[ Derek's mildly frustrated, just because he feels like they're circling some of the things they've circled before - Tate's unwillingness to take care of himself, Tate's cavalier attitude towards his own life and safety. This wasn't really where he wanted the conversation to go, but now that they're done with the distance at all, he makes his way up to the loft, talking as he climbs. ]
I don't like hurting you. That's all.
[ The breathplay Tate's so fuckin' into is difficult enough, sometimes. The scratches and the bites that sometimes draw blood feel good in the moment, but Derek always feels horrible when they're coming down after. He makes it to the bed and stands with his arms crossed, looking down at Tate. He's worried saying the wrong thing will make Tate leave or blow up, but. What's new. ]
You're precious to me. Doesn't matter if you'll heal. I want to take care of you. Can't do that if I'm exhibiting enough force to have killed you, if you were alive.
[Tate's heard this before, he's known that Derek despite the roughness - always has that elusive feeling of remorse after hurting him. While Tate can't quite empathize with how that feels - he knows why Derek feels that way. It's wrong to hurt the people you love, even if it's with that love you've hurt them. But he can't quite ever understand what it is to feel that way himself, other than bowing his head when he's done wrong and getting frustrated with his inability to do good innately.
He hasn't turned completely, but one leg is folded under him after he pivots on the loft's edge. Looking at Derek, his eyes search him over and he wonders if they're going to be stuck in the usual rut of this conversation. Where Derek is too good, too pure, to let out his inner beast and Tate will again remain the one who can't prove himself to be useful albeit slightly masochistic.]
But when we do things together... I like the way it hurts, because it's safer with you. I know you'll stop if I tell you to. And I like being able to offer you something nobody else can - you really could fuck me with all your might, you know. I'd be fine.
[The last few words are muttered softly, before he flops back on the bed. Legs give a bit of a kick before he worms his way back onto the mattress fully, stretched out with his arms folded behind his head. Inviting, he hopes. Tempting, if nothing else.]
[ If Tate wasn't tempting, Derek wouldn't have done half the things he's already done with him. Wouldn't have fucked him when they were constructing the treehouse. Wouldn't have been so easily wrapped around his little finger all those months back, going from holding an arm over Stiles' chest to keep Tate away from him to standing at the foot of his bed in the treehouse worrying about hurting him. Tate stretches out and Derek goes quiet, for a second, but ultimately presses his lips together in a line and sternly shakes his head. ]
Self-control isn't an easy thing for me to get back once I give it up.
[ That's part of why he holds onto it so tightly - he's seen what it does to people who let go. Derek is resilient, someone who wants to be better, and giving into his base instincts without the right imperative just isn't who he is. ]
[Tate's been thinking about this a lot, actually. For a long time he's been considering how he feels about the whole thing - putting it off, inadvertently or otherwise. He didn't want to commit and he's still not wholly sure he wants to, in a selfish way. It means giving up a lot of things, surrendering so much more than he really is willing to surrender. But every time he says 'wait' or 'in a little while from now', he risks Derek feeling rebuffed just enough to never trust him again. Risks Derek growing tired of him, tired of waiting, and leaving. Worse yet, he risks losing him to Reggie entirely.
So while he may not truly want this on all levels, he does seek the sense of connection it would theoretically bring. But he has to wonder about the authenticity of that - Reggie's a beta for Derek already, but they don't have the undeniably, all-encompassing bond that Tate wants with Derek. Will being a beta really do that for him? Or is he just still hoping for far too much?
He wets his lips, lifting up a hand to take a hair away from his mouth - using the moment to stay silent before his dark eyes flick to Derek. He wants to own him, to be - fucking undeniably the only thing in his world. Part of him already knows that's not possible yet...]
[ Another temptation, another split decision to make. He's thought of biting Tate since the day they fucking met, at one degree or another - it's funny, how much simple things were when he first arrived. A Dominant, unsigned, playing with the idea of biting multiple submissives and forming a pack out of his contracts. How much easier his life might have been had he stayed unconnected. Animalistic. Tate would have been his first bite. His best.
In the end, despite the look of want that briefly flashes over him, Derek just rolls his eyes, dropping down to rest his knees on the bed. This isn't what Tate wants, not really, Derek's not stupid. Not after so many rejections. ]
You're thinking with your dick.
