[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.
You're all lopsided, idiot. I've gotta at least tidy you up.
[ He's just deadpan and robotic when Tate squirms and acts like an asshole, not-so-patiently waiting for him to settle the fuck down. It's - good, that he's happier. That's what Derek has to tell himself to stop from saying anything else he'll regret. Fuck, this would be easier if he still had an anchor. Something to tether himself to when everything gets hard. The Den still feels so fucking empty.
Christ, okay. Haircuts. Once he gets an opportunity, he'll take a few more curls between his fingers, cutting the splits at the end. He really does prefer Tate with hair like this, but... ]
I'd approve of you either way, you know. Longer hair, shorter hair. I don't care. I just...
[ How does he phrase this. Derek wets his lips, moving onto another set of curls. There's something about Tate when he's like this, that's all. Softer. Kinder. Innocently disarming. Derek's more successfully disarmed - that's all. He wets his lips, shakes his head. ]
[Tate delivers that deadpan, still amused - but his eyes are drifting away, looking up at the sky and down at Windex when she stretches. He's been curbed into staying still, though it'll be only a minute or two more before he starts to fidget again. He's happy, that's right, because he's getting attention and they're not fighting. He feels good because he's - selfish, and this is all he wants. The good times.]
Mm. Can I play some music or something? I'm bored as shit. Tell me something interesting.
[ Derek just wants the good times too - they're just limited, if Tate keeps being... Tate. They can talk about change and growth all they want, but Tate doesn't care about anything that isn't right in front of him, and that's not going to end well. They're on such fucking thin ice already.
Windex comes over, finally, bored from sleeping in the sun and deigning to give Tate her attention, staring silently. Tate's asking for music to play, and Derek's phone doesn't have the playlist Stiles made for him anymore, but he's dumped his entire laptop library onto the device and he's been going through it all, song by song, trying to recreate it. He could play something. He - won't, though. ]
Uh - there's someone here from home. The first person I ever bit. Is that interesting?
[Tate's attentive, after a momentary distraction that crawls over on four legs. He's doting on Windex with offhand scratches, moving a little too much when he looks back up at Derek and hones in on what he's saying. Someone else - a potential threat, maybe, especially with regard to... being someone Derek's bitten. Tate feels a pang of something upsetting in his chest, something jealous and worried.]
[ It's an innocent enough question. Derek doesn't answer it, at first. He's trying to decide how much he wants to say - how much he can say - and he buys some time by finishing the front of Tate's hair. Only a little bit longer. ]
This kid - Jackson. I think I've told you about him - he was some kid in Scott's grade. Begged me for the bite. Wouldn't take no for an answer. I bit him, threw him in a lake when we were done. Didn't ever expect him to survive. Part of me hoped he wouldn't.
[ There's a... very neutral callousness in the way he says that. Jackson could have died, that night, and Derek would have been able to dodge a fair amount of responsibility by letting it happen. He used Jackson as a test, more than anything else, and Jackson used him as a means to an end. They were never pack. ]
... I offered the bite to someone else, too. Recently.
[Tate tries to stay neutral and unaffected, focusing down at staring at the inner seam of Derek's jeans - thumbing it over distractedly before he swallows hard. He knew this would happen, sure. He just didn't think it'd be so fast. So quick? He doesn't... even know who. And somehow that hurts, though he wonders if that's the point. Derek wants him to... suffer, maybe. To hurt.]
[ Derek doesn't want Tate to hurt. Doesn't want him to suffer. If it was up to him - things would be so much different. Derek says Reggie's name as quickly as he can, like he's trying to rip off a bandaid, and - slowly - he finishes trimming Tate's hair. He sets down the scissors, rests his arms on his thighs, arm against Tate's arm, just barely touching. ]
I don't know if I'm going through with it. I don't know if he's going through with it. Nothing's set in stone. There's still - so much to cover. I've been trying to rush things with him, a little - seduce him into it, the way I did with my pack back home.
