[ Unfortunately for Kavinsky, being under the scrutinizing, watchful eyes of Derek Hale means conceding control to a complete and total hardass. Kavinsky asks for beer the second Derek stands, reaches out, and grabs him by the forearm, tugging him out of bed like he weighs next to nothing. ]

Nope. I know what you're capable of. Might not really be beer.

[ Could be spiked. Could be - fucking - dream-beer, or whatever, a fancy, fantasy beveerage most comparable to liquified cocaine or something. Derek's already walking backwards, heading towards the door. ]

You go a couple hours dry, just working with your hands and hanging out with me, I'll give you a reward. Whatever you want. Free lapdance, or something.

[ 'Cause fucking might not help, but if he can use it as an incentive to keep him focused on something that could, then - whatever. ]