[ just a big, long sigh. he doesn't hide how loud it is. ]
I told you to say please and you wouldn't. You wanted to come over and shower with me. I don't know how it got in your head that you have the upper hand, here. I'm the one who should be making demands like that.
[A pause, a little shuffling and then Tate opens the bathroom door - just enough of a sliver to peer out and to show that he's naked. Completely. The angle of the door shows a v of his body, shoulder down to bare thigh but nothing more - just lots of pale skin, passive brown eyes and wild halo of curls. He stares at Derek for a long moment, almost like he's about to say something before he'll just close the door again.]
[ It's not like being weird and antagonistic-without-being-antagonistic is new for Tate, exactly, but this is still sticking to Derek's ribs in a way he can't quite explain. It feels like Tate's flirting with him playfully just as much as it feels like he's genuinely upset about something and expressing himself through acting difficult, and Derek doesn't really know what tone to take with him. He opens the door just enough for Derek to see him, and Derek watches, alert, holding eye contact. He drifts closer, stopping right in front of the bathroom, just as Tate shuts the door.
Mostly shuts the door, at least. Derek reaches his hand out and keeps it ajar, looking at Tate through the sliver of a gap he keeps open, barely the width of his fingers. He stares at Tate in silence, the sliver of him he can see, and he thinks about caving. He chooses not to. ]
[Tate isn’t surprised that Derek catches the door with his hand to keep it from closing. He keeps his hands on the other side of the door, but doesn’t apply a lot of force almost as if he wants Derek to barge in. Or he’s just holding on enough to keep this back and forth going for a little while longer. He peers to the side, looking through he significantly smaller gap.]
[ There's no venom in his voice. He's still just - very cautious, like he's unsure what tack to take. Derek withdraws his fingers from the gap so that Tate can close the door completely, if he likes, but he's hoping he won't. ]
You're acting like a Dom. Telling me what to do, ignoring what I say.
[Tate asks, not yet closing the door. He lets the gap sit, his hands withdrawing to his sides so that the door stays ajar on its own. He could be testing Derek here or he could just be experimenting with what he’s supposed to be doing. Being a dom.]
[ Well, if he's being tested, he's probably failed. The act of asking if he's mad is kind of what makes Derek mad, and even though he doesn't say as much, he still frowns, clearly annoyed by the question. Tate asks what he wants and though there's still no bite in Derek's words, he's impatient. Frustrated, maybe. ]
Honesty. That's the only thing I've ever wanted from you.
[ Derek steps forward, pressing his fingertips against the door. He doesn't open it completely, but he does add the slightest amount of pressure to make it creak inward and widen the gap. ]
Tell me how you're feeling. I can't tell if you're trying to get fucked or trying to pick a fight.
[And that’s an honest answer, with Tate hesitating after speaking. There have been a few things recently that have made him feel a lot of unidentifiable emotion that he’s ill equipped to deal with that. Especially when he’s dealing with his jealousy over Derek. He swallows hard and puts his fingers on the door knob, twitching it inward a bit.]
[ Ah, man, that's no good. Derek looks at Tate for a few seconds longer before pushing the door inward against Tate's hand. He's asking for permission to come in, now, even if he's not using the words. ]
Did something happen...?
[ Because - well, this is how Tate feels when something's gone wrong, right? He loses control of himself, gets out of his own head, stumbles blindly through whatever it is he's feeling. This is - minor, honestly, given that Tate isn't getting high or screaming in anyone's face or tearing at his hair, but Derek's become too paranoid of what happens around Tate when you don't walk on eggshells. The last thing he wants to do is trigger a moodswing. ]
[Tate lets the door come in, hand falling to his side before he crosses it over his chest - touching to his other arm by the elbow, shrinking in a bit. He steps back into the bathroom, where the steam is dampening his hair and making it stick to his brow as he looks up at Derek. He wets his lips, and sighs.]
I just want us to - do something. If you don't want to fuck, then I don't care if we fight. I just... I just need something.
[He needs to ignite and explode, because that's all he knows how to do to get rid of the feelings in his chest. He's never learned another way and in death, may never be able to. He's kindled fire and he doesn't know how to calm what's simmering.]
