It'll be almost twelve years now, I think. [ Derek that isn't helping.
But the teasing has been common between them, these days. Not when they've spent some time with each other, where they've learned about one another over that time. The same as Stiles has learned about him, Derek has learned about Stiles. How he hates mornings but can be bribed out of bed in a variety of ways, though he talked and snored and drooled in his sleep-- and if the faoladh didn't wrap himself around him, he would roll right out of the furs and probably freeze to death before he even realized it-- and nevermind how he used his quick wit in such unconventional ways.
Especially when it came to their conversations, either heated and loud or soft and quiet. As frustrated as he could be, he could never quite choose one over the other. Their heated moments brought out that damned spark that had fascinated him from the start, that had him bringing him back to his pack instead of leaving him in the wilds of the North.
And it was that spark that showed him that there was far more to Stiles Stilinski than he ever gave himself credit for.
The fact that Stiles lets him give such affectionate gestures now isn't lost on Derek, and he buries his nose in his hair once he's properly scented him. His fingers spread beneath Stiles', and he lets out a chuff of a laugh. ]
Really not helping on that whole supportive thing.
[ Stiles rolls his eyes and leans backwards into Derek's arms, tilting his head back against his shoulder. It's comfortable and warm, and he's able to keep his arm away from anything that might hurt it a little more. He's gotten so used to Derek now that this is safe, like it had been when he was sick, like he'd been curled up in the furs with him all these nights. It's undeniable he's gone from terrified and frustrated about being here to actually enjoying it--feeling safer here than he had in a while.
There's something about this place--something in his blood that's just settled since he's arrived. Like something in his heart was running and running, and finally, finally, it was starting to get onto its target's tail.
He lolls a little away from him across his shoulder, showing his neck to the faoladh, and obviously on purpose, and a low snort escapes him. ] Yeah, tell that to the rest of the pack.
[ Making sure that Stiles is comfortable, and his arm isn't at risk of being bumped against anything, Derek sinks into his seat and lets himself relax further. Though Stiles is all limbs and lack of coordination, far from being a fighter, he feels safe. Anchored. Like he spent years lost in the dark, only for the moon to finally reach through the clouds to show him the way back home. (And all he can think of is that story, gold chasing silver over and over and over again, constellations spread across white.)
Though relaxed, almost at peace with everything, his body bristles a little as Stiles lolls his head away. But there's no aggression, no threat to the lupa as he bares himself.
Instead, he simply drags his nose down from his hair and behind the curve of his ear, following some unmarked path until he can brush his lips against pale skin, soft and barely there. ] I don't know what you're talking about, they like you.
[ There's no real vitriol behind it, though. He hums at the feeling of Derek's mouth, tiny and flustering, enough to make his chest constrict with butterflies--kind of a ridiculous sensation, but there's no better word for it, like he can barely breathe with the force of the affection he's starting to feel for the faoladh. That he's been feeling for a while. They have yet to do anything even remotely romantic, and it doesn't really matter; it made things feel natural instead of rushed, like the undeniable chemistry that'd been there from the first day evolved into something real.
It's sure as hell helped things along, anyway. He shakes his head minutely and snorts, grin turning up soft and affectionate, something private he'd never share with anyone else. ] There's a fine, fine line between "like" and "tolerate", oh wise Alpha. You of all people toe it better than anyone.
[ That is, of course, said against Stiles' neck, which negates any namecalling that he might partake in completely. It's sort of funny that they can sit like this, affection shared in banter and slow growth. A part of him wants to open his mouth to Stiles' skin, the wild instincts that thrum in his blood, so that he can leave a mark on the warm, pale neck beneath his mouth.
But he doesn't. Instead, he sits and enjoys the quiet of the moment, closing his eyes and letting himself smile. Even if Stiles can't see it, he knows he'll feel it.
And he doesn't care. Not when they've come to the point they have. ] Funny, I feel like you've perfected that yourself.
