[ Derek's been hurt so many fucking times before. People leave his life like they're trying to get away from him, leaving cinders and blood trailing behind them. He's put trust in people who ruined him, burned him, barely let him survive, and he doesn't have any heart left to break.
Which is part of why he's so fucking happy that Tate gets it. So fucking happy that he's found someone who's been hurt, someone who needs him, someone who can spend a night under the stars with him and still be there by morning. Not gone, taken by smoke or bailing after leaving a knife in his back. Just - there.
Derek trusts Tate so fucking much. He's so fucking happy. He's not smiling, he's not laughing, he's just-- vibrating with joy, feeling it envelop his system. Joy and want and hunger. He looks at Tate, lets his eyes drop to his neck, to his hip, back to his neck, following the curve of his throat, so slight, so pale. He lingers, open and obvious. His teeth itch. He trains his eyes on Tate's, swallowing lightly, not letting himself blink or move or think. Can't ask for anything more than words, tonight. Can't push him. He'll - be bitten in time. Not tonight. ]
Nothing like that.
[ And - he leans back, just a little. Getting some distance. For Tate's sake, not his own. He loosens his knuckles, shifts an inch or so down the platform, disguising it by grabbing another beer and getting it open. ]
I mean - there are some things that can kill you. Poison you. You'll learn all about that after you've been bitten. [ He shrugs, taking a sip. ] The benefits outweigh the losses. Enhanced strength, attuned senses. The world, your body, it-- it's so much more intense. Vibrant. Alive.
no subject
Which is part of why he's so fucking happy that Tate gets it. So fucking happy that he's found someone who's been hurt, someone who needs him, someone who can spend a night under the stars with him and still be there by morning. Not gone, taken by smoke or bailing after leaving a knife in his back. Just - there.
Derek trusts Tate so fucking much. He's so fucking happy. He's not smiling, he's not laughing, he's just-- vibrating with joy, feeling it envelop his system. Joy and want and hunger. He looks at Tate, lets his eyes drop to his neck, to his hip, back to his neck, following the curve of his throat, so slight, so pale. He lingers, open and obvious. His teeth itch. He trains his eyes on Tate's, swallowing lightly, not letting himself blink or move or think. Can't ask for anything more than words, tonight. Can't push him. He'll - be bitten in time. Not tonight. ]
Nothing like that.
[ And - he leans back, just a little. Getting some distance. For Tate's sake, not his own. He loosens his knuckles, shifts an inch or so down the platform, disguising it by grabbing another beer and getting it open. ]
I mean - there are some things that can kill you. Poison you. You'll learn all about that after you've been bitten. [ He shrugs, taking a sip. ] The benefits outweigh the losses. Enhanced strength, attuned senses. The world, your body, it-- it's so much more intense. Vibrant. Alive.