[ He's not technically supposed to be joining in on the dances; it's the kind of thing meant strictly for the royalty, the upper class. Then again, so was the entire conference itself, and Stiles was starting to become an expert in rule breaking. Besides, it looked like Derek basically needed to be rescued--he'd never seen someone look so absolutely pained at the idea of personal contact and social graces for all of fifteen minutes.
When he comes back around and looks forward, his hand catches Derek's lightly, in the proper imitation of the dance. It was easy to pick up, actually, and as much as these werewolves seemed to enjoy it (there was probably something in here about pack and touching and getting friendly with each other--werewolves), Stiles was in Derek's camp. He raises his eyebrows behind his mask, opens his mouth and smacks his lips together, then looks off to the ceiling. ]
Considering I'm supposed to be your attendant? Yes, exactly. [ He drops his gaze and smiles at him for a minute, mouth quirked up in one of his lopsided grins. ] Wouldn't you rather me over-- [ And he jerks his head forward, to a rather prissy looking woman in front of them. ] -- the alpha from the north, over there? She's been watching you like a particularly tasty piece of meat for the past twenty minutes.
[ Personal contact and social graces are totally the norm for these functions, but Derek turns in on himself when it comes to anything outside of his pack. Especially when it comes to the people like this-- especially the alpha from the north, god save him-- that he'd rather just avoid or talk to over a conference table. Even if most of the time he wants to reach over and knock their skulls into said table, at least it puts distance between them.
Lifting his own eyes to the ceiling as if in imitation to Stiles-- makes the dance look more authentic, anyways-- he exhales heavily, something that spreads already broad shoulders and chest as he follows the motions of the dance like it's going to kill him. It probably will, some day. ]
I didn't ask for an attendant, so there's that. [ Cocking his head to look at him out of the corner of his eye, he visibly grimaces even though he knows said alpha probably heard Stiles. The problem with these functions is that there's rarely ever a secret, and where there is? They aren't typically benevolent ones. ] I'd rather not be here at all, but point.
Noo, but you got one anyway. That seems like the moral of your life. [ Stiles' mouth twitches into something a little more mischievous, like he knows the other alpha heard him, and slips away again, around another person, and back to Derek. Their hands touch--Stiles' ungloved, as was typical of someone a little more common, and he takes the slow, unending steps forward with a surprising amount of grace. It's mostly because this--this is easy compared to the waltz, the kind of stuff Lydia made him do a thousand times until he didn't look like a total tool when this whole sneak into the conference idea came about. Back then it was just looking for something to do in the city, something lighthearted, compared to the spying he was supposed to be doing now.
But it's hard to think about that when he's got Derek here with him like this, when they're spending time together and becoming friends. He likes the guy. He's funny, if grouchy and kind of bitchy on most days, he has weird habits and despite being a werewolf, there's something incredibly human about him. So he doesn't think about it, doesn't report a lot to Peter, and starts to draw his own conclusions instead. ] Unfortunately, I don't think there's any escaping it. Think of it this way! I'm here in servitude, you're here because it's supposedly fun.
[ He makes an exaggerated winking gesture under his mask. ] Who's the one that's really suffering here?
[ Choosing not to reply to that particular comment-- because it's a hard truth, whether Stiles realizes it or not-- Derek lets out a gruff noise of annoyance. It's half sincere, half fake, and he simply continues the unending movements despite the fact it makes his skin crawl. But there's a required time set by his mother and elder sister both, forcing him to stay there for a bit longer. At least Stiles alleviates the painful boredom that's causing his skin to crawl, and he keeps the northern alpha from stepping in in an attempt to court him.
Or take a bite out of him. He's not sure which.
Rolling his head a little to the side, he sighs heavily and willingly breaks his pristine posture that imitates those around him. Anyone who's listening to them and has half a brain will know that he's far from thrilled about this, anyways, so. ] We're both here against our will. But there is a way to escape it.
[ Out of the corner of his eye and beneath his mask, he looks at Stiles. Hard to miss as it is, there's a brief flash of brightness to his clear eyes-- not quite the electric blue that they'd turn, but something almost mischievous in return for Stiles' own expression. ]
[ Another go around, and the couples dance is nearly at the end of the line, now--they're almost free from the socialization. It'll be another four or so rounds before Stiles gets to dance with Derek again (and he'll honestly probably just slip out, unless Laura or Cora are in line) so he's pretty much considering blowing this popsicle stand and harassing Erica in the kitchens or something.
