[ One huge ear twitches in the direction of the footsteps, and Stiles lifts his head. That doesn't sound like four feet; it sounds like it two. It could be a human, and when he lazily gets up to his feet, he suddenly freezes, staring at the figure.
That's not a human at all, is it. It's the faoladh, in his human form, sure, and Stiles' mouth drops open; before he even gets the chance to properly makes himself shift, he's literally startled into his human form. Stiles promptly falls off the rock he was sitting on, considering it's relative size, and he scrambles up to his feet, unabashedly staring. The faoladh looks about like he'd imagined; tall, scruffy, kind of menacing, but he's got bunny teeth and his eyes are like the color of sea glass.
[ Somehow, the reaction and subsequent shift do not surprise him in the least.
Derek raises both brows, expression distinctly amused as he looks down at him, and for a moment he considers whether or not he wants to offer him any help up to his feet. It gives him enough time to look him over, interested in what he's come to know only in golden eyes and black fur marked with constellations. But even with the difference-- large, whiskey brown eyes that remind him of his deer form rather than gold-- the constellations are the same. Each and every one of them.
A faint snort leaves him at the continued, slackjawed stare, and he steps closer, extending a hand down towards him. ]
[ Right he should probably get up. Embarrassed and suddenly feeling very, very small in his presence, Stiles presses his hand into his firmly and uses it to pull himself to his feet. He is actually just an inch or two shy of Derek, but definitely smaller in every other way, shape and form; his human form's not the bees knees or anything, and he sure as hell can't stand up to that.
But he doesn't really has to, does he? Stiles brushes a little bit of dirt off his butt and says the obvious. ] Fancy meeting you here. [ i.e.; holy shit, your human self is hot help. ]
[ It's very, very easy for Derek to simply act as a brace for Stiles to get himself up to his feet, and somehow he isn't in the least bit surprised by it. The puka looks a lot like he weighs maybe half of him on a good day, though that's certainly not knocking him in the least. He's all Irish fair and dark where he's not, and his eyes keep going to his face, taking in every feature and not quite sure what one he likes the most.
Inclining his head in an obviously wolfish gesture, the corners of his mouth twitch down into what is more of a sincere smirk, almost smile, than a lot of people will often get out of the faoladh. Less reserved, more immediate. ] Considering this is where we usually wind up.
You're actually a person. [ It's not that he didn't already know that--because he did, obviously--but it doesn't change the fact that seeing it is something else entirely. The famous faoladh, completely human and baring himself to Stiles--it's kind of an exciting feeling, and he grins when he pulls his hand out of Derek's and walks around him in a circle.
It's almost like he's investigating him (he is), and he pushes up a little off the ground to peer over his shoulders, so he's just hovering over him instead of standing on bare feet on the ground. ] This is what you actually look like, with no magic or anything? Or is this just a preferred form? Because I mean, this is totally you. It suits you. You look like you could bite my head off.
[ There's something a little rhetorical with that, and Derek opts to not answer him as he instead focuses on the way Stiles circles around him. Despite how instinct tells him not to let anyone stand at his exposed back the way that the puka is, he instead just follows his movements with his eyes and... actually, strangely, trusts him at his back.
Rolling his head to the side a little, he looks over his shoulder at the hovering sidhe, eyebrows twitching up at first in answer to his questions. Of course he can't stand still like a normal person. ] This is what I actually look like, no magic or anything. I can change between person and wolf, but I can't change what either form looks like.
[ Coming around him, he nods, like he's appraising a diamond or something, and leans forward, long fingers making their way up towards his mouth, to which he promptly pulls his lip up in a facsimile of a snarl as if he's checking for fangs. He's got none--his human self is as human as human can be.
A delighted smile crosses the puka's face, and he floats back down to the ground, curling his toes in the soil and folding his arms across his chest, looking up at the faoladh. He's just a little taller than Stiles, and incredibly good looking, and yep. He's satisfied. ] That sounds boring.
[ For someone who can change forms at the drop of the hat. ] --but it's the same for me as a person, too. [ Stiles spreads out his hands, waving them in an open gesture. ] What you see's what you get. I mean, unless you wanted to see me as a girl or something, I could do that, but I don't like to.
