that doesn't surprise derek as much as he thought it would. he actually just... slowly exhales, feeling his shoulders slump, like he's been waiting for another shoe to drop and it finally has. like he's pulled off a bandaid, rather than been confronted by something new.
tate's dangerous. tate's always been dangerous. derek knew this. it's hard being confronted with that, but it's not as if he can't understand why it happened, and - and he just instinctively, naturally assumes that tate regrets what he did as much as derek regrets hurting peter. he just - goes into this wishing he knew how to ease the guilt he's so so sure tate must be feeling. ]
We're alike. I think. We've both lost a lot. We've both been angry. We've both hurt people.
I know we've already talked about-- trusting each other, and what it means to be pack, and everything else-- But you have to let me look out for you while you're here. Regardless of whether or not you take the bite. I care about you. I want your time here to be so much better than it was back home.
[ that feeling in his gut - the one telling him not to take tate at face value, even now - it's lessening, as time goes on. suffocating, maybe, under all of derek's want to trust him anyway. ]
You're a good person. Know it in my heart. You deserve a chance to be happy.
[ how should he phrase "i hate literally everybody and i don't like being in public at the best of times let alone when i'm in a hypersexual city where everybody's fucking everybody else literally all the time". hm. ]
Going out here isn't exactly fun. There's a beach, right by my house. You've gotta cut through the woods to get there, but. That's fine. We can hang out there. Maybe.
can I exploit you a bit since you're a dom. and you can actually buy pretzels? I can give you money for it just. man. I really want some fucking pretzels
[ obviously he's going to get tate pretzels, jeez. ]
Heading out. Like I said - come to my place, then just cut through the woods. Not a far walk. Opens out to the beach pretty quickly. I'll meet you there.
[ so - it's fine. derek shuts his phone off after that, pocketing it away and easing out the tension in his neck with a few lazy rolls.
tate's been through a lot. he sees himself in him, obviously - two damaged kids who did horrible things, both of them responsible for their ruined homelives, both of them grieving their siblings and the families they should have had but didn't - but there are stark differences between them that stand out against an otherwise sickly familiar backdrop.
derek's responsible for every death he's ever seen. without exception, it all traces back to him. paige, the fire, everyone his uncle killed. that kid in the woods who stopped him to talk when they were running from the hunters, whose name he never learned. countless other wolves who found trust and safety in the hales who he'd never been there for. laura. peter.
and derek survived. derek survived when he shouldn't have, and tate didn't when he didn't deserve to die. it's - hard, thinking about that.
buying pretzels feels cheap, but he does it, ignoring the comments and the looks he gets just by being a dom, all that overzealous gratitude and respect. he's got a bag of pretzels and a twelve pack of soda and when he's checking out, it just-- feels-- fake. this kid died, this kid lost his family, and all derek can do is buy him shitty snacks and give him a day at the beach he doesn't feel like he's doing enough. even with training, even with the promise of a bite dangling uselessly between them. he's not enough.
it's an hour and some change before he's cutting through the woods and making it to the beach. it's private and unattended, meaning it's not exactly pristine, but it's still pretty beautiful even with the seaweed, the swept-in rubbish and the occasional dead jellyfish lining the tide. tate's already here, and derek pads in behind him, lightly knocking him on the back of the head with the still cold soda to get his attention. ]
[Tate's been there a little while - not long enough that he felt like he'd gotten lost or abandoned, but long enough to just start to wonder. But he distracted himself by wading out into the water when he would've otherwise stayed on the beach, and rolled up his jeans to his knees - but they still got wet. He's standing ankle deep in the water when Derek creeps up on him, and he turns sharply in surprise. The wind by the water had deafened his ears, but he smiles, rubbing at his mussed hair before reaching for the drink he didn't ask for but appreciates.
He'd spent a little time creating a line of shells on the beach, which lead up to where his footprints disappeared into wet sand and seaweed. A few items that had washed up in the water are next to that, little scraps of paper and disposable cups he crushed after plucking from the shallows as he walked.]
It's nice here.
[A gust of wind ripples his cardigan open, which he's pushed up to his elbows and then just wonders about taking off all together. He'll wait a moment yet, trekking back to firmer sand with an obscenely peaceful look on his face. This is his favorite place, he's decided.]
Wish I lived by the beach. I used to be able to run there, but was never quite this close.
[ Tate fits as easily into the beach as Derek fits into the woods. He looks at home in the water, he looks calmed by the shells, and while there's that same flare up of-- of being alike, but being different, there's also something reassuring about seeing Tate so calm somewhere. Maybe they should move their training out here. Could do wonders. ]
You can come by whenever you want. Pretty sure Stiles and I are the only people who actually know there's a beach out here, so. You won't have to worry about other people stopping by.
