triskehale | (no subject)

Entry tags:

david,
patrick

(no subject)

Derek isn't sure what led to him standing in front of David and Patrick's store at closing time. He had been at Semele's and after about his third glass of wolfsbane ale, Kira had cut him off. This isn't like you, she had said, but that was kind of the point.

For just a little while, he wanted to not be himself.

After being gently nudged out of his own bar by a turquoise-haired girl half his size, Derek had just sort of wandered. He isn't drunk, not really, but there is a pleasant sort of buzz that makes his irises crackle red as the poison works its way through his system. All he knows is that he doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts, and the people he can turn to are dwindling either because it's gotten all complicated or they keep fucking disappearing.

So, Rose Apothecary it is. David and Patrick are kind to him. They know he's a wolf but they don't know about how he got his whole family killed because he couldn't keep his dick in his pants. They don't know about how he found half of his sister's body because he wasn't there to protect her, or how much of a failure he is as an alpha. They don't know how broken he is, or how much he's controlled by some rock in the sky a million miles away.

They're normal, David and Patrick. Not in a boring way but in a way that he has craved for most of his life. They're in love. They're content. He wants to bury his face in their necks and breathe it all in and just bask in it for a little while, this thing he'll never have.

He wants to be with his friends.

He's just stepping up to the door as David is moving to lock it on the other side, and Derek gives him a little wave before shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket, unsure of what to say. He doesn't want to be alone, but he doesn't want to say that out loud.

"Hey," he says through the glass. "You guys busy?"

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"Uh huh," David says, scrolling through his phone on the delivery app, adding corn bread and more ribs and a lot of french fries, too, as well as mashed potatoes and the gravy he likes so much.

"But, um... you can," he adds. "Tell us stuff. I'm very non-judgmental. I mean... okay, I'm sort of judgmental, but only about things like fashion and food and the general aesthetic of a person."

He wouldn't judge Derek for talking about his sister or how he feels.

Patrick hides a smile behind his palm at David really straining to put himself out there and support Derek. He knows it doesn't come so easy to him, which only makes him love David all the more for it. "You just have opinions," he insists, when David talks about being judgmental.

He gives him a warm smile, even if there's a teasing edge in his voice, "And as you've told me, the correct opinions, about everything, even."

Derek watches the two of them interact and can’t help but to feel as if he is a little in the way. Patrick’s tone is warm and flirty and Derek feels a petty stab of jealousy that makes him ache, somewhere deep down inside all those hollow parts. It’s not a jealousy of either one of them specifically, but of what they have. He’s always wanted something like what they have, and he almost had it.

But now he’s sure that he never will. It just wasn’t meant for someone like him.

He wants to get up and make excuses to leave, not wanting to bring the mood down any further, but it feels like it would be rude to do so now that the food has been ordered. Derek didn’t used to care about being rude. He wishes he didn’t now.

“I must have passed all three criteria,” he says after a moment, staring intently at his beer bottle as he picks at the label.

David shoots Patrick a look that he's pretty sure clearly says now is not the time to be flirting, Patrick! because Derek has just told them it's the anniversary of his sister's death and David knows there's a lot of other stuff he's been dealing with. He had been engaged, after all, and now his fiance isn't here anymore.

It's true David Rose isn't the most perceptive person in the world, but he's at least very clear on this.

"Obviously," he says when Derek says he's passed all the criteria. "Have you looked at yourself lately? You're a hot werewolf who cooks really delicious food. I mean, the whole henley and jeans thing would never work on me, but it's absolutely your ideal aesthetic. Right?" he asks, looking to Patrick. Is this how comforting someone works? He has no idea.

Patrick gives a slightly sheepish smile. He knows he's been a little excitable since David's memories came back, but it's an easy enough fix. He takes his hand off of David, or near him, and angles his body more to Derek, both forearms on the table.

"He's right," he points out. "I'm pretty sure if this place had an eligible bachelor night, you'd win." He offers an easy smile, making sure he strips it of sympathy. "You're also a really good guy, who cares a lot, and that shows. I'm sorry about what happened to your sister."

"Don't forget the leather jacket," Derek says flatly. "It's a very important part of the aesthetic."

They both face him, both of them giving him their attention, and Derek can't help but to feel flattered and awkward all at the same time. He lets out a huff of laughter at Patrick's words and shakes his head in fond amusement.