[ Surprisingly tolerant of the examination, he curls his lips rather than resisting the pull, baring human-blunt teeth. To be fair, Derek could scare the piss out of him by letting a shift fall over him, the in-between, but he decides not to. Not right now, anyways. Instead, he waits for him to take his fingers out of his mouth, working his jaw a little after.
Arching his eyebrows, he looks down at him-- it's not that far, and he's not particularly surprised by it, though he tries to ignore the good match it makes of them-- and regards the satisfied air of him.
And then he snorts, all soft amusement. ] You're not a girl.
[ He brings his hands up, sudden and quick, but gently takes hold of Stiles' wrists as he waves his hands about. ] This is good.
No, not even close. [ And then, with a playful wiggle of his eyebrows ] Could be if you liked it, though.
[ He's just being an asshole, really, and as Stiles opens his mouth to say something else, hands coming up to follow his gestures, Derek's latch onto his wrists. This is a whole other dimension to Stiles, one that being four legged doesn't really cover--the puka moves in wide arcs and seems to constantly be using his hands, and when they're taken away from him, he frowns, a little confused, and missing the tools to build his verbal skyscrapers. ] What's good. Specificity helps.
Mm. [ His own brows twitch briefly in response, though there's an amused twist to it. ] No, not unless you wanted it.
[ Where Stiles is being an asshole, Derek channels that elsewhere in the way he restrains his movements instead of with what he says. He likes this, likes the way Stiles looks as is. He's fair-skinned but speckled, eyes big and bright just like his stag form but that warm, liquid amber. The inside of his wrists are soft, but no less strong, and he can feel his pulse thrumming beneath his fingertips, especially as he realizes that he's effectively silenced a part of him.
Rubbing his thumbs along the inside of tender, vulnerable skin, he seems to regard the entirety of him. His eyes scan his face, dropping along the line of his throat and following his shoulders, down across his chest. ] You are.
[ There's an old saying that floats around in the villages sometimes, that the puka's overheard from wise old hunters and young men, from every single time that he's escaped from a trap someone tried to set for him. "Cùm do chù ri leigeadh"--hold back your dog until the deer falls. In this situation, it might be a different kind of falling entirely, but in the end, it boils down to a dog and a deer. The wolf had been chasing him for so long that one day the deer decided he was ready to be caught, and now they're here, with Derek's hands circled around his wrist and his gaze roaming down his chest.
It actually makes him just a little self conscious, because the puka'd do a lot of different things with his human form if he could, so he squirms a little and flexes his hands in Derek's grip, like he's trying to regain their usage. ] I told you eons ago, I'm gonna taste stringy, so not worth sinking your teeth into.
[ There's a bit of a teasing tone to that though--he knows Derek wouldn't actually eat him. ]
[ The proverb is one that his mother actually used to tell, and there was a story attached to it that she enjoyed sharing with them when he was younger. Because she was always one for unconventional tales, and Derek was always one for eating them up (so long as they came from Talia and not Peter). The puka in his grasp could so very easily twist out of his grip, shift away and flee into the brush with very little difficulty. But he doesn't. He lets the faoladh keep steady hold of him, where his fingers are curled loosely-- gentle, but firm-- and he tries to disregard the sensation that builds in his chest with that.
Pale eyes flicking back up to his face, he adjusts his grip so that his thumbs press just slightly into the heel of his hands, fingers loosening. If he wants to pull them away, he won't stop him. Will never stop him.
He's used to things leaving him at this point. ]
I don't know, there's a little substance to you. [ Just as much of a teasing tone is attached to that. ]
[ Yeah, Stiles isn't going to lie? He's incredibly pleased right now. He'd stopped going after crops a few months ago, when something new and interesting had fully taken his attention, and the villagers were no less grateful for it--they didn't have to give up any of their food, because Stiles had found his share in a faoladh with blood red eyes, who'd not only played his game but excelled at it.
