[ This is a routine game by now. It's one part just the simple pleasure of letting go, letting his instincts take rein, and one part Stiles simply knowing him. Any time he's on edge, upset for some reason, provoked to the point that his finely tune controlled is threatened, Stiles will draw him away and out to the trees. He can still remember a day where he pressed a kiss to his mouth even as his fangs grew against his lips, his old anger resurfacing, and stripped him down so that he could shift without ripping his clothes.
But there are better days, where it's simply them playing and training with each other, with the pack. He lives for those days, where he doesn't run to burn away his tension and anger, where he can roughhouse with the pack and chase Stiles down. The others live to track one another, to track Stiles, but there's no one that will find him faster than Derek. Not even Scott.
It's what they're doing now on their own, Stiles hiding in the wilds around them, his scent covered by magic tricks and decoys. But the wolf knows where he's going, nosing around discarded clothes and scent traps that he dodges away from before he gets something foul projected at him. It'd be harmless, he's sure, but he's not particularly inclined towards having to drag his face through the dirt to get it out of his fur. Eyes glowing in the dim light of the woods, paws silent on the earth, he tastes the air just as much as he snuffles at trees and dirt, ears perked high on his head.
[ There's something about playing tag with a werewolf that makes Stiles think he might be crazy. Most people would be running away from a gigantic, hulking mass of black fur, muscles, rendering claws and ridiculously sharp teeth but here Stiles is, trying to muffle his laughter as he skirts through the Beacon Hills preserve on his thirty minute head start. He'd dressed in extra layers and spent the majority of his head start shedding them, carefully--a plaid shirt is thrown into the bushes, a sweatshirt that he knows Derek likes to steal hung over a tree, socks chucked in a ditch, until he's just down to an old t-shirt and jeans.
But this game of tag wasn't just for him, it was for Stiles, too. This was practice for the things he'd been practicing with Deaton--mountain ash and runes and all of the magic taught to an emissary. He'd set a couple of scent traps, random lines of mountain ash as do not cross barriers, things that would explode in Derek's wolf nose if they got too close--more like a stink bomb than anything else. Each rune had to be carefully scratched into bark, had to be done with every essence of his own ~belief~ (whatever that had meant) but Stiles was feeling pretty confident in his latest.
He'd basically created a pocket in the forest of four trees where if he ran into it, his entire trace--scent, footsteps, everything--would be wiped out. Stiles is currently partway up a tree in his little sanctuary, watching for Derek, because it kind of gives him great joy to see how excited he gets at the chase. He does look down at his phone though, watching the timer tick by as they go. ]
[ Sometimes he really does question the Darwinism of their relationship, but mostly Derek just thrives off of it. Stiles has no self preservation instinct, but there's no wolf he's safer with than he is with this one.
Who sniffs at the familiar clothes when he finds them, trying to decipher how fresh the bait is while he makes note of where they've been discarded. The only problem with werewolf tag is that they have to gather up all of Stiles' tricks at the end of it, to make sure no one runs smack in the middle of them. Errant kids hiking, poor woodland creatures that Stiles would feel guilty for stink bombing. (He laughed the last time Derek ran face-first into one, and he'd honestly washed his hair with tomato juice that night to try and get the smell out.)
Unlike Scott, who can break through circles of mountain ash, he skitters away from the barriers that he encounters before he winds up repelled painfully. But he circles around the ash, looking to see if Stiles is hiding amongst it.
When he doesn't find him there, he goes back to tracking, straining his senses but not finding any fresh trace of his ornery human. Not even a heartbeat, which makes him incredibly uncomfortable. But after he passes by the cordoned pocket a few times, following his scent and then diverted when it suddenly stops in that one area, he finally comes back to it and starts circling, rising up to his hind legs to brace his forepaws against the bark of one of the trees. ]
[ Derek looks--kind of happy as a wolf. Like, even for Stiles he's generally on a scale from mildly irritated to nuclear explosion depending on the day and the amount of bullshit going on, but being in a full shift and doing something that's not horrifyingly bloody or painful, just--enjoying himself. He can't really imagine what that's like, but Derek is the kind of guy who deserves to enjoy himself once in a while.
Besides, Stiles thinks it's fun, too.
With a grin, he pops out from the foliage when he sees Derek's forepaws on the tree he's currently sitting in--he waves and then presses his fingers to a rune he'd carved into the tree.
