[ Rolling his eyes when Stiles isn't looking, Derek lets him go about lighting the coals and complaining about how cold it is while he makes sure that the horses are properly rigged up to the sleigh. It takes a certain kind of animal to spend any amount of time around werewolves, so he rewards their patience with gentle pats to the withers, moving around the sleigh almost absently in his inspection before he's pulling himself up to hop into it. It's easier to let Stiles get himself settled in the furs and everything before he even tries it, so he just reaches to get the reins calmly while he bundles himself up.
Once it seems that Stiles will be able to fight off death by freezing, he calmly maneuvers his way into the furs, more for the human's benefit than his own. Eventually, the cold would present a problem, but right now he's still fairly comfortable with his own body heat and light jacket.
He shifts to sit close to him, ignoring the fact that there will be a lot of questions about why the Hale prince ran off with one of the servants and a sleigh, and gets comfortable as he gives a snap of the reins to get the horses moving. ]
Pretty sure I was supposed to drive. [ It's an idle, teasing comment, dry to point out exactly how many rules of etiquette they're breaking here, but Stiles really isn't complaining that much, as he lifts the quilts and furs around his shoulders and fidgets in close to Derek's side, putting his feet on the burner. It's pretty much a warm sweet spot, and a satisfied sigh escapes his mouth, loudly, as he rests his cheek against Derek's arm.
From here, it's easy to watch the world start to blur by. Everything's quiet in the snow, and the sounds of the wolves romping around in the forest fades away into the night as they trot down through the forest at a leisurely pace, underneath the twinkle of a crescent moon and the stars up ahead. The rich people life isn't so bad when you get to do things like this--Stiles can recall going for one sleigh ride in his life, and that was when he was small, with his mother. ]
Pretty sure you'd complain about your hands freezing off if you did. [ His return just as idle, half-teasing and half-thoughtful. Derek is used to breaking many of the societal rules that the werewolf community seems to intent to uphold, as if raising their noses high enough will keep them from smelling their own shit. He prefers this, anyways, letting Stiles slip away from that title of servant, enjoying the moment.
And it's good to let go of his responsibilities. Laura is slated to become the alpha, should anything happen to their mother, but that doesn't mean he isn't being primed as her second. The elder Hale siblings amount to Talia Hale's right and left hands in this conference, and they're just as damn busy as their alpha is. If all he has to do is keep Stiles warm and drive a sleigh in the crisp, winter night, he's more than content. It's given away by the fact that the tension in him seems to melt away underneath Stiles' cheek. ]
Aw, shucks, you do care. [ As sarcastic as it is, it makes his mouth turn up in a grin, and Stiles shifts over a little and curls the furs tighter around him, wiggling in so his thigh's pressed to Derek's, even lifting his head a little to make sure it's out of the way of the reins. It'd be easy as anything to worm under his arm, but he doesn't, maybe a little too nervous. Who knows.
Stiles turns his gaze up and looks at the stars overhead for a couple of seconds, then back down, watching the trees move by. It really is a beautiful night, and honestly, Stiles isn't complaining that they managed to get away. Being in a line of pomp and circumstance alphas didn't sound super fun to him, and this way, they could take their own winding path back to the palace, stop if they wanted to. There's a container of hot chocolate carefully tucked in by the burner, a recipe that Stiles painstakingly learned from Maimeo Hale herself, a woman who was so old her wrinkles had wrinkles and yet she could probably kick Stiles' ass with her pinky finger, but that's a surprise for when they stop. Maybe he did a little thinking ahead as a sweet gesture. Not as a necessity. ]
Somewhere deep in my dark, black soul. [ Tone flat and incredibly dry, Derek doesn't shift away as Stiles wiggles closer to him. His focus is mostly ahead and on the horses at first, keeping a close watch on where they're going and the speed they're moving at. But after a bit, he seems satisfied with their trot and turns his head just a touch to look at Stiles out of the corner of his eye.
There are starts in the winter sky, casting soft like with the moon, but for as much as he could admire them he's more interested in the stars that dot across Stiles' skin.
