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[The funny thing about death is that life doesn't stop for it.
It had been two months since Scott McCall's death. It went into the books as a mauling by a mountain lion, like the death of the video store clerk and the janitor--all that felt like years ago. Everything did, or at least it did for Stiles. Like everything around him was encased in molasses, sticky with guilt and tears and panic, nostalgia that hung over him like a curtain some days and sliced at him like a knife others. Stiles was no stranger to loss, but nothing, not a single funeral home or viewing, could have prepared him for having to bury his best friend. Every joke about him dying without Stiles had come to horrible, gut twisting fruition, and although he'd gotten to the point now where he was out of bed, walking around, talking to people again, the guilt found him in the dark of the night and around the corners of his room, striking in the shower or every waking moment he spent alone. What he could have done. What Scott could have told him, that stupid heroic bastard--
It didn't matter. No matter how many panic attacks he had, no matter how much he glanced to his right after a smart comment and felt his stomach twist up into knots until he wanted to vomit, nothing was going to bring Scott back.
So life went on. Harris still gave him detention. Finstock gave him this face that he was pretty sure was supposed to be sympathetic, but still ran his ass into the ground with suicides. Stiles had been given the best advice he could have asked for by someone he'd never expected so many months back, and he'd adopted it as a personal mantra. If you're going through hell, keep going. So Stiles got out of bed in the morning. He talked to people at school, Allison, Lydia, Erica, Boyd, Isaac. In the end, he went to Derek with questions, and a talk over coffee had turned into several talks over coffee, until they'd bonded tight enough over their mutual trauma and quietly similar interests that he never really left. One day, they'd been enemies, the next, barely okay with each other, and then, friends, leaning into each other on the dip of Stiles' bed, so close that lines were being blurred, spending time together in comfortable, necessary, silence. Maybe he'd look back on that as strange later, but now, he simply needed Derek. As much as Derek needed him, grown into a mutual bond of trust, something he barely had with anyone anymore.
Especially when it came to his father. Scott's death steeled Stiles' resolve towards something else. Everything he felt over the gaping, aching hole of his best friend and what he could have done to help had become the boiling point on a tumbling mountain of guilt that had simmered since his mother's death. He couldn't lie to his dad anymore. And now, sitting in his room with his fingers loosely interlaced and hanging between his knees, he levels his gaze to Derek's, resolve firm in his eyes--for more than one reason, albeit one was just bubbling under the surface. A consideration, for now.
When he finally does speak up, it's measured, slow.]
I can't...I can't leave him in the dark anymore. Dad could help, and we're trying to lead him around with blinders on.
It had been two months since Scott McCall's death. It went into the books as a mauling by a mountain lion, like the death of the video store clerk and the janitor--all that felt like years ago. Everything did, or at least it did for Stiles. Like everything around him was encased in molasses, sticky with guilt and tears and panic, nostalgia that hung over him like a curtain some days and sliced at him like a knife others. Stiles was no stranger to loss, but nothing, not a single funeral home or viewing, could have prepared him for having to bury his best friend. Every joke about him dying without Stiles had come to horrible, gut twisting fruition, and although he'd gotten to the point now where he was out of bed, walking around, talking to people again, the guilt found him in the dark of the night and around the corners of his room, striking in the shower or every waking moment he spent alone. What he could have done. What Scott could have told him, that stupid heroic bastard--
It didn't matter. No matter how many panic attacks he had, no matter how much he glanced to his right after a smart comment and felt his stomach twist up into knots until he wanted to vomit, nothing was going to bring Scott back.
So life went on. Harris still gave him detention. Finstock gave him this face that he was pretty sure was supposed to be sympathetic, but still ran his ass into the ground with suicides. Stiles had been given the best advice he could have asked for by someone he'd never expected so many months back, and he'd adopted it as a personal mantra. If you're going through hell, keep going. So Stiles got out of bed in the morning. He talked to people at school, Allison, Lydia, Erica, Boyd, Isaac. In the end, he went to Derek with questions, and a talk over coffee had turned into several talks over coffee, until they'd bonded tight enough over their mutual trauma and quietly similar interests that he never really left. One day, they'd been enemies, the next, barely okay with each other, and then, friends, leaning into each other on the dip of Stiles' bed, so close that lines were being blurred, spending time together in comfortable, necessary, silence. Maybe he'd look back on that as strange later, but now, he simply needed Derek. As much as Derek needed him, grown into a mutual bond of trust, something he barely had with anyone anymore.
