[ again, there are moments when stiles wants to interject, to interrupt and tell derek that he's wrong, but stiles stays quiet. it's not necessarily fair for him to think derek is wrong, because derek is just voicing his own feelings, his fears about what could happen, what he doesn't want to change, the things he doesn't want to lose if he does something wrong. stiles isn't interested in invalidating derek's feelings, he's not interested in trivializing his insecurities.
derek reaches for stiles hand almost as soon as stiles takes it away and it confuses him for a half a second, but he doesn't pull away. he doesn't shake derek off or stiffen up, he just - lets him do it, his eyes flitting down to the circle of fingers around his wrist. derek's hand is warm, he notes, though he doesn't know why he makes note of it.
when stiles cuts his eyes back up to look at derek, derek isn't looking at him, but stiles continues to look at him anyway, listening as he continues. derek's looking at stiles' hand, and slowly, stiles begins to twist his wrist in derek's grip. so, so slowly, so it doesn't seem like he's trying to pull away or free himself. he turns his hand just enough to touch the underside of derek's wrist with his fingertips, letting them rest there without purpose. when derek finally lets him go, stiles hand hovers in the space between them for an extra beat before he lets it ease back to his side.
for whatever reason, he's reminded of the loft. of derek on his knees in six inches of water, blood on his hands, tears in his eyes, heartbreak written all over him. he remembers cora splashing through the water, running not to derek, but to boyd, and stiles doesn't blame her for that. but derek was there too, frozen with grief and guilt for something that wasn't his fault, was never his fault. stiles remembers the feeling of cold water seeping into his shoes, and he remembers placing his hand on derek's shoulder.
he doesn't know why he's remembering these things here, right now.
stiles doesn't say anything for a minute after derek tapers off. he takes a few long seconds to just - process, to let everything derek's just confessed settle in the quiet. he wets his lips, sucks in a breath through his nose.
okay. he nods his head okay. derek still isn't looking at him but stiles nods anyway. he hears derek. he understands the concerns, acknowledges that they are valid even if stiles doesn't think something like this could make them fall apart. one of them would have to fuck up monumentally, he thinks, to send them their separate ways, and stiles has seen so much fucked up shit in his short life that he's not necessarily desensitized, but it takes a lot to permanently ruffle his feathers.
stiles reaches forward, then, with his opposite hand this time, and he claps it gently over derek's shoulder, palm resting on the slope of his neck, thumb at the ridge of his collar bone under his stupid uniform shirt. ]
Hey, listen to me. [ he says this quietly, softly, but with seriousness in his tone. ducks his head an inch to try and catch derek's gaze with his own and hold it. ] This wouldn't change anything. We'll still be exactly as we are now. I'm not - I'm not expecting you to be my, my savior or anything, all right? I just -
[ he adjusts his grip a little, breathes out through his nose. ]
I feel... better. Around you. Safer. Even now, even without all the fangs and the claws and the weird eyebrows. [ he smiles faintly, just a quick little thing in a fleeting moment of lightness, before his expression eases back into something more serious, but genuine. ] I do trust you. More than I trust a lot of people, more than I trust anyone here.
[ even allison, which doesn't need to be said, even if it is true. ]
If - if you do something I don't like, something that rubs me wrong. If I feel like you're taking advantage - I'll let you know. Believe me.
[ "ssh. be quiet!" [ ... ] "are you telling me what to do?" ]
When have I ever not told you what I think?
[ derek doesn't have the same history that stiles has to look back on, to understand that stiles has almost always been honest with him, has never been afraid to stand up and tell him when he's being an insufferable fuck or just... you know, stupid. so it's not a question that really holds any weight, but stiles is just trying to make a point here.
stiles flexes his thumb, lifts it, sets it back down. he looks at his own hand on derek's shoulder for a moment, focuses there. ]
It doesn't even— it doesn't even have to be about this dominant-submissive bullshit. It's just. Derek and Stiles. I got your back, you got mine. [ he shifts his eyes, the corner of his mouth upturns slightly. his eyes soften. ] And occasionally, you can feed me grapes.