Derek catches his interest though, as he looks up at the masked prince for a minute, snorting out an ungraceful laugh when he sighs heavily and keeping his hold on his hand. ] Oh, is there. Is it the kind that's going to make your mom severely dock my already kinda limited pay, because seriously, I am broke as hell and these dances are apparently my cash cow.
[ He's honestly imagining the dude barreling through this giant line of people like a wrecking ball, but it's exciting all the same. That was a joke, though. ]
I've socialized long enough, I don't think she'll be too upset about it. [ Tone dry, Derek examines their surroundings rather than actually paying too much attention to the dance. To be fair, it's all linear. There's nothing he really needs to worry about, so long as he keeps going along with the movements. Not as if he hasn't done these a thousand times already, and now he could probably do them in his sleep.
God, what a nightmare that'd be.
A wolfish angle tilts his head, and he lets out an idle noise at the back of his throat. The fact he could easily barrel through the people surrounding them has occurred to him in the past, but he instead opts to suddenly properly take Stiles' hand, fingers curled close to his wrist, and pull him out of line in one easy, smooth movement that's a bit like a dance itself.
And then he heads for the nearest exit without a word. ]
Whoop--[ A noise comes out of his mouth before he can properly actually respond, kind of comically, as Stiles literally gets pulled right out of line, leaving a space where they were. He's quick enough on his feet that Stiles stumbles after him, barely having enough time to skitter across the room behind him, and pushes up his mask with one hand so it doesn't fall off his face.
He's still grinning like a loon, though, feeling that same sort of rush he felt the first day he even snuck in here--the giddy excitement that had come with being part of something he wasn't really allowed to be, redirected into the warm hand that's suddenly holding his and tugging him out of the room. He whispers loudly, just enough to be heard over the orchestra-- ] Dude, if your mo--the Alpha fires me, it is so your fault!
[ Navigating through the people milling around with relative ease, Derek makes sure to keep his eyes forward rather than scanning around the room for Talia or Laura. While Laura would just give him A Look, his mother? Would give him A Look. He'd much rather avoid the chastising when he's trying to get the hell out of there unscathed, even if it means he has company in the process.
If asked why he decided to lead Stiles out, he wouldn't have been able to answer.
Raising his eyebrows from behind his mask, he only glances back at Stiles when they've left the room and are in the clear, fingers loosening around his wrist as he starts to slow down from the quick steps that were made for a fast escape before they could be detected. He has a feeling more than one person saw them, and would gossip or report to his mother, but he can't really bring himself to care. ]
She's not going to fire you. She'll probably lecture me for the better part of an hour, but you'll be fine. [ That said, he turns away from him and makes for the stairway, intent on getting away from the party itself as he reaches his free hand up to nudge his mask up to the crown of his head. ]
[ By the time they've escaped, Stiles definitely has made eye contact with Laura (who wiggled her eyebrows at him, for some reason), but the first breath of fresh air from the main hall instead of the dance hall is kind of refreshing anyway, and the door slips shut behind them as they make their way away from the hubbub and down the stairs towards the back garden. Stiles follows Derek's example, pushing his mask up and rubbing the sweat from his cheeks, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone followed them. He makes a face at Derek's response, as if he's pondering it over, eyebrows coming up, then nods. ] That sounds like my kind of punishment.
[ By which he means, one that isn't his. With most of the party in the ballroom, the entire world seems to fade away by the time he's followed Derek outside, the noise of the orchestra and pomp and circumstance of old families of werewolves turning into the sound of water rushing nearby, leaves rustling in the trees. It's actually a pretty peaceful night, all things considered, and Stiles takes his first steps outside and inhales deeply, throwing his long arms up and letting them fall to his sides. ] Alright, fine, totally admitting it. You did it, you escaped the pitfalls of socialization almost seamlessly. Congratulations.
[ Derek hasn't let go completely of his hand, but Stiles wasn't really letting go, either. ]
Of course it does. [ A slight roll of his head indicates that he's rolling his eyes, but otherwise Derek isn't overly bothered by the statement. Talia is, at least, fairly understanding as both his mother and an alpha. The lecture will probably turn into a line of questioning and then an eventual conversation, because she knows that her son just... doesn't do these parties anymore. Hasn't, for a good three, four years now.
Glad to have gotten out of the party without anyone tailing them, he looks over at Stiles as he throws his arms up, partially because their hands are still joined. When he drops them again, he slips his fingers away from the warmth of soft skin that he can feel through the stupid gloves that were essentially thrown at his face (thanks, Laura) and demanded to be worn.
He absently picks at the wrist of one of them, looking down with amusement before he sheds the damn things and stuffs them into a coat pocket, looking up from under his brow at Stiles as he works. ] Thanks. It's easier to slip out at the start and end of dances, but I don't think my sanity would've lasted long enough for that.
