[Close, demanding, where Tate feels like there's this presence looming over him that's half suffocating and half revitalizing. Tate doesn't see the world other people see it - that much is clear with how he reacts to the smallest things like they're the largest, and vice versa. He has a hard time perceiving emotions when they're not as bold as they can be so he goes to these extremes to be certain of what he has. A suffocating bond is at least a definable bond. A definable love.
He smiles.]
It's just nice. To have someone who feels that way about me... makes it a two way street, y'know?
[Tate takes another swig of beer, tipping up his chin to look at the sky while he does it.]
I'll tell you to back off if I need it. But... also, use your discretion? Sometimes I need you to say no to me saying no. Someone to keep me in check.
[ Makes it a two way street. Derek laughs, a little too loud in the black of the night, but - only because he's shy. He scratches his cheek, stops looking at Tate, and he polishes off his burger, scrunching up the onion-riddled wrapper and throwing it to the other end of the platform. He takes another drink, then puts that down too, wiping his mouth clean. ]
Shut up.
[ But he nudges Tate in the side, vying for his attention. ]
I will. And - just - know that I always have your best interests at heart? I might fuck up sometimes, but your happiness and wellbeing is always going to be my bottom line.
[Nudged, Tate nudges back and and works on finishing off his can of beer. It'll take a few swigs yet, but he's determined - chugging it before slapping at Derek's bicep in a playful mood. He hopes this is what the treehouse becomes - a place to look at the night sky, to dick around and have fun in. A home away from home that promises security but is never, ever lonely.]
Good thing we're doing all this touchy feely shit now, makes it less awkward to share the sleeping bag.
[He curls his lip, smiling as he draws up one knee and shifts how he sits so they're side by side. He leans against his bent leg, the other hanging over the platform edge like Derek's. He holds on to his beer until the can is empty, setting it next to him with the knowledge the remainder of the six pack is only a reach away.]
Hey. If... If you could get drunk, or high - would you want to try? Just if it were possible.
[ Derek snorts, but - he's absolutely not gonna share the sleeping bag. He runs pretty fucking hot. He'd burn alive in there. The Hale fire of 2005 would have nothing on him tonight. ]
I mean - if you'd asked me at sixteen? Yeah. Fuck, I would have killed for the chance. Kind of sucked sneaking out with my friends to just... watch them get wasted.
[ Always just sitting there, pretending to be straight-edge. Maybe that's why he dated Paige, who never so much as drank a beer in her life. Fuck, maybe that's why he dated Kate, who would throw them back like water. Derek runs his hand down the side of his neck, craning it a little when he looks back to Tate. ]
Now, though? That kind of thing, it's... for people who have the time to relax. People drink when they go out with friends, they... smoke weed when they're just trying to waste an afternoon. I can't really... relax... anymore. So.
[ So. Yeah. There's also the issue of losing his bodily autonomy, which fucking terrifies him, but there's still something wistful and unattainable about being a normal 22 year old getting tipsy with his friends. Friends he doesn't even have. Derek kicks his leg through the air again, the mood suddenly feeling more sour. He gestures at himself, looking out over the woods. ]
I mean - look at me. Nobody's exactly dying to invite me to a party.
I'm not saying get wasted, just... maybe feel the good vibes. A gentle buzz? It's not always just... getting fucked up.
[He says this with an aptly timed reach back for the beer, tearing off another and holding it in his lap before he opens it. He can't be a hypocrite so he'll take this one slowly, letting his own buzz settle in like cotton around the back of his head; letting it take the tension out of his shoulders and keep his smile nice and easy on his face.]
But I get it. You have to be the guy who watches out for his pack. You've got to protect your - your people, your places. But if you ever want to try, I think I could figure out a way. That's all.
[It'd take some navigating; getting something from Kavinsky dreamed up without really letting on too much about the reason why. The person who happens to be the reason why. Tate takes another sip of beer, staring off into the woods before giving a soft little shrug. Maybe he should just drop it, for the reasons he's already covered.]
We're pack. So I'd watch your back if you ever wanted that break, 's all.
[ Derek isn't entirely receptive to the idea, really, and he loves Tate, he really does, but - he's not entirely sure he trusts his baseline for a gentle buzz. He shrugs, not committing, lightly running the heel of his palm over his bicep where Tate nudged at it a second ago, and then...
