesn't know what Derek wants and frankly doesn't care. He nods, murmuring a soft 'yeah' before flexing his leg a bit and pushing back against Derek. He's losing his grasp on sleep but for a few blissful seconds more, he can lose his focus on reality and close his eyes.]
Sure.
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Someone who isn't him.
He gives Derek the go ahead and Derek makes the tiniest crack of a sound from the back of his throat, his breath catching. He swallows and closes his eyes tight, letting Tate press up against him with only the smallest, shallow rut of his hips to meet him. He kisses along the bumps of Tate's spine as he moves his hand back down between them, adjusting himself in the warmth to carefully, carefully press his dick between the tight squeeze of Tate's thighs.
Swallowing, he pushes forward, resting his forehead against Tate's back, his entire body heating up and almost vibrating with excitement. He's trying so, so hard to be quiet, or - to at least not move as much as he could, if he allowed himself to take everything he wanted. He keeps his thrusts slow and barely there, covering Tate's leg with his arm to hold his thighs together with as small of an amount of force as he can manage, and he barely gets the first inch of his cock between the warm hold of his body every time he presses in. In, out. In, out. So, so fucking slow, like Tate will break if he uses him too hard.
He's less quiet, as he exhales hot and shaky down Tate's shoulderblade. ]
Fffffuck.
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One little sigh, almost exasperated, before Tate's resigned to being awake. It's not that he's annoyed or anything - he's just tired. But that ebbs out of him when he grazes his hand down, feeling between his legs to touch the head of Derek's cock when it peeks through between the meat of his thighs. He flexes them tighter together, groaning just a little when he pushes his hips back to meet Derek.
He's done this with Peter - the other way around, though. He knows what it's like to fuck a tense, tight pair of thighs and how it can almost feel like the real thing. How in many ways its even better, because for how hard he choked on Derek's cock when it was in his mouth - Tate's not sure he'd fair all that much better with it in his ass, with little prep and the fucking woods all around them. This is much better, although he starts kicking his legs a bit to try and worm himself out of his sweats all together.]
You can go harder. Fuck me harder.
[Still an element of sleepiness to how he says that, but his attention's there - he looks back over his shoulder at Derek, dark eyes glinting with a sheen of moonlight. He laughs, light and airy, burying his face down against his bent arm before snorting soon after that.]
You're pretty horny for a guy who said he'd never fuck me.
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He looks up, when Tate looks back at him, only his eyes and the top of his nose visible from behind the curve of Tate's shoulder. He's making fun of Derek, and Derek... can't deny him, with the way his dick's almost red with need, the way his body feels hotter than it's ever felt. He audibly swallows and takes the joke kind of seriously, looking away from Tate, gently scraping his teeth over his skin to make him shiver before answering. ]
I... was trying to be good.
[ Trying to be good for Tate. Give him what he needs, rather than what he wants. Trying to be better than Kate was to him. Tate's convinced him that this is better, and that this is what he needs, and if that ever changes - they'll have to stop doing this.
He doesn't fuck Tate any harder, though, not yet. He buries his cock between Tate's thighs roughly half way deep, then moves his own hand to rest just an inch above Tate's dick. He's not sure if he wants to come again - he's not even sure how to ask - but he's giving Tate the suggestion of an offer to help, if he wants to take it. Quietly, he speaks up again. ]
Turn around. I want to see you.
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Made better, of course, by Derek's hand hovering over his dick. Tate's quick to swat at it, to pull it down over him to wrap around his cock. He squeezes his own fingers around Derek's to emphasize the needy point, his own cock half-hard but swelling the second he feels Derek's palm. He wants him to jerk him off, to keep this going - until he's told to turn over. And he pauses, looking back at Derek with a soft glance.
He pulls his hips away and thighs apart from one another, rolling over softly with a crinkling noise of the sleeping back and one last errant kick to ensure he's naked beneath it's cover. He faces Derek with a bit of a red face, blond curls damp to his forehead but his hands reaching out to touch Derek in an intimate way for the first time. He nods his head and shifts closer, thighs back together.]
If this isn't comfortable, it's your fault.
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It's still intimidating, on some level. He jerks Tate off in light, exploratory touches, his own cock made harder by the feeling of Tate filling his hand. He doesn't make a sound when Tate pulls back and obliges him by turning over, even though he feels kind of empty in those few seconds where they're apart, and when they're facing each other and Tate starts giving him shit, Derek just. Pulls a face. ]
Talking too much.
[ But this is what he wanted - eye contact, intimacy, a physical version of the closeness he should have tried harder to forge with his pack back home. Derek moves his hand to Tate's ass and pulls him closer, biting back the moan that threatens to rock out of him when the movement presses Tate's thighs back around him. He closes his eyes, gives himself time to adjust, then opens them again.
Tate's nose is right in front of his. In the dim light of the moon, Derek can see how long his lashes are, and vaguely, he can see that Tate's irises aren't black, but a very dark brown. He can feel Tate's breath against his lips, he can feel his cock hard against his stomach. He feels connected, and he slowly, slowly starts to fuck the tight gap of Tate's thighs, his hand squeezing Tate's ass like he's holding on for balance. He swallows, and he lets go, and he rests his arm up Tate's back, actually - embracing him. ]
Look at me. Don't... close your eyes.
[ He said it before, but - he wants to see Tate. Just like this. ]
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[Tate toys back, before he shuts himself up by biting his lip when Derek tugs him close. He's right up in his face, staring into his eyes and feeling the heat bounce back off his chest. His cock is brushing against Derek's abdomen while Derek's is nudging back between his legs and Tate's so keenly aware of every little motion they make. It feels like Derek's actually fucking him when he starts moving between his thighs again, for how close they are and how Tate really has nowhere else to look but directly into Derek's hazel eyes.
He holds his palm up against Derek's bicep, kneading his fingertips into it before sliding it under to hold on to his ribs instead. He finds a way of moving that helps go with what Derek's doing, gaze dropping only when he shifts his hips or feels like he wants to see how he's rocking but getting nothing but a spell of darkness and their bodies flush together. He's red in the face when he stares back into Derek's eyes, gingerly tipping forward his head to kiss him again - almost afraid to, but not sure what else suits the moment.]
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Fuck.
[ He's covering the inside of Tate's legs with precum, making him slick and warm and almost real. Derek keeps alternating between holding Tate still and letting him move, urging him to buck his hips against his own and help him, but through it all, he holds eye contact. He doesn't go in for a third kiss, but he leaves his lips apart so he can breathe Tate's breath, feel him, see the perfect brown of his eyes. It's - intense, like this. Real. ]
I... I wanna make you come again.
[ His hand moves lower, and lower still, until he's resting his middle finger against Tate's hole. He pitches his eyebrows up, like they're asking the question, asking for permission, rather than him. ]
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The moment is so absurdly intimate with how Tate stares into Derek's eyes, looking into the depths of his pupils and almost seeing something there beyond it all. His eyes briefly go out of focus before he blinks a few times in quick succession, Derek's finger pressing between the cheeks of his ass and making his movements suddenly stutter, clumsy and out of sync.
He nods his head, breath shallow and his features pinching because he doesn't know how to move properly for this. He wants to part his legs to encourage Derek's finger but struggles instead to keep them closed, for the sake of the cock bobbing between his thighs. He shifts forward to tuck his head in against Derek's chest, hoping he'll take the hint and lead how he wants to lead - because Tate's hand is skimming down between them to rub his cock, which is now hard from brushing against his abs.]
Mm, oh-okay.
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