[ Making promises of things being bigger and better and stronger, sex being better, shit like that. Never bringing up the pain and the suffering. He needs to - Reggie's Dom made him promise to tell him everything. Derek sighs through his nose, lifting one arm and running his hand over the back of his neck. ]
Wish I wasn't so scared of being alone. Just... feels like it could happen at any time. The city could take you away, or... Kavinsky could order you to never talk to me again. Stiles might never come back. None of my pack from home has ever been here. My uncle's gone. Your friends are leaving. It's all just - fucking scary. I hate it.
[Reggie Mantle. The words sit - they're heavy, but not insufferable. Tate just shifts, head bowed a little, as he thinks that over. Reggie fucking Mantle. He's going to instinctively start gravitating to the kid now, wanting to know what parts of him appeal to Derek - why he's the pick he wants to make. Jealousy is low in his stomach but only because he fears being replaced. He has nothing against Reggie, the guy has some good drugs. Tate quietly wonders if that means it's cool to get his drugs from Reggie now, considering he might soon be pack.
He tries to be okay with this. He really, really tries. It'll eat away at him later, pushing him likely into some fucked up decisions but he tries to stay neutral and composed. He leans against Derek, then runs his hand back through his barely shortened hair. Reggie Mantle. Hm.]
I... I think it's good you... you've got options.
[Also, he thinks it's good it hasn't happened yet.]
But if you don't want to rush me into the bite, why do you want to rush him? You should... let it happen naturally, right? What's meant to be is meant to be.
[ Tate's - trying. Derek's been a pretty big hardass since coming back, but he can tell that despite any anxiety he might be feeling about his plans, Tate's doing his best to take the kindest approach to them that he can. Derek's not sure if Tate's genuine about his advice to avoid rushing into this, or if he just doesn't like the idea of Derek giving anyone the bite - but either way, it aligns with Derek's feelings about the whole thing. He thinks rushing it is a bad idea, too, and he's grateful for the call out. ]
Just scared of being alone.
[ He's gotta stand up. Give Tate a break from having to sit there and be stared at while Derek cuts his hair. He stands, leaves the scissors on the safety railing overlooking the beach. Being here still makes him think of Stiles, more than anything else. He misses him. ]
If I had my way - it'd just be us. We'd stay out here, like we always did - you in the treehouse, me in the den. I'd move some of my shit to the woods, you'd bring some of your shit to the beach. We wouldn't need anyone else.
[ But - that's not how things played out. Tate's got his own life, and Derek's trying to find one, now that he's lost his anchor. He doesn't like opening himself up to new vulnerabilities, and he doesn't like letting Tate off of his leash, but that's just how things are. Nothing is as comfortable as it used to be. ]
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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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[ He's just deadpan and robotic when Tate squirms and acts like an asshole, not-so-patiently waiting for him to settle the fuck down. It's - good, that he's happier. That's what Derek has to tell himself to stop from saying anything else he'll regret. Fuck, this would be easier if he still had an anchor. Something to tether himself to when everything gets hard. The Den still feels so fucking empty.
Christ, okay. Haircuts. Once he gets an opportunity, he'll take a few more curls between his fingers, cutting the splits at the end. He really does prefer Tate with hair like this, but... ]
I'd approve of you either way, you know. Longer hair, shorter hair. I don't care. I just...
[ How does he phrase this. Derek wets his lips, moving onto another set of curls. There's something about Tate when he's like this, that's all. Softer. Kinder. Innocently disarming. Derek's more successfully disarmed - that's all. He wets his lips, shakes his head. ]
I don't know. Nevermind. I sound like an idiot.
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[Tate delivers that deadpan, still amused - but his eyes are drifting away, looking up at the sky and down at Windex when she stretches. He's been curbed into staying still, though it'll be only a minute or two more before he starts to fidget again. He's happy, that's right, because he's getting attention and they're not fighting. He feels good because he's - selfish, and this is all he wants. The good times.]