[ Stiles is almost wishing he'd had a pair of gloves himself--the night's surprisingly nippy, almost cold enough for sleigh rides and heavy snows. It's getting near the third month of the congress, and while negotiations move on slow as ever, the seasons are changing. These rich supernatural people live in a world that moves at a hell of a different pace than his--it feels like people just party more than they actually negotiate around here.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looks up at his "charge", the two inches between them, and grins a little, mask still pushed up on his forehead. ] It sounds like you're starting to be an expert at this sneaking out thing. [ Looking up at the sky, he rocks back up on his heels. ] Could've used better execution, though. If you need some tips, I know a guy who snuck into a heavily guarded by werewolves event just to see that he could.
[ Not naming any names or anything. At least that much is a well known fact. ]
Through sheer tenacity, I'm fairly sure. Otherwise you don't know when to shut your mouth. [ Breathing out into the crisp air, Derek watches as his breath comes in foggy wisps, brows raised before he turns his attention back to Stiles properly. It's an obvious jab, but there's no real heat behind it. The human is the cause of a great deal of his ire, but it's been a while since his voice has carried any bite to it when throwing banter back and forth.
He rolls his shoulders, quick and sudden, and his head follows so that he can crack his neck. As if he's been held in an uncomfortable position for hours-- which, in his opinion, he has. He'd much rather be in the midst of a negotiation than one of the parties, truth be told, and he doesn't make it much of a secret to those that have dealings within the Hale estate's walls.
Here, though, he keeps it to himself. ] If I had any intention of being stealthy, I would've been. But trying to escape one of these events is different from getting into them.
[ Stiles' mouth drops open--completely proving what Derek said, but still--and he snaps it shut again, jostling his shoulder with his. ] It was clearly enough to navigate me through half of the Werewolf Justice League without getting caught so maybe it was my smooth mouth that just got me here.
[ He kind of enjoys bantering with Derek. It started out in a mostly masochistic kind of way, considering they got on like oil and water, but Stiles started to gel into his place in the Hale family over time, and he and Derek seemed to just...start to get along. Now they still insult each other but it feels more playful. Feels more like bantering with a friend.
Maybe with something a little more than that, but Stiles won't address that one, nope. He lifts his hands in a shrug, though, shaking his head. ] I was totally expecting a lot more when they said "werewolf parties." Like, seriously, all you guys do are the really formal dances. 's so 18th century. Come in, dance, dazzle the whole crowd, leave with a bang--bam, flawless escape plan. [ He smiles a little at that, egging Derek on, albeit playfully. ] My grandma could shake it more than that and she's a 75 year old Polish woman in a wheelchair.
You didn't get out unscathed, considering you work for the Hales now. [ Allowing himself to be jostled, but not moving all that much, he keeps his brows raised as he stares at Stiles. His point proven, there's a twitch at the corners of his mouth: downward, but not into a typical frown, interestingly enough.
When they first started talking, he honestly didn't want anything to do with Stiles. He was annoying, but also something of a reminder of something he lost. But now that they've actually gotten to know each other, even if it was through forced socialization (and Peter's insistence, though he's unaware of that particular point), he's come to realize that Stiles is still grating, but he's very much his own person.
He's also a little like a friend, but where the teen doesn't address his own feelings on it, Derek simply pushes them aside for more important things as he watches him shrug. ] You forget the part where I hate essentially everyone that comes to these functions and would rather drown myself in the punch than actually participate in the formal dances. [ His tone is dry, and he calmly bumps his weight, shoulder-to-shoulder, into Stiles to knock him off balance. ] I'm sure she's passed on the tremendous skills to her grandson.
At least I get paid for it. [ He grins a little, returning the eyebrow raise with one of his own and starting to bounce on the balls of his feet. It's cold as hell outside, and no amount of frou frou layers seem to be making up for that. He's kind of desperate for his good red coat right now, but considering it's in the boudoir upstairs (since he wasn't exactly expecting to be outside tonight), he's kind of shit out of luck.
When he gets pushed, Stiles bounces a couple of steps away, thrown off balance almost immediately--his hands come out of his pockets and he spreads his arms to try and steady himself, bouncing back to his feet and rolling his eyes. ] Right, gotta calculate the misanthropy in there, how could I forget.
[ But there's something in those brown eyes that twinkles mischeviously, and he spreads his hands wide. ] I'm a pretty sweet dancer, hard as that is to believe. Lydia made me her practice partner for like months, because she had this huge dance to do with Jackson and, as usual, I ended up being the test dummy.