Especially when it came to his father. Scott's death steeled Stiles' resolve towards something else. Everything he felt over the gaping, aching hole of his best friend and what he could have done to help had become the boiling point on a tumbling mountain of guilt that had simmered since his mother's death. He couldn't lie to his dad anymore. And now, sitting in his room with his fingers loosely interlaced and hanging between his knees, he levels his gaze to Derek's, resolve firm in his eyes--for more than one reason, albeit one was just bubbling under the surface. A consideration, for now.
When he finally does speak up, it's measured, slow.]
I can't...I can't leave him in the dark anymore. Dad could help, and we're trying to lead him around with blinders on.
[ At least Stiles didn't sit alone in his guilt.
No stranger to the feeling weighing heavy on his shoulders, in the pit of his stomach, souring at the back of his mouth, Derek had been carrying a sensation of guilt for the past two months. There were far too many reasons for it, too, beyond simply feeling responsible for Scott McCall.
If he'd just gotten his head out of his ass sooner, maybe they would've been more solidified as a pack. They wouldn't have been operating in circles around each other, wary and hesitant to form a tighter allegiance than the one built on distrust and dislike. If he'd only gotten there sooner, when the sense of dread struck him too late. If he'd just done right as the alpha of Beacon Hills.
It was too late, after his death, but at least he could bury him somewhere safe. Sure, they'd buried a casket under the gravestone, but Derek was never one to adhere to human ceremonies. Not after everything that'd happened to him. Besides, there was only so much ashwood and wolfsbane could do in a graveyard to protect a body from the supernatural, from vindictive hunters out to provoke the pack into fighting them. Burying Scott in the forest, at the foot of a rowan-- healing, connection, protection-- with Deaton's help to ward it further had felt right.
He could do that much, for Scott.
For Melissa McCall, he could fill her home with pack. Keep her company, let her know that she wasn't alone. She was strong, but even that wasn't enough some days. Laura had always been the one to offer comfort to the upset, the grieving, but he could at least try for a woman who'd lost her son on his watch.
Nevermind how much it helped the pack, grieving at the loss of a packmate. Even one so disconnected as Scott had been. He'd been Isaac's friend, more than Erica and Boyd's, but that didn't change the fact there was a tangible tear slowly mending itself in their beta camaraderie.
Which didn't even begin to touch what he felt around Stiles. He couldn't explain, really, what compelled him to spend so much time around the human who'd lost his best friend. But from the moment that he'd seen Stiles the night that Scott had died, he'd known: he had to be there. So he was, starting out unsteady as they always did, before he stopped climbing through Stiles' window most of the time and started to use the door (admittedly only when the sheriff wasn't in, to avoid too many questions). The alpha could just look at Stiles and know that something had shifted, that something was on his mind.
Which is what he does now, eyes focused unflinchingly on him in silence. There's something more to this, but he doesn't press for it yet. ]
I was never against telling him the truth, so long as you knew what that meant. If you think he should know, then he should. It'd prepare him, make it so that he knows what he's up against the next time he steps into a crime scene that something inhuman is behind. [ A pause, and his voice softens a little, from his even tone. ] He'd be safer for it.
No stranger to the feeling weighing heavy on his shoulders, in the pit of his stomach, souring at the back of his mouth, Derek had been carrying a sensation of guilt for the past two months. There were far too many reasons for it, too, beyond simply feeling responsible for Scott McCall.
If he'd just gotten his head out of his ass sooner, maybe they would've been more solidified as a pack. They wouldn't have been operating in circles around each other, wary and hesitant to form a tighter allegiance than the one built on distrust and dislike. If he'd only gotten there sooner, when the sense of dread struck him too late. If he'd just done right as the alpha of Beacon Hills.