"Nah, the overall deduction for emotional baggage would ruin my chances," he quips, but he does smile softly over at Patrick. It feels kind of-- good, actually, to talk about her. "Thanks. But really, we can talk about something else."

"I mean, I really work a leather jacket, too, so I was actually just counting the things I can't wear," David answers, moving around to sit on the couch as he completes their giant food order. The app tells him it'll be close to an hour, which he thinks is fair, between the amount of food he ordered and the delivery time.

"And if emotional baggage meant people couldn't be eligible, we'd all be more or less fucked," he adds, making a pointed gesture at himself. David has enough emotional baggage for all three of them and for some reason Patrick still wants him, still loves him. If that sort of thing can happen for a man like him, he thinks it can happen for just about anyone.

Maybe not like, Donald Trump, but pretty much anyone else.

Patrick has learned to say nothing about clothes that maybe David shouldn't be wearing (because it's not like he knows, having absolutely zero fashion experiences outside of his midrange denim and his comfortable button-downs). Instead, he keeps an eye on Derek, not really knowing him enough to know whether he can argue that self-assessment.

"Trust me, I had a giant suitcase of baggage before I met David," Patrick agrees. "And I still can't pull off a leather jacket, so clearly, you're ahead of me."

Derek can't help but to smile as they rush to reassure him, but he knows that while they certainly have had their own fair of struggles, they haven't gone through the types of things that Derek has. But that's a good thing. He doesn't want anyone to suffer like he's suffered. He wants the both of them to have only good things.

"You can't, huh?" He really wants to shift the mood away from the dark and dreary, so he twists around and pulls his jacket from the back of the chair before tossing it across the table to Patrick. "Prove it."

"Yes," he says. "Prove it."

David is biased. David thinks Patrick will look good no matter what he wears, which is very evident in the fact that he absolutely adores him even in his midrange, boot cut jeans. That includes Derek's leather jacket.

"Food is twenty minutes away," he adds after looking at his phone.

Patrick lets out a slightly wary laugh, staring at the jacket. He's not so sure about wearing someone else's jacket, but he picks it up by the collar, giving both David and Derek a look that begs for their kindness and sympathy.

"When I look like I'm wearing my father's clothes, just remember you encouraged this," he insists, and adjusts it as he tugs it on. It does sit a little big, but it's not awful.

He still feels ridiculous. "I look like I'm in a production of Grease, don't I?"

"Your father has good taste in leather, then," Derek says, mostly just to tease. Patrick pulls on the jacket and it's a little big but not overly so. It hangs over his hands because Derek likes his sleeves a little longer, but it doesn't look bad. Derek looks him over as he leans back in his chair, sipping idly at his beer before looking over at David.

"Definitely not Grease. West Side Story, at the very least." He smirks, and then looks back over at Patrick as he lifts his finger in the air to draw a circle. "Give us a twirl."

David sucks his lips between his teeth as he slumps against Derek a little, always a touchier person than most others expect of him. So much of his life, he's been closed off emotionally, but touching people is easy. It's almost expected. David doesn't even think about it most of the time.

"Oooh, yes, fashion show," he insists. "You started this."

He's not sure how Patrick is responsible for this, but he's convinced that he is.

Patrick feels ridiculous.

He still doesn't think he embodies any of this, but does the twirl with his head sort of bowed, a little embarrassed, coming back to stand there as he tugs on the lapels of it, pulling it off to hand it back to Derek, suddenly wondering if he fucked up.

"Should I be offering to dry clean this for you so your smell isn't screwed up?" he asks, warily, not entirely sure how werewolf-etiquette culture works, because...well, because his life was fairly normal before this.

David leans against him and it feels natural enough for Derek to lift an arm to rest across his shoulders. He sips from his beer as Patrick does a slow, awkward turn, doing his best to bite back a laugh.

He sets his beer down to take the jacket when offered and gives Patrick a quizzical look before laughing.

"It's fine. I'd smell you on it anyway," he replies with an easy smile. "Trust me, if you knew what all I could smell, you'd be even more embarrassed than you are now."

"Ew," David says firmly as he pats the space next to him on the couch as an invitation for Patrick to sit down and relax. If Derek can smell everything, then he can probably smell what they had for dinner the past week, whatever smells they made in the bathroom, which is extra gross, and the fact that they had sex on this couch not all that long ago.

