Continuing my life-long trend of not enjoying my birthday.
[ anyway, fine, fine, he's coming, now that he's picked up tate's gift from his study - he'll just text at red lights on the way. doscoe's making a weird noise under her hood... he's gonna have to check her over later. ]
Have you thought any more about what to give them? When they ask for a promise.
not really i'm trying to think of something i can actually keep got a few ideas. none of them are really gold star worthy what about you? got any on my behalf?
Feels like we should start with some low-balls. "I promise to give you a high-five", "I promise to blink at least one more time before the end of the day". Other than that... I don't know.
Frankly, I don't think it matters. You know what this place is like. Whatever we might come up with - they're just going to ask for sex, in the end.
[ yeah, yeah - derek doesn't bother replying. he finishes driving out to autonomy, parking, as he always does, somewhere dark and borderline inaccessible - the powder blue jeep is slightly more noticeable than anything sleek and black he had back home, but derek's not ready to trade her for anything else yet. he slips out of doscoe and shuts her up tight, heading inside autonomy to find tate behind the bar.
it's pretty nostalgic here. been a while since he's been in. derek didn't expect to feel nostalgic over anything in duplicity, let alone a club, but nostalgia's been hitting him a lot lately. he's in leather, like always - a black jacket, zipped up thanks to the weather, hiding the henley he has beneath. black pants, black gloves, black boots with black laces. he's very derek, today, which makes the bright red parcel he has in his hand, topped with a big, gold bow, stand out all the more.
he gets to the bar, and he doesn't set it down in front of tate. he just - throws it his way without warning. ]
Heads up.
[ if tate unwraps it now, he'll find... something. ]
[Tate's been cleaning the bar, running a rag over it and getting ready to switch over with another bartender who just arrived for their shift. He sees Derek through his peripherals, lifting his head to see Mr. Leather for just a few seconds before something's tossed his way. Tate scrambles to catch it, cursing as he drops his rag and crinkles red wrapping paper in a hasty grip to keep from dropping the box too.
He looks down at it, before back up at Derek, and then rolls his eyes as he peels open paper rather than waiting.]
[ You know - he knew Tate would make that joke. He knew it the second he bought the bowl. Knew it before he bought the bowl, for that matter. Somehow, he still finds himself getting annoyed.
Still - while he walks up to the bar, Derek takes out his phone, scrolling through to his photo gallery. ]
I found a dog. Abandoned, I think. She was in pretty bad shape when I found her. She's... she isn't good with people. She's - nervous, and she bites.
[ She was chained up by Derek's old mechanic place, free dog written on her like she was no different to a fucking car. If he were to take off his gloves, Tate would see the teeth marks on his hands that haven't healed, and if he rolled up his sleeves, there'd be scratched and lightly peeled skin on his arms, too. She doesn't react well to him, and it - it might be because he's a werewolf, but dogs aren't usually this aggressive with him when he flashes his eyes at them. They bow down. She seems to be too scared for that. ]
I don't know if you were serious about wanting a dog. I've been trying to rehabilitate her either way. Didn't want to leave her for someone else. I'll - introduce you to her. After today. If she's too much, or - or if you think she would be too much with the cats, then - I can keep her. But.
[ He gets his phone open and shows Tate some photos - she's a lab, or maybe just partially, given that she seems a little small. Derek wets his lips, holding the phone up to Tate and scrolling back with his thumb. She looks kind of small and unhappy, but Derek's clearly been taking care of her these past couple of days. She's looking much better in the later photos than the earlier ones. ]
[Tate's ready to tell Derek to fuck off for whatever he's getting at, but he catches him off guard. He'd assumed that the dog joke was nothing more than a joke after he made it, as Derek bitches about the cats at every turn and keeping them all afloat's been an interesting challenge. But then Derek talks about a dog and Tate lowers the parcel in his hands as if he's suspicious, untrusting of this - wary about being joked with.
