[ there's a pause as derek weighs up what he wants to do here - but ultimately, what are his options? he can sign a contract with tate, who'll likely just-- be kind to him, trust him, be a friend to him - or he can keep dodging guards in the Up and earn more and more reprimanding. he could sign with someone else, too, but who are his fucking options? nick, who jumped down his throat for taking care of reggie? fucking kavinsky? ]
Blondie's puke feels like more appropriate decoration for talking contracts. But fine.
[ he'll... wait, maybe gather up some citations just so tate can see what he'll have to deal with if he signs him. there's not much he can do these days other than sit in the den and wait for a chance to sneak out. feels like 2011 all over again. when the two hours are up, he heads over, a few paper slips folded over in his hands, just in his usual black leather and black jeans. he's not wearing his collar - but it's in the bag slung over his shoulder, brought with him less because tate told him to and more because he's afraid of how he'll be punished if he ever loses it. ]
[Tate uses the two hours to do a half decent job of cleaning up the tree house and making a short run into town, getting back only about twenty minutes prior to Derek showing up. It's - weird, being able to order his own food from anywhere he wants to, and to just up and buy anything he wants to in general. He's got chinese food on the table in the kitchen area of the tree house, the floors cleaned up and bedding... decent upstairs.
It's very 'teenager-cleans-room' but at least it doesn't smell off, a feat to achieve when there are multiple animals skittering around and a werewolf that likes to spend his time getting Dog Smell on all of Tate's furniture. He's in a clean layered shirt and ripped jeans, sucking sweet and sour sauce off his thumb when Blondie's ear goes up and he looks to the door - knowing he's about to have company.
He waits, leaning against the table with his arms crossed, as Blondie barrages toward the door with a welcoming and very dopey bark.]
[ Tate having this messy, inconsistent method of tidying up is charming, in its own way. To Derek, who still primarily sees Tate as a teenage boy incapable of handling responsibility, seeing him make an effort is always gonna be kind of endearing. Tate probably only thinks to make things nice for Derek because he wants to, rather than because he grew up used to having friends over at his house - Tate doesn't seem like he grew up in a house big on sleepovers.
Derek freezes in the door where Blondie greets him, though, that brief flash of joy gone as he struggles to decide for the thousandth time if she's going to attack him or run away from him. She's a good dog, though, and she's used to him, despite his best efforts to assume that all animals hate him, and Derek gives her a wary pat as he heads inside and joins Tate at the table. It's kind of difficult, walking through the sea of animals Tate keeps here now, but Derek doesn't really mind. Tate's always struggled with being alone. Makes sense that he'd end up with a zoo to keep him company. ]
Hey. Good to see you eating.
[ Which, you know, he only says to lessen how much of a dick he is when he takes Tate's food from him rather than grabbing his own plate. Thanks. ]
[He still barely eats if not reminded, but he smiles - before rolling his eyes after Derek takes the cardboard box he was opening the sides to to make a makeshift platter of sweet and sour pork. There's one shoddy little fat candle on the table that Tate turns to light, lifting his brows as if to say are you romanced yet? to Derek.]
I hid my dirty laundry for this. You better feel wined and fucking dined.
[ Look at this boy, talking like a normal kid from the '10s. Having friends is rubbing off on him. Derek picks up his food with his fingers and starts eating, getting a couple of mouthfuls in before he's realized Tate's lit the candle - his expression doesn't really change, but Tate knows him well enough by now to see something in him that shows he's amused. Relaxed.
He takes Tate's fork for the rice, stabbin' himself up a scoopful. Already, he's back to being his morose, stoic self. ]
I've got... six citations so far. Just-- so you know.
[Tate whistles, shaking his head - half laughing and, well, half not? He's quietly hoping Derek's lying to him - not that it'll shake him off the plan of signing him, but it will give him pause. Those citations would become tethered to him, and he may or may not understand why it was so frustrating for Derek the other way round. He gives Derek a shove on the bicep to get him to sit down, then goes to sit himself - reaching for an egg roll.]
[ Derek isn't really sure what he feels, saying all of this. It feels like he's shooting himself in the foot - giving Tate a reason not to sign with him, giving him an excuse to leave. Every iteration of a contract Tate's been through has involved-- some kind of demand, on Derek's part, and having more demands made against his will feels kind of sick. Derek drops into his seat, only eating for the sake of eating. Food's still hard to come by, if only because he's anxious about asking Tate to buy him things. ]
That's why I have six. First three are for misdemeanors. Last three are late fines.