[ Derek reaches out, sets his hand on Tate's thigh, then moves even closer. Maybe he's using a tactic Tate's used on him before - distracting him with sex, the kind of thing that used to make his skin crawl - but so be it. His fingers move up Tate's leg until his hand is at his boxers, and Derek holds eye contact as he starts to stroke Tate through the fabric, coaxing him into getting hard. ]
C'mon. I don't have to go all out to make you come. I've never had trouble getting you off before, have I?
[If Tate could just relax into this relief, he would. But he needs to find a way to keep their complicated mess of delays going, so he arches his back a bit at first touch. Derek's hand is stroking him and he briefly clasps his own over it, stretching out his leg on the bed and staring up at Derek almost fully distracted by the physicality of what he's doing before returning to himself with a soft little moan.]
You deserve a lot more than you've been getting.
[Whether that's the ability to fuck until sated or in having the betas he wants, Tate does want to please Derek. Desperately so. He wants his neverending approval, and doesn't like it when it feels like he's disappointed him. His hand gingerly raises to touch at Derek's neck, pressure applied by the fingertips to try and coax him closer.]
Would you still bite me where you said you would? Or would you pick somewhere else?
[ Tate's pushing, so - Derek has no choice but to push back. He could argue, say what it is he thinks he deserves, or even buy into the talk of being bitten until the dirty talk and the promise of what he could have gets him so hard that he caves and does something stupid - or he could distract Tate a little harder. ]
Shh.
[ When Derek presses his lips to Tate's, it's to progress what they're doing as much as it is to shut him up. He goes hard pretty much immediately, brushing his bottom lip with his tongue in a plea for access as he brings his hand up the leg of Tate's boxers to stroke his dick with renewed urgency. He kisses him for as long as Tate will allow, flicks and swirls of his tongue paired with the strong, slow jerk of his fist, and when he pulls back, he doesn't go far. ]
[Tate kisses him back because it's what feels right - even if he's still conflicted about whether or not he's doing the right or wrong thing in this instance. His lips part and his tongue swipes over Derek's, and he breathes in deep through his nose - murmuring a pleased noise against his mouth when he starts really jerking him off. He's hard fairly quick, especially now that Derek's hand is under the layer of cotton that's now tented and darkened with a pool of pre cum.
He could push it, keep talking - but that could sour the mood. He'll have to keep up with it, though, so Derek remembers that he's tried. It sits like weights in the forefront of his mind, only shifting around as he obeys a command and slowly rolls over to lay with his belly to the bedding. He uses his thumb to push down his boxers, letting them slide down his hips and then digs his forearms down underneath him to brace. The triskele on his arm is particularly dark black against his pale skin in the moment, his eyes focusing down on it.]
Even if we - don't yet... will you call me your beta?
[ Tate's always, always been like this. Pushy, manipulative, trying to convince him to do things either on a whim or because he wants more from Derek than Derek's been willing to give him. This is already straining him, and Derek's hand hesitates, his expression shifting to something more unreadable. He can't tell, sometimes, if Tate doesn't realize that the shit he says hurts him or if he just doesn't really care. ]
C'mon, Tate.
[ Derek lets Tate move, grabbing his boxers with one hand and dragging them off Tate's body once they're at his thighs. He leans over him, kissing his neck, grazing his shoulder with his teeth or brushing his nose against the shell of his ear, little things to try and keep Tate horny and distracted. There was a time when Tate would do fucking anything, to have Derek sleep with him. That's not enough anymore. ]
Just enjoy this. You don't - have to be anything else for me to want you.
[Derek's slinking over him and he feels the weight of his body, heavy and solid behind him. He likes that feeling of goosebumps spreading over his skin and the flickering feeling in his chest of his heart going haywire. Maybe he did miss that after all or maybe he's just become so aware of how much Derek likes it that he now likes it too. That's how it tends to be with Tate. He wants to be what the people he loves want him to be. With a few notable exceptions.
His fingers curl into the sheets and he wets his lips, voice oddly stilted. His head bows and this has been weighing on him since the woods. The feelings of jealousy, the rage and inferiority. He breathes in sharp, holding it for a beat before spitting out his next few words curtly.]
I'm not asking to make you want to fuck me. I'm asking because - I want to know.
[His heart hitches again, and his voice feels foreign. His eyes are misting.]
[ Derek does his best to maintain the course, little scratches of his beard against Tate's throat as he kisses the side of his throat with renewed vigor, dropping his weight further on Tate until his cock is pressed against his ass through his clothes. He's not hard, not yet, but he doesn't really get a chance to change that - Tate spits out something angry, puts up a wall Derek's not willing to just ignore or break through, and, reluctantly, Derek stops.