It's why he doesn't twitch out of his grip or anything, and just grins at him, mouth drawn up at the corners in a sly smile. The puka's pleased, hell, even with the growing tension between them, like something's going to happen. ] Not like you.
[ Which is true, really. ] If the stories the kids tell around the village are true, I could eat you up, too. [ And he grins, toothily. They're not, but he enjoys the rumors anyway. ]
Could you. And what are those stories, I wonder. [ It's not as if Derek misses the rumors of the village, given how much time he spends in them.
Or, well, has spent in them. In recent months, his attention has largely been devoted to the puka in front of him right now, the one that lets him keep hold of his hands, fingertips brushing the back of them almost absently as he tracks the way his smile grows into a grin.
He's seen a facsimile of that grin in his many forms-- the fox having the closest one, to be honest-- but there's something that thrills in him at seeing it on his human face. He can't help but step in a little closer to him, a spark of crimson there and gone in the light of the day around them. After months and months of Stiles' attention on him, Derek's attention returned, there's no threat there. Just slow intent, and that tension rising higher. ]
Just that I'm vicious when I don't get my share. [ He bares his teeth, but it doesn't have much of an effect, considering--Stiles definitely doesn't come off as terrifying, not even a little. He doesn't, though, back down when Derek comes into his space, still holding his arms. In fact, he just gazes right back at him, feeling something thrill in his stomach at the sight of those bright red eyes.
It's kind of strange to be here, spending time together like this--for someone who's currently human, Derek just seems...wolfish. He's got the same traits as the form Stiles is used to; the red eyes, the dark hair, the gleaming white teeth. But this Derek has a whole level of facets beyond paws and claws, and Stiles is extremely intrigued.
Has been since he first started dealing with the faoladh, frankly. ]
Not quite the word I would use. [ Seeing Stiles bare his teeth as something far more dangerous-- a wolf, a small bear, even a fox-- has more of an effect than his blunt and human teeth now. But there's something endearing about it, and he can't help the amused snort that escapes him. Derek doesn't really see much of a reason to return the expression, and instead lowers their arms a little so that they're held more closely to Stiles' sides.
The wolfish traits continue in the moment between them, and he angles his head towards him, the slightest predatory tilt to it as he does. But for all his similar behavior, everything that makes him a wolf, there's the distinctly Derek-- distinctly faoladh-- traits to him. That firm sort of softness, the care of his touch and the deep curiosity that he returns in exchange for Stiles'. There was always more to the puka than his trickery, and he's known it.
He just wants to know it better. ] Obnoxious, maybe.
Obnoxious! Excuse you, I prefer irritating. [ He pretends to puff up, but it loses all pretense as the joke comes out--although it's true, the puka has irritation down to an art--and then Derek's a little closer in his space again. Stiles flexes his fingers where his hands are being held down, but doesn't try to rip out of his grip, at all. In fact, he just looks up at Derek with a spark in those big brown eyes, like he's having the time of his life.
And he is, really. He's getting his share, finally, and he didn't have to pull a single prank to get it--at least not this time around. His head tilts up to match Derek's when his comes down, and the grin curls up his face a little more. ] Besides, it's in my job description.
Obnoxious. [ Lips pulling back in a faint grin, he lets his eyes fall half-shut in blatant amusement as he regards the puka in front of him. Derek is just waiting for the moment where this all falls away, playful pretense dissipated and the other shoe dropped. But that's a permanent state of being for him, and he finds himself waiting like this for practically everything good that's ever happened to him. And, really, funny how Stiles has become something good, considering he wanted to tear him to bits when he first started terrorizing them.
But now he's standing there and capable of breathing in Stiles' scent without even trying, something summer into autumn with some twist of spice underlying it, quiet ozone that denotes magic. Something he could find anywhere. ] So are annoying, being a pest, and causing damage to private property.
[ Except he doesn't sound annoyed when he says it. Just keeps his head angled in towards him, something there in those pale eyes of his. ]
What, gonna punish me for it? [ Stiles grins at him, mischievous and bright and for all the world looking like the trickster spirit he actually is. But that's not to say Stiles isn't happy, because he is--he really, really is.
