[ Derek presses Tate immediately, digging his teeth into the tip of his tongue when he's done, biting down to stop himself from raising his voice or storming off the beach to track this piece of shit down. Fuck, though, that's not a question he should ask - there's no reasonable excuse for this, nothing that Tate could have done that would paint Kavinsky in anything less than a fucked up, brutal light. Doesn't matter what started this. Derek silently makes it clear that Tate doesn't have to answer.
Tate feels sweaty and hot and cold at the same time, almost feverish to the touch. Derek leaves his hand slack on his jaw, easy and limp so that Tate can pull away if he needs to. There's a but behind Tate's I don't want to go back, and it doesn't take Derek long to realize what Tate means. What he needs. The reason why he signed with Kavinsky in the first fucking place. ]
Okay. Okay, I-- I should be able to help you with that. I can get you to a hospital, or... or take away any... any pain, if you want me to. I can sedate you, if you'll let me.
[ Derek swallows, dropping his eyes over every inch of Tate's face. He breathes in, feeling sick, the hand on his shoulder squeezing down, trying to stay tough and stable and concrete. He wants to be a pillar for Tate to lean on, and he thinks of a thousand different ways he can help him. The bite crosses his mind. Going to Kavinsky's fucking house and getting Tate what he needs, that gets to him, too. But.
Taking away his pain is the only thing that'll work. Derek just... doesn't know if it'll work. ]
You're not going back. You're staying with me, and I'm going to help you, okay? Look me in the eye and tell me you understand.
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[ Derek presses Tate immediately, digging his teeth into the tip of his tongue when he's done, biting down to stop himself from raising his voice or storming off the beach to track this piece of shit down. Fuck, though, that's not a question he should ask - there's no reasonable excuse for this, nothing that Tate could have done that would paint Kavinsky in anything less than a fucked up, brutal light. Doesn't matter what started this. Derek silently makes it clear that Tate doesn't have to answer.
Tate feels sweaty and hot and cold at the same time, almost feverish to the touch. Derek leaves his hand slack on his jaw, easy and limp so that Tate can pull away if he needs to. There's a but behind Tate's I don't want to go back, and it doesn't take Derek long to realize what Tate means. What he needs. The reason why he signed with Kavinsky in the first fucking place. ]
Okay. Okay, I-- I should be able to help you with that. I can get you to a hospital, or... or take away any... any pain, if you want me to. I can sedate you, if you'll let me.
[ Derek swallows, dropping his eyes over every inch of Tate's face. He breathes in, feeling sick, the hand on his shoulder squeezing down, trying to stay tough and stable and concrete. He wants to be a pillar for Tate to lean on, and he thinks of a thousand different ways he can help him. The bite crosses his mind. Going to Kavinsky's fucking house and getting Tate what he needs, that gets to him, too. But.
Taking away his pain is the only thing that'll work. Derek just... doesn't know if it'll work. ]
You're not going back. You're staying with me, and I'm going to help you, okay? Look me in the eye and tell me you understand.