[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?
[ Definitely hasn't heard about Tate's boner. Derek's-- thrown, for a second, but. He doesn't really get the chance to unpack all that, not when Tate's flicking pretzels at him and guilting him over ultimatums that don't exist. Derek swats at the pretzel, sitting up straight. ]
No, that's - hold on.
[ Derek shakes his head, holding one arm out, gripping Tate by the shoulder. ]
I'm not - weighing you against each other. I wouldn't do that, there's no - competition. I want to trust you, so I trust you. Doesn't have anything to do with Stiles.
[Tate's - gonna avoid answering about boners for as long as he can, blinking at Derek when he sits up. It makes Tate feel surprised to be advanced on like that, so he stiffens, following Derek's grip down his arm to his shoulder. He feels caught, but stands his ground because he hasn't done anything wrong. He also doesn't - buy this, but nods.
Just a matter of time. Always comes down to what people want first, nobody's selfless enough to not want to protect the things that mean the most to them. Tate himself isn't an exception to that, which is why it's... hard to deal with when nobody feels that way about you. Seeing it in other people stings. He just wants to believe he belongs.]
[ Not much of an answer. Derek doesn't know what's going through his head, but Tate seems kind of defeated. Resigned, maybe, might be the better word. Derek, again, feels like he's not doing enough for him, and that guilt eats away at him. Slowly, he takes his hand back. ]
You both play very different roles in my life. What I get from him, I can't get from you, and what I get from you, I can't get from him.
[ And that might not be enough for Tate, who seems pitiful and small in the wake of Derek admitting he loves Stiles, and that guilt eats away at Derek a little bit more. Maybe he shouldn't have said it. Maybe this is a sign that he's been right not to say it. Derek kneads his thigh with the heel of his palm, just anxiously looking for something to keep his hands busy. He still smells blood, just a little. ]
You're the only person I've invited to the den. The only person I will invite to the den. Making friends isn't... easy, for me, and I don't...
[ Derek drops onto his back, rolling onto his side. He should be wearing something other than his regular clothes - gonna be digging sand out of everything for weeks. ]
I don't want you to think I'm not treating this with the weight it deserves. Our friendship matters to me a great deal.
[Derek thinks he's doing a good job of explaining it, and Tate's smile is there - but it feels like someone's putting out a cigarette against the back of his throat. Derek has no way of knowing that Tate hurts at the notion of 'What I get from him, I can't get from you, and what I get from you, I can't get from him.' because it feels like he's just there to fill the gaps between Derek and the guy he loves.
Great. It only helps to be told he's the only one invited to the Den to then think to himself besides Stiles, you mean, which invalidates the sentiment in his head. But this is fine? He nods his head, taking that quietly in stride. Still desperate to hold on to whatever he's been given.]
I get it. We're cool, man. Don't worry.
[His appetite has tucked itself away, and he offers Derek the bag of pretzels.]
I'm happy you're letting me come to the beach. I'll probably come here a lot.
[ This is - really starting to annoy him. Derek looks at Tate, sees the glassiness to his smile, all sharp and colourless. He's barely touched his pretzels, and Derek's stomach churns with anxiety as the bag gets handed over. He doesn't understand why things are going wrong, but - things are going wrong. ]
We're not. You're not listening.
[ Derek snaps a little, and he sits up, moving closer to Tate. Lightly, he punches him on the thigh with the soft edge of his fist, this frustrated, aimless attempt at getting his attention that feels sort of stupid, once he's actually done it. He sits directly in front of Tate, bends forward, holds eye contact. He lifts his fist again, then bops it just as weakly into the sand. Still annoyed. ]
Stiles isn't pack.
[ And Tate isn't either, but Derek's talked to him about the bite, and he's told Stiles that he wants to build a pack. He's been trying to stay pretty neutral on this, because he doesn't want to sway Tate one way or the other, but the truth is, he's already starting to think of him as a Beta. He wants to protect him. Make him understand that he matters. ]
Being a Beta is more than just - getting stronger, getting healthier. The bond a Beta shares with their Alpha is... stronger than any they could share with a friend, or with family. There's this intense, impenetrable intimacy, where both Beta and Alpha are drawn to protect each other, and-- and losing one another feels worse than losing a limb. You realize that you've been-- incomplete, and that when you're together, you feel whole. You realize that you'd lay down anything in the world for this person, because they'd lay down anything in the world for you.