You should've told me about it sooner. We could've worked it out quick.
[Tate eyes Derek from across the table - he remembers bringing to him his own citations, rather than answer to Kavinsky. His eyes drop down and even though the mark on his arm is covered at the moment, beneath a folded sleeve, he looks to it in a soft reminder. Then he just finishes his egg roll and starts picking up some rice of his own on a plate.]
I didn't want to ask anything from you. From anyone, really.
[ Which was-- a stupid idea, obviously, he's aware of that. It's just hard, making himself vulnerable, even after a full year of knowing Tate. He's paying for it now, but... it could get even worse if he leaves it. ]
It's just-- you know. [ He shrugs, poking around in his food, all that sweet and sour suddenly feeling a little more like grey, tasteless paper. ] Sex. Restraints. You know how it is. We don't have to deal with it right now - just needed you to know what was on the table.
If I'm going to be your dom, we need to talk about it. It's - it's good, to talk about it, right? If I did something, you'd want to hear. So I always wanna hear too, okay? You can trust me.
[Tate says you can trust me with willful enthusiasm - the kind of promise a teen makes, so hopeful to promise his life away for someone just because he's feeling things so strongly for the first time in his young life. Tate, if anything, was always dedicated to someone - hopeless, cruel and sometimes a psycho but so easy to find himself thinking he's loved, so it's alright.]
We don't have to do anything right now. But we can, if you want to. Or we can wait until after we sign.
[ Right - whether he means to or not, Tate's parroting back a lot of the same words Derek's said to him over the time they've shared together. Promises to open up more, a hopeful urging on Derek's part for Tate to allow him to take care of him. It feels like telling Tate at this point that he can't put his problems on his shoulders, or-- or that he can't fill him in on everything he's dealing with-- would be wildly hypocritical. Derek made Tate promise him his honesty. Can't exactly fault him for wanting honesty in turn.
Slowly, Derek withdraws some of the citations he brought over from home - not all of them, but a few scraps of paper that he stuffed into his pocket, all of them wrinkled and poorly folded, having been read and re-read a dozen times. He slides them over to Tate, reluctantly, feeling like he's signing away whatever little independence this city still affords him now, and - they're not as harsh as they could be, really. Something about being edged, something about toys, something about sensory deprivation. ]
There's... something about being bound, in one of those. Something about-- servicing. Orally. It's...
[Tate has another mouthful of rice and holds his fork between his teeth, biting down on the plastic as he reaches for the citations. He draws them closer, looking them over lazily and without a clear read of his thoughts. He doesn't have a lot of feeling toward them at all - they'll solve this, and that's that. He isn't moved to emotion the way he would be if he knew how much was really at stake here. It'll hit him later, if push comes to shove.]
We can just get them done, like you helped me with mine. Doing it together'll be like reclaiming it as our own. That's easy - this is easy. We can do this whenever.
[ Derek's done eating. He scratches his eyebrow and pushes his food away from him, bouncing his knee as he sinks further into his chair. Tate's taking this easy enough, and honestly, Derek's more upset about having to rely on someone than he is about getting in trouble in the first place - but he needs to really lay everything out on the table if he's come this far. Explore all his worries with someone interested in hearing about them. ]
I got two citations for being in the Up without permission. One for trying to hide my submissive tattoo. Three additional punishments for not-- paying up straight away. If I don't take care of this soon, or-- or if I get a fourth strike under my belt-- they're not going to just slap me on the wrist and let me go, they're not going to just-- give me another warning. They'll...
[ He wets his lips, looking down. What would they do? Send him to the People Zoo? The SLUT Center? Realignment? ]
[Tate's appetite is small and sated already, so he leaves the rest of his food untouched - taking the plate and putting it on the floor by his heels, where Blondie comes over to woof it down with enthusiasm. He then takes a sip of water from his cup and stands up, nodding his head upward toward the overhang of the loft.]
Go upstairs and get ready, I'll let the cats out and meet you up there.
[He's already doing so, opening the patio door - Blondie trots out to lay out there, and Tate's grabbing a gate he uses to block the bottom of the stairs so she won't come bounding up to be a disturbance.]