It was too late, after his death, but at least he could bury him somewhere safe. Sure, they'd buried a casket under the gravestone, but Derek was never one to adhere to human ceremonies. Not after everything that'd happened to him. Besides, there was only so much ashwood and wolfsbane could do in a graveyard to protect a body from the supernatural, from vindictive hunters out to provoke the pack into fighting them. Burying Scott in the forest, at the foot of a rowan-- healing, connection, protection-- with Deaton's help to ward it further had felt right.
He could do that much, for Scott.
For Melissa McCall, he could fill her home with pack. Keep her company, let her know that she wasn't alone. She was strong, but even that wasn't enough some days. Laura had always been the one to offer comfort to the upset, the grieving, but he could at least try for a woman who'd lost her son on his watch.
Nevermind how much it helped the pack, grieving at the loss of a packmate. Even one so disconnected as Scott had been. He'd been Isaac's friend, more than Erica and Boyd's, but that didn't change the fact there was a tangible tear slowly mending itself in their beta camaraderie.
Which didn't even begin to touch what he felt around Stiles. He couldn't explain, really, what compelled him to spend so much time around the human who'd lost his best friend. But from the moment that he'd seen Stiles the night that Scott had died, he'd known: he had to be there. So he was, starting out unsteady as they always did, before he stopped climbing through Stiles' window most of the time and started to use the door (admittedly only when the sheriff wasn't in, to avoid too many questions). The alpha could just look at Stiles and know that something had shifted, that something was on his mind.
Which is what he does now, eyes focused unflinchingly on him in silence. There's something more to this, but he doesn't press for it yet. ]
I was never against telling him the truth, so long as you knew what that meant. If you think he should know, then he should. It'd prepare him, make it so that he knows what he's up against the next time he steps into a crime scene that something inhuman is behind. [ A pause, and his voice softens a little, from his even tone. ] He'd be safer for it.
[Stiles looks up, his eyebrows rising just a millimeter and his mouth opening, before he shuts it again. He wasn't expecting Derek to just...agree with him. Derek is one of those people that continues to take the way he assumes things, dump them on their heads, and then shake them around a little bit for their lunch money. It's baffling at best, irritating and obnoxious at it's worst, occasionally enjoyable depending on the particular puzzle presented.
At the moment, he tries to cover his surprise, drawing his mouth into a line. There's just a beat of silence, both between them and mentally as his mind kicks itself into life, roaring into gear with the sudden affirmation. (And it's strange, that he sought out Derek's approval first. It's not actually that strange, and he can connect the dots to why; and maybe this is a first step in that direction.) It doesn't take Stiles long to start talking, moving his hands--he's thinking out loud, a habit that he'd never quite broken.]
After the last "mountain lion" thing--he was suspicious, he was always suspicious. He was the one who found the deer with Peter's mark of revenge on it. It's not like he couldn't have figured it out in the first place, but...[The words die in his throat. How can he connect those dots--tell his dad all along, that he's been involved in these ridiculous situations because his best friend is--was-- a werewolf? It seems so easy, but so impossible at the same time. Running his hand through the thick, dark hair recently grown onto his head, he shakes his head abruptly, exhaling loudly.] There should be a hallmark card for this. Sorry About The Werewolves.
At the moment, he tries to cover his surprise, drawing his mouth into a line. There's just a beat of silence, both between them and mentally as his mind kicks itself into life, roaring into gear with the sudden affirmation. (And it's strange, that he sought out Derek's approval first. It's not actually that strange, and he can connect the dots to why; and maybe this is a first step in that direction.) It doesn't take Stiles long to start talking, moving his hands--he's thinking out loud, a habit that he'd never quite broken.]
After the last "mountain lion" thing--he was suspicious, he was always suspicious. He was the one who found the deer with Peter's mark of revenge on it. It's not like he couldn't have figured it out in the first place, but...[The words die in his throat. How can he connect those dots--tell his dad all along, that he's been involved in these ridiculous situations because his best friend is--was-- a werewolf? It seems so easy, but so impossible at the same time. Running his hand through the thick, dark hair recently grown onto his head, he shakes his head abruptly, exhaling loudly.] There should be a hallmark card for this. Sorry About The Werewolves.
