[ 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.
[Tate unroots from the spot, stepping toward the shower - it's running brilliantly hot, and even the spray is scalding. But he doesn't flinch away, he moves to step right under it and light up his pale skin with a hot red flush. He turns to face Derek, hair plastered to his head and nods gently - he'll stay. He wants to stay.]
[ Derek watches Tate go, letting the nod hang in the air between them for a moment or two before he slowly steps after him. The shower was always too big for two people, and it's hard, remembering why he found a place with a bathroom this spacious. He and Stiles used to get ready together - it's only now that he's sharing his shower with someone else that he has to confront all that loneliness he's been trying to put out of his mind. ]
Stay, then.
[ Derek steps under the water, one hand moving to Tate's neck, brushing over his favorite spots he's marked before now that have since faded from pink back to pale skin. He drifts his hand down Tate's shoulder to his arm and settles on his tattoo, thumb against the curls of it. ]
You saved this place. Would've lost it without you. It's - fine, that you live in the treehouse, but... maybe you should live here, too. More permanently.
[Derek joins him and Tate can't really explain the feeling in his chest. A little thread of victory that's winding around itself, lodging something good inside him. Derek's hinting at something that Tate wants and despite a sullen expression, Tate's feeling better - he's happy, happier yet. It's been a long time coming that he's wanted to erase what was left of Stiles from this place and maybe he can finally conquer that if he can wedge himself more firmly into Derek's life.]
If you think so. I would - I'd like that. Doesn't have to be all the time but... to know I can.
[ Likewise, if Tate moves in, Derek will be able to keep a tighter chain around his neck - he'll know when he disappears for the night, he'll know when he sneaks out. One of the reasons Derek hasn't offered this until now has been his self-awareness in how he acts, but... Tate's own jealousy is enough to distract him from that. ]
I'll clear out a spare room. I'll help you set it up. Make it yours.
[ There aren't really any spare rooms to speak of - there's Stiles' old evidence room, which Derek finally emptied out a few months ago but still hasn't had the guts to really touch, and then there's his gym and the guest room. He'll probably have to clear out the guest room, which means he'll be moving back into the master, but... it's been a year. That had to happen eventually. ]
[Tate hasn't thought far enough ahead to see the pitfalls of his own plan, so he lets himself ride the joy - head tipping back to let the water run down his neck, a smile blossoming on his lips. It's a step closer to getting into the main with Derek - he's going to do that or die (again) trying. But the one thing he has actually wisened to here is that he can't push too hard too fast. He has to accept this and move slowly... so he does, slipping his hands up Derek's side and pulling him down by the back of the neck for a kiss.
A room to himself - a far cry from being locked out of this building by not being in the ledge before. Just to spite the memory of Stiles like a bitter aftertaste still in his mouth, he also vows to fuck Derek on as many surfaces in this place as can hold them. One hand still on his neck, the other diverts back down between them to pump Derek with more urgency.]
[ Whatever Derek might be feeling, he's hitting the point now where he knows he's talked enough. He does his best to look at Tate with the same soft, neutral expression he's learn to wear when he talks to him, but that hand around his cock is only making him harder and less able to focus. His pulse rises as the hot water spikes against his back, and when his eyes fall half-lidded with lust he starts to look at Tate less like someone he wants to make feel better and more like a meal to be eaten.
The kiss doesn't take him by surprise, but there's a part of him startled by the zeal he returns it with. When he kisses Tate back, he intends to just be soft, at first, the kind of gentle, reassuring kiss that doesn't take control of too much power in their dynamic, but the feel of Tate's lips against his own has him surging forward and taking more. He deepens this, dropping his hands to Tate's hips, holding him steady, nails biting marks into his skin, and when he pulls back, he's - impatient. He needs to fuck. ]
[Derek returns the kiss and Tate knows that things are - set, for now. Like he's baited him in and the snare's around his neck, he has time yet to manipulate him the rest of the way before he pulls the rope taut. He kisses fervently, inviting Derek toward him only to find himself ordered to turn around - which is interesting. Derek usually prefers the face to face, that connection. But maybe what they both need right now is a little detachment.
