[ 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 Derek rolls onto his side, too, his ear on his arm, folded up beneath his head like a pillow, his other carefully withdrawn from Tate's tattoo.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. ]
[He murmurs, holding still against Derek's hand with his eyes briefly averted. He's not about to explain it, why he hid in the woods and saw more than he bargained for. Or let Derek know that that was one of those moments that pumped fuel into his jealousy's fire. But he breathes in slowly, looking off to the side at a crooked picture frame on his desk.]
You went into the woods with Reggie. I didn't want to interrupt.
[Plus, he can't add on, he was pretty wasted thanks to Kavinsky forcing pills down his throat. Somehow that's not something he wants to bring up right now, even though he'd feel like it was a decent defense for how he got so trashed. He looks back at Derek, brows raised.]
I left after I realized how annoying the birthday boy was. I shouldn't have gone in the first place.
[ It doesn't take long for Derek to realize what Tate must've seen, and - rather than feel shame, or-- or anger at being spied on, or anything like that, Derek just feels a sense of closure, finally understanding what it is Tate's been so upset about. Now that he knows, maybe he can fix things. ]
That's what this has been about?
[ It makes sense, now - the spike of jealousy, the text messages. The way Derek probably ruined Tate's mood by assuming Reggie was the one behind that anonymous message. He sighs, leaning forward, trying to gather his thoughts. For now, at least, Kavinsky stops being an important part of this conversation. ]
It was-- I get why you'd be upset. I can't stand the thought of you with anyone else. I know that that's - just how the city works, but - I'm sorry. I wish you hadn't seen that.
[Past a point, anyway. He's sullen for a moment like he's confessing to it openly - that he saw enough to be jealous and slightly vindictive over. Because he had, after all. He doesn't really care to admit it but the way Derek reacts isn't overtly negative. He looks up to him sluggishly, doe eyed and wary for a beat. That's how the city works, indeed.]
But yeah, I guess? It bothered me.
[Tremendously.]
Not exactly something you can bring up easy, either.
[ Derek didn't expect he'd stay, no, but the look he gives Tate says that if the positions were reversed, he himself wouldn't be so quick to leave. He'd - want to see Tate like that, want to dwell in the jealousy and the anger, just because Derek makes poor decisions like that all the time. That's, again, how the city works.
But he sits up, again. Tries to change the flow of the conversation. They were getting into something, earlier, and now that Derek sees a way out through that, he's going to try and take it. Without warning, Derek straddles Tate's hips, rolling him onto his back by force, if he has to. He drops his weight down, braces his hands on his chest, and raises his eyebrows, forcing himself to look vaguely playful and energetic. Better than miserable and guilty and still kind of angry. ]
Let me make it up to you, then. However you like. You're my Dom, aren't you? Give me an order.
[ He drums his hands on Tate's chest, maybe a little too hard. ]
Just... not with the bite. I can't - I won't bite you just to prove that I care about you. It's worth more than that.
[Derek's hungry looks are hard to miss, and as he settles on Tate's hips - Tate watches his face, soaking up the expression with mild intrigue. It's with a slightly uncomfortable shift that Tate adjusts to the weight, one of his hands resting on Derek's thigh as his cock twitches back to attention beneath him. He searches Derek's face after he speaks, trying to determine the authenticity of this. Derek hates being a sub. But - this isn't the same as being out on the street, is it?]
Okay.
[Head lolling to the side, he has to think for a moment - and lets his eyes wander to the small trunk beneath his desk. He lifts a hand lazily, pointing to it, and Derek will easily know what he's gunning for on sight. Where else is he supposed to keep the accumulation of toys?]
I want you to pick something you like from there. After you get naked for me... in a strip tease.
[ Easy enough. Derek's not a dancer, not by any means, so once he huffs out a laugh and slips his thumbs beneath his waistband, he's not planning on giving the best strip tease anyone's ever gotten. He holds eye contact, rolls his hips, grinds down against Tate as he moves, but that's as active as he gets. He drags out the whole process, bringing everything he's wearing from the waist-down down to his knees in long, slow pulls, stopping and starting again when Tate starts to look impatient. He doesn't let Tate touch him, always grabs his hand and pushes it down against the bed when he tries, and before long, Derek's tearing off the last of what he's wearing, straddling Tate's waist again, completely bare.
Next step. He nods towards the toys. ]
For you or for me?