[ Derek walks backwards a few inches, getting to drier sand and dropping down, propped up on his hands and manspreading a little. He reaches into the bag he brought with him, pulls out the pretzels Tate asked for, shaking the bag a little to indicate what he got. ]
Just - keep it to yourself. I don't want anyone else out here.
[Tate likes the idea of being invited into exclusive territory, although hearing Stiles' name is a soft reminder that there's still someone closer to Derek than he is. Which is it's own little hurdle to deal with and doesn't, at the moment, make him stumble. He just turns to follow Derek back to drier sand, cracking open the soda for a drink before settling down next to Derek in the sand.]
Bitch.
[He knew you'd bring the pretzels - which he then reaches for with the same contentment he was staring out into the water with; a childish glee for something so small and readily available. He'll start shoveling them into his mouth after grinding his can down into the sand to make it stay upright.]
I won't bring anyone - who do I even have to bring?
[It's - less a joke and more of a reality, although he does think of Violet briefly. But their last time hanging out on the beach wasn't exactly as spectacular of a date as he had hoped it would be. From failed attempts at intimacy to dead people stalking their every move? Yeah, maybe the beach is best kept to himself from now on.]
[ It's nice, seeing Tate so happy. It's nice being called a bitch, for that matter, because there's a level of comfort here they didn't come close to sharing at the fort. Tate asks who he has to bring, and Derek feels like kind of an asshole for a second or two, but. Tate still seems happy, so he doesn't dwell.
He hands over the pretzels, stretching his legs, feeling his joints give satisfying pops. Derek's got his own soda, which he thumbs open, throwing back a mouthful and pulling a face like the bubbles are a bit too much for his throat. He's been drinking more soda since Stiles moved in, but Derek still prefers plain water. You know, because he's boring. ]
Just saying. This is for your eyes only.
[ Derek gestures at Tate with his can of soda, sinking back further in the sand. He takes another sip. ]
[Tate gets through a hungry mouthful of pretzels before he slows, biting the next one off in pieces to enjoy while looking out at the water. The waves just - settle him, and he breathes out slowly and seems to zone out for a few seconds before remembering he's not alone. He smiles at Derek in a dumb, shy way he almost never does. Then, he sort of realizes he must look stupid and drops it away.]
[ There's progress, here. Trust. The more time they spend together, the more Tate opens up to him, the closer they seem to get. Derek feels - proud, in a way. That same proud he felt when Boyd first told a joke, when he'd spent so long sitting in the background, just... listening to Isaac and Erica talk. He feels like he's doing something... worthwhile, for Tate.
The blowjob joke. Derek sighs, rolls his eyes up. He looks at Tate for a second or two, then just - sighs again. Dramatically. ]
[Tate's playful and that's both a good and a bad thing. He eats a few more pretzels, licking salt off his palm before he's up on his knees and off of his ass again. The bad news is for Derek whose manspread legs Tate starts to invade the space between, gleaming a smile across his lips as he slaps his palms against Derek's thighs and lifts his brows. Purposely toes the line and sees if he can make Derek uncomfortable.
Which honestly, isn't hard. He's - an awkward guy, under all the muscle.]
You've got a few you haven't cashed in on. You sure you're not up for it now? There's no doubling down at a later date.
[ Oh, boy. Derek's already kind of uncomfortable the second Tate starts to move, but it swells and doubles down once there's actual touching. Tate keeps pushing, and Derek briefly considers sarcastically agreeing, just as a joke - but if Tate's serious about wanting this, then... he might latch onto that joke, he might get excited and hopeful and pushy, he might get hurt when Derek ultimately turns him down. So. ]
Pretty sure.
[ That leaves option two. Derek sets his palm against Tate's forehead and not-so-gently eases him back, pushing him away from his thighs and back onto the sand. Derek draws his legs back up, folding them lazily, sitting straighter. He's doing his best not to smirk, but. He's smirkin'. ]
Remember when you said you weren't into me? Kind of funny, looking back.
[Tate grunts when Derek shoves him back, swatting at his hand immediately before falling to rest on his ass in the sand. The moment that could've been is quickly extinguished but rather than let heat flicker up his neck in embarrassment, he laughs. Just playing, after all, because of course Derek'll be turning him down.]
Fuck off.
[Tate rubs at his forehead, and rolls his eyes.]
You can just say I'm not your type. Which feels like a bold fucking lie, since I know you gotta be into twinks.
[ Tate laughs, which is an unexpected relief. Derek's still largely on edge when it comes to setting Tate off; he doesn't know what joke is going to change his mood, what comment is going to upset him. Stupid mistakes that get in Tate's head always feel one wrong sentence away, and it's... trying.
But being out here by the waves seems to mellow Tate out a lot, and Derek's filing that away for training. He doesn't like his anchor, doesn't like blood. Maybe if Derek just... spends more time with him at the beach, gives him more fond memories of the sand between his toes and the salt air filling his lungs, he'll connect to it more than the concept of purifying release. This could be good.
