That's not true. You're right. I care about that. Don't hit anything. You can borrow the camaro. Sometimes. It's going to be more trouble than its worth, though. You're gonna regret this.
[ as per usual, derek gives no response to indicate he got tate's last message. he ends the conversation by locking his phone, leaving tate to come over on his own time.
after heading back into the living room, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket as he tugs it down from the inside, he thinks about doing something to make the den more-- festive, or whatever. like he said earlier, even though he's not in a particularly celebratory mood, he feels bad treating this like it's an ordinary day; unfortunately, he's not really the kind of person to have streamers and balloons laying around the house, so there's not much he can do besides stare up at the exposed beams of his living room ceiling and vaguely pretend like he's going to hang some fairy lights from them, or something.
in the end he doesn't do much, other than grab some of the good beer from the fridge, something he feels awkward about cracking into given how difficult it is for him to buy his own groceries as a sub. tate arrives and derek's wearing the same expression he always is, when he's tense. a slightly aggressive lineface, shoulders straight and eyebrows furrowed. he slides back the shutter to the house and doesn't even look at tate, when he arrives, only nodding his head over his shoulder in silent invitation. ]
[Tate takes more like ten minutes to get ready, swapping into cleaner clothes and a warmer fleece lined work shirt for the walk over to the Den from the treehouse. He's still in Converse and jeans though, so whatever snow he trudges through wets the hems and soaks into his dragging shoelaces on the way. When the door slides open he looks at Derek, then slips inside, rubbing his hands together to warm them before heading toward the living area's sofa to sit down.
It's then that he reaches for a beer, looking over the label before starting to crack it open. Then he flicks his gaze back to Derek, raising his brows as if he expects something more. But really, he's pretty at ease - slouching a bit in his seat to take a swig of beer.]
[ Given that it's Tate's birthday, Derek isn't going to comment on him tracking snow into the den - though there's still a pointed glance or two that betrays just how mildly annoyed he is. Tate takes the beer and Derek sips his own, pretending, again, that there's any point in drinking alcohol as a werewolf, and he shrugs one shoulder in response to Tate's question. ]
Asleep, knowing her.
[ Probably in the bedroom, still curled up in whatever ray of sun she can find. He's had that cat for a pretty long time now - he's had Stiles' cat for a pretty long time now, too - but he still feels pretty weird about it. He's not a cat person. Not a pet person in general. They're weird little exceptions. ]
... You want anything?
[ Food. Birthday stuff. He's also had Tate for a pretty long time, and he's still not great at birthdays. Socializing in general. ]
[That's what he always says, though. Tate's appetite is as elusive to him as the truth is his tongue, so it doesn't really count for much when he says it. He probably should eat, but he's not about to push for anything. Not when he can fill his belly with booze and get a better buzz that way, too. He takes another drink, licking his lip before giving another absent shrug.]
I don't know how to really celebrate this kind of thing. My mom would always make a dinner, but that was about it. I hated that, it felt more for her sake than anyone else's. I just want to hang out.
[ Thanks to the whole christmas baby thing - you live in a big house with a big family, you get born on a holiday, you're a middle child... Derek was never made to feel unappreciated, or anything, and unlike Tate, he cherishes the things his mom used to do for him, but a little overlooking was hard to avoid. He can't help but relate his birthday to a million things that have nothing to do with him.
Still, it feels a little pathetic to go through every year like this. He shrugs, walking towards the main living area, distant and a little vague. ]
Well - if you can think of anything you want to do - you can technically order me around, o powerful Dom. Otherwise -
[ Derek drops down into the sofa, feet up on the coffee table. He's fine with just hanging out. ]
I'll make use of that after, it's not a party if someone's not getting off - right?
[Tate offers a soft smirk before he covers it with the lip of his beer can, drinking some more by the gulp. His eyes sketch over Derek who always has an easy way of relaxing. He might be hypervigilant, always listening and protecting - but he makes sitting down look effortless, like a dog ready to curl up for a well deserved rest.]
[ Sounds about right. Derek doesn't comment, which makes it seem like he's internally rolling his eyes at Tate boning up, but - he's the one who kickstarted this conversation. He's just saving face. ]
Didn't really do anything. Spent most of my time in New York just... you know.
