calloused | ▶ ic contact

I just - I want you to know, okay? I'm doing... what I can to be better. You inspire me.

[But enough sucking up - Tate's precariously moving along, working to grab on to the tree trunk and start descending. It's way harder than he figured, and his stupid ghost body's not exactly equipped for strenuous activity. His arms ache and he realizes how close he is to slipping a few times. At least, he figures, if he falls - it's not like it'll stick.]

Wh-Why exactly was it smart for me to go down first?

[Lightly sarcastic. He's getting there, bit by bit. He stops about six feet up, and sits back down on that branch as if waiting for Derek to move on ahead. Because he is. Also because his arms are fucking killing him. Since when did climbing make your goddamn armpits sore?]

[ Man, that's stupid. Tate hits Derek where he lives, making his heart feel three times as big, but at the same time, he just feels kind of sick. "You inspire me," he says to the guy wallowing in his pity over what a fucking asshole move it was to yell at Tate and threaten to lock him away in a hotel suite in the middle of the fucking full moon. Derek wonders what Tate would say, if he knew how close he came to being mauled. Literally, presumably, though Stiles lived to tell a different tale, so. Jesus, wow, okay, he thinks about something else.

Probably not something he's going to bring up, either way. Ever. Tate starts moving and Derek joins him soon enough, climbing down the side of the tree with an obnoxious amount of ease that Tate just doesn't have. He's going slow, keeping it leisurely. Just in case he needs to move fast to catch Tate when his stupid ghost ass loses grip.

Tate sits on a branch and Derek just - keeps going, climbing down until he hits the ground, and then he just... collapses. He's not tired, but he doesn't want to go home just yet, so he falls flat onto the ground, laying on his back and stretching out in the grass and the dirt. It's not the softest bed he's ever been on, but. Least he can look up at Tate without craning his neck. ]

I'm never bringing you to the woods again.

Fuck you.

[Tate says cheerfully from up on his branch, waving the middle finger at Derek. He contemplates climbing down but hesitates a little bit longer, letting his legs swing as he looks around. He's going to have to come and practice climbing, maybe that's another thing he can do when not at the beach. Things to occupy his time - he's getting quite a few.

Finally, he carefully slips off the branch, hangs from it from a second, albeit awkwardly - and drops to his feet. Kinda hurts his ankle but he's fine, so he collapses down next to Derek to join him in staring up at the sky.]

Face it, you like me. I'm gonna be all over these woods. Forever.

[ Tate doesn't have the energy to flip Tate off in return. He just looks at him kind of blearily, sun filtering through the leaves and lighting him up. He's so - excited, to get this all done. The tree house, the contract. The life he's going to build for the people that matter most. ]

I do. I like you very much. More than you like me, which is - you know. Heartbreaking, but understandable.

[ Given, you know, all this. Derek references his face with one hand, as if he's ugly and plain and not this fucking bullshit, unfair depiction of chiseled masculinity. Tate's just joking when he says he'll be all over these woods forever, but - shit, Derek takes him too seriously. It goes straight to his chest, making it hard to breathe, and he doesn't say much until Tate's safely sprawled out alongside him. He keeps looking at the sky, rather than at him.

He's getting anxious, and it's the kind of anxious he needs Stiles around to help him with, and - he's not here, so. It's just there, now. Anxiety. ]

Don't make promises like that unless you mean them.

What makes you think I don't mean them?

[Tate is still feeling a thrumming in his chest at 'I like you very much. More than you like me-' which he doesn't really get. Is it a joke? Reads like one but Tate almost felt compelled to defend himself, say he's the one who probably likes Derek a bit too much. But he bit his tongue before he did, because part of him acknowledges that as... too much. Too much for this moment.

It's not exactly comfortable laying on the dirt, so Tate wiggles a bit and breathes out hard, like he's a dog who just can't get comfortable. He bends his knee, laying it flat with his calf beneath his other leg and picks up a twig off the ground, twirling it between his fingers while looking sidelong at Derek.]

