[ It feels like Tate's - submitting. Like he's already a wolf, bowing his head to his better. His leader. It makes Derek's mouth run dry and his teeth itch with the urge to bite, and he can pull it back easily enough, he always does, but - it's fascinating, feeling Tate's pulse beat through his hand. Tate's this convoluted mix of prey and family and beta and friend, and maybe that's why Derek wants so badly to fit him into one box. Maybe that's why he's been struggling with the idea that he can't.

He leaves his hand there. Not for any particular reason, he just - wants to keep feeling Tate's pulse, wants to keep that physical connection. Derek's thumb smooths down his windpipe, exploratory, and his nails scratch lightly beneath the smaller hairs on the back of his neck. He moves his hand up, runs his thumb under Tate's jawline, and it's just -

It's just so hard not to bite him. ]

I don't... want to compel you to tell me anything. I just want to know about you. Things in your life, leading up to your death. The days you spent waiting for someone like Violet. Little things. Big things.

[ Derek's hand drifts back around, palm over his throat. Tate begged him to choke him, once. His throat felt a lot different back then to how it feels now. ]

You don't have to talk. I just want you to know that I can listen, if you want to. Judgment free. You're my pack, even without the bite. You have all my loyalty.