[ Derek wants to push, but pushing Tate has never been a good idea. He heads into the bathroom and takes him in properly, now, smooth skin and as lean as ever, unchanged since the day they met. It hasn't hit him before, really, just how static Tate is. He wonders if he looks different now than he did back before Fort Harmony. ]
I don't want to fight you.
[ He's not getting undressed - but he's shutting the door behind him, locking it as if there's any chance of someone invading the moment Tate's been trying to carve out for them. He steps towards Tate and brushes his hands against his sides, looking down and grazing his fingernails down his hips. ]
[Derek enters and part of Tate relaxes, better figuring the way this is going to. He doesn't shrink away, he lets his arms hang at his sides as Derek approaches and just looks up at Derek with watchful brown eyes that for once don't ebb into black in the illuminating light of the bathroom. There's so much in him right now that isn't settled, but he wants it to be.]
Tell me - tell me I matter.
[That sounds pathetic, but he doesn't know how to jump the subject.]
[ Derek's not rushing to turn this into something heated. He's always expressed himself best when he's expressed himself physically, and he's stroking Tate's side and touching him gently in an attempt to signal what he's thinking. He's worried about Tate - but he's trying to make him feel safe, too. ]
Of course you matter. You wouldn't be here with me if you didn't.
[ Not exactly what Tate asked for, but Derek is sincere, stepping that last step closer. He's still flushed from his workout, and the steam from the shower is only burning him up more. He sounds surprisingly cool headed, even though he's anything but. ]
[Derek doesn't indulge him and Tate notices, lip twitching and his eyes dropping down as if he's about to check out of this moment of connection because the thrum of black veined fury in him is winning out. That dark jealousy that's bred itself into his bones, that just wants to be told - lie or not - that he matters the most, that he's irreplaceable and the only one Derek could ever need or want. The only one anyone he's ever been with could need or want. They never give that to him. He's never been given that by anyone.]
[ A year ago, maybe even a little less, Derek would have outright refused to say anything so definitively ranking to Tate. Unfortunately - things have changed for the worse since then. He's learned that sometimes it's easier to just give Tate what he wants, in favour of letting him stew in hurt that Derek doesn't completely understand, and he's far less resilient against his tantrums and his anger than he used to be. Caving now feels - easy. Honest, almost. ]
You matter. More than anyone else.
[ It's not a lie, really, not after everything they've been through. It would have been, if Stiles were still here, but as Derek swallows and steps a little closer, he's trying not to think about that. He circles his arms around Tate's waist and stands flush against his body, holding eye contact and trying to ease away any brewing storm clouds with as much genuine affection he can. ]
[It's rather sad how profound an effect that has on Tate, who should know better than to accept it so easily. But it's calming, it's precisely the right thing to still the current that threatened to rage inside him. His shoulders slope a degree, his heart steadies rather than quickens - be blinks slower, longer, and his breathing is a steady slow exhale. He's successfully deescalated with what could just be pandering, but it's what he wanted. What he needed.
His lip quivers just once before he sets his jaw firm, finally lifting his hands to rest them on Derek's sides. He breathes in deep once more before setting his head forward, forehead to the center of Derek's chest.]
[ Derek's never been the type to pander, exactly, so maybe this is less the performance of mental gymnastics he thinks it has to be. There's truth in this, to whatever degree, and when Tate relaxes, Derek relaxes, too. He's still touching - dragging his hands further down the small of Tate's back, letting the intimacy of the moment last. ]
Neither do I.
[ He steps back, soon enough, just to curl his fingers beneath his tank and slowly drag it over his head. ]
[Tate kind of likes hearing that, though he lacks the ability to translate it in his head - that the insufferable feeling he detests is shared by Derek, who is so much calmer in handling it. Where as Tate, when not attached to it, merely finds it kind of comforting to know someone has that fixation on him in turn. He looks up at Derek and he lacks the empathy to soothe him the way some would, and goes with what he knows:]
How do you deal with it? Don't say counting threes.
[ How does he deal with it? He breaks the punching bag in his home gym and then feels like shit until he has a reason not to. He tried to teach Tate about harnessing destruction and aggression a long time ago, and Tate told him he doesn't want to be that person, so - there's nothing he can do but shrug. ]
I don't, really. There's nothing I can do.
