[ when stiles drops behind him, derek keeps walking, pointedly acting as if he's not keenly aware of the distance they're putting between themselves. when stiles jogs ahead of him, though, walking backwards and maintaining eye contact, derek doesn't really have the luxury of acting like he's big and tough and fine with heading back to the elevator alone. he's immediately standing up straighter, walking slower, keeping an eye on stiles' feet. ready to rush out and grab him in case he falls.
back at the apartment, derek doesn't have too many belongings to call his own. no laptop, no baseball bat. he has a small, squirrelled away pile of medical supplies he's been trying to keep stocked since a week or so after the fort - he's gotta take good care of his human, after all - but stiles started that, he's just been maintaining it.
he doesn't have anything particularly precious to hold onto. the chessboard was his most important purchase, and he thinks of that as stiles' more than his own. everything precious in his life comes back to stiles, in some way.
anyway - it's fine. the less to carry, the sooner they can move. stiles says he's ready, and derek can hear the budding excitement in his voice, and maybe it's just because the pain is really starting to put him in a bad mood, but the but stiles ends his sentence with kinda ticks him off. derek meets the wry shift of stiles' mouth with a big, stone wall of narrow eyebrows and flaring nostrils. annoyed. annoying. this is annoying.
derek walks a little faster. yes, he's serious. yes, he's sure. yes, he's a big bad werewolf, however poorly and condescendingly stiles chooses to express that fact through spectacularly shitty charades. dismissively, derek shakes his head, holding his hand up like he's stopping stiles from talking. ]
I want a blowjob.
[ ... maybe a little direct, but. derek stares at stiles, dropping his hand. he can relax when they get there - he's pretty sure getting blown will be more relaxing than laying around in an apartment he hates, being miserable and worrying about all the ways stiles could have died in that cave if things had gone wrong, dwelling on the ache in his back. moving might be a hassle, but getting there and spending the night together matters more to him than anything else. he just wants to live somewhere private and quiet and alone with somebody very important to him. he'll keep arguing until stiles gives in, if he has to.
the elevator's just up ahead, and it doesn't take much time to get over there, though it looks like it's going to be a pretty long wait until it descends from the up. more exasperated than anything else, derek slumps sideways against the metal panel to the side of it, his shoulder propped up against the wall. he gives stiles his attention while he listens to the distant, drowned out hum of the elevator's machinery somewhere far, far above them, and he pushes himself to say more. ]
If you really think I need to rest before we move, then...
[ fine, he almost says, but no, he's still willing to argue until stiles caves. derek visually changes his mind and cuts himself off halfway through, scrunching up his face like he just doesn't fucking get why stiles is holding out on him. ]
Then - you're wrong? And kind of stupid?
[ he folds his arms over his chest, crosses one foot over his ankle. he leans more weight against the wall, and it's not because he's hurt, or because he needs it, even if that's actually sort of maybe the truth, partially, perhaps. he just likes to lean on things. ask anyone. ]
no subject
back at the apartment, derek doesn't have too many belongings to call his own. no laptop, no baseball bat. he has a small, squirrelled away pile of medical supplies he's been trying to keep stocked since a week or so after the fort - he's gotta take good care of his human, after all - but stiles started that, he's just been maintaining it.
he doesn't have anything particularly precious to hold onto. the chessboard was his most important purchase, and he thinks of that as stiles' more than his own. everything precious in his life comes back to stiles, in some way.
anyway - it's fine. the less to carry, the sooner they can move. stiles says he's ready, and derek can hear the budding excitement in his voice, and maybe it's just because the pain is really starting to put him in a bad mood, but the but stiles ends his sentence with kinda ticks him off. derek meets the wry shift of stiles' mouth with a big, stone wall of narrow eyebrows and flaring nostrils. annoyed. annoying. this is annoying.
derek walks a little faster. yes, he's serious. yes, he's sure. yes, he's a big bad werewolf, however poorly and condescendingly stiles chooses to express that fact through spectacularly shitty charades. dismissively, derek shakes his head, holding his hand up like he's stopping stiles from talking. ]
I want a blowjob.
[ ... maybe a little direct, but. derek stares at stiles, dropping his hand. he can relax when they get there - he's pretty sure getting blown will be more relaxing than laying around in an apartment he hates, being miserable and worrying about all the ways stiles could have died in that cave if things had gone wrong, dwelling on the ache in his back. moving might be a hassle, but getting there and spending the night together matters more to him than anything else. he just wants to live somewhere private and quiet and alone with somebody very important to him. he'll keep arguing until stiles gives in, if he has to.
the elevator's just up ahead, and it doesn't take much time to get over there, though it looks like it's going to be a pretty long wait until it descends from the up. more exasperated than anything else, derek slumps sideways against the metal panel to the side of it, his shoulder propped up against the wall. he gives stiles his attention while he listens to the distant, drowned out hum of the elevator's machinery somewhere far, far above them, and he pushes himself to say more. ]
If you really think I need to rest before we move, then...
[ fine, he almost says, but no, he's still willing to argue until stiles caves. derek visually changes his mind and cuts himself off halfway through, scrunching up his face like he just doesn't fucking get why stiles is holding out on him. ]
Then - you're wrong? And kind of stupid?
[ he folds his arms over his chest, crosses one foot over his ankle. he leans more weight against the wall, and it's not because he's hurt, or because he needs it, even if that's actually sort of maybe the truth, partially, perhaps. he just likes to lean on things. ask anyone. ]