Wanna pinky swear on it? I will. And that shit's sacred.

[ It's not a joke, it's just - self-deprecating. During that fight in the hotel, Derek had a moment, just for a second, where he saw Tate in such a low fucking light. Started second guessing the things they shared, the things Tate said. Tate threw the lie at the Fort back in his face like he never got over it, like that made Derek worse, and Derek's stomach feels like sand whenever he thinks back on that and wonders if Tate has all this resentment for him built up that he just - doesn't mention.

So he doesn't let himself think about it. Won't let himself think about it now, either. Tate asks why Derek doesn't think he means his promises, and Derek shrugs, not really answering, even when he talks. ]

Scared.

[ Scared of people leaving, same as Tate. Scared of not having Tate anymore. Scared of all this effort he's put into trusting him, letting him in, showing him all these things that matter so fucking much to him, liking him, pretty fucking close to loving him, all going nowhere. Derek doesn't want this to be like Kate again. Doesn't want to hurt like that anymore. Doesn't want to be in a position where he'd let someone bad in when he's sworn to protect Stiles from the reach of this fucking place.

He just - raises his hand, elbow in the ground, pinky limp but out. Surprisingly serious. About pinky swears. ]

[Tate smiles when he sees Derek take him up on this, and he shifts over close enough that his foot brushes Derek's leg and he can link their pinkies together. He squeezes, holds on longer than he has to and in fact doesn't break it off. Prolonged periods of hand to hand contact seem to be their thing these days.]

I always want to keep my promises. I only stop if it'd - hurt someone. And even then, I think... I'd still want to do it if it was for you. You're important. More than most people. That's... I know that's messed up to say. But... it's true.

[As evident by the pinky-swear; you can't lie when you're doing this, right?]

You're stuck with me now.

[ Derek listens. Derek listens, and it-- helps, maybe, in gradual increments. Tate says it's messed up to say the things he says, but fuck, if that's true, how messed up is Derek for wanting more? For Tate to say he's-- more important than anyone, more important than his ex-girlfriend who didn't get him, more important than his fucking family. It's not official in any of the ways it could be, but Tate's his pack. They're supposed to live at each other's side, eat together, fight together, do everything together. Derek's supposed to be able to say he'd die for him, if it came down to it, not just fucking - build him treehouses and give him second-rate advice.

The pinky promise gets him. He doesn't feel like it's enough, so when Tate doesn't let go, Derek takes the opportunity to hold on tighter. He nudges his leg, shifts a little closer, just to have a better, more reassuring fill of what little inner warmth Tate has, as a ghost. Derek - breathes. ]

I'd...

[ Stuck with him. Derek tilts his head, looking at Tate. He's really fucking close, but it still feels like there's a wall here, invisible and hard to describe. It's a wall that Tate's chipping away at, brick by brick, every time he makes Derek believe that things are good between them. Every time he makes Derek believe that they're in this together. ]

I'd - yeah. Me too. I'd do anything, if you needed it. If it would make you happy.

[ If it meant Tate wouldn't leave. He gets a sense of deja vu, but can't really place why. ]

[Tate likes the sound of that, as fucked up as it is. Someone swearing this kind of loyalty to him - it fans this fire in his gut that makes him smile, dark eyes wide and warm when they look at Derek from behind a veil of disheveled blond bangs. He'd do anything for him too, but it's hard to admit just how far he'd go for Derek. How far he'd gone for Nora, for Violet. He smiles sweetly and turns onto his side after letting go of Derek's hand.

He props up his head on his hand after rubbing dirt off on his sleeve.]

Can I put you to the test?

[ Tate lets go, and Derek just lets his hand stay suspended for a second or two longer, before quietly thudding down onto an easily broken twig. He doesn't sense anything behind Tate's question, really. Nothing sinister, at least. Just figures he's going to make him do something only a dom can do, like buy him another stash of pretzels to hide out in the treehouse once it's built. ]

Go nuts, Jigsaw.