[ Waiting patiently for Stiles to recover from his faint surprise-- hard to miss, when Derek looks for every shift in his expression these days, from subtle to exaggerated-- he pushes off from where he'd been leaning against Stiles' desk. Though he might seem like a puzzle to Stiles, he spends just as much time trying to figure out the teen in front of him. He's something of a mystery, despite how straight forward he can often be. It's... interesting, to say the least. Frustrating, sometimes, but always a challenge he's willing to take up.
He lets him voice his thoughts, moving across the room over towards him until he can drop to sit alongside him. Their knees wind up close together, as Derek leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs. Fingers laced together, he settles his hands in front of his mouth, letting out a quiet hum. The sheriff's suspicions hadn't escaped him, not when he had been monitoring all of Beacon Hills since his return.
There were only so many lies they could tell before the truth came out. ]
That'd make our lives too easy. [ It's a dry comment, but there's not too much humor to it. But the offer to come after the unfortunately true joke is sincere, as he turns his head to look at him. ] I'll help you tell him, if you want. It might be better to have a werewolf there as demonstration.
He lets him voice his thoughts, moving across the room over towards him until he can drop to sit alongside him. Their knees wind up close together, as Derek leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs. Fingers laced together, he settles his hands in front of his mouth, letting out a quiet hum. The sheriff's suspicions hadn't escaped him, not when he had been monitoring all of Beacon Hills since his return.
There were only so many lies they could tell before the truth came out. ]
That'd make our lives too easy. [ It's a dry comment, but there's not too much humor to it. But the offer to come after the unfortunately true joke is sincere, as he turns his head to look at him. ] I'll help you tell him, if you want. It might be better to have a werewolf there as demonstration.
Mmmm. Can't exactly go "surprise, werewolves!" and not have any actual proof. [Nodding, he looks down at his own hands, not reacting as Derek's weight makes the bed bow a little, lining them up from thigh to knee. It's a nice feeling, comforting, and he furrows his brows, thinking.]
...he should know what really happened to Scott. [He scoffs.] Mountain lions. With that, and you and your teeth and general wolfishness, he's going to have to believe us. I mean, he said not to get involved with drugs or alcohol. I'm well behaved.
[Tilting his head a little to the side, he drops it on Derek's shoulder, sighing loudly in resignation.]
Damn it.
...he should know what really happened to Scott. [He scoffs.] Mountain lions. With that, and you and your teeth and general wolfishness, he's going to have to believe us. I mean, he said not to get involved with drugs or alcohol. I'm well behaved.
[Tilting his head a little to the side, he drops it on Derek's shoulder, sighing loudly in resignation.]
Damn it.
[ Head turning just enough to look at Stiles as he drops his own onto Derek's shoulder, he stays quiet as he mulls over the words. At the very least, they'd been able to tell Melissa about what had happened to his son. But it was different, here. The sheriff never did seem satisfied with a mountain lion being the culprit for an attack again, but it had been for his own good that he didn't know.
At first.
Turning his head the rest of the way, he noses briefly at the nest that Stiles has allowed his hair to become over the past couple months. ]
As long as we set it up so that he's not shocked into shooting me, I think things will go fairly smoothly.
At first.
Turning his head the rest of the way, he noses briefly at the nest that Stiles has allowed his hair to become over the past couple months. ]
As long as we set it up so that he's not shocked into shooting me, I think things will go fairly smoothly.
[In the past few months, these sort of moments have become normal for Stiles, and he doesn't react at all to Derek's movement, just shifting a little closer into his shoulder. It's taken some dissecting, late, sleepless nights where he'd spent hours trying to compartmentalize his feelings towards things combined with werewolf instinct and the very strong word of pack.
It's part of what's motivating his other decision. If he already feels like pack--if Beacon Hills has lost it's number one hero--it's time for the "sidekick" to step up to the plate. And if his dad knows; if his dad reacts well? It'd be the last catalyst he needs.
Sighing through his nose, he looks down at his hands, gesturing weakly.]
"Hey, dad. I know we've had a lot of trust issues in the past, but I swear to God I was totally lying for a really good reason." Yeah. This is going to go great.
[Laying on the sarcasm so thick.]
And besides, it'd just sting for a minute, no big deal. Great way to teach him about healing powers.
[So thick.]
