IC CONTACT ➛ mask or menace.

[bragnificent]

❝ Ｙｏ， ｙｏｕ ｇｏｔ Ｒｅｇｇｉｅ． Ｌｅａｖｅ ｉｔ！ ❞ ( ♪ )

Comments

[calloused]

[ "A good show, intense". Derek gets that. He'd heard about that from Tate, too; the way the music made him feel alive, energy thrumming through his core. Derek had almost made it to the concert, backing out as soon as they got there, scared off by the fire; he could feel the energy in the air, smell the crackle of something vibrant and burnt that didn't feel human.

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?

[bragnificent]

That's one way to put it, sure. That definitely would never happen with him sober.

[ 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?

[calloused]

[ Simple explanation or not, Derek might be... pretty sated by that answer. Even since being imPorted, he's fucked people he shouldn't have fucked entirely because he was in a shitty state of mind and wanted a quick high to keep himself distracted, and he's a fucking werewolf, drugs don't even work on him. He's wary to admit it's a relief to chalk this all up to an emotionless, drunken fumble in the dark, but - it kind of is? His dick has led Derek to making some pretty fucking awful decisions in his life, and it's much easier to overbearingly protect Tate from the same mistakes if he and Reggie aren't secretly seeing stars in each other's eyes and if Reggie doesn't like him enough to want to break his legs for turning him down. So... good. Great. Everything... worked out.

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.

[bragnificent]

[ What Reggie had thought he might do next is be the one to put his palms on Derek's chest, to drive him back a step or two or at least get the point across that while he may not be super strong himself, he's still no shrinking violet-- still strong in his own right, and that's important to an alpha male, isn't it? Power respects power.

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?

[calloused]

[ Power does respect power. This, ironically, is what made Derek like Jughead so much in the first place - he busted into his bedroom, gave him a ludicrous about of attitude, and Jug just... took it. Reggie's giving Derek back everything Derek's trying to intimidate him with, and it's genuinely making him like the guy so much more than he already sort of did, beneath all the weird threats. Who would have known that Reggie and Jughead were so similar? They're basically twinsies.

"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?

[bragnificent]

[ When Derek's eyebrows raise, Reggie raises one of his own and offers a thin-lipped smirk in return, cocking his head slightly to one side in consideration or challenge. Both, perhaps; Reggie's bravado tends to be somewhat layered.

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.

[calloused]

[ He takes it as both. He doesn't back down, but it's hard for him to act tough when he's genuinely pretty fucking amused by this kid. He runs his tongue beneath his bottom lip like he's trying to stop himself from smiling, but it doesn't really work when there's a new layer of affection in his voice even as he starts talking shit again. ]

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.

[bragnificent]

[ It's briefly tempting for Reggie to retort that he's not the golden boy at his high school, that's without a doubt got to be Archie Andrews, and the only thing that stops him is that he's not really in the mood to talk about Archie for whatever follow-up questions that might inspire. Before Archie it would have been Jason Blossom, who Reggie would like talking about even less.

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.