[ 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.]
[ Tate's lucky. Rather than lazily drop him back against the sand with a weak little shove to the face, Derek was fully intending on drawing up his knee and giving him a hard shove-slash-kick to the ribs with his foot. He's getting kinda annoyed, at this point, but. Whatever. Erica was way worse. ]
I keep shooting you down because I don't want to fuck you.
[ They're friends. Precarious, precarious friends. Derek's not exactly jumping at the chance to ruin that friendship. Not exactly jumping at the chance to cheat on Stiles with a heartbroken, violent and still pretty dangerous kid who totally tried to choke him out on orientation, either. Lots of boxes left unchecked, here.
Anyway. Whatever. God. Derek stares at Tate, slightly alert, waiting to see if he comes at him again. This bitch. Calling him out. Derek sighs. Exasperated. ]
Stiles isn't my type. I don't even have a type. Stiles is just - Stiles.
[ Whatever that means. Wait, hold on. ]
I don't "look" at him. I don't "look" at anyone. You don't know what you're talking about.
[And like that, Tate's flirtation switches off. He rests his soda can inside his crossed legs, and draws the bag of pretzels nearer to take another handful. He eats a broken one first, musing over it before gesturing with his next pretzel between his fingers. He gets a bit annoyed, honestly, because he doesn't know if Derek's deflecting or genuinely that stupid. Does he think Tate's stupid?]
You look at him like he means more to you than anyone else.
[The way Tate wishes someone would look at him. His gaze is a bit darker, so he shoots it off toward the waves. Watches them roll in so his voice stays steady and calm, over anything tight or twisted. With the gentle breeze that gusts past, Tate loses the energy from the moment before, when teasing Derek was fun. Guess I don't want to fuck you really is a buzz kill.]
[ Derek's gut instinct is to tease Tate, ask if he's jealous, but. Between Violet, and between Derek joking about Tate having a crush on Stiles back at the fort, it seems like a pretty fucking stupid card to play. He just - listens, and the air feels different between them, suddenly. Less fun. Maybe he was too harsh.
He takes another swig of soda. Steals some of Tate's pretzels. Listens to the water, for a while. ]
He does.
[ Which - feels like a lot to say, but after bonding over Addie and Beau and Laura, it seems kind of small, comparatively. Tate already knows that Derek and Stiles are close, so he's not exactly divulging new information, but-- but maybe he should. He hasn't said this to Stiles, yet, scared that if he does it'll fuck things up, but - ]
I love him. Doesn't matter what he looks like.
[ - might as well say it to Tate. The words feel bristly and weird once they're out there, like they belong to somebody else instead of him, just because it's been so long since he's said shit like that. Derek scratches his eyebrow with his thumbnail, tries not to feel too clammy and anxious about putting the L word out there in the universe. Tries not to worry about Tate getting angry. ]
In my defense, everyone who's ever meant something to me is dead. Dead-adjacent, at least. Don't exactly have a huge list of friends and family to pick from.
[Derek says the l-word and Tate's mood just blanks. He doesn't get angry, he doesn't get sad, he isn't happy and he's not having fun. It's just a mix of everything and nothing all at once. He's trying hard to filter his feelings, to learn from Derek how to master them before the mix becomes toxic and spills over into tears and bloodshed. The only note that something is off is in the way he breathes, slow but purposely so. He holds his breath between intakes and looks out into the water - trying to imagine it in crimson sheen, washing over him. Doesn't work.
He wants to be loved. Wants someone to look at him protectively, like Derek did Stiles. He wants someone to be so dedicated to him they blow off someone else's advances so easily, so earnestly. To be so committed to someone. He wants that from someone, because he's so ready and willing to give it in turn.
The frown on Tate's face softens, and he relaxes without gouging his nails into his arms - but that's not to say he goes without hurting himself. There's the taste of blood in his mouth from biting down on his inner cheek, but he swallows it away and snorts lightly.]
He's lucky.
[Tate wonders if he's counted in the dead friendzone or not.]
I like you. And him. I wouldn't hurt you two, you know that - right?
[ Tate's - impassive. Derek's honed in on the beat of his heart, on the chemosignals in the air, on every miniscule, reactionary part of him, but - nothing really changes, not at first. His breathing slows, becomes more manual, like he has to think to remember how his lungs work, but that's... that could be anything.
For a second, Derek thinks that things are actually okay between them. That Tate's so enamoured by the beach that he's not going to fall into a self-destructive spiral, beating himself up over rejections and isolation, missing Violet, wanting Violet. Ge exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding, and then he smells it; the iron pang of blood, sharp and metallic. Derek's eyebrows pinch, wary, and Tate just...
Snorts. Reassures him. Makes things light. Derek - hesitates. ]
Yeah. I do. I like you, too.
[ A pause. Derek buries his elbows in the sand a little, gets comfortable in the warmth of it. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. Maybe he shouldn't have engaged in any kind of - discussion, about Stiles. Fuck, why is this so difficult. All Derek can do is try to match the vibe Tate's trying to make. Light. Reassuring.
Another exhale. Derek slaps at Tate's arm, holds his hand out for more pretzels. ]
But if you're fishing for a threesome, you're gonna have to bring it up with him, not me.
