[It wasn't the easiest thing for an agent to just disappear off the map, but the phrase "agent compromised" tended to work brilliantly for that. The simple fact of the matter was that the majority of M16 was to believe that Agent Alpha, Derek Hale, had passed away on a mission where he was severely injured and the complications from said injuries were dire.
Only half of that was true, really, and only two people in the world currently knew about it--one by protocol, and one by sheer force of will. Head of the Q branch had disappeared along with Agent Alpha, although his disappearance was far quieter; one day, he was in the office, looking through files, and suddenly, something seemed to hit him like lightning and he was gone.
The little house was in the middle of nowhere in Northern California, a couple hours' drive from Beacon Hills and another hour's walk through the woods for that. Sheer determination had led Stiles to the spot, and when he slipped into the front door, it was by no means quietly. Agen--hell. Derek was alive.
He'd known it all along.
Still, he didn't say anything as he shut the door to the house. He let the sounds--the loud door suddenly shutting, kicking off his shoes in the front hallway, his computer bag clunking to the floor--announce his presence instead.]
[ Deep down, Derek knew that he would be roped back in somehow. M would come to him, regret in his face-- how he found him would be kept to himself, of course, because Deaton enjoyed his air of mystery far more than any man ever should-- and a quiet plea on his tongue. Just one more, Derek.
And the problem was that he would come, beck and call, like a trained dog. Because he would find a way to make it about his lost family, or weasel in something that he'd never be able to turn down. Another lost family, someone in need of help. Just something that would appeal to his nature.
("Your family's always been like a wolf pack, you know. It brought in the lost and the wounded and the lonely, and made them loved.")
It was, he knows, only a matter of time before Stiles found him.
Of course, he'll never admit to waiting for him there, as he licked his wounds and recovered from the mission. But that's the truth of it, really-- he's waiting for Stiles to uncover his trail, track him down to where he's tucked himself away. And the thing of it is, it's half knowing Stiles, half just hoping.
So his attention turns away from where he's sorting through a box of papers to the front door, ears trained and following the sounds-- the door, the shoes, the bag-- and it only takes those three things for him to know it's finally happened. Stepping out of the bedroom, papers forgotten and attention focusing completely ahead, he makes his wait forward on bare feet to meet the quartermaster partway. ]
[He doesn't even take that much time to stare at Derek--just a couple of seconds, his hands still on his coat as he's starting to take it off. He looks wrecked, like he did just pull a Lazarus; scars and bruises and cuts are mottling his chest and stomach, a painful reminder of the mission for him that had gone wrong. It's practically like a sock in the gut--it's been almost a month now, of a funeral with a closed casket and a forlorn looking dog who curled up beside him in bed and licked his face when he felt upset, of M's quiet advice and his own painstaking tracking methods, and when his mind kicks itself into fifth gear, his body follows suit.
He crosses the hallway in four steps, wraps a hand around the back of Derek's neck, and pulls him down for a kiss.
It tastes a little desperate, like he's trying to pour a month of words and sorrow and anger and emotion into everything his mouth is, for once, refusing to spit out. The words'll come in a second. For now, it's bone crushing relief, and the familiar fear of Derek's pulse underneath his fingertips.
[ Silently thankful that he's been found before he moved again-- because he would despite M's best attempts to tell him he would be safe here-- Derek takes two steps forward as Stiles takes four, bringing his hand up as he's pulled down. They're still in time, despite the month apart and the image of death cast over them both. He still feels a little like death, to be honest, but Stiles is here.
His fingers curl at the base of his skull, holding fast to him as the other hand comes up to frame his face. A rough thumb brushes across smooth skin, a gentle press as he leans into the kiss, pulling him closer.
It's like the desperation is being matched with apologies, his own sorrow and anger reflected against Stiles'. He didn't want to leave him, didn't want to disappear off the face of the earth to leave him wondering where he'd gone to. But there'd been no choice, in the beginning.
Now, there is. And he tries to convey everything that's built up in him for the past month. How sorry he is and just how much he's missed his quartermaster. ]
I can't believe you. [It comes out of his mouth raggedly, because Stiles can't stop the floodgates once they've opened, and every phrase is punctuated by kisses, like he can't stop, drawn in like a magnet. The words themselves have a double entendre--he can't believe Derek's not dead, can't believe he's actually standing here in front of him, when he'd watched them lower his casket into the ground, read his obituary, but at the same time, he can't believe Derek for not--warning him, or something. It's to be expected, he had to disappear, and the fact that Stiles is here could be a liability to say the least, but it doesn't change the fact that he's very much human, very much emotional, and had to deal with far too much death in his day to day life, let alone in his line of work.