With a sigh, Derek rolls off of Tate and lays on his back beside him, staring at the ceiling for a second to gather his thoughts. It wouldn't be a lie, to tell Tate he considers him his beta, he's said it a dozen times before - but it's such a dangerous thing to play with right now, when Tate's trying to push him into taking things further. Hurting him, or - committing to something he by no means has ever shown a real, tangible, serious desire to commit to, outside of using the bite as some kind of bandaid. ]
You're pack to me whether or not I bite you. That's what - that's why you have this.
[ Derek reaches out without looking, not needing to use his eyes to find the tattoo on Tate's arm. He looks at Tate, instead, while his thumb finds the curls of the triskele and strokes over it, and when he sets his teeth together and wants nothing more than to stop talking and let this conversation die, he pushes himself to continue it. ]
Why are you so upset about this? You should know how close we are. This - this jealousy, lately, it's... you don't need it. I'm the one who should be jealous, after...
[ The orgy. Kavinsky. The three of them. Fuck, what an awful night. ]
[Tate lays on his stomach for a little bit longer after Derek rolls off, wondering if he's fucked it up - missing the familiar looming weight of him and the sex that they almost just had. He can feel traces of Derek's teeth against his neck and he touches it before slouching over on his side, adjusting his hips with his cock hard and hardly hidden. His lips stick together before trembling just a bit - he's telling him he doesn't need to be jealous. What a joke.]
I saw the way you look at Reggie, the way you two...
[He's petty. He's hurting and he's so incredibly jealous it's unbelievable. His brows knit and he looks at Derek like he knows he's done wrong because how could he not - he can't logically explain the gut wrenching jealousy that makes him want to spit out bile and gag on his own insecurities.]
I want that. I want to know without a doubt that we have that. Not something different, or better - I want that for us too. I don't want to make you mad bringing it up but it's just important, I think, that we talk about it. I know you want it too.
[ Reggie. Derek's not surprised that this is where Tate's mood lately has come from - but he's not sure how to combat it. Derek rolls onto his side, too, his ear on his arm, folded up beneath his head like a pillow, his other carefully withdrawn from Tate's tattoo. He can sense it, now, more than he already did. The acidic chemosignals in the air, the accelerated heartbeat. Signs of jealousy that Derek doesn't know how to talk down. ]
Tate...
[ He's buying time, saying Tate's name like he has any idea how to follow it up. The stretch of silence goes on long enough that Derek worries if he doesn't say something soon, Tate will just get frustrated and leave. It's pressure, really, that has him saying what he says next. ]
I have feelings for you. Feelings that I don't have for anyone else. You're in a league of your own.
[ Romantic feelings, they're a part of this, sure, he doesn't think he's dropping too big of a bomb by finally putting words to that - but worry, too, a possessiveness and a need to make sure that Tate's okay. An unhealthy obsession with Tate's safety, a concern for him that overrides sense due to a loyalty thats been worked into him through crying fits and thoughts of death and threats of what Tate's life would look like if Derek wasn't there to try and fix it. Toxicity in droves, but - he doesn't worry about Reggie half as much as he worries about Tate. That's gotta mean something. ]
My relationship with him is different to my relationship with yours. You're the one I'm signed with.
[That'd feel more confirming if they weren't signed now in a hurry, because Derek as a sub wasn't having the greatest time abroad. Tate signing with Derek after the fiasco that was running to Kavinsky also feels like a firecracker he's not about to kick into the fire, so he'll concede to him that point if only to keep it from being dug up. That and the fact Reggie's got his own contract - if he needed it, he's sure Derek would've signed him too if he was still a Dom. Tate's quietly vowed never to be so doting with Mantle.]
You don't like Kavinsky because of how he is - and I don't like Reggie. He's said a lot of fucked up shit to me, you know?
[But the key here is:]
I'm not stopping you from seeing him though, because I know he's important. But it bothers me. I keep thinking that if you like him despite how much of a prick he is, you're going to stop liking me. It's why I want to be what you want me to be - and I want you to be what I want you to be. Everything.
[He creeps closer toward Derek, inching to close the gap.]
We don't have to talk about it now. But can we... can we make a time to talk about the bite again? Really talk about it. What it means, what we'd do.
[ Halfway through talking about this, something in Derek just - shifts. He frowns, subtle, at first, but the more Tate talks, the more unsettled Derek feels. He sits up, now, this growing sense of unease itching away in his stomach, and when Tate asks to talk about the bite sometime in the future, Derek just - doesn't have time for that. ]
You can't - possibly be comparing the two of them.
