[ the elevator feels too small for the both of them. derek just - waits, staring at the doors, counting the seconds in his head as they ascend to the up. he hears tate coming, but he doesn't think anything of it. doesn't react to the thank you, doesn't react to the weight against his side. he only thinks about... how to fix this. how to help.

and then tate's touching him and the nausea that's been trapped in derek's chest only starts to feel worse. he winces a little, turning to look at tate, the light, intrusive touch of slender fingertips catching him off-guard. this doesn't... turn him on, this doesn't do anything. this just makes him feel sad. terrified, again, about what could have happened to tate if he'd left him at that party alone. ]

We are.

[ but if he rejects tate now - really, solidly rejects him - then tate will bail as soon as those doors open. the kid's zoned out of his fucking gourd, and if he does manage to stumble away from derek long enough to get lost among the buildings and the crowds, he could be in real, genuine danger. if he's still too weak to walk, let alone run, then he'll just... panic, when derek so easily manhandles him back to his apartment, and that might be even worse. tate already said derek fits the role of a dom, and that's stuck with him, made him feel horrible. he doesn't want to make tate feel weak. derek doesn't want to act or feel like a scumbag, he just wants to help.

so he feels trapped. he feels like his priority has to be getting tate home. he has no intention of sleeping with him - but once they're locked in his apartment, he can distract tate, he can sober him up. he can do something. he just... he just needs to get tate home. no matter how he does it. ]

But - we won't be for long. So...

[ derek swallows, looks to the doors, the little panel telling them how long left they have to the surface of the city. still a few minutes to go. ]

Just... let's get back to my place, and then - we can do anything you want. Okay?