[ That's what it's supposed to feel like, at least. That's what Derek thought it did feel like, back home, between the Hales and his own pack, but Isaac-- Isaac still leaves, Isaac maybe never felt the love he was supposed to feel that Derek never really expressed, the Alpha pack still kills their Betas. Maybe he's too idealistic. Maybe this bond is more... one sided, tilted towards the Alpha. Maybe Derek was kidding himself, when he felt like his pack made him whole.
Either way - Derek shakes his head, gets rid of the doubt. He grabs Tate by the shoulders, holding eye contact, trying to impress upon him what he means. ]
I'm not-- telling you to take the bite. I don't know if you need it. I don't know if you need me, and I don't want to force this on you just because I want it, or because I'm afraid of being alone.
[ Erica dies. Boyd dies. There's this quiet, fucked up part of him that thinks Tate couldn't die, if he were bitten, because he's already gone, and he'd just - come back. There's a sick crunch of guilt in his stomach when he thinks that - like Tate's death makes him a prize, or a commodity, or something as equally dehumanizing - and his hands on Tate's shoulders grip tighter. Tight enough to hurt. ]
[That's the first question of Tate's mouth, unfiltered and raw. He doesn't understand how a beta bond can be so great and yet Derek, who loves Stiles, hasn't secured it with him. But Derek admits that there are things that Stiles can't be for him and Tate wonders why this is one of those things - and doubles down on the notion that he could be, instead.
His eyes flick down to Derek's hands, unflinching when they squeeze into his shoulders. If anything, he seems to relax into the pain. It's his anchor, after all, and it ebbs away the tension in his bones. He leans forward against Derek's palms, and looks back up into his eyes. He describes the act of being pack so... convincing, that Tate's already on the hook. It pulls at his belly and he wants it so badly.
He's been so lonely. He's been so desperate. He doesn't want to be either of those things anymore.]
I want to be a beta. But only if because - you want me, not just because someone else doesn't want to be.
I haven't-- offered him the bite. I don't want that from him.
[ Derek answers quick and fast, drawing his hands back and setting them in the sand. That's - not entirely true. A part of him that wants to bite Stiles, claim him as his own, have that bond with him, but it's... complicated. They've built a relationship based on mutual trust, mutual guardianship, and the hierarchy of a pack conflicts with that.
He remembers, too, what Stiles said when he told Derek that Peter offered him the bite. Why would I want to be like him. Derek understands that it was just... personal, an indictment of who Peter is as a person, but it's - hard, not to feel like there's a deeper reason beneath the surface of that rejection. Plus... after losing himself to the Nogitsune, Derek doesn't see how it's anything but selfish to ask Stiles to give up his humanity.
Tate... wants this. Tate wants that bond, Tate wants that guidance. Tate's trusting Derek with training, with opening up about his history, with - everything - and maybe-- maybe he can help him save Erica and Boyd. Maybe he can help him keep Isaac. Derek can't let him go. Derek wets his lips, tries to explain, tries to keep Tate invested. ]
Stiles doesn't need the bite, and-- and I don't need to bite him. I'm in love with him. That's enough.
[ He thinks of Paige. Bitten, unnecessarily, so they could be together. Derek rapidly tries to think of something else.
He thinks of Erica. Erica, who was so desperate for attention and love. Thinks of Boyd, who was so fucking lonely, he became a wolf so he wouldn't have to sit at the lunch table anymore. He thinks of Isaac, battered and afraid and abused, needing strength and confidence and pride. He sees all of them in Tate. Derek doesn't want things to be equal between them - he wants to be Tate's protector.
Derek clenches his jaw, drops his eyes. He looks back up to Tate, and he lights up his eyes, red and bright and demanding. It's a dirty trick. He knows how Tate drowns in the colour of them. ]
I want to take care of you. I want to take away your hurt, and your fear. I want to protect you. You've been through so, so much, and I know that I can make it all better. This is about you. Only you.
[Tate was always happy to be the one who was able to protect someone, whether that was providing what he could for Nora or doing everything possible to ensure Violet was safe and happy too. But in essence in those roles, he always just - wanted to be useful, to be needed and to have someone want to rely on him. To have someone to rely on in turn is exciting and thrilling, but also somewhat nerve wracking. Why? He doesn't know.
It's just so new. So goddamn new.