[ That's - ludicrous? Derek doesn't laugh, but he feels like he could. He's been doing his best with Kavinsky, lately, trying real god damn hard to understand the parts of him self-destructing from grief and loneliness than to limit himself to this sociopathic, dangerous menace he's always been to Derek, but in an instant, he's just - regretting all of that. "You don't like Kavinsky because of how he is", what is that? ]
Reggie never let me OD. Never gave me a broken nose. Never--
[ Derek stops himself, shaking his head. Last thing they need now is for him to flesh out a laundry list of all the reasons why he and that prick aren't exactly rushing to hold each others hands. ]
You have to see the difference between me wanting to keep you away from Kavinsky and you - what - tolerating my relationship with Reggie. I know you two don't like each other much, but what has he said that's so fucked up?
[Tate stares at Derek for a moment before pushing up on his elbow, turning away to sit up - facing the wall of the treehouse with Derek still to his side. He smooths both of his hands back through his hair, pulling it tight to his skull and dragging his nails over his scalp hard enough to sting. Part of him has been gunning for this moment, to have it out with Derek about this, but he also doesn't want to have it happen. Not now, not like this.]
He treats me like dirt - called me a suicidal loser, shit like that.
[Dirt Cobain. Yeah, Tate's petty - but he's also avoiding the fact he still fucked around with Reggie prior to that and that he's thrown his own punches. He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, voice hollowing out and his heartbeat getting weak the more stress he harbors in his chest.]
You don't know what that's like. To live - your life invisible until it all goes sideways. To get mocked after you're dead and not be able to tell the person off because they don't know - and they'll just call you a freaky ghost boy or something. People like him - they made me fucking furious when I was alive. Hurting people to fuel their own egos. I don't know why you like him at all.
[Hard to imagine Derek was just like him, probably. Birds of a feather.]
[ Derek was never a bully in highschool. He was popular, kind of a smartass, definitely the sort of golden kid jock that everyone expects to be a bully in highschool - but that was never his game. Tate keeps talking and, just like always, whatever stubborn anger he could've been feeling gets picked apart by guilt and pity in a way that makes him resent himself for even starting this argument. For even making the point he was trying to make, valid though that point might have been.
The more Tate talks, the less this feels like a fight worth winning. His expression slips and Derek sighs, that I hate him hitting him harder than it should. This is getting complicated, now. ]
That's not -
[ He shakes his head, looking away. He's sitting up, now, cross legged with more distance between him and Tate than there was before. He's frustrated, but it's as much with himself as it is with Tate. With Reggie. When he figures out what he wants to say, he's torn between sounding apologetic and wanting to defend his friend. ]
That's not the Reggie I know. He's always had a good heart, underneath his - bravado. I've never seen him say anything vicious. Just - stupid.
[Tate doesn't buy that but the look he gives Derek suggests he might, all sad brown eyes and pinched brows. His face is a bit more pink, flushed with the heat of a slowly dissipating arousal and the frustration and humiliation of recounting his encounters with Reggie. He's been nothing but a smart ass to Tate but Tate's been nothing but a sharp tongued critic in return. He sighs, rubbing his hand over his arm.]
What do you think about me? If you had to - tell someone how you felt like you just told me how you see Reggie.
[ The shift in conversation, in tone, takes Derek by surprise. He thought this would keep going - that Tate would find a weakness and dig, try to drive a wedge between him and Reggie now that he found an opening. What does it say, he wonders, that that's something he considered a genuine possibility. ]
I don't know.
[ He could run through the deeper things - that Tate's someone worth protecting, someone he loves. Someone who has suffered and needs someone to care for him. A dozen different things that are too personal to share with a stranger. He could limit his description to the surface things he loves about Tate, his intelligence, his perceived kindness, a gentle, artistic soul. Somehow, that doesn't fit right, either. ]
It frustrates me that you never seem to understand my point of view. Kavinsky, Reggie. The bite. Wanting to keep you safe. It's -
[ Selfish. Maybe he'd call Tate selfish. Derek cuts himself short, shaking his head. ]
I don't know why you do that. [ a pause. ] What would you say about me?
I'd say that you're too nice of a person. You look for the good where others wouldn't, and somehow you find it.
[In him, in Reggie. In whoever else he crosses paths with. Tate doesn't look back at Derek while he says that, not when he's still focused on the fact that what Derek says about him is - it feels like he can't even say something good about him. He's expressing annoyance at Tate's traits while somehow he praises Reggie for being good but admittedly stupid. He doesn't even say a nice thing about Tate, and he takes that in with a bitter pang in his chest.
