[ stiles snaps, and in a way, that's - better for derek, than if he'd just stayed standing there, absorbing all of his bullshit. derek's trying to pick a fight, and having stiles rise to that and give him a reason to keep his anger levels high encourages him to keep going. justifies his actions, to an extent.
the beast comment is obviously a werewolf burn, and stiles doesn't necessarily mean anything by it, but the idea of stiles using his lycanthropy against him or else secretly deciding that it's too much to deal with has always been a secret, irrational worry of his. it's enough of a sore spot for derek to fixate on it, and he laughs sarcastically, dropping his hands against the counter. ]
Oh - I get it. "You gotta learn a new trick". Because I'm a dog.
[ there's something venomous or acidic in the way he says the word dog, like he's spitting out a word that tastes too bad to keep in his mouth. he drums his fists over the counter, he taps his fingertips against the edge of it. he needs to keep moving, because whenever he's still, he feels like crawling out of his own skin. he needs to go for a run, he needs to move, he needs - something.
he taps a little faster, and then faster, and then just - gets frustrated enough at nothing to slam his flat hand against it out of nowhere, making a loud enough bang to echo in the whole house. when he talks again, he's loud, at first, like he's ready to yell, but after that first if, he drops it back down. like he's struggling to contain himself. ]
If-- if you have an issue with me being a werewolf, you can just say it, Stiles. You wouldn't be the first. And -
[ derek moves out of the kitchen, because if he lingers, he's just going to hit shit again. he folds his arms over his chest and starts to pace, walking around the living room, hitting his bicep with the heel of his opposite palm. he's gritting his teeth tight, shaking his head, just - moving, constantly moving, and when he stops, it's just to point at stiles, extending his arm entirely because stiles pointed at him first. ]
Professor Xavier wouldn't invite you to his school for letting critically important documents sit precariously close to open doors, but that clearly hasn't stopped you from practicing. In-- in case he would. Do that.
[ and - he stares at stiles, painfully self-aware that he's not... making sense, and that that wasn't even a good burn, and that even if it was, he has no reason to get on stiles' case about having his files out. derek looks at stiles for a second longer, then sighs, frustrated, tucking his hand back underneath his bicep.
no subject
the beast comment is obviously a werewolf burn, and stiles doesn't necessarily mean anything by it, but the idea of stiles using his lycanthropy against him or else secretly deciding that it's too much to deal with has always been a secret, irrational worry of his. it's enough of a sore spot for derek to fixate on it, and he laughs sarcastically, dropping his hands against the counter. ]
Oh - I get it. "You gotta learn a new trick". Because I'm a dog.
[ there's something venomous or acidic in the way he says the word dog, like he's spitting out a word that tastes too bad to keep in his mouth. he drums his fists over the counter, he taps his fingertips against the edge of it. he needs to keep moving, because whenever he's still, he feels like crawling out of his own skin. he needs to go for a run, he needs to move, he needs - something.
he taps a little faster, and then faster, and then just - gets frustrated enough at nothing to slam his flat hand against it out of nowhere, making a loud enough bang to echo in the whole house. when he talks again, he's loud, at first, like he's ready to yell, but after that first if, he drops it back down. like he's struggling to contain himself. ]
If-- if you have an issue with me being a werewolf, you can just say it, Stiles. You wouldn't be the first. And -
[ derek moves out of the kitchen, because if he lingers, he's just going to hit shit again. he folds his arms over his chest and starts to pace, walking around the living room, hitting his bicep with the heel of his opposite palm. he's gritting his teeth tight, shaking his head, just - moving, constantly moving, and when he stops, it's just to point at stiles, extending his arm entirely because stiles pointed at him first. ]
Professor Xavier wouldn't invite you to his school for letting critically important documents sit precariously close to open doors, but that clearly hasn't stopped you from practicing. In-- in case he would. Do that.
[ and - he stares at stiles, painfully self-aware that he's not... making sense, and that that wasn't even a good burn, and that even if it was, he has no reason to get on stiles' case about having his files out. derek looks at stiles for a second longer, then sighs, frustrated, tucking his hand back underneath his bicep.
just. shut up. derek. ]
Just - God.
[ GOD, STILES. ]