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bragnificent) wrote2017-02-27 07:58 am
bragnificent) wrote2017-02-27 07:58 am
Entry tags:
IC CONTACT ➛ mask or menace.
❝ Ｙｏ， ｙｏｕ ｇｏｔ Ｒｅｇｇｉｅ． Ｌｅａｖｅ ｉｔ！ ❞ ( ♪ )
❝ Ｙｏ， ｙｏｕ ｇｏｔ Ｒｅｇｇｉｅ． Ｌｅａｖｅ ｉｔ！ ❞ ( ♪ )
❝ Ｙｏ， ｙｏｕ ｇｏｔ Ｒｅｇｇｉｅ． Ｌｅａｖｅ ｉｔ！ ❞ ( ♪ )
no subject
The coldness in Reggie's voice, however? That, on the other hand, feels pretty good. Derek finds his face splitting into a smug, steady grin. He's one of those short-sighted, selfish kind of douchebags who is always so easily satisfied by poking someone just the right way. When there's an edge in someone's voice like that, a wall between them, a challenge, it just... feels like a win, like a reward for being on the offensive, for being the one to make the attack. He takes his time answering, locking his hands together and sighing softly through his nose. There's a pause before he finds his voice, which comes low and deep. Threatening. ]
You remember how I met Jughead. He was getting close to somebody I care about, so I wanted to make sure he was a good person. Someone trustworthy.
[ His eyes rake over Reggie's body, sizing him up. Evaluating him, judging him. He tilts his head and watches Moose standing at his owner's heels, looking back at Derek with bright, brown eyes. He might like Moose more than Reggie. ]
I didn't think I would have to do that again so soon.
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Moose whimpers by his feet and Reggie shushes him idly, having to grope down idly to pat the dog's head as he's determinedly not breaking eye contact with Derek.
It doesn't really click at all why Derek might actually be here, but yeah, Reggie has no problem starting off combative, going into this ambush like he went into the streetfight with the Southside Serpents. He may have only his fists available to fight with at the moment, but for a human, Reggie is both strong and scrappy. ]
What the hell are you even talking about, Lassie?
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Intimidation tactics are needed, he decides, less because he wants to actually make Reggie feel unsafe and more because Laaaaaassie. Derek takes another long breath, lets loose another slow exhale. He flicks his wrist and Wolverines out - what were once flat, human fingernails are now sharp, almost blackened claws, tipped with jagged and serrated edges designed to maim and mangle. He picks at some dirt beneath one of them, tries to act casual. Tries to pretend he didn't just essentially pull out a knife. Ten knives. ]
I remember being your age. There was this girl - she didn't like me. I was this... loud, obnoxious piece of shit, always playing basketball in the halls while she was trying to practice cello. Always telling me to go away, always shooting me down when I asked why.
[ He rolls his shoulders and leans back a little, kicking out his feet and resting his hands in Reggie's sheets. Getting comfortable. This is his bed now. ]
I just know how much rejection sucks. If I hadn't liked her so much, I probably would have keyed her car. I would have at least called her something shitty behind her back.
[ like "lassie". this piece of shit. derek's still dwelling. ]
no subject
(But if this turns out to somehow be about Jughead he is so going to lose his shit.)
Just as well. When Derek's claws come out Moose lets out a sharp, sudden bark and Reggie's eyebrows raise high up his forehead, feet frozen in place for a long moment before they retreat back a step, backing himself against the door.
He looks at Derek almost indignantly, hand held out like what the fuck, dude?! ]
Am I supposed to be like, impressed by what a romantic that makes you or something? I don't... I mean I can't really relate, I haven't stalked anybody recently.
no subject
Derek still looks pretty intimidating, smiling down at his claws as he grips the bed a little tighter and starts to gently, gently tear a line through Reggie's sheets with all the ease of a fish through water... but man. He feels like such a dick. Why'd you have to have a dog, bro. ]
This is about Tate Langdon.
[ Derek gets to his feet, arms back across his chest, drumming his fingers one at a time over his bicep. he watches Reggie for a reaction, wanting to see what he might provoke with the namedrop - but he keeps talking, eyes sharp. ]
Getting turned down can piss a guy off. I get it. It's rough out there. And - I mean, to be turned down by Tate? Skinny, raggedy Tate. Always has his nose in a book, always looks like he's had too much weed. That must be such a blow - sorry - for a star athlete like you. I mean - you drive multiple cars. Does he not get how important that makes you?