It's part of what's motivating his other decision. If he already feels like pack--if Beacon Hills has lost it's number one hero--it's time for the "sidekick" to step up to the plate. And if his dad knows; if his dad reacts well? It'd be the last catalyst he needs.
Sighing through his nose, he looks down at his hands, gesturing weakly.]
"Hey, dad. I know we've had a lot of trust issues in the past, but I swear to God I was totally lying for a really good reason." Yeah. This is going to go great.
[Laying on the sarcasm so thick.]
And besides, it'd just sting for a minute, no big deal. Great way to teach him about healing powers.
[So thick.]
Edited 2012-12-23 20:11 (UTC)
[ There are moments, where Derek looks back on his time with Stiles since Scott's death, and can't help but question everything. If this is more than just pack-- he's come to the conclusion that it is-- or if Stiles hasn't come to mean more than he did at the start-- he has. It's something he doesn't quite ignore, so much as simply shift away. They have much more pressing things to worry about, than this connection.
And for as tactile as he can be when it's a quiet moment with the pack, individually or as a group, he rarely touches another person's hands. Occasionally, he'll hold Erica's as they sit together, but he never really makes that contact-- it's too personal.
Here, he shifts to hook their arms together loosely, taking one of Stiles' hands to still it and his gestures. To ground him. ]
You were trying to protect him, the same as he would've done for you if the tables were turned. He'll understand, later on if he doesn't now. [ He nudges at Stiles' hair again, before tucking the lower half of his face against it. ] He'll forgive you and want to help, regardless.
And for as tactile as he can be when it's a quiet moment with the pack, individually or as a group, he rarely touches another person's hands. Occasionally, he'll hold Erica's as they sit together, but he never really makes that contact-- it's too personal.
Here, he shifts to hook their arms together loosely, taking one of Stiles' hands to still it and his gestures. To ground him. ]
You were trying to protect him, the same as he would've done for you if the tables were turned. He'll understand, later on if he doesn't now. [ He nudges at Stiles' hair again, before tucking the lower half of his face against it. ] He'll forgive you and want to help, regardless.
[The weirdest thing about that isn't that it's comforting, or that Derek's holding his hand. It's that it's normal. There'd be a time where he'd have been freaked out, before, but now? Now he just gives the hand against his, warm and calloused and pressed right into the crevices between his fingers like a perfect fit, a gentle squeeze. Stiles leans a little into his arm, closing his eyes and letting his head bow with the stress of several months of guilt and pain.]
I know he will. [He sighs softly, tilting his head up again just a little, to make it more comfortable for them both, and turns his cheek into Derek's shoulder.] ...I just don't know when he'll forgive me. And the last thing I need right now is my dad giving me that look again.
I know he will. [He sighs softly, tilting his head up again just a little, to make it more comfortable for them both, and turns his cheek into Derek's shoulder.] ...I just don't know when he'll forgive me. And the last thing I need right now is my dad giving me that look again.
[ Returning the squeeze, keeping it firm but gentle, Derek closes his eyes as he listens to Stiles, lets him shift against his shoulder. The fact that this can now be considered normal, after months of turmoil followed by months of grief, is a little disorienting at times. But aside from what lead up to it, he wouldn't really change the fact that this is something he can do now.
Whether he would admit to it or not. ]
It won't be long, Stiles. I know it won't be.
Whether he would admit to it or not. ]
It won't be long, Stiles. I know it won't be.
Totally can't believe I'm saying this, but. [A soft smile slides onto his face and he rubs his thumb idly against the curve of Derek's finger, a calmer sort of nervous movement.] I really hope you're right.
[Exhaling a little, he goes to shift away from him, but pauses, lifting his head off his shoulder to look at him, really look at him. He's immeasurably thankful for...most of the things Derek's been able to provide since Scott's death, and it's hard to put it into words. For now, he settles for a soft mumble of gratitude, meeting his gaze.]
...thanks.
[Exhaling a little, he goes to shift away from him, but pauses, lifting his head off his shoulder to look at him, really look at him. He's immeasurably thankful for...most of the things Derek's been able to provide since Scott's death, and it's hard to put it into words. For now, he settles for a soft mumble of gratitude, meeting his gaze.]