He could say a few choice things about Derek and his hypocrisy, but he doesn't. He just draws his knees up a bit, trying to get comfortable as his cock's gone soft and he wants to shrink away. He feels pensive in a way he hasn't since the House, where he's not sure the person he's into isn't about to uncover more about him than he wants them to.]
[ It's a fast response, said with a shake of his head. He doesn't believe that Tate's not a good person. That first comment, the one about Derek being too nice, he doesn't believe that, either - all his aggression, all his cold fronts, all the things he's done, none of them make him nice - but defending that pales beside the urge to chase off Tate's self-doubt before it takes hold of him.
Derek drops onto his side again, barely two or three seconds of consideration passing before he does. He moves in close, holding the side of Tate's jawline, smoothing his thumb across his cheek until Tate meets his eyeline. Derek's frowning, clearly unhappy, but he's not exactly going anywhere, either. ]
Look at me. I don't believe that. We're having a fight - that's all.
[ Doesn't mean he loves Tate any less. Doesn't mean he couldn't say a dozen good things about Tate, if Tate asked him to do so when they weren't in the middle of - whatever the fuck it is they're in the middle of now. Derek puts some steel in his voice, keeps it stern. ]
[Tate crumples back easily, slinking down onto his elbow to let Derek hold his jaw - he's resistant for a beat before he looks at him, mystifyingly dark black eyes focusing on Derek's - staring into the hazel of them, trying to find something in there to hold on to. He's not a good person, so many people have told him so. The things he's done? Nice people don't just do that. But it wasn't all for a lack of trying, at least to start. He wants to be better, he told Dr. Harmon that much. So he relaxes like he's lost tension in his muscles, and he starts to lean ever closer to Derek.]
I want to believe that.
[Needs to be told that, needs to want that. He sighs.]
[ Derek doesn't exactly want to fight, either, and he's had enough of them with Tate by now to know how to diffuse them. He focuses on soft touches, on prolonged eye contact. Curling Tate's hair behind his ear, looking at him with wide-eyes until the world feels a little more still. He only talks again when it feels safe to. ]
I'll talk to Reggie. I don't want him at your throat like that.
[ And - he knows this is dangerous, but the cavalier way Tate brought up Kavinsky, the idle comparison as if Derek's negative feelings for the guy are in any way comparable to Tate's to Reggie's, it - sticks to him. Despite his better judgment, Derek asks what he wants to ask, still playing with Tate's hair, voice soft. ]
[Tate answers, just to stake that in because as much as he wants to lean into soft touches he feels like he's got one foot hovering over a snare trap. Derek asks about Kavinsky in that way he always does and Tate doesn't understand how he can get so angry with him for associating with him - and not try to see it from Tate's view, too. They have that much in common, maybe. They frustrate each other.]
[ Besides the orgy, yeah. Derek frowns, clearly unhappy with that response, hand going a little tense, but he doesn't stop stroking Tate's cheek and playing with his hair. He's silent, even after Tate mentions Reggie's party, stewing in whatever anger he feels. ]
Okay.
[ But his hand comes to a stop, eventually, and he draws it back. He's not fighting, but he's - confused, because Derek was at that party from pretty much start to end. He saw Reggie, Nick. Noah. Kavinsky. A ton of people. Didn't see Tate. ]
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no subject
I don't like hurting you. That's all.
[ The breathplay Tate's so fuckin' into is difficult enough, sometimes. The scratches and the bites that sometimes draw blood feel good in the moment, but Derek always feels horrible when they're coming down after. He makes it to the bed and stands with his arms crossed, looking down at Tate. He's worried saying the wrong thing will make Tate leave or blow up, but. What's new. ]
You're precious to me. Doesn't matter if you'll heal. I want to take care of you. Can't do that if I'm exhibiting enough force to have killed you, if you were alive.
no subject
[Tate's heard this before, he's known that Derek despite the roughness - always has that elusive feeling of remorse after hurting him. While Tate can't quite empathize with how that feels - he knows why Derek feels that way. It's wrong to hurt the people you love, even if it's with that love you've hurt them. But he can't quite ever understand what it is to feel that way himself, other than bowing his head when he's done wrong and getting frustrated with his inability to do good innately.