[ Drifting. Haunting the apartment he shared with his sister like he was a ghost. Life moved on without him while he stagnated, only getting shocked back to life when his uncle started killing people back home. There's not much merit to be found in talking about those years. ]
I probably would've liked to go further into the city, though. Look at the art. See a show. Can't really do that here.
[ Though he imagines there's probably a pretty rowdy BDSM-version of Cats playing somewhere in the Up. He'd totally watch that. ]
There're a lot of art shows here... not exactly what they were back home, but some people are really into shibari.
[He's prowled around, time to time. He tries to picture Derek at 19 and he can't. Maybe it's just because it's hard to think of him as anything but the tall brooding figure before him, born with a full beard and biceps cut of stone. Tate plays his fingers over the sofa's arm rest and more or less just stares at Derek, half in thought, half just - staring. Looking at him with kind familiarity. Ease.]
Maybe I should make some shitty teen mistakes before I'm actually not a teen anymore. Get a lip ring or something.
[ Derek feels that same fondness for Tate, obviously, but it's hard to see it in the way he looks back. He just kinda winces, shaking his head slightly, and - if Tate didn't know him well enough to detect the slight hint of playfulness in his tone right now, he'd probably sound like a pretty big shithead. ]
You don't think you've made enough shitty teen mistakes already?
I haven't knocked any girls up here, you should be proud.
[And that's all he needs to say on that topic, hypocritical as he is. He's pretty much the embodiment of terrible, shitty, teen-minded mistakes. And disasters. But he laughs like it's nothing because to him, it isn't. That's one of the great things about not feeling all that tethered to morality and your own conscience. He rubs at his face, finishing off his beer with a soft little snort.]
If you had to get something pierced, what would it be.
[ whoops. Anyway - Derek's not going to answer Tate's question, choosing instead to roll his eyes, whatever patience he was holding onto to stop him from acting like a dick over Tate's birthday finally wearing thin. He sets down his beer and stands back up, wandering over to Tate. He holds Tate's bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, eyebrows up, tugging slightly. ]
[Wasn't too long ago he was staring up at his - well, his therapist - whose fingers he did precisely the same thing to as he does Derek's now: he parts his lips to try and suck on the tip of his digit without a second thought. This city has had its effects on him these last two years, with sex always seeming to be in the forefront of his mind. He stares up at Derek, dark eyes suddenly attentive as his beer falls to the wayside.]
[ Derek is unresponsive, though there's a heavier weight behind his gaze as he watches Tate part his lips for him. He watches in silence, silently dragging the tip of his finger towards Tate's open mouth, pressing a fingertip against his tongue in a silent command to suck a little harder. ]
I don't think you are.
[ But - that's fine, really. They're talking about nothing, doing nothing, being nothing. This is the kind of warm, easy peace he would have loved, when he was turning nineteen - physical intimacy, the comforting presence of someone he trusts. Derek lingers in the quiet for a second longer before speaking up again. ]
[Tate keeps on staring upward, dark eyes more and more intent in the way they focus on Derek's face like he's determined to show him just how focused he really is. A challenge is a challenge, after all. So as Derek presses his finger to the flat of his tongue, Tate sucks harder - sealing his lips around his finger and hollowing out his cheeks just because he can. His tongue laps up around the digit before he leans back a little, pulling off after sufficiently wetting it.]
You're still my Dom. Doesn't matter what the city says.
[Since, well, this is a two way street:]
Tell me what you want me to do for you. I liked it when you would.
[ Tempting. Tate's always tempting - that's always been a problem. A few seconds pass as Derek's eyes fall half-lidded, the soft sensation of pressure around his fingertip running straight to his cock. Tate pulls away, but Derek keeps his hand where it is, still lingering close to Tate's mouth. ]
It's your birthday. I want to do things for you.
[ His hand drifts down, closing the distance as his fingers curl softly around Tate's throat. Derek smooths his thumb down the ridge of Tate's adam's apple, stroking a line against his windpipe. There's not a ton of conviction in his voice, all soft-spoken and deadpan, but he means what he says when he says it. ]
I can take what I want from you any time. Today should be - special.