[ Because - well, if Tate were most Doms, he'd assume he was gunning for the latter, but Tate's kind of selfish, sometimes. Wouldn't be surprised if he was just asking Derek to get him off. ]
[Tate's a little breathy when he says that, keeping his head back and his hair fanned out around him like a halo. Derek's gotten him hard again - not that it would've been hard with all that friction, that half-assed show that still got Tate's eyes following the cut lines of Derek's torso. Moments like that, where even when he's not allowed to touch, Tate's able to just... examine someone so intimately without reproach. After a year here he doesn't really feel much toward his previously closeted feelings, not the same shame at least, but time to time he still feels insecure. But not like this, not with Derek.]
For you, maybe. So pick something decent... I want you to show me all the things you want to do to me but on your own body first.
[He licks his lower lip in a slow cat-like swipe.]
[ Not a great order, apparently. Derek rolls his eyes, getting to his feet all the same, but it's obvious by the time he wanders over to Tate's toys that he has no intention of following that order. He pushed Tate into taking the lead, but Derek's general sense of defiance and inability to do as he's told is still going strong, it seems. He rummages around until he finds something he likes. ]
Can't fuck myself that hard.
[ It's the plug they've used before, rose pink and, luckily, recently charged. He brings it back to Tate, standing on his knees at the end of the bed, lube brought with him from the chest, as well - he's not hard, and he looks kind of bored, but he still lazily throws Tate the remote as he uncaps the lube and starts working the toy, getting it ready. ]
This is for you.
[ Because - apparently - he doesn't trust Tate to take the lead, after all. If he wants to distract Tate with sex, he figures he should be doing something he knows Tate will like. ]
[Tate says in a tone of voice that's more amused than admonishing, because he spreads his leg a bit wider apart and brings up his knee so his heel's resting against the mattress. He stares at Derek almost suspicious, wondering if he's really going to be so boldly defiant. Should he be punishing him for this? Or encouraging it? Either way, Tate likes the sight of Derek drawing closer.]
[ Tate's amusement only encourages Derek, who leans into his defiant streak like it's where he lives. He's grinning, now, dropping down on his knees to curl his lube-slick hand around Tate's cock, gliding over him just fast enough to keep him alert. He hums, thoughtfully, like he's actually considering the order, but he never really was. ]
Make me.
[ He strokes Tate faster, always running hot enough to make the tight heat of his palm even warmer. He closes his fist around Tate's head and squeezes, massaging in circular pulls as he holds the plug with his other hand, looking at Tate with his eyebrows raised. ]
Or tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to make you come.
[He's quick to admit that, voice lathered with latent want as Derek pumps him with a sick fist. He sighs, toes curling and his hips rolling with the motion, but it's with a quick swallow and a quirk of his lips that he has more to add on to that. Make me, says Derek. Such a challenging little shit.]
But if you're not going to put the toy in you, you better put me instead.
[ He's taking this as an admission of defeat, from Tate, who acts like he's in charge despite doing exactly what Derek told him to do. He's caving, giving Derek the right to take control again, and Derek just laughs, clearly feeling like he's won something. He can't hide the smugness in his voice. Doesn't even try. ]
That's what I thought.
[ He takes his hand from Tate's cock, shifting closer on his knees and bringing his fingers to Tate's hole. He's as gentle as ever, slowly pressing his fingertips into his entrance and stretching him open, coating him with lube to make this easier, and then with very little ceremony, he brings the plug to Tate's entrance instead. He's jerking Tate off again as he gently penetrates him, easing the plug in inch by inch. ]
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no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
[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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
I want to believe that.
[Needs to be told that, needs to want that. He sighs.]
And I don't want to fight.
no subject
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?
no subject
[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.
no subject
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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[He murmurs, holding still against Derek's hand with his eyes briefly averted. He's not about to explain it, why he hid in the woods and saw more than he bargained for. Or let Derek know that that was one of those moments that pumped fuel into his jealousy's fire. But he breathes in slowly, looking off to the side at a crooked picture frame on his desk.]
You went into the woods with Reggie. I didn't want to interrupt.
[Plus, he can't add on, he was pretty wasted thanks to Kavinsky forcing pills down his throat. Somehow that's not something he wants to bring up right now, even though he'd feel like it was a decent defense for how he got so trashed. He looks back at Derek, brows raised.]
I left after I realized how annoying the birthday boy was. I shouldn't have gone in the first place.
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That's what this has been about?