He hasn't turned completely, but one leg is folded under him after he pivots on the loft's edge. Looking at Derek, his eyes search him over and he wonders if they're going to be stuck in the usual rut of this conversation. Where Derek is too good, too pure, to let out his inner beast and Tate will again remain the one who can't prove himself to be useful albeit slightly masochistic.]
But when we do things together... I like the way it hurts, because it's safer with you. I know you'll stop if I tell you to. And I like being able to offer you something nobody else can - you really could fuck me with all your might, you know. I'd be fine.
[The last few words are muttered softly, before he flops back on the bed. Legs give a bit of a kick before he worms his way back onto the mattress fully, stretched out with his arms folded behind his head. Inviting, he hopes. Tempting, if nothing else.]
I trust you.
no subject
Self-control isn't an easy thing for me to get back once I give it up.
[ That's part of why he holds onto it so tightly - he's seen what it does to people who let go. Derek is resilient, someone who wants to be better, and giving into his base instincts without the right imperative just isn't who he is. ]
I could end up biting you.
[ A real bite. It's what he'd want to do. ]
no subject
So while he may not truly want this on all levels, he does seek the sense of connection it would theoretically bring. But he has to wonder about the authenticity of that - Reggie's a beta for Derek already, but they don't have the undeniably, all-encompassing bond that Tate wants with Derek. Will being a beta really do that for him? Or is he just still hoping for far too much?
He wets his lips, lifting up a hand to take a hair away from his mouth - using the moment to stay silent before his dark eyes flick to Derek. He wants to own him, to be - fucking undeniably the only thing in his world. Part of him already knows that's not possible yet...]
Then bite me.
no subject
In the end, despite the look of want that briefly flashes over him, Derek just rolls his eyes, dropping down to rest his knees on the bed. This isn't what Tate wants, not really, Derek's not stupid. Not after so many rejections. ]
You're thinking with your dick.
[ Derek reaches out, sets his hand on Tate's thigh, then moves even closer. Maybe he's using a tactic Tate's used on him before - distracting him with sex, the kind of thing that used to make his skin crawl - but so be it. His fingers move up Tate's leg until his hand is at his boxers, and Derek holds eye contact as he starts to stroke Tate through the fabric, coaxing him into getting hard. ]
C'mon. I don't have to go all out to make you come. I've never had trouble getting you off before, have I?
no subject
You deserve a lot more than you've been getting.
[Whether that's the ability to fuck until sated or in having the betas he wants, Tate does want to please Derek. Desperately so. He wants his neverending approval, and doesn't like it when it feels like he's disappointed him. His hand gingerly raises to touch at Derek's neck, pressure applied by the fingertips to try and coax him closer.]
Would you still bite me where you said you would? Or would you pick somewhere else?
no subject
Shh.
[ When Derek presses his lips to Tate's, it's to progress what they're doing as much as it is to shut him up. He goes hard pretty much immediately, brushing his bottom lip with his tongue in a plea for access as he brings his hand up the leg of Tate's boxers to stroke his dick with renewed urgency. He kisses him for as long as Tate will allow, flicks and swirls of his tongue paired with the strong, slow jerk of his fist, and when he pulls back, he doesn't go far. ]
Roll over. Lay on your stomach.
no subject
He could push it, keep talking - but that could sour the mood. He'll have to keep up with it, though, so Derek remembers that he's tried. It sits like weights in the forefront of his mind, only shifting around as he obeys a command and slowly rolls over to lay with his belly to the bedding. He uses his thumb to push down his boxers, letting them slide down his hips and then digs his forearms down underneath him to brace. The triskele on his arm is particularly dark black against his pale skin in the moment, his eyes focusing down on it.]
Even if we - don't yet... will you call me your beta?
no subject
C'mon, Tate.
[ Derek lets Tate move, grabbing his boxers with one hand and dragging them off Tate's body once they're at his thighs. He leans over him, kissing his neck, grazing his shoulder with his teeth or brushing his nose against the shell of his ear, little things to try and keep Tate horny and distracted. There was a time when Tate would do fucking anything, to have Derek sleep with him. That's not enough anymore. ]
Just enjoy this. You don't - have to be anything else for me to want you.
no subject
[Derek's slinking over him and he feels the weight of his body, heavy and solid behind him. He likes that feeling of goosebumps spreading over his skin and the flickering feeling in his chest of his heart going haywire. Maybe he did miss that after all or maybe he's just become so aware of how much Derek likes it that he now likes it too. That's how it tends to be with Tate. He wants to be what the people he loves want him to be. With a few notable exceptions.
