[ he can't justify his choice to talk, really. he spent his entire life hiding what he is, because whenever he didn't, people died. paige, his family. but then he became an alpha, and then he lost his pack, and then he was scrambling for power and security in the fort through every avenue he could find, and then he met rosalind, who worked with stiles and seemed to trust him, so he didn't peg her as a threat, and he thought... maybe if he had just said yeah, i'm an alpha, i'm a werewolf, i'm big and i'm tough and i'm scary and i'm strong, he would have felt the way he was supposed to? in control.
but he didn't. she just made him feel like an idiot, because that's how he was acting, and he feels stupid every time he thinks about it, and that's why he doesn't like her. but he can't say that to stiles. and he can't say that to rosalind. he just has to dig his heels in, act tough. wait until he finds a way to dislike himself less for his mistakes. which, you know. good luck. ]
Anyway. Yeah. You're right. I've never heard of a self-loathing vampire before. I've never heard of a self-loathing supernatural creature before, for that matter. Totally trust her, now. Nailed it. Rift mended. (And you do dress pretty poorly.)
[ a pause. ]
Sorry. ADHD. I should have known that. Should have rummaged around in your bedroom more. I always just thought you were kind of a spaz. I didn't realize.
[ wait, that's a shitty apology. eh, it's fine, stiles probably knows what he means. more importantly: ]
Look, all I'm saying is that she's probably not going to try to kill an entire species by poisoning their food source considering it's also her food source, now. You don't have to trust her. I really don't care if you do. But I trust her, and you can trust me. But also, screw your opinion? My clothes are fine. You wear a henley and super tight jeans like, all the time. I don't think you have any room to talk to me about how I dress, you walking GAP Ad.
Nothing really happened, I just got really headachey and threw up like four times in a trashcan. Not my finest moment.
I do trust you. More than anyone, actually. It's just a lot of power for one person to have. I keep thinking of ways it could be abused. Addiction. Blackmail What if she didn't fuck up that first batch of adderall? What if she's secretly been working on some kind of... like... really potent poison this entire time, and she used you as a prototype to test how it would affect humans... so that she could adjust it for vampires... or something? You never know. Don't tell me I'm wrong. It's not impossible. She's smart. She could be an evil mastermind. You don't know.
[ kate would have poisoned the shit out of vampires if she were in charge of their food supply, so. yeah. this actually doesn't have anything to do with rosalind, it turns out. anyway. wow, let's move on from that, too. ]
Whatever. Anyway. You literally just called me a model. Wow, I'm so offended.
It's not impossible. But I literally brought all the ingredients and components to her the first time. I was there the entire time we were trying to make it. I told her exactly what Adderall is composed of (I was paranoid when I was first diagnosed as a kid and I did a lot of research, it's a long story) And we went from there until we got the right balance of chemicals. She wasn't trying to poison me, Derek. But I get why you're uneasy. I can ask to start assisting with the synthetic blood work if that'll make you feel better. Keep an eye on it.
I didn't call you a model. You're stupid, your clothes are stupid. All of it, stupid. Like you.
No. You trust her. I don't. This is my problem. If I'm the one that's worried about this, I'm the one that should do something. Besides, if she turns out to be dangerous, I don't want you getting any closer to her than you have to be. I'll talk to her. Ask if I can help her with the blood thing, in exchange for... something. I don't know. Werewolf adderall. If you're okay with me doing something like that.
Anyway. You're stupid. You dress like a lumberjack that never went through puberty.
Werewolf adderall. That's totally believable. She definitely won't question that at all. Totally legit.
[ stiles doesn't actually know how much rosalind knows about werewolves, aside from the fact that they exist, thanks to derek, but he knows she's intelligent. she'd spot the bluff immediately. ]
Rosalind's one of the first people I met when I first got here We're already pretty close But you can do whatever you want Well, you can do whatever she allows you do to do as far as being in her lab goes.
[ stiles has literally never been like, fashion forward, and he doesn't care to be. he prefers to wear what's comfortable and what he likes, but rosalind went in on him pretty hard and said some borderline mean things about his clothes and what impression he gives off and how nobody will ever take him seriously, as if his clothes have more value than his intelligence.
and now derek. like, stiles knows derek is kidding. but is he though? stiles pauses with his hand over his backpack. instead of putting the flannel in his hand inside, he sets it next to his bag instead and frowns a little at his phone. hmm. ]
I'll think of something better than werewolf adderall.
[ it's hard for derek to get a read on whether or not stiles is unhappy with how he's talking about rosalind, but he's not going to obsess over it. he's a little annoyed that stiles, of all people, is this trusting, but. maybe derek's just... extra paranoid, after veracity. doesn't matter either way. ]
No. I'm just teasing. Trying to be funny. Never been my strong suit. You dress like... you. And I like you. So. I wouldn't want you to change. If that makes sense.