[ Staring down the barrel of this feels as shitty as it always does, but Derek's pretty scared of putting this off any more than he already has, so. His constant desperation for stability and his need for things to just work have him feeling grateful to Tate for not dragging this out any more than he has to.
Derek gets to his feet, dodging the wave of animals that crawl out of the woodwork and rush on outside, and it's funny - he's walked up to the loft a dozen times before, he's fucked Tate a dozen times before, but something about doing it because he's been-- assigned to, rather than because Tate's been assigned to, feels a lot like how they started. Back when Derek only fucked him because he needed to help Tate meet his quota. Shit, what happened to that?
He gets to Tate's bed and toes off his boots, sitting in the center while Tate fucks around downstairs, sitting criss-cross with his feet beneath his knees. He scratches at his beard and just kind of watches Tate from up high, anxiety building in his stomach as he waits.
Derek's not the type to just apologize, but man, he wants to apologize for all this. Feeling like a burden sucks. ]
[With business on the first floor settled, Tate's headed up - taking the stairs two at a time in bare feet and shrugging off his over-shirt along the way. When he stands by the foot of his bed - still a mattress sitting on the ground - he's just in a clinging t-shirt and jeans, hair pushed back from his eyes as he looks silently at Derek for a moment. Gears are turning behind his eyes, and he's... strategizing, you could say.]
You've got to do a few things - we can even double up? Bondage and toys at the same time kind of deal. That's what you've gotta do, right? I mean there's time frames...
[He pulls the citations from his back pocket, flipping through them lazily.]
Three hours of being available for oral, too. Doesn't specify giving, so. You're kinda in luck.
[ There's something vaguely comedic about seeing Tate run his way up here - like there's a part of him that's just excited to fuck. Derek doesn't smile - doesn't emote at all, really - but he feels a little less exposed, a little more comfortable. Better than he did before, at least. ]
I'm not supposed to...
[ He was told to edge for three hours during sex. Kept either right on the brink or just-- repeatedly pulled back from it as much as possible. That's not something Derek really wants to experience, because he doesn't really have the patience for that kind of treatment - but. ]
One of them-- I'm not allowed to come. For three hours. So.
That one might be tricky but - well, I owe you some pay back.
[Derek left Tate waiting a whole lot longer than three hours, so Tate actually laughs softly at that. Easy, he thinks, showing something of a mischievous smile as he goes toward a trunk he keeps next to his desk. He started filling it up with the shit they acquire, and it's not hard to find the lube and the vibrator which he pitches back to the bed. It bounces next to Derek, and Tate raises his brows as if to say remember her?.]
We'll tackle however many we can tonight. Tomorrow, the rest. E-fucking-Z.
[Tate leans back against his desk, folding his arms over his chest. Still grinning.]
[ Again, it's better rather than worse, seeing Tate have some amount of fun with this. He bounces the bed and Derek winces like it's no different to a loud noise and a headache, but looking mildly annoyed and unwilling to do something doesn't mean much, for Derek, who would look like this even if someone offered him a ticket straight home, all expenses paid. He narrows his eyes when Tate gestures to the toy and pointedly looks away when he's told to strip, sighing short and sharp through his nose. ]
This is gonna go a lot easier if you don't give orders.
[ But - he does as he's told. The jacket comes off first, then the shirt, same as always. There's no magic in this and very little anxiety - exposing himself is the easy part, these days. He hooks his thumbs under his waistband and steadily starts to pull down, but stops halfway down his thighs, looking at Tate with growing suspicion. ]
Listen, this isn't me enjoying your citations. This is separate shit - this is me getting to do to you what I've wanted since you paraded me around a grocery story even though my knees were weak.
[It'd been a very short outing, to say the least - but it did what it did to instill Tate with its thrill of exhibitionism before his pleas finally got him off in the back of Derek's car at the time. He sees there being two distinct things colliding for him beautifully, and he steps forward while similarly stripping down just to get the fabric out of the way. In just his boxers, he'll drop down to the edge of the mattress on his knees and crawl forward onto all fours - advancing on Derek but planting his hand on the toy next to him.]
[ He'd expected a dozen different comments from Tate, but-- not that. Derek's not one for blushing, but he's taken aback and mildly affected by the reminder of what they did not too long ago. The passing touches, the curious stares by one or two dominants who recognized the way Tate squirmed when he walked - the feel of a dial being slowly turned beneath the pad of Derek's thumb. Derek's mind scrambles a little. ]
That, uh.