[ So important, he mouths, trying as hard as he can not to roll his eyes. Derek shifts his weight to his other foot, still attempting to look relaxed, at ease, alert. ] I just hope your ego isn't too fragile for you to rise above it. I'm tired of busting people's kneecaps, man.
no subject
[ Expensive!, is Reggie's first instinctual, outraged reaction as he watches Derek tears his sheets, but then his eyes raise back to Derek's face as the namedrop registers. Reggie's face pales alarmingly, his mouth opening as if to speak, then closing for lack of knowing what to say.
Fuck. Fuck. FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK-- it's moments like this when Reggie really wonders why he's the one with a reputation for being a big mouth when he's not the one going around blabbing about things like poorly thought out liaisons (almost?) in the woods. ]
Why the hell-- no, how the hell-- okay, that is not what happened. I wasn't... I didn't even want-- [ Okay, fuck. This isn't working. He puts up a hand, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. ] Look, I already forgot about it. And it's for the best anyway, I do actually like not having lice or whatever the hell it is he's probably infested with.
[ He should explain more, maybe; like he was drunk (true), he was high (true), he was riding on the energy of the show and the night (true), the Goatman creature had put thoughts of their exes in both his and Tate's heads and it genuinely seemed like a good way to help them both un-tense from that... (true), but, explaining himself any further in this case seems vaguely mortifying. So yes: his ego can indeed be a bit fragile.
Reggie bites the corner of his lower lip, then narrows his eyes and sinks down to one knee so he can begin petting Moose to calm him down. ]
What the hell has he been saying?
no subject
Nothing, really.
[ It's the truth, for the most part. Derek knows about what happened because Tate had needed to talk about it, but there was no mention of anything, in Derek's mind, that seemed particularly egregious. But he was spoken to in confidence; even now, it hasn't really sunk in that it's an asshole move to take something that had been confided in him over Tate's head in order to confront the source. Derek had slowed his roll enough to listen to what Reggie was saying, and he acted like he was mulling it over, eyes down and lost in thought in the stagnating silence punctured only by Moose's lil noises. But. Seems he's unsatisfied. ]
"Lice or whatever the hell it is he's probably infested with." That doesn't sound like something someone would say if they really didn't give a shit.
[ Reggie's on his knee and Derek, kind of pissed, takes it as a prompt to move forward, heavy boots thudding over the floor with each step. It's a power thing, all dumb and masculine and oppressive, when Derek slows to a stop and stands too close, using his height to intimidate. He just wants to know what was going through Reggie's head, the night of the concert. He decides to lean on being direct, because firing straight shots and dealing with the fallout if they hit is easier than blindly taking stabs in the dark. Casting his eyes briefly over Moose and still feeling like an asshole for ruining his afternoon, Derek gets the dumbest question out of the way first. ]
You in love with him?
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The fact he finds him "okay" is already miracle enough, but it only makes it all more hard to explain. It's hard for Reggie to even understand or justify it to himself after the fact, at least in words or rational thoughts. Emotionally and atmospherically, at the time, it had seemed to make sense.
He's suddenly very aware of the fact that Derek has closed in on him, putting Reggie right at dick level while he's down on one knee; he stands back up immediately, so quickly he falls backwards a bit against the door again. Ironically, Derek is the kind of person Reggie would normally much prefer to blow than Tate, but now is really not the time to think about it. ]
I'm just relieved that it didn't go any further. I wasn't-- well, we both had a lot more on our minds for that to even be on my radar at the time. It was a good show. Intense.
[ Reggie feels very crowded, which he tries to communicate with a flippant gesture of his hand to signal Derek should move back. Probably not going to happen, but, he may as well try the easy way first. ]
No. What? No way. [ Then, pausing and eager to shift the subject from himself (a rarity), Reggie takes a wary shot in the dark: ] All yours, dude.
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As a werewolf, Derek's nothing but instinct; all chaotic impulses, constantly hungry for meat and flesh and blood and touch. He's primal, animalistic, all emotion and muscle, and he understands more than anyone how decisions can be made in the heat of the moment over... logic. Civility. Reggie's blaming what happened on the atmosphere, and Derek believes him.
Reggie stands and steps back so suddenly that for a moment Derek doesn't understand why, but when it clicks he grins, more genuine than it should be. He's not reading any attraction being directed his way from Reggie, but that doesn't stop him from briefly flirting with the idea of stepping forward again, cornering Reggie against the wall to see if he would squirm away or stand defiant. Reggie's gesturing at him to move away, though, and that kind of crawls under his skin, sufficiently distracted. He stays rooted to the spot, unnecessarily petty. Looks like you're gonna have to try the hard way.
