[ stiles is used to rushing. when you've only got about thirty seconds of barely-hot water before it starts to run cold, every second counts, and stiles has gotten his showers down to about a minute and a half. which still leaves him standing in icy water for way, way longer than anyone should have to unwillingly suffer a cold shower for, but the half a minute of warm water makes the rest of it tolerable.
but he doesn't have to rush right now, and it takes him a second to remember that, half way through dragging his shirt off over his head before he realizes he can take his time. he stands there with his arms tangled in his t-shirt, pulled up over his face, and then he sighs, because it's nice to not have to scramble for a fucking semi-decent shower. stiles tugs his shirt the rest of the way off and drops it in the sink, briefly glancing at his reflection in the mirror, but it's already starting to fog up with the steam.
stiles can take his time here without having to worry about the water running cold, but the thing is... he doesn't actually want to. he ran up sixty-something flights of stairs because he wanted to see derek, which sounds kind of insane when he actually stops to think about it. he can hardly get through running suicides at school without wanting to throw up and toss himself off of a cliff afterwards, but he ran up sixty. fucking. flights. he could have stayed in the elevator and found some patience, but he chose to run some kind of crazy marathon instead just for a couple extra minutes with derek. they have the entire evening and night ahead of them, and however long it takes before derek kicks him out in the morning, and stiles still ran for it.
jesus.
stiles swallows thickly and tries not to think about derek and whatever he's doing while stiles faffs around in the bathroom wasting time. he peels off his socks, then unbuttons, unzips, and steps out of his pants, dragging his boxers down with them, and he tries really, really hard not to think about the fact that he's butt-ass naked. in derek's apartment. he tries not to think about derek being like, thirty feet away from him at most no matter where he is in the apartment. while he's naked. stiles is suddenly glad that the mirror is fogged up to hell and back.
the spray of water is a little too hot for stiles' taste when he finally steps in, but he doesn't move to turn the temperature down at all. too hot water is better than no hot water, and the heat makes his tight muscles feel a little better anyway. he breathes a sigh of sweet relief, head tilted forward so the water sprays over the back of his neck, and he just takes a couple long seconds to breathe. a hot shower with actual water pressure shouldn't feel this good, but it does. god, it does.
stiles lifts his head, tilts it backwards, drags his hands down over his face, stifling a quiet groan of contentment. okay. okay, enough wasting time. stiles breathes out, does a little twist one way and then the other before he finds the bottle of shampoo propped up on the narrow bar that runs around the back of the shower at about eye-level. he squeezes a generous amount into his palm, lathers his hair up, scrubs at the nape of his neck with his fingertips and drags his fingernails over his scalp. he rinses without getting suds in his eyes, then lathers his hands up with soap and gives himself a quick, full-body rub down. his hands stroke over his dick just once, but his mind immediately wanders to derek and what he's doing and if he could get away with— like really quick— ]
Nnnope.
[ stiles takes his hand off of himself with a decisive murmur because thaaat's dangerous. he scrubs under his armpits, rubs his fingers behind his ears, passes his soapy fingers over the back of his neck one more time, and calls it a successful shower. less than five minutes, probably, which still feels like an hour in comparison to what he's accustomed to.
stiles shuts off the water and he climbs out and he grabs the nearest towel he can find, patting himself dry. he rubs the towel over his hair, scrubs at his scalp, and then wraps the towel around his waist so he's not just standing there with his dick out in derek's bathroom. even though the door is closed. even though the bathroom is like, the most appropriate place for him to have his dick out. he rifles through his backpack, weighing his options. he could just pull on his sweats and a t-shirt, but it's not even really that late yet and that almost seems a little too comfortable for anything other than bed. he could pull on some khakis, throw on a hoodie. he could—
this is dumb. it literally does not matter, and stiles is just being dumb and nervous and stupid for no reason and he knows this and he's just wasting more time, which is annoying him too. he settles for sweats, grey and loose and threadbare, a plain black t-shirt, and a navy hoodie, unzipped, because he likes layers. he's more comfortable in layers most of the time. he worries about his hair next, but only goes so far as finger-combing it to the side a bit, just so it's out of his eyes and won't dry weird without any product in it.
okay. okay, cool, that's. as good as it's gonna get. they're not going anywhere, right? ... right? this is fine. stiles grabs his dirty clothes and folds them a little haphazardly, piling his shirt and his pants and his socks and his underwear on top of each other before scooping up his backpack. a cloud of rolling steam precedes him as he steps out of the bathroom and into the hall with all his stuff. which he decides to leave on the floor, leaned up against the wall just outside of derek's bedroom door. he decides to leave his phone, too, plopping it down on top of his clothes.