His fingers curl into the sheets and he wets his lips, voice oddly stilted. His head bows and this has been weighing on him since the woods. The feelings of jealousy, the rage and inferiority. He breathes in sharp, holding it for a beat before spitting out his next few words curtly.]
I'm not asking to make you want to fuck me. I'm asking because - I want to know.
[His heart hitches again, and his voice feels foreign. His eyes are misting.]
Tell me you think of me like that.
no subject
With a sigh, Derek rolls off of Tate and lays on his back beside him, staring at the ceiling for a second to gather his thoughts. It wouldn't be a lie, to tell Tate he considers him his beta, he's said it a dozen times before - but it's such a dangerous thing to play with right now, when Tate's trying to push him into taking things further. Hurting him, or - committing to something he by no means has ever shown a real, tangible, serious desire to commit to, outside of using the bite as some kind of bandaid. ]
You're pack to me whether or not I bite you. That's what - that's why you have this.
[ Derek reaches out without looking, not needing to use his eyes to find the tattoo on Tate's arm. He looks at Tate, instead, while his thumb finds the curls of the triskele and strokes over it, and when he sets his teeth together and wants nothing more than to stop talking and let this conversation die, he pushes himself to continue it. ]
Why are you so upset about this? You should know how close we are. This - this jealousy, lately, it's... you don't need it. I'm the one who should be jealous, after...
[ The orgy. Kavinsky. The three of them. Fuck, what an awful night. ]
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I saw the way you look at Reggie, the way you two...
[He's petty. He's hurting and he's so incredibly jealous it's unbelievable. His brows knit and he looks at Derek like he knows he's done wrong because how could he not - he can't logically explain the gut wrenching jealousy that makes him want to spit out bile and gag on his own insecurities.]
I want that. I want to know without a doubt that we have that. Not something different, or better - I want that for us too. I don't want to make you mad bringing it up but it's just important, I think, that we talk about it. I know you want it too.
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Tate...
[ He's buying time, saying Tate's name like he has any idea how to follow it up. The stretch of silence goes on long enough that Derek worries if he doesn't say something soon, Tate will just get frustrated and leave. It's pressure, really, that has him saying what he says next. ]
I have feelings for you. Feelings that I don't have for anyone else. You're in a league of your own.
[ Romantic feelings, they're a part of this, sure, he doesn't think he's dropping too big of a bomb by finally putting words to that - but worry, too, a possessiveness and a need to make sure that Tate's okay. An unhealthy obsession with Tate's safety, a concern for him that overrides sense due to a loyalty thats been worked into him through crying fits and thoughts of death and threats of what Tate's life would look like if Derek wasn't there to try and fix it. Toxicity in droves, but - he doesn't worry about Reggie half as much as he worries about Tate. That's gotta mean something. ]
My relationship with him is different to my relationship with yours. You're the one I'm signed with.
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You don't like Kavinsky because of how he is - and I don't like Reggie. He's said a lot of fucked up shit to me, you know?
[But the key here is:]
I'm not stopping you from seeing him though, because I know he's important. But it bothers me. I keep thinking that if you like him despite how much of a prick he is, you're going to stop liking me. It's why I want to be what you want me to be - and I want you to be what I want you to be. Everything.
[He creeps closer toward Derek, inching to close the gap.]
We don't have to talk about it now. But can we... can we make a time to talk about the bite again? Really talk about it. What it means, what we'd do.
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You can't - possibly be comparing the two of them.
[ That's - ludicrous? Derek doesn't laugh, but he feels like he could. He's been doing his best with Kavinsky, lately, trying real god damn hard to understand the parts of him self-destructing from grief and loneliness than to limit himself to this sociopathic, dangerous menace he's always been to Derek, but in an instant, he's just - regretting all of that. "You don't like Kavinsky because of how he is", what is that? ]
Reggie never let me OD. Never gave me a broken nose. Never--
[ Derek stops himself, shaking his head. Last thing they need now is for him to flesh out a laundry list of all the reasons why he and that prick aren't exactly rushing to hold each others hands. ]
You have to see the difference between me wanting to keep you away from Kavinsky and you - what - tolerating my relationship with Reggie. I know you two don't like each other much, but what has he said that's so fucked up?
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He treats me like dirt - called me a suicidal loser, shit like that.
[Dirt Cobain. Yeah, Tate's petty - but he's also avoiding the fact he still fucked around with Reggie prior to that and that he's thrown his own punches. He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, voice hollowing out and his heartbeat getting weak the more stress he harbors in his chest.]