[Tate's brow furrows - he doesn't understand that reference but he sits up properly, facing Derek with his legs crossing under him. He dusts more dirt off his shirt and just laces his fingers, stretching out his arms and cracking his knuckles. He's comfortable, cozy, and treating this with a bit of fun.]

Lend me your leather jacket for a week. The one you wear all the time.

[ Derek wasn't expecting much. Maybe he fucking should have been. ]

That's-- what? No. Are you--

[ Derek sits up, propped up on his elbows. His jaw drops, largely offended, and he stares at Tate with-- well, not with malicious intent, exactly, but certainly with some kind of malice. Stand-alone malice. Malice, but on a solo mission. Jesus, he'd honestly have preferred Tate to ask him to pony up on all the semi-ironic blowjob jokes. Absolutely would have followed through on one of those, if giving up his jacket was the alternative. Eat shit, exclusivity to the love of his life, that's his fucking jacket.

But.

A promise is a promise. Tate's just teasing, probably doesn't even intend to follow through on a literal fucking hostage negotiation, but. Derek's gonna commit to this, just in case he is. That's where they're at. ]

You can't fuck in it. I'll know. I've got a really, really good nose.

[Tate's smile cracks wide and bright at the taste of victory, and he laughs soon after that. He wasn't even sure Derek would agree but that was half the fun, twisting his arm to really see if he would. This doesn't really change anything, not really. He still would trust Derek either way. But this makes him like him a hell of a lot more. He slaps the side of his fist against Derek's thigh.]

Deal. Shake on it?

[He offers his hand to Derek.]

One whoooole week. It's mine.

[ Tate's smile might be worth it. That's the kind of smile that'll keep Derek going for a week. Seven full days of just - remembering Tate like this, every time he starts to doubt their relationship or see a hairline fracture in the foundation of a promise. Seven full days of bought trust.

Derek sighs. Claps his hand against Tate's. His handshake is strong and firm and maybe a little too rough, but it suits him. It'd suit him even if he wasn't this angry. ]

You're gonna have to break the news to Stiles about this. He loves that jacket.

[ Derek assumes. He's never said he loves that jacket, but. Why the fuck wouldn't he. ]

Well, Stiles can suck it.

[Playfully said, of course. Tate's fucking smitten with what he just rigged up for himself, and he can't wait to wear that goddamn thing. Not that he'll wear it all the time - he knows he can't around Kavinsky. So, well, he'll have to be careful with it. But it'll be a good fucking week - mostly just because he knows he'll have something Derek wants. Something tangibly so.]

Glad I picked that. Was gonna dare you to shave.

Physical impossibility. It just grows right back.

[ That's a dirty lie, but he's a werewolf, so who's gonna doubt him? Werewolves be hairy. He's just nipping this shit in the bud before Tate gets a chance to ask him to shave next time.

Still. Fine. Derek sits up a little further and starts tugging on the sleeves of his jacket, pulling them down over his hands and feeling a little vulnerable about taking it off for good. He hesitates, like he doesn't want to do this, but. Deal's a deal. He slides it off, his henley riding up his stomach as he pulls it off. Mourningly, he sets the jacket in Tate's arms. ]

I don't think you understand the massive levels of responsibility you've taken on by stealing this from me. You're literally babysitting my child. If you hurt her, we're gonna square up.

Don't freak out, I got her.

[Literally. Tate looks down at the jacket, feeling the weight in his arms almost as if it really is some sleeping babe. Only he then turns it over, threading his arm through one sleeve and then the other; it's oversized for him but it rests on him decently. Smells like Derek though - that's the first thing he notices.]

How do I look?

Like shit.

[ No, he looks great, and Derek insults him with enough fondness for that to be obvious. A little younger, just because of how big the jacket is, but - good. Derek's reluctantly endeared. ]

If you make it through the week without getting her stained or burnt or stolen or jizzed on, I'll buy you your own. I was gonna do that anyway, eventually. Kind of a pack initiation thing.