Violet tried to protect him when she knew the truth and thought he didn't. That's the closest he's really come to having someone care for him since Nora slid her fingers through his hair with such affection he's long since craved. Derek's offering it and Tate's already sold, dark eyes that are so often jaded a dark inky black are widely expressive brown as the soon to be setting sun lights up his face.]
Does it hurt? When - it happens. The bite. What happens?
[ Tate doesn't realize how heavy-hitting that question is. Of course it hurts. People don't - survive, when they've been bitten, he's learning that more and more as time goes on. Scott's, so far, the exception that proves the rule, but who knows how long that's going to last? Derek can offer all the love and support and strength in the world, but a part of him is scared that this is a death sentence. A part of Derek is desperate to prove that it's not. ]
It hurts.
[ And - that's the only detail he's giving. Derek shifts forward, the red of his eyes glowing a little brighter. ]
[Tate doesn't move back, doesn't even blink, he just stares into the vibrant red that has him caught like a moth attracted to the flame. He wants closer to it, to be in it and he'll end up burning himself alive just to get there. He's holding his breath and doesn't realize it, not even put off by the notion of pain. Derek'll take it away. Tate'll survive through it.]
How do you do it? Do you just... bite?
[He's still enamored by Derek, but inquisitive. He wants to know more, he wants to know everything. He wants to be prepared for this, if he's willing to sign up for it. Is he even ready? When would Derek consider him to be ready?]
It's a bite. It hurts. It heals fast. You start to change - you feel stronger, healthier. Confident. Better. Your head clears. Everything... mends.
[ That's not how it worked for Jackson. Not how it worked for Scott, for the most part, given how quick he was to get angry, and it's... it's not how it worked for Paige. But it's how it worked for Erica, Isaac and Boyd. They needed the bite. Derek ignores the voice in his head telling him that Tate might not need it the way they did. ]
Best time to bite is after the full moon. Gives you time to learn how to deal with the change before that comes - the surges of power, the dizzying rush of endorphins. The full moon is...
[ Derek could prey on Tate. Tell him the full moon is a better high than anything else he'd ever experience. A stronger rush. It wouldn't be a lie, but he knows that Tate relies on drugs, and he knows that it would be manipulative. He can't - say that. ]
It's - a lot to deal with, when you first get bitten. Intense.
[Tate finally breaks his gaze away from a blissful adoring stare into the red headlights that Derek is blinding him with, and drops it to the sand in front of him. He can hear a voice in the back of his head admitting something was intense before and it's enough to pull him out of his reverie. Albeit at the same time it only convinces him more than he needs someone else to rely on, someone else's intensity to buy into.
Full moon. He's going to have to look into when the next one will be.]
[ The red in Derek's eyes just - extinguishes, before too long. He watches Tate even after Tate looks away, and when he's sure they're done with eye contact, he blinks them back to hazel. The question is - difficult, but it's not one he's unwilling to answer. ]
Four times. Stiles is - two years ahead of me, back home, and he told me the number's gonna go up.
[ Up to six, if he includes both Victoria and Gerard. Derek's a little nervous about sharing this information with Tate, whose possessiveness and unwillingness to share have become pretty notable traits of his, and saying he has betas waiting for him back home might - damage what they have here. Derek slowly shrugs. Not going to lie. ]
Three of the bites worked the way they were supposed to.
[It was going to get asked, especially since Derek opened the floor by bringing it up. He's not sure how he feels about the notion of Derek having already bitten people before, and what that means. He's not the first. Won't be the last. He's a middle piece in a bigger puzzle but he has to mean something, even still. He's the first one here. Maybe the only one, too, if things work out.]
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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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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.
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[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.
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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? ]
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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?
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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.
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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?
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[ Definitely hasn't heard about Tate's boner. Derek's-- thrown, for a second, but. He doesn't really get the chance to unpack all that, not when Tate's flicking pretzels at him and guilting him over ultimatums that don't exist. Derek swats at the pretzel, sitting up straight. ]
No, that's - hold on.
[ Derek shakes his head, holding one arm out, gripping Tate by the shoulder. ]
I'm not - weighing you against each other. I wouldn't do that, there's no - competition. I want to trust you, so I trust you. Doesn't have anything to do with Stiles.
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Just a matter of time. Always comes down to what people want first, nobody's selfless enough to not want to protect the things that mean the most to them. Tate himself isn't an exception to that, which is why it's... hard to deal with when nobody feels that way about you. Seeing it in other people stings. He just wants to believe he belongs.]
