[ Derek follows Tate's gaze, staring at the wood. He doesn't really give a shit about picking it up. Not his job. Not Tate's, either. ]
Okay.
[ If Tate doesn't care what they get, then - he'll just grab something cheap, a cut from his pay that he probably would have just stashed away in the futile hope he might one day earn enough to buy a Camaro. Derek helps Tate up, wanders away just long enough to get a shopping cart, and then just... starts stacking in wood, nails, tools and supplies where he can. They'll come back for the paint and the fun shit another time. Doesn't feel like Tate's in the mood anymore.
He heads out, Tate in tow, pays for everything, and asks for it to be delivered... not quite at the den, not quite at the woods, but decently adjacent, at least, so it won't be such a long walk to get where it needs to go. By the time he gets everything to the woods, it's getting kind of late, so Derek ends up wasting away the last few hours before Tate goes home just... talking with him. They split up, eventually.
The following morning, Derek calls Tate out, back to the woods. He's right on the edge of them, facing a bit of a hill and overlooking the beach on the other side. He's been working on the treehouse since before dawn, and it has what he hopes looks like a decent foundation built into one of the sturdier trees around here. He's just in a tank and whatever comfortable running pants he's been able to find around this city that cling tight to his body without being weirdly fucking slutty about it. He looks exhausted and kind of miserable, but he feels better when Tate shows up. ]
Finally. Jesus. Here.
[ He's had a set of planks on his shoulder that he just - drops at Tate's feet, sort of careful, sort of not. He asked Tate to bring him some water, and he pretty much snatches the bottle out of his hand when he takes it, tearing open the cap and pretty much draining the bottle dry. There's a little left, and he just - splashes it on his face and his chest, shaking his hair like a wet fucking dog when he's done. ]
Cut those. There are lines on 'em - just follow those. Saw's over by the rest of the wood. Manual, obviously.
no subject
Okay.
[ If Tate doesn't care what they get, then - he'll just grab something cheap, a cut from his pay that he probably would have just stashed away in the futile hope he might one day earn enough to buy a Camaro. Derek helps Tate up, wanders away just long enough to get a shopping cart, and then just... starts stacking in wood, nails, tools and supplies where he can. They'll come back for the paint and the fun shit another time. Doesn't feel like Tate's in the mood anymore.
He heads out, Tate in tow, pays for everything, and asks for it to be delivered... not quite at the den, not quite at the woods, but decently adjacent, at least, so it won't be such a long walk to get where it needs to go. By the time he gets everything to the woods, it's getting kind of late, so Derek ends up wasting away the last few hours before Tate goes home just... talking with him. They split up, eventually.
The following morning, Derek calls Tate out, back to the woods. He's right on the edge of them, facing a bit of a hill and overlooking the beach on the other side. He's been working on the treehouse since before dawn, and it has what he hopes looks like a decent foundation built into one of the sturdier trees around here. He's just in a tank and whatever comfortable running pants he's been able to find around this city that cling tight to his body without being weirdly fucking slutty about it. He looks exhausted and kind of miserable, but he feels better when Tate shows up. ]
Finally. Jesus. Here.
[ He's had a set of planks on his shoulder that he just - drops at Tate's feet, sort of careful, sort of not. He asked Tate to bring him some water, and he pretty much snatches the bottle out of his hand when he takes it, tearing open the cap and pretty much draining the bottle dry. There's a little left, and he just - splashes it on his face and his chest, shaking his hair like a wet fucking dog when he's done. ]
Cut those. There are lines on 'em - just follow those. Saw's over by the rest of the wood. Manual, obviously.