Rocking back on his heels, he feigns innocence, still letting Derek's hold on him act as an anchor as he slides out of his bubble for a second, then back in, just a couple inches from his mouth. ]
I'm thinking about it. [ Derek keeps Stiles steady as he rocks back on his heels, knowing that despite all the grace that he might be able to display that the puka is more prone to clumsiness than anything else. (Which is a thing in and of itself, that he can even act as an anchor now instead of being a threat to Stiles.)
For all that he's the sharp trickster, and the faoladh is the stoic guardian, there's a sort of mischievous return in his expression. He doesn't move, trusts Stiles in his space, but almost seems to be teasing him with the fact that he's not moving in the slightest bit. ]
Oooh, no, I'm so scared. [ He totally isn't. And he hasn't really been, anyway, not for a long time. The faoladh would never harm him, at least not anymore, even if 90% of the time he seemed to be in a general state of irritation towards the sidhe. He's getting the teasing, too, like he's just waiting for something to happen, and you know what, Stiles is so not letting him pull this.
So, abruptly, he tugs his hands out of Derek's wrists and hops up in the air like he's going to hop into his arms, bridal style, both arms sprawling out on his shoulders and making a ridiculous face. ] Well?
I can smell the fear rolling off you in waves. [ Positively dry, he just barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. But it's true, the faoladh never would harm him. Not after all of the time they've spent together, regardless of how constantly fed up he is with the shenanigans that the puka stirs up on the regular.
Which is what he does now. Derek responds automatically, letting Stiles' wrists go before slipping his arms around him, essentially creating a seat for him. Sighing heavily, he gives him a flat look that twitches at the edges, as if he's trying to keep from smiling. (He is.) ] I have a few options.
I'm absolutely terrified. [ That flat look is honestly one of his favorites--he's seen it on a wolf's face about a thousand times, and it's straight up delightful to see it on a human, instead--Stiles makes a pleased noise and wraps an arm around his shoulder, kicking his feet.
Yep. Best share. Stiles is the luckiest puka in the world, period. ] Try me.
Of course you are. [ Indulgent, Derek lets him kick his feet as he gets himself settled as he almost seems to consider the dare. When he settles on something, he begins walking away from the meeting place, knowing exactly where he's going with his armful of puka.
He's not oblivious to the fact he's become Stiles' share. It became pretty obvious when Stiles would only start playing his default pranks to get his attention-- and that was obvious in and of itself-- oftentimes just waiting around for him at the end of his patrols until he could pay proper attention to him.
It had been a conflict, due to the fact that the sidhe represented a slightly less dangerous threat against his village. And yet, here he was, carrying him off into the surrounding woods and strangely at ease. He'd accepted his role as share pretty quickly, and it was only partially for his village's sake. He feels the slightest bit of guilt for it, but he feels guilt for many things. What's one more? ]
[ He was sort of expecting a kiss, to be honest, but this is kind of interesting, too. Getting settled against Derek's chest, Stiles tucks his face into his neck and watches the surroundings go by from his perch. It's a little different than, say, riding on his back as a squirrel or something like that; definitely more intimate, and kind of fun, too.
He's enjoying his wolf as a person, to say the least. And it's not even the wolf anymore, the faoladh, no; Derek is his wolf, his faoladh, and he wouldn't have it any other way. The feathers in his hair tickle at Derek's jaw as he gets comfortable, one long arm draping down his back and towards his triskele. ] Where are we going?
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uwu ♥
That's not a human at all, is it. It's the faoladh, in his human form, sure, and Stiles' mouth drops open; before he even gets the chance to properly makes himself shift, he's literally startled into his human form. Stiles promptly falls off the rock he was sitting on, considering it's relative size, and he scrambles up to his feet, unabashedly staring. The faoladh looks about like he'd imagined; tall, scruffy, kind of menacing, but he's got bunny teeth and his eyes are like the color of sea glass.