[ It makes sense, now - the spike of jealousy, the text messages. The way Derek probably ruined Tate's mood by assuming Reggie was the one behind that anonymous message. He sighs, leaning forward, trying to gather his thoughts. For now, at least, Kavinsky stops being an important part of this conversation. ]
It was-- I get why you'd be upset. I can't stand the thought of you with anyone else. I know that that's - just how the city works, but - I'm sorry. I wish you hadn't seen that.
no subject
[Past a point, anyway. He's sullen for a moment like he's confessing to it openly - that he saw enough to be jealous and slightly vindictive over. Because he had, after all. He doesn't really care to admit it but the way Derek reacts isn't overtly negative. He looks up to him sluggishly, doe eyed and wary for a beat. That's how the city works, indeed.]
But yeah, I guess? It bothered me.
[Tremendously.]
Not exactly something you can bring up easy, either.
no subject
But he sits up, again. Tries to change the flow of the conversation. They were getting into something, earlier, and now that Derek sees a way out through that, he's going to try and take it. Without warning, Derek straddles Tate's hips, rolling him onto his back by force, if he has to. He drops his weight down, braces his hands on his chest, and raises his eyebrows, forcing himself to look vaguely playful and energetic. Better than miserable and guilty and still kind of angry. ]
Let me make it up to you, then. However you like. You're my Dom, aren't you? Give me an order.
[ He drums his hands on Tate's chest, maybe a little too hard. ]
Just... not with the bite. I can't - I won't bite you just to prove that I care about you. It's worth more than that.
no subject
Okay.
[Head lolling to the side, he has to think for a moment - and lets his eyes wander to the small trunk beneath his desk. He lifts a hand lazily, pointing to it, and Derek will easily know what he's gunning for on sight. Where else is he supposed to keep the accumulation of toys?]
I want you to pick something you like from there. After you get naked for me... in a strip tease.
no subject
Next step. He nods towards the toys. ]
For you or for me?
[ Because - well, if Tate were most Doms, he'd assume he was gunning for the latter, but Tate's kind of selfish, sometimes. Wouldn't be surprised if he was just asking Derek to get him off. ]
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[Tate's a little breathy when he says that, keeping his head back and his hair fanned out around him like a halo. Derek's gotten him hard again - not that it would've been hard with all that friction, that half-assed show that still got Tate's eyes following the cut lines of Derek's torso. Moments like that, where even when he's not allowed to touch, Tate's able to just... examine someone so intimately without reproach. After a year here he doesn't really feel much toward his previously closeted feelings, not the same shame at least, but time to time he still feels insecure. But not like this, not with Derek.]
For you, maybe. So pick something decent... I want you to show me all the things you want to do to me but on your own body first.
[He licks his lower lip in a slow cat-like swipe.]
That's your order.
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Can't fuck myself that hard.
[ It's the plug they've used before, rose pink and, luckily, recently charged. He brings it back to Tate, standing on his knees at the end of the bed, lube brought with him from the chest, as well - he's not hard, and he looks kind of bored, but he still lazily throws Tate the remote as he uncaps the lube and starts working the toy, getting it ready. ]
This is for you.
[ Because - apparently - he doesn't trust Tate to take the lead, after all. If he wants to distract Tate with sex, he figures he should be doing something he knows Tate will like. ]
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[Tate says in a tone of voice that's more amused than admonishing, because he spreads his leg a bit wider apart and brings up his knee so his heel's resting against the mattress. He stares at Derek almost suspicious, wondering if he's really going to be so boldly defiant. Should he be punishing him for this? Or encouraging it? Either way, Tate likes the sight of Derek drawing closer.]
At least give it a try.
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Make me.
[ He strokes Tate faster, always running hot enough to make the tight heat of his palm even warmer. He closes his fist around Tate's head and squeezes, massaging in circular pulls as he holds the plug with his other hand, looking at Tate with his eyebrows raised. ]
Or tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to make you come.
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[He's quick to admit that, voice lathered with latent want as Derek pumps him with a sick fist. He sighs, toes curling and his hips rolling with the motion, but it's with a quick swallow and a quirk of his lips that he has more to add on to that. Make me, says Derek. Such a challenging little shit.]
But if you're not going to put the toy in you, you better put me instead.
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That's what I thought.
[ He takes his hand from Tate's cock, shifting closer on his knees and bringing his fingers to Tate's hole. He's as gentle as ever, slowly pressing his fingertips into his entrance and stretching him open, coating him with lube to make this easier, and then with very little ceremony, he brings the plug to Tate's entrance instead. He's jerking Tate off again as he gently penetrates him, easing the plug in inch by inch. ]
Breathe. Take it easy.
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