[ Which was actually kind of upsetting, considering. But it'd been nice to dance with Lydia--she taught him the waltz, a dance they hadn't quite passed on to the high society yet, and he taught her how to cheat and lead Jackson, because she ended up leading most of their dances, anyway. ]
Mm, right. I thought you said that was a limited pay? [ It's something of a note to himself, even if it's not obvious. Stiles isn't really the attendant that his mother gave him, or at least not the one that she'd intended him to be. At this point, he's a bit more of a companion than anything else, and he feels like he should be paid for something other than making sure he doesn't skip out of formal events.
Which, you know, is thwarted now. Not that Derek feels particularly guilty about it.
Chuffing out a laugh as Stiles fumbles, he cracks a bit of a lopsided grin, cocking his head wolfishly as he gets his bearings again. If he considers that an insult, he doesn't seem particularly bothered by it. How could he be when it's true? The truth might hurt, but this is one he's accepted at this point.
Still, it's not as if he missed the bouncing. Not as if he can't tell there's a chill in the air. He moves to take a few, easy steps towards where Stiles has steadied himself, shrugging his shoulders again to remove his coat. It's not a winter coat to fight the cold by any means, but it's another layer that he brings around and hooks around Stiles' shoulders, uses to pull him forward a bit. ]
Really. You honestly could've fooled me. The formal dances aren't exactly the greatest demonstration of dancing skills, considering everyone acts as an automaton.
Limited pay's better than no pay, but if you're gonna put in a good word for me, I'll totally take a raise. I do always have to put up with you. [ That's teasing, and it's obvious in his tone--Stiles' face turns up in a smile, and he turns in a little towards him naturally once he's righted himself again, gravitating.
It's then that there's a blanket of warmth around his shoulders, and the cold practically fades--it's his dress coat, warmed up by Derek's ridiculous body heat and kind of big on Stiles' shoulders in comparison, but still warm. He gets tugged forward but doesn't fight against it at all, and if his cheeks are a little red, well, he can just blame it on the cold. ] I am a master of grace. These limbs've gotta go somewhere.
[ The first part of that is definitely a joke because it's Stiles. ] Seriously, man, it's all about the waltz, now. So you just have one partner instead of fifty, and you definitely don't walk in a line.
[ And then, well, his hands are moving before his mouth, and he shrugs into the coat, then uses one hand to seek out Derek's, long fingers finding his hand as he takes a step forward, and suddenly there's a lot less space between them. Challenge so accepted okay. ] Gimme your arm.
You're supposed to put up with me and keep me out of trouble. I don't think this constitutes as keeping me out of trouble, Stiles. [ But his voice is more than a little fond, if not just as teasing. If called on it, Derek would deny it, but he's clearly amused and will definitely put in a good word for him on the sly. When Laura's not around.
Probably when Laura's with her equivalent of a stable boy romance, and thus far far away and very occupied so she can't give him looks.
His amusement quirks even more across his expression at that, as his eyes scan across Stiles' face. That's a definite joke, but he's a little distracted b the flush that's settled on pale skin-- he will absolutely assume it's from the cold, though that thought's swept away as Stiles takes hold of his hand. Blinking once, slowly, he looks at the point of contact before back at him. Rather than protest, as he might have done when they first met, well. ]
That sounds infinitely better than what was happening inside. [ He does as Stiles asks, lifting his arm. ]
Technically, you dragged me out here. [ Innocently. ] I'm just a puny human, what could I have ever done.
[ Which is so much bullshit it could fertilize a field of crops, but that's okay. Stiles watches Derek react, nervous for half a second, but when he obediently offers his arm, Stiles lights up a little and takes it from him, placing it on his own shoulder. One long arm comes to wrap around his waist, and suddenly they're a lot closer than they were, and the flush is starting to spread to his ears, but you know what, he has a point to prove, dammit.
The human of the two grins at him and takes a slow step to the left, then to the right, rocking in time to the music faintly humming from upstairs and making wide, exaggerated movements for Derek to follow. He can feel the heat coming off of him and it's almost instinctual to scoot that much closer, enjoy it, but he focuses on the hand in his, instead. See, he's totally got this. ] Think of it as more monogamy and less prostitution.
Used your powers of persuasion. [ Loftily. ] I'm sure you could've thought of something.
[ Their closer proximity causes him to straighten up a little more, though he doesn't tense up as he would around someone else, but he tries to ignore the fact that he's close enough to catch their combined scents from Stiles wearing his coat. Clearing his throat the slightest bit, he sets his hand where Stiles places it and works his jaw in a way that indicates he's trying to keep his expression neutral.