And he'd found him, he'd worked so hard to track and trace and follow every path until one day his gut instinct told him where to look, and combined with an old, fading signal from a tracker, he'd gone.] You're--an idiot, you're a goddamn idiot! Taking stupid--goddamn--heroic risks like--mmft, like that--no wonder you're--s'posed to be dead.
[It's not like he's making much sense, and he just, finally settles to tear away from the kiss and slide his arms around his shoulders instead, pressing close and burying his face in the junction of his neck and his collarbone and holding on for dear life.]
[ Rather than fight back, or try to defend himself, Derek simply returns the kisses as they're given between his rant. His thumb sweeps across his cheekbone, down to follow the trail of moles that mark his face, and he just lets out a low rumble of agreement. Any of his soreness, any stretching stitches or irritated bruises, is completely ignored in the face of Stiles. In his voice and his touch and everything that is him.
The hand at the back of his head gentles over his hair, his shoulders slowly sagging at the end of the interrupted rant. It's as if a weight has been taken off his shoulders, because really, it has. Stiles has this way of putting him on edge, that's for sure, but all the same he knows just the right way to seep into his tired muscles and weary bones, and manages to get him so at ease.
His hands drop as Stiles' arms go around his shoulders, one hand fitting into its spot at the small of his back while the other wraps tight around him. Lips brushing over the top of his head, he noses at his hair and anchors them together in a tight grip. ]
I wanted to tell you, but they said protocol, and there was no time beforehand-- I was waiting for you--
Good, you can do the widow's walk instead of me. [It comes out of his mouth before he can process it right, and Stiles can't help the stupid, almost hysterical laugh that bursts out of his mouth as he squeezes, dropping a kiss on his shoulder and, for once in his life, refusing to move for just a little while. Even if he's all vibrating energy, and it had been as clear as anything could be, but the minute he hit against Derek's chest and breathed him in, it was like everything could just. Slow down again. He keeps talking, though, steady and unfettered, and focuses on the smell of Derek's soap, the way leather hung around him like a misty curtain.]
No one knows I'm here--I mean, I guess M probably figured it out but no one told me anything, if there's anything they're good at it's frickin' protocol. But I think I'm on--temporary vacation. Leave. I don't know. [He says the word a little venomously and turns his head to the side again, so his words aren't muffled into Derek's shoulder anymore, scrabbling his fingers against tanned skin, over a familiar tattoo, three spirals he could trace with his eyes closed. When Stiles finally moves up again, he presses another solid kiss to his mouth, wanting nothing more than to hold him in place and repeat this until it finally sinks in that it's real.]
[ Derek lets a startled laugh slip out of him in response to Stiles' hysterical one, bringing his hand up higher between his shoulders and curling his fingers tight in the layers that are constantly found on him. It's easy to lose himself in Stiles, now that he's so close again-- the way his scent is warm and almost bright, summer easing its way into fall, the way his heart beats underneath his touch. ]
M probably knows exactly where you are, and where we'll wind up if we leave. [ He catches the venom, and doesn't blame him for it. Not when he's lived years of his life at the whims of the agency, though it was all he knew for the longest time. That was before Stiles' barreled into his life, before he found the touch soothing rather than annoying. The tension in his shoulders leaves just a little more as he feels Stiles' fingers press between his shoulders, where the triskele spirals and spins. Without hesitation, he returns the kiss, pulling him flush against him.
But there's one thing he has to get out, even if it's against Stiles' lips. ]
I don't care. [He really, really, doesn't. M could track them to the end of the world--hell, he probably would, would probably come and pluck them both out of this the moment he needed them--but Stiles was notably stubborn and far less obedient than the other agents, and God knew he needed his time to recover, to reabsorb Derek, who'd become obscenely important to him since the fateful day they met at the college cafe.
The second half makes something squirm in his chest, and he kisses him again, long and slow, and only pulls away when he finally feels satisfied with it, that the feeling that he can't get enough, that he missed him too, so badly it hurt, is properly expressed, and he runs a hand just barely over a bruise, looking down at his chest.]
I--christ, you look like you got hit by a car. I missed you too, I was getting ready to wear black for the rest of my life and everything. [His sense of humor never changes.]