[The thud of his heart against his chest and the spike of arousal that rolls through Tate when Derek says what he says is likely noticeable to him, and part of that is why it excites Tate just as much. Derek's always aware of things like that. The smallest changes, the littlest details. He keeps staring up at him, swallowing hard before sucking in a slow breath - letting it out in a measured exhale.]
I want...
[It's easier to vocalize things when he's teasing Derek, when he's pushing the envelope to see how far it'll go. This moment feels especially real in that Derek's listening, and Tate has an actual opportunity to start asking for something. Where does he start?]
[ Derek's-- already committed to this. Already let Tate to slip through some of the cracks in his boundaries he's never been good at maintaining. There's a second of hesitation, but - only a second. He's already crossed this line once before, so... ]
Dangerous. I might not ever untie you.
[ He squeezes Tate's throat, just tight enough to be uncomfortable, feeling Tate swallow against his palm. He drops his hand further down until he's hooking his fingers in Tate's collar, and he's tugging on his shirt unnecessarily hard as he pulls him towards his bedroom. The door opens, and then Derek's pushing Tate by the small of his back towards the bed. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Stop.
[ it takes him a second to get what tate's implying. he follows up a second later. ]
Present company excluded.
By present company, I mean me.
No loopholes.
I'll know. So.
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i won't give u any reason to sniff the leather
i promise.
i also promise to try not to hit anything
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That's not true. You're right. I care about that.
Don't hit anything.
You can borrow the camaro. Sometimes.
It's going to be more trouble than its worth, though. You're gonna regret this.
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Maybe for your next birthday.
Though - at that point - I'd rather just get you your own car.
[ considering he lost his job when he became a sub, though, yeah, he doesn't expect that'll be an option any time soon. ]
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but yeah. let's hang
when do u want me by?
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Probably not gonna lend you my car.
Now.
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gimme five to get ready
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after heading back into the living room, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket as he tugs it down from the inside, he thinks about doing something to make the den more-- festive, or whatever. like he said earlier, even though he's not in a particularly celebratory mood, he feels bad treating this like it's an ordinary day; unfortunately, he's not really the kind of person to have streamers and balloons laying around the house, so there's not much he can do besides stare up at the exposed beams of his living room ceiling and vaguely pretend like he's going to hang some fairy lights from them, or something.
in the end he doesn't do much, other than grab some of the good beer from the fridge, something he feels awkward about cracking into given how difficult it is for him to buy his own groceries as a sub. tate arrives and derek's wearing the same expression he always is, when he's tense. a slightly aggressive lineface, shoulders straight and eyebrows furrowed. he slides back the shutter to the house and doesn't even look at tate, when he arrives, only nodding his head over his shoulder in silent invitation. ]
no subject
It's then that he reaches for a beer, looking over the label before starting to crack it open. Then he flicks his gaze back to Derek, raising his brows as if he expects something more. But really, he's pretty at ease - slouching a bit in his seat to take a swig of beer.]
Where's the tripod?
no subject
Asleep, knowing her.
[ Probably in the bedroom, still curled up in whatever ray of sun she can find. He's had that cat for a pretty long time now - he's had Stiles' cat for a pretty long time now, too - but he still feels pretty weird about it. He's not a cat person. Not a pet person in general. They're weird little exceptions. ]
... You want anything?
[ Food. Birthday stuff. He's also had Tate for a pretty long time, and he's still not great at birthdays. Socializing in general. ]
no subject
[That's what he always says, though. Tate's appetite is as elusive to him as the truth is his tongue, so it doesn't really count for much when he says it. He probably should eat, but he's not about to push for anything. Not when he can fill his belly with booze and get a better buzz that way, too. He takes another drink, licking his lip before giving another absent shrug.]
I don't know how to really celebrate this kind of thing. My mom would always make a dinner, but that was about it. I hated that, it felt more for her sake than anyone else's. I just want to hang out.
no subject
[ Thanks to the whole christmas baby thing - you live in a big house with a big family, you get born on a holiday, you're a middle child... Derek was never made to feel unappreciated, or anything, and unlike Tate, he cherishes the things his mom used to do for him, but a little overlooking was hard to avoid. He can't help but relate his birthday to a million things that have nothing to do with him.