And then - Tate calls him out. Derek drops back a little, leaning on his elbows, stretching his legs out again. ]
Because you keep shooting me down but not in a disinterested way.
[Tate's lying, because as soon as Derek's laying back in a slightly less defensive way, Tate's back up on his knees. He's slipping forward to rest his palms on Derek's knees in turn, leaning forward - his eyes dip down once, but follow through without deviating, up to Derek's eyes. Then without the need of another shove, he lays off, and sits back to take another sip of his soda before too much sand gets into it.
He'll let his bluff sit for a second before admitting:]
That and I've seen how you look at Stiles. He's your type.
[He can't forget the protective way Derek stepped in front of him, when he thought Tate was - the enemy.]
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[Tate wants to share. Wants to talk. Can't share. Can't talk.
Shouldn't. Shouldn't. Shouldn't.]
before I died
I tried to kill Lawrence too
didn't succeed.
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that doesn't surprise derek as much as he thought it would. he actually just... slowly exhales, feeling his shoulders slump, like he's been waiting for another shoe to drop and it finally has. like he's pulled off a bandaid, rather than been confronted by something new.
tate's dangerous. tate's always been dangerous. derek knew this. it's hard being confronted with that, but it's not as if he can't understand why it happened, and - and he just instinctively, naturally assumes that tate regrets what he did as much as derek regrets hurting peter. he just - goes into this wishing he knew how to ease the guilt he's so so sure tate must be feeling. ]
You felt cornered.
I get it. It's okay.
You've been through a lot.
More than most people.
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he shouldn't have been able to do all that
to hurt so many people.
[Rich, coming from Tate.]
i just couldn't stand his fucking face
smiling and talking about taking us to the theater
after he fucking killed my brother.
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[ a pause. derek doesn't - want tate to keep dwelling on this. talking doesn't ever seem to help tate. just makes him more upset. ]
You said you had more than one sibling?
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i have two sisters and a brother.
well, only addie's still alive.
[eek.]
rose and beau are dead.
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We're alike. I think.
We've both lost a lot. We've both been angry. We've both hurt people.
I know we've already talked about-- trusting each other, and what it means to be pack, and everything else--
But you have to let me look out for you while you're here. Regardless of whether or not you take the bite.
I care about you.
I want your time here to be so much better than it was back home.
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but I trust you already.
it's why I'm talking to you.
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[ that feeling in his gut - the one telling him not to take tate at face value, even now - it's lessening, as time goes on. suffocating, maybe, under all of derek's want to trust him anyway. ]
You're a good person. Know it in my heart.
You deserve a chance to be happy.
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can we hang out?
just us. somewhere.
we can practice or whatever
you can tell me more about being a beta
I just want to be around someone I know
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Come over.
We can go out, if you want, but.
[ how should he phrase "i hate literally everybody and i don't like being in public at the best of times let alone when i'm in a hypersexual city where everybody's fucking everybody else literally all the time". hm. ]
Going out here isn't exactly fun.
There's a beach, right by my house. You've gotta cut through the woods to get there, but. That's fine.
We can hang out there.
Maybe.
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can I
[delay; typing and deleting]
can I exploit you a bit
since you're a dom.
and you can actually buy pretzels?
I can give you money for it
just. man. I really want some fucking pretzels
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[ obviously he's going to get tate pretzels, jeez. ]
Heading out.
Like I said - come to my place, then just cut through the woods.
Not a far walk. Opens out to the beach pretty quickly.
I'll meet you there.
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[He feels - a bit lighter now, weirdly enough.]
thanks.
for listening and shit.
and for having time for me.
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[ so - it's fine. derek shuts his phone off after that, pocketing it away and easing out the tension in his neck with a few lazy rolls.
tate's been through a lot. he sees himself in him, obviously - two damaged kids who did horrible things, both of them responsible for their ruined homelives, both of them grieving their siblings and the families they should have had but didn't - but there are stark differences between them that stand out against an otherwise sickly familiar backdrop.
derek's responsible for every death he's ever seen. without exception, it all traces back to him. paige, the fire, everyone his uncle killed. that kid in the woods who stopped him to talk when they were running from the hunters, whose name he never learned. countless other wolves who found trust and safety in the hales who he'd never been there for. laura. peter.
and derek survived. derek survived when he shouldn't have, and tate didn't when he didn't deserve to die. it's - hard, thinking about that.
buying pretzels feels cheap, but he does it, ignoring the comments and the looks he gets just by being a dom, all that overzealous gratitude and respect. he's got a bag of pretzels and a twelve pack of soda and when he's checking out, it just-- feels-- fake. this kid died, this kid lost his family, and all derek can do is buy him shitty snacks and give him a day at the beach he doesn't feel like he's doing enough. even with training, even with the promise of a bite dangling uselessly between them. he's not enough.
it's an hour and some change before he's cutting through the woods and making it to the beach. it's private and unattended, meaning it's not exactly pristine, but it's still pretty beautiful even with the seaweed, the swept-in rubbish and the occasional dead jellyfish lining the tide. tate's already here, and derek pads in behind him, lightly knocking him on the back of the head with the still cold soda to get his attention. ]
Hey.