[ Several months into their assignment, Stiles had started to make friends. As he and Derek began to assimilate into life at Beacon Hills, together, he'd settled nicely into his routine at work in his dad's office and his double life, even if the lines were starting to blur between the two agents, enough so that married life was starting to get dangerously close to dating life, to actual affection life, and Stiles was choosing to ignore that for as long as physically possible in hopes that maybe his decently massive crush on Derek Hale might actually go away.
Today, they'd been invited to one of Lydia Martin's famous parties, this time for Halloween. And by some grace of god, Stiles had managed to get Derek to dress up as Batman.
So yeah, standing at Lydia's door, dressed like Nightwing, holding his fake spouse's hand? It's shaping up to be a good day. ]
Ready for this, Dark Knight? [ And in more ways than one--these parties were always a test on their fake--"fake"--relationship. ]
[ Derek is sort of wondering how he got roped into this.
Of course he has M to blame for the assignment itself, but he's not sure how everything got to where it is now. Working on contract had been good busy work, when he wasn't doing recon for the actual assignment, but it's the time in between that he's not sure about. Because things have actually started to get a little more real that he ever expected, or ever thought they would. They might be pretending to be married, but they've worked their way up into actually courting one another in the meantime, which is...
He doesn't know. Their dates are actual dates now, just not pretend dates with or without friends so they can scope out the city.
Nevermind his current position, as he sighs softly, fingers flexing in Stiles'. ]
At least it's in character for me to menace idiots. [ That comes out in a low, gravelly growl. He doesn't even have to pitch his voice like Bale-- it's just Derek rumbling. ]
[ Stiles snickers, giving Derek's hand a squeeze. Normally, he'd do Batman and Robin with Scott--they traded off every year, and gave out candy to the kids that came up to the apartment complex--so he'd had to adjust a little, but Derek was a better Batman than he ever was, anyway.
Plus he does the voice. Like perfectly. It's one of a huge list of things that Derek has done lately that are kind of ridiculously attractive--he's getting to this point where most everything Derek does makes him fall a tiny bit deeper, makes him curl in a little bit closer at night, makes him chase kisses instead of waiting until someone walked in. When he leans over to mumble in his ear, he presses his lips to his cheek. ]
Think of it this way, you can brood in a corner when you get anxious. [ As he pulls away, he grins and knocks on the door. ] Who knows, maybe you can find someone to be your Alfred.
[ A part of him is a little... embarrassed? that he knows it won't take long for him to start feeling anxious in the party. Sure, Derek can pretend to be sociable-- and actually be sociable-- for an extended period of time, but in the end there is just only so much he can take before he's peopled out.
The rest of him is used to it, prefers the few people he's honestly befriended versus the ones that he pretends to have made friends with.
So he can at least admit to himself that he knows he'll take relief in Stiles during this, especially considering it's a Lydia Martin party. Sighing in response to his reassurance, to the faint kiss, he turns his head to look at him. But instead of being annoyed about the blatant affection, as well as the joke, he just tips his head to bump it into his. ]
[ He's about to lean over and give him a kiss, too--another one of those "not for anyone else" moments, but the door opens and Lydia's standing there. With a bright smile, Stiles greets her, letting go of Derek for a few minutes to wrap Lydia up in a tight enough hug that her feet come off the ground. She scowls at him and smacks at his shoulders, but he's beaming, and when he lets go and exchanges pleasantries--or, "pleasantries"--he comes right back to Derek, threading their fingers together for just a moment, then slips past Lydia and into the fray.
The party itself is hopping as usual. There's music and food and people in costumes--loud as hell, full of people they're friends with, and an absolutely Lydia affair. Despite shifting every now and then to say hi to people, or to suggest a batman off between Derek and Scott, Stiles continues to gravitate backwards, always leaning just a touch into Derek. ]
[ Capable of surviving without Stiles constantly there, Derek doesn't seem particularly bothered when he drifts off to greet people or sweep Lydia and Allison off their feet. He does, however, allow for a Batman off with Scott-- which he figures he wins, considering how much more menacing he is compared to the younger agent-- and is actually social with a few people that he's actually befriended.
By a certain point, however, he definitely opts to pull up his cowl so he can close himself off even further. He likes a good number of people-- Isaac, Erica, and Boyd especially-- but there's only so many that he can take in such a noisy environment. It's not as bad as it could be, to be sure, but he's just incredibly grating after a certain amount of time.