[ if stiles is honest, the more derek keeps questioning rosalind's intentions, the more doubt starts to creep in. he knows rosalind, though. after derek, rosalind is probably the one person here that he knows best. he doesn't get any bad vibes about her, not like the way he did with theo. but.
derek's not wrong to feel the way he does. maybe he's the one with the gut instinct this time. stiles tries not to think about it too much, at least for now, because if he does, he's going to end up acting all awkward around rosalind and she'll bully it out of him and that's just. not something he's up for today. ]
Yeah, okay. Thanks.
[ cool. now things feel weird. he made things awkward by being insecure over something he shouldn't even care about. good job, stiles.
he pinches the inside of his lower lip between his teeth, breathes out as he stares at the little pile of plaid next to his backpack. he could just leave it, bring an extra hoodie instead and pretend it's just pure coincidence tha he happened to show up without an overshirt. or.
or he could just pick it up and shove it in his bag and not care what anyone things. derek likes him which means he likes his dumb shirts by extension. he's thinking too much and he needs to stop. ]
Did you get around to tracking down a chess board yet?
[ things... do feel weird, yeah. there's nothing else derek wants to say about rosalind, and stiles doesn't seem to think there's anything else to say about his clothes. there's this pall cast over them that stiles is trying to push through by changing topic, but. derek's stubborn, and he doesn't think stiles believes him, so he wants to just... say what he means with a little more conviction before they move on for good. ]
Stiles. I'm serious. I like how you dress. I already told you. I think you're attractive. Style included. I wouldn't lie to you about this. Stop being stupid. Okay? You're cute.
[ this past week he has literally jerked off to the thought of stiles wearing nothing but an open flannel shirt and it was a cumbersome and difficult experience because he had to use his other hand because his usual one is connected to an arm with a fucking bullet hole in it. he will fucking say that, if he has to. he's annoyed enough to do it, don't test him. stiles is fine.
[ that's all he has to say to that, apparently. but he does smile a little even if he tries to hide it by pressing his lips together, and he puts the plaid shirt in his bag, so. stiles is fine, both emotionally and physically. yeah.
he does a little three-sixty turn to look around his room for whatever else he might need to bring for a night away. a night and day away, maybe... two? ]
Wait, really? Can we play later? I won't make you do a million crunches.
[ stile included. yes. derek is still annoyed, because this still reads like stiles is being dismissive so he doesn't have to outwardly disagree with derek, and that's fucking annoying? derek wants to corner him and just compliment his ugly face and his stupid hair until he forces stiles to say, word for word, that his ugly face is perfect and his stupid hair is the best.
but whatever. fine. stile included. be like that. you idiot. you idiot baby. derek is going to shove him the second he walks into the apartment and refuse to explain why. ]
Yes. But make no mistake. When I win, I will make you do a million crunches.
[ look, stiles just doesn't really know what to say in response to being complimented, considering it's not very often that anyone compliments him. which is fine, he doesn't need validation or anything, he doesn't necessarily need anyone else's approval. it's nice, though. it feels... good. but like most things he isn't sure how to approach, he handles it with humor. no one should be surprised.
anyway. how dare derek talk to the king like that. ]
Are you sure you know how to play chess? Because we can't both win. So I don't want you to get your hopes up thinking there's some kind of participation trophy for you after you're obliterated.
[ awful bold to think derek will take characteristic shyness as characteristic shyness when he can instead choose to be largely and pointlessly annoyed.
especially when stiles keeps taunting him about fucking chess. this brat. ]
Okay, Stiles. You know what? Stakes. Let's add stakes. Real stakes. Not jokes. If I win? You will do crunches until I tell you to stop. I'll be standing there, and I'll be watching you work out, and I will stare at you as you turn your body into a battered and broken wreck. You will suffer. Oh, man. You will suffer. If you win? I don't know. Something just as humiliating and painful. Whatever you want. I'll do anything. No questions asked.
[ stiles mulls this over as he shoulders his backpack. he does a customary check of his pockets to make sure he has everything - his wallet, which is more or less useless, his key, and his phone is still in his hands - shuts off the one light in the room, and locks up. he answers from the little common area outside of his apartment. ]
Telling me you're gonna make me wreck my body doesn't exactly sound fair. But considering I don't plan on losing? Deal. If you want to stand over me while I put your abs to shame, fine. Because that's only gonna happen in your dreams. I'm not telling you what happens when you lose, though.
I'm sure you have it in you to come up with something truly horrible to put me through if I lose. I mean, like, remarkably heinous. If you win, I don't want you holding your punches. I want you to really make me regret thinking of you as a stupid idiot baby who can't play battleship without accidentally choking on one of the pieces, let alone chess.
I really want you to wonder. I want you to spend the next three hours wondering what I could possibly do to you that’ll make you think twice about ever questioning my chess game ever again. I’ll tell you one thing though. I’ll give you two options, and I’ll tell you the first one right now. When you lose, you’re gonna post a video on the network, and you’re going to tell everyone how bad you are at chess, and you’re gonna tell everyone how great you think I am, and that you’ll never challenge me like this again. Publicly admit defeat. You’re going to tell everyone that I’m the king. Scratch that, you’ll tell everyone I’m your king. And you have to sound sincere. I’ll make you do it over and over again until you sound like you mean it.