And then Tate calls him pack, and his mood - shifts. Back to good. Back to happy. A smile breaks through, all wide and open. He laughs, again, just because he can't help it. ]
I'm supposed to be the one watching your back.
[ If he were more attentive - and if he let himself think about Kavinsky more than he has to - he'd remember the talk they had at the bar. I could get you drunk, he said. As it is, though, fuck, Kavinsky doesn't even enter his thoughts. He just smiles a little less wide, scratching his cheek. He kinda wants another beer. ]
If... okay. If you promise not to tell Stiles I was getting high in the woods like a fucking teenager, then. Yeah. It'd be...
[ He feels kinda giddy. Kinda like a sixteen year old again. ]
[And just like that, Tate lights up at the idea of maybe. His eyes are wide and expressive, head turning toward Derek with a wicked smile that's as bright as it is happy. Beer only accounts for about 13% of this overjoyment, over all. He nudges Derek in the arm again, and already wants this to be a thing. He needs to make it a thing. When the house up here is set up and they can chill, he can get him something that'll give him a heady buzz. Booze might be best. He can do that. He can make it happen.]
Cool. I'll make that a project, for later.
[He taps his temple, like he's tucking it away for the time being.]
I was thinking about - what you said before. And now, the way we're talking about it here... how things don't affect you? Don't affect wolves. For a long time I couldn't get - well, stay high. Things didn't work on me after I died, not the same way they did before that.
[Hm. He looks away, pensive.]
I think I could get used to that again. It'd suck, but - the rest makes up for it, right?
[ Ah, man, he almost regrets this. Tate's excited and that can't be good. He laughs, though, because it's infectious, swaying away in the direction he's nudged, and - like always, with Tate - any part of him that thinks this might not be the best idea just... bleeds away and dies. There's nothing harmful about a gentle buzz. He'll still be in complete control of himself. He doesn't need to always fucking punish himself, always fucking deprive himself, of things that might make him happy.
He grips the edge of the platform, looking closer at Tate. The more he talks, the faster whatever smile he's wearing just - fades, and his eyes widen as the gears in his head turn and he figures out what Tate's saying. Derek had... honestly assumed the bite was off the table, on some level, so he'd been avoiding mentioning it, but his heartbeat fucking skyrockets, and he grips the wood tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
He nods. Slow, at first, and then -- faster, in quick, shallow jerks. ]
Yeah.
[ He worries at his bottom lip, just a little. ]
Yeah. Yes. The confidence, the strength, the-- the fulfilment, it's-- it's so much. I've seen people be completely remade by the bite. Being bitten, and awakening to something that puts you above yourself, it's-- it's the most intense feeling someone can feel.
[Tate nods back, not as exuberant but still attentive. If he gives himself enough justification he can probably talk himself into believing it too. But as it stands right now, Tate has words as his weapons and telling Derek what he wants to hear? It's what Tate wants, in a misguided way. He wants to be what Derek wants him to be, so telling him all this? Agreeing, laying down the premise of plans... it isn't a lie. It isn't something done strictly out of malice. In this moment he can believe the idea in front of him. In a moment come tomorrow, maybe not so much.
That's just the thing. Tate's lead by feelings, emotions, his own desires first and foremost. And when he's appealing to more than one person simultaneously, those will shift like the current of the ocean. He'll tell Kavinsky everything he wants to hear tomorrow. Derek again the day after that.]
It'll be hard, but I think I'd like that.
[He sips his beer, then runs his tongue over his teeth.]
What else would I be missing out on? Or like, am I going to wanna chew on bones and shoes and shit? What else is there to expect? No more... no more what? Chocolate? What else is bad for do- for wolves?
[ Derek's been hurt so many fucking times before. People leave his life like they're trying to get away from him, leaving cinders and blood trailing behind them. He's put trust in people who ruined him, burned him, barely let him survive, and he doesn't have any heart left to break.
Which is part of why he's so fucking happy that Tate gets it. So fucking happy that he's found someone who's been hurt, someone who needs him, someone who can spend a night under the stars with him and still be there by morning. Not gone, taken by smoke or bailing after leaving a knife in his back. Just - there.
Derek trusts Tate so fucking much. He's so fucking happy. He's not smiling, he's not laughing, he's just-- vibrating with joy, feeling it envelop his system. Joy and want and hunger. He looks at Tate, lets his eyes drop to his neck, to his hip, back to his neck, following the curve of his throat, so slight, so pale. He lingers, open and obvious. His teeth itch. He trains his eyes on Tate's, swallowing lightly, not letting himself blink or move or think. Can't ask for anything more than words, tonight. Can't push him. He'll - be bitten in time. Not tonight. ]
Nothing like that.
