[ i'll blow you as often as you blow me. derek raises his eyebrows at stiles and stiles raises his eyebrows right the fuck back, though this is mostly involuntary. if it weren't for how fucking serious derek looks, stiles probably would have dismissed the comeback with a small roll of his eyes and a huff of breath through his nose. but derek is standing there, looking like he kind of wants to murder someone in that way that he almost always looks like he wants to murder someone - well, not so much anymore in stiles' timeline, but the expression isn't at all unfamiliar - and stiles opens his mouth slightly, shifts his jaw minutely, drags his tongue across the back of his bottom teeth.
he doesn't get to ask anything, though, doesn't have the chance to get some clarification. derek pushes forward and stiles tries to put the whole blowjob-murder-eyes thing on the backburner for a second so he can focus on what derek is saying, but it's obvious that he's struggling to not jump in and interrupt and demand that derek throw the brakes and back up. a muscle in his jaw ticks with the effort.
right. right, okay. stiles needs to be comfortable with this. as much as he hates the system in place, as much as he's been resisting a contract for all that it is humiliating and unfair and unbalanced, he needs to be comfortable with trusting derek. which he is. if there's one thing stiles is absolutely certain of, standing here in this dusty little storage space, it's that he trusts derek explicitly. maybe more than he should, given the difference in time, but that doesn't matter. bottom line, he trusts derek, and it's easier, when put in this perspective, to feel more like they're equals.
derek pins him with a look. stiles uncrosses one of his arms and shifts his hand up to his face, thumb tucked under his chin and the second knuckle of his index finger resting in the dip between his nose and upper lip, the rest of his fingers relaxed into a loose curl. he stares back at derek, presses his mouth into a thin line behind the cup of his hand.
all right. all right, okay, this is good. this feels... far less stressful than stiles anticipated it would be. he still has a faint (but easily fading) impulsive desire to take the whole deal off the table, still has the itch to dig his heels in, but. he came to derek for a reason. he put his stupid pride aside for something more important: looking after derek. protecting derek. stiles may not be able to offer him anything as far as anything tangible goes, but he can sure as hell have his back. he can make sure the same thing that happened to him doesn't happen to derek for not forging a contract.
derek's hand settles against his shoulder and stiles feels an odd sort of relief under the light pressure of his fingers when he squeezes. he lowers his hand away from his mouth and exhales quietly through his nose, smiles faintly, tiredly. stiles nods, small and slow, but there's a quiet sort of determination in the way he looks back at derek, like he's set on doing this right. derek's hand lifts up and off, and for maybe half a second, perhaps too brief for anyone to even notice, stiles looks disappointed by the loss. ]
Yeah. [ he says this quietly, but with confidence. he's on the same page, wants derek to know that. ] Yeah, okay. All right.
[ and then he forms a loose fist and makes the world's most laziest, half-assed attempt at a fist pump. ]
Go Wildcats.
[ because we're... all... in this... together. or some shit. stiles doesn't even look like he knows what the hell he's talking about, just saying random shit in the moment that makes sense to him and probably nobody else.
his weak little fist turns slightly and he gently knocks his knuckles against the edge of his jaw, eyes squinting, eyebrows furrowing. he seems just a tad more serious all of the sudden. ]
Real quick though. You're not - serious about the, uh. [ christ. ] Blowjobs. Right? [ his knuckles slide against his face as he moves to gesture at derek, palm open and out as he waves his hand around in front of him. he looks like he's polishing a full-length mirror, very poorly. his eyebrows shoot up, his neck colors a little near the v of his collar. he sounds just the tiniest, tiniest bit frantic. ] I mean, not that you're— I'm not— you just had like— so I wasn't sure—?
[ jesus christ, shut up. stiles clicks his mouth shut, mouth pinching a little. he lets his hand drop and quietly clears his throat, takes a second to just - recover from that. okay. let's just. try that again. ]
no subject
he doesn't get to ask anything, though, doesn't have the chance to get some clarification. derek pushes forward and stiles tries to put the whole blowjob-murder-eyes thing on the backburner for a second so he can focus on what derek is saying, but it's obvious that he's struggling to not jump in and interrupt and demand that derek throw the brakes and back up. a muscle in his jaw ticks with the effort.
right. right, okay. stiles needs to be comfortable with this. as much as he hates the system in place, as much as he's been resisting a contract for all that it is humiliating and unfair and unbalanced, he needs to be comfortable with trusting derek. which he is. if there's one thing stiles is absolutely certain of, standing here in this dusty little storage space, it's that he trusts derek explicitly. maybe more than he should, given the difference in time, but that doesn't matter. bottom line, he trusts derek, and it's easier, when put in this perspective, to feel more like they're equals.
derek pins him with a look. stiles uncrosses one of his arms and shifts his hand up to his face, thumb tucked under his chin and the second knuckle of his index finger resting in the dip between his nose and upper lip, the rest of his fingers relaxed into a loose curl. he stares back at derek, presses his mouth into a thin line behind the cup of his hand.
all right. all right, okay, this is good. this feels... far less stressful than stiles anticipated it would be. he still has a faint (but easily fading) impulsive desire to take the whole deal off the table, still has the itch to dig his heels in, but. he came to derek for a reason. he put his stupid pride aside for something more important: looking after derek. protecting derek. stiles may not be able to offer him anything as far as anything tangible goes, but he can sure as hell have his back. he can make sure the same thing that happened to him doesn't happen to derek for not forging a contract.
derek's hand settles against his shoulder and stiles feels an odd sort of relief under the light pressure of his fingers when he squeezes. he lowers his hand away from his mouth and exhales quietly through his nose, smiles faintly, tiredly. stiles nods, small and slow, but there's a quiet sort of determination in the way he looks back at derek, like he's set on doing this right. derek's hand lifts up and off, and for maybe half a second, perhaps too brief for anyone to even notice, stiles looks disappointed by the loss. ]
Yeah. [ he says this quietly, but with confidence. he's on the same page, wants derek to know that. ] Yeah, okay. All right.
[ and then he forms a loose fist and makes the world's most laziest, half-assed attempt at a fist pump. ]
Go Wildcats.
[ because we're... all... in this... together. or some shit. stiles doesn't even look like he knows what the hell he's talking about, just saying random shit in the moment that makes sense to him and probably nobody else.
his weak little fist turns slightly and he gently knocks his knuckles against the edge of his jaw, eyes squinting, eyebrows furrowing. he seems just a tad more serious all of the sudden. ]
Real quick though. You're not - serious about the, uh. [ christ. ] Blowjobs. Right? [ his knuckles slide against his face as he moves to gesture at derek, palm open and out as he waves his hand around in front of him. he looks like he's polishing a full-length mirror, very poorly. his eyebrows shoot up, his neck colors a little near the v of his collar. he sounds just the tiniest, tiniest bit frantic. ] I mean, not that you're— I'm not— you just had like— so I wasn't sure—?
[ jesus christ, shut up. stiles clicks his mouth shut, mouth pinching a little. he lets his hand drop and quietly clears his throat, takes a second to just - recover from that. okay. let's just. try that again. ]
No blowjobs. In, in the contract.