See, I can see what you're trying to do here. Make me sweat a little. Really get in my head and psyche me out. But that's not going to work. I'm not going to wonder. Why would I wonder? I have no intention of losing. This means nothing to me. This colorful little daydream you've whipped up? Absolutely meaningless.
I'm picking door number two, regardless of what it is. I want this to be between us. I want your inevitable failure all to myself.
Oh, Derek. Derek, you sweet summer child. You sweet stupid werewolf. You just did exactly what I wanted you to do and I didn't even have to try. You have no idea what you just signed yourself up for. I'm sealing this in. Locking it down, this is your final answer, you can't go back. I can't believe I'm going to come out a winner twice in one night.
[ says the guy who is suddenly incredibly nervous because that actually worked out exactly how he wanted it to, but had zero expectation that it actually would. cool. neat. it might actually just be easier to throw the game at this point. ]
Yeah, whatever. You're not intimidating. Like I said - you're cute. I feel like I'm being threatened by a kitten. A sarcastic kitten. Do your worst. You bastard.
[ he's kind of excited. he's kind of excited, but he's also sort of salty with himself for limiting his inevitable victory to making stiles do crunches. it'll be fun, watching him just straight up fucking die, and derek is completely sure that he's going to win this, but. should've thought of something more humiliating than physical exertion, if stiles is getting this creative with it. oh well. ]
Are you going to tell me what I'm signing myself up for, or do I have to wait until I've won to get it out of you?
You know what? I'm not even offended. I love it when people underestimate me because it just makes handing their ass to them later that much more satisfying.
1.) I'm not going to tell you until you lose. 2.) If you win. IF. IIIF you win, I'm still not going to tell you. You'll just have to wonder for the rest of forever what your life could have come to if you'd lost. 3.) I'm about to get in the elevator to come up so I'll probably lose signal, and then it's like... ten minutes from there, so. See you in a couple hours? I'll let you know when we're wrapping up.
You're absolutely going to tell me when I win. I'm not letting you taint my victory with your Stilinski-style smugness. I don't want you holding some dumb, pointless secret over me when I'm trying to celebrate. Your defeat has to be total. I'm getting what I want. Stiles.
[ ah, man, stiles has to go. that's... fine, derek doesn't want to steal all of his attention, but. just kind of missing him again already, which is stupid, and he's stupid, and this is stupid. everything's stupid. still - there's a fire under him now, and he's gonna get everything set up for the rest of the day. gonna grab food, gonna get the board set up. gonna... spend the night with his friend. that's kind of thrilling. when was the last time he invited a friend over for a fucking sleepover? has he ever? ]
But fine. Okay. Run away. Like a coward. I'll see you when you're done. Loooooooooooseeeeeeeeeer.
[ stiles doesn't reward derek with a response for another hour and a half. rosalind doesn't make him turn his phone off when they're working, but he makes a point of taking away as many distractions as possible so he doesn't end up doing something stupid like knocking something over and starting a chemical fire all because he wanted to check his phone. he knows himself well enough. ]
You think I'm gonna tell you, but I'm not. You don't scare me. If I lose - which I won't - but if I lose, you get to watch me work out. That's what you asked for, so that's all you'll get. It's too late to start making all these other requests, womp womp, sucks for you. I'm done, by the way. Be up in like ten.
[ there's a minute, minute and a half lull. ]
Make that thirty? Some asshole pressed every button in the elevator before they got out. See you in a year Mr. 89th floor. God.
[ derek keeps checking his phone, up until he's pretty convinced stiles has started working with rosalind and doesn't intend on using the walk from the elevator to her place to message him back. which is fine? he doesn't care. he totally doesn't care, and he totally doesn't keep checking his phone in case he missed a notification, and he totally puts stiles out of his mind until he messages him back. he's an alpha? he's a leader. he doesn't sit around waiting for boys to text him. he is a fucking adult.
anyway. stiles texts him back and derek, who had been lounging on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, bored and lonely, sits up hard enough to hurt his arm. he winces a little, but he also doesn't care. stiles is funny. derek doesn't laugh, but stiles is funny. ]
I do want to watch you work out. I'm going to make you do crunches until you tell me what you had planned. There's no escaping this.