Expression softening, he looks away from him and settles back in his seat, curling the reins in one hand, hoping his trust in their horses isn't misplaced. It lets him bring the arm closest to Stiles up, setting it along the back of the sleigh without missing a beat. Oblivious as he is to Stiles' thoughts, and to his previous planning, it's just easy to settle like that with him. It says a lot of their progression since they first met. ]
Buried under all your manpain. [ He adds that on helpfully and wiggles his feet closer to the heater. Now that he's stopped shivering, this is amazing--it's the kind of thing he could never really afford as a kid. When Derek looks at him, he's distracted, staring off into the snow covered trees, but he turns back just in time to catch something soft in his eyes and feels his chest go a little gooey at the sight of it.
No one's ever really looked at Stiles like that before--like he was something to be treasured.
Swallowing back any fluster at that, he takes note of the arm coming up behind him and watches the horses trot along, completely oblivious to being driven one handed. So, when his arm comes up, Stiles moves in a little more, until his cheek is on his chest, and the rest of him is curled up under the blankets. If asked, he'd just say he was really, really really cold. That's all. ]
[ Rolling his eyes the slightest bit, much more toned down in comparison to Stiles' full body version, he chuffs something soft but doesn't offer any commentary. Stiles has heckled him with enough frequency about his general attitude towards other people, but he knows better than to think he believes anything that he says about it. Over time, he's shifted from maintaining his defenses around him to something less sharp, much softer.
And that softness extends beyond just pack, although Derek will admit to himself that he considers the nosy human pack now. To Stiles himself, or anyone in his family? Absolutely not. That means admitting something more.
He turns his head briefly as Stiles nestles himself in most of the furs and quilts, until he's curled up against him and taking up enough space for another person or two. It's obvious he's not bothered by it, especially considering his arm shifts a little downward, following the shape of Stiles' shoulders. There is a bit of teasing in his voice when he finally speaks up, though, even if it's said a little quietly. Like it's private between them, even in the chill of the night. ]
My whole family's from the West Coast, my Polish blood's far back enough that my grandma's the only one who can probably stand outside in her underwear in thirty degree weather, which, ew, and I'm like a hundred and fifty pounds of skin and nothing. [ He ticks these three reasons off on his fingers outside of the furs, because it's the principle of the thing, dammit, then shoves his hands back under, trying to get warm again. ] So no, not exactly. Not all of us are supernaturally powered.
[ It's a teasing reminder, and a card Stiles almost never plays seriously--he knows he's human, knows his limitation with the company he keeps. But Stiles likes to take that particular handicap and use it as a strength instead; the card he plays close to his chest until the moment strikes.
When Derek's arm comes down around his shoulders, he doesn't complain even remotely--Stiles just fidgets a little to get comfortable, and lets the heavy warmth coming off of his skin help to keep the cold out even further. ]
I'd say that wasn't an image I needed, either, but werewolves lose their sense of modesty with their packs so I've seen plenty of traumatizing things that've desensitized me. [ Maimeo Hale was one of them, but damn was her wolf form impressive when she took it. Derek misses the days where he could touch her fur, barely black with how much silver had overtaken her in age, but changing forms is taxing on an old body like hers. She complains about her bones about as much as Stiles complains about being cold. ] It's fine, I won't let you freeze to death.
[ The thing about Stiles and his humanity is that the werewolf knows better than to underestimate it. In their time together, he's learned that Stiles is smart, sharply so, and more observant than anyone gives him credit for. For some reason, there are packs out there that expect only weakness in man.
They forget that they were the ones that taught them how to change forms, but the Hales never will.
Fingers curling against Stiles' upper arm, he gets comfortable there with him, adjusting the reins so that he can steer the horses with one hand still. It's not too hard, considering they aren't going very fast, so he's not that worried about it. ]
Gross. Can you keep me from that, too? [ His mouth twitches up in a smile and he is just going to sit here and enjoy the sweet spot of warmth for a minute, with Derek's warm arm around his shoulders, the heater by his feet and the furs around him, he's officially found it. He finally takes his attention off of Derek and looks around, and pauses as they trot up near what looks like a field, where a bunch of kids are playing in the snow. ] Derek-- hey, hold up.