Yeah no, he's really still staring. ]
SNORTS LOUDLY ♥
Derek raises both brows, expression distinctly amused as he looks down at him, and for a moment he considers whether or not he wants to offer him any help up to his feet. It gives him enough time to look him over, interested in what he's come to know only in golden eyes and black fur marked with constellations. But even with the difference-- large, whiskey brown eyes that remind him of his deer form rather than gold-- the constellations are the same. Each and every one of them.
A faint snort leaves him at the continued, slackjawed stare, and he steps closer, extending a hand down towards him. ]
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But he doesn't really has to, does he? Stiles brushes a little bit of dirt off his butt and says the obvious. ] Fancy meeting you here. [ i.e.; holy shit, your human self is hot help. ]
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Inclining his head in an obviously wolfish gesture, the corners of his mouth twitch down into what is more of a sincere smirk, almost smile, than a lot of people will often get out of the faoladh. Less reserved, more immediate. ] Considering this is where we usually wind up.
[ you're not so bad either. ]
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It's almost like he's investigating him (he is), and he pushes up a little off the ground to peer over his shoulders, so he's just hovering over him instead of standing on bare feet on the ground. ] This is what you actually look like, with no magic or anything? Or is this just a preferred form? Because I mean, this is totally you. It suits you. You look like you could bite my head off.
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Rolling his head to the side a little, he looks over his shoulder at the hovering sidhe, eyebrows twitching up at first in answer to his questions. Of course he can't stand still like a normal person. ] This is what I actually look like, no magic or anything. I can change between person and wolf, but I can't change what either form looks like.
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A delighted smile crosses the puka's face, and he floats back down to the ground, curling his toes in the soil and folding his arms across his chest, looking up at the faoladh. He's just a little taller than Stiles, and incredibly good looking, and yep. He's satisfied. ] That sounds boring.
[ For someone who can change forms at the drop of the hat. ] --but it's the same for me as a person, too. [ Stiles spreads out his hands, waving them in an open gesture. ] What you see's what you get. I mean, unless you wanted to see me as a girl or something, I could do that, but I don't like to.
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Arching his eyebrows, he looks down at him-- it's not that far, and he's not particularly surprised by it, though he tries to ignore the good match it makes of them-- and regards the satisfied air of him.
And then he snorts, all soft amusement. ] You're not a girl.
[ He brings his hands up, sudden and quick, but gently takes hold of Stiles' wrists as he waves his hands about. ] This is good.
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[ He's just being an asshole, really, and as Stiles opens his mouth to say something else, hands coming up to follow his gestures, Derek's latch onto his wrists. This is a whole other dimension to Stiles, one that being four legged doesn't really cover--the puka moves in wide arcs and seems to constantly be using his hands, and when they're taken away from him, he frowns, a little confused, and missing the tools to build his verbal skyscrapers. ] What's good. Specificity helps.
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[ Where Stiles is being an asshole, Derek channels that elsewhere in the way he restrains his movements instead of with what he says. He likes this, likes the way Stiles looks as is. He's fair-skinned but speckled, eyes big and bright just like his stag form but that warm, liquid amber. The inside of his wrists are soft, but no less strong, and he can feel his pulse thrumming beneath his fingertips, especially as he realizes that he's effectively silenced a part of him.
Rubbing his thumbs along the inside of tender, vulnerable skin, he seems to regard the entirety of him. His eyes scan his face, dropping along the line of his throat and following his shoulders, down across his chest. ] You are.
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It actually makes him just a little self conscious, because the puka'd do a lot of different things with his human form if he could, so he squirms a little and flexes his hands in Derek's grip, like he's trying to regain their usage. ] I told you eons ago, I'm gonna taste stringy, so not worth sinking your teeth into.
[ There's a bit of a teasing tone to that though--he knows Derek wouldn't actually eat him. ]
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Pale eyes flicking back up to his face, he adjusts his grip so that his thumbs press just slightly into the heel of his hands, fingers loosening. If he wants to pull them away, he won't stop him. Will never stop him.
He's used to things leaving him at this point. ]
I don't know, there's a little substance to you. [ Just as much of a teasing tone is attached to that. ]
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It's why he doesn't twitch out of his grip or anything, and just grins at him, mouth drawn up at the corners in a sly smile. The puka's pleased, hell, even with the growing tension between them, like something's going to happen. ] Not like you.