[Tate flicks his eyes to Derek when he taps his hand against him and then looks down at the pretzel bag, fishing out (1) one single pretzel and flicking it toward Derek's hand. He's smiling, vaguely amused, but again - he's still trying to be happy. His cheek hurts but it's already healing over, waiting for the next time he has to bite down on it to stifle himself.]
I'd rather not get another boner around him for the foreseeable future, so that's okay.
[But - it's hard to not want to double down on his point, so:]
I just - I don't want you to feel like you can't trust me. Because it's a him or me thing. I get - I know what you'd choose, so. I just... don't want you to ever think that'll happen, okay?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
but I trust you already.
it's why I'm talking to you.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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
no subject
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.
no subject
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
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
[He feels - a bit lighter now, weirdly enough.]
thanks.
for listening and shit.
and for having time for me.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
Guess I owe you. Want your blowie now or later?
[BJs for pretzels - dates back, doesn't it.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
I keep shooting you down because I don't want to fuck you.
[ They're friends. Precarious, precarious friends. Derek's not exactly jumping at the chance to ruin that friendship. Not exactly jumping at the chance to cheat on Stiles with a heartbroken, violent and still pretty dangerous kid who totally tried to choke him out on orientation, either. Lots of boxes left unchecked, here.
Anyway. Whatever. God. Derek stares at Tate, slightly alert, waiting to see if he comes at him again. This bitch. Calling him out. Derek sighs. Exasperated. ]
Stiles isn't my type. I don't even have a type. Stiles is just - Stiles.
[ Whatever that means. Wait, hold on. ]
I don't "look" at him. I don't "look" at anyone. You don't know what you're talking about.
no subject
[And like that, Tate's flirtation switches off. He rests his soda can inside his crossed legs, and draws the bag of pretzels nearer to take another handful. He eats a broken one first, musing over it before gesturing with his next pretzel between his fingers. He gets a bit annoyed, honestly, because he doesn't know if Derek's deflecting or genuinely that stupid. Does he think Tate's stupid?]
You look at him like he means more to you than anyone else.
[The way Tate wishes someone would look at him. His gaze is a bit darker, so he shoots it off toward the waves. Watches them roll in so his voice stays steady and calm, over anything tight or twisted. With the gentle breeze that gusts past, Tate loses the energy from the moment before, when teasing Derek was fun. Guess I don't want to fuck you really is a buzz kill.]
It's obvious.
no subject
He takes another swig of soda. Steals some of Tate's pretzels. Listens to the water, for a while. ]
He does.
[ Which - feels like a lot to say, but after bonding over Addie and Beau and Laura, it seems kind of small, comparatively. Tate already knows that Derek and Stiles are close, so he's not exactly divulging new information, but-- but maybe he should. He hasn't said this to Stiles, yet, scared that if he does it'll fuck things up, but - ]
I love him. Doesn't matter what he looks like.
[ - might as well say it to Tate. The words feel bristly and weird once they're out there, like they belong to somebody else instead of him, just because it's been so long since he's said shit like that. Derek scratches his eyebrow with his thumbnail, tries not to feel too clammy and anxious about putting the L word out there in the universe. Tries not to worry about Tate getting angry. ]
In my defense, everyone who's ever meant something to me is dead. Dead-adjacent, at least. Don't exactly have a huge list of friends and family to pick from.
[ Ssso. Eat shit, Stiles? ]
no subject
He wants to be loved. Wants someone to look at him protectively, like Derek did Stiles. He wants someone to be so dedicated to him they blow off someone else's advances so easily, so earnestly. To be so committed to someone. He wants that from someone, because he's so ready and willing to give it in turn.
The frown on Tate's face softens, and he relaxes without gouging his nails into his arms - but that's not to say he goes without hurting himself. There's the taste of blood in his mouth from biting down on his inner cheek, but he swallows it away and snorts lightly.]
He's lucky.
[Tate wonders if he's counted in the dead friendzone or not.]
I like you. And him. I wouldn't hurt you two, you know that - right?
no subject
For a second, Derek thinks that things are actually okay between them. That Tate's so enamoured by the beach that he's not going to fall into a self-destructive spiral, beating himself up over rejections and isolation, missing Violet, wanting Violet. Ge exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding, and then he smells it; the iron pang of blood, sharp and metallic. Derek's eyebrows pinch, wary, and Tate just...
Snorts. Reassures him. Makes things light. Derek - hesitates. ]
Yeah. I do. I like you, too.
[ A pause. Derek buries his elbows in the sand a little, gets comfortable in the warmth of it. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. Maybe he shouldn't have engaged in any kind of - discussion, about Stiles. Fuck, why is this so difficult. All Derek can do is try to match the vibe Tate's trying to make. Light. Reassuring.
Another exhale. Derek slaps at Tate's arm, holds his hand out for more pretzels. ]
But if you're fishing for a threesome, you're gonna have to bring it up with him, not me.
no subject
I'd rather not get another boner around him for the foreseeable future, so that's okay.
[But - it's hard to not want to double down on his point, so:]
I just - I don't want you to feel like you can't trust me. Because it's a him or me thing. I get - I know what you'd choose, so. I just... don't want you to ever think that'll happen, okay?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)