Yeah?

[Again, it's stupid how excited that makes Tate. He looks up, grinning again like he just won a jackpot already. Derek was already thinking of him? Wanted him in his pack the way he wanted others - Tate fits. Tate's going to fit. It's going to work, everything is going to be fine.]

Better be as cool as this one. What do you even carry on you...

[Yeah, he's looking at through your pockets now, Derek.]

[ Oh, ugh. Tate's not going to find much, but Derek should've grabbed it all back and shoved it in his jeans before handing it over. He's got his phone in there, his wallet, the keys to the den, some empty condom wrappers, maybe an old tissue and some loose change - he'll hold his hand out for Tate to hand back the shit that isn't trash, and if he doesn't, he'll just get impatient, reach his hand into his jacket's pockets and start fishing them out himself. ]

You're such a fucking snoop. Christ.

[ Derek puts his things away, slipping them into his jean pockets and rearranging his henley to fit better. God. Already regretting this. ]

But yeah. It'll be cool. Gotta match. No point, otherwise.

[ Also, thanks for calling his jacket cool. He's a little touched, even if he won't say as much. ]

[Tate rolls his eyes, resistant to handing over the loose change but giving everything else. He even flicks one of the empty wrappers at Derek, snorting as he takes back everything of importance - Tate doesn't even try to hold on to the phone or keys, but he does briefly look them over. Shit, it'd be nice to have keys. How sad is that? Tree house needs to have a working lock.

Tate checks the inner pocket himself toward the end of the exchange, and puts on his sunglasses, expecting them to be pulled off his face.]

How do you even seen in these. Alpha dog vision? Hey, shit - are you colorblind? Important question.

[ Derek bats away the condom wrapper, leaving it in the dirt, too stubborn to pick it up and stash it away, but too environmentally-conscious to leave it here in the woods. He'll either pick it up when Tate's not looking or literally come back here after he's gone to take it back to the rubbish bin.

But oh, right, his shades. Derek sighs through his nose, getting more and more annoyed as this goes on, good-natured in how much he fucking hates Tate and wants him to die. He stretches his legs, lays mostly-down again, resting on his forearms as he watches Tate fuck around. ]

When I turn these on -

[ he points to the headlights, gets 'em going. ]

Everything's red. Lets me see in the dark. Like the Predator. Otherwise -

[ headlights off. ]

Normal eyes. I'm not, like, actually a dog, shit-for-brains.

So if everything's red, that's technically colorblind. To colors other than red.

[You fucking dog boy. Tate tilts his head to the side, and is only momentarily enchanted by the eyes before they're gone. It's hard to tell (thank shades,) but he gets the feeling Derek could tell he was staring anyway, directly eye to eye. He likes the headlights. Mothmeme.jpg.]

If Alpha's see red, what do... betas see again?

Gold or blue.

[ Depending. Derek feels a prickle of shame at his neck for turning his headlights on, and he wonders for the first time if he's going to have to... hide them, around Tate. If being able to show him that red is - damaging. It's not the first time he's wondered if being a werewolf is ultimately... negative, and something that only makes things between him and Tate worse, but.

It's hard, confronting that. The idea that being non-human makes him worse for someone he needs to be with. Just another feeling or worry about Tate to compartmentalize and bury to keep things running smoothly, apparently. Derek keeps joking around, but. He's tired. ]

You wouldn't call the Predator colorblind. I'm cooler than the Predator. Don't know why you're bullying me.

Oh.

[Makes sense - and Tate tries to imagine the two colors but he's only seen red. Can only imagine the red light bathing everything around it the same color. He likes that, he's not sure he'd like blue or gold. But it must be different on the other end of it, and he raises his brows before taking off the shades. He folds them back up and offers them to Derek.]

You're not cooler than the Predator.

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

no subject