Okay.
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You both play very different roles in my life. What I get from him, I can't get from you, and what I get from you, I can't get from him.
[ And that might not be enough for Tate, who seems pitiful and small in the wake of Derek admitting he loves Stiles, and that guilt eats away at Derek a little bit more. Maybe he shouldn't have said it. Maybe this is a sign that he's been right not to say it. Derek kneads his thigh with the heel of his palm, just anxiously looking for something to keep his hands busy. He still smells blood, just a little. ]
You're the only person I've invited to the den. The only person I will invite to the den. Making friends isn't... easy, for me, and I don't...
[ Derek drops onto his back, rolling onto his side. He should be wearing something other than his regular clothes - gonna be digging sand out of everything for weeks. ]
I don't want you to think I'm not treating this with the weight it deserves. Our friendship matters to me a great deal.
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Great. It only helps to be told he's the only one invited to the Den to then think to himself besides Stiles, you mean, which invalidates the sentiment in his head. But this is fine? He nods his head, taking that quietly in stride. Still desperate to hold on to whatever he's been given.]
I get it. We're cool, man. Don't worry.
[His appetite has tucked itself away, and he offers Derek the bag of pretzels.]
I'm happy you're letting me come to the beach. I'll probably come here a lot.
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We're not. You're not listening.
[ Derek snaps a little, and he sits up, moving closer to Tate. Lightly, he punches him on the thigh with the soft edge of his fist, this frustrated, aimless attempt at getting his attention that feels sort of stupid, once he's actually done it. He sits directly in front of Tate, bends forward, holds eye contact. He lifts his fist again, then bops it just as weakly into the sand. Still annoyed. ]
Stiles isn't pack.
[ And Tate isn't either, but Derek's talked to him about the bite, and he's told Stiles that he wants to build a pack. He's been trying to stay pretty neutral on this, because he doesn't want to sway Tate one way or the other, but the truth is, he's already starting to think of him as a Beta. He wants to protect him. Make him understand that he matters. ]
Being a Beta is more than just - getting stronger, getting healthier. The bond a Beta shares with their Alpha is... stronger than any they could share with a friend, or with family. There's this intense, impenetrable intimacy, where both Beta and Alpha are drawn to protect each other, and-- and losing one another feels worse than losing a limb. You realize that you've been-- incomplete, and that when you're together, you feel whole. You realize that you'd lay down anything in the world for this person, because they'd lay down anything in the world for you.
[ That's what it's supposed to feel like, at least. That's what Derek thought it did feel like, back home, between the Hales and his own pack, but Isaac-- Isaac still leaves, Isaac maybe never felt the love he was supposed to feel that Derek never really expressed, the Alpha pack still kills their Betas. Maybe he's too idealistic. Maybe this bond is more... one sided, tilted towards the Alpha. Maybe Derek was kidding himself, when he felt like his pack made him whole.
Either way - Derek shakes his head, gets rid of the doubt. He grabs Tate by the shoulders, holding eye contact, trying to impress upon him what he means. ]
I'm not-- telling you to take the bite. I don't know if you need it. I don't know if you need me, and I don't want to force this on you just because I want it, or because I'm afraid of being alone.
[ Erica dies. Boyd dies. There's this quiet, fucked up part of him that thinks Tate couldn't die, if he were bitten, because he's already gone, and he'd just - come back. There's a sick crunch of guilt in his stomach when he thinks that - like Tate's death makes him a prize, or a commodity, or something as equally dehumanizing - and his hands on Tate's shoulders grip tighter. Tight enough to hurt. ]
But we could have that.
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[That's the first question of Tate's mouth, unfiltered and raw. He doesn't understand how a beta bond can be so great and yet Derek, who loves Stiles, hasn't secured it with him. But Derek admits that there are things that Stiles can't be for him and Tate wonders why this is one of those things - and doubles down on the notion that he could be, instead.
His eyes flick down to Derek's hands, unflinching when they squeeze into his shoulders. If anything, he seems to relax into the pain. It's his anchor, after all, and it ebbs away the tension in his bones. He leans forward against Derek's palms, and looks back up into his eyes. He describes the act of being pack so... convincing, that Tate's already on the hook. It pulls at his belly and he wants it so badly.
He's been so lonely. He's been so desperate. He doesn't want to be either of those things anymore.]
