[ derek stays where he is while stiles fucks around in the kitchen, eyes closed and breath slow. his ears are pricked, listening to stiles' heart, comforted by the safe, steady beat through his clothes, and he feels warmed, for the first time, in this worthless cage of an apartment. this doesn't feel like his territory, but with stiles here, it's something close.
there's nothing stopping them from seeing each other for the rest of the evening and all through tomorrow morning, and that's just... the best. it's just going to be the two of them, some lukewarm pizza and a night in one bed. he's missed this.
stiles blearily opens his eyes when stiles stands over him, soda in hand, nudged against his shoulder. there's - a delay. he doesn't think to look at the soda, not at first. he just... looks up at stiles, takes him in. the color of his eyes, the softness of his hair. the way he smells like derek's shampoo, his soap, which puts a lump in his throat like he knew it would. it's only for a second, but he looks a little entranced, which is why when stiles lets go of the can, derek has to struggle to catch it.
it's not exactly the comical flailing of limbs stiles would have if their positions were reversed, but he grabs at the can and completely misses it, which is pretty unusual for him. a sign that he's distracted. the soda bounces off his seat and tumbles to the floor, rolling forward until it's stopped by the table leg, and derek stares after it, sighing a little. he pitches forward and has to stretch out to reach it, rolling it towards him with his fingertips, then leaning back just in time for stiles to flick at him and tell him to move.
ugh. ugh. ugh. okay. he slides off the couch and joins stiles on the floor, sitting on the opposite end of the table, crossing his legs and resting his forearms on the edge of it. the table has just enough room for their arms, the chessboard, the pizza and their drinks, which is good, but also optimal conditions for cheating. he will have to watch stiles pretty fucking closely.
the pizza's half-and-half, one side covered in barbecue sauce and different cuts of meat, the other slightly less carnivorous. derek knows stiles' order, or at least he thinks he does, because he's seen him eat pizza back home and he'd committed it to memory, as if it would one day come in handy to know that stiles has pineapple on his pizza and scott's an idiot who likes idiot mushrooms like an idiot. guess he was right.
derek takes a slice of his side, biting in and getting a mouthful of bacon. stiles tells him to take the first move, and derek only raises his eyebrows. whoever goes first actually tends to win, so this feels like an insult. like stiles is trying to give him a handicap. the only reason he agrees is because he's already on white's side and he's too lazy to make stiles move. ]
You're a dick.
[ but it's fine, whatever. he moves a pawn forward two spaces, eyebrows raised. there's this one really obvious trick you can do in chess, something peter used to pull with him all the time when he was a kid - move a pawn, move a bishop, move a queen, capture a pawn with your bishop, checkmate. he's not dumb enough to do that here, because stiles would see it coming a mile away, but the idea of beating stiles in three or four moves actually gives him a bit of a boner. that's not great. that says something about him. ]
no subject
there's nothing stopping them from seeing each other for the rest of the evening and all through tomorrow morning, and that's just... the best. it's just going to be the two of them, some lukewarm pizza and a night in one bed. he's missed this.
stiles blearily opens his eyes when stiles stands over him, soda in hand, nudged against his shoulder. there's - a delay. he doesn't think to look at the soda, not at first. he just... looks up at stiles, takes him in. the color of his eyes, the softness of his hair. the way he smells like derek's shampoo, his soap, which puts a lump in his throat like he knew it would. it's only for a second, but he looks a little entranced, which is why when stiles lets go of the can, derek has to struggle to catch it.
it's not exactly the comical flailing of limbs stiles would have if their positions were reversed, but he grabs at the can and completely misses it, which is pretty unusual for him. a sign that he's distracted. the soda bounces off his seat and tumbles to the floor, rolling forward until it's stopped by the table leg, and derek stares after it, sighing a little. he pitches forward and has to stretch out to reach it, rolling it towards him with his fingertips, then leaning back just in time for stiles to flick at him and tell him to move.
ugh. ugh. ugh. okay. he slides off the couch and joins stiles on the floor, sitting on the opposite end of the table, crossing his legs and resting his forearms on the edge of it. the table has just enough room for their arms, the chessboard, the pizza and their drinks, which is good, but also optimal conditions for cheating. he will have to watch stiles pretty fucking closely.
the pizza's half-and-half, one side covered in barbecue sauce and different cuts of meat, the other slightly less carnivorous. derek knows stiles' order, or at least he thinks he does, because he's seen him eat pizza back home and he'd committed it to memory, as if it would one day come in handy to know that stiles has pineapple on his pizza and scott's an idiot who likes idiot mushrooms like an idiot. guess he was right.
derek takes a slice of his side, biting in and getting a mouthful of bacon. stiles tells him to take the first move, and derek only raises his eyebrows. whoever goes first actually tends to win, so this feels like an insult. like stiles is trying to give him a handicap. the only reason he agrees is because he's already on white's side and he's too lazy to make stiles move. ]
You're a dick.
[ but it's fine, whatever. he moves a pawn forward two spaces, eyebrows raised. there's this one really obvious trick you can do in chess, something peter used to pull with him all the time when he was a kid - move a pawn, move a bishop, move a queen, capture a pawn with your bishop, checkmate. he's not dumb enough to do that here, because stiles would see it coming a mile away, but the idea of beating stiles in three or four moves actually gives him a bit of a boner. that's not great. that says something about him. ]