[ It's largely the latter, although the former does linger a little at the back of his mind. Rather, Derek just decides to let it go. He has a feeling that it won't be very difficult to provoke Stiles into awkwardness, anyways, so he has plenty of opportunities in the future to tease him further. But he seems to also give as good as he gets, even if it has a different result when the wolf is the target. It's... nice, to banter with someone again. It makes him miss what he's lost, what he hasn't seen in years.
Sitting up a little more, he shifts to look down at himself, fingers tracing along old wounds and freshly healed ones. An amused sound leaves him at that, something close to a rumble that vibrates at the back of his throat and echos in his chest. ] It wasn't a treat eight years ago, I doubt it'll be a treat now.
[ Because getting fitted for his armor, for togas and tunics and every single thing imaginable because he had to be presentable as a representation of his mother, was never fun. Ever. Even when he was lighter hearted, had an easier burden and a more personable demeanor, he didn't like having people in his space that he didn't invite there himself.
He catches a quick and fleeting shift in scent, but it's there and gone before Stiles is rambling on again. Almost on impulse, his hand raises, and he brushes his fingertips over his throat with a frown. The idea of being collared was not one that set well with him, figurative or literal. ] You have my word that I'll not run off like a stray.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Sitting up a little more, he shifts to look down at himself, fingers tracing along old wounds and freshly healed ones. An amused sound leaves him at that, something close to a rumble that vibrates at the back of his throat and echos in his chest. ] It wasn't a treat eight years ago, I doubt it'll be a treat now.
[ Because getting fitted for his armor, for togas and tunics and every single thing imaginable because he had to be presentable as a representation of his mother, was never fun. Ever. Even when he was lighter hearted, had an easier burden and a more personable demeanor, he didn't like having people in his space that he didn't invite there himself.
He catches a quick and fleeting shift in scent, but it's there and gone before Stiles is rambling on again. Almost on impulse, his hand raises, and he brushes his fingertips over his throat with a frown. The idea of being collared was not one that set well with him, figurative or literal. ] You have my word that I'll not run off like a stray.
[ It's said dryly, but he means it. ]