I highly doubt you'll let yourself have your ignorance. [ Waiting for Stiles to sit up, Derek moves to stand, patient for the questions that will no doubt barrage him once again. He holds his hand steady, reaching his free one to touch his shoulder and keep him from toppling over. He'll keep him from drifting.
It takes a second to figure out where to settle again, but he opts for behind Stiles, leaning against the furs that make up the head of the 'bed' against the tent's post. With a little nudge of their hands, he sits back and lets Stiles decide if he wants to lean against his chest or flop back over again. ]
[ He makes a slightly mocking expression in response to that, mostly because he knows it's true, but also because he's trying to get comfortable. As Derek shifts around he tries to awkwardly maneuver his limbs (which is hard enough normally, let alone when everything feels like lead) until he gets into a better position, which leads to him leaning backwards against Derek's chest.
For someone who's been shivering for a month, it's kind of nice to feel warm again.
Okay, now here comes the question. ]
What, in the name of the Mother, could be worse than being literally the outcast loser of a "pack" that I got thrown into.
[ Letting Stiles get comfortable, Derek settles back and brings up his free arm to hook around his middle. It's just to find a place to put it, at first, but in the end it's incredibly comfortable and just right. So he leaves it there, closing his eyes and tipping his head back for the time being.
A low laugh leaves him, rumbling up out of his chest amusedly. He could list so many things that were worse, because there are so many things that are. ]
You could have been foisted off on a pack of maneaters.
[ That is just right. There's none of the awkwardness that Stiles would have imagined from this sort of situation--rather, he just turns a little into his chest and closes his eyes, the pleasant rumbling kind of peaceful sounding under his ear. ]
I'm still kind of convinced you're going to eat me. [ His mouth twitches up in a small grin, matching his laugh.
No promises just yet. [ The rumble turns into a legitimate growl-- not a man mimicking the sound, but something that would come straight from a wolf-- before it evens out again, low and content, and then fades into quiet.
He considers their joined hands absently, angling his head to prop his chin on top of Stiles'. ] You're too sick for that right now, though.
You'll get Mad Human Disease. [ Apparently, he's still well enough to be a smartass, but that's okay. The growl practically shake against his ear, and he furrows his brows, trying to hide the definite two second "holy freakin' shit" look on his face. He's still not used to being surrounded by wolves, sometimes literally--and not just wolves, but direwolves, some of them almost as tall as he was--and Derek sometimes seems more wolf than human.
But it's not necessarily terror like it was at first. Being startled, definitely. It's something, because they're starting to become something. ] I'm too stringy, anyway. Like trying to eat a squirrel.
I don't know, you've got some meat on you. [ Derek is used to the wiseass comments, and instead lifts Stiles' hand in his to examine his arm as if considering it. But he doesn't move to bite him, or any other joking motions to go with his words. He doesn't need to startle him further, and despite the decidedly intimate turn this situation has taken, he's much more inclined to keep to where they are now.
When he resettles, he chuffs softly and rubs his thumb along the side of Stiles' hand again, closing his eyes.
If only Stiles knew that he was interacting with the people he's come to know, and not just any wolf or direwolf. ] I'll still pass on the Mad Human Disease, though.
That's what you think. I'm literally a hundred and fifty pounds of sarcasm and stringy bits. [ His mouth quirks into a small smile, even as Derek's manhandling his arm--he opens his eyes to look at him and watches listlessly, too tired to properly jerk his arm away. (Or that's what he's telling himself, anyway.)
As it's dropped, he closes his eyes again. In the mouth of the wolf, he's mostly unafraid nowadays, just. Jumpy. Every now and then. With his free hand, he brings the wolf skin back up over him again, and settles backwards for another fever nap, murmuring.] 'd totally serve you right. [ As he's comfortable. Stiles pls. ]
I have almost a hundred pounds on you. [ Idle observation, but he finds it almost fascinating really. It's not like he hasn't noticed their drastic size difference altogether-- and hasn't guessed how high he'd come up while in his wolf form-- but it's just... interesting, to get the actual difference.
He closes his eyes and gets himself comfortable as Stiles does, letting the wolfskin and furs insulate the sick Southorn while he essentially acts as an oven, wrapped loosely around him and settled easily at his back. ]
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It takes a second to figure out where to settle again, but he opts for behind Stiles, leaning against the furs that make up the head of the 'bed' against the tent's post. With a little nudge of their hands, he sits back and lets Stiles decide if he wants to lean against his chest or flop back over again. ]
Easy does it.
no subject
For someone who's been shivering for a month, it's kind of nice to feel warm again.
Okay, now here comes the question. ]
What, in the name of the Mother, could be worse than being literally the outcast loser of a "pack" that I got thrown into.
no subject
A low laugh leaves him, rumbling up out of his chest amusedly. He could list so many things that were worse, because there are so many things that are. ]
You could have been foisted off on a pack of maneaters.
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I'm still kind of convinced you're going to eat me. [ His mouth twitches up in a small grin, matching his laugh.
This is kind of nice. ]
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He considers their joined hands absently, angling his head to prop his chin on top of Stiles'. ] You're too sick for that right now, though.
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But it's not necessarily terror like it was at first. Being startled, definitely. It's something, because they're starting to become something. ] I'm too stringy, anyway. Like trying to eat a squirrel.
no subject
When he resettles, he chuffs softly and rubs his thumb along the side of Stiles' hand again, closing his eyes.
If only Stiles knew that he was interacting with the people he's come to know, and not just any wolf or direwolf. ] I'll still pass on the Mad Human Disease, though.
no subject
As it's dropped, he closes his eyes again. In the mouth of the wolf, he's mostly unafraid nowadays, just. Jumpy. Every now and then. With his free hand, he brings the wolf skin back up over him again, and settles backwards for another fever nap, murmuring.] 'd totally serve you right. [ As he's comfortable. Stiles pls. ]
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He closes his eyes and gets himself comfortable as Stiles does, letting the wolfskin and furs insulate the sick Southorn while he essentially acts as an oven, wrapped loosely around him and settled easily at his back. ]
Go back to sleep, Stiles.