[ make that thirty, stiles says, and now, derek's kind of annoyed. he feels like he's been waiting for stiles all day, and now he's making him wait even more? he feels like walking down to the lobby and dragging him up the stairs, jesus. so annoying.
whatever. it's fine. in the hour and a half stiles has been gone, derek's been trying to make the apartment feel like home, which has been kind of difficult, because he... hates the place, and it still looks brand new. the apartment is furnished exactly the same as it was when derek first moved in, certain places completely untouched and covered in a light layer of dust, and fluffing up a few pillows and buying snacks for the night isn't going to change that.
he picked up some food - pizza, because everybody likes pizza, and even though he considered actually cooking something himself, he doesn't have the guts to try doing that for someone else just yet - and a dickton of soda, just because stiles seems like the kind of guy who likes soda. derek doesn't. but stiles probably does.
the chess board is set up in the living room, a deep, reddish wood with cream and dark brown pieces. derek didn't wait until stiles was here to set the game up, because stiles is a shady piece of shit, and if derek hadn't doublechecked the board for strings or secret compartments when he bought it, he would have very quickly accused stiles of pulling some kind of trick if he were the one to get the game ready and derek somehow, inconceivably, lost. ssssso. he will accept any loss he suffers as fair. but he isn't going to lose.
so. yeah. fine. good. everything's good. he's not nervous. why would he be nervous. derek paces to the front of his apartment, walking back and forth in front of the door, straining his ears to hear the elevator ping at the end of the hall. ]
You know I didn't choose to live on the 89th floor, right? This is just where they put me. I'd move out and sleep in a box under an overpass, if I had the option.
[ stiles sighs and settles in for a long ride, sliding his backpack off his shoulders and setting it down on the floor between his feet. he leans back against one of the walls, close to the buttons panel, and absently scratches the inside of his left wrist. ]
I'll die before I tell you But considering you're gonna be the one to lose You can just have some patience and find out after I call checkmate.
[ for about ten floors, stiles repeatedly jabs the doors close button with his thumb every time the lift stops and opens. by the twelfth stop, stiles has had enough. he makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat when the doors slide open to an empty hallway, and impulsively reaches down to snag his backpack by one of the straps, pushing his way out of the lift.
it's sixty-three fucking floors from here, but - he can make that, right? it'll be like running suicides, just... against gravity, and probably for way longer and way farther than stiles has ever run and also: stairs. but its fine. the alternative is to spend forty-five minutes standing in the elevator, and that's a total waste of time he could spend showering or eating or being around derek.
so he slides his backpack on over his shoulders, tightens up the straps so the bag sits high and flush to his back, and he starts up the stairs at a moderate pace, somewhere between walking and running, skipping every other step. fortunately for stiles, the flights in between floors are short, but it's still sixty fucking floors.
he makes it about half way before he has to stop for a breather, his thighs aching and warm, his knees a little weak. there's a sheen of sweat over the back of his neck and between his shoulders, his forehead a little damp. his heart is in his throat. he can feel and hear the pulsing rush of blood in his ears.
stiles slumps against the wall at the bottom of one set of stairs, hands curled around the straps at his shoulders, and leans his head back as if that'll somehow help with putting some oxygen back into his lungs. he has to lock his knees, otherwise he'll wind up sliding down until his ass hits the floor and there's no telling how long it would be until he got back up, if at all.
he checks his phone while he's taking a break, swiping some sweat from his temple with the back of his fingers. ]
I can find you a box. I'll find you a box and a nice tree for you put it under in place of an overpass.
[ at this point he'll do whatever if it means he never has to climb this many stairs ever again in his life. of course, this is only happening because of one particular assholeish person. it's not like he'll have to take the stairs every single time he visits derek after this. it's not as if he didn't make this choice himself on account of he's impatient.
stiles pockets his phone, decides to peel himself out of his green overshirt, takes a deep breath. he blows it out nice and slow... and hauls himself up the stairs the rest of the way. it's not any easier, and his calves and his thighs and his ass and his back feels like it's on fire and also numb by the time he reaches derek's floor another five minutes later. he practically falls through the doorway into the hall by the elevator (which he's beaten by at least five minutes, if not more), stumbling on his feet a little, and when he reaches derek's door, all he does is lean his entire body against it, forehead pressed to the cool wood, palms flat.
derek can probably hear him panting. he can probably hear his heart battering up against his rib cage, and stiles knows this, but he doesn't care. he balls one of his hands up, pounds it pathetically against the door, and just kind of rolls himself away, squishing his backpack between his shoulders and the wall as he leans to wait for derek to let him in. ]
You're delusional. Rosalind's lab is ventilated, right? You didn't... inhale anything toxic? I'm worried about you.
[ you know, because stiles' head is so fucked up that he thinks he stands a chance!! checkmate!!!!!!
whatever. whatever? whatever. fuck. derek's feet are hurting. his legs are tense and his muscles are taut, and he just keeps walking in front of his front door, over and over again, trying to hear the distant ping of an elevator eighty floors below him. waiting shouldn't be such a big deal; stiles ended things with rosalind sooner than derek expected him to, and he's coming over early to shower. the elevator could get stuck, maintenance could come and fix it, and stiles could get caught up in a fucking flash mob and he'd still make it to derek's apartment sooner than they'd originally planned. being impatient is just... the same as being greedy.
but he is impatient. he's very, very impatient, and he's very, very lonely, and it's not like he and stiles haven't seen each other since the fort, but he hasn't told stiles he missed him, and stiles hasn't promised to share a bed with him again, and there's so much here that derek wants that it's this scary, intimidating, amorphous blob of good feelings that he just wants to dive into already. this is taking too long, and... and he can swear that he's caught stiles' scent, somehow, through all the thick layers of concrete and wood and metal standing between them, and that's only making him feel worse.