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no subject
But the teasing has been common between them, these days. Not when they've spent some time with each other, where they've learned about one another over that time. The same as Stiles has learned about him, Derek has learned about Stiles. How he hates mornings but can be bribed out of bed in a variety of ways, though he talked and snored and drooled in his sleep-- and if the faoladh didn't wrap himself around him, he would roll right out of the furs and probably freeze to death before he even realized it-- and nevermind how he used his quick wit in such unconventional ways.
Especially when it came to their conversations, either heated and loud or soft and quiet. As frustrated as he could be, he could never quite choose one over the other. Their heated moments brought out that damned spark that had fascinated him from the start, that had him bringing him back to his pack instead of leaving him in the wilds of the North.
And it was that spark that showed him that there was far more to Stiles Stilinski than he ever gave himself credit for.
The fact that Stiles lets him give such affectionate gestures now isn't lost on Derek, and he buries his nose in his hair once he's properly scented him. His fingers spread beneath Stiles', and he lets out a chuff of a laugh. ]
Your reputation isn't that bad.
no subject
[ Stiles rolls his eyes and leans backwards into Derek's arms, tilting his head back against his shoulder. It's comfortable and warm, and he's able to keep his arm away from anything that might hurt it a little more. He's gotten so used to Derek now that this is safe, like it had been when he was sick, like he'd been curled up in the furs with him all these nights. It's undeniable he's gone from terrified and frustrated about being here to actually enjoying it--feeling safer here than he had in a while.
There's something about this place--something in his blood that's just settled since he's arrived. Like something in his heart was running and running, and finally, finally, it was starting to get onto its target's tail.
He lolls a little away from him across his shoulder, showing his neck to the faoladh, and obviously on purpose, and a low snort escapes him. ] Yeah, tell that to the rest of the pack.
no subject
[ Making sure that Stiles is comfortable, and his arm isn't at risk of being bumped against anything, Derek sinks into his seat and lets himself relax further. Though Stiles is all limbs and lack of coordination, far from being a fighter, he feels safe. Anchored. Like he spent years lost in the dark, only for the moon to finally reach through the clouds to show him the way back home. (And all he can think of is that story, gold chasing silver over and over and over again, constellations spread across white.)
Though relaxed, almost at peace with everything, his body bristles a little as Stiles lolls his head away. But there's no aggression, no threat to the lupa as he bares himself.
Instead, he simply drags his nose down from his hair and behind the curve of his ear, following some unmarked path until he can brush his lips against pale skin, soft and barely there. ] I don't know what you're talking about, they like you.
no subject
[ There's no real vitriol behind it, though. He hums at the feeling of Derek's mouth, tiny and flustering, enough to make his chest constrict with butterflies--kind of a ridiculous sensation, but there's no better word for it, like he can barely breathe with the force of the affection he's starting to feel for the faoladh. That he's been feeling for a while. They have yet to do anything even remotely romantic, and it doesn't really matter; it made things feel natural instead of rushed, like the undeniable chemistry that'd been there from the first day evolved into something real.
It's sure as hell helped things along, anyway. He shakes his head minutely and snorts, grin turning up soft and affectionate, something private he'd never share with anyone else. ] There's a fine, fine line between "like" and "tolerate", oh wise Alpha. You of all people toe it better than anyone.
no subject
[ That is, of course, said against Stiles' neck, which negates any namecalling that he might partake in completely. It's sort of funny that they can sit like this, affection shared in banter and slow growth. A part of him wants to open his mouth to Stiles' skin, the wild instincts that thrum in his blood, so that he can leave a mark on the warm, pale neck beneath his mouth.
But he doesn't. Instead, he sits and enjoys the quiet of the moment, closing his eyes and letting himself smile. Even if Stiles can't see it, he knows he'll feel it.
And he doesn't care. Not when they've come to the point they have. ] Funny, I feel like you've perfected that yourself.