I want to be a beta. But only if because - you want me, not just because someone else doesn't want to be.
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[ Derek answers quick and fast, drawing his hands back and setting them in the sand. That's - not entirely true. A part of him that wants to bite Stiles, claim him as his own, have that bond with him, but it's... complicated. They've built a relationship based on mutual trust, mutual guardianship, and the hierarchy of a pack conflicts with that.
He remembers, too, what Stiles said when he told Derek that Peter offered him the bite. Why would I want to be like him. Derek understands that it was just... personal, an indictment of who Peter is as a person, but it's - hard, not to feel like there's a deeper reason beneath the surface of that rejection. Plus... after losing himself to the Nogitsune, Derek doesn't see how it's anything but selfish to ask Stiles to give up his humanity.
Tate... wants this. Tate wants that bond, Tate wants that guidance. Tate's trusting Derek with training, with opening up about his history, with - everything - and maybe-- maybe he can help him save Erica and Boyd. Maybe he can help him keep Isaac. Derek can't let him go. Derek wets his lips, tries to explain, tries to keep Tate invested. ]
Stiles doesn't need the bite, and-- and I don't need to bite him. I'm in love with him. That's enough.
[ He thinks of Paige. Bitten, unnecessarily, so they could be together. Derek rapidly tries to think of something else.
He thinks of Erica. Erica, who was so desperate for attention and love. Thinks of Boyd, who was so fucking lonely, he became a wolf so he wouldn't have to sit at the lunch table anymore. He thinks of Isaac, battered and afraid and abused, needing strength and confidence and pride. He sees all of them in Tate. Derek doesn't want things to be equal between them - he wants to be Tate's protector.
Derek clenches his jaw, drops his eyes. He looks back up to Tate, and he lights up his eyes, red and bright and demanding. It's a dirty trick. He knows how Tate drowns in the colour of them. ]
I want to take care of you. I want to take away your hurt, and your fear. I want to protect you. You've been through so, so much, and I know that I can make it all better. This is about you. Only you.
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It's just so new. So goddamn new.
Violet tried to protect him when she knew the truth and thought he didn't. That's the closest he's really come to having someone care for him since Nora slid her fingers through his hair with such affection he's long since craved. Derek's offering it and Tate's already sold, dark eyes that are so often jaded a dark inky black are widely expressive brown as the soon to be setting sun lights up his face.]
Does it hurt? When - it happens. The bite. What happens?
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It hurts.
[ And - that's the only detail he's giving. Derek shifts forward, the red of his eyes glowing a little brighter. ]
But I'll be there to take that hurt away.
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How do you do it? Do you just... bite?
[He's still enamored by Derek, but inquisitive. He wants to know more, he wants to know everything. He wants to be prepared for this, if he's willing to sign up for it. Is he even ready? When would Derek consider him to be ready?]
Like, how does that even...
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[ That's not how it worked for Jackson. Not how it worked for Scott, for the most part, given how quick he was to get angry, and it's... it's not how it worked for Paige. But it's how it worked for Erica, Isaac and Boyd. They needed the bite. Derek ignores the voice in his head telling him that Tate might not need it the way they did. ]
Best time to bite is after the full moon. Gives you time to learn how to deal with the change before that comes - the surges of power, the dizzying rush of endorphins. The full moon is...
[ Derek could prey on Tate. Tell him the full moon is a better high than anything else he'd ever experience. A stronger rush. It wouldn't be a lie, but he knows that Tate relies on drugs, and he knows that it would be manipulative. He can't - say that. ]
It's - a lot to deal with, when you first get bitten. Intense.
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Full moon. He's going to have to look into when the next one will be.]
Have you... bitten someone before?
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Four times. Stiles is - two years ahead of me, back home, and he told me the number's gonna go up.
[ Up to six, if he includes both Victoria and Gerard. Derek's a little nervous about sharing this information with Tate, whose possessiveness and unwillingness to share have become pretty notable traits of his, and saying he has betas waiting for him back home might - damage what they have here. Derek slowly shrugs. Not going to lie. ]
Three of the bites worked the way they were supposed to.
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[It was going to get asked, especially since Derek opened the floor by bringing it up. He's not sure how he feels about the notion of Derek having already bitten people before, and what that means. He's not the first. Won't be the last. He's a middle piece in a bigger puzzle but he has to mean something, even still. He's the first one here. Maybe the only one, too, if things work out.]
What went wrong?
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