Which, okay, he really doesn't want to know about.

"But also, you never dry clean leather," he continues. "Please, for the love of all things beautiful, tell me you'll never dry clean any of my leather."

Edited 2020-07-05 17:08 (UTC)

Patrick really doesn't want to think about that, so he settles in next to David, close enough to press their legs together, but at a suitable distance so it doesn't look like they're snuggling up. "I promise not to ruin any of your very nice leather goods," he vows, hand over his heart.

"I think all we proved is that I'm still every bit the business major that we all knew I was," he teases. "Though, maybe it's just the leather that doesn't suit me. I wasn't so bad in the Cabaret wear," he muses aloud, like he's secretly a little proud of that.

Patrick sits down on David's other side and for a moment David is pressed between them, and Derek can't help but to take comfort in the closeness. His arm is still draped over David's shoulders, so he reaches over to give the back of Patrick's neck a gentle squeeze before removing his arm and resting his hand on his thigh.

"Cabaret wear," Derek repeats, tipping his beer bottle back to finish the rest of it before looking over at Patrick with a raised brow. "I'm not exactly sure what that includes, but my mind is conjuring up leather. Is there not leather in Cabaret?"

"He arrived here wearing shorts, garters, and this weird and sexy strappy little thing that went across his chest with a bowtie in the centre," David says. "And eyeliner."

Now he actually remembers it all, too, which has taken this whole weight off not only him, but their relationship. David wouldn't have said they were struggling by any means, they were in love, they were happy, but now they're on the same page, too. It makes a big difference and it's a relief for David.

Patrick gives David a proud little smirk, delighted with himself. He leans forward to look to Derek. "I was the emcee in Cabaret," he explains. "I was really good," he adds, because he might have only remembered the opening number, and nothing past that.

His smile is just a little extra smug for David describing it as 'sexy'.

"It's in the closet, if you wanna play dress up," he teases to Derek.

"I thought that's what we were doing," Derek says as he lifts the jacket from his lap and gives it a little shake. He meets David's gaze and smirks before looking back over at Patrick.

"Let's see look number two, then." He's teasing, which is probably obvious by the way he rolls his lips into his mouth. "You guys talked it up so much."

"He was really good," David confirms, because now that he remembers it, he can also say that with certainty. There is literally nothing in the world anyone could do to get him to do something like that, no matter what his mother has gotten him to do over the years, because these days he actually has the slightest bit of self respect. Karaoke doesn't count, of course. But even if he'll never put himself in that position, Patrick really was very good.

"Wait, so which one of you is going to wear the sexy, strappy chest thing?" he asks, looking between them.

Patrick is still slouched on the couch, gesturing to Derek, then to the closet. "Oh, no, I already did my model turn," he insists, nodding to him. "This is your turn to wear the sexy, strappy chest thing," he tells him, because if he had to look like a boy playing dress up, then Derek can do the same.

"Unless David feels inclined to do it," is a comment that already has an answer, since he knows that no, David would not be inclined.

Patrick seems pretty confident in his declaration that Derek must wear the sexy strappy chest thing, and he's about to laugh it off, but he hears the sound of a car door slamming somewhere down the street. He lifts his chin a little and narrows in on the sound, scenting cooked meat and sweet barbecue sauce as someone hurriedly climbs the stairs.

David and Patrick can hear none of this, of course, so Derek makes a big show of pulling himself to his feet with a hapless shrug.

"Well, if it is my turn," Derek sighs out, reaching for the hem of his shirt just as the delivery man approaches their door. Just as he lifts the fabric, a loud knock sounds the apartment, and Derek snaps his fingers and clicks his tongue.

"Aw, shucks. Missed my chance," he says, eyes bright with amusement as he turns on his heel. "I'll get the door."

"He's a tease," David says to Patrick. "No one likes a tease."

Except that's clearly not true, because David is pretty sure the entire world loves a tease, that's why icky strip clubs are so damn popular. Besides, they clearly like Derek, tease or not.

What David does like, more than almost anything, is food. As Derek heads for the door, David jumps up from the couch -- as close to jumping as David Rose ever gets, anyway -- and heads for the kitchen to get out plates and utensils.