You don't know what that's like. To live - your life invisible until it all goes sideways. To get mocked after you're dead and not be able to tell the person off because they don't know - and they'll just call you a freaky ghost boy or something. People like him - they made me fucking furious when I was alive. Hurting people to fuel their own egos. I don't know why you like him at all.
[Hard to imagine Derek was just like him, probably. Birds of a feather.]
I hate him. I am comparing it.
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The more Tate talks, the less this feels like a fight worth winning. His expression slips and Derek sighs, that I hate him hitting him harder than it should. This is getting complicated, now. ]
That's not -
[ He shakes his head, looking away. He's sitting up, now, cross legged with more distance between him and Tate than there was before. He's frustrated, but it's as much with himself as it is with Tate. With Reggie. When he figures out what he wants to say, he's torn between sounding apologetic and wanting to defend his friend. ]
That's not the Reggie I know. He's always had a good heart, underneath his - bravado. I've never seen him say anything vicious. Just - stupid.
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What do you think about me? If you had to - tell someone how you felt like you just told me how you see Reggie.
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I don't know.
[ He could run through the deeper things - that Tate's someone worth protecting, someone he loves. Someone who has suffered and needs someone to care for him. A dozen different things that are too personal to share with a stranger. He could limit his description to the surface things he loves about Tate, his intelligence, his perceived kindness, a gentle, artistic soul. Somehow, that doesn't fit right, either. ]
It frustrates me that you never seem to understand my point of view. Kavinsky, Reggie. The bite. Wanting to keep you safe. It's -
[ Selfish. Maybe he'd call Tate selfish. Derek cuts himself short, shaking his head. ]
I don't know why you do that. [ a pause. ] What would you say about me?
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[In him, in Reggie. In whoever else he crosses paths with. Tate doesn't look back at Derek while he says that, not when he's still focused on the fact that what Derek says about him is - it feels like he can't even say something good about him. He's expressing annoyance at Tate's traits while somehow he praises Reggie for being good but admittedly stupid. He doesn't even say a nice thing about Tate, and he takes that in with a bitter pang in his chest.
He could say a few choice things about Derek and his hypocrisy, but he doesn't. He just draws his knees up a bit, trying to get comfortable as his cock's gone soft and he wants to shrink away. He feels pensive in a way he hasn't since the House, where he's not sure the person he's into isn't about to uncover more about him than he wants them to.]
I'm not a good person. I'm sorry.
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[ It's a fast response, said with a shake of his head. He doesn't believe that Tate's not a good person. That first comment, the one about Derek being too nice, he doesn't believe that, either - all his aggression, all his cold fronts, all the things he's done, none of them make him nice - but defending that pales beside the urge to chase off Tate's self-doubt before it takes hold of him.
Derek drops onto his side again, barely two or three seconds of consideration passing before he does. He moves in close, holding the side of Tate's jawline, smoothing his thumb across his cheek until Tate meets his eyeline. Derek's frowning, clearly unhappy, but he's not exactly going anywhere, either. ]
Look at me. I don't believe that. We're having a fight - that's all.
[ Doesn't mean he loves Tate any less. Doesn't mean he couldn't say a dozen good things about Tate, if Tate asked him to do so when they weren't in the middle of - whatever the fuck it is they're in the middle of now. Derek puts some steel in his voice, keeps it stern. ]
You're a good person.
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I want to believe that.
[Needs to be told that, needs to want that. He sighs.]
And I don't want to fight.
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I'll talk to Reggie. I don't want him at your throat like that.
[ And - he knows this is dangerous, but the cavalier way Tate brought up Kavinsky, the idle comparison as if Derek's negative feelings for the guy are in any way comparable to Tate's to Reggie's, it - sticks to him. Despite his better judgment, Derek asks what he wants to ask, still playing with Tate's hair, voice soft. ]
When was the last time you saw Kavinsky?
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[Tate answers, just to stake that in because as much as he wants to lean into soft touches he feels like he's got one foot hovering over a snare trap. Derek asks about Kavinsky in that way he always does and Tate doesn't understand how he can get so angry with him for associating with him - and not try to see it from Tate's view, too. They have that much in common, maybe. They frustrate each other.]
He was at Reggie's party.
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Okay.
[ But his hand comes to a stop, eventually, and he draws it back. He's not fighting, but he's - confused, because Derek was at that party from pretty much start to end. He saw Reggie, Nick. Noah. Kavinsky. A ton of people. Didn't see Tate. ]
I was at Reggie's party. I didn't see you there.
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