The way the corner of his mouth ticks a little, though, gives way that it's not a negative expression trying to weasel its way onto his face. Until, of course, Stiles says that and he grimaces, even as he steps to follow his movements. ] Please don't put it like that after I spent most of my time being eyed like meat.
It's okay, I have an exemplary record before this. [ Grinning a little, he absently remembers something Talia told him. All servants had to be approved by the head of the household, and when Peter had brought him up to her (as a favor for her eldest son, he'd said, which kind of made Stiles' stomach churn, because this dude was seriously up to something), they'd had a little chat in which Stiles was sure he was going to be booted off the premises in about half a second. But Talia had just told him--"make sure my son's happy."
Judging by the look on his face right now, he'd say he wouldn't be getting in trouble at all.
The thought warms something small in his chest, like a candle being lit in the night, and Stiles keeps moving, turning them around in a slow circle on the third count. 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3. ] Oh, the suffering of being a prince. [ He says so mildly and turns them in another circle, nice and slow. ] Another metaphor, uh-- like, a big juicy steak instead of soy chicken tenders. You know, more awesome.
[ Pause. ] ...I don't know where I was going with that one.
One mark won't hurt until it turns into another, and another... [ Though he knows that Talia approved Stiles as a servant, and one that would tail him with alarming frequency (or so he thought at first), Derek doesn't know the details of his employment. All he knows is that he was dragged in from that first event he was caught in and wound up under their employ. Much as he complained at first, he's not complaining as much now. As is evident, in the way that he's following his lead.
Even when they first start, he's doing rather well rather than stepping on any toes. To be fair, he at least has some amount of experience in keeping count, and employing some amount of grace. There's more entertaining dances that he's learned, compared to the formality that they suffered through inside, but those? Those were, honestly, made up by he and his family, his sisters, more than anything else. His grandfather had taught him something that was more "follow what the music tells your heart, not your mind" but that had died with his heart. ]
I don't know where you were going with that, either. [ He's still laughing a little, though, if the tremor in his shoulders is anything to go by. Laughing at Stiles' rambling is easier than thinking about the last time he was eyed like a piece of meat and only realized it when it was too late. ]
Until I get fired. [ He laughs a little and glances down, watching Derek's feet between them. Stiles isn't exactly a killer dancer--he's got some sense of rhythm, but even Lydia had given up on him eventually. So he's watching to make sure the teacher doesn't end up getting schooled. (Even though that's probably going to happen anyway.) Humming the counts softly under his breath, he tries to focus on the dance, not the warmth of Derek's hand on his shoulder, the muscle underneath his own hand, the way their fingers seem to fit together. It's nice and probably not helping matters any.
Stiles has had a lot of time to get to know Derek since his arrival here. He's learned a lot about the prince, that a lot of his bitchy façade is mostly just pretense. It's gotten to the point now where he'll laugh with Stiles, in this way that lights up his whole face and crinkles the corners of his eyes that pretty much dazzles him every rare time Stiles gets to see it. He can't help the lopsided smile on his face, even when Derek's making fun of him, and leads the turn around another circle, giving the hand ensconcing his a squeeze. ] Not everyone can be a wordsmith like you, oh Wolf of Few Words.
You won't get fired, but they'll probably reassign you to someone who will cause less trouble for you. [ Keeping track of the count-- and then Stiles' humming as he starts-- he continues following the motions easily. It gets to the point where Derek thinks he has it figured out, as they turn and move about in the safety of the guardian outside of the celebrations, that he starts to ease his way into less following, more... not leading, but something that has them synchronized, matching. If he plans on schooling the teacher, he doesn't intend to just yet. Not when he's enjoying the closeness, the way they fit.
A quiet snort escapes him at the jab, and he focuses more on the dance than his response for the time being. The music filtering outside is enough to dance by, though he can hear it more clearly than the human he's dancing with, and that's all he knows outside of their private moment. Someone could come outside, and Derek honestly doubts that he'd notice them. He's too caught up in Stiles, the warm spice of his scent in the crisp autumn night, and the brightness of his eyes when he smiles. ] If only. Then this would be all over much faster.
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they're fer yellabellies
When he comes back around and looks forward, his hand catches Derek's lightly, in the proper imitation of the dance. It was easy to pick up, actually, and as much as these werewolves seemed to enjoy it (there was probably something in here about pack and touching and getting friendly with each other--werewolves), Stiles was in Derek's camp. He raises his eyebrows behind his mask, opens his mouth and smacks his lips together, then looks off to the ceiling. ]
Considering I'm supposed to be your attendant? Yes, exactly. [ He drops his gaze and smiles at him for a minute, mouth quirked up in one of his lopsided grins. ] Wouldn't you rather me over-- [ And he jerks his head forward, to a rather prissy looking woman in front of them. ] -- the alpha from the north, over there? She's been watching you like a particularly tasty piece of meat for the past twenty minutes.