he wants stiles. he wants to see stiles, he wants stiles so fucking bad.
impulsively, derek opens the door to his apartment and walks out, shutting it behind him. he takes a hard left down the hall, ducking out of sight from the top of the stairs, turning down a corner and making it to the end. the elevators are a ways away, but derek walks until he gets there, staring blankly up at the little LED display indicating that the elevator is still a good sixty floors below him. cool.
cool. cool. cool. great. fine. this is fine. derek's still pacing, but he's pacing a little faster now, arms crossed over his chest. sixty floors. fifty nine. fifty eight. fifty seven. derek glowers at the light above the elevator doors like it's just another stupid fucking act of aggression from duplicity against him. another shred of evidence that this apartment is fucking stupid, and that he hates it, and that he hates the city, and that he hates being here, and that he wants to be somewhere else. somewhere safe. with stiles.
stiles sends him another message and derek doesn't reply, but he stops walking just long enough to read it. he stares at the text, hears the words in stiles' voice. the uptick when he says something that's supposed to be a joke, the cocky little smile he'd have if he were saing this to derek's face. the way he'd laugh, that kind of soundless, sarcastic laugh he does, where he just exhales air through his nose and lets his shoulders shake. derek misses that fucking laugh. it hasn't been long since he's seen stiles laugh, but derek still misses it so bad.
he lifts his thumb to his lips and anxiously bites the nail, which isn't a good habit, and he knows that, so he crosses his arm again and tucks his hand beneath his bicep, sandwiching it against his side. he chews his lip, stops himself from peeling away any dry skin, because that's not a good habit, either. he can work with anger, he can shoulder his grief, but he sure as shit doesn't know how to deal with this impatient, scratchy anxiety that makes everything in him feel so tightly wound.
and then he hears a noise from behind him, just out of sight. the gangly footsteps of an uncoordinated idiot, crashing through derek's anxiety like he crashes through everything else. derek frowns, eyebrows meeting in the middle, and after a quick glance up at the elevator - still thirty floors down, maybe a little less - he turns, and he heads back.
and then there's stiles, sweaty and exhausted and trying to catch his breath, struggling to reclaim whatever dignity he has left in him before derek opens the door he's not actually behind and catches him. there's a window here where stiles doesn't realize he's there, and derek knows he should - take advantage of that, or something. come up with something biting and clever and funny, maybe. but he doesn't want to? he just...
this makes him feel happy. this makes him feel warm.
so derek walks over, keeping his footsteps light, and he's smiling, all self-satisfied and content and kind of endeared. stiles ran up to see him, and derek can't exactly pretend like he wasn't waiting outside the elevators to meet him - he wouldn't hide it, either, if stiles asked why he's not inside. they both wanted to see each other as soon as possible, and derek latches onto that, even though it would be so easy to assume the worst. so easy to assume that stiles is being chased by a fucking murderer and just needs to get inside as soon as possible, so easy to assume he's fucking-- shit his pants, or something, and just ran up here to change. derek doesn't let himself scroll through the rolodex of pessimistic and kind of mean bullshit, he just - assumes that stiles wanted to see him as much as derek wanted to see him back.
derek leans against the wall beside his door, arms still loose across his chest, but just seeing stiles is enough to relax him. he feels so much less tense, so much happier. derek might not know stiles as well as he should, being two years behind, but he knows that it's been a long, long time since he's just been this fucking happy to see someone.
and he's not an idiot. he knows what that feeling is. ]
It's unlocked.
[ he nods his head towards the apartment, like stiles is too dumb to know what he's talking about. "you look like a mess", fuck, that's what he should have said. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ he can't justify his choice to talk, really. he spent his entire life hiding what he is, because whenever he didn't, people died. paige, his family. but then he became an alpha, and then he lost his pack, and then he was scrambling for power and security in the fort through every avenue he could find, and then he met rosalind, who worked with stiles and seemed to trust him, so he didn't peg her as a threat, and he thought... maybe if he had just said yeah, i'm an alpha, i'm a werewolf, i'm big and i'm tough and i'm scary and i'm strong, he would have felt the way he was supposed to? in control.
but he didn't. she just made him feel like an idiot, because that's how he was acting, and he feels stupid every time he thinks about it, and that's why he doesn't like her. but he can't say that to stiles. and he can't say that to rosalind. he just has to dig his heels in, act tough. wait until he finds a way to dislike himself less for his mistakes. which, you know. good luck. ]
Anyway.
Yeah.
You're right. I've never heard of a self-loathing vampire before. I've never heard of a self-loathing supernatural creature before, for that matter.
Totally trust her, now. Nailed it. Rift mended.
(And you do dress pretty poorly.)
[ a pause. ]
Sorry. ADHD. I should have known that. Should have rummaged around in your bedroom more.