What comes flying out is basically glitter, in a smoke cloud; Stiles' loud, raucous laughter is the last thing heard as he jumps down from the tree, swinging to the ground and giving up on trying to be subtle as he just starts to run. ]
A quick swish of his tail behind him signals the quiet pleasure he takes in having found Stiles, even after a good thirty, forty-five minutes of looking for him. Stiles is good at werewolf tag, and for that he's thankful, always coming up with new tricks and getting better at it with every game they play. Should he have to play the game with a strange wolf, some other monster lurking in the dark, Stiles will be able to hold his own pretty damn well without the pack around.
Especially when he changes these gag tricks into dangerous ones, with wolfsbane and mountain ash and mistletoe. Derek jerks back when the cloud hits him, dropping down to all fours and shaking himself out in an attempt to get the glittery residue off of him.
And there Stiles goes.
Whipping his head up, he lets out a booming noise-- not quite a bark, not quite a roar, not quite a howl-- and gives chase, surging through the foliage after him. ]
Guess you're ready for the next rave at your loft, huh? [ Stiles yells that back pretty much gleefully and bounds out through the forest. There's no way he can get any runes up quick enough to try and block him again, and honestly, this is Stiles' absolute favorite part of the chase.
The part where they're just running.
Leaping over a branch that tries to make him eat dirt, Stiles smacks his hand against one of the runes he did prepare, sending the tree roots snarling upwards to make the jump a little higher for Derek. He's not the best at this magic yet, but with every day he trains with Deaton, learns spells from Morrell, playing "wolf tag" with Scott and Derek, he gets better. When the next threat comes around? He'll be ready.
Stiles lets out an "oh shit" when Derek booms at him, and scrambles over another set of branches. He's dead pretty much. ]
[ Derek is still finding paint residue in the loft, and he's going to kill every single teenager that invaded his home for it. And the Beetroot, or whatever his name was. Although he did delight in tossing his equipment to the floor, because that had been positively satisfying.
He's going to knock Stiles into a compost pile just for that comment, though.
His ears pick up the sound of bark groaning before he sees the source, and his head perks up as he sees the tree roots settling into place. His red eyes scan across the surface as he approaches it, running full speed, before he propels himself up and forward, catching the top of the roots with his forepaws as he comes over it. It lets him position himself to use the barrier to his advantage, propelling himself off of it and shortening the distance between them. ]
[ Yep he's fucked. One hundred percent fucked. Stiles hears Derek's feet hit the ground in a thud and keeps running, only to reach the creek entirely too fast. He jerks his head back to gauge the distance--hint: there's not much--then swears under his breath and jumps over the stone in the middle, landing in the water and hissing none too quietly about how cold it is as he throws his now soaked feet onto the leaves, scrambling up the bank.
At least he will go down with some of his dignity, right? Right??? ]
Derek has the advantage here, though Stiles would have an advantage if pitted against an assailant. Especially in the event that he actually turned his runes lethal, actually utilized the poison that the old emissaries have taught to him. While the wolf might be able to catch up to him, he also knows almost all of his tricks, or at least knows Stiles well enough to adapt to them.
As he catches up, he clips his heels to trip him up, but at least swerves around him to make sure he lands in a faceful of fur instead of a faceful of dirt. ]
Oh shit! [ Stiles yelps when Derek comes into his heels, and sure enough, his long limbs go windmilling and he faceplants.
Luckily, Derek seemed to get around in time and he ends up with a mouth full of black fur--super gross, by the way, but it's at least better than dirt. He lays there for a second, face planted in Derek's flank, and mutters ] I don't know why I... play games with you, you're the most competitive... asshole I've ever met.
[ but there's literally zero bite to it. Panting still, he turns over on his back and stares up at the canopy of the forest instead, trying to catch his breath. ] Hoooo.
[ Legs crumpling under him, he follows Stiles' momentum and flops into the ground so that they're arranged with Derek cushioning his fall, the human sprawled on him in a spectacular arrangement of limbs. Despite his lycanthropy, he breathes a little heavily, panting with his tongue lolling out of his mouth without a care in the world.
He's not breathless like Stiles, though, which is no surprise. He's not awful at cross-country, but it's taken quite a while for him to get to this point instead of the staggering, wheezing one. His tail thumps, once, against the ground, and he slowly shifts so that he's not sprawled completely on his side.
Bowing his head over him, his ears perk up towards him-- and if one looks, there might be a wolfish "smile" at the corners of his muzzle. Just maybe. ]
[ Well, at least he looks happy. Stiles stares at Derek for a second as he lifts his head out of his fur, then ends up cracking a little smile, chuffing out a noise as he drops his cheek into his flank. It's nice to see him happy, even if Stiles is kind of exhausted for it.
Besides, he kind of loves playing it with him too.