Which leads to him coming up behind Stiles, curling his fingers into his hip. ]
[ Pleasantly tipsy and overall happy with his life at the moment, Stiles is enjoying himself at the party. He'd always been sort of an awkward teenager--still an awkward young adult, to be honest--but here, surrounded by his friends, Stiles was having a great time, chatting up Lydia and Erica, taking dumb pictures with Scott, and drinking whenever the time was right.
But when Derek comes up behind him, Stiles doesn't hesitate to lean back into him. One gloved hand finds Derek's, covering it, and he looks over to the fully cowl-ed Batman, his mouth quirking into a grin. ] Hey there, dark knight.
[ The unspoken "is everything okay?" is there, too, and he gives his hand a gentle squeeze. ]
Boy wonder. [ Though it comes out in a rolling growl, close to Stiles' shoulder, it sounds a little tired. Derek was... while not completely social, opting to spend a greater amount of time to himself, he wasn't a wallflower or considered awkward. He'd been an athlete, had friends in that social circle, was considered popular.
And then everything had changed, ripped out from beneath his feet.
He turns his head, lips brushing across Stiles' temple almost absently as his own gloved hand shifts so he can lace their fingers together. With a return squeeze, he reassure him that he's fine-- just in need of recharging. ] How much have you had to drink?
[ It's midway through the evening when Stiles finally gets through his coding for the day--a program designed to read biosignatures on weaponry, so it conforms to fit the user's hand and no one else's--and he sits up and cracks his back in his computer chair, looking around. Derek's probably doing work downstairs, and so he waits for a few minutes, tapping his pen on the desk and rereading the code until it starts to get blurry in front of his face. By the time he's managed to distract himself for about five minutes, Stiles gives up on leaving him alone and tiptoes through the apartment as quietly as possible, peeking into the living room. Derek's laying on the couch for the moment, and it looks like he's reading, so Stiles stares at him for a second from around the corner, then makes his way over to the couch.
Once he's gotten there, he pretty much inserts himself in Derek's space, out of nowhere, weaseling up his figure and under his arms until he can perch on his chest and pretty much interrupt anything he's doing. ] Are you busy?
[ Some days, Derek will come into the room that Stiles has claimed as his workspace for that particular spell and interrupt his hyperfocus in the midst of a project. This is usually when he knows Stiles will not move for the entire day, and absolutely should. Other days, the agent leans in the doorway to watch him for a little while before he goes off and leaves him to his work. Today is one of the latter, because he's gotten to the point when he can gauge how long he'll be at work, and he figures tonight won't be much longer.
So when he hears footsteps approaching him, he does actually look up over the top of his book. And then raises it up, with Stiles' sudden invasion of space, holding it above his head with a fondly exasperated look. Once he's settled, he sets it against his head, opened and pages rustling a little with his hair as he looks down at him. ]
[ There's something indescribably pleasing about how Derek just opens his space up for him, exasperated but fine with it, and giddily pleased at getting his way is how he weasels his way forward, crossing his arms on his chest and resting his chin on them, even as the book comes to rest on the back of his head. It's been a ridiculously long day and he's tired of working, so he fixes Derek with a look, smile on his face innocent. ]
Good. [ Like he didn't just cause that. ] My back hurts from slaving over my computer all day. [ That's also not really much of a request, now is it. Stiles grins a little, practically batting his eyelashes and continuing to be a little shit. ]
[ Letting Stiles get comfortable stretched out across him, Derek shifts his legs a little so that Stiles' settle between them, keeping his book calmly propped up on his quartermaster's head. He almost considers pretending to read it like that, but he eventually decides to reach and set it on the top of the couch. It'll probably fall off and he'll have to find his place again, but he suddenly has a Stiles in his space demanding attention like a needy cat. The look on his face absolutely does not fool him. ]
Yeah? That sounds unfortunate. [ Aloof as it is, he still slowly slides his hands up under the numerous layers he wears, touch warm and gentle at his back. He follows the dip to his lower back, drawn there immediately so that he can dig his fingers right into a knot. ]
Sucker. [ Stiles practically goes limp when Derek's fingers dig into a particularly tense spot, and he drops his head against his chest, sighing mouthily in relief. It's been a long day, and if Stiles is going to enjoy the perks of living with Derek again, this time minus a façade of a fake marriage, then dammit, he's going to enjoy it. It's been months since the mission and the spark of attraction that came from day one never seemed to fade, enough that moving in with him and his dog seemed like the right course of action without even faltering.
