[ stiles knows that derek tapping the bottom of his soda can isn't going to do shit for the carbonation, and he could stop derek, tell him to wait, let him have a sip of his until derek's soda has settled a little more - but that would be too easy and stiles would be a liar if he said he didn't want to watch this unfold. he's not expecting a volcanic eruption of coca-cola, but there was some bounce when derek failed to catch the can, so it's bound to be at least a little entertaining.
still, he casually reaches for the napkin on the table, makes like he's just trying to wipe some grease on his thumb when really he's just readying himself to wipe up the table and spare the chess board should things go better than he expects them to. better, in that things go worse.
derek handles it like a pro, for the most part, and there's minimum spillage, though stiles' eyes immediately hone in on the little streak of soda that drips from the corner of derek's mouth. there's... nothing remotely sexy about someone dribbling on themselves - except to stiles, apparently, but he's thinking less about the mess and more about cleaning it up, swiping his tongue up derek's chin and licking into his mouth for that sweet, almost acidic taste—
jesus christ. stiles clears his throat and puts the rest of his pizza in his mouth, tearing the crust away. he drops the crust in the box and then crumples the napkin in his hand up a bit so he can toss it at derek for being. stupid. and dumb. stop wiping your hands on your shirt like a twelve year old, you massive child.
derek makes another move, and stiles shifts his attention to the board again, forcing himself to focus on this game and not on the fact that he totally just disappeared into his own head for a second. definitely not on the fact that derek could probably smell the brief spike of unexpected arousal— no. he was not aroused and he is not aroused and if he just keeps telling himself that, then it's true, right? if he can manage to steady his heartbeat enough now to get away with lying to werewolves, surely he can will himself into feeling absolutely nothing.
stiles doubles down on his concentration, sitting forward a little and ducking his chin slightly so he's eye-level with the game pieces. they've only just started, but stiles is already thinking far ahead, his eyes shifting from piece to piece, mapping out different plays in his head, trying to guess derek's most likely counter for any move he decides to make.
he glances up at derek, peers at him over the top of his queen. it takes him a second to realize derek isn't talking about the board and the craftsmanship, but that he's talking about the company. he confirms it with a little flap of his hand between himself and stiles, and stiles feels - good. it makes stiles feel really good and if he thins his lips a little, it's just to suppress a small smile.
and then derek keeps going, and stiles feels great, and then he feels a little sad because derek talking about wanting something that could potentially make him happier is just. it's hard to know about all the things to come for derek, all the things he'll go through, all the things that'll hurt him. stiles' smile fades a little as he suddenly remembers allison, and how stiles didn't get to tell her.
he should really tell derek. he needs to tell derek about erica and boyd. he needs to tell him about scott's plan for gerard, about the bite. he needs to tell derek about peter, and cora. about mexico. he needs to tell him a lot, before he can't.
stiles makes his move instead, picking up a piece and placing it down with intent, a clear counter to whatever derek may have had planned, if anything at all. he draws his hand back, pays attention to the rest of what derek is saying, and finds something to focus on. the worst thing to focus on, apparently.
stiles cringes slightly, because the last thing he wants to do is think about scott blowing his load anywhere, but especially not - jesus. he may have never been best friends with allison, but she had her moments when she wasn't trying to murder scott and derek and derek's pack. derek may not thinks so - and stiles wouldn't necessarily blame him -, but allison deserves a little more respect than that. maybe stiles just feels bad for his own failure to protect her. ]
Come on, man. [ stiles picks up his soda takes a sip, licks his top lip. he keeps it vague on purpose, doesn't specify what he has a problem with in that sentence. ] I thought we were over the Derek's The Murderer thing?
[ stiles sets his drink down on the floor again, fingers pushing the tab back and forth until it snaps off. he puts that on the table so he doesn't do something stupid like drop it in his drink, then reaches for the pizza crust he discarded earlier, folding it in half. he bites at the crease, separating it into two pieces, squashed up against each other. ]
And [ he gestures at derek with his crusts, emphasizing his point, ] I'm pretty sure there's nothing you could have done to make Scott like you back then. Don't get me wrong— I love the guy, but he's pretty blind to everything and everyone else when it comes to... girls.
[ he was going to say allison, but then there was kira, who scott was also pretty obsessed over. maybe not to the same extent as he was with allison, but. stiles is just calling it like it is. the next thing he says is a little quieter. ]
Trust me. It's going to get a lot worse before it gets better.
[ scott, he means - it still kind of baffles stiles that scott really forced derek to bite the man who orchestrated the murder of most of derek's family, even if the plan was more complicated than that - but also life for all of them in general. there's never time to breathe, never time for a break.
except right here, right now, which is almost kind of surreal. stiles drags himself away from that darker mood that's threatening to creep up, smirking as he tries to lighten things up. ]
If you'd have let Peter kill me, then where would you be? You told me I need you to survive - [ stiles hesitates for half a second, shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly. he's not going to try and argue that point, ] and you're not wrong. ... Obviously. But you need me just as much.