[ And when he stops, Stiles suddenly bounds out of the sleigh, cold and all, and leans down to wrap up a snowball in his gloved hands. Then, he walks over to a kid who looks like he's getting whaled on, leans down, mutters something to him, then yells-- ] Think fast! [ And throws the snowball at one of the bigger kids, watching him hit the ground and whooping. The kid stands up immediately and now Stiles is under attack but come on. Who can resist a good snowball fight? ]
I'll try my best, but there's nothing I can do for you as a servant of the household. [ His tone is rather sympathetic, at least, and Derek just chuffs out warm air into the crisp night with obvious amusement. For all he cares, it's just the two of them and their sleigh right now. No obligations, no household, no pack. No conference. Part of him doesn't want to go back.
Which is probably why he pulls the horses to a stop. Even if he stares after Stiles like he's lost his mind.
Still, when he figures out what Stiles is up to, he snorts and shifts to push himself out of the furs and off of the sleigh. Making sure the horses are secure and not about to go anywhere, he ducks down to gather up some snow for his own ammunition. Eyebrows quirking, he draws his arm back in perfect form and throws it in a high arc, hitting one of Stiles' attackers square in the back of the head. (He pulls his strength, not wanting to hurt any kids.) ]
[ Whatever sort of meeting they were supposed to be going to is officially forgotten, because Stiles is ready to rumble. One of the kids lets out a victory yell and then the snowballs are flying everywhere, and Stiles throws himself into the fray, furiously making snowballs and chattering with one of the kids about an epic battle plan.
While all of that is going on, he watches Derek moving around the field, covered in snow, and decides he's just not quite covered enough--he launches his arm backwards and flings a snowball at him, hitting him in the center of the chest and yelling-- ] Bullseye!
[ Meeting? What meeting? Derek hardly remembers the meeting or the giant dinner that his mother had planned for the packs in an attempts to have a peaceful night where no one tried to strangle one another or rip each other's throats out. All he knows is a flurry of snow, and children pulling his coat to help them with this, or that. He and Stiles are hot commodities, and they hardly seem to care that there's an errant wolf prince amongst them.
Which is made all the more apparent when he seeks retribution for the snowball hitting his chest, looking down at what sticks and dusting it off before he crouches and pivots, focus on Stiles, and charges straight for him on all fours like he has every intention of knocking him over. ]
[ Stiles yells and gets the attention of all the kids that are playing with them as Derek comes at him--he doesn't look at all upset, but he makes a loud "oof" noise when Derek hits into him and tumbles into the snow, ice cold sinking into his back pretty much immediately. It doesn't help that the army of kids releases a war cry and start to pile on top of them too, dumping snow on Derek and clearly just trying even harder to create a dog pile.
Stiles is laughing so hard he's practically wheezing, and making complaining noises about Derek being fat (ha) so he claws at the snow underneath them, trying to get free--but it doesn't stop him from grinning at Derek anyway, his hand on Derek's forehead as he playfully tries to push him off. ]
[ Making sure not to knock his whole weight into Stiles, Derek catches himself before he crushes him under his bulk, but makes sure it's enough to wind him because he's spiteful even when they're goofing off like this and basically playing hooky. Not as if it's the first time they have, but this is infinitely different for a myriad of reasons.
A soft umph of his own escapes him as he finds himself piled on by kids of varying ages, but he's hardly bothered by it. Rather, he laughs, bright and clear, and shakes himself out like a dog to disrupt them before his attention hones in on Stiles again. He absolutely could resist the urge to press against his hand. He definitely could decide against ducking around it to bury his cold nose against his jaw.
Oh my god you a--butthole, that's freezing! [ Stiles yelps when Derek shakes himself off, covering his face with his hands, and is pretty much rewarded with Derek stuffing his cold nose in his jaw instead. Squirming, he tries to push Derek away and bursts into loud laughter, until the kids are squirming on him and getting free and he's just barely able to push him away.