...thanks.
[ Rather than pulling away with the touch, Derek looks down to where their hands are joined, almost thoughtfully. It's such a surreal thing to see, to do, but he doesn't dislike it, exactly. He just doesn't want to attach any words to it.
So instead, he squeezes Stiles' hand again lightly, lifting his head as he does so that he can meet his gaze. His expression is quiet, as it has been these past two months, but there's something lighter to it.
Tipping his head forward, he briefly taps their foreheads together. ]
You don't need to thank me, Stiles.
So instead, he squeezes Stiles' hand again lightly, lifting his head as he does so that he can meet his gaze. His expression is quiet, as it has been these past two months, but there's something lighter to it.
Tipping his head forward, he briefly taps their foreheads together. ]
You don't need to thank me, Stiles.
[When Derek comes closer, there's a weird thought that he's going to go in for--more than he actually does. It flits across Stiles' subconscious and he raises his eyebrows at him when Derek presses their foreheads together, finally deciding to close his eyes and exhale, side of his mouth curling up into a small, soft smile. ]
Good. It's kind of hurting my pride.
[His tone is teasing, obviously, and the smile on his face turns up a little more as he pulls himself a couple centimeters away.]
Good. It's kind of hurting my pride.
[His tone is teasing, obviously, and the smile on his face turns up a little more as he pulls himself a couple centimeters away.]
[ Snorting at the comment, and not at all focusing on how close he is to Stiles right then, Derek lets his eyes fall half-shut as he looks at him. There's a lot of thoughts that want to come to the forefront of his mind, but he simply pushes them back. There's something more pressing, more serious, to attend to than whatever they are, now. ]
I'm sure it'll recover.
[ Something small and quiet pulls at the corner of his mouth in response to Stiles' own smile, teasing in turn. He doesn't move back, though, simply regarding him. ]
I'm sure it'll recover.
[ Something small and quiet pulls at the corner of his mouth in response to Stiles' own smile, teasing in turn. He doesn't move back, though, simply regarding him. ]
Tell that to my ego.
[For just a second, his eyes flick down to Derek's mouth, in a near mirror of their first meeting. Stiles lets out a low snort at Derek's comment, but doesn't respond immediately, turning his gaze back up slowly.
The decision he makes is a snap one. Derek's right about his pride; it'll recover quickly. The worst that could happen is a couple awkward days of silence. It's not like Derek'll take his head off.
It lasts for barely a second; Stiles pushes his weight forward and presses a fleeting, barely there kiss to his mouth before he jerks back.]
[For just a second, his eyes flick down to Derek's mouth, in a near mirror of their first meeting. Stiles lets out a low snort at Derek's comment, but doesn't respond immediately, turning his gaze back up slowly.
The decision he makes is a snap one. Derek's right about his pride; it'll recover quickly. The worst that could happen is a couple awkward days of silence. It's not like Derek'll take his head off.
It lasts for barely a second; Stiles pushes his weight forward and presses a fleeting, barely there kiss to his mouth before he jerks back.]
[ You would have to be blind to miss the way that Stiles eyes drop down to his mouth-- even without Derek's familiarity with it. But he can remember the first time it happened, the first time that he'd been in Stiles' room. Except he can also remember the multiple times it's happened elsewhere, afterwards. Nevermind that he's been guilty of watching the way Stiles' lips move when he talks, grins, frowns.
It's incredibly distracting.
But this time, he simply watches Stiles, waiting to see what he does. It doesn't surprise him when he surges forward quickly to him and back again, before it can really register. The only problem he has, he realizes with quiet horror, is that it's too little.
He's in too deep, but he can't find it in himself to care.
So he reaches up, fingers curling at the side of Stiles' neck, and leans in after him to press an actual kiss to his lips. ]
It's incredibly distracting.
But this time, he simply watches Stiles, waiting to see what he does. It doesn't surprise him when he surges forward quickly to him and back again, before it can really register. The only problem he has, he realizes with quiet horror, is that it's too little.
He's in too deep, but he can't find it in himself to care.