[ And - he leans back, just a little. Getting some distance. For Tate's sake, not his own. He loosens his knuckles, shifts an inch or so down the platform, disguising it by grabbing another beer and getting it open. ]
I mean - there are some things that can kill you. Poison you. You'll learn all about that after you've been bitten. [ He shrugs, taking a sip. ] The benefits outweigh the losses. Enhanced strength, attuned senses. The world, your body, it-- it's so much more intense. Vibrant. Alive.
[Tate likes the attention that comes with Derek looking at him so intently, which at first he doesn't seem to acknowledge. But then Tate glances over, dark eyes sliding to the corners to look back at Derek and catch the tail end of where he's looking at him with a strange drop in his stomach. He swallows hard, breathing in deep and doing a little shifting of his own on the platform - sipping beer and dropping his gaze down. He's seen that look before but he's telling himself he must be mistaken.]
No offense, but...
[He's calm, looking back up after a beat - lightly laughing just enough to shake his shoulders as his eyes show the same mirth when he meets Derek's gaze. He's not chastising and this isn't him actually upset but:]
Kinda unfair to say "you'll find out later". How bad are these things that can hurt us? Are they like, common? Or just... stuff that can be used against us by people like... like hunters? Because there are still things that can poison me now but it's not like I'm gonna run through the woods and trip over a gallon of antifreeze.
[ The good-natured mood Derek had been in is fizzling out. He's pointedly not looking at Tate, taking another sip from his beer, staring ahead into darkness. Lightly, he shakes his head, and he just... repeats himself. ]
You'll find out later. Can't tell you all my secrets.
[ Again, he trusts Tate, but. Wolfsbane is a pretty hard topic to breach. Suffice to say, he doesn't look all that worried about Tate tripping over werewolf poison any time soon. He finally looks back at Tate, arching one eyebrow, and just like his good mood, the steadily rising possessiveness is - maybe not fading, but being dutifully stowed away in the back of his head where he can spend another night trying not to think about it. ]
Besides - there aren't any hunters here. I've been alert for months. I don't think you'll have to worry about that.
[Tate's not entirely sure he's satisfied with that but even he can tell that's as good as it's going to get for him. He tips back his beer, still determined to get through it, but starting to feel like it's not worth the effort. He sets the can down between swigs, and yawns against the back of his hand. Funny how he's never tired until he's around Derek.]
Is there anything we can do together to prepare for them, if they do show up? Or is it just getting back to training, and that kind of thing?
[ Derek shrugs, a little forlorn. They can talk about training and hunters, yeah, and it's probably the right thing to address - but selfishly, and maybe even hypocritically, Derek had liked being able to just relax with Tate and see him smile. It feels kind of shitty, being stuck in this whirlpool again. Remembering how badly people want him dead. ]
Let me worry about that. I promised you I'd take care of you.
[ He finishes off his second beer and gets to his feet, holding his hand out to help Tate up. The yawn caught his attention. ]
[His protest is immediate, looking up at Derek with pinched brows and the face of a kid who's being told to go to bed on Christmas Eve. Everything tonight is fun and perfect, and so what if he yawned and wants to yawn again? He holds it in, staring at Derek's hand for a beat before grumpily swatting at it. Scowling, but turning over to crawl over to the sleeping bag instead. He has a feeling if he stands he'll get more of a head rush than he wants to let on.]
But look, I'll lay here. We can keep talking? I don't want to sleep.
[He murmurs, sitting on the flattened out sleeping bag and patting next to him for Derek to join.]
[ Derek gets promptly rejected, and he laughs, hands lazily held up by his sides. A spark of his old mood gets reignited, and he feels fond and distant as Tate shuffles into bed like a dog. Derek folds his arms across his chest and slowly drifts over, standing over Tate until he's comfortable - there are no safety rails in place yet, so he quietly measures the distance between Tate and the end of the platform, wondering briefly if he's going to roll over to his death in the middle of the night. They're far enough away from the edge for him to feel they'll be okay.
Semi-begrudgingly, he sinks down, laying next to Tate. He's not laying in the sleeping bag, or even on it, and he is a little shivery, but he's got his jacket to keep him warm. He's on his side, propping himself up on his elbow, and the floor is hard and uncomfortable, but that sort of thing has never really bothered him.
