[Liar fucking lying liar. Tate tries to stand steady when Derek's feeling his arm over, wincing through the pain that slips through the grates and back into him rather than Derek. It's a hot, knife-like pain and Tate's starting to break a sweat from suffering it, like threads wearing bare he can tell if it drags on he might start to lose it. He doesn't say anything when Derek shreds his shirt, looking down at it vaguely while his teeth click together.
He gets his hand onto Derek's chest - not sure where to put it to brace or hold but it doesn't matter because the second he twists his arm, Tate's got a vice like grip with a sudden shout. He's never felt that kind of pain before and it shows - even after it lessens with his arm back in place, Tate's dazed and still clinging to Derek's clothes. He sways, just slightly and closes his eyes, breathing heavy.]
Fuck.
[He should say thanks. He doesn't - he just looks back down at his arm, flexing his fingers and hissing when it still feels bad.]
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He gets his hand onto Derek's chest - not sure where to put it to brace or hold but it doesn't matter because the second he twists his arm, Tate's got a vice like grip with a sudden shout. He's never felt that kind of pain before and it shows - even after it lessens with his arm back in place, Tate's dazed and still clinging to Derek's clothes. He sways, just slightly and closes his eyes, breathing heavy.]
Fuck.
[He should say thanks. He doesn't - he just looks back down at his arm, flexing his fingers and hissing when it still feels bad.]