So he reaches up, fingers curling at the side of Stiles' neck, and leans in after him to press an actual kiss to his lips. ]
[His first instinct was to flee, it's not his fault--honestly, Erica's told him enough times about "that one time she made out with Derek" and how well that ended. But then Derek completely surprises him (again), and he makes a little noise that dies into a squawk; whatever protest he's about to say fades the instant he realizes that Derek isn't going to chide him for it.
In fact, after the initial surprise, he comes back like a springboard, kissing him back and giving the other hand, still wrapped around his, a tight squeeze. So it wasn't exactly what he was planning on doing today but hey. Stiles was definitely not complaining.
It's kind of a slow realization; maybe he wanted it so bad that he had pushed it away with the practice of eighteen years of self deprecation.]
In fact, after the initial surprise, he comes back like a springboard, kissing him back and giving the other hand, still wrapped around his, a tight squeeze. So it wasn't exactly what he was planning on doing today but hey. Stiles was definitely not complaining.
It's kind of a slow realization; maybe he wanted it so bad that he had pushed it away with the practice of eighteen years of self deprecation.]
[ To be fair, "that one time Erica made out with Derek," he hadn't been anywhere interested in her. And she'd been trying for a distraction technique during training-- or at least that had been the excuse at the time-- so he hadn't been particularly impressed. Now, they joke about it every now and then, but it's... different, here.
Everything with Stiles is different. It's never what he expects it to be, even if it's just a subtle shift from the norm. Because Stiles is simultaneously transparent and unpredictable, almost like fire-- and god, he should know better than to play with fire now.
But at the same time, it's a different kind of fire. The one that isn't all danger and pain and ash, and instead light and heat and life.
Derek kisses him slow and easy, despite the way his fingers curl tight before relaxing as he pulls back. As he does, though, he rests their foreheads together again, noses bumping briefly as he does. ]
Everything with Stiles is different. It's never what he expects it to be, even if it's just a subtle shift from the norm. Because Stiles is simultaneously transparent and unpredictable, almost like fire-- and god, he should know better than to play with fire now.
But at the same time, it's a different kind of fire. The one that isn't all danger and pain and ash, and instead light and heat and life.
Derek kisses him slow and easy, despite the way his fingers curl tight before relaxing as he pulls back. As he does, though, he rests their foreheads together again, noses bumping briefly as he does. ]
DAD I KISSED SOMEBODY i mean he's a 22 yo exonerated criminal but LOOK!!!
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hypercompetent
2012-12-25 05:37 am (UTC)(link)
[Hey, well, she didn't pass that information on. As far as Stiles knew it wouldn't be surprising. Erica was kind of ridiculously hot and hot people flock together. See also, Lydia and Jackson. (Damn it.)
As Derek pulls away from him, it takes Stiles a few seconds to catch up; he blinks once, twice, long lashes settling over his cheeks before everything sputters back to life. That just happened. From his position with his forehead still pressed against Derek's, he finally pulls away with a rapid shake of his head, then pushes forward.]
Noooo, oh my God, get back here, I'm going to kiss you until I pass out.
[And then, he grabs Derek's cheek with his free hand and tugs him back in for another kiss. It's distracting and perfect and one little bright light, in a couple of months of guilt and sorrow.]
As Derek pulls away from him, it takes Stiles a few seconds to catch up; he blinks once, twice, long lashes settling over his cheeks before everything sputters back to life. That just happened. From his position with his forehead still pressed against Derek's, he finally pulls away with a rapid shake of his head, then pushes forward.]
Noooo, oh my God, get back here, I'm going to kiss you until I pass out.
[And then, he grabs Derek's cheek with his free hand and tugs him back in for another kiss. It's distracting and perfect and one little bright light, in a couple of months of guilt and sorrow.]
[Correction; you're going to stop kissing him as soon as your father walks in.]
Stiles, are you up here with- oh Jesus Christ.
[Yeah nevermind. Not closing the door, the Sheriff turns his gaze away. Normally he'd walk away, but this is not teenage Lydia Martin or anyone else or even teenage Scott McCall or Danny Mahaleani. This is 22-year-old exonerated criminal/generally tormented-in-life Derek Hale.
(admittedly, the 'not even Scott McCall' thought sends a cold pain through his heart. He ignores it, focusing on the boy who's still living; his own son.)]