He looks at the phone, brows pinched before he's reaching out to take from Derek's hand his phone and browse through it closer - Tate's attentive, looking at the images and flicking back and forth through them. The dog's real. The dog's not a joke. Derek's been taking care of a dog and is only now letting him know?]
[ Derek - shrugs, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the bar. He watches Tate go through his phone, eyebrows narrowed. He's not sure how to read Tate's reaction, but - when has that not been the case. ]
The den's lonely. Windex still misses Stiles.
[ She's always looking around for him. Meowing at the bedroom door that Derek still never opens, as if he'll be waiting for her somewhere in there. Windex loves Derek, but she's also an outside cat, so she doesn't need him. This dog... is stressful, but she does need people in her life right now. Watching her improve and giving her all his attention has been... soothing. Like a project. ]
I like... having someone else at home.
[ Another shrug. He doesn't doubt that Tate will be better for her than he is. ]
And - she's yours. If you want her. Just - she's already pretty stressed out. I didn't want to just... bring her into the city, or... drag her out into the woods. You need to come over if you want to meet her.
I can come visit her - the den's probably best for her right now. Quieter, easier to access. I don't know how she'd stay at the treehouse, and I'd really want to keep her out by the woods. Someone just... left her?
[Tate circles back to that and it might be evident that something about that rubs him the wrong way. He hesitates in the processing of things as he picks up the rag and finishes putting away a set of glasses. He looks back up to Derek as he hangs up his apron and comes around the other side of the bar to give him his phone back. Still upset.]
How can people do that? That's - that's terrible. She deserves love. Does she have a name yet?
[ It's just... how the world works. Derek would be sad, if he wasn't so tired. People do that. Throw their pets away.
Derek takes his phone back when it's offered, and a part of him wonders if maybe this wasn't the best plan. He could've bought Tate a fucking pet-store puppy - Tate made a comment about wanting a dog, and Derek had to find the most complicated, difficult to train stray imaginable. Derek scratches at his temple, folding his arms over his chest, jacket crinkling. ]
I've just been calling her... dog. And - girl. So.
[Tate's still distant for a second, acknowledging that and getting himself unhung from the hook he stuck himself on. He blinks and looks back to Derek, emotions shifting back to their usual selves - he's tired from working but relaxed, scratching at his jaw while tipping his head at Derek.]
I like her. I want to keep her - want you to keep her. Whatever. We have to.
[He gestures sidelong.]
You want a drink or anything here or are we okay to go do our shit?
[ He probably should have something, right? That's what you do on your birthday - you drink. Luckily, your birthday is also about doing whatever the fuck you want, and Derek wants to avoid standing around, bone-dry sober, drinking foul-tasting bullshit he's never liked.
So - he nods towards the club, and if Tate wants to ride in Stiles' jeep rather than walk, then like, fine. Derek gets into the driver's seat and pulls out, making his way to Insincerity. He hasn't been here since access to the city was unveiled, and Derek, just like last time, feels pretty fucking skeeved out by the numbers inked onto the back of his hand. Duplicity and its sister cities always have a way of making him feel like a commodity, even as a Dom.
He drives, though, searching out the repair shop. ]
... You're sure about this? I know I probably don't need to ask, but - it's a big thing you're doing. It might not even work.
[Tate says, slumped low in his seat and rubbing at his eyes. He's stayed up most of the night and really could use a second wind, but with Derek around he's not really able to sniff it. So he runs his hand back through his hair, smoothing blond curls flat against his scalp while staring out the window.]
I don't have anything to lose, anyway. Might as well. So you don't need to keep asking. I'm in.