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He'd spent a little time creating a line of shells on the beach, which lead up to where his footprints disappeared into wet sand and seaweed. A few items that had washed up in the water are next to that, little scraps of paper and disposable cups he crushed after plucking from the shallows as he walked.]
It's nice here.
[A gust of wind ripples his cardigan open, which he's pushed up to his elbows and then just wonders about taking off all together. He'll wait a moment yet, trekking back to firmer sand with an obscenely peaceful look on his face. This is his favorite place, he's decided.]
Wish I lived by the beach. I used to be able to run there, but was never quite this close.
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You can come by whenever you want. Pretty sure Stiles and I are the only people who actually know there's a beach out here, so. You won't have to worry about other people stopping by.
[ Derek walks backwards a few inches, getting to drier sand and dropping down, propped up on his hands and manspreading a little. He reaches into the bag he brought with him, pulls out the pretzels Tate asked for, shaking the bag a little to indicate what he got. ]
Just - keep it to yourself. I don't want anyone else out here.
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Bitch.
[He knew you'd bring the pretzels - which he then reaches for with the same contentment he was staring out into the water with; a childish glee for something so small and readily available. He'll start shoveling them into his mouth after grinding his can down into the sand to make it stay upright.]
I won't bring anyone - who do I even have to bring?
[It's - less a joke and more of a reality, although he does think of Violet briefly. But their last time hanging out on the beach wasn't exactly as spectacular of a date as he had hoped it would be. From failed attempts at intimacy to dead people stalking their every move? Yeah, maybe the beach is best kept to himself from now on.]
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He hands over the pretzels, stretching his legs, feeling his joints give satisfying pops. Derek's got his own soda, which he thumbs open, throwing back a mouthful and pulling a face like the bubbles are a bit too much for his throat. He's been drinking more soda since Stiles moved in, but Derek still prefers plain water. You know, because he's boring. ]
Just saying. This is for your eyes only.
[ Derek gestures at Tate with his can of soda, sinking back further in the sand. He takes another sip. ]
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Guess I owe you. Want your blowie now or later?
[BJs for pretzels - dates back, doesn't it.]
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The blowjob joke. Derek sighs, rolls his eyes up. He looks at Tate for a second or two, then just - sighs again. Dramatically. ]
Eat.
[ Pretzels, he means. Not dick. ]
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[Tate's playful and that's both a good and a bad thing. He eats a few more pretzels, licking salt off his palm before he's up on his knees and off of his ass again. The bad news is for Derek whose manspread legs Tate starts to invade the space between, gleaming a smile across his lips as he slaps his palms against Derek's thighs and lifts his brows. Purposely toes the line and sees if he can make Derek uncomfortable.
Which honestly, isn't hard. He's - an awkward guy, under all the muscle.]
You've got a few you haven't cashed in on. You sure you're not up for it now? There's no doubling down at a later date.
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Pretty sure.
[ That leaves option two. Derek sets his palm against Tate's forehead and not-so-gently eases him back, pushing him away from his thighs and back onto the sand. Derek draws his legs back up, folding them lazily, sitting straighter. He's doing his best not to smirk, but. He's smirkin'. ]
Remember when you said you weren't into me? Kind of funny, looking back.
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Fuck off.
[Tate rubs at his forehead, and rolls his eyes.]
You can just say I'm not your type. Which feels like a bold fucking lie, since I know you gotta be into twinks.
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But being out here by the waves seems to mellow Tate out a lot, and Derek's filing that away for training. He doesn't like his anchor, doesn't like blood. Maybe if Derek just... spends more time with him at the beach, gives him more fond memories of the sand between his toes and the salt air filling his lungs, he'll connect to it more than the concept of purifying release. This could be good.
And then - Tate calls him out. Derek drops back a little, leaning on his elbows, stretching his legs out again. ]
Why do you think I'm into twinks?
[ Like he doesn't already know. ]
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[Tate's lying, because as soon as Derek's laying back in a slightly less defensive way, Tate's back up on his knees. He's slipping forward to rest his palms on Derek's knees in turn, leaning forward - his eyes dip down once, but follow through without deviating, up to Derek's eyes. Then without the need of another shove, he lays off, and sits back to take another sip of his soda before too much sand gets into it.
He'll let his bluff sit for a second before admitting:]
That and I've seen how you look at Stiles. He's your type.
[He can't forget the protective way Derek stepped in front of him, when he thought Tate was - the enemy.]
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