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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[ 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.
no subject
[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.
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
[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?
no subject
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.
no subject
Who? And... what did they say?
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]