[ Derek does his best to maintain the course, little scratches of his beard against Tate's throat as he kisses the side of his throat with renewed vigor, dropping his weight further on Tate until his cock is pressed against his ass through his clothes. He's not hard, not yet, but he doesn't really get a chance to change that - Tate spits out something angry, puts up a wall Derek's not willing to just ignore or break through, and, reluctantly, Derek stops.

With a sigh, Derek rolls off of Tate and lays on his back beside him, staring at the ceiling for a second to gather his thoughts. It wouldn't be a lie, to tell Tate he considers him his beta, he's said it a dozen times before - but it's such a dangerous thing to play with right now, when Tate's trying to push him into taking things further. Hurting him, or - committing to something he by no means has ever shown a real, tangible, serious desire to commit to, outside of using the bite as some kind of bandaid. ]

You're pack to me whether or not I bite you. That's what - that's why you have this.

[ Derek reaches out without looking, not needing to use his eyes to find the tattoo on Tate's arm. He looks at Tate, instead, while his thumb finds the curls of the triskele and strokes over it, and when he sets his teeth together and wants nothing more than to stop talking and let this conversation die, he pushes himself to continue it. ]

Why are you so upset about this? You should know how close we are. This - this jealousy, lately, it's... you don't need it. I'm the one who should be jealous, after...

[ The orgy. Kavinsky. The three of them. Fuck, what an awful night. ]