[ He looks at Tate for a second or two too long, then slowly, slowly does as he's told. Before too long, he's bare and half hard, clearing his throat as he lays on his back, arm draped over his stomach as if he feels far more casual than he does. He holds eye contact - wild dogs have to assert dominance one way or another. ]
[Tate knows as he crawls forward a little bit more, pushing Derek's thigh to part so he can kneel between them, that this isn't what they're supposed to be doing. But the government's not about to know, right? As long as they do this - a dom and a sub, their word's got to matter. Tate's got the vibrator in his hand, the remote left next to Derek as he uses his other hand to uncap the lube - stroking the toy in a way meant to rile Derek up, slicking it with his hand as he keeps eye contact.]
We'll take turns. You let me practice my dominant act, then you can go all alpha on me after we're done the first session. If you can make it through - you can, right? Show me how to be a good dom by being a good sub.
[Tate knows that he's trying to pick at a scab here, to worm his way into Derek's head by saying the words he knows might help him. Appealing to Derek for help in self improvement, giving him back some of his own dominance by promising to submit in turn. It's an exercise, of course. Training.]
Alpha's need to teach their pack everything they know, right?
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just means i get to fist your ass or whatever bogus shit they decide
but alright. i'll wine and dine you
but you need to bring out the collar
dominant's orders, bitch
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[ there's a pause as derek weighs up what he wants to do here - but ultimately, what are his options? he can sign a contract with tate, who'll likely just-- be kind to him, trust him, be a friend to him - or he can keep dodging guards in the Up and earn more and more reprimanding. he could sign with someone else, too, but who are his fucking options? nick, who jumped down his throat for taking care of reggie? fucking kavinsky? ]
Tree house?
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but let me set up the date for you
come by in like two hours? three?
i gotta make it romantic but also
gotta clean blondie's puke off the floor
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But fine.
[ he'll... wait, maybe gather up some citations just so tate can see what he'll have to deal with if he signs him. there's not much he can do these days other than sit in the den and wait for a chance to sneak out. feels like 2011 all over again. when the two hours are up, he heads over, a few paper slips folded over in his hands, just in his usual black leather and black jeans. he's not wearing his collar - but it's in the bag slung over his shoulder, brought with him less because tate told him to and more because he's afraid of how he'll be punished if he ever loses it. ]
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It's very 'teenager-cleans-room' but at least it doesn't smell off, a feat to achieve when there are multiple animals skittering around and a werewolf that likes to spend his time getting Dog Smell on all of Tate's furniture. He's in a clean layered shirt and ripped jeans, sucking sweet and sour sauce off his thumb when Blondie's ear goes up and he looks to the door - knowing he's about to have company.
He waits, leaning against the table with his arms crossed, as Blondie barrages toward the door with a welcoming and very dopey bark.]
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Derek freezes in the door where Blondie greets him, though, that brief flash of joy gone as he struggles to decide for the thousandth time if she's going to attack him or run away from him. She's a good dog, though, and she's used to him, despite his best efforts to assume that all animals hate him, and Derek gives her a wary pat as he heads inside and joins Tate at the table. It's kind of difficult, walking through the sea of animals Tate keeps here now, but Derek doesn't really mind. Tate's always struggled with being alone. Makes sense that he'd end up with a zoo to keep him company. ]
Hey. Good to see you eating.
[ Which, you know, he only says to lessen how much of a dick he is when he takes Tate's food from him rather than grabbing his own plate. Thanks. ]
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[He still barely eats if not reminded, but he smiles - before rolling his eyes after Derek takes the cardboard box he was opening the sides to to make a makeshift platter of sweet and sour pork. There's one shoddy little fat candle on the table that Tate turns to light, lifting his brows as if to say are you romanced yet? to Derek.]
I hid my dirty laundry for this. You better feel wined and fucking dined.
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[ Look at this boy, talking like a normal kid from the '10s. Having friends is rubbing off on him. Derek picks up his food with his fingers and starts eating, getting a couple of mouthfuls in before he's realized Tate's lit the candle - his expression doesn't really change, but Tate knows him well enough by now to see something in him that shows he's amused. Relaxed.