That stab in the dark only has him folding his arms tight, pressing at his (already very stupidly huge) biceps to make them bigger. Tough guy. ]
So you were blitzed out of your gourd, in other words. [ Good. Fine. Great. But. This doesn't help him. ] What are you going to say to him the next time you're together?
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[ It's a simple explanation... but that's fine. The last thing Reggie wants is to go over any details, so he's more than happy to move on and avoid tempting Derek to try and push for any more of said details.
Derek's combative stubbornness ironically helps to cool Reggie's frustration, though; Reggie's often a bit of a drama-loving troublemaker by nature, and this situation has reached a point where he sees a big green light to fuck with Derek flashing in front of him. The defensive is a boring and often disconcerting place to be-- Reggie certainly doesn't like it, preferring either offense or to simply be unflappable, if not a spectator, so if he's uncomfortable of course he'd prefer to turn that right around. He raises one eyebrow, high; oh, so this is how it's going to be, huh?
Reggie cuts his gaze briefly to look Derek over, at least as much as he can see from this close up, then meets his eyes again, brow still raised, and shrugs very slowly. He makes no renewed effort to move Derek, leaning back and bending one leg at the knee to rest against the wall like he could be comfortable hanging out there for hours. ]
And I dunno. Haven't really decided yet.
[ He does know, obviously, and is only being obnoxious about it on purpose now; the answer is "nothing." Reggie's plans at the moment mostly just involve avoiding Tate or at least speaking to Tate as much as possible. He tilts his head, eyebrows raising higher in faux-curiosity. ]
Maybe that you stopped by?
no subject
Reggie's starting to push back, and any distantly percolating thoughts of slapping him on the back, saying hey thanks, good talk, i think i've got what i wanted and bailing out the window are swept from his mind. He's arching his eyebrows and Derek's arching his back, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. This piece of shit is trying to give him attitude? Oh, man. Okay. Let's drag this out, then. ]
Aw, Reg.
[ He looks at Reggie almost sympathetically, taking a slow step forward, cornering him tight against the wall. Derek puts his hands on Reggie's shoulders, dusting them off and fixing his jacket - quiet, invasive little gestures that close the distance between them completely without being strictly threatening. A subtle assertion that he's not afraid of putting his hands on him, if touch is what it will take to keep him quiet. ]
I'd hate to think you were that stupid.
[ His claws are retracted, his body now only as threatening as... well, as any other ridiculously heavily muscled athlete's with a chiseled jawline and huge arms who smells like a campfire and leather and has actually sort of killed more than one person with his bare hands before, I guess. He dusts Reggie's jacket down again and offers him a smile, bright and white and shit-eating, and when he makes eye contact, he keeps his palm spread open on Reggie's chest, holding him down against the wall. Part of being a werewolf is having super-strength - he's not using too much of that, but it's there, a flex of his forearm attempting to anchor Reggie in place, hopefully make him feel powerless to move. ]
I mean - as much as I'd like to say otherwise, I'm not the boss of you. If you want to talk to him, go ahead? Just as long as you realize I'd have to visit you again. Kiiinda think you wouldn't like it if I had to visit you again.
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He also thought he might drop back down again to calm Moose, see if that didn't work to draw Derek back enough to create a bit of space. But apparently neither option is on the table now.
Moose barks again, growls, whimpers, but Reggie doesn't panic; his breathing does get deeper, far more shallow, and his eyes don't leave Derek's face except to occasionally -- very briefly -- glance in the vague direction of Moose's barks, then quickly return back to reestablish eye contact. He wets his lips slowly before speaking, wanting to make sure his voice will be level and not betray any unease. ]
I mean, try it. I might not mind. [ Slow breath, in and out. Reggie's head and shoulders straighten, fists clenching tightly like they're spring-loaded, just waiting to be fired. ] So what's the big deal, then? This weird obsession isn't mutual?
no subject
"I might not mind". Hmm. Another soft, scrutinizing rise of his eyebrows and a matching grin that indicates he's either being won over or thinking about things he shouldn't. He looks at his hand on Reggie's chest, lets it linger, then slowly eases back, grabbing the hem of Reg's shirt and tugging it down to smooth out any wrinkles he might have left in the fabric. A quick pat to Reggie's chest and he's stepping back, rolling his shoulders. ]
Something like that. [ There are too many layers in his relationship with Tate, none of them Derek can stand by without coming off as kind of fucked up. He can deal with the insinuations, the phrase "weird obsession". That being said - he tries to pull attention away from himself. ]
I think you're an asshole. I think you feel like you're important because you know how to throw a ball and you had a nice car back home. You put value on shit that doesn't matter.