But it's not until after he fixes Derek with a look, warm and soft, and he grins and sits up, shakes the snow out of his hair. It feels like they've been out here for way too long--wasn't the sun just starting to set when they left? ] Dude, your mom is gonna kill us.
[ Chuffing loudly at Stiles correcting himself, even as a chorus of laughter erupts from some of the children attached to them, because they're not dumb, Derek lets himself finally be pushed up enough that his victim can sit up. For as much as he'd been roughhousing with wolves earlier, this is the highlight of his day.
He settles back on his knees, trying to dust himself off while he grins back at Stiles, even as his expression starts to slowly soften at the edges. There's more of a chill settling across everything, darkness filtering in as dusk starts to fade, but all he can do is lean over Stiles and scan his face. ] She's more likely to kill me for letting you freeze to death.
I really love this whole "you get in trouble for shit I did" thing. It's kind of sweet. [ He smirks a little at that, undeniably, but it's broken when he looks up at Derek, watches his eyes scan over his face. It used to make Stiles nervous when Derek eyed him like that--still does, a little--but as he began to spend more and more time with him and began to get the idea of double crossing Peter, until it was so firmly in his head that he couldn't imagine doing the opposite anymore. Now, there's nothing in his gaze that makes him apprehensive--if one thing is the same, he still meets his eyes with the same fierce gaze he had since they first met.
He's sort of caged in right now, and he leans back just a little, but not enough to get out of his face; there's some kind of moment here happening, but it's snapped as one of the kids asks loudly if he's okay. Stiles nods, reassuring him and telling him that his friend is just big and fat, then flashes Derek a bright, teasing smile and scrambles up to his feet, suddenly bolting for the sled.
Stiles returns with the thermos from earlier, warmed by the coals of the sled, and starts passing out cocoa. This is kind of the big test here, to see if Derek likes it, considering it's his grandmother's recipe, and as he passes the last cup to a kid, he pours one for Derek and stands next to him, shoulder to shoulder. ] Here.
I always get in trouble for shit you did. [ His expression twists in mock-annoyance, but softens again as they seem to wind up watching one another. Derek is used to assessing Stiles, has since they first met, but it's changed into something a little more searching. He's grown to trust this stupid human with his too-smart mouth and big, bambi eyes. He's grown to really care about him, and enjoy their time together. While he usually has the mindset that nothing good will last for long, it fades to the background like a dull hum when he's with Stiles.
His attention snaps away from him and to the kid, before he makes a flat face and directs it at Stiles for saying he's big and fat. But there's no heat behind it, and he shifts to let him escape easier. Once he's to the sled, he slowly rocks up from his knees to his feet, dusting snow off his slacks.
The familiar smell of cocoa hits his senses, and he slowly comes closer as if he's drawn to it, head cocked the slightest bit. When Stiles offers him the cup, he accepts it and looks down at it, fingers curled around the shape of it before he brings it up to take a sip.
He visibly perks, blinking once, slowly, before looking at Stiles in askance. ]
[ That look pretty much makes it totally worthwhile. Stiles has to tamp down the urge to grin and looks out at the kids, drinking his own cocoa and leaning against the sleigh. ] You know, your grandma is a cool lady, even if I thought my hand was gonna fall off from the number of times she smacked it with a spoon trying to learn this.
[ He gestures at the cup of cocoa in his own hands. It's warm and perfect and tastes a little like spices on top of chocolate, the kind of thing that warms the very soul after a long day outside in the winter chill. Really, it is the perfect recipe for it, and he's going to have to take it home to his dad when he gets the chance; his mom would have loved it. Something in him aches at the memory, and he looks down into the cup, swirling the brew a little and trying not to think about it. ] I think I got it right, though.
[ Watching Stiles rather than looking anywhere else, Derek can easily imagine his grandmother in the kitchen with Stiles, all the other servants busy or sent off because she never did like having other people do things for her. Not when it came to Hale secrets, which this might as well have been. It makes his heart clench a little, because the last person that wasn't born a Hale that learned it was his father.
He slowly brings the cup back up again, seeming to mull over the flavor and what Stiles says, standing there like that and looking at the kids again for a brief moment. But then he draws it back, and inclines his head slightly towards Stiles. ] I think I know something that would make it even better.
