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[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.]

More than anyone else.

[ 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. ]

You can't possibly think you don't.

[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.]

I want to hear you say it.

[ 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. ]

You matter to me the most.

[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.]

I don't like feeling jealous.

[ 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. ]

You make me feel jealous all the time, though.

[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.

[ Try as he might, this past year and a half. ]

[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.]

You deal better than I do.

[Almost annoyed, but not quite.]

I feel... shitty. I don't want to feel shitty.

[ 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. ]

I just... know how to sound like I do.

[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.]

I just want to be here with you.

[So you can't be elsewhere with anyone else.]

[ 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.

Yeah?

[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.]

Thank you.

[ 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. ]

Turn around. Face the wall.

[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. ]

[Something about showers and sex should be more clumsy, but it works for them right now. Derek's weight leans against him from behind and they kiss, with Tate straining his neck to offer his open mouth between sucked in breaths and the gentle slide of one of his hands against the tile. He braces again as Derek moves, expecting them to get right to it - but when Derek sinks to his knees, Tate glances back over his shoulder again quickly as if surprised.

That first swipe of his tongue up against his hole makes Tate's lips part in a silent 'o', head turning to face forward again as he breathes in deep and sudden. He ends up pressing his forehead to the tiles which aren't even a cool relief, letting the water run in rivulets down his back as he shudders with the way Derek's eating him out. Pushing back against it with a backwards nudge of his hips, he groans lightly.]

Sh-Shit, Derek. That's - that's...

[It's good. Real good.]

[ To anyone who hasn't spent as much time with Derek as Tate has, it would be easy to take his silence as a lack of response. Tate moans for him and Derek says nothing, doesn't even hum under his breath, but there's a change in how he eats him out, slowing down to help Tate dwell in how good this feels. Each long swipe of his tongue is rhythmic and persistent, covering every sensitive nerve in flat laps and short, quick stabs, and when he drops his hand between Tate's legs, he strokes his cock with the same empathetic attention. He wants Tate to feel fucking amazing.

But he's still a little selfish, still too eager for his own good, and when Tate is ready and Derek's finished with trying to make him writhe, he stands and aligns himself behind him. The steam from the shower is fogging up the glass, and Derek smears his hand across the door to clear it, letting him see their reflection in the bathroom mirror - they look good like this. Tate, submissive and willing - Derek, dominant and in control. It's been months, and he still can't stand the collar so often around his neck.

Derek turns his attention back to Tate, dragging the head of his cock down his ass, teasing his hole without committing. He wets his lips and reaches out with his spare hand, running his fingers through Tate's hair, somewhere between affectionate and possessive. ]

Beg me.

[Tate's fingers curl against the tiles of the bathroom, grip slipping along them the more Derek spoils him with lavish attention from his tongue. A year ago Tate wouldn't have really pegged himself for liking this kind of thing - but here he is, hard and red faced from just a few swipes of a tongue up his ass. His head lolls back when Derek jerks him off, and he feels like his knees might go weak. More so when Derek's standing again behind him, like a shadow overhead, making goosebumps lift across Tate's skin.

'Beg me', he says. Tate laughs - heady and grinning, and leans back against the body behind him. He can feel the head of Derek's cock between his cheeks and he knows it's only a matter of seconds before he's going to have it in him - so he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.]

Please.

[The first word just - slips out, but then he pushes his weight back against Derek to emphasize it.]

You got me ready. I want it.

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