[Tate looks - saddened, like he can tell he's not as important to Derek if he's not willing to be bitten. Which he is, immensely so, but he's a boy whose poet souls still wishes to mean something of its own merit. He swallows hard and looks down at the sand, thinking quietly to himself what it would mean to just - say yes, here and now. He has time, he needs to take that time. To pretend he's rational and sane.]
Okay. I'll - I'll tell you when I know.
["I already know."]
This is where - where you gotta tell me any freaky shit, though. Like how bad's the flea deal.
[ Derek nods, leaning back in the sand again, staring up at the sky. Lots of ways this conversation could have gone. He's not sure if this was the best outcome for either of them, but - there's a shift here, now. A new shape to their relationship. ]
No fleas. Just, you know. Insatiable arousal on the full moon. Slightly more carnivorous appetite. Giant, shapeshifting dick.
[ At least one of those things is true. Derek hits Tate with a neutral, lazy stare, the kind of expression that makes it difficult to tell how serious he is, but. It doesn't last. There's something else on his mind - something small enough to nag at him, guilting him for lying by omission. Something he feels he needs to bring up.
This is a huge, huge offer, and not providing full disclosure is - manipulative, in the end. Derek doesn't want to... do this, but he can't keep trying to weakly convince himself he's a good person if he doesn't. Slowly, he adds something else. ]
We heal fast. Hurt less. Drugs and alcohol won't get you wasted. Your cells regenerate too quickly for anything like that to take.
[Joking, mostly because - giant shapeshifting dick? That almost makes him laugh, but the moment feels just shy of funny. So he smiles slightly and shifts, returning to drawing lines in the sand - triangles this time. He pauses after joining two lines with a third, staring down at the sand before slowly drawing his eyes up to Derek when he lets that second shoe drop.
Well, he can't say he didn't expect this. He knew this? He knew this about Derek. And yet it feels like he was just kicked in the teeth, reeling for a second when he thinks just far enough ahead to apply those facts to his own life. Forced sobriety's a small send off for deep roots of connection and fucking furry superpowers, but even still.]
Oh. Right.
[He blinks his gaze away, slight frown as he looks back down to the sand.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Okay. I'll - I'll tell you when I know.
["I already know."]
This is where - where you gotta tell me any freaky shit, though. Like how bad's the flea deal.
no subject
No fleas. Just, you know. Insatiable arousal on the full moon. Slightly more carnivorous appetite. Giant, shapeshifting dick.
[ At least one of those things is true. Derek hits Tate with a neutral, lazy stare, the kind of expression that makes it difficult to tell how serious he is, but. It doesn't last. There's something else on his mind - something small enough to nag at him, guilting him for lying by omission. Something he feels he needs to bring up.
This is a huge, huge offer, and not providing full disclosure is - manipulative, in the end. Derek doesn't want to... do this, but he can't keep trying to weakly convince himself he's a good person if he doesn't. Slowly, he adds something else. ]
We heal fast. Hurt less. Drugs and alcohol won't get you wasted. Your cells regenerate too quickly for anything like that to take.
no subject
[Joking, mostly because - giant shapeshifting dick? That almost makes him laugh, but the moment feels just shy of funny. So he smiles slightly and shifts, returning to drawing lines in the sand - triangles this time. He pauses after joining two lines with a third, staring down at the sand before slowly drawing his eyes up to Derek when he lets that second shoe drop.
Well, he can't say he didn't expect this. He knew this? He knew this about Derek. And yet it feels like he was just kicked in the teeth, reeling for a second when he thinks just far enough ahead to apply those facts to his own life. Forced sobriety's a small send off for deep roots of connection and fucking furry superpowers, but even still.]
Oh. Right.
[He blinks his gaze away, slight frown as he looks back down to the sand.]
I guess that makes sense.