Stiles.
Stiles, are you up here with- oh Jesus Christ.
[Yeah nevermind. Not closing the door, the Sheriff turns his gaze away. Normally he'd walk away, but this is not teenage Lydia Martin or anyone else or even teenage Scott McCall or Danny Mahaleani. This is 22-year-old exonerated criminal/generally tormented-in-life Derek Hale.
(admittedly, the 'not even Scott McCall' thought sends a cold pain through his heart. He ignores it, focusing on the boy who's still living; his own son.)]
Stiles.
Edited 2012-12-25 05:45 (UTC)
[ Derek can't help the quiet sort of smile that spreads across his face as Stiles sits there, dazed. It's hard to resist, just watching the information settle on him as everything catches up. But then he's laughing quietly as he starts talking, letting himself be pulled forward to kiss him again. His thumb sweeps along the curve of his cheek, all of his focus on him--
-- to the point that he misses the sheriff coming upstairs. His hearing should've picked it up, but he was so absorbed in Stiles that he completely missed his foot steps climbing up the stairs, to the door.
He doesn't startle, but he does go tense just before pulling back from the man's son (probably should have remembered that they were aiming to talk just before the sheriff got home). But while he drops his hand from cupping the side of Stiles' face, he doesn't release his hand.
Lifting and turning his head away from Stiles, he looks to the doorway.
Ah. ]
-- to the point that he misses the sheriff coming upstairs. His hearing should've picked it up, but he was so absorbed in Stiles that he completely missed his foot steps climbing up the stairs, to the door.
He doesn't startle, but he does go tense just before pulling back from the man's son (probably should have remembered that they were aiming to talk just before the sheriff got home). But while he drops his hand from cupping the side of Stiles' face, he doesn't release his hand.
Lifting and turning his head away from Stiles, he looks to the doorway.
Ah. ]
[Stiles, however, jumps. Like about a foot and a half. Derek wasn't the only one completely lost in the moment, and considering Stiles' already completely human senses, he's not expecting anyone to come upstairs. Especially seeing as how the Sheriff wasn't supposed to be home for another hour.]
Dad. [Shit. Well, this is cliche as all hell. At least his dad's not brandishing a gun or anything, which, really, is kind of an improvement over the scenario his mind originally chose to show him. His cheeks flush scarlet red and Stiles looks from Derek to his father, grinning a little sheepishly.]
.....sooo, had something I wanted to talk to you about?
Dad. [Shit. Well, this is cliche as all hell. At least his dad's not brandishing a gun or anything, which, really, is kind of an improvement over the scenario his mind originally chose to show him. His cheeks flush scarlet red and Stiles looks from Derek to his father, grinning a little sheepishly.]
.....sooo, had something I wanted to talk to you about?
[ Derek actually brings his hand up to cover his face for a moment at that, sighing heavily and shaking his head. He doesn't even feel a need to comment on the illegal comment, because...
Well, it's a little too late for that. ]
This was a new development. [ It's a little muffled but he's trying to get past the fact that he was just caught kissing an underaged boy in his bedroom. By his father. Who is a police officer.
Nothing ever goes right for him, does it? ] Something else, sheriff.
Well, it's a little too late for that. ]
This was a new development. [ It's a little muffled but he's trying to get past the fact that he was just caught kissing an underaged boy in his bedroom. By his father. Who is a police officer.
Nothing ever goes right for him, does it? ] Something else, sheriff.
I thought you were going on a date! And you came home straight to me afterwards, you gentleman, you, weren't you not supposed to be home until eight?
[Nothing ever seems to go right for Stiles, either, seeing as how he just had his first semi-decent kiss since like. Seventh grade. And his dad walked in on it. He's still holding Derek's hand though, and he grins a little sheepishly, then deflates.]
Well, I mean, "illegal" has a very loose definition, depending on your lawyers...
[Nothing ever seems to go right for Stiles, either, seeing as how he just had his first semi-decent kiss since like. Seventh grade. And his dad walked in on it. He's still holding Derek's hand though, and he grins a little sheepishly, then deflates.]
Well, I mean, "illegal" has a very loose definition, depending on your lawyers...
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