Mm. Can I play some music or something? I'm bored as shit. Tell me something interesting.
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[ Derek just wants the good times too - they're just limited, if Tate keeps being... Tate. They can talk about change and growth all they want, but Tate doesn't care about anything that isn't right in front of him, and that's not going to end well. They're on such fucking thin ice already.
Windex comes over, finally, bored from sleeping in the sun and deigning to give Tate her attention, staring silently. Tate's asking for music to play, and Derek's phone doesn't have the playlist Stiles made for him anymore, but he's dumped his entire laptop library onto the device and he's been going through it all, song by song, trying to recreate it. He could play something. He - won't, though. ]
Uh - there's someone here from home. The first person I ever bit. Is that interesting?
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[Tate's attentive, after a momentary distraction that crawls over on four legs. He's doting on Windex with offhand scratches, moving a little too much when he looks back up at Derek and hones in on what he's saying. Someone else - a potential threat, maybe, especially with regard to... being someone Derek's bitten. Tate feels a pang of something upsetting in his chest, something jealous and worried.]
Who are they?
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This kid - Jackson. I think I've told you about him - he was some kid in Scott's grade. Begged me for the bite. Wouldn't take no for an answer. I bit him, threw him in a lake when we were done. Didn't ever expect him to survive. Part of me hoped he wouldn't.
[ There's a... very neutral callousness in the way he says that. Jackson could have died, that night, and Derek would have been able to dodge a fair amount of responsibility by letting it happen. He used Jackson as a test, more than anything else, and Jackson used him as a means to an end. They were never pack. ]
... I offered the bite to someone else, too. Recently.
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Who? And... what did they say?
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[ Derek doesn't want Tate to hurt. Doesn't want him to suffer. If it was up to him - things would be so much different. Derek says Reggie's name as quickly as he can, like he's trying to rip off a bandaid, and - slowly - he finishes trimming Tate's hair. He sets down the scissors, rests his arms on his thighs, arm against Tate's arm, just barely touching. ]
I don't know if I'm going through with it. I don't know if he's going through with it. Nothing's set in stone. There's still - so much to cover. I've been trying to rush things with him, a little - seduce him into it, the way I did with my pack back home.
[ Making promises of things being bigger and better and stronger, sex being better, shit like that. Never bringing up the pain and the suffering. He needs to - Reggie's Dom made him promise to tell him everything. Derek sighs through his nose, lifting one arm and running his hand over the back of his neck. ]
Wish I wasn't so scared of being alone. Just... feels like it could happen at any time. The city could take you away, or... Kavinsky could order you to never talk to me again. Stiles might never come back. None of my pack from home has ever been here. My uncle's gone. Your friends are leaving. It's all just - fucking scary. I hate it.
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He tries to be okay with this. He really, really tries. It'll eat away at him later, pushing him likely into some fucked up decisions but he tries to stay neutral and composed. He leans against Derek, then runs his hand back through his barely shortened hair. Reggie Mantle. Hm.]
I... I think it's good you... you've got options.
[Also, he thinks it's good it hasn't happened yet.]
But if you don't want to rush me into the bite, why do you want to rush him? You should... let it happen naturally, right? What's meant to be is meant to be.
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Just scared of being alone.
[ He's gotta stand up. Give Tate a break from having to sit there and be stared at while Derek cuts his hair. He stands, leaves the scissors on the safety railing overlooking the beach. Being here still makes him think of Stiles, more than anything else. He misses him. ]
If I had my way - it'd just be us. We'd stay out here, like we always did - you in the treehouse, me in the den. I'd move some of my shit to the woods, you'd bring some of your shit to the beach. We wouldn't need anyone else.
[ But - that's not how things played out. Tate's got his own life, and Derek's trying to find one, now that he's lost his anchor. He doesn't like opening himself up to new vulnerabilities, and he doesn't like letting Tate off of his leash, but that's just how things are. Nothing is as comfortable as it used to be. ]