Tate does as instructed, swallowing hard at the feeling of putting his back to Derek - and he puts one hand against the wet tiles in front of him. The room's rather humid now and he slicks back his hair with the other hand before letting it join the first, set out in front of him. He braces, but then looks back over his shoulder. His heart's picked up with anticipation.]
[ Tate looks good like this - braced against the wall, ass out like a slut. There's a lot that Derek should be thinking about right now, things worth confronting and things he shouldn't ignore, but he's throwing himself further and further into what they're doing, stoking his arousal with thoughts about fucking Tate until he screams and making him come without letting him touch himself. When Tate turns to look at him from over his shoulder, it's on a whim that Derek leans forward and kisses him again, arm around his chest to exert his strength and hold him still. Every part of him is forceful, now, from the tension in his muscles and the scratch of his beard to the demanding, almost selfish nature of how he kisses him.
Derek leans back and drops to his knees, water running down his hair and in a river down his spine. He sets his hands against Tate's ass and pries him apart, running the tip of his tongue in one quick, long stroke from the base of his balls to the rim of his hole. He gives Tate a second, maybe two, to get accustomed to the feeling before he's fucking him with his tongue, long, rapid swirls paired with hard squeezes of his hands, and when he closes his eyes he just - loses himself to this. ]
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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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I just want to be here with you.
[So you can't be elsewhere with anyone else.]
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Stay, then.
[ Derek steps under the water, one hand moving to Tate's neck, brushing over his favorite spots he's marked before now that have since faded from pink back to pale skin. He drifts his hand down Tate's shoulder to his arm and settles on his tattoo, thumb against the curls of it. ]
You saved this place. Would've lost it without you. It's - fine, that you live in the treehouse, but... maybe you should live here, too. More permanently.
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[Derek joins him and Tate can't really explain the feeling in his chest. A little thread of victory that's winding around itself, lodging something good inside him. Derek's hinting at something that Tate wants and despite a sullen expression, Tate's feeling better - he's happy, happier yet. It's been a long time coming that he's wanted to erase what was left of Stiles from this place and maybe he can finally conquer that if he can wedge himself more firmly into Derek's life.]
If you think so. I would - I'd like that. Doesn't have to be all the time but... to know I can.
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I'll clear out a spare room. I'll help you set it up. Make it yours.
[ There aren't really any spare rooms to speak of - there's Stiles' old evidence room, which Derek finally emptied out a few months ago but still hasn't had the guts to really touch, and then there's his gym and the guest room. He'll probably have to clear out the guest room, which means he'll be moving back into the master, but... it's been a year. That had to happen eventually. ]
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A room to himself - a far cry from being locked out of this building by not being in the ledge before. Just to spite the memory of Stiles like a bitter aftertaste still in his mouth, he also vows to fuck Derek on as many surfaces in this place as can hold them. One hand still on his neck, the other diverts back down between them to pump Derek with more urgency.]
Thank you.
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The kiss doesn't take him by surprise, but there's a part of him startled by the zeal he returns it with. When he kisses Tate back, he intends to just be soft, at first, the kind of gentle, reassuring kiss that doesn't take control of too much power in their dynamic, but the feel of Tate's lips against his own has him surging forward and taking more. He deepens this, dropping his hands to Tate's hips, holding him steady, nails biting marks into his skin, and when he pulls back, he's - impatient. He needs to fuck. ]
Turn around. Face the wall.
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Tate does as instructed, swallowing hard at the feeling of putting his back to Derek - and he puts one hand against the wet tiles in front of him. The room's rather humid now and he slicks back his hair with the other hand before letting it join the first, set out in front of him. He braces, but then looks back over his shoulder. His heart's picked up with anticipation.]
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Derek leans back and drops to his knees, water running down his hair and in a river down his spine. He sets his hands against Tate's ass and pries him apart, running the tip of his tongue in one quick, long stroke from the base of his balls to the rim of his hole. He gives Tate a second, maybe two, to get accustomed to the feeling before he's fucking him with his tongue, long, rapid swirls paired with hard squeezes of his hands, and when he closes his eyes he just - loses himself to this. ]
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