[ He's tried force, he's tried talking it out, he's tried gentle coercion - and the city still found a way to bring Tate and Kavinsky together, assuming they weren't getting together behind his back this entire time anyway. Derek doesn't know where Tate goes half the time, and asking or following him or confronting him would just lead to a fight, so - he doesn't do that anymore. Derek looks at Tate, long and hard, before easing his thumb beneath the waistband of his sweatpants and sliding them down, too. ]
I'd rather be jealous than lose you, that's all. Besides - it's not like we're dating. I don't exactly have the right to stop you from doing what you want.
[Tate knows that he can't devote himself wholeheartedly to Derek here, not easily. This place puts his vices in front of him and Tate's weak enough to always break, and too many times now he's been caught doing so. So he has to be careful with what he says and promises, to keep Derek on the line for him. He stares up at him, aware and yet not aware of just how smoothly he's also disrobed - it was like second nature, and Tate blinks back to awareness of it. He doesn't glance down, but his hand lifts to cup Derek's cock between them and strokes it gently. His way of ensuring he's got this - well, in hand.]
[ Laughable. Derek's possessiveness over Tate, the anger he's felt because of him, the twisted way they've warped their relationship from an attempt to protect a damaged kid from harm to whatever the fuck it is now - none of it has been healthy, even when it felt good, and none of the dealing that Derek's had to do has gone over easy. Even now, his stomach's tearing itself up and his chest feels tight. He barely reacts when Tate reaches his hand out. ]
I really don't.
[ He steps forward, though, into Tate's hand, still soft in his grip but already getting harder. Derek reaches up and smooths some of Tate's hair back, remembering the haircut he gave him out on the deck - he's overdue for another. ]
[Tate keeps his hand moving, slow strokes a steady constant - wrist moving to accommodate a gentle twist to the way he pumps, thumbing over the head of his cock with quiet precision when near the tip. His hair sticks back, darkened blond curls slick to his skull as the water keeps rushing down in the shower only a few feet away. Soon the tank'll be empty, but Tate doesn't care.]
I need to do that better.
[Pretend to be okay, when he isn't. He's not great at hiding it.]
I liked it when it was- when it was just us.
[Before, in general. The time at the orgy. That feeling.]
[ Derek looks serenely stoic, for the most part, but the growing arousal running straight to his cock is making it difficult to maintain that. He gets harder in Tate's hand, resting his weight on the balls of his feet as he rocks forward to leave a kiss on Tate's forehead. ]
I like when you talk to me. Even when you don't know what to say.
[ He talks about when it was just us, and Derek hesitates, here, not sure how best to respond - but he drops his hand to Tate's wrist and tugs him gently towards the shower. They need to connect. Talking sincerely, for now, can be secondary to that. Making Tate feel better is always his priority. ]
Stay here, then. Forget about the treehouse, even if only for a little while.
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I don't know. Do I?
Not exactly interested in sharing a shower with you if you're just going to keep your eyes on your phone the whole time.
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say the magic word and i'll unlock the door
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I told you to say please and you wouldn't.
You wanted to come over and shower with me.
I don't know how it got in your head that you have the upper hand, here. I'm the one who should be making demands like that.
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say it
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Mostly shuts the door, at least. Derek reaches his hand out and keeps it ajar, looking at Tate through the sliver of a gap he keeps open, barely the width of his fingers. He stares at Tate in silence, the sliver of him he can see, and he thinks about caving. He chooses not to. ]
... Why? You could just invite me in.
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You’re not being much fun.
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[ There's no venom in his voice. He's still just - very cautious, like he's unsure what tack to take. Derek withdraws his fingers from the gap so that Tate can close the door completely, if he likes, but he's hoping he won't. ]
You're acting like a Dom. Telling me what to do, ignoring what I say.
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[Tate asks, not yet closing the door. He lets the gap sit, his hands withdrawing to his sides so that the door stays ajar on its own. He could be testing Derek here or he could just be experimenting with what he’s supposed to be doing. Being a dom.]
What would you rather?
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Honesty. That's the only thing I've ever wanted from you.
[ Derek steps forward, pressing his fingertips against the door. He doesn't open it completely, but he does add the slightest amount of pressure to make it creak inward and widen the gap. ]
Tell me how you're feeling. I can't tell if you're trying to get fucked or trying to pick a fight.