[ stiles' eyes flicker briefly toward derek's bicep. his sleeves may cover his arms, but stiles knows what's there, what's healing. he'd promised derek that if he ever got shot for pushing the guards too far, that he'd dig the bullet out with his own hands if he had to, and when it came down to it, that's exactly what he had done.
stiles picks up the tab he broke off of his can and flicks it at derek, his eyes shining slightly, crinkled near the edges. ]
no subject
still, he casually reaches for the napkin on the table, makes like he's just trying to wipe some grease on his thumb when really he's just readying himself to wipe up the table and spare the chess board should things go better than he expects them to. better, in that things go worse.
derek handles it like a pro, for the most part, and there's minimum spillage, though stiles' eyes immediately hone in on the little streak of soda that drips from the corner of derek's mouth. there's... nothing remotely sexy about someone dribbling on themselves - except to stiles, apparently, but he's thinking less about the mess and more about cleaning it up, swiping his tongue up derek's chin and licking into his mouth for that sweet, almost acidic taste—
jesus christ. stiles clears his throat and puts the rest of his pizza in his mouth, tearing the crust away. he drops the crust in the box and then crumples the napkin in his hand up a bit so he can toss it at derek for being. stupid. and dumb. stop wiping your hands on your shirt like a twelve year old, you massive child.
derek makes another move, and stiles shifts his attention to the board again, forcing himself to focus on this game and not on the fact that he totally just disappeared into his own head for a second. definitely not on the fact that derek could probably smell the brief spike of unexpected arousal— no. he was not aroused and he is not aroused and if he just keeps telling himself that, then it's true, right? if he can manage to steady his heartbeat enough now to get away with lying to werewolves, surely he can will himself into feeling absolutely nothing.
stiles doubles down on his concentration, sitting forward a little and ducking his chin slightly so he's eye-level with the game pieces. they've only just started, but stiles is already thinking far ahead, his eyes shifting from piece to piece, mapping out different plays in his head, trying to guess derek's most likely counter for any move he decides to make.
he glances up at derek, peers at him over the top of his queen. it takes him a second to realize derek isn't talking about the board and the craftsmanship, but that he's talking about the company. he confirms it with a little flap of his hand between himself and stiles, and stiles feels - good. it makes stiles feel really good and if he thins his lips a little, it's just to suppress a small smile.
and then derek keeps going, and stiles feels great, and then he feels a little sad because derek talking about wanting something that could potentially make him happier is just. it's hard to know about all the things to come for derek, all the things he'll go through, all the things that'll hurt him. stiles' smile fades a little as he suddenly remembers allison, and how stiles didn't get to tell her.
he should really tell derek. he needs to tell derek about erica and boyd. he needs to tell him about scott's plan for gerard, about the bite. he needs to tell derek about peter, and cora. about mexico. he needs to tell him a lot, before he can't.
stiles makes his move instead, picking up a piece and placing it down with intent, a clear counter to whatever derek may have had planned, if anything at all. he draws his hand back, pays attention to the rest of what derek is saying, and finds something to focus on. the worst thing to focus on, apparently.
stiles cringes slightly, because the last thing he wants to do is think about scott blowing his load anywhere, but especially not - jesus. he may have never been best friends with allison, but she had her moments when she wasn't trying to murder scott and derek and derek's pack. derek may not thinks so - and stiles wouldn't necessarily blame him -, but allison deserves a little more respect than that. maybe stiles just feels bad for his own failure to protect her. ]
Come on, man. [ stiles picks up his soda takes a sip, licks his top lip. he keeps it vague on purpose, doesn't specify what he has a problem with in that sentence. ] I thought we were over the Derek's The Murderer thing?
[ stiles sets his drink down on the floor again, fingers pushing the tab back and forth until it snaps off. he puts that on the table so he doesn't do something stupid like drop it in his drink, then reaches for the pizza crust he discarded earlier, folding it in half. he bites at the crease, separating it into two pieces, squashed up against each other. ]
And [ he gestures at derek with his crusts, emphasizing his point, ] I'm pretty sure there's nothing you could have done to make Scott like you back then. Don't get me wrong— I love the guy, but he's pretty blind to everything and everyone else when it comes to... girls.
[ he was going to say allison, but then there was kira, who scott was also pretty obsessed over. maybe not to the same extent as he was with allison, but. stiles is just calling it like it is. the next thing he says is a little quieter. ]
Trust me. It's going to get a lot worse before it gets better.
[ scott, he means - it still kind of baffles stiles that scott really forced derek to bite the man who orchestrated the murder of most of derek's family, even if the plan was more complicated than that - but also life for all of them in general. there's never time to breathe, never time for a break.
except right here, right now, which is almost kind of surreal. stiles drags himself away from that darker mood that's threatening to creep up, smirking as he tries to lighten things up. ]
If you'd have let Peter kill me, then where would you be? You told me I need you to survive - [ stiles hesitates for half a second, shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly. he's not going to try and argue that point, ] and you're not wrong. ... Obviously. But you need me just as much.
[ stiles' eyes flicker briefly toward derek's bicep. his sleeves may cover his arms, but stiles knows what's there, what's healing. he'd promised derek that if he ever got shot for pushing the guards too far, that he'd dig the bullet out with his own hands if he had to, and when it came down to it, that's exactly what he had done.
stiles picks up the tab he broke off of his can and flicks it at derek, his eyes shining slightly, crinkled near the edges. ]
Your turn, hotshot.