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derek reaches for stiles hand almost as soon as stiles takes it away and it confuses him for a half a second, but he doesn't pull away. he doesn't shake derek off or stiffen up, he just - lets him do it, his eyes flitting down to the circle of fingers around his wrist. derek's hand is warm, he notes, though he doesn't know why he makes note of it.
when stiles cuts his eyes back up to look at derek, derek isn't looking at him, but stiles continues to look at him anyway, listening as he continues. derek's looking at stiles' hand, and slowly, stiles begins to twist his wrist in derek's grip. so, so slowly, so it doesn't seem like he's trying to pull away or free himself. he turns his hand just enough to touch the underside of derek's wrist with his fingertips, letting them rest there without purpose. when derek finally lets him go, stiles hand hovers in the space between them for an extra beat before he lets it ease back to his side.
for whatever reason, he's reminded of the loft. of derek on his knees in six inches of water, blood on his hands, tears in his eyes, heartbreak written all over him. he remembers cora splashing through the water, running not to derek, but to boyd, and stiles doesn't blame her for that. but derek was there too, frozen with grief and guilt for something that wasn't his fault, was never his fault. stiles remembers the feeling of cold water seeping into his shoes, and he remembers placing his hand on derek's shoulder.
he doesn't know why he's remembering these things here, right now.
stiles doesn't say anything for a minute after derek tapers off. he takes a few long seconds to just - process, to let everything derek's just confessed settle in the quiet. he wets his lips, sucks in a breath through his nose.
okay. he nods his head okay. derek still isn't looking at him but stiles nods anyway. he hears derek. he understands the concerns, acknowledges that they are valid even if stiles doesn't think something like this could make them fall apart. one of them would have to fuck up monumentally, he thinks, to send them their separate ways, and stiles has seen so much fucked up shit in his short life that he's not necessarily desensitized, but it takes a lot to permanently ruffle his feathers.
stiles reaches forward, then, with his opposite hand this time, and he claps it gently over derek's shoulder, palm resting on the slope of his neck, thumb at the ridge of his collar bone under his stupid uniform shirt. ]
Hey, listen to me. [ he says this quietly, softly, but with seriousness in his tone. ducks his head an inch to try and catch derek's gaze with his own and hold it. ] This wouldn't change anything. We'll still be exactly as we are now. I'm not - I'm not expecting you to be my, my savior or anything, all right? I just -
[ he adjusts his grip a little, breathes out through his nose. ]
I feel... better. Around you. Safer. Even now, even without all the fangs and the claws and the weird eyebrows. [ he smiles faintly, just a quick little thing in a fleeting moment of lightness, before his expression eases back into something more serious, but genuine. ] I do trust you. More than I trust a lot of people, more than I trust anyone here.
[ even allison, which doesn't need to be said, even if it is true. ]
If - if you do something I don't like, something that rubs me wrong. If I feel like you're taking advantage - I'll let you know. Believe me.
[ "ssh. be quiet!" [ ... ] "are you telling me what to do?" ]
When have I ever not told you what I think?
[ derek doesn't have the same history that stiles has to look back on, to understand that stiles has almost always been honest with him, has never been afraid to stand up and tell him when he's being an insufferable fuck or just... you know, stupid. so it's not a question that really holds any weight, but stiles is just trying to make a point here.
stiles flexes his thumb, lifts it, sets it back down. he looks at his own hand on derek's shoulder for a moment, focuses there. ]
It doesn't even— it doesn't even have to be about this dominant-submissive bullshit. It's just. Derek and Stiles. I got your back, you got mine. [ he shifts his eyes, the corner of his mouth upturns slightly. his eyes soften. ] And occasionally, you can feed me grapes.