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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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. ]
no subject
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.