Seeing Tate all chill, getting ready for bed, it's - exciting. He's looking forward to July. ]
Lay on the fucking thing, don't... just come here?
[Tate's scowling as he slips to lay back, but reaches over to grab Derek by the bicep and try to tug him closer. Onto the sleeping bag he's using as bedding under him, where there's only the slightest cushion but it feels like enough. Tate's often always cold, so he doesn't mind the chilly air but he would feel far more comfortable with Derek not acting like a dweeb. He'll then curl up a bit out of habit, wanting to turn on his side but not wanting to break eye contact with Derek.]
What should we talk about then? Want... wanna play a game? Just asking each other questions. No winning or losing, just... stuff like what's your favorite food?
[ So pushy. Derek's not mad - he's still smiling, so he's obviously not mad - but he's big and he's tough, so he can't just roll into bed when he's asked. Still, he goes, letting Tate's hand on his bicep reel him in. He won't lay entirely on the sleeping bag, because he wants Tate to have most of it, but he'll lay close enough for Tate to leech his body heat if he needs it.
Favorite food. Favorite food, okay. ]
Meat.
[ Which sounds - maybe obvious, actually, saying it out loud, but. Meat. Derek's turn. ]
[Repeated with a skeptical tone, but an amused one at that. Kind of a shitty answer but he's not really sure what he expected? He smiles, flopping over and finally putting his back to Derek simply because - well, hides his face for when he answers. He leans back, however, trying to ensure Derek's close one way or another.]
What makes this a good mood? I'm buzzed and... I'm happy, I don't know.
[ Meat. Derek raises his eyebrows, happy and challenging, before Tate rolls onto his side. Derek moves away, just so he can grab the top end of the sleeping bag and pull it up over Tate's shoulders, getting him warmer. He settles in a few inches closer after that, talking as he lays down again. ]
I don't know. Feels like you haven't been happy for a while. I'm just - glad to see it again. Makes me feel good.
[ Derek looks out over the back of Tate's head, down towards the ocean. He can hear it, still and gentle. It's easy to forget how fucked up this place is when he's got the ocean and the woods and his pack and a home. Easy enough. ]
Well, it's been shitty. But I've got reasons to feel better.
[Violet was a blow but he's switched gears with that, trying to focus on the people that are still around. Things are going good with Peter. With Derek. Hell, even things with Kavinsky have been alright. Tate tucks his hands up under his cheek, and breathes in deep while getting settled. He should've finished his beer but instead he just savors the moment instead.]
What did you used to wanna be when you grew up? What do you still wanna be?
[ He hopes the treehouse is, at least. He thinks it is. Thinks they both are. Derek takes a long few seconds before he answers Tate's question, and when he does, it's... actually not really an answer at all. There's the trace of something close to laughter in his voice, but at the same time, genuine, self-conscious anxiety. ]
[Tate cracks a soft laugh, muffled behind his arm. He's quiet for a beat after that, but when he speaks it's evidently with that same laugh in the tone of his voice, like he's battled to suppress it but it can't quite be defeated. He's still grinning, too.]
No, no. It's fine - I mean, strippers are a pretty certified career around here. Your dreams are attainable.
I did have a phase where I wanted to be a porn star. Because I was a fucking fifteen year old boy.
[ But no, that's not the joke. Derek wets his lips, stares at the back of Tate's head, trying to figure out if he's actually going to follow through on this or not. Figures it's not the worst secret he's shared about himself, though, ssssoooooo. ]
Kind of wanted to play basketball professionally?
[ He says, like it's a question. As for what he wants to do now - he doesn't really have an answer. Hibernate, maybe. ]
Damnit, that's not even embarrassing, Derek. I mean, kinda shitty of you 'cause - cheating, much? But if you had a shot that's a pretty normal fucking dream. I probably could've run track better than I did, but I don't think that would've panned out for me either.
[Not just 'cause he died, of course. But because it was just a hobby over a focus. He wasn't wildly great at it despite a few medals and a trophy here or there. He wasn't a superhuman kid who probably kicked ass on the court and would've gotten in shit when doing testing later on.]