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[And that’s an honest answer, with Tate hesitating after speaking. There have been a few things recently that have made him feel a lot of unidentifiable emotion that he’s ill equipped to deal with that. Especially when he’s dealing with his jealousy over Derek. He swallows hard and puts his fingers on the door knob, twitching it inward a bit.]
I just... I want something and I don’t know what.
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Did something happen...?
[ Because - well, this is how Tate feels when something's gone wrong, right? He loses control of himself, gets out of his own head, stumbles blindly through whatever it is he's feeling. This is - minor, honestly, given that Tate isn't getting high or screaming in anyone's face or tearing at his hair, but Derek's become too paranoid of what happens around Tate when you don't walk on eggshells. The last thing he wants to do is trigger a moodswing. ]
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I just want us to - do something. If you don't want to fuck, then I don't care if we fight. I just... I just need something.
[He needs to ignite and explode, because that's all he knows how to do to get rid of the feelings in his chest. He's never learned another way and in death, may never be able to. He's kindled fire and he doesn't know how to calm what's simmering.]
So just do something, okay?
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I don't want to fight you.
[ He's not getting undressed - but he's shutting the door behind him, locking it as if there's any chance of someone invading the moment Tate's been trying to carve out for them. He steps towards Tate and brushes his hands against his sides, looking down and grazing his fingernails down his hips. ]
I love you. I never want to fight you.
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Tell me - tell me I matter.
[That sounds pathetic, but he doesn't know how to jump the subject.]
More than anyone else.
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Of course you matter. You wouldn't be here with me if you didn't.
[ Not exactly what Tate asked for, but Derek is sincere, stepping that last step closer. He's still flushed from his workout, and the steam from the shower is only burning him up more. He sounds surprisingly cool headed, even though he's anything but. ]
You can't possibly think you don't.
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I want to hear you say it.
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You matter. More than anyone else.
[ It's not a lie, really, not after everything they've been through. It would have been, if Stiles were still here, but as Derek swallows and steps a little closer, he's trying not to think about that. He circles his arms around Tate's waist and stands flush against his body, holding eye contact and trying to ease away any brewing storm clouds with as much genuine affection he can. ]
You matter to me the most.
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His lip quivers just once before he sets his jaw firm, finally lifting his hands to rest them on Derek's sides. He breathes in deep once more before setting his head forward, forehead to the center of Derek's chest.]
I don't like feeling jealous.
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Neither do I.
[ He steps back, soon enough, just to curl his fingers beneath his tank and slowly drag it over his head. ]
You make me feel jealous all the time, though.
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How do you deal with it? Don't say counting threes.
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I don't, really. There's nothing I can do.
[ He's tried force, he's tried talking it out, he's tried gentle coercion - and the city still found a way to bring Tate and Kavinsky together, assuming they weren't getting together behind his back this entire time anyway. Derek doesn't know where Tate goes half the time, and asking or following him or confronting him would just lead to a fight, so - he doesn't do that anymore. Derek looks at Tate, long and hard, before easing his thumb beneath the waistband of his sweatpants and sliding them down, too. ]
I'd rather be jealous than lose you, that's all. Besides - it's not like we're dating. I don't exactly have the right to stop you from doing what you want.
[ Try as he might, this past year and a half. ]
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You deal better than I do.
[Almost annoyed, but not quite.]
I feel... shitty. I don't want to feel shitty.
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I really don't.
[ He steps forward, though, into Tate's hand, still soft in his grip but already getting harder. Derek reaches up and smooths some of Tate's hair back, remembering the haircut he gave him out on the deck - he's overdue for another. ]
I just... know how to sound like I do.
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I need to do that better.
[Pretend to be okay, when he isn't. He's not great at hiding it.]
I liked it when it was- when it was just us.
[Before, in general. The time at the orgy. That feeling.]
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I like when you talk to me. Even when you don't know what to say.
[ He talks about when it was just us, and Derek hesitates, here, not sure how best to respond - but he drops his hand to Tate's wrist and tugs him gently towards the shower. They need to connect. Talking sincerely, for now, can be secondary to that. Making Tate feel better is always his priority. ]
Stay here, then. Forget about the treehouse, even if only for a little while.
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