Besides, he gets backrubs. Maybe he's a little spoiled, but Stiles'll chalk it up to his ingenuity. ]
I don't know, this is a pretty win-win situation to me. [ Stiles gets backrubs, Derek gets to touch him. Touching Stiles is probably nestled at the top spot of his favorite things to do, by this point, and that includes all subcategories of the action. And he won't lie (at least to himself) and say that he wouldn't have missed doing it, if he and Stiles had parted ways after the mission was finally over. Hell, the idea alone makes him sick, because of just how integral the other agent has become in his life.
Something soft and amused, but definitely affectionate, rumbles in his chest-- a little like a deep chuckle, but he works his fingers up his spine slowly, digging into every line of tension he can find. ]
I'm keeping you. [ That comes out muffled from where Stiles dropped his head against his shoulder, eyes fluttered shut as Derek gets into the knot right at the bottom of his back, where he bends over his computer writing code. It's pretty much bliss, and he can't help the satisfied noise he makes as he gets comfortable, wrapped up in Derek's arms.
He lifts his head again, though, and looks up at the ceiling. ] You know, if you didn't snore, you'd be marriage material.
[ It's a joke, so obviously a joke, and he wiggles his eyebrows at him, then smacks a kiss on his cheek. ]
Good to know I'm useful. [ Curling his fingers tight into his lower back, then bowing his hand to rub his knuckles into the same spot, Derek looks up at the ceiling while Stiles tucks his face into his shoulder. He's used to this by now, content in the actions, and can carry on even while half asleep. Which he does, frequently, whenever Stiles refuses to get up in the morning or they've dozed off for a nap and should probably get up again.
His eyes are still on the ceiling when Stiles looks up as well, and he just laughs a little, chest vibrating with the quiet sound. ] You talk in your sleep, drool, fall out of bed, and sleep with your ass in the air sometimes. I don't think you're one to talk about poor sleeping habits.
[ He turns in the kiss, though, so that he can rub his nose against Stiles' cheek before pressing a kiss there in return. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
WELP AND THEN THIS HAPPENED
Only half of that was true, really, and only two people in the world currently knew about it--one by protocol, and one by sheer force of will. Head of the Q branch had disappeared along with Agent Alpha, although his disappearance was far quieter; one day, he was in the office, looking through files, and suddenly, something seemed to hit him like lightning and he was gone.
The little house was in the middle of nowhere in Northern California, a couple hours' drive from Beacon Hills and another hour's walk through the woods for that. Sheer determination had led Stiles to the spot, and when he slipped into the front door, it was by no means quietly. Agen--hell. Derek was alive.
He'd known it all along.
Still, he didn't say anything as he shut the door to the house. He let the sounds--the loud door suddenly shutting, kicking off his shoes in the front hallway, his computer bag clunking to the floor--announce his presence instead.]
AND SO IT BEGINS
And the problem was that he would come, beck and call, like a trained dog. Because he would find a way to make it about his lost family, or weasel in something that he'd never be able to turn down. Another lost family, someone in need of help. Just something that would appeal to his nature.
("Your family's always been like a wolf pack, you know. It brought in the lost and the wounded and the lonely, and made them loved.")
It was, he knows, only a matter of time before Stiles found him.
Of course, he'll never admit to waiting for him there, as he licked his wounds and recovered from the mission. But that's the truth of it, really-- he's waiting for Stiles to uncover his trail, track him down to where he's tucked himself away. And the thing of it is, it's half knowing Stiles, half just hoping.
So his attention turns away from where he's sorting through a box of papers to the front door, ears trained and following the sounds-- the door, the shoes, the bag-- and it only takes those three things for him to know it's finally happened. Stepping out of the bedroom, papers forgotten and attention focusing completely ahead, he makes his wait forward on bare feet to meet the quartermaster partway. ]
plays rocky theme
He crosses the hallway in four steps, wraps a hand around the back of Derek's neck, and pulls him down for a kiss.
It tastes a little desperate, like he's trying to pour a month of words and sorrow and anger and emotion into everything his mouth is, for once, refusing to spit out. The words'll come in a second. For now, it's bone crushing relief, and the familiar fear of Derek's pulse underneath his fingertips.
He's alive.]
YOU GOT THIS SI.