Still, it feels a little pathetic to go through every year like this. He shrugs, walking towards the main living area, distant and a little vague. ]
Well - if you can think of anything you want to do - you can technically order me around, o powerful Dom. Otherwise -
[ Derek drops down into the sofa, feet up on the coffee table. He's fine with just hanging out. ]
no subject
[Tate offers a soft smirk before he covers it with the lip of his beer can, drinking some more by the gulp. His eyes sketch over Derek who always has an easy way of relaxing. He might be hypervigilant, always listening and protecting - but he makes sitting down look effortless, like a dog ready to curl up for a well deserved rest.]
What'd you do when you turned 19?
no subject
Didn't really do anything. Spent most of my time in New York just... you know.
[ Drifting. Haunting the apartment he shared with his sister like he was a ghost. Life moved on without him while he stagnated, only getting shocked back to life when his uncle started killing people back home. There's not much merit to be found in talking about those years. ]
I probably would've liked to go further into the city, though. Look at the art. See a show. Can't really do that here.
[ Though he imagines there's probably a pretty rowdy BDSM-version of Cats playing somewhere in the Up. He'd totally watch that. ]
no subject
[He's prowled around, time to time. He tries to picture Derek at 19 and he can't. Maybe it's just because it's hard to think of him as anything but the tall brooding figure before him, born with a full beard and biceps cut of stone. Tate plays his fingers over the sofa's arm rest and more or less just stares at Derek, half in thought, half just - staring. Looking at him with kind familiarity. Ease.]
Maybe I should make some shitty teen mistakes before I'm actually not a teen anymore. Get a lip ring or something.
no subject
You don't think you've made enough shitty teen mistakes already?
no subject
[And that's all he needs to say on that topic, hypocritical as he is. He's pretty much the embodiment of terrible, shitty, teen-minded mistakes. And disasters. But he laughs like it's nothing because to him, it isn't. That's one of the great things about not feeling all that tethered to morality and your own conscience. He rubs at his face, finishing off his beer with a soft little snort.]
If you had to get something pierced, what would it be.
no subject
[ whoops. Anyway - Derek's not going to answer Tate's question, choosing instead to roll his eyes, whatever patience he was holding onto to stop him from acting like a dick over Tate's birthday finally wearing thin. He sets down his beer and stands back up, wandering over to Tate. He holds Tate's bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, eyebrows up, tugging slightly. ]
Focus on this instead of me.
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I'm focused.
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I don't think you are.
[ But - that's fine, really. They're talking about nothing, doing nothing, being nothing. This is the kind of warm, easy peace he would have loved, when he was turning nineteen - physical intimacy, the comforting presence of someone he trusts. Derek lingers in the quiet for a second longer before speaking up again. ]
I miss being your Dom.
no subject
You're still my Dom. Doesn't matter what the city says.
[Since, well, this is a two way street:]
Tell me what you want me to do for you. I liked it when you would.
no subject
It's your birthday. I want to do things for you.
[ His hand drifts down, closing the distance as his fingers curl softly around Tate's throat. Derek smooths his thumb down the ridge of Tate's adam's apple, stroking a line against his windpipe. There's not a ton of conviction in his voice, all soft-spoken and deadpan, but he means what he says when he says it. ]
I can take what I want from you any time. Today should be - special.
no subject
I want...
[It's easier to vocalize things when he's teasing Derek, when he's pushing the envelope to see how far it'll go. This moment feels especially real in that Derek's listening, and Tate has an actual opportunity to start asking for something. Where does he start?]
I want you to tie me to the bed. Our bed.
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Dangerous. I might not ever untie you.
[ He squeezes Tate's throat, just tight enough to be uncomfortable, feeling Tate swallow against his palm. He drops his hand further down until he's hooking his fingers in Tate's collar, and he's tugging on his shirt unnecessarily hard as he pulls him towards his bedroom. The door opens, and then Derek's pushing Tate by the small of his back towards the bed. ]
Lay down.
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