[ Oh man he totally did fuck it up. Something falls a little in his chest, and his hands tighten around the cup, feeling kind of stupid. Stiles was pretty sure he'd perfected the damn thing, considering how Maimeo Hale wouldn't even let him leave the kitchen until she approved. (And when she approved, she just nodded at him, and it was like freakin Christmas and his birthday wrapped into one gesture.)
He does look over at him at least, and raises his eyebrows. Might as well take some constructive criticism, right. (It was pretty damn good to Stiles, personally.) ] I'm listening.
[ Calmly taking his cup and setting it on the sleigh, to prevent himself from dropping it anywhere, Derek looks back at Stiles. The fact that this comes to mind should be ridiculous to him, but after all the time they've spent together it's almost like it's just been building up to it. So it's almost natural, that he thinks no, there's nothing wrong with this. He doesn't care that the conference goes on around them, that gossip could fly about the prince and his servant.
He just brings his hand up, curling it at Stiles' chin as he looks at him, and leans in to kiss him. ]
[ That. That was definitely not what he was expecting. Stiles's eyes snap wide, the cup drops out of his hands and into the snow (thankfully mostly empty) and he practically goes crosseyed trying to look between them, because holy shit what. Definitely better than insulting his cocoa, even if he's going to berate him for the cheesiest line ever when they're not kissing. Kissing is kind of great. Why hasn't Stiles done this before, again?
Right, pretense. Whatever. Fuck that.
His hands twitch a little in the air, like he doesn't know what to do with them, and he turns in towards Derek just a little more, eyes finally fluttering shut as he resigns himself to enjoying the kiss, and maybe celebrating (just a little) on the inside. ]
[ The dull thump of the cup in the snow registers on his senses, but overall they're filled with the warm spice of cocoa mixed with the bright warmth of Stiles, and it's probably the most perfect thing he's smelled or tasted before. Derek shifts his hand up as Stiles' surprise fades, framing his jaw as he focuses all of his attention on this moment. There's a couple kids actually paying attention and giving their (mostly grossed out) opinions on it, but he still really does not care.
His mother is probably going to kill him, but that thought leaves him in lieu of thinking he should've kissed Stiles sooner.
A soft sound leaves him, just a quiet and very content rumble at the back of his throat, and he brushes his thumb along the smooth skin of Stiles' cheek, following the pattern dotted across it. ]
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"get the fuck in this sled I'm COLD"
Once it seems that Stiles will be able to fight off death by freezing, he calmly maneuvers his way into the furs, more for the human's benefit than his own. Eventually, the cold would present a problem, but right now he's still fairly comfortable with his own body heat and light jacket.
He shifts to sit close to him, ignoring the fact that there will be a lot of questions about why the Hale prince ran off with one of the servants and a sleigh, and gets comfortable as he gives a snap of the reins to get the horses moving. ]
...accurate
From here, it's easy to watch the world start to blur by. Everything's quiet in the snow, and the sounds of the wolves romping around in the forest fades away into the night as they trot down through the forest at a leisurely pace, underneath the twinkle of a crescent moon and the stars up ahead. The rich people life isn't so bad when you get to do things like this--Stiles can recall going for one sleigh ride in his life, and that was when he was small, with his mother. ]
I thought as much.
And it's good to let go of his responsibilities. Laura is slated to become the alpha, should anything happen to their mother, but that doesn't mean he isn't being primed as her second. The elder Hale siblings amount to Talia Hale's right and left hands in this conference, and they're just as damn busy as their alpha is. If all he has to do is keep Stiles warm and drive a sleigh in the crisp, winter night, he's more than content. It's given away by the fact that the tension in him seems to melt away underneath Stiles' cheek. ]
not everyone's a werewolf k
Stiles turns his gaze up and looks at the stars overhead for a couple of seconds, then back down, watching the trees move by. It really is a beautiful night, and honestly, Stiles isn't complaining that they managed to get away. Being in a line of pomp and circumstance alphas didn't sound super fun to him, and this way, they could take their own winding path back to the palace, stop if they wanted to. There's a container of hot chocolate carefully tucked in by the burner, a recipe that Stiles painstakingly learned from Maimeo Hale herself, a woman who was so old her wrinkles had wrinkles and yet she could probably kick Stiles' ass with her pinky finger, but that's a surprise for when they stop. Maybe he did a little thinking ahead as a sweet gesture. Not as a necessity. ]
s'k you have a werewolf heater.