His fingers curl at the base of his skull, holding fast to him as the other hand comes up to frame his face. A rough thumb brushes across smooth skin, a gentle press as he leans into the kiss, pulling him closer.
It's like the desperation is being matched with apologies, his own sorrow and anger reflected against Stiles'. He didn't want to leave him, didn't want to disappear off the face of the earth to leave him wondering where he'd gone to. But there'd been no choice, in the beginning.
Now, there is. And he tries to convey everything that's built up in him for the past month. How sorry he is and just how much he's missed his quartermaster. ]
I HOPE SO
And he'd found him, he'd worked so hard to track and trace and follow every path until one day his gut instinct told him where to look, and combined with an old, fading signal from a tracker, he'd gone.] You're--an idiot, you're a goddamn idiot! Taking stupid--goddamn--heroic risks like--mmft, like that--no wonder you're--s'posed to be dead.
[It's not like he's making much sense, and he just, finally settles to tear away from the kiss and slide his arms around his shoulders instead, pressing close and burying his face in the junction of his neck and his collarbone and holding on for dear life.]
I'll wait 5eva 4 u Sisi.
The hand at the back of his head gentles over his hair, his shoulders slowly sagging at the end of the interrupted rant. It's as if a weight has been taken off his shoulders, because really, it has. Stiles has this way of putting him on edge, that's for sure, but all the same he knows just the right way to seep into his tired muscles and weary bones, and manages to get him so at ease.
His hands drop as Stiles' arms go around his shoulders, one hand fitting into its spot at the small of his back while the other wraps tight around him. Lips brushing over the top of his head, he noses at his hair and anchors them together in a tight grip. ]
I wanted to tell you, but they said protocol, and there was no time beforehand-- I was waiting for you--
oooh mister snow, oooh
No one knows I'm here--I mean, I guess M probably figured it out but no one told me anything, if there's anything they're good at it's frickin' protocol. But I think I'm on--temporary vacation. Leave. I don't know. [He says the word a little venomously and turns his head to the side again, so his words aren't muffled into Derek's shoulder anymore, scrabbling his fingers against tanned skin, over a familiar tattoo, three spirals he could trace with his eyes closed. When Stiles finally moves up again, he presses another solid kiss to his mouth, wanting nothing more than to hold him in place and repeat this until it finally sinks in that it's real.]
shirt pops open..???
M probably knows exactly where you are, and where we'll wind up if we leave. [ He catches the venom, and doesn't blame him for it. Not when he's lived years of his life at the whims of the agency, though it was all he knew for the longest time. That was before Stiles' barreled into his life, before he found the touch soothing rather than annoying. The tension in his shoulders leaves just a little more as he feels Stiles' fingers press between his shoulders, where the triskele spirals and spins. Without hesitation, he returns the kiss, pulling him flush against him.
But there's one thing he has to get out, even if it's against Stiles' lips. ]
Christ, I missed you.
swoon
The second half makes something squirm in his chest, and he kisses him again, long and slow, and only pulls away when he finally feels satisfied with it, that the feeling that he can't get enough, that he missed him too, so badly it hurt, is properly expressed, and he runs a hand just barely over a bruise, looking down at his chest.]
I--christ, you look like you got hit by a car. I missed you too, I was getting ready to wear black for the rest of my life and everything. [His sense of humor never changes.]
My feels are in pain.
ugh no my babies
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
god i fucking love that icon
I do too buh.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
halloween!
Today, they'd been invited to one of Lydia Martin's famous parties, this time for Halloween. And by some grace of god, Stiles had managed to get Derek to dress up as Batman.
So yeah, standing at Lydia's door, dressed like Nightwing, holding his fake spouse's hand? It's shaping up to be a good day. ]
Ready for this, Dark Knight? [ And in more ways than one--these parties were always a test on their fake--"fake"--relationship. ]
AW YISS.
Of course he has M to blame for the assignment itself, but he's not sure how everything got to where it is now. Working on contract had been good busy work, when he wasn't doing recon for the actual assignment, but it's the time in between that he's not sure about. Because things have actually started to get a little more real that he ever expected, or ever thought they would. They might be pretending to be married, but they've worked their way up into actually courting one another in the meantime, which is...
He doesn't know. Their dates are actual dates now, just not pretend dates with or without friends so they can scope out the city.