[ Which is true, really. ] If the stories the kids tell around the village are true, I could eat you up, too. [ And he grins, toothily. They're not, but he enjoys the rumors anyway. ]
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Or, well, has spent in them. In recent months, his attention has largely been devoted to the puka in front of him right now, the one that lets him keep hold of his hands, fingertips brushing the back of them almost absently as he tracks the way his smile grows into a grin.
He's seen a facsimile of that grin in his many forms-- the fox having the closest one, to be honest-- but there's something that thrills in him at seeing it on his human face. He can't help but step in a little closer to him, a spark of crimson there and gone in the light of the day around them. After months and months of Stiles' attention on him, Derek's attention returned, there's no threat there. Just slow intent, and that tension rising higher. ]
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It's kind of strange to be here, spending time together like this--for someone who's currently human, Derek just seems...wolfish. He's got the same traits as the form Stiles is used to; the red eyes, the dark hair, the gleaming white teeth. But this Derek has a whole level of facets beyond paws and claws, and Stiles is extremely intrigued.
Has been since he first started dealing with the faoladh, frankly. ]
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The wolfish traits continue in the moment between them, and he angles his head towards him, the slightest predatory tilt to it as he does. But for all his similar behavior, everything that makes him a wolf, there's the distinctly Derek-- distinctly faoladh-- traits to him. That firm sort of softness, the care of his touch and the deep curiosity that he returns in exchange for Stiles'. There was always more to the puka than his trickery, and he's known it.
He just wants to know it better. ] Obnoxious, maybe.
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And he is, really. He's getting his share, finally, and he didn't have to pull a single prank to get it--at least not this time around. His head tilts up to match Derek's when his comes down, and the grin curls up his face a little more. ] Besides, it's in my job description.
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But now he's standing there and capable of breathing in Stiles' scent without even trying, something summer into autumn with some twist of spice underlying it, quiet ozone that denotes magic. Something he could find anywhere. ] So are annoying, being a pest, and causing damage to private property.
[ Except he doesn't sound annoyed when he says it. Just keeps his head angled in towards him, something there in those pale eyes of his. ]
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Rocking back on his heels, he feigns innocence, still letting Derek's hold on him act as an anchor as he slides out of his bubble for a second, then back in, just a couple inches from his mouth. ]
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For all that he's the sharp trickster, and the faoladh is the stoic guardian, there's a sort of mischievous return in his expression. He doesn't move, trusts Stiles in his space, but almost seems to be teasing him with the fact that he's not moving in the slightest bit. ]
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So, abruptly, he tugs his hands out of Derek's wrists and hops up in the air like he's going to hop into his arms, bridal style, both arms sprawling out on his shoulders and making a ridiculous face. ] Well?
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Which is what he does now. Derek responds automatically, letting Stiles' wrists go before slipping his arms around him, essentially creating a seat for him. Sighing heavily, he gives him a flat look that twitches at the edges, as if he's trying to keep from smiling. (He is.) ] I have a few options.
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Yep. Best share. Stiles is the luckiest puka in the world, period. ] Try me.
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He's not oblivious to the fact he's become Stiles' share. It became pretty obvious when Stiles would only start playing his default pranks to get his attention-- and that was obvious in and of itself-- oftentimes just waiting around for him at the end of his patrols until he could pay proper attention to him.
It had been a conflict, due to the fact that the sidhe represented a slightly less dangerous threat against his village. And yet, here he was, carrying him off into the surrounding woods and strangely at ease. He'd accepted his role as share pretty quickly, and it was only partially for his village's sake. He feels the slightest bit of guilt for it, but he feels guilt for many things. What's one more? ]
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He's enjoying his wolf as a person, to say the least. And it's not even the wolf anymore, the faoladh, no; Derek is his wolf, his faoladh, and he wouldn't have it any other way. The feathers in his hair tickle at Derek's jaw as he gets comfortable, one long arm draping down his back and towards his triskele. ] Where are we going?
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