Stiles rolls over and grabs his snout, pressing a kiss to the side of it with a wet smacking noise. ] Satisfied with your walkies?
[ Surprisingly-- or not so, at least to Derek-- Stiles tends to make him happy. Right now, it's a combination of training and play, and it's good for both of them. Stiles trains to use his skills as a beginner emissary, Derek trains his reaction times, his tracking. They work together to get more in sync, and he's honestly more than happy.
There's a brief thump of his tail, just a quick wag, before Stiles is grabbing hold of his face and holding him there to smack a kiss against the side of his muzzle. His expression scrunches up, as if he's actually affronted by the gesture.
But then he just dips his head, bunting his nose against his jaw and nuzzling his head against Stiles'. Yes, satisfied with his walkies. ]
Good. Because I'm exhausted. I officially ban running. [ Seriously, this and lacrosse are pretty much the only forms of exercise Stiles is willing to participate in. He's exhausted and everything hurts, and Stiles slumps back over, throwing both of his arms out over Derek's huge back.
He saw that, the tail wag. It makes him grin a little stupidly--all that running? It's totally worth it.
With a dramatic sigh, he flops backwards over Derek again, putting a hand on his forehead and dropping all of his weight on him, completely on purpose. ] I can't move. Gravity is taking me over, I'm dying...dying....
[ He rolls his head as if rolling his eyes, and Derek accepts the weight pressed into his body as Stiles flops back onto him. He doesn't really weigh all that much, to be perfectly honest. At least, not to the werewolf. So he just watches him placidly, letting out a small rumble at the back of his throat.
Stiles needs this, to actually give him some endurance. This and lacrosse. Thankfully, it's paid off. He's no longer wheezing, and actually fairly graceful when the occasion comes.
Fondly exasperated, he turns and licks a sloppy wet strip up Stiles' cheek in retribution for gravity failing. ]
![[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}
uwu*
TAILWAGS
But there are better days, where it's simply them playing and training with each other, with the pack. He lives for those days, where he doesn't run to burn away his tension and anger, where he can roughhouse with the pack and chase Stiles down. The others live to track one another, to track Stiles, but there's no one that will find him faster than Derek. Not even Scott.
It's what they're doing now on their own, Stiles hiding in the wilds around them, his scent covered by magic tricks and decoys. But the wolf knows where he's going, nosing around discarded clothes and scent traps that he dodges away from before he gets something foul projected at him. It'd be harmless, he's sure, but he's not particularly inclined towards having to drag his face through the dirt to get it out of his fur. Eyes glowing in the dim light of the woods, paws silent on the earth, he tastes the air just as much as he snuffles at trees and dirt, ears perked high on his head.
He'll find him. He always does. ]
gives treats
But this game of tag wasn't just for him, it was for Stiles, too. This was practice for the things he'd been practicing with Deaton--mountain ash and runes and all of the magic taught to an emissary. He'd set a couple of scent traps, random lines of mountain ash as do not cross barriers, things that would explode in Derek's wolf nose if they got too close--more like a stink bomb than anything else. Each rune had to be carefully scratched into bark, had to be done with every essence of his own ~belief~ (whatever that had meant) but Stiles was feeling pretty confident in his latest.
He'd basically created a pocket in the forest of four trees where if he ran into it, his entire trace--scent, footsteps, everything--would be wiped out. Stiles is currently partway up a tree in his little sanctuary, watching for Derek, because it kind of gives him great joy to see how excited he gets at the chase. He does look down at his phone though, watching the timer tick by as they go. ]
noms on merrily
Who sniffs at the familiar clothes when he finds them, trying to decipher how fresh the bait is while he makes note of where they've been discarded. The only problem with werewolf tag is that they have to gather up all of Stiles' tricks at the end of it, to make sure no one runs smack in the middle of them. Errant kids hiking, poor woodland creatures that Stiles would feel guilty for stink bombing. (He laughed the last time Derek ran face-first into one, and he'd honestly washed his hair with tomato juice that night to try and get the smell out.)
Unlike Scott, who can break through circles of mountain ash, he skitters away from the barriers that he encounters before he winds up repelled painfully. But he circles around the ash, looking to see if Stiles is hiding amongst it.
When he doesn't find him there, he goes back to tracking, straining his senses but not finding any fresh trace of his ornery human. Not even a heartbeat, which makes him incredibly uncomfortable. But after he passes by the cordoned pocket a few times, following his scent and then diverted when it suddenly stops in that one area, he finally comes back to it and starts circling, rising up to his hind legs to brace his forepaws against the bark of one of the trees. ]
no subject
Besides, Stiles thinks it's fun, too.