I always just thought you were kind of a spaz. I didn't realize.
[ wait, that's a shitty apology. eh, it's fine, stiles probably knows what he means. more importantly: ]
What do you mean "super sick"? What happened?
no subject
You don't have to trust her.
I really don't care if you do.
But I trust her, and you can trust me.
But also, screw your opinion?
My clothes are fine.
You wear a henley and super tight jeans like, all the time.
I don't think you have any room to talk to me about how I dress, you walking GAP Ad.
Nothing really happened, I just got really headachey and threw up like four times in a trashcan.
Not my finest moment.
no subject
It's just a lot of power for one person to have. I keep thinking of ways it could be abused.
Addiction. Blackmail
What if she didn't fuck up that first batch of adderall? What if she's secretly been working on some kind of... like... really potent poison this entire time, and she used you as a prototype to test how it would affect humans... so that she could adjust it for vampires... or something?
You never know. Don't tell me I'm wrong. It's not impossible. She's smart. She could be an evil mastermind. You don't know.
[ kate would have poisoned the shit out of vampires if she were in charge of their food supply, so. yeah. this actually doesn't have anything to do with rosalind, it turns out. anyway. wow, let's move on from that, too. ]
Whatever. Anyway.
You literally just called me a model. Wow, I'm so offended.
no subject
But I literally brought all the ingredients and components to her the first time.
I was there the entire time we were trying to make it.
I told her exactly what Adderall is composed of
(I was paranoid when I was first diagnosed as a kid and I did a lot of research, it's a long story)
And we went from there until we got the right balance of chemicals.
She wasn't trying to poison me, Derek.
But I get why you're uneasy.
I can ask to start assisting with the synthetic blood work if that'll make you feel better.
Keep an eye on it.
I didn't call you a model.
You're stupid, your clothes are stupid.
All of it, stupid.
Like you.
no subject
[ stubborn. and stupid. ]
No. You trust her. I don't. This is my problem.
If I'm the one that's worried about this, I'm the one that should do something.
Besides, if she turns out to be dangerous, I don't want you getting any closer to her than you have to be.
I'll talk to her. Ask if I can help her with the blood thing, in exchange for... something. I don't know. Werewolf adderall.
If you're okay with me doing something like that.
Anyway.
You're stupid.
You dress like a lumberjack that never went through puberty.
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That's totally believable.
She definitely won't question that at all.
Totally legit.
[ stiles doesn't actually know how much rosalind knows about werewolves, aside from the fact that they exist, thanks to derek, but he knows she's intelligent. she'd spot the bluff immediately. ]
Rosalind's one of the first people I met when I first got here
We're already pretty close
But you can do whatever you want
Well, you can do whatever she allows you do to do as far as being in her lab goes.
[ stiles has literally never been like, fashion forward, and he doesn't care to be. he prefers to wear what's comfortable and what he likes, but rosalind went in on him pretty hard and said some borderline mean things about his clothes and what impression he gives off and how nobody will ever take him seriously, as if his clothes have more value than his intelligence.
and now derek. like, stiles knows derek is kidding. but is he though? stiles pauses with his hand over his backpack. instead of putting the flannel in his hand inside, he sets it next to his bag instead and frowns a little at his phone. hmm. ]
Is it really that bad?
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[ it's hard for derek to get a read on whether or not stiles is unhappy with how he's talking about rosalind, but he's not going to obsess over it. he's a little annoyed that stiles, of all people, is this trusting, but. maybe derek's just... extra paranoid, after veracity. doesn't matter either way. ]
No.
I'm just teasing. Trying to be funny. Never been my strong suit.
You dress like... you. And I like you. So. I wouldn't want you to change.
If that makes sense.
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derek's not wrong to feel the way he does. maybe he's the one with the gut instinct this time. stiles tries not to think about it too much, at least for now, because if he does, he's going to end up acting all awkward around rosalind and she'll bully it out of him and that's just. not something he's up for today. ]
Yeah, okay.
Thanks.
[ cool. now things feel weird. he made things awkward by being insecure over something he shouldn't even care about. good job, stiles.
he pinches the inside of his lower lip between his teeth, breathes out as he stares at the little pile of plaid next to his backpack. he could just leave it, bring an extra hoodie instead and pretend it's just pure coincidence tha he happened to show up without an overshirt. or.
or he could just pick it up and shove it in his bag and not care what anyone things. derek likes him which means he likes his dumb shirts by extension. he's thinking too much and he needs to stop. ]
Did you get around to tracking down a chess board yet?
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Stiles. I'm serious.
I like how you dress.
I already told you. I think you're attractive.
Style included.
I wouldn't lie to you about this.
Stop being stupid. Okay?
You're cute.
[ this past week he has literally jerked off to the thought of stiles wearing nothing but an open flannel shirt and it was a cumbersome and difficult experience because he had to use his other hand because his usual one is connected to an arm with a fucking bullet hole in it. he will fucking say that, if he has to. he's annoyed enough to do it, don't test him. stiles is fine.
anyway, jesus. chess board. ]
I did buy a chess board.