He takes Tate's fork for the rice, stabbin' himself up a scoopful. Already, he's back to being his morose, stoic self. ]
I've got... six citations so far. Just-- so you know.
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[Tate whistles, shaking his head - half laughing and, well, half not? He's quietly hoping Derek's lying to him - not that it'll shake him off the plan of signing him, but it will give him pause. Those citations would become tethered to him, and he may or may not understand why it was so frustrating for Derek the other way round. He gives Derek a shove on the bicep to get him to sit down, then goes to sit himself - reaching for an egg roll.]
You do the punishments yet?
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[ Derek isn't really sure what he feels, saying all of this. It feels like he's shooting himself in the foot - giving Tate a reason not to sign with him, giving him an excuse to leave. Every iteration of a contract Tate's been through has involved-- some kind of demand, on Derek's part, and having more demands made against his will feels kind of sick. Derek drops into his seat, only eating for the sake of eating. Food's still hard to come by, if only because he's anxious about asking Tate to buy him things. ]
That's why I have six. First three are for misdemeanors. Last three are late fines.
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[Tate eyes Derek from across the table - he remembers bringing to him his own citations, rather than answer to Kavinsky. His eyes drop down and even though the mark on his arm is covered at the moment, beneath a folded sleeve, he looks to it in a soft reminder. Then he just finishes his egg roll and starts picking up some rice of his own on a plate.]
What do you have to do? Maybe we can do it.
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[ Which was-- a stupid idea, obviously, he's aware of that. It's just hard, making himself vulnerable, even after a full year of knowing Tate. He's paying for it now, but... it could get even worse if he leaves it. ]
It's just-- you know. [ He shrugs, poking around in his food, all that sweet and sour suddenly feeling a little more like grey, tasteless paper. ] Sex. Restraints. You know how it is. We don't have to deal with it right now - just needed you to know what was on the table.
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[Tate says you can trust me with willful enthusiasm - the kind of promise a teen makes, so hopeful to promise his life away for someone just because he's feeling things so strongly for the first time in his young life. Tate, if anything, was always dedicated to someone - hopeless, cruel and sometimes a psycho but so easy to find himself thinking he's loved, so it's alright.]
We don't have to do anything right now. But we can, if you want to. Or we can wait until after we sign.
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Slowly, Derek withdraws some of the citations he brought over from home - not all of them, but a few scraps of paper that he stuffed into his pocket, all of them wrinkled and poorly folded, having been read and re-read a dozen times. He slides them over to Tate, reluctantly, feeling like he's signing away whatever little independence this city still affords him now, and - they're not as harsh as they could be, really. Something about being edged, something about toys, something about sensory deprivation. ]
There's... something about being bound, in one of those. Something about-- servicing. Orally. It's...
[ It's-- it is what it is. ]
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[Tate has another mouthful of rice and holds his fork between his teeth, biting down on the plastic as he reaches for the citations. He draws them closer, looking them over lazily and without a clear read of his thoughts. He doesn't have a lot of feeling toward them at all - they'll solve this, and that's that. He isn't moved to emotion the way he would be if he knew how much was really at stake here. It'll hit him later, if push comes to shove.]
We can just get them done, like you helped me with mine. Doing it together'll be like reclaiming it as our own. That's easy - this is easy. We can do this whenever.
i fucked up & i'm adapting roll with me
[ Derek's done eating. He scratches his eyebrow and pushes his food away from him, bouncing his knee as he sinks further into his chair. Tate's taking this easy enough, and honestly, Derek's more upset about having to rely on someone than he is about getting in trouble in the first place - but he needs to really lay everything out on the table if he's come this far. Explore all his worries with someone interested in hearing about them. ]
I got two citations for being in the Up without permission. One for trying to hide my submissive tattoo. Three additional punishments for not-- paying up straight away. If I don't take care of this soon, or-- or if I get a fourth strike under my belt-- they're not going to just slap me on the wrist and let me go, they're not going to just-- give me another warning. They'll...
[ He wets his lips, looking down. What would they do? Send him to the People Zoo? The SLUT Center? Realignment? ]
I don't know what they'll do.
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[Tate's appetite is small and sated already, so he leaves the rest of his food untouched - taking the plate and putting it on the floor by his heels, where Blondie comes over to woof it down with enthusiasm. He then takes a sip of water from his cup and stands up, nodding his head upward toward the overhang of the loft.]