With a grin, he pops out from the foliage when he sees Derek's forepaws on the tree he's currently sitting in--he waves and then presses his fingers to a rune he'd carved into the tree.
What comes flying out is basically glitter, in a smoke cloud; Stiles' loud, raucous laughter is the last thing heard as he jumps down from the tree, swinging to the ground and giving up on trying to be subtle as he just starts to run. ]
no subject
A quick swish of his tail behind him signals the quiet pleasure he takes in having found Stiles, even after a good thirty, forty-five minutes of looking for him. Stiles is good at werewolf tag, and for that he's thankful, always coming up with new tricks and getting better at it with every game they play. Should he have to play the game with a strange wolf, some other monster lurking in the dark, Stiles will be able to hold his own pretty damn well without the pack around.
Especially when he changes these gag tricks into dangerous ones, with wolfsbane and mountain ash and mistletoe. Derek jerks back when the cloud hits him, dropping down to all fours and shaking himself out in an attempt to get the glittery residue off of him.
And there Stiles goes.
Whipping his head up, he lets out a booming noise-- not quite a bark, not quite a roar, not quite a howl-- and gives chase, surging through the foliage after him. ]
no subject
The part where they're just running.
Leaping over a branch that tries to make him eat dirt, Stiles smacks his hand against one of the runes he did prepare, sending the tree roots snarling upwards to make the jump a little higher for Derek. He's not the best at this magic yet, but with every day he trains with Deaton, learns spells from Morrell, playing "wolf tag" with Scott and Derek, he gets better. When the next threat comes around? He'll be ready.
Stiles lets out an "oh shit" when Derek booms at him, and scrambles over another set of branches. He's dead pretty much. ]
no subject
He's going to knock Stiles into a compost pile just for that comment, though.
His ears pick up the sound of bark groaning before he sees the source, and his head perks up as he sees the tree roots settling into place. His red eyes scan across the surface as he approaches it, running full speed, before he propels himself up and forward, catching the top of the roots with his forepaws as he comes over it. It lets him position himself to use the barrier to his advantage, propelling himself off of it and shortening the distance between them. ]
no subject
At least he will go down with some of his dignity, right? Right??? ]
no subject
Derek has the advantage here, though Stiles would have an advantage if pitted against an assailant. Especially in the event that he actually turned his runes lethal, actually utilized the poison that the old emissaries have taught to him. While the wolf might be able to catch up to him, he also knows almost all of his tricks, or at least knows Stiles well enough to adapt to them.
As he catches up, he clips his heels to trip him up, but at least swerves around him to make sure he lands in a faceful of fur instead of a faceful of dirt. ]
no subject
Luckily, Derek seemed to get around in time and he ends up with a mouth full of black fur--super gross, by the way, but it's at least better than dirt. He lays there for a second, face planted in Derek's flank, and mutters ] I don't know why I... play games with you, you're the most competitive... asshole I've ever met.
[ but there's literally zero bite to it. Panting still, he turns over on his back and stares up at the canopy of the forest instead, trying to catch his breath. ] Hoooo.
no subject
He's not breathless like Stiles, though, which is no surprise. He's not awful at cross-country, but it's taken quite a while for him to get to this point instead of the staggering, wheezing one. His tail thumps, once, against the ground, and he slowly shifts so that he's not sprawled completely on his side.
Bowing his head over him, his ears perk up towards him-- and if one looks, there might be a wolfish "smile" at the corners of his muzzle. Just maybe. ]
no subject
Besides, he kind of loves playing it with him too.
Stiles rolls over and grabs his snout, pressing a kiss to the side of it with a wet smacking noise. ] Satisfied with your walkies?
no subject
There's a brief thump of his tail, just a quick wag, before Stiles is grabbing hold of his face and holding him there to smack a kiss against the side of his muzzle. His expression scrunches up, as if he's actually affronted by the gesture.
But then he just dips his head, bunting his nose against his jaw and nuzzling his head against Stiles'. Yes, satisfied with his walkies. ]
no subject
He saw that, the tail wag. It makes him grin a little stupidly--all that running? It's totally worth it.
With a dramatic sigh, he flops backwards over Derek again, putting a hand on his forehead and dropping all of his weight on him, completely on purpose. ] I can't move. Gravity is taking me over, I'm dying...dying....
no subject
Stiles needs this, to actually give him some endurance. This and lacrosse. Thankfully, it's paid off. He's no longer wheezing, and actually fairly graceful when the occasion comes.
Fondly exasperated, he turns and licks a sloppy wet strip up Stiles' cheek in retribution for gravity failing. ]