[Tate agrees quietly, resisting the urge to give another shrug. He eats a few more bites, watching Derek with inquisitive dark eyes before pulling on one of his curls to straighten it out - when tugged, it's much longer than it looks. He lets it snap back up into place.]
I wouldn't mind eating dinner here a few times a week. Or in the treehouse. I'm not really good at making things myself, so it'd be... cool, I guess.
[ Derek likes long hair. That's all. Tate pulls on his curls and Derek doesn't let it show on his face, but man, what a waste this is gonna be. Oh well. ]
Okay.
[ A few nights together doesn't mean they're better, and this sure as shit doesn't mean Derek's going to sign Tate's name to the ledger. Tate hasn't done a thing to earn either of those things. It's just - peace of mind, for Derek, knowing that someone he (maybe foolishly) cares about won't spend every fucking night with a needle in his arm, or whatever dumb, desperate shit he does when Derek's out of sight. Feels like he's even more at risk of that kind of thing, now that Peter's gone.
Shit - okay. Derek sighs, pointing his thumb to the bathroom. ]
Finish eating. I'll get my kit. We can cut your hair when you're done. You're gonna want a buzz cut, right? Just - completely bald up there?
[Tate rolls his eyes, but seems - amused. He then gives Derek the finger, while shoveling more pasta into his mouth. After being seated for so long and starting to eat, his hunger's rearing up like an old friend back in town. He eats a little more intensely after that, sipping beer between bites.]
Just a little off the top, okay? I'll kill you if you fuck my hair up.
No, we're doing this my way. Full shave. Gonna start calling you Eminem.
[ Did he have a shaved head? Doesn't matter. Derek leaves Tate alone, gets his shit from the bathroom. Being a werewolf does tend to involve a decent amount of shedding, so like, he's got what he needs to give Tate a fucking trim. He'll wait by the kitchen once he's got his supplies, a little black case filled with scissors and an electric razor with different sized clippers. ]
[Tate's brows pinch together and he shoots Derek a puzzled look, clearly not getting the reference. He lets Derek get to what he gets to - eating pasta a little past the half way mark but then leaving his plate, fork down, and finishing his beer before standing up. He's going to grab another from the fridge, just because the buzz is... nice. He cracks it open.]
Where do you want me? I can sit on the floor in front of the couch.
[ It's fine. Derek checks on Tate's plate, sees that he went over the halfway point, and there's a second or two where he thinks about just straight up asking if he wants to finish it - but he'll just get compared to Constance again, probably, and he doesn't need to be in a sour mood for this. ]
Outside. Balcony. Take a chair.
[ Plate goes straight in the fridge, no cling wrap to cover it, Derek catching the door and keeping it open after Tate gets his beer. The living room opens up directly onto the beach, and that's where they're doing this. Derek points to the door with his chin. ]
[Beer in one hand and a chair from the kitchen in the other, Tate drags it out onto the balcony and slips through the doorway to plant said chair outside. He figures Derek's the one who's going to sit in it so he drops down in front of it, crossing his legs and setting his beer down. The sound and smell of the beach sings to him and Tate looks a little less tense, eyes gravitating outward and getting distracted by the view.]
I love the way the waves come in on days like this.
[ Derek's - not gonna sit in it, man. He joins Tate on the balcony for a second, his own fresh beer in hand, and when he sees Tate on the ground, it takes him a second or two to realize what he's doing. He rolls his eyes, nudges him with his foot, and nods to the chair, probably inadvertently snapping him out of the pull of the ocean while he's at it. Sorry. ]
Dumbass.
[ But he gets what Tate's saying - Derek loves the waves, too. He never made it out to the sea all too often, and now, the waves remind him of... other people, other places. Windex is here, laying down, quizically looking up at Derek and Tate when they join her. Must have followed them back from the woods. ]
... You come to the beach much when you thought I was gone?
[Tate gestures, not making a move to get up - he sips his beer and then rests his can between his crossed legs, in the little alcove of space there. He looks back to the water, then lets his gaze drift to Windex. He stretches out his hand toward her, making a soft noise to see if she'll come closer.]
Yeah. I came here pretty often - the beach, the treehouse. Not... here, not more than once or twice. These are my favorite places... of course I came.