[ bought it as soon as he could. ]
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[ that's all he has to say to that, apparently. but he does smile a little even if he tries to hide it by pressing his lips together, and he puts the plaid shirt in his bag, so. stiles is fine, both emotionally and physically. yeah.
he does a little three-sixty turn to look around his room for whatever else he might need to bring for a night away. a night and day away, maybe... two? ]
Wait, really?
Can we play later?
I won't make you do a million crunches.
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but whatever. fine. stile included. be like that. you idiot. you idiot baby. derek is going to shove him the second he walks into the apartment and refuse to explain why. ]
Yes.
But make no mistake.
When I win, I will make you do a million crunches.
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anyway. how dare derek talk to the king like that. ]
Are you sure you know how to play chess?
Because we can't both win.
So I don't want you to get your hopes up thinking there's some kind of participation trophy for you after you're obliterated.
[ stiles is so dead if he loses, good lord. ]
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especially when stiles keeps taunting him about fucking chess. this brat. ]
Okay, Stiles. You know what?
Stakes. Let's add stakes. Real stakes. Not jokes.
If I win? You will do crunches until I tell you to stop. I'll be standing there, and I'll be watching you work out, and I will stare at you as you turn your body into a battered and broken wreck. You will suffer. Oh, man. You will suffer.
If you win? I don't know.
Something just as humiliating and painful. Whatever you want.
I'll do anything. No questions asked.
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Telling me you're gonna make me wreck my body doesn't exactly sound fair.
But considering I don't plan on losing?
Deal. If you want to stand over me while I put your abs to shame, fine.
Because that's only gonna happen in your dreams.
I'm not telling you what happens when you lose, though.
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If you win, I don't want you holding your punches. I want you to really make me regret thinking of you as a stupid idiot baby who can't play battleship without accidentally choking on one of the pieces, let alone chess.
Why don't you want to tell me?
Coward.
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I want you to spend the next three hours wondering what I could possibly do to you that’ll make you think twice about ever questioning my chess game ever again.
I’ll tell you one thing though.
I’ll give you two options, and I’ll tell you the first one right now.
When you lose, you’re gonna post a video on the network, and you’re going to tell everyone how bad you are at chess, and you’re gonna tell everyone how great you think I am, and that you’ll never challenge me like this again. Publicly admit defeat.
You’re going to tell everyone that I’m the king.
Scratch that, you’ll tell everyone I’m your king.
And you have to sound sincere.
I’ll make you do it over and over again until you sound like you mean it.
Or there’s always mystery door number two.
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But that's not going to work.
I'm not going to wonder. Why would I wonder? I have no intention of losing. This means nothing to me. This colorful little daydream you've whipped up? Absolutely meaningless.
I'm picking door number two, regardless of what it is.
I want this to be between us.
I want your inevitable failure all to myself.
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Derek, you sweet summer child.
You sweet stupid werewolf.
You just did exactly what I wanted you to do and I didn't even have to try.
You have no idea what you just signed yourself up for.
I'm sealing this in.
Locking it down, this is your final answer, you can't go back.
I can't believe I'm going to come out a winner twice in one night.
[ says the guy who is suddenly incredibly nervous because that actually worked out exactly how he wanted it to, but had zero expectation that it actually would. cool. neat. it might actually just be easier to throw the game at this point. ]
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Like I said - you're cute. I feel like I'm being threatened by a kitten. A sarcastic kitten.
Do your worst. You bastard.
[ he's kind of excited. he's kind of excited, but he's also sort of salty with himself for limiting his inevitable victory to making stiles do crunches. it'll be fun, watching him just straight up fucking die, and derek is completely sure that he's going to win this, but. should've thought of something more humiliating than physical exertion, if stiles is getting this creative with it. oh well. ]
Are you going to tell me what I'm signing myself up for, or do I have to wait until I've won to get it out of you?
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I'm not even offended.
I love it when people underestimate me because it just makes handing their ass to them later that much more satisfying.
1.) I'm not going to tell you until you lose.
2.) If you win. IF. IIIF you win, I'm still not going to tell you. You'll just have to wonder for the rest of forever what your life could have come to if you'd lost.
3.) I'm about to get in the elevator to come up so I'll probably lose signal, and then it's like... ten minutes from there, so. See you in a couple hours? I'll let you know when we're wrapping up.
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Your defeat has to be total.
I'm getting what I want.
Stiles.
[ ah, man, stiles has to go. that's... fine, derek doesn't want to steal all of his attention, but. just kind of missing him again already, which is stupid, and he's stupid, and this is stupid. everything's stupid. still - there's a fire under him now, and he's gonna get everything set up for the rest of the day. gonna grab food, gonna get the board set up. gonna... spend the night with his friend. that's kind of thrilling. when was the last time he invited a friend over for a fucking sleepover? has he ever? ]
But fine. Okay. Run away. Like a coward.
I'll see you when you're done.
Loooooooooooseeeeeeeeeer.
