[ this might be the most obvious thing ever said, but derek likes teasing stiles. he like watches him scramble and flail and act like an idiot, and he likes watching him ultimately give up and surrender and accept defeat. derek's the kid in a playground who pulls a girl's pigtails to show that he likes her, he's always been that kid. it was the same with paige - he'd play basketball in the halls to annoy her, he'd make fun of her in front of his friends. he's always been stupid and boyish and undeveloped, when it comes to expressing his feelings, even before the fire made it even harder for him to understand himself. he never really had the chance to grow. he should have with paige. he should have with kate.
stiles is just... stiles is fun. derek doesn't have fun, all that often. he has fun with stiles. even in a place like this one. even if he complains the entire time they're together. maybe he shouldn't tease him so much. maybe it borders on bullying, sometimes. it's just so hard to stop himself from having fun, with stiles. from goofing around with him, teasing him, and hopefully, making him have fun, too.
either way. they move away from one another, and derek heads out of the kitchen in time to see stiles opening the bathroom door, catching a glimpse of an elbow as it ducks out of sight. again, derek finds himself feeling impatient. he wanted stiles to come over early, which is why he told him to shower here, and that worked out much, much better than expected, but now derek's alone and has to wait. again. this is so frustrating.
he retreats to the sofa, sitting on the very edge of the seat with his hands between his knees, looking down at the chessboard solely because it's something for him to focus on. he can't tell that stiles messed with it, but that doesn't stop him from fidgeting with the edge of it, running his thumb along the closest of the grooves drawn into each edge. he pulls his hands back, holds them between his knees again. he sighs through his nose, and he scratches his palm with his thumb, and he slaps his knuckles against his other fist. bored. bbbbbbored. already bored.
derek can hear the shower turn on. he can hear the rush of water through the pipes as it heats up, he can hear the spray of it hit the tiles, he can smell the steam. he can hear, through the door, the rustle of stiles' clothes as he undresses, and that's not good, because he shouldn't be listening to that. derek slowly drops onto his side, unemotionally sinking onto the cushion like a felled tree. he stares at the chessboard, and he tries not to listen. he genuinely does try not to listen.
he keeps listening.
stiles is naked, he thinks. after a while, there's just - no more clothes being removed, no more fabric brushing against fabric, which means stiles is naked, and soon he's going to be in his shower. naked. inside of derek's shower, stiles is going to be naked. and that's, uh. well, that's something.
derek might still tug on pigtails and call people names, but he's not this adolescent little idiot who only thinks with his dick. he's not scott. he doesn't have a hair-trigger on his boner, just fucking. waiting to get hard the second someone flashes him some skin. behind a fucking door. while they shower. nonsexually. like a person does. unaware that there's a fucking creepy werewolf stalker straining his advanced senses to hear him, letting his pulse quicken in his veins as he wonders, quietly, if stiles realizes that using his shampoo and smelling like him is going to drive him fucking insane. he can't know. he wouldn't have said it, if he did.
jesus. okay. derek needs to stop, he's feeling skeevy. he resituates himself on the couch a little better, rolling to face the wall of it and curling up a little, his legs too long to fit neatly in front of the arm. he's been getting carried away, lately, and he knows it's just... high emotions from finally being away from the fort, but he needs to roll it back. he's so tired of himself. of being this happy because of one person. of only being attracted to this one person. he needs to stop. can't rely on stiles. can't keep pushing this shit on him. can't keep wanting to go back to the barracks. that night.
so he waits. he'll wait, and he'll let stiles have his shower, and, okay, maybe, maybe, he'll think about knocking on the bathroom door and asking stiles if he wants company, and he'll maybe let himself think about what that would be like, if it was a successful way to proposition someone instead of creepy and kind of a lot. jesus christ.
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stiles is just... stiles is fun. derek doesn't have fun, all that often. he has fun with stiles. even in a place like this one. even if he complains the entire time they're together. maybe he shouldn't tease him so much. maybe it borders on bullying, sometimes. it's just so hard to stop himself from having fun, with stiles. from goofing around with him, teasing him, and hopefully, making him have fun, too.
either way. they move away from one another, and derek heads out of the kitchen in time to see stiles opening the bathroom door, catching a glimpse of an elbow as it ducks out of sight. again, derek finds himself feeling impatient. he wanted stiles to come over early, which is why he told him to shower here, and that worked out much, much better than expected, but now derek's alone and has to wait. again. this is so frustrating.
he retreats to the sofa, sitting on the very edge of the seat with his hands between his knees, looking down at the chessboard solely because it's something for him to focus on. he can't tell that stiles messed with it, but that doesn't stop him from fidgeting with the edge of it, running his thumb along the closest of the grooves drawn into each edge. he pulls his hands back, holds them between his knees again. he sighs through his nose, and he scratches his palm with his thumb, and he slaps his knuckles against his other fist. bored. bbbbbbored. already bored.
derek can hear the shower turn on. he can hear the rush of water through the pipes as it heats up, he can hear the spray of it hit the tiles, he can smell the steam. he can hear, through the door, the rustle of stiles' clothes as he undresses, and that's not good, because he shouldn't be listening to that. derek slowly drops onto his side, unemotionally sinking onto the cushion like a felled tree. he stares at the chessboard, and he tries not to listen. he genuinely does try not to listen.
he keeps listening.
stiles is naked, he thinks. after a while, there's just - no more clothes being removed, no more fabric brushing against fabric, which means stiles is naked, and soon he's going to be in his shower. naked. inside of derek's shower, stiles is going to be naked. and that's, uh. well, that's something.
derek might still tug on pigtails and call people names, but he's not this adolescent little idiot who only thinks with his dick. he's not scott. he doesn't have a hair-trigger on his boner, just fucking. waiting to get hard the second someone flashes him some skin. behind a fucking door. while they shower. nonsexually. like a person does. unaware that there's a fucking creepy werewolf stalker straining his advanced senses to hear him, letting his pulse quicken in his veins as he wonders, quietly, if stiles realizes that using his shampoo and smelling like him is going to drive him fucking insane. he can't know. he wouldn't have said it, if he did.
jesus. okay. derek needs to stop, he's feeling skeevy. he resituates himself on the couch a little better, rolling to face the wall of it and curling up a little, his legs too long to fit neatly in front of the arm. he's been getting carried away, lately, and he knows it's just... high emotions from finally being away from the fort, but he needs to roll it back. he's so tired of himself. of being this happy because of one person. of only being attracted to this one person. he needs to stop. can't rely on stiles. can't keep pushing this shit on him. can't keep wanting to go back to the barracks. that night.
so he waits. he'll wait, and he'll let stiles have his shower, and, okay, maybe, maybe, he'll think about knocking on the bathroom door and asking stiles if he wants company, and he'll maybe let himself think about what that would be like, if it was a successful way to proposition someone instead of creepy and kind of a lot. jesus christ.
jesus
christ.
when did he get like this. ]