You could reignite the porn star thing here, though. Hard Wolf Hale. It could work.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[Close, demanding, where Tate feels like there's this presence looming over him that's half suffocating and half revitalizing. Tate doesn't see the world other people see it - that much is clear with how he reacts to the smallest things like they're the largest, and vice versa. He has a hard time perceiving emotions when they're not as bold as they can be so he goes to these extremes to be certain of what he has. A suffocating bond is at least a definable bond. A definable love.
He smiles.]
It's just nice. To have someone who feels that way about me... makes it a two way street, y'know?
[Tate takes another swig of beer, tipping up his chin to look at the sky while he does it.]
I'll tell you to back off if I need it. But... also, use your discretion? Sometimes I need you to say no to me saying no. Someone to keep me in check.
no subject
Shut up.
[ But he nudges Tate in the side, vying for his attention. ]
I will. And - just - know that I always have your best interests at heart? I might fuck up sometimes, but your happiness and wellbeing is always going to be my bottom line.
no subject
Good thing we're doing all this touchy feely shit now, makes it less awkward to share the sleeping bag.
[He curls his lip, smiling as he draws up one knee and shifts how he sits so they're side by side. He leans against his bent leg, the other hanging over the platform edge like Derek's. He holds on to his beer until the can is empty, setting it next to him with the knowledge the remainder of the six pack is only a reach away.]
Hey. If... If you could get drunk, or high - would you want to try? Just if it were possible.
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I mean - if you'd asked me at sixteen? Yeah. Fuck, I would have killed for the chance. Kind of sucked sneaking out with my friends to just... watch them get wasted.
[ Always just sitting there, pretending to be straight-edge. Maybe that's why he dated Paige, who never so much as drank a beer in her life. Fuck, maybe that's why he dated Kate, who would throw them back like water. Derek runs his hand down the side of his neck, craning it a little when he looks back to Tate. ]
Now, though? That kind of thing, it's... for people who have the time to relax. People drink when they go out with friends, they... smoke weed when they're just trying to waste an afternoon. I can't really... relax... anymore. So.
[ So. Yeah. There's also the issue of losing his bodily autonomy, which fucking terrifies him, but there's still something wistful and unattainable about being a normal 22 year old getting tipsy with his friends. Friends he doesn't even have. Derek kicks his leg through the air again, the mood suddenly feeling more sour. He gestures at himself, looking out over the woods. ]
I mean - look at me. Nobody's exactly dying to invite me to a party.
no subject
[He says this with an aptly timed reach back for the beer, tearing off another and holding it in his lap before he opens it. He can't be a hypocrite so he'll take this one slowly, letting his own buzz settle in like cotton around the back of his head; letting it take the tension out of his shoulders and keep his smile nice and easy on his face.]
But I get it. You have to be the guy who watches out for his pack. You've got to protect your - your people, your places. But if you ever want to try, I think I could figure out a way. That's all.
[It'd take some navigating; getting something from Kavinsky dreamed up without really letting on too much about the reason why. The person who happens to be the reason why. Tate takes another sip of beer, staring off into the woods before giving a soft little shrug. Maybe he should just drop it, for the reasons he's already covered.]
We're pack. So I'd watch your back if you ever wanted that break, 's all.
no subject
And then Tate calls him pack, and his mood - shifts. Back to good. Back to happy. A smile breaks through, all wide and open. He laughs, again, just because he can't help it. ]
I'm supposed to be the one watching your back.
[ If he were more attentive - and if he let himself think about Kavinsky more than he has to - he'd remember the talk they had at the bar. I could get you drunk, he said. As it is, though, fuck, Kavinsky doesn't even enter his thoughts. He just smiles a little less wide, scratching his cheek. He kinda wants another beer. ]
If... okay. If you promise not to tell Stiles I was getting high in the woods like a fucking teenager, then. Yeah. It'd be...
[ He feels kinda giddy. Kinda like a sixteen year old again. ]
It'd be - fun. Maybe. Maybe.
no subject
Cool. I'll make that a project, for later.
[He taps his temple, like he's tucking it away for the time being.]
I was thinking about - what you said before. And now, the way we're talking about it here... how things don't affect you? Don't affect wolves. For a long time I couldn't get - well, stay high. Things didn't work on me after I died, not the same way they did before that.
[Hm. He looks away, pensive.]
I think I could get used to that again. It'd suck, but - the rest makes up for it, right?
no subject
He grips the edge of the platform, looking closer at Tate. The more he talks, the faster whatever smile he's wearing just - fades, and his eyes widen as the gears in his head turn and he figures out what Tate's saying. Derek had... honestly assumed the bite was off the table, on some level, so he'd been avoiding mentioning it, but his heartbeat fucking skyrockets, and he grips the wood tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
He nods. Slow, at first, and then -- faster, in quick, shallow jerks. ]
Yeah.
[ He worries at his bottom lip, just a little. ]
Yeah. Yes. The confidence, the strength, the-- the fulfilment, it's-- it's so much. I've seen people be completely remade by the bite. Being bitten, and awakening to something that puts you above yourself, it's-- it's the most intense feeling someone can feel.
no subject
[Tate nods back, not as exuberant but still attentive. If he gives himself enough justification he can probably talk himself into believing it too. But as it stands right now, Tate has words as his weapons and telling Derek what he wants to hear? It's what Tate wants, in a misguided way. He wants to be what Derek wants him to be, so telling him all this? Agreeing, laying down the premise of plans... it isn't a lie. It isn't something done strictly out of malice. In this moment he can believe the idea in front of him. In a moment come tomorrow, maybe not so much.
That's just the thing. Tate's lead by feelings, emotions, his own desires first and foremost. And when he's appealing to more than one person simultaneously, those will shift like the current of the ocean. He'll tell Kavinsky everything he wants to hear tomorrow. Derek again the day after that.]
It'll be hard, but I think I'd like that.
[He sips his beer, then runs his tongue over his teeth.]
What else would I be missing out on? Or like, am I going to wanna chew on bones and shoes and shit? What else is there to expect? No more... no more what? Chocolate? What else is bad for do- for wolves?
no subject
Which is part of why he's so fucking happy that Tate gets it. So fucking happy that he's found someone who's been hurt, someone who needs him, someone who can spend a night under the stars with him and still be there by morning. Not gone, taken by smoke or bailing after leaving a knife in his back. Just - there.
Derek trusts Tate so fucking much. He's so fucking happy. He's not smiling, he's not laughing, he's just-- vibrating with joy, feeling it envelop his system. Joy and want and hunger. He looks at Tate, lets his eyes drop to his neck, to his hip, back to his neck, following the curve of his throat, so slight, so pale. He lingers, open and obvious. His teeth itch. He trains his eyes on Tate's, swallowing lightly, not letting himself blink or move or think. Can't ask for anything more than words, tonight. Can't push him. He'll - be bitten in time. Not tonight. ]
Nothing like that.
[ And - he leans back, just a little. Getting some distance. For Tate's sake, not his own. He loosens his knuckles, shifts an inch or so down the platform, disguising it by grabbing another beer and getting it open. ]
I mean - there are some things that can kill you. Poison you. You'll learn all about that after you've been bitten. [ He shrugs, taking a sip. ] The benefits outweigh the losses. Enhanced strength, attuned senses. The world, your body, it-- it's so much more intense. Vibrant. Alive.
no subject
No offense, but...
[He's calm, looking back up after a beat - lightly laughing just enough to shake his shoulders as his eyes show the same mirth when he meets Derek's gaze. He's not chastising and this isn't him actually upset but:]
Kinda unfair to say "you'll find out later". How bad are these things that can hurt us? Are they like, common? Or just... stuff that can be used against us by people like... like hunters? Because there are still things that can poison me now but it's not like I'm gonna run through the woods and trip over a gallon of antifreeze.
no subject
You'll find out later. Can't tell you all my secrets.
[ Again, he trusts Tate, but. Wolfsbane is a pretty hard topic to breach. Suffice to say, he doesn't look all that worried about Tate tripping over werewolf poison any time soon. He finally looks back at Tate, arching one eyebrow, and just like his good mood, the steadily rising possessiveness is - maybe not fading, but being dutifully stowed away in the back of his head where he can spend another night trying not to think about it. ]
Besides - there aren't any hunters here. I've been alert for months. I don't think you'll have to worry about that.
no subject
[Tate's not entirely sure he's satisfied with that but even he can tell that's as good as it's going to get for him. He tips back his beer, still determined to get through it, but starting to feel like it's not worth the effort. He sets the can down between swigs, and yawns against the back of his hand. Funny how he's never tired until he's around Derek.]
Is there anything we can do together to prepare for them, if they do show up? Or is it just getting back to training, and that kind of thing?
no subject
Let me worry about that. I promised you I'd take care of you.
[ He finishes off his second beer and gets to his feet, holding his hand out to help Tate up. The yawn caught his attention. ]
C'mon. You're tired. Bed.
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[His protest is immediate, looking up at Derek with pinched brows and the face of a kid who's being told to go to bed on Christmas Eve. Everything tonight is fun and perfect, and so what if he yawned and wants to yawn again? He holds it in, staring at Derek's hand for a beat before grumpily swatting at it. Scowling, but turning over to crawl over to the sleeping bag instead. He has a feeling if he stands he'll get more of a head rush than he wants to let on.]
But look, I'll lay here. We can keep talking? I don't want to sleep.
[He murmurs, sitting on the flattened out sleeping bag and patting next to him for Derek to join.]
no subject
Semi-begrudgingly, he sinks down, laying next to Tate. He's not laying in the sleeping bag, or even on it, and he is a little shivery, but he's got his jacket to keep him warm. He's on his side, propping himself up on his elbow, and the floor is hard and uncomfortable, but that sort of thing has never really bothered him.
Seeing Tate all chill, getting ready for bed, it's - exciting. He's looking forward to July. ]
Let's just - talk about good things.
[ Instead of hunters. ]
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[Tate's scowling as he slips to lay back, but reaches over to grab Derek by the bicep and try to tug him closer. Onto the sleeping bag he's using as bedding under him, where there's only the slightest cushion but it feels like enough. Tate's often always cold, so he doesn't mind the chilly air but he would feel far more comfortable with Derek not acting like a dweeb. He'll then curl up a bit out of habit, wanting to turn on his side but not wanting to break eye contact with Derek.]
What should we talk about then? Want... wanna play a game? Just asking each other questions. No winning or losing, just... stuff like what's your favorite food?
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[ So pushy. Derek's not mad - he's still smiling, so he's obviously not mad - but he's big and he's tough, so he can't just roll into bed when he's asked. Still, he goes, letting Tate's hand on his bicep reel him in. He won't lay entirely on the sleeping bag, because he wants Tate to have most of it, but he'll lay close enough for Tate to leech his body heat if he needs it.
Favorite food. Favorite food, okay. ]
Meat.
[ Which sounds - maybe obvious, actually, saying it out loud, but. Meat. Derek's turn. ]
Why are you in such a good mood tonight?
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[Repeated with a skeptical tone, but an amused one at that. Kind of a shitty answer but he's not really sure what he expected? He smiles, flopping over and finally putting his back to Derek simply because - well, hides his face for when he answers. He leans back, however, trying to ensure Derek's close one way or another.]
What makes this a good mood? I'm buzzed and... I'm happy, I don't know.
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I don't know. Feels like you haven't been happy for a while. I'm just - glad to see it again. Makes me feel good.
[ Derek looks out over the back of Tate's head, down towards the ocean. He can hear it, still and gentle. It's easy to forget how fucked up this place is when he's got the ocean and the woods and his pack and a home. Easy enough. ]
Your turn.
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[Violet was a blow but he's switched gears with that, trying to focus on the people that are still around. Things are going good with Peter. With Derek. Hell, even things with Kavinsky have been alright. Tate tucks his hands up under his cheek, and breathes in deep while getting settled. He should've finished his beer but instead he just savors the moment instead.]
What did you used to wanna be when you grew up? What do you still wanna be?
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[ He hopes the treehouse is, at least. He thinks it is. Thinks they both are. Derek takes a long few seconds before he answers Tate's question, and when he does, it's... actually not really an answer at all. There's the trace of something close to laughter in his voice, but at the same time, genuine, self-conscious anxiety. ]
You're gonna make fun of me.
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No, no. It's fine - I mean, strippers are a pretty certified career around here. Your dreams are attainable.
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[ But no, that's not the joke. Derek wets his lips, stares at the back of Tate's head, trying to figure out if he's actually going to follow through on this or not. Figures it's not the worst secret he's shared about himself, though, ssssoooooo. ]
Kind of wanted to play basketball professionally?
[ He says, like it's a question. As for what he wants to do now - he doesn't really have an answer. Hibernate, maybe. ]
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[Not just 'cause he died, of course. But because it was just a hobby over a focus. He wasn't wildly great at it despite a few medals and a trophy here or there. He wasn't a superhuman kid who probably kicked ass on the court and would've gotten in shit when doing testing later on.]
You could reignite the porn star thing here, though. Hard Wolf Hale. It could work.
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