[ He's teasing, obviously. Derek's skin feels pretty itchy, keeping Tate on the floor like this, but if it's what he wants, it's what he wants. He takes his seat, balancing the case full of his shit leaning against one of the chair legs after taking out a particularly hefty pair of scissors. Should be all he needs, really. He used to cut Cora's hair for her all the time - this isn't new territory for him.
Tate says these were his favorite places, and Derek doesn't know what to make of it. Favorite because of him, or favorite because they're just - there? He's... not gonna ask. ]
[Derek sits though, and Tate moves accordingly - leaning back just a little to rest against his legs, more or less between them, and tilts his head back to look up at him with brows raised. Then he squints his eyes.]
Just a trim. You try any funny shit an' I'll get your cat high as fuck on catnip.
[ Windex, Trisk. Neither of them feel like his cats, but technically, they both are, now. Stiles isn't there to look after Windex, and Trisk - well, Trisk has her home in the woods, but he always feels bad when he leaves her, and she always seems to feel bad when he goes. Derek wouldn't mind moving her to the house full time, if Tate would let him.
He gets to work - he's not going to cut Tate's hair as short as he wants it, at first, just because he wants to give him the option to tell him to stop before doing something irreperable. He trims dead ends, marvelling, somewhere, in the back of his mind, how Tate's not really - stagnating, the way he should be as a ghost. He's growing. Aging. Capable of change. ]
Mm. Gotta find you some dog drugs too - you need to have a good time too.
[Not that he's going to ask for any, not from Kavinsky, but - well. Maybe there's dognip somewhere in the world? What's the closest thing to a good time for a dog? Beef jerky? Tate leans back against Derek's legs, feeling kind of reminiscent of the times when he was younger and Constance would do this on their back porch. And when Nora would take over in the basement, when his mother became too drunk to keep up.]
Trisk's a lot happier now that you're back. She was sad for a while. Lost, y'know?
No, I've - been wasted in Duplicity enough. Hasn't ever been fun for me. Don't think you were ever really around for that, though.
[ Wasn't there when Kavinsky drugged him. Certainly wasn't there any other time. Derek used to really want to get drunk or fucked up as a kid, when everyone else in his life could do it and he could only ever watch - but. Hasn't been as positive of an experience as it could've been, losing control of his senses like that.
Tate leans back against him, and Derek doesn't really think anything of it. He's just focusing on cutting his hair, dusting down his shoulders when he needs to. Too bad they don't have one of those stupid black capes. ]
... I'm sure you took care of her. You were always good to those cats. That's probably why they stick around in the woods. They could go anywhere, if they wanted to.
[Tate's spoiled them a fair bit - things got a bit tight while Derek was gone, mostly because he didn't want to go to Kavinsky for help with this half of his life. Selfish as ever, Tate wanted to keep things divided. During the riots he stole and traded to keep their little furbrains alive.]
I like having them. Taking care of them. Wasn't allowed pets at home - not really. Drove my mom nuts having a rat, though.
[ That's - weirdly surprising. Derek laughs, not sure what to make of that, letting go of the scissors for a second to just - look at him. He guesses it makes sense, the more it sits with him. Cute but slightly edgy. Something Constance would consider filthy. More than anything, he's just surprised he trusted his mom not to flush it while he was at school. ]
Cobain probably eats rats, you know. Bound to be a few in the woods.
[ Hm. Derek goes quiet, focusing on the task at hand. He's gentle, as he gets his hand in Tate's curls, but it feels a little different to how it used to when he would do this. He's not stroking Tate's hair, not smoothing curls from his eyes. He's just... careful, like he's barely even there. Last thing he wants to do is hurt the little bastard. ]
... So am I getting you a snake for christmas or a dog? Can't keep changing your mind, man.
[ Surprising people isn't new to Derek, man, but most of the time his surprises come in the form of roaring at people or tearing the doors off their cars or shoving them face-first into lockers. He makes a quiet, thoughtful noise, trying not to give away too much about his holiday plans. Still such a weird line to walk, between wanting to love and spoil the shit out of someone and feeling a very real fear that it's just gonna end up hurting him. He's supposed to be past this. ]
... Okay. Turn around. Face me.
