[Tate slumps down quick and fast, pushed into his seat like a child and giving the upward look as if scolded like one, too. He wants to push against Derek's hand and he does ever so slightly, staring up into his face with wet eyes and a quivering lip. Derek's not listening to him, he doesn't want to - Tate's somehow fucked this all over by sharing something he thought he had to. This is why it's always better to keep things to yourself. It just reaffirms it to Tate, never to share - never to tell. Not anymore. Not again. Not ever.
He stares into his eyes and he can't find what he's looking for - the sense of comfort and belonging, the care behind what he sees as anger and hate. He sees rejection and a cold heart, and he struggles to think of something to say. Some way to fix this. A way to be shared, even if Derek doesn't want him to be. He can't quit the contract, but Derek won't bite him this way. He doesn't even want to be bitten, or at least isn't sure, but he'd offer it up in a heartbeat if it meant mending this mistake.
Kavinsky won't take to sharing him, either. He knows this too. He just wanted to make a point of avoiding it until it was completely unavoidable. Guess this is that moment. Tate's lips part to speak a few times, but nothing comes out. He just - cries, because that's all he knows how to do. He cries, hunching forward to wipe at his eyes with his sleeves pulled down and his breath so desperately shallow and wet. It's pathetic, yet he can't stop.]
I'm sorry. I want- want... I want.
[He can't breathe. His hands shake, gripping the table.]
no subject
He stares into his eyes and he can't find what he's looking for - the sense of comfort and belonging, the care behind what he sees as anger and hate. He sees rejection and a cold heart, and he struggles to think of something to say. Some way to fix this. A way to be shared, even if Derek doesn't want him to be. He can't quit the contract, but Derek won't bite him this way. He doesn't even want to be bitten, or at least isn't sure, but he'd offer it up in a heartbeat if it meant mending this mistake.
Kavinsky won't take to sharing him, either. He knows this too. He just wanted to make a point of avoiding it until it was completely unavoidable. Guess this is that moment. Tate's lips part to speak a few times, but nothing comes out. He just - cries, because that's all he knows how to do. He cries, hunching forward to wipe at his eyes with his sleeves pulled down and his breath so desperately shallow and wet. It's pathetic, yet he can't stop.]
I'm sorry. I want- want... I want.
[He can't breathe. His hands shake, gripping the table.]
I want to be yours. I'm sorry.