[ All things considered, for a first kiss, it's pretty fantastic.
Stiles is kind of thankful for the way things have gone down. When this started, he was expecting the kind of arranged marriage most people in Westeros had, if not something worse. The tales of the free folk were wild, savage even, and the last thing Stiles had been preparing himself for was this, the slow tumble into what was a genuine relationship, of sinking into it instead of falling head over heels or being dragged. It made the kiss Derek chased him with feel natural, like the next progression, like getting the pack band or curling up with him under the furs at night.
A noise escapes him that sounds a bit like a laugh, and he drops one of his hands, kissing him back slowly, to the sound of a couple faolan and Scott shrieking their "eeww", relishing in the fact that whatever was restless in him was settling--like he'd caught something he'd been chasing for a long time.
But that doesn't stop him from being Stiles, though, and he gets a handful of mud, breaks the kiss away, smiles at him...and mashes the mud in his face. ]
[ All around him, Derek can hear the sounds of his pack-- faolan and beta, mentors and family-- whether it's directed towards them or not. It soothes something in his soul, as Stiles mends the cracks from a fire pushing on nine years ago that left him burnt and tasting ash.
The fact that this can be a thing, that he can hold Stiles and kiss him, instead of keep him at a cold distance of formality... it's not something he expected to have. Not after a rocky meeting, not after a rocky month that only began to turn when Stiles fell ill. And then it grew, and it grew, and it grew. Something became of them.
And then, the sun caught the moon.
He's not in the least bit surprised to suddenly find mud in his face. Growling, teeth bared, he surges forward and rubs his face all over Stiles'. Cheeks, forehead, hair, everywhere.
Simply because he can. Simply because he can have this. ]
[ Bursting into laughter, Stiles immediately starts fighting back, getting handfuls of mud and mashing it into Derek's hair. So they're the leaders of a hundred some odd people. Really mature ones, clearly.
But he's happy, he's happier than he's been in months--but it was the kind that settled on him, not coming out of nowhere. Like today was just the realization that, at least since the first incident with the errant beta, he'd been getting towards a solid place all along.
When he gets free of his face, he grabs him again, mashing his fingers in his hair, and presses their foreheads together, making a huge mess of himself and not really finding it in him anywhere to care. ]
[ Resigning himself to his rather muddy fate, Derek growls at him again but finds it becoming a deep, throaty laugh in response to Stiles' bright laughter. Just because they're leaders of a pack doesn't mean they can't have fun like the rest of them. Besides, he really can't remember the last time he laughed this much.
But he hadn't had such a steady anchor back then. It was something more volatile, then, that kept him human but left his pack dancing cautiously around him for the longest time. The fact that Stiles made him softer, had him more at ease, is something that he has to marvel at. They spent so much time still bickering and bantering-- as friendly as it'd become-- that he didn't know how it even happened.
Not that he wants to question it, at the risk of losing it. He rubs his forehead against Stiles' as he presses them together. It smears more mud everywhere, but he really doesn't care either. ]
Ew! Oh my god, how old are you, five? [ Ignoring the fact that Stiles totally started it. The Southroner can't help the grin that splays across his face when Derek smiles, and he leans backwards a little in the mud to take in the sight in front of him. He looks ridiculous, but happy, something Stiles has only been privy to a smattering of times since his arrival, and it makes something clench in his chest, squirming and warm and a little overwhelming, enough so that his grin softens into something crooked and he leans forward to kiss him again.
He wouldn't trade this for much of anything nowadays. As much as he missed Riverrun--as great as it was being here again--leaving home had been the right thing to help him climb the mountain of guilt and panic and sadness that had come when his mother'd finally passed away. He had his family here, and his family in the North, his pack, and Derek. ]
What does that make you, I wonder. [ Stiles definitely started it. But either way, Derek isn't too bothered by this. In fact, he's more than happy with it. He leans over Stiles easily, just barely resting a hand in the mud to keep his balance as the Southron leans back from him. His hair sticks up in every direction because of the mud, flattened in other places, and he can feel it caking on him everywhere. His lupa doesn't look much better, but there's something about the fact that he's covered head to toe in mud with an equally messy nest of hair that's incredibly attractive.
So it's easy to kiss him back, soft smile still intact and pressed against Stiles'. He lifts both hands up, cradling Stiles' face and kissing him slow, almost languid. And it doesn't taste like ash or smoke, like old memories that drag him down like a stone. Because loss does that, and now he has this-- he has a pack that's closer to him, has Stiles, and he's happier than he ever thought he'd be again. ]
Two and a half. [ He smiles primly at Derek, even if the effect is completely ruined by the mud caked on his cheeks, covering his spots completely. He needs another dip, and so does Derek, but he's not about to move when he's kissing him like that.