Go upstairs and get ready, I'll let the cats out and meet you up there.
[He's already doing so, opening the patio door - Blondie trots out to lay out there, and Tate's grabbing a gate he uses to block the bottom of the stairs so she won't come bounding up to be a disturbance.]
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Derek gets to his feet, dodging the wave of animals that crawl out of the woodwork and rush on outside, and it's funny - he's walked up to the loft a dozen times before, he's fucked Tate a dozen times before, but something about doing it because he's been-- assigned to, rather than because Tate's been assigned to, feels a lot like how they started. Back when Derek only fucked him because he needed to help Tate meet his quota. Shit, what happened to that?
He gets to Tate's bed and toes off his boots, sitting in the center while Tate fucks around downstairs, sitting criss-cross with his feet beneath his knees. He scratches at his beard and just kind of watches Tate from up high, anxiety building in his stomach as he waits.
Derek's not the type to just apologize, but man, he wants to apologize for all this. Feeling like a burden sucks. ]
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You've got to do a few things - we can even double up? Bondage and toys at the same time kind of deal. That's what you've gotta do, right? I mean there's time frames...
[He pulls the citations from his back pocket, flipping through them lazily.]
Three hours of being available for oral, too. Doesn't specify giving, so. You're kinda in luck.
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I'm not supposed to...
[ He was told to edge for three hours during sex. Kept either right on the brink or just-- repeatedly pulled back from it as much as possible. That's not something Derek really wants to experience, because he doesn't really have the patience for that kind of treatment - but. ]
One of them-- I'm not allowed to come. For three hours. So.
[ Add that into the mix. ]
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[Derek left Tate waiting a whole lot longer than three hours, so Tate actually laughs softly at that. Easy, he thinks, showing something of a mischievous smile as he goes toward a trunk he keeps next to his desk. He started filling it up with the shit they acquire, and it's not hard to find the lube and the vibrator which he pitches back to the bed. It bounces next to Derek, and Tate raises his brows as if to say remember her?.]
We'll tackle however many we can tonight. Tomorrow, the rest. E-fucking-Z.
[Tate leans back against his desk, folding his arms over his chest. Still grinning.]
Strip for me.
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This is gonna go a lot easier if you don't give orders.
[ But - he does as he's told. The jacket comes off first, then the shirt, same as always. There's no magic in this and very little anxiety - exposing himself is the easy part, these days. He hooks his thumbs under his waistband and steadily starts to pull down, but stops halfway down his thighs, looking at Tate with growing suspicion. ]
You're not supposed to enjoy this so much.
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[It'd been a very short outing, to say the least - but it did what it did to instill Tate with its thrill of exhibitionism before his pleas finally got him off in the back of Derek's car at the time. He sees there being two distinct things colliding for him beautifully, and he steps forward while similarly stripping down just to get the fabric out of the way. In just his boxers, he'll drop down to the edge of the mattress on his knees and crawl forward onto all fours - advancing on Derek but planting his hand on the toy next to him.]
Finish stripping. Please.
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That, uh.
[ He looks at Tate for a second or two too long, then slowly, slowly does as he's told. Before too long, he's bare and half hard, clearing his throat as he lays on his back, arm draped over his stomach as if he feels far more casual than he does. He holds eye contact - wild dogs have to assert dominance one way or another. ]
I was in charge. It's fine when I'm in charge.
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[Tate knows as he crawls forward a little bit more, pushing Derek's thigh to part so he can kneel between them, that this isn't what they're supposed to be doing. But the government's not about to know, right? As long as they do this - a dom and a sub, their word's got to matter. Tate's got the vibrator in his hand, the remote left next to Derek as he uses his other hand to uncap the lube - stroking the toy in a way meant to rile Derek up, slicking it with his hand as he keeps eye contact.]
We'll take turns. You let me practice my dominant act, then you can go all alpha on me after we're done the first session. If you can make it through - you can, right? Show me how to be a good dom by being a good sub.
[Tate knows that he's trying to pick at a scab here, to worm his way into Derek's head by saying the words he knows might help him. Appealing to Derek for help in self improvement, giving him back some of his own dominance by promising to submit in turn. It's an exercise, of course. Training.]
Alpha's need to teach their pack everything they know, right?
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