[ Doesn't take long to get to the repair shop, after that. It's not exactly the prettiest place - the walls seem to be in a perpetual state of disrepair, always in need of a fresh coat, and the sidewalk seems purposefully littered to offer something easy for patrons to promise to fix. Derek parks and heads inside, mildly annoyed by the way the bell rings over his head, and he just... nods towards Tate. It's quiet in here, so he keeps his voice low to avoid being overheard. ]
[Tate says, with no real confidence in what he's doing. There's an attendant who looks at them, smiling in a knowing way that makes Tate's skin crawl. He steps toward them and feels like they already know what he's here for before he's even opened his mouth. With one glance back at Derek, he explains that he's here to get something back. They nod, and he hesitates a second before continuing - elaborating on what it is, his missing heartbeat. They say they know precisely the promise that could get it, unless he wants to barter for something else - and Tate simply shrugs.]
What is it?
[They explain, giving Tate pause, that it's a promise to publicly participate in a sexual act - adding on cheerfully 'no better time and place than the present!' Tate shoots a look at Derek, feathers mildly ruffled.]
[ Yeah, see - there's no part of Derek surprised by where this went. Honestly, if anything, he's just relieved; he was half-convinced that they'd ask for something horrible from Tate in return, like a promise to give up his eyesight or a promise to get fucked by a dozen strangers in quick succession, and as unpleasant as this makes Derek feel, it's a sense of unpleasantness he's long since learned how to be accustomed to. He's... not sure if it'll go down quite so smoothly when he asks for his scar to be removed - but he's relieved, now, that Tate went first.
Derek flicks his eyes over to Tate, then to the attendant visibly leering at the two of them, waiting for Derek, as the dom, to make the first move. He sighs, tensing his shoulders and trying to will away whatever modesty he has holding him back. Things with Tate are so much better after their stay in the woods, but they're also... very, very private right now. Very slow-going. He wasn't ready to sleep with Tate again.
It is what it is, though. There's a workbench towards the back of the shop, where one or two workers are loitering, clearly interested in what's going down. Derek exhales, then looks back to Tate, nodding to the bench. ]
[Tate's not sure - he remembers the photo booth and while he got so swept into that and doesn't regret it, he still hates the feeling that came from exiting only to notice their show had been more public than anticipated. He didn't like the looks that came with people seeing him as an obedient submissive, like he really deserved to be on his knees in front of any and all dominants. He really is a shitty sub, in a lot of ways. He hates this place.
He looks to the bench with some resentment and then some resignation - at least if he knows it's purposely public, there's no surprises? Still, his skin itches as he moves over and feels like he's merely drifting to the bench. Barely feels it when he touches his hand to it, or when he hoists himself up to sit on the edge. His legs swing and he just - looks back to Derek, pale brows pinching.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
and maybe i'm jewish
you don't fucking know me
no subject
[ no, fine, that counts. he still listens to it. ]
I think that means I don't have to get you a gift.
Doesn't get you out of giving me one.
no subject
that was your other gift, remember? my prize 2 u
come to the club and i'll give you a free drink?
sex on the beach is on the table
no subject
[ anyway, fine, fine, he's coming, now that he's picked up tate's gift from his study - he'll just text at red lights on the way. doscoe's making a weird noise under her hood... he's gonna have to check her over later. ]
Have you thought any more about what to give them?
When they ask for a promise.
no subject
i'm trying to think of something i can actually keep
got a few ideas. none of them are really gold star worthy
what about you? got any on my behalf?
no subject
"I promise to give you a high-five", "I promise to blink at least one more time before the end of the day".
Other than that... I don't know.
Frankly, I don't think it matters. You know what this place is like.
Whatever we might come up with - they're just going to ask for sex, in the end.
no subject
look, we circled back to it. you're welcome.
no subject
no subject
no subject
I'm not going to blow you at all.
But if I were, a please certainly wouldn't hurt.
no subject
i gotta get back to work.
dickweed.
no subject
it's pretty nostalgic here. been a while since he's been in. derek didn't expect to feel nostalgic over anything in duplicity, let alone a club, but nostalgia's been hitting him a lot lately. he's in leather, like always - a black jacket, zipped up thanks to the weather, hiding the henley he has beneath. black pants, black gloves, black boots with black laces. he's very derek, today, which makes the bright red parcel he has in his hand, topped with a big, gold bow, stand out all the more.
he gets to the bar, and he doesn't set it down in front of tate. he just - throws it his way without warning. ]
Heads up.
[ if tate unwraps it now, he'll find... something. ]
no subject
He looks down at it, before back up at Derek, and then rolls his eyes as he peels open paper rather than waiting.]
I'm not off the clock yet, asshole - but...
[Dog. Dish?]
Why are you giving me your dishware?
no subject
Still - while he walks up to the bar, Derek takes out his phone, scrolling through to his photo gallery. ]
I found a dog. Abandoned, I think. She was in pretty bad shape when I found her. She's... she isn't good with people. She's - nervous, and she bites.
[ She was chained up by Derek's old mechanic place, free dog written on her like she was no different to a fucking car. If he were to take off his gloves, Tate would see the teeth marks on his hands that haven't healed, and if he rolled up his sleeves, there'd be scratched and lightly peeled skin on his arms, too. She doesn't react well to him, and it - it might be because he's a werewolf, but dogs aren't usually this aggressive with him when he flashes his eyes at them. They bow down. She seems to be too scared for that. ]
I don't know if you were serious about wanting a dog. I've been trying to rehabilitate her either way. Didn't want to leave her for someone else. I'll - introduce you to her. After today. If she's too much, or - or if you think she would be too much with the cats, then - I can keep her. But.
[ He gets his phone open and shows Tate some photos - she's a lab, or maybe just partially, given that she seems a little small. Derek wets his lips, holding the phone up to Tate and scrolling back with his thumb. She looks kind of small and unhappy, but Derek's clearly been taking care of her these past couple of days. She's looking much better in the later photos than the earlier ones. ]
This is her.
no subject
He looks at the phone, brows pinched before he's reaching out to take from Derek's hand his phone and browse through it closer - Tate's attentive, looking at the images and flicking back and forth through them. The dog's real. The dog's not a joke. Derek's been taking care of a dog and is only now letting him know?]
For real? You'd be okay with her staying around?
no subject
The den's lonely. Windex still misses Stiles.
[ She's always looking around for him. Meowing at the bedroom door that Derek still never opens, as if he'll be waiting for her somewhere in there. Windex loves Derek, but she's also an outside cat, so she doesn't need him. This dog... is stressful, but she does need people in her life right now. Watching her improve and giving her all his attention has been... soothing. Like a project. ]
I like... having someone else at home.
[ Another shrug. He doesn't doubt that Tate will be better for her than he is. ]
And - she's yours. If you want her. Just - she's already pretty stressed out. I didn't want to just... bring her into the city, or... drag her out into the woods. You need to come over if you want to meet her.
no subject
[Tate circles back to that and it might be evident that something about that rubs him the wrong way. He hesitates in the processing of things as he picks up the rag and finishes putting away a set of glasses. He looks back up to Derek as he hangs up his apron and comes around the other side of the bar to give him his phone back. Still upset.]
How can people do that? That's - that's terrible. She deserves love. Does she have a name yet?
no subject
[ It's just... how the world works. Derek would be sad, if he wasn't so tired. People do that. Throw their pets away.
Derek takes his phone back when it's offered, and a part of him wonders if maybe this wasn't the best plan. He could've bought Tate a fucking pet-store puppy - Tate made a comment about wanting a dog, and Derek had to find the most complicated, difficult to train stray imaginable. Derek scratches at his temple, folding his arms over his chest, jacket crinkling. ]
I've just been calling her... dog. And - girl. So.
[ No, she doesn't. ]
no subject
[Tate's still distant for a second, acknowledging that and getting himself unhung from the hook he stuck himself on. He blinks and looks back to Derek, emotions shifting back to their usual selves - he's tired from working but relaxed, scratching at his jaw while tipping his head at Derek.]
I like her. I want to keep her - want you to keep her. Whatever. We have to.
[He gestures sidelong.]
You want a drink or anything here or are we okay to go do our shit?
no subject
[ He probably should have something, right? That's what you do on your birthday - you drink. Luckily, your birthday is also about doing whatever the fuck you want, and Derek wants to avoid standing around, bone-dry sober, drinking foul-tasting bullshit he's never liked.
So - he nods towards the club, and if Tate wants to ride in Stiles' jeep rather than walk, then like, fine. Derek gets into the driver's seat and pulls out, making his way to Insincerity. He hasn't been here since access to the city was unveiled, and Derek, just like last time, feels pretty fucking skeeved out by the numbers inked onto the back of his hand. Duplicity and its sister cities always have a way of making him feel like a commodity, even as a Dom.
He drives, though, searching out the repair shop. ]
... You're sure about this? I know I probably don't need to ask, but - it's a big thing you're doing. It might not even work.
no subject
[Tate says, slumped low in his seat and rubbing at his eyes. He's stayed up most of the night and really could use a second wind, but with Derek around he's not really able to sniff it. So he runs his hand back through his hair, smoothing blond curls flat against his scalp while staring out the window.]
I don't have anything to lose, anyway. Might as well. So you don't need to keep asking. I'm in.
no subject
[ Doesn't take long to get to the repair shop, after that. It's not exactly the prettiest place - the walls seem to be in a perpetual state of disrepair, always in need of a fresh coat, and the sidewalk seems purposefully littered to offer something easy for patrons to promise to fix. Derek parks and heads inside, mildly annoyed by the way the bell rings over his head, and he just... nods towards Tate. It's quiet in here, so he keeps his voice low to avoid being overheard. ]
You want to go first, or should I?
no subject
[Tate says, with no real confidence in what he's doing. There's an attendant who looks at them, smiling in a knowing way that makes Tate's skin crawl. He steps toward them and feels like they already know what he's here for before he's even opened his mouth. With one glance back at Derek, he explains that he's here to get something back. They nod, and he hesitates a second before continuing - elaborating on what it is, his missing heartbeat. They say they know precisely the promise that could get it, unless he wants to barter for something else - and Tate simply shrugs.]
What is it?
[They explain, giving Tate pause, that it's a promise to publicly participate in a sexual act - adding on cheerfully 'no better time and place than the present!' Tate shoots a look at Derek, feathers mildly ruffled.]
no subject
Derek flicks his eyes over to Tate, then to the attendant visibly leering at the two of them, waiting for Derek, as the dom, to make the first move. He sighs, tensing his shoulders and trying to will away whatever modesty he has holding him back. Things with Tate are so much better after their stay in the woods, but they're also... very, very private right now. Very slow-going. He wasn't ready to sleep with Tate again.
It is what it is, though. There's a workbench towards the back of the shop, where one or two workers are loitering, clearly interested in what's going down. Derek exhales, then looks back to Tate, nodding to the bench. ]
Go.
[ Sit down over there, he gestures. Also - ]
Still want that please.
no subject
[Tate's not sure - he remembers the photo booth and while he got so swept into that and doesn't regret it, he still hates the feeling that came from exiting only to notice their show had been more public than anticipated. He didn't like the looks that came with people seeing him as an obedient submissive, like he really deserved to be on his knees in front of any and all dominants. He really is a shitty sub, in a lot of ways. He hates this place.
He looks to the bench with some resentment and then some resignation - at least if he knows it's purposely public, there's no surprises? Still, his skin itches as he moves over and feels like he's merely drifting to the bench. Barely feels it when he touches his hand to it, or when he hoists himself up to sit on the edge. His legs swing and he just - looks back to Derek, pale brows pinching.]
Can we just do this fast?
[He's uncomfortable, but adding on quietly:]
Please.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)