time to find derek, wherever he is. stiles calls out as he's making his way down the hall back toward the center of the apartment, wigging a finger in his ear to try and shake some water out of it. ]
no subject
but he doesn't have to rush right now, and it takes him a second to remember that, half way through dragging his shirt off over his head before he realizes he can take his time. he stands there with his arms tangled in his t-shirt, pulled up over his face, and then he sighs, because it's nice to not have to scramble for a fucking semi-decent shower. stiles tugs his shirt the rest of the way off and drops it in the sink, briefly glancing at his reflection in the mirror, but it's already starting to fog up with the steam.
stiles can take his time here without having to worry about the water running cold, but the thing is... he doesn't actually want to. he ran up sixty-something flights of stairs because he wanted to see derek, which sounds kind of insane when he actually stops to think about it. he can hardly get through running suicides at school without wanting to throw up and toss himself off of a cliff afterwards, but he ran up sixty. fucking. flights. he could have stayed in the elevator and found some patience, but he chose to run some kind of crazy marathon instead just for a couple extra minutes with derek. they have the entire evening and night ahead of them, and however long it takes before derek kicks him out in the morning, and stiles still ran for it.
jesus.
stiles swallows thickly and tries not to think about derek and whatever he's doing while stiles faffs around in the bathroom wasting time. he peels off his socks, then unbuttons, unzips, and steps out of his pants, dragging his boxers down with them, and he tries really, really hard not to think about the fact that he's butt-ass naked. in derek's apartment. he tries not to think about derek being like, thirty feet away from him at most no matter where he is in the apartment. while he's naked. stiles is suddenly glad that the mirror is fogged up to hell and back.
the spray of water is a little too hot for stiles' taste when he finally steps in, but he doesn't move to turn the temperature down at all. too hot water is better than no hot water, and the heat makes his tight muscles feel a little better anyway. he breathes a sigh of sweet relief, head tilted forward so the water sprays over the back of his neck, and he just takes a couple long seconds to breathe. a hot shower with actual water pressure shouldn't feel this good, but it does. god, it does.
stiles lifts his head, tilts it backwards, drags his hands down over his face, stifling a quiet groan of contentment. okay. okay, enough wasting time. stiles breathes out, does a little twist one way and then the other before he finds the bottle of shampoo propped up on the narrow bar that runs around the back of the shower at about eye-level. he squeezes a generous amount into his palm, lathers his hair up, scrubs at the nape of his neck with his fingertips and drags his fingernails over his scalp. he rinses without getting suds in his eyes, then lathers his hands up with soap and gives himself a quick, full-body rub down. his hands stroke over his dick just once, but his mind immediately wanders to derek and what he's doing and if he could get away with— like really quick— ]
Nnnope.
[ stiles takes his hand off of himself with a decisive murmur because thaaat's dangerous. he scrubs under his armpits, rubs his fingers behind his ears, passes his soapy fingers over the back of his neck one more time, and calls it a successful shower. less than five minutes, probably, which still feels like an hour in comparison to what he's accustomed to.
stiles shuts off the water and he climbs out and he grabs the nearest towel he can find, patting himself dry. he rubs the towel over his hair, scrubs at his scalp, and then wraps the towel around his waist so he's not just standing there with his dick out in derek's bathroom. even though the door is closed. even though the bathroom is like, the most appropriate place for him to have his dick out. he rifles through his backpack, weighing his options. he could just pull on his sweats and a t-shirt, but it's not even really that late yet and that almost seems a little too comfortable for anything other than bed. he could pull on some khakis, throw on a hoodie. he could—
this is dumb. it literally does not matter, and stiles is just being dumb and nervous and stupid for no reason and he knows this and he's just wasting more time, which is annoying him too. he settles for sweats, grey and loose and threadbare, a plain black t-shirt, and a navy hoodie, unzipped, because he likes layers. he's more comfortable in layers most of the time. he worries about his hair next, but only goes so far as finger-combing it to the side a bit, just so it's out of his eyes and won't dry weird without any product in it.
okay. okay, cool, that's. as good as it's gonna get. they're not going anywhere, right? ... right? this is fine. stiles grabs his dirty clothes and folds them a little haphazardly, piling his shirt and his pants and his socks and his underwear on top of each other before scooping up his backpack. a cloud of rolling steam precedes him as he steps out of the bathroom and into the hall with all his stuff. which he decides to leave on the floor, leaned up against the wall just outside of derek's bedroom door. he decides to leave his phone, too, plopping it down on top of his clothes.
time to find derek, wherever he is. stiles calls out as he's making his way down the hall back toward the center of the apartment, wigging a finger in his ear to try and shake some water out of it. ]
Hey, what did you end up picking up to eat?