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You think I'm gonna tell you, but I'm not.
You don't scare me.
If I lose - which I won't - but if I lose, you get to watch me work out.
That's what you asked for, so that's all you'll get.
It's too late to start making all these other requests, womp womp, sucks for you.
I'm done, by the way.
Be up in like ten.
[ there's a minute, minute and a half lull. ]
Make that thirty?
Some asshole pressed every button in the elevator before they got out.
See you in a year Mr. 89th floor.
God.
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anyway. stiles texts him back and derek, who had been lounging on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, bored and lonely, sits up hard enough to hurt his arm. he winces a little, but he also doesn't care. stiles is funny. derek doesn't laugh, but stiles is funny. ]
I do want to watch you work out.
I'm going to make you do crunches until you tell me what you had planned.
There's no escaping this.
[ make that thirty, stiles says, and now, derek's kind of annoyed. he feels like he's been waiting for stiles all day, and now he's making him wait even more? he feels like walking down to the lobby and dragging him up the stairs, jesus. so annoying.
whatever. it's fine. in the hour and a half stiles has been gone, derek's been trying to make the apartment feel like home, which has been kind of difficult, because he... hates the place, and it still looks brand new. the apartment is furnished exactly the same as it was when derek first moved in, certain places completely untouched and covered in a light layer of dust, and fluffing up a few pillows and buying snacks for the night isn't going to change that.
he picked up some food - pizza, because everybody likes pizza, and even though he considered actually cooking something himself, he doesn't have the guts to try doing that for someone else just yet - and a dickton of soda, just because stiles seems like the kind of guy who likes soda. derek doesn't. but stiles probably does.
the chess board is set up in the living room, a deep, reddish wood with cream and dark brown pieces. derek didn't wait until stiles was here to set the game up, because stiles is a shady piece of shit, and if derek hadn't doublechecked the board for strings or secret compartments when he bought it, he would have very quickly accused stiles of pulling some kind of trick if he were the one to get the game ready and derek somehow, inconceivably, lost. ssssso. he will accept any loss he suffers as fair. but he isn't going to lose.
so. yeah. fine. good. everything's good. he's not nervous. why would he be nervous. derek paces to the front of his apartment, walking back and forth in front of the door, straining his ears to hear the elevator ping at the end of the hall. ]
You know I didn't choose to live on the 89th floor, right? This is just where they put me.
I'd move out and sleep in a box under an overpass, if I had the option.
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I'll die before I tell you
But considering you're gonna be the one to lose
You can just have some patience and find out after I call checkmate.
[ for about ten floors, stiles repeatedly jabs the doors close button with his thumb every time the lift stops and opens. by the twelfth stop, stiles has had enough. he makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat when the doors slide open to an empty hallway, and impulsively reaches down to snag his backpack by one of the straps, pushing his way out of the lift.
it's sixty-three fucking floors from here, but - he can make that, right? it'll be like running suicides, just... against gravity, and probably for way longer and way farther than stiles has ever run and also: stairs. but its fine. the alternative is to spend forty-five minutes standing in the elevator, and that's a total waste of time he could spend showering or eating or being around derek.
so he slides his backpack on over his shoulders, tightens up the straps so the bag sits high and flush to his back, and he starts up the stairs at a moderate pace, somewhere between walking and running, skipping every other step. fortunately for stiles, the flights in between floors are short, but it's still sixty fucking floors.
he makes it about half way before he has to stop for a breather, his thighs aching and warm, his knees a little weak. there's a sheen of sweat over the back of his neck and between his shoulders, his forehead a little damp. his heart is in his throat. he can feel and hear the pulsing rush of blood in his ears.
stiles slumps against the wall at the bottom of one set of stairs, hands curled around the straps at his shoulders, and leans his head back as if that'll somehow help with putting some oxygen back into his lungs. he has to lock his knees, otherwise he'll wind up sliding down until his ass hits the floor and there's no telling how long it would be until he got back up, if at all.
he checks his phone while he's taking a break, swiping some sweat from his temple with the back of his fingers. ]
I can find you a box.
I'll find you a box and a nice tree for you put it under in place of an overpass.
[ at this point he'll do whatever if it means he never has to climb this many stairs ever again in his life. of course, this is only happening because of one particular assholeish person. it's not like he'll have to take the stairs every single time he visits derek after this. it's not as if he didn't make this choice himself on account of he's impatient.
stiles pockets his phone, decides to peel himself out of his green overshirt, takes a deep breath. he blows it out nice and slow... and hauls himself up the stairs the rest of the way. it's not any easier, and his calves and his thighs and his ass and his back feels like it's on fire and also numb by the time he reaches derek's floor another five minutes later. he practically falls through the doorway into the hall by the elevator (which he's beaten by at least five minutes, if not more), stumbling on his feet a little, and when he reaches derek's door, all he does is lean his entire body against it, forehead pressed to the cool wood, palms flat.
derek can probably hear him panting. he can probably hear his heart battering up against his rