He wants to sign - of course he wants to sign - but this isn't exactly a happy situation. He's not setting this contract up to keep Tate close, or to establish some kind of physical tether towards some vague concept of loyalty, or to show him that he loves him or whatever - he's doing it to keep Tate safe. Contracts are reprehensible, with every aspect of the process making him feel sick and miserable. The looks, the pauses, the comments - everything about Duplicity is designed to strip a person of their basic fucking identities.
It's grating, being this far away from the safe little bubble he's built up with Stiles. It doesn't matter how hard he reciprocates the handshake he's offered, it doesn't matter how many times he tries to include Tate's voice in the process of signing - the city's just going to keep talking down to him. He acts like this whole process is a chore he just has to fucking get through; he clucks his tongue when Tate looks at him like he's bored, he scribbles his signature in sharp, rushed chickenscratch at the bottom of their license. He's antsy and he's frustrated, and by the time he's finally released back into Duplicity, Derek looks strung out and ready to commit a fucking murder.
He doesn't smoke, not really, and he's told Tate more than once to put out his cigarette whenever he's sparked one up in the treehouse, but once he meets up with Tate in a side-alley of the Up outside the building they just signed in, Derek's taking a cigarette from Tate's packet and holding it out for a light. ]
So.
[ His stomach's pretty jittery, and Tate looks... well, he doesn't look all that emotionally invested in this either, honestly, which makes Derek's stomach feel worse. He waves his unlit cigarette, impatient for that light. ]
[Tate figured Derek would want him to stub his smoke out again so he's noticeably surprised when he takes one for himself instead. He cocks a brow but pulls his lighter back out, flicking on the flame before holding it out. He lights Derek's cigarette while exhaling smoke from the corner of his lip, head canting to the side so it blows away with the breeze. Sensitive wolf noses be damned today, it seems. He then pockets the lighter again, hand inside his jacket holding on to it just because gripping something in a fist feels relieving.
He sweeps his gaze around to the Up that goes on around them, Subs and Dominants here and there - he still feels invisible in a way, reminded of the line down his throat and how all who he is now filters through Derek the way it did Kavinsky only a day before. Maybe he's still mad about that or maybe he's just still hyper focused on the upheaval.]
[ There's nothing pleasant in smoking for Derek. The hard, acrid taste of chemicals overwhelms his too-sensitive tongue, the smell tickles the back of his throat and makes his eyes water... the intimate connection to fire and ash makes him ache in a way he doesn't like to ache. But that's why he smokes - he revels in the hurt, sometimes. It's what he deserves.
He breathes in deep, makes his lungs feel like they're being washed with salt, then breathes smoke out through his nose, making them cloggy and sore. He swallows, not sure where to take Tate from here. ]
Feels like we should do something special, right? Celebratory.
[ Not that he's in the mood to celebrate. Not that Tate is, either. Derek thought he would have been happier about this. He feels like a fucking stepdad watching his wife's kid hate the day he'd planned for him. ]
Or we can skip straight to you carrying me over the threshold of a shitty motel.
[He's saying it just to say it, dry and half-amused but not serious. He takes another long drag, burning the tip of his cigarette bright before once again exhaling away from Derek's direction. Ashes flick to the floor and Tate doesn't actually know what he wants to do now. He doesn't feel hungry, but - not marking this makes it feel weird, somehow. But he doesn't want to pretend this is anything more than it is. A signing of his life off to someone else.]
I'm not hungry. And we don't have to pretend this is something amazingly joyful - I'm glad we're signed, don't get me wrong. But all signing those papers really means is now it's you who I have to ask for permission to buy a fucking candy bar if I want it.
[He runs his hand back through his too-long bangs, glancing at Derek.]
[ Or that. Derek shrugs with one shoulder, not entirely dismissive but not entirely not. He leans back against the wall of the building they just came out of, breathing in another chestful of smoke. It's a little unsettling, honestly, that Tate's acting like he's no different with Derek than he was with Kavinsky, but. ]
I'm not going to break your nose for wanting a candy bar in the first place, though. Has to feel a little different.
[ But it's not like he doesn't get it. It's not like he doesn't agree, to the same degree that Tate does. At the end of the day, Tate's signing away his rights, and Derek feels shitty for being a part of that. He softens, almost apologetic. ]
I just want to spend time with you, too. I don't want you to start feeling like you have to act differently around me because of this.
[Tate takes a moment before he cocks a brow with a look that says 'fair enough', before letting a smile crookedly surface across his lips. He takes his hand out of his pocket, swapping which one holds the cigarette before leaning back against the brick behind them. Derek hints that he wants to be thought of as Tate leveling up, so to say, so he indulges him with a snort.]
Guess it's true, I don't really wanna stab you. So.
[Joke? Totally. He takes another drag of his cigarette, letting it burn low to the filter.]
I was kidding about the motel but - I think you're right about something celebratory. But I prefer the bed in the treehouse if you know what I'm saying.
[ Tate doesn't want to stab him yet. It's still early. ]
We... can go straight there, if that's what you want.
[ The tree house, the loft, whatever they're calling it. Derek gestures with his cigarette, but he's had all the smoke he can stomach - he puts it out on the heel of his boot, tucking the butt in his pocket for when they pass a trash can. Big bad wolf doesn't like littering. ]
But it's important to me that I make you happy. That's what this entire contract is about, for me. Keeping you safe and loved and happy. Doing something special just feels...
[ Appropriate? Maybe. Derek scratches his eyebrow with his thumb, looking at Tate from the side and shrugging, almost sheepish. Derek opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. ]
Just - you're the most important thing in my life right now. You know that, right? I'd swallow broken glass if you asked me to. I feel like I need to... prove that, somehow, now that we're signed.
[Tate doesn't quite believe he's the most important thing in Derek's life, but he wants to believe it so - he won't try to tank his own mood by retorting to that. In fact he just kind of quirks a smile, dropping his head as if to disguise it in the motion of putting his cigarette out on the wall. Unlike Derek, Tate has no qualms with flicking a spent butt onto the pavement.]
We can make a couple stops on the way. Food, booze - just some stuff for the shelves?
[He nods his head, like he's satisfied with this plan and ready to just nest up and stay in for a while. He's not overtly social, preferring the calm of the beachside waves and the sounds from up in the treehouse loft late at night to anything else. He's more blessed by this arrangement than he really can comprehend, taking advantage of so much the way he is.]
Not sure if now's the time but - I've been thinking about the treehouse. Y'think we can expand it a bit? With like an addition or some shit.
[ See, that's annoying. Tate litters and Derek purses his lips a little, knowing full fucking well that he's going to look like a dweeb when he goes over there and picks it up, but. He'd rather look like an asshole than sit up at 4am tonight being neurotic over how he should have picked up Tate's trash but didn't. Derek sighs through his nose, picking up the cigarette butt and tucking it away while Tate talks. God.
An expansion. He can do that, easy - won't take long to get what he needs, and it'll only take a couple of weekends of solid work to build on another room, thanks to werewolf work ethic. Derek shrugs, nodding his head towards Food And Booze, heading out on foot. ]
If you want a room just for fucking, you're gonna have to help me install the stripper pole. They're a bitch to keep upright on your own.
[That makes Tate's smile crack the rest of the way open, a laugh outright in the air. He looks to Derek (who is a total fucking dork for picking up his trash,) and gives him a shove to the side as they walk. It might be like shoving a brick wall but it's still worth it because he calls him a few names under his breath as they walk.]
Speaking from experience, are we?
[Tate's hands are back in his jacket, and his mood is - elevated.]
I was just thinking... I need a room that I can make into a dark room - for developing photos, y'know? That shit's cool and yeah, outdated I guess. But for me it's still worth it. I've been getting into photography a little.
[ Derek tilts on his heel when Tate shoves him, swaying like a sturdy tree in the wind. He doesn't smile back, but Tate being in a better mood makes the air feel clearer, and Derek feels happier as they walk. ]
I'm keenly aware of your interests in photography. Haven't jerked off to anything other than your selfies since you sent them to me.
[ Not a lie. He raises his eyebrows and keeps walking, turning a corner and tilting towards the first liquor store he finds. ]
We can do that. Gonna have to let me buy you a killer camera, though. Vintage, high end, half a thousand settings.
[Tate says in a way that's - not saying no to the upgrade, in fact he hates that Derek can probably tell from the uptick in his heartbeat and the way he inhales just a few seconds faster than normal that he's thrilled by the idea. Just as he is pleased by getting an okay on his humble request for a whole new building in addition to his first one.]
I can give you something better than a selfie, once I can develop the shots. It's how we did shit in my day - the right way.
[ Derek's still not exactly great at being playful, and the way he raises his eyebrows and wears this mock, overwrought look of resignation probably just comes off as overkill, but he's teasing. Affectionately challenging Tate to just - ask him for this.
He keeps his hands in his pockets and enters the store, vaguely gesturing for Tate to just pick something he likes. He lowers his voice a little, given that its quieter in here than out on the streets. ]
Gonna hold you to that. Come on - grab what you want so we can go.
[Tate's not about to beg for the camera (yet, he tells himself) but still looks elated at being let loose like a kid in a candy store. Kid in a liquor store may not have the same ring but it has the same enjoyment as Tate sets off to grab a six pack of his favorite beer, dragging his fingertips over the shelves as he looks for anything else that might catch his eye. A couple bottles get offered back to Derek for him to carry.
He's very precise in what he picks and chooses, so it's only five minutes before he's ready to head to the till.]
You'd really get me a new camera? Lenses, and all that shit too? And a stripper pole?
[ Derek isn't surprised by how precisely Tate stocks up, just like he isn't surprised when Tate circles back to the fucking stripper pole. He laughs a little, despite himself, paying at checkout and ignoring the way he's looked at for letting his sub just do whatever the fuck he wants.
Truthfully, most of his money is tied up in living expenses for him and Stiles - he's been making decent money at the mechanic's, and this bouncer job at Autonomy is nothing to sneeze at, either, but it's been a little tight since Stiles lost his job with Rosalind. Still - Tate's his sub, now, too. Derek doesn't mind making a few sacrifices to get him things he wants.
Just means it really is gonna be a while until he gets that fucking camaro. ]
We're in this together. I'll get you anything you want.
[ next stop - food. Derek carries the booze under his arm as he heads out. ]
If I want another of those, I know who to let out to get one...
[Tate murmurs with a snicker, very aware his whore cat could go get herself a whole new litter of crotch droppings in an instant if she could waddle far enough from the treehouse without her current set mewling incessantly. He's happy, though, following Derek as they depart the liquor store and move on to the next stop. Something to eat later, like Chinese, is what he's guiding Derek to while also having the intention of ordering a little extra for his fat slut cat.]
I have some money, you know. I've been saving it up - I just can't spend it. If I give it you to pitch in for things, like the dark room and all that shit - that's cool right? Weed stash aside, there's not really a lot of shit I can buy anymore.
[ Ugh, no. Derek makes a low noise of dissent at the back of his throat. He's seen enough cat birth to last him a lifetime. Still - Tate offers to pay his share, and Derek's initial, reflexive instinct is to shoot him down, but as he wipes away the smell of black bean chicken coiling in his nose, he catches himself. ]
If that's what you want, sure, but - I don't mind taking care of you, you know. As an Alpha, not a Dom.
[ In the end, though, Tate has control. If he wants to buy things, Derek doesn't mind just... acting as the invisible middleman. He, uh. Doesn't comment on the weed thing. ]
You know I like that - but you also gotta know the pack's gotta contribute to keeping itself going, right? I forfeit my cash to the Alpha and he oversees everything, buys me a pack of smokes every three days and y'know what? I'm a happy beta.
[Tate's still in good fucking spirits, looking up to the menu as they wait behind a couple of Dominants who are ordering their food. He may not have been that hungry to start, but the scent of fried rice and eggrolls has Tate quietly changing his mind. He orders enough to give him leftovers for a few days, even with Derek's voracious appetite considered, and lets his Alpha pony up the cash to pay.
While they're waiting for their food, Tate wanders sidelong to a booth that sits up against a wall of photo shopped images of dishes the place offers. It's rustic and probably covered in things a UV light would pick up but Tate nods his head toward it, gesturing for Derek to come over.]
[ Derek was the one who said he'd take care of Tate, so even though the price is turning out pretty fucking steep, he can't exactly tell him to make a more sensible order. Derek pays cash and misses the distant financial stability he had back home - it's not the first time he's been reminded how he took the Hale cash for granted, but it is what it is.
Tate points him towards the photo booth, and Derek follows, hands on his jacket pocket and fiddling with the burnt out shreds of their old cigarettes. He can still smell smoke, even under all the food.
I'm a happy beta. Shit, has Derek been smiling this whole time? He scrubs his hand down his jaw, focusing on the booth in front or him. ]
Probably pretty skeevy in there, given how Duplicity works. They'll photoshop us to look, like, mid-bdsm. At the very least, covered in cum.
You say that like it's anything out of the ordinary for us.
[Tate says nonchalantly, while parting back the dark curtain and letting himself into the booth. He looks back to Derek with a mischievous smile, certainly teasing him and daring him to retaliate. That and join him, if the wave of his hand is any indication. Put down the brown bag of liquor and get over here - there's cumshots to be taken and a questionable bench to be seated on in this cramped little space.]
What's more memorable than a photo? C'mon. Don't be a pussy.
[ A photo would definitely be the most obvious way to commemorate today, so despite the paranoia that this is another one of those fucking magic aphrodisiac bullshit devices or a fucking portal into a sexy interplanetary jizz-hell that thrives on big ol' Hale-flavoured wolf cock, Derek's willing to follow Tate inside and cautiously shut the curtain behind him.
It's dark inside, and Derek is slightly unnerved when the screen lights up by itself and cheerfully informs that they've been assessed as a Dom and a sub in a contract together without any outward prompting, but the only thing to come of that is a few preselected framing options and pose suggestions that Derek promptly blows past. He's still holding his booze in one hand, unwilling to leave it outside where anyone could take it, but he sets the bag down at his feet before too long, holding it with his heels. ]
[These were the epitome of boardwalk entertainment in the 90s, also a staple piece in the various arcades and movie theatres of the time. It was, as he mutters under his breath, a lot cheaper back then 'for four fucking photos' but he's sliding his own money into the machine rather than ask Derek for it. Naturally, like how it determined their designation - the screen lights up with 'DOMINANT APPROVAL - GRANTED?' and a yes or no button for Derek to touch.
Tate tries not to get riled by that, but sits back and shifts his weight into the corner of the booth to give Derek a little more space. The last time he was in one of these was - a long ass time ago. Ninety two, maybe? Maybe before that. He's a little curious about the filters and frames, waiting for the machine to show them a blinding red light to ready up.]
[ To Derek's credit, or maybe his detriment, he's gotten so used to being asked to second guess Stiles' decisions by this point that he doesn't think twice about indicating approval when prompted. There's still a tickle of guilt in his chest and an anxious uptick in his BPM, but he doesn't give Tate any apologetic looks or quiet mumbles. He just - pushes on.
The rise of cellphones and selfies sort of killed these back in Beacon Hills - he's seen them around, but the only people who use them are 16 year olds on shitty dates. Scott and Allison used one, once - but this is Derek's first time. Paige wasn't into these kinds of things, and Kate didn't really do dates at all.
Derek doesn't say cheese. He blinks, actually, the first time the photo is taken, closing his eyes tight like the red light prompting him to pose was a little too bright. The second photo doesn't fair much better - Derek does this lopsided, half-hearted peace sign and looks pretty anxious as he stares at the camera and dulls his eyes to prevent that fucking lens flare. The third photo is oncoming, and Derek shoots Tate a nervous side eye. ]
We're gonna have to do another set. This was a practice run.
[Tate's had mild experience with shitty teenage dates, so he's far more comfortable with the glaring red light and the indication to pose. He only offers up a smile - and then in the second photo, a surprised look mid-snort at Derek's peace sign. The countdown is going off for the third photo and Tate's still in a stupidly elated mood, made better by the idiotic good nature of Derek next to him. Fucking idiot.
He waits until the countdown's nearly done and with a forward-facing smile full of shit eating satisfaction, slams his hand down to grab Derek by the dick right as the photo is taken. The squeeze he makes through the denim is pretty generous, too, which he considers appropriate in ratio to dick to be grabbed.]
[ A part of Derek saw something like this coming, but a different, bigger and suddenly semi-erect part of him sure as fuck didn't. Tate grabs him like a viper striking at a hikers ankle, and Derek lets out this startled yelp of a laugh and jumps a little in his seat. His eyes don't change, not in person, but his reflection on screen shows something different - two small, star-like bursts of light where his eyes should be, glowing over slightly pink cheeks and a smile that's a very rare kind of unguarded genuine for him.
The last photo rolls around and Derek is still reeling too much to notice until the countdown is at 2. Leaning closer, Derek lightly jabs Tate in the arm a second before he's leaning over and snatching a kiss, his hand going straight to Tate's balls to give him a warningly playful squeeze. Just enough to feel barely shy of uncomfortable.
The camera snaps and all four photos are on screen for them to print out - Derek doesn't notice at first, too busy biting at Tate's lower lip and hesitantly dragging his thumb indecisively over his belt - but the little robot voice on screen keeps asking if they want to reshoot, and Derek gets annoyed enough to pull away.
His eyes are closed in that last photo, so the third one is the only victim of Reflexive Werewolf Lensflare, but Derek's still mildly annoyed enough to consider trashing the entire set. He doesn't - he just looks at Tate, marginally more relaxed, letting him decide what to do. This is for Tate, after all. ]
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no subject
He wants to sign - of course he wants to sign - but this isn't exactly a happy situation. He's not setting this contract up to keep Tate close, or to establish some kind of physical tether towards some vague concept of loyalty, or to show him that he loves him or whatever - he's doing it to keep Tate safe. Contracts are reprehensible, with every aspect of the process making him feel sick and miserable. The looks, the pauses, the comments - everything about Duplicity is designed to strip a person of their basic fucking identities.
It's grating, being this far away from the safe little bubble he's built up with Stiles. It doesn't matter how hard he reciprocates the handshake he's offered, it doesn't matter how many times he tries to include Tate's voice in the process of signing - the city's just going to keep talking down to him. He acts like this whole process is a chore he just has to fucking get through; he clucks his tongue when Tate looks at him like he's bored, he scribbles his signature in sharp, rushed chickenscratch at the bottom of their license. He's antsy and he's frustrated, and by the time he's finally released back into Duplicity, Derek looks strung out and ready to commit a fucking murder.
He doesn't smoke, not really, and he's told Tate more than once to put out his cigarette whenever he's sparked one up in the treehouse, but once he meets up with Tate in a side-alley of the Up outside the building they just signed in, Derek's taking a cigarette from Tate's packet and holding it out for a light. ]
So.
[ His stomach's pretty jittery, and Tate looks... well, he doesn't look all that emotionally invested in this either, honestly, which makes Derek's stomach feel worse. He waves his unlit cigarette, impatient for that light. ]
That's done.
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He sweeps his gaze around to the Up that goes on around them, Subs and Dominants here and there - he still feels invisible in a way, reminded of the line down his throat and how all who he is now filters through Derek the way it did Kavinsky only a day before. Maybe he's still mad about that or maybe he's just still hyper focused on the upheaval.]
Yeah.
[He looks back to Derek, meeting gaze.]
Exciting shit, huh. What now? We go home?
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He breathes in deep, makes his lungs feel like they're being washed with salt, then breathes smoke out through his nose, making them cloggy and sore. He swallows, not sure where to take Tate from here. ]
Feels like we should do something special, right? Celebratory.
[ Not that he's in the mood to celebrate. Not that Tate is, either. Derek thought he would have been happier about this. He feels like a fucking stepdad watching his wife's kid hate the day he'd planned for him. ]
We could go eat, maybe.
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[He's saying it just to say it, dry and half-amused but not serious. He takes another long drag, burning the tip of his cigarette bright before once again exhaling away from Derek's direction. Ashes flick to the floor and Tate doesn't actually know what he wants to do now. He doesn't feel hungry, but - not marking this makes it feel weird, somehow. But he doesn't want to pretend this is anything more than it is. A signing of his life off to someone else.]
I'm not hungry. And we don't have to pretend this is something amazingly joyful - I'm glad we're signed, don't get me wrong. But all signing those papers really means is now it's you who I have to ask for permission to buy a fucking candy bar if I want it.
[He runs his hand back through his too-long bangs, glancing at Derek.]
I'd rather just spend time with you like before.
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I'm not going to break your nose for wanting a candy bar in the first place, though. Has to feel a little different.
[ But it's not like he doesn't get it. It's not like he doesn't agree, to the same degree that Tate does. At the end of the day, Tate's signing away his rights, and Derek feels shitty for being a part of that. He softens, almost apologetic. ]
I just want to spend time with you, too. I don't want you to start feeling like you have to act differently around me because of this.
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Guess it's true, I don't really wanna stab you. So.
[Joke? Totally. He takes another drag of his cigarette, letting it burn low to the filter.]
I was kidding about the motel but - I think you're right about something celebratory. But I prefer the bed in the treehouse if you know what I'm saying.
no subject
We... can go straight there, if that's what you want.
[ The tree house, the loft, whatever they're calling it. Derek gestures with his cigarette, but he's had all the smoke he can stomach - he puts it out on the heel of his boot, tucking the butt in his pocket for when they pass a trash can. Big bad wolf doesn't like littering. ]
But it's important to me that I make you happy. That's what this entire contract is about, for me. Keeping you safe and loved and happy. Doing something special just feels...
[ Appropriate? Maybe. Derek scratches his eyebrow with his thumb, looking at Tate from the side and shrugging, almost sheepish. Derek opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. ]
Just - you're the most important thing in my life right now. You know that, right? I'd swallow broken glass if you asked me to. I feel like I need to... prove that, somehow, now that we're signed.
no subject
We can make a couple stops on the way. Food, booze - just some stuff for the shelves?
[He nods his head, like he's satisfied with this plan and ready to just nest up and stay in for a while. He's not overtly social, preferring the calm of the beachside waves and the sounds from up in the treehouse loft late at night to anything else. He's more blessed by this arrangement than he really can comprehend, taking advantage of so much the way he is.]
Not sure if now's the time but - I've been thinking about the treehouse. Y'think we can expand it a bit? With like an addition or some shit.
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An expansion. He can do that, easy - won't take long to get what he needs, and it'll only take a couple of weekends of solid work to build on another room, thanks to werewolf work ethic. Derek shrugs, nodding his head towards Food And Booze, heading out on foot. ]
If you want a room just for fucking, you're gonna have to help me install the stripper pole. They're a bitch to keep upright on your own.
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Speaking from experience, are we?
[Tate's hands are back in his jacket, and his mood is - elevated.]
I was just thinking... I need a room that I can make into a dark room - for developing photos, y'know? That shit's cool and yeah, outdated I guess. But for me it's still worth it. I've been getting into photography a little.
no subject
I'm keenly aware of your interests in photography. Haven't jerked off to anything other than your selfies since you sent them to me.
[ Not a lie. He raises his eyebrows and keeps walking, turning a corner and tilting towards the first liquor store he finds. ]
We can do that. Gonna have to let me buy you a killer camera, though. Vintage, high end, half a thousand settings.
no subject
[Tate says in a way that's - not saying no to the upgrade, in fact he hates that Derek can probably tell from the uptick in his heartbeat and the way he inhales just a few seconds faster than normal that he's thrilled by the idea. Just as he is pleased by getting an okay on his humble request for a whole new building in addition to his first one.]
I can give you something better than a selfie, once I can develop the shots. It's how we did shit in my day - the right way.
no subject
[ Derek's still not exactly great at being playful, and the way he raises his eyebrows and wears this mock, overwrought look of resignation probably just comes off as overkill, but he's teasing. Affectionately challenging Tate to just - ask him for this.
He keeps his hands in his pockets and enters the store, vaguely gesturing for Tate to just pick something he likes. He lowers his voice a little, given that its quieter in here than out on the streets. ]
Gonna hold you to that. Come on - grab what you want so we can go.
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He's very precise in what he picks and chooses, so it's only five minutes before he's ready to head to the till.]
You'd really get me a new camera? Lenses, and all that shit too? And a stripper pole?
no subject
Truthfully, most of his money is tied up in living expenses for him and Stiles - he's been making decent money at the mechanic's, and this bouncer job at Autonomy is nothing to sneeze at, either, but it's been a little tight since Stiles lost his job with Rosalind. Still - Tate's his sub, now, too. Derek doesn't mind making a few sacrifices to get him things he wants.
Just means it really is gonna be a while until he gets that fucking camaro. ]
We're in this together. I'll get you anything you want.
[ next stop - food. Derek carries the booze under his arm as he heads out. ]
Except for another fucking cat.
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[Tate murmurs with a snicker, very aware his whore cat could go get herself a whole new litter of crotch droppings in an instant if she could waddle far enough from the treehouse without her current set mewling incessantly. He's happy, though, following Derek as they depart the liquor store and move on to the next stop. Something to eat later, like Chinese, is what he's guiding Derek to while also having the intention of ordering a little extra for his fat slut cat.]
I have some money, you know. I've been saving it up - I just can't spend it. If I give it you to pitch in for things, like the dark room and all that shit - that's cool right? Weed stash aside, there's not really a lot of shit I can buy anymore.
no subject
If that's what you want, sure, but - I don't mind taking care of you, you know. As an Alpha, not a Dom.
[ In the end, though, Tate has control. If he wants to buy things, Derek doesn't mind just... acting as the invisible middleman. He, uh. Doesn't comment on the weed thing. ]
no subject
[Tate's still in good fucking spirits, looking up to the menu as they wait behind a couple of Dominants who are ordering their food. He may not have been that hungry to start, but the scent of fried rice and eggrolls has Tate quietly changing his mind. He orders enough to give him leftovers for a few days, even with Derek's voracious appetite considered, and lets his Alpha pony up the cash to pay.
While they're waiting for their food, Tate wanders sidelong to a booth that sits up against a wall of photo shopped images of dishes the place offers. It's rustic and probably covered in things a UV light would pick up but Tate nods his head toward it, gesturing for Derek to come over.]
Check this out. It's one of those photo booths.
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Tate points him towards the photo booth, and Derek follows, hands on his jacket pocket and fiddling with the burnt out shreds of their old cigarettes. He can still smell smoke, even under all the food.
I'm a happy beta. Shit, has Derek been smiling this whole time? He scrubs his hand down his jaw, focusing on the booth in front or him. ]
Probably pretty skeevy in there, given how Duplicity works. They'll photoshop us to look, like, mid-bdsm. At the very least, covered in cum.
no subject
[Tate says nonchalantly, while parting back the dark curtain and letting himself into the booth. He looks back to Derek with a mischievous smile, certainly teasing him and daring him to retaliate. That and join him, if the wave of his hand is any indication. Put down the brown bag of liquor and get over here - there's cumshots to be taken and a questionable bench to be seated on in this cramped little space.]
What's more memorable than a photo? C'mon. Don't be a pussy.
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[ A photo would definitely be the most obvious way to commemorate today, so despite the paranoia that this is another one of those fucking magic aphrodisiac bullshit devices or a fucking portal into a sexy interplanetary jizz-hell that thrives on big ol' Hale-flavoured wolf cock, Derek's willing to follow Tate inside and cautiously shut the curtain behind him.
It's dark inside, and Derek is slightly unnerved when the screen lights up by itself and cheerfully informs that they've been assessed as a Dom and a sub in a contract together without any outward prompting, but the only thing to come of that is a few preselected framing options and pose suggestions that Derek promptly blows past. He's still holding his booze in one hand, unwilling to leave it outside where anyone could take it, but he sets the bag down at his feet before too long, holding it with his heels. ]
You ever been in one of these things before?
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[These were the epitome of boardwalk entertainment in the 90s, also a staple piece in the various arcades and movie theatres of the time. It was, as he mutters under his breath, a lot cheaper back then 'for four fucking photos' but he's sliding his own money into the machine rather than ask Derek for it. Naturally, like how it determined their designation - the screen lights up with 'DOMINANT APPROVAL - GRANTED?' and a yes or no button for Derek to touch.
Tate tries not to get riled by that, but sits back and shifts his weight into the corner of the booth to give Derek a little more space. The last time he was in one of these was - a long ass time ago. Ninety two, maybe? Maybe before that. He's a little curious about the filters and frames, waiting for the machine to show them a blinding red light to ready up.]
Say cheese?
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The rise of cellphones and selfies sort of killed these back in Beacon Hills - he's seen them around, but the only people who use them are 16 year olds on shitty dates. Scott and Allison used one, once - but this is Derek's first time. Paige wasn't into these kinds of things, and Kate didn't really do dates at all.
Derek doesn't say cheese. He blinks, actually, the first time the photo is taken, closing his eyes tight like the red light prompting him to pose was a little too bright. The second photo doesn't fair much better - Derek does this lopsided, half-hearted peace sign and looks pretty anxious as he stares at the camera and dulls his eyes to prevent that fucking lens flare. The third photo is oncoming, and Derek shoots Tate a nervous side eye. ]
We're gonna have to do another set. This was a practice run.
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[Tate's had mild experience with shitty teenage dates, so he's far more comfortable with the glaring red light and the indication to pose. He only offers up a smile - and then in the second photo, a surprised look mid-snort at Derek's peace sign. The countdown is going off for the third photo and Tate's still in a stupidly elated mood, made better by the idiotic good nature of Derek next to him. Fucking idiot.
He waits until the countdown's nearly done and with a forward-facing smile full of shit eating satisfaction, slams his hand down to grab Derek by the dick right as the photo is taken. The squeeze he makes through the denim is pretty generous, too, which he considers appropriate in ratio to dick to be grabbed.]
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The last photo rolls around and Derek is still reeling too much to notice until the countdown is at 2. Leaning closer, Derek lightly jabs Tate in the arm a second before he's leaning over and snatching a kiss, his hand going straight to Tate's balls to give him a warningly playful squeeze. Just enough to feel barely shy of uncomfortable.
The camera snaps and all four photos are on screen for them to print out - Derek doesn't notice at first, too busy biting at Tate's lower lip and hesitantly dragging his thumb indecisively over his belt - but the little robot voice on screen keeps asking if they want to reshoot, and Derek gets annoyed enough to pull away.
His eyes are closed in that last photo, so the third one is the only victim of Reflexive Werewolf Lensflare, but Derek's still mildly annoyed enough to consider trashing the entire set. He doesn't - he just looks at Tate, marginally more relaxed, letting him decide what to do. This is for Tate, after all. ]
Again?
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