His hands wrap around Derek's shoulders for a moment, one coming to rest loosely over the triskele on Derek's back, automatically, even if he's not seeking it out. He can practically feel Derek smiling against his mouth, and it's wondrous and crazy all at once, the kind of thing he's going to feel like he can't get enough of, like he's a junkie. (At least he can admit to it.)
When he does finally pull away, it's barely away from the kiss, mouth still pressed lightly to his. ] Dude, if we stay here, I'm going to get stuck.
[ He can't help but laugh softly against his lips, smile still intact-- and he feels like it's not going to go anywhere any time soon. Not so long as Stiles is around. Funny, how he thought at first that he'd want to leave him in the wilds of the North and now he was the only patch of summer in the eternal winter.
His thumbs sweep along his cheeks, clearing some of the mud from them but only to smear it elsewhere unintentionally. They really do need to get back into the water proper and try to get the mud off, but he's not inclined to move right away. Not when he can just kiss Stiles and have this again.
A faint rumble leaves him in a laugh, quiet against Stiles' lips as he opens his eyes to look at him again. ] I'll pull you out.
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no subject
Stiles is kind of thankful for the way things have gone down. When this started, he was expecting the kind of arranged marriage most people in Westeros had, if not something worse. The tales of the free folk were wild, savage even, and the last thing Stiles had been preparing himself for was this, the slow tumble into what was a genuine relationship, of sinking into it instead of falling head over heels or being dragged. It made the kiss Derek chased him with feel natural, like the next progression, like getting the pack band or curling up with him under the furs at night.
A noise escapes him that sounds a bit like a laugh, and he drops one of his hands, kissing him back slowly, to the sound of a couple faolan
and Scottshrieking their "eeww", relishing in the fact that whatever was restless in him was settling--like he'd caught something he'd been chasing for a long time.But that doesn't stop him from being Stiles, though, and he gets a handful of mud, breaks the kiss away, smiles at him...and mashes the mud in his face. ]
no subject
The fact that this can be a thing, that he can hold Stiles and kiss him, instead of keep him at a cold distance of formality... it's not something he expected to have. Not after a rocky meeting, not after a rocky month that only began to turn when Stiles fell ill. And then it grew, and it grew, and it grew. Something became of them.
And then, the sun caught the moon.
He's not in the least bit surprised to suddenly find mud in his face. Growling, teeth bared, he surges forward and rubs his face all over Stiles'. Cheeks, forehead, hair, everywhere.
Simply because he can. Simply because he can have this. ]
no subject
But he's happy, he's happier than he's been in months--but it was the kind that settled on him, not coming out of nowhere. Like today was just the realization that, at least since the first incident with the errant beta, he'd been getting towards a solid place all along.
When he gets free of his face, he grabs him again, mashing his fingers in his hair, and presses their foreheads together, making a huge mess of himself and not really finding it in him anywhere to care. ]
no subject
But he hadn't had such a steady anchor back then. It was something more volatile, then, that kept him human but left his pack dancing cautiously around him for the longest time. The fact that Stiles made him softer, had him more at ease, is something that he has to marvel at. They spent so much time still bickering and bantering-- as friendly as it'd become-- that he didn't know how it even happened.
Not that he wants to question it, at the risk of losing it. He rubs his forehead against Stiles' as he presses them together. It smears more mud everywhere, but he really doesn't care either. ]
no subject
He wouldn't trade this for much of anything nowadays. As much as he missed Riverrun--as great as it was being here again--leaving home had been the right thing to help him climb the mountain of guilt and panic and sadness that had come when his mother'd finally passed away. He had his family here, and his family in the North, his pack, and Derek. ]
no subject
So it's easy to kiss him back, soft smile still intact and pressed against Stiles'. He lifts both hands up, cradling Stiles' face and kissing him slow, almost languid. And it doesn't taste like ash or smoke, like old memories that drag him down like a stone. Because loss does that, and now he has this-- he has a pack that's closer to him, has Stiles, and he's happier than he ever thought he'd be again. ]
no subject
His hands wrap around Derek's shoulders for a moment, one coming to rest loosely over the triskele on Derek's back, automatically, even if he's not seeking it out. He can practically feel Derek smiling against his mouth, and it's wondrous and crazy all at once, the kind of thing he's going to feel like he can't get enough of, like he's a junkie. (At least he can admit to it.)
When he does finally pull away, it's barely away from the kiss, mouth still pressed lightly to his. ] Dude, if we stay here, I'm going to get stuck.
no subject
His thumbs sweep along his cheeks, clearing some of the mud from them but only to smear it elsewhere unintentionally. They really do need to get back into the water proper and try to get the mud off, but he's not inclined to move right away. Not when he can just kiss Stiles and have this again.
A faint rumble leaves him in a laugh, quiet against Stiles' lips as he opens his eyes to look at him again. ] I'll pull you out.