[ Derek's the one who kneels down now, sinking to half his height in front of Reggie. He's looking at Moose, holding a hand out for the dog to sniff. He half expects to be bitten, but he really doesn't like hearing the poor little dude whimper, and he thinks it's a pretty rad display of confidence to bow his head to Reggie and show that he doesn't feel threatened by him after trying to read him. ]
But I also think you're pretty harmless. "The big deal" is that I'm trying to be a little more discerning about whose voicebox I tear out with my teeth. [ He tilts his head to look up at Reggie, hand still open for Moose. ] Assuming you leave Tate alone and don't go running your mouth to anyone about my being here, your throat can stay in one piece. That's a pretty decent deal, right?
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His eyes follow Derek's hand, then raise back up, his face once again returning to a cool, neutral state. It's obvious there's several emotions competing there right under the surface, mostly anger and indignation and smugness with very mild undertones of shame and arousal (the two unrelated). Reggie doesn't care for losing face, absolutely hates being made to feel small, but there are times when he can kind of respect it, too. This is one of those times, rare in that there is no in-built baggage or inherent competition for him to get too hung up on to let, er, sleeping dogs rest. He's not over it yet now, but he can see himself getting there.
Derek kneels, and Moose sniffs him warily, still growling and taking the opportunity to move himself protectively in front of Reggie's legs. He doesn't lick Derek, but doesn't bite him either. ]
That's a good boy. [ Reggie says, petting his still-growling dog. ] And I think you know as well as I do that all that shit does matter. You're an idiot if you think it doesn't. But what's that even got to do with any of this? I mean it's not my fault that your boy there isn't more like me.
[ Then, frowning and brushing his bangs out of his face, he adds after a pause in a distinctly more irritated tone: ]
I'm also obviously not the one who's been running my mouth.
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Just telling you what I think of you. You just... there's no real power in being the golden boy in highschool.
[ He's kind of projecting here, honestly, but he's been projecting since before he even came over. Derek fucked up when he was younger, started something with someone he shouldn't have because he was real god damn hard and real god damn lonely and that someone knew all the right things to say to get in his pants. Coming here to give Reggie a shovel talk is as based in his own self-loathing for the mistakes he worried Tate might have been reliving as it is in the insults he's spouting now. Derek fucking loves being good at sports, loved owning an expensive car back home, loved ruling highschool. He sees himself in Reggie, thus: projects.
Moose is growling and Derek just lets his hand hang there, watching the little guy stick his teeth out and figuring it's probably time to head out. Giving a dog cardiac arrest wasn't really part of his plan, and while the primal, shittier side of him kind of wants to make some last final show of establishing dominance before he leaves, he doesn't have the focus after Reggie's started to interest him as more than just "that dick on the network" or "that dumb horny kid". He likes him. That's no good. He stands back up, giving Reggie another once over. He really does enjoy this, the way Reggie's staying calm, pushing back. It makes Derek see him in a light he doesn't often see people in. ]
For all the lines in the sand I'm drawing here, you would have made a good wolf. It's too bad you aren't interested in the bite - I could have liked having you.
[ But it is what it is. ] I'll be in touch, Reggie. Don't do anything stupid while my back is turned, yeah? I don't want to regret not dislocating your shoulders when I had the chance.
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All he does instead is sneer in a sort of smug, mocking way -- tHeRE's nO rEaL pOwEr iN bEiNg tHE goLdEn bOY iN hIgH scHoOL -- and pets Moose a little harder, in a more calming way than he was before since he doesn't particularly enjoy watching his dog be stressed out, funny as it is when it's bothering Derek.
You would have made a good wolf. It's too bad you aren't interested in the bite, I could have liked having you.
Reggie doesn't know what to say to that. He wets his lips idly in either thought or uncertainty (once again, it's both), not really wanting to humor the offer or the idea too seriously. The benefits are kind of tempting, but-- no, that's stupid. Why should he want to be a werewolf? ]
Well yeah, of course I would make a great wolf. You haven't even seen half of what I can do. On the field, on a court, out in the street-- [ Sports foster a bit of a pack mentality in of themselves. ] Between the sheets... wherever, whenever.
[ Quite a renaissance man, isn't he. Reggie tries not to seem too relieved that Derek's leaving, but he definitely is. Even if he kind of respects the guy despite himself, being put in his place like this is never an experience Reggie enjoys-- the only thing stopping this from becoming an out-and-out brawl is the fact Reggie already knows he'd lose, and he doesn't have quite that strong a death wish. ]
Whatever. Just go already. I need to take Moose out. [ Muttered, a bit. Still no death wishes here. ] And you've already made your stupid point.