Nevermind his current position, as he sighs softly, fingers flexing in Stiles'. ]
At least it's in character for me to menace idiots. [ That comes out in a low, gravelly growl. He doesn't even have to pitch his voice like Bale-- it's just Derek rumbling. ]
no subject
Plus he does the voice. Like perfectly. It's one of a huge list of things that Derek has done lately that are kind of ridiculously attractive--he's getting to this point where most everything Derek does makes him fall a tiny bit deeper, makes him curl in a little bit closer at night, makes him chase kisses instead of waiting until someone walked in. When he leans over to mumble in his ear, he presses his lips to his cheek. ]
Think of it this way, you can brood in a corner when you get anxious. [ As he pulls away, he grins and knocks on the door. ] Who knows, maybe you can find someone to be your Alfred.
no subject
The rest of him is used to it, prefers the few people he's honestly befriended versus the ones that he pretends to have made friends with.
So he can at least admit to himself that he knows he'll take relief in Stiles during this, especially considering it's a Lydia Martin party. Sighing in response to his reassurance, to the faint kiss, he turns his head to look at him. But instead of being annoyed about the blatant affection, as well as the joke, he just tips his head to bump it into his. ]
We'll see.
no subject
The party itself is hopping as usual. There's music and food and people in costumes--loud as hell, full of people they're friends with, and an absolutely Lydia affair. Despite shifting every now and then to say hi to people, or to suggest a batman off between Derek and Scott, Stiles continues to gravitate backwards, always leaning just a touch into Derek. ]
no subject
By a certain point, however, he definitely opts to pull up his cowl so he can close himself off even further. He likes a good number of people-- Isaac, Erica, and Boyd especially-- but there's only so many that he can take in such a noisy environment. It's not as bad as it could be, to be sure, but he's just incredibly grating after a certain amount of time.
Which leads to him coming up behind Stiles, curling his fingers into his hip. ]
no subject
But when Derek comes up behind him, Stiles doesn't hesitate to lean back into him. One gloved hand finds Derek's, covering it, and he looks over to the fully cowl-ed Batman, his mouth quirking into a grin. ] Hey there, dark knight.
[ The unspoken "is everything okay?" is there, too, and he gives his hand a gentle squeeze. ]
no subject
And then everything had changed, ripped out from beneath his feet.
He turns his head, lips brushing across Stiles' temple almost absently as his own gloved hand shifts so he can lace their fingers together. With a return squeeze, he reassure him that he's fine-- just in need of recharging. ] How much have you had to drink?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
pre-death? pre death.
Once he's gotten there, he pretty much inserts himself in Derek's space, out of nowhere, weaseling up his figure and under his arms until he can perch on his chest and pretty much interrupt anything he's doing. ] Are you busy?
[ Well you aren't now! 8D ]
pre death!
So when he hears footsteps approaching him, he does actually look up over the top of his book. And then raises it up, with Stiles' sudden invasion of space, holding it above his head with a fondly exasperated look. Once he's settled, he sets it against his head, opened and pages rustling a little with his hair as he looks down at him. ]
Well now I'm not.
uvu
Good. [ Like he didn't just cause that. ] My back hurts from slaving over my computer all day. [ That's also not really much of a request, now is it. Stiles grins a little, practically batting his eyelashes and continuing to be a little shit. ]
uwu
Yeah? That sounds unfortunate. [ Aloof as it is, he still slowly slides his hands up under the numerous layers he wears, touch warm and gentle at his back. He follows the dip to his lower back, drawn there immediately so that he can dig his fingers right into a knot. ]
no subject
Besides, he gets backrubs. Maybe he's a little spoiled, but Stiles'll chalk it up to his ingenuity. ]
no subject
Something soft and amused, but definitely affectionate, rumbles in his chest-- a little like a deep chuckle, but he works his fingers up his spine slowly, digging into every line of tension he can find. ]
no subject
He lifts his head again, though, and looks up at the ceiling. ] You know, if you didn't snore, you'd be marriage material.
[ It's a joke, so obviously a joke, and he wiggles his eyebrows at him, then smacks a kiss on his cheek. ]
no subject
His eyes are still on the ceiling when Stiles looks up as well, and he just laughs a little, chest vibrating with the quiet sound. ] You talk in your sleep, drool, fall out of bed, and sleep with your ass in the air sometimes. I don't think you're one to talk about poor sleeping habits.
[ He turns in the kiss, though, so that he can rub his nose against Stiles' cheek before pressing a kiss there in return. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)