Yer a yellabelly.
Lifting his own eyes to the ceiling as if in imitation to Stiles-- makes the dance look more authentic, anyways-- he exhales heavily, something that spreads already broad shoulders and chest as he follows the motions of the dance like it's going to kill him. It probably will, some day. ]
I didn't ask for an attendant, so there's that. [ Cocking his head to look at him out of the corner of his eye, he visibly grimaces even though he knows said alpha probably heard Stiles. The problem with these functions is that there's rarely ever a secret, and where there is? They aren't typically benevolent ones. ] I'd rather not be here at all, but point.
Gasp.
But it's hard to think about that when he's got Derek here with him like this, when they're spending time together and becoming friends. He likes the guy. He's funny, if grouchy and kind of bitchy on most days, he has weird habits and despite being a werewolf, there's something incredibly human about him. So he doesn't think about it, doesn't report a lot to Peter, and starts to draw his own conclusions instead. ] Unfortunately, I don't think there's any escaping it. Think of it this way! I'm here in servitude, you're here because it's supposedly fun.
[ He makes an exaggerated winking gesture under his mask. ] Who's the one that's really suffering here?
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Or take a bite out of him. He's not sure which.
Rolling his head a little to the side, he sighs heavily and willingly breaks his pristine posture that imitates those around him. Anyone who's listening to them and has half a brain will know that he's far from thrilled about this, anyways, so. ] We're both here against our will. But there is a way to escape it.
[ Out of the corner of his eye and beneath his mask, he looks at Stiles. Hard to miss as it is, there's a brief flash of brightness to his clear eyes-- not quite the electric blue that they'd turn, but something almost mischievous in return for Stiles' own expression. ]
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Derek catches his interest though, as he looks up at the masked prince for a minute, snorting out an ungraceful laugh when he sighs heavily and keeping his hold on his hand. ] Oh, is there. Is it the kind that's going to make your mom severely dock my already kinda limited pay, because seriously, I am broke as hell and these dances are apparently my cash cow.
[ He's honestly imagining the dude barreling through this giant line of people like a wrecking ball, but it's exciting all the same. That was a joke, though. ]
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God, what a nightmare that'd be.
A wolfish angle tilts his head, and he lets out an idle noise at the back of his throat. The fact he could easily barrel through the people surrounding them has occurred to him in the past, but he instead opts to suddenly properly take Stiles' hand, fingers curled close to his wrist, and pull him out of line in one easy, smooth movement that's a bit like a dance itself.
And then he heads for the nearest exit without a word. ]
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He's still grinning like a loon, though, feeling that same sort of rush he felt the first day he even snuck in here--the giddy excitement that had come with being part of something he wasn't really allowed to be, redirected into the warm hand that's suddenly holding his and tugging him out of the room. He whispers loudly, just enough to be heard over the orchestra-- ] Dude, if your mo--the Alpha fires me, it is so your fault!
[ But it's teasing, though. ]
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If asked why he decided to lead Stiles out, he wouldn't have been able to answer.
Raising his eyebrows from behind his mask, he only glances back at Stiles when they've left the room and are in the clear, fingers loosening around his wrist as he starts to slow down from the quick steps that were made for a fast escape before they could be detected. He has a feeling more than one person saw them, and would gossip or report to his mother, but he can't really bring himself to care. ]
She's not going to fire you. She'll probably lecture me for the better part of an hour, but you'll be fine. [ That said, he turns away from him and makes for the stairway, intent on getting away from the party itself as he reaches his free hand up to nudge his mask up to the crown of his head. ]
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[ By which he means, one that isn't his. With most of the party in the ballroom, the entire world seems to fade away by the time he's followed Derek outside, the noise of the orchestra and pomp and circumstance of old families of werewolves turning into the sound of water rushing nearby, leaves rustling in the trees. It's actually a pretty peaceful night, all things considered, and Stiles takes his first steps outside and inhales deeply, throwing his long arms up and letting them fall to his sides. ] Alright, fine, totally admitting it. You did it, you escaped the pitfalls of socialization almost seamlessly. Congratulations.
[ Derek hasn't let go completely of his hand, but Stiles wasn't really letting go, either. ]
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Glad to have gotten out of the party without anyone tailing them, he looks over at Stiles as he throws his arms up, partially because their hands are still joined. When he drops them again, he slips his fingers away from the warmth of soft skin that he can feel through the stupid gloves that were essentially thrown at his face (thanks, Laura) and demanded to be worn.
He absently picks at the wrist of one of them, looking down with amusement before he sheds the damn things and stuffs them into a coat pocket, looking up from under his brow at Stiles as he works. ] Thanks. It's easier to slip out at the start and end of dances, but I don't think my sanity would've lasted long enough for that.
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Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looks up at his "charge", the two inches between them, and grins a little, mask still pushed up on his forehead. ] It sounds like you're starting to be an expert at this sneaking out thing. [ Looking up at the sky, he rocks back up on his heels. ] Could've used better execution, though. If you need some tips, I know a guy who snuck into a heavily guarded by werewolves event just to see that he could.
[ Not naming any names or anything. At least that much is a well known fact. ]
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He rolls his shoulders, quick and sudden, and his head follows so that he can crack his neck. As if he's been held in an uncomfortable position for hours-- which, in his opinion, he has. He'd much rather be in the midst of a negotiation than one of the parties, truth be told, and he doesn't make it much of a secret to those that have dealings within the Hale estate's walls.
Here, though, he keeps it to himself. ] If I had any intention of being stealthy, I would've been. But trying to escape one of these events is different from getting into them.
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[ He kind of enjoys bantering with Derek. It started out in a mostly masochistic kind of way, considering they got on like oil and water, but Stiles started to gel into his place in the Hale family over time, and he and Derek seemed to just...start to get along. Now they still insult each other but it feels more playful. Feels more like bantering with a friend.
Maybe with something a little more than that, but Stiles won't address that one, nope. He lifts his hands in a shrug, though, shaking his head. ] I was totally expecting a lot more when they said "werewolf parties." Like, seriously, all you guys do are the really formal dances. 's so 18th century. Come in, dance, dazzle the whole crowd, leave with a bang--bam, flawless escape plan. [ He smiles a little at that, egging Derek on, albeit playfully. ] My grandma could shake it more than that and she's a 75 year old Polish woman in a wheelchair.
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When they first started talking, he honestly didn't want anything to do with Stiles. He was annoying, but also something of a reminder of something he lost. But now that they've actually gotten to know each other, even if it was through forced socialization (and Peter's insistence, though he's unaware of that particular point), he's come to realize that Stiles is still grating, but he's very much his own person.
He's also a little like a friend, but where the teen doesn't address his own feelings on it, Derek simply pushes them aside for more important things as he watches him shrug. ] You forget the part where I hate essentially everyone that comes to these functions and would rather drown myself in the punch than actually participate in the formal dances. [ His tone is dry, and he calmly bumps his weight, shoulder-to-shoulder, into Stiles to knock him off balance. ] I'm sure she's passed on the tremendous skills to her grandson.
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When he gets pushed, Stiles bounces a couple of steps away, thrown off balance almost immediately--his hands come out of his pockets and he spreads his arms to try and steady himself, bouncing back to his feet and rolling his eyes. ] Right, gotta calculate the misanthropy in there, how could I forget.
[ But there's something in those brown eyes that twinkles mischeviously, and he spreads his hands wide. ] I'm a pretty sweet dancer, hard as that is to believe. Lydia made me her practice partner for like months, because she had this huge dance to do with Jackson and, as usual, I ended up being the test dummy.
[ Which was actually kind of upsetting, considering. But it'd been nice to dance with Lydia--she taught him the waltz, a dance they hadn't quite passed on to the high society yet, and he taught her how to cheat and lead Jackson, because she ended up leading most of their dances, anyway. ]
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Which, you know, is thwarted now. Not that Derek feels particularly guilty about it.
Chuffing out a laugh as Stiles fumbles, he cracks a bit of a lopsided grin, cocking his head wolfishly as he gets his bearings again. If he considers that an insult, he doesn't seem particularly bothered by it. How could he be when it's true? The truth might hurt, but this is one he's accepted at this point.
Still, it's not as if he missed the bouncing. Not as if he can't tell there's a chill in the air. He moves to take a few, easy steps towards where Stiles has steadied himself, shrugging his shoulders again to remove his coat. It's not a winter coat to fight the cold by any means, but it's another layer that he brings around and hooks around Stiles' shoulders, uses to pull him forward a bit. ]
Really. You honestly could've fooled me. The formal dances aren't exactly the greatest demonstration of dancing skills, considering everyone acts as an automaton.
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It's then that there's a blanket of warmth around his shoulders, and the cold practically fades--it's his dress coat, warmed up by Derek's ridiculous body heat and kind of big on Stiles' shoulders in comparison, but still warm. He gets tugged forward but doesn't fight against it at all, and if his cheeks are a little red, well, he can just blame it on the cold. ] I am a master of grace. These limbs've gotta go somewhere.
[ The first part of that is definitely a joke because it's Stiles. ] Seriously, man, it's all about the waltz, now. So you just have one partner instead of fifty, and you definitely don't walk in a line.
[ And then, well, his hands are moving before his mouth, and he shrugs into the coat, then uses one hand to seek out Derek's, long fingers finding his hand as he takes a step forward, and suddenly there's a lot less space between them. Challenge so accepted okay. ] Gimme your arm.
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Probably when Laura's with her equivalent of a stable boy romance, and thus far far away and very occupied so she can't give him looks.
His amusement quirks even more across his expression at that, as his eyes scan across Stiles' face. That's a definite joke, but he's a little distracted b the flush that's settled on pale skin-- he will absolutely assume it's from the cold, though that thought's swept away as Stiles takes hold of his hand. Blinking once, slowly, he looks at the point of contact before back at him. Rather than protest, as he might have done when they first met, well. ]
That sounds infinitely better than what was happening inside. [ He does as Stiles asks, lifting his arm. ]
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[ Which is so much bullshit it could fertilize a field of crops, but that's okay. Stiles watches Derek react, nervous for half a second, but when he obediently offers his arm, Stiles lights up a little and takes it from him, placing it on his own shoulder. One long arm comes to wrap around his waist, and suddenly they're a lot closer than they were, and the flush is starting to spread to his ears, but you know what, he has a point to prove, dammit.
The human of the two grins at him and takes a slow step to the left, then to the right, rocking in time to the music faintly humming from upstairs and making wide, exaggerated movements for Derek to follow. He can feel the heat coming off of him and it's almost instinctual to scoot that much closer, enjoy it, but he focuses on the hand in his, instead. See, he's totally got this. ] Think of it as more monogamy and less prostitution.
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[ Their closer proximity causes him to straighten up a little more, though he doesn't tense up as he would around someone else, but he tries to ignore the fact that he's close enough to catch their combined scents from Stiles wearing his coat. Clearing his throat the slightest bit, he sets his hand where Stiles places it and works his jaw in a way that indicates he's trying to keep his expression neutral.
The way the corner of his mouth ticks a little, though, gives way that it's not a negative expression trying to weasel its way onto his face. Until, of course, Stiles says that and he grimaces, even as he steps to follow his movements. ] Please don't put it like that after I spent most of my time being eyed like meat.
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Judging by the look on his face right now, he'd say he wouldn't be getting in trouble at all.
The thought warms something small in his chest, like a candle being lit in the night, and Stiles keeps moving, turning them around in a slow circle on the third count. 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3. ] Oh, the suffering of being a prince. [ He says so mildly and turns them in another circle, nice and slow. ] Another metaphor, uh-- like, a big juicy steak instead of soy chicken tenders. You know, more awesome.
[ Pause. ] ...I don't know where I was going with that one.
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Even when they first start, he's doing rather well rather than stepping on any toes. To be fair, he at least has some amount of experience in keeping count, and employing some amount of grace. There's more entertaining dances that he's learned, compared to the formality that they suffered through inside, but those? Those were, honestly, made up by he and his family, his sisters, more than anything else. His grandfather had taught him something that was more "follow what the music tells your heart, not your mind" but that had died with his heart. ]
I don't know where you were going with that, either. [ He's still laughing a little, though, if the tremor in his shoulders is anything to go by. Laughing at Stiles' rambling is easier than thinking about the last time he was eyed like a piece of meat and only realized it when it was too late. ]
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Stiles has had a lot of time to get to know Derek since his arrival here. He's learned a lot about the prince, that a lot of his bitchy façade is mostly just pretense. It's gotten to the point now where he'll laugh with Stiles, in this way that lights up his whole face and crinkles the corners of his eyes that pretty much dazzles him every rare time Stiles gets to see it. He can't help the lopsided smile on his face, even when Derek's making fun of him, and leads the turn around another circle, giving the hand ensconcing his a squeeze. ] Not everyone can be a wordsmith like you, oh Wolf of Few Words.
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A quiet snort escapes him at the jab, and he focuses more on the dance than his response for the time being. The music filtering outside is enough to dance by, though he can hear it more clearly than the human he's dancing with, and that's all he knows outside of their private moment. Someone could come outside, and Derek honestly doubts that he'd notice them. He's too caught up in Stiles, the warm spice of his scent in the crisp autumn night, and the brightness of his eyes when he smiles. ] If only. Then this would be all over much faster.