[ He's gotta do the front. Still more to do everywhere else, but - once Tate's turned around, Derek's gonna brush his fingers through Tate's hair a little, getting everything laid out easy for him. ]
Can't believe you're cutting all this off.
[ He's, like, barely done more than a trim, but he's still unhappy. ]
[Tate sluggishly turns around, lifting his arms so that they hang over each of Derek's thighs - palms zigging back in to rest against the denim of his jeans. It's intimate and he'll get to joking around with that in a bit - especially as he leans against the taut stretch of Derek's pants over his crotch - but Tate just looks up for a beat, quiet and wide eyed with faux innocence. And some genuine curiosity.]
You rather I don't? It's gonna grow back. I thought it was getting shaggy.
I... like shaggy. I think you look, uh... really nice, right now.
[ Which is just... the honest truth, and not tactic approval to be touched. He doesn't mind Tate leaning on him, and he doesn't even mind the hands on his thighs, but Tate leans in a little further, looks up at him like he doesn't know what he's doing, and honestly, it's frustrating. Derek frowns, shooting him a look. He's not above pushing Tate back by the forehead and leaving him with half a haircut.
Anyway. ]
It's your hair, though. And - I mean - I'm not your Dom, remember? Not like your appearance reflects on me anymore. We can dye it fucking puke green, if that's what you want.
I still like your opinion. Your approval means shit to me, y'know.
[Calmly said, he's this close to prickling at the fact Derek's yet again brought up the dom situation but he's letting it go. He's choosing to stay in the moment, leaning against Derek and feeling the warmth up through the denim his hands rest on. Smelling his - aftershave or cologne, whatever it is that feels so familiar. Tate butts at Derek's abs before leaning back, sighing.]
If I don't look stupid, I'll leave it. But soon it's gonna be wild. My hair always gets that way. Or did, when I was younger.
[ He's being shitty - asking does it? to Tate saying his approval means something to him - but it feels sour and mean the second it leaves his mouth, and he plays it off, running his fingers back through Tate's hair and acting like he meant it as a response to my hair always gets that way. It's - cowardly, but being cowardly is better than fighting. Especially when things are finally going okay.
It's... not actually a hard act to pull off. Tate headbutts him in the abs and it makes Derek actually giggle, which is a weird fucking sound for him. It was just - surprising. Not something he was expected. He lightly smacks Tate on the back of the head, which is, you know. Nice. For Derek. ]
Fucking - sit up. I'm gonna stab you in a second.
[ He'll sit Tate up himself, if he has to, pushing back on his shoulders and lazily brandishing the scissors at him. Even if they're leaving the length like this, there's still some trimming to be done. ]
[Derek covers his tracks just quick enough that Tate doesn't dig into it, doesn't really notice, because he's laughing at being smacked and flashing a grin as he wriggles in place and acts difficult just for the sake of being difficult. Derek straightens him out after a second, making him feel like a cat caught at the scruff - he straightens up, staring at Derek up through the mess of blond bangs that hang in his face.]
Now you wanna cut my hair? Jesus, make up your fucking mind.
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[Tate agrees quietly, resisting the urge to give another shrug. He eats a few more bites, watching Derek with inquisitive dark eyes before pulling on one of his curls to straighten it out - when tugged, it's much longer than it looks. He lets it snap back up into place.]
I wouldn't mind eating dinner here a few times a week. Or in the treehouse. I'm not really good at making things myself, so it'd be... cool, I guess.
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Okay.
[ A few nights together doesn't mean they're better, and this sure as shit doesn't mean Derek's going to sign Tate's name to the ledger. Tate hasn't done a thing to earn either of those things. It's just - peace of mind, for Derek, knowing that someone he (maybe foolishly) cares about won't spend every fucking night with a needle in his arm, or whatever dumb, desperate shit he does when Derek's out of sight. Feels like he's even more at risk of that kind of thing, now that Peter's gone.
Shit - okay. Derek sighs, pointing his thumb to the bathroom. ]
Finish eating. I'll get my kit. We can cut your hair when you're done. You're gonna want a buzz cut, right? Just - completely bald up there?
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[Tate rolls his eyes, but seems - amused. He then gives Derek the finger, while shoveling more pasta into his mouth. After being seated for so long and starting to eat, his hunger's rearing up like an old friend back in town. He eats a little more intensely after that, sipping beer between bites.]
Just a little off the top, okay? I'll kill you if you fuck my hair up.
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[ Did he have a shaved head? Doesn't matter. Derek leaves Tate alone, gets his shit from the bathroom. Being a werewolf does tend to involve a decent amount of shedding, so like, he's got what he needs to give Tate a fucking trim. He'll wait by the kitchen once he's got his supplies, a little black case filled with scissors and an electric razor with different sized clippers. ]
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[Tate's brows pinch together and he shoots Derek a puzzled look, clearly not getting the reference. He lets Derek get to what he gets to - eating pasta a little past the half way mark but then leaving his plate, fork down, and finishing his beer before standing up. He's going to grab another from the fridge, just because the buzz is... nice. He cracks it open.]
Where do you want me? I can sit on the floor in front of the couch.
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[ It's fine. Derek checks on Tate's plate, sees that he went over the halfway point, and there's a second or two where he thinks about just straight up asking if he wants to finish it - but he'll just get compared to Constance again, probably, and he doesn't need to be in a sour mood for this. ]
Outside. Balcony. Take a chair.
[ Plate goes straight in the fridge, no cling wrap to cover it, Derek catching the door and keeping it open after Tate gets his beer. The living room opens up directly onto the beach, and that's where they're doing this. Derek points to the door with his chin. ]
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[Beer in one hand and a chair from the kitchen in the other, Tate drags it out onto the balcony and slips through the doorway to plant said chair outside. He figures Derek's the one who's going to sit in it so he drops down in front of it, crossing his legs and setting his beer down. The sound and smell of the beach sings to him and Tate looks a little less tense, eyes gravitating outward and getting distracted by the view.]
I love the way the waves come in on days like this.
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Dumbass.
[ But he gets what Tate's saying - Derek loves the waves, too. He never made it out to the sea all too often, and now, the waves remind him of... other people, other places. Windex is here, laying down, quizically looking up at Derek and Tate when they join her. Must have followed them back from the woods. ]
... You come to the beach much when you thought I was gone?
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[Tate gestures, not making a move to get up - he sips his beer and then rests his can between his crossed legs, in the little alcove of space there. He looks back to the water, then lets his gaze drift to Windex. He stretches out his hand toward her, making a soft noise to see if she'll come closer.]
Yeah. I came here pretty often - the beach, the treehouse. Not... here, not more than once or twice. These are my favorite places... of course I came.
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[ He's teasing, obviously. Derek's skin feels pretty itchy, keeping Tate on the floor like this, but if it's what he wants, it's what he wants. He takes his seat, balancing the case full of his shit leaning against one of the chair legs after taking out a particularly hefty pair of scissors. Should be all he needs, really. He used to cut Cora's hair for her all the time - this isn't new territory for him.
Tate says these were his favorite places, and Derek doesn't know what to make of it. Favorite because of him, or favorite because they're just - there? He's... not gonna ask. ]
... Sure you don't want a mohawk?
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[Derek sits though, and Tate moves accordingly - leaning back just a little to rest against his legs, more or less between them, and tilts his head back to look up at him with brows raised. Then he squints his eyes.]
Just a trim. You try any funny shit an' I'll get your cat high as fuck on catnip.
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[ Windex, Trisk. Neither of them feel like his cats, but technically, they both are, now. Stiles isn't there to look after Windex, and Trisk - well, Trisk has her home in the woods, but he always feels bad when he leaves her, and she always seems to feel bad when he goes. Derek wouldn't mind moving her to the house full time, if Tate would let him.
He gets to work - he's not going to cut Tate's hair as short as he wants it, at first, just because he wants to give him the option to tell him to stop before doing something irreperable. He trims dead ends, marvelling, somewhere, in the back of his mind, how Tate's not really - stagnating, the way he should be as a ghost. He's growing. Aging. Capable of change. ]
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[Not that he's going to ask for any, not from Kavinsky, but - well. Maybe there's dognip somewhere in the world? What's the closest thing to a good time for a dog? Beef jerky? Tate leans back against Derek's legs, feeling kind of reminiscent of the times when he was younger and Constance would do this on their back porch. And when Nora would take over in the basement, when his mother became too drunk to keep up.]
Trisk's a lot happier now that you're back. She was sad for a while. Lost, y'know?
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[ Wasn't there when Kavinsky drugged him. Certainly wasn't there any other time. Derek used to really want to get drunk or fucked up as a kid, when everyone else in his life could do it and he could only ever watch - but. Hasn't been as positive of an experience as it could've been, losing control of his senses like that.
Tate leans back against him, and Derek doesn't really think anything of it. He's just focusing on cutting his hair, dusting down his shoulders when he needs to. Too bad they don't have one of those stupid black capes. ]
... I'm sure you took care of her. You were always good to those cats. That's probably why they stick around in the woods. They could go anywhere, if they wanted to.
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[Tate's spoiled them a fair bit - things got a bit tight while Derek was gone, mostly because he didn't want to go to Kavinsky for help with this half of his life. Selfish as ever, Tate wanted to keep things divided. During the riots he stole and traded to keep their little furbrains alive.]
I like having them. Taking care of them. Wasn't allowed pets at home - not really. Drove my mom nuts having a rat, though.
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[ That's - weirdly surprising. Derek laughs, not sure what to make of that, letting go of the scissors for a second to just - look at him. He guesses it makes sense, the more it sits with him. Cute but slightly edgy. Something Constance would consider filthy. More than anything, he's just surprised he trusted his mom not to flush it while he was at school. ]
Cobain probably eats rats, you know. Bound to be a few in the woods.
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[He died. He drifts off from that course of conversation to shrug.]
I wanted a snake but that didn't fly. Snakes are cooler.
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... So am I getting you a snake for christmas or a dog? Can't keep changing your mind, man.
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[He doesn't expect either, but he laughs. Just a little.]
Or just one for my birthday, one for Christmas. Come out winning both sides.
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... Okay. Turn around. Face me.
[ He's gotta do the front. Still more to do everywhere else, but - once Tate's turned around, Derek's gonna brush his fingers through Tate's hair a little, getting everything laid out easy for him. ]
Can't believe you're cutting all this off.
[ He's, like, barely done more than a trim, but he's still unhappy. ]
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You rather I don't? It's gonna grow back. I thought it was getting shaggy.
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[ Which is just... the honest truth, and not tactic approval to be touched. He doesn't mind Tate leaning on him, and he doesn't even mind the hands on his thighs, but Tate leans in a little further, looks up at him like he doesn't know what he's doing, and honestly, it's frustrating. Derek frowns, shooting him a look. He's not above pushing Tate back by the forehead and leaving him with half a haircut.
Anyway. ]
It's your hair, though. And - I mean - I'm not your Dom, remember? Not like your appearance reflects on me anymore. We can dye it fucking puke green, if that's what you want.
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[Calmly said, he's this close to prickling at the fact Derek's yet again brought up the dom situation but he's letting it go. He's choosing to stay in the moment, leaning against Derek and feeling the warmth up through the denim his hands rest on. Smelling his - aftershave or cologne, whatever it is that feels so familiar. Tate butts at Derek's abs before leaning back, sighing.]
If I don't look stupid, I'll leave it. But soon it's gonna be wild. My hair always gets that way. Or did, when I was younger.
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[ He's being shitty - asking does it? to Tate saying his approval means something to him - but it feels sour and mean the second it leaves his mouth, and he plays it off, running his fingers back through Tate's hair and acting like he meant it as a response to my hair always gets that way. It's - cowardly, but being cowardly is better than fighting. Especially when things are finally going okay.
It's... not actually a hard act to pull off. Tate headbutts him in the abs and it makes Derek actually giggle, which is a weird fucking sound for him. It was just - surprising. Not something he was expected. He lightly smacks Tate on the back of the head, which is, you know. Nice. For Derek. ]
Fucking - sit up. I'm gonna stab you in a second.
[ He'll sit Tate up himself, if he has to, pushing back on his shoulders and lazily brandishing the scissors at him. Even if they're leaving the length like this, there's still some trimming to be done. ]
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Now you wanna cut my hair? Jesus, make up your fucking mind.
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