There are starts in the winter sky, casting soft like with the moon, but for as much as he could admire them he's more interested in the stars that dot across Stiles' skin.
Expression softening, he looks away from him and settles back in his seat, curling the reins in one hand, hoping his trust in their horses isn't misplaced. It lets him bring the arm closest to Stiles up, setting it along the back of the sleigh without missing a beat. Oblivious as he is to Stiles' thoughts, and to his previous planning, it's just easy to settle like that with him. It says a lot of their progression since they first met. ]
thank goodness for that uwu
No one's ever really looked at Stiles like that before--like he was something to be treasured.
Swallowing back any fluster at that, he takes note of the arm coming up behind him and watches the horses trot along, completely oblivious to being driven one handed. So, when his arm comes up, Stiles moves in a little more, until his cheek is on his chest, and the rest of him is curled up under the blankets. If asked, he'd just say he was really, really really cold. That's all. ]
cozy right on up.
And that softness extends beyond just pack, although Derek will admit to himself that he considers the nosy human pack now. To Stiles himself, or anyone in his family? Absolutely not. That means admitting something more.
He turns his head briefly as Stiles nestles himself in most of the furs and quilts, until he's curled up against him and taking up enough space for another person or two. It's obvious he's not bothered by it, especially considering his arm shifts a little downward, following the shape of Stiles' shoulders. There is a bit of teasing in his voice when he finally speaks up, though, even if it's said a little quietly. Like it's private between them, even in the chill of the night. ]
You really aren't built for winter, are you?
if you insist
[ It's a teasing reminder, and a card Stiles almost never plays seriously--he knows he's human, knows his limitation with the company he keeps. But Stiles likes to take that particular handicap and use it as a strength instead; the card he plays close to his chest until the moment strikes.
When Derek's arm comes down around his shoulders, he doesn't complain even remotely--Stiles just fidgets a little to get comfortable, and lets the heavy warmth coming off of his skin help to keep the cold out even further. ]
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[ The thing about Stiles and his humanity is that the werewolf knows better than to underestimate it. In their time together, he's learned that Stiles is smart, sharply so, and more observant than anyone gives him credit for. For some reason, there are packs out there that expect only weakness in man.
They forget that they were the ones that taught them how to change forms, but the Hales never will.
Fingers curling against Stiles' upper arm, he gets comfortable there with him, adjusting the reins so that he can steer the horses with one hand still. It's not too hard, considering they aren't going very fast, so he's not that worried about it. ]
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[ And when he stops, Stiles suddenly bounds out of the sleigh, cold and all, and leans down to wrap up a snowball in his gloved hands. Then, he walks over to a kid who looks like he's getting whaled on, leans down, mutters something to him, then yells-- ] Think fast! [ And throws the snowball at one of the bigger kids, watching him hit the ground and whooping. The kid stands up immediately and now Stiles is under attack but come on. Who can resist a good snowball fight? ]
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Which is probably why he pulls the horses to a stop. Even if he stares after Stiles like he's lost his mind.
Still, when he figures out what Stiles is up to, he snorts and shifts to push himself out of the furs and off of the sleigh. Making sure the horses are secure and not about to go anywhere, he ducks down to gather up some snow for his own ammunition. Eyebrows quirking, he draws his arm back in perfect form and throws it in a high arc, hitting one of Stiles' attackers square in the back of the head. (He pulls his strength, not wanting to hurt any kids.) ]
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While all of that is going on, he watches Derek moving around the field, covered in snow, and decides he's just not quite covered enough--he launches his arm backwards and flings a snowball at him, hitting him in the center of the chest and yelling-- ] Bullseye!
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Which is made all the more apparent when he seeks retribution for the snowball hitting his chest, looking down at what sticks and dusting it off before he crouches and pivots, focus on Stiles, and charges straight for him on all fours like he has every intention of knocking him over. ]
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Stiles is laughing so hard he's practically wheezing, and making complaining noises about Derek being fat (ha) so he claws at the snow underneath them, trying to get free--but it doesn't stop him from grinning at Derek anyway, his hand on Derek's forehead as he playfully tries to push him off. ]
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A soft umph of his own escapes him as he finds himself piled on by kids of varying ages, but he's hardly bothered by it. Rather, he laughs, bright and clear, and shakes himself out like a dog to disrupt them before his attention hones in on Stiles again. He absolutely could resist the urge to press against his hand. He definitely could decide against ducking around it to bury his cold nose against his jaw.
Does he?
(No.) ]
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But it's not until after he fixes Derek with a look, warm and soft, and he grins and sits up, shakes the snow out of his hair. It feels like they've been out here for way too long--wasn't the sun just starting to set when they left? ] Dude, your mom is gonna kill us.
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He settles back on his knees, trying to dust himself off while he grins back at Stiles, even as his expression starts to slowly soften at the edges. There's more of a chill settling across everything, darkness filtering in as dusk starts to fade, but all he can do is lean over Stiles and scan his face. ] She's more likely to kill me for letting you freeze to death.
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He's sort of caged in right now, and he leans back just a little, but not enough to get out of his face; there's some kind of moment here happening, but it's snapped as one of the kids asks loudly if he's okay. Stiles nods, reassuring him and telling him that his friend is just big and fat, then flashes Derek a bright, teasing smile and scrambles up to his feet, suddenly bolting for the sled.
Stiles returns with the thermos from earlier, warmed by the coals of the sled, and starts passing out cocoa. This is kind of the big test here, to see if Derek likes it, considering it's his grandmother's recipe, and as he passes the last cup to a kid, he pours one for Derek and stands next to him, shoulder to shoulder. ] Here.
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His attention snaps away from him and to the kid, before he makes a flat face and directs it at Stiles for saying he's big and fat. But there's no heat behind it, and he shifts to let him escape easier. Once he's to the sled, he slowly rocks up from his knees to his feet, dusting snow off his slacks.
The familiar smell of cocoa hits his senses, and he slowly comes closer as if he's drawn to it, head cocked the slightest bit. When Stiles offers him the cup, he accepts it and looks down at it, fingers curled around the shape of it before he brings it up to take a sip.
He visibly perks, blinking once, slowly, before looking at Stiles in askance. ]
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[ He gestures at the cup of cocoa in his own hands. It's warm and perfect and tastes a little like spices on top of chocolate, the kind of thing that warms the very soul after a long day outside in the winter chill. Really, it is the perfect recipe for it, and he's going to have to take it home to his dad when he gets the chance; his mom would have loved it. Something in him aches at the memory, and he looks down into the cup, swirling the brew a little and trying not to think about it. ] I think I got it right, though.
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He slowly brings the cup back up again, seeming to mull over the flavor and what Stiles says, standing there like that and looking at the kids again for a brief moment. But then he draws it back, and inclines his head slightly towards Stiles. ] I think I know something that would make it even better.
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He does look over at him at least, and raises his eyebrows. Might as well take some constructive criticism, right. (It was pretty damn good to Stiles, personally.) ] I'm listening.
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He just brings his hand up, curling it at Stiles' chin as he looks at him, and leans in to kiss him. ]
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Right, pretense. Whatever. Fuck that.
His hands twitch a little in the air, like he doesn't know what to do with them, and he turns in towards Derek just a little more, eyes finally fluttering shut as he resigns himself to enjoying the kiss, and maybe celebrating (just a little) on the inside. ]
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His mother is probably going to kill him, but that thought leaves him in lieu of thinking he should've kissed Stiles sooner.
A soft sound leaves him, just a quiet and very content rumble at the back of his throat, and he brushes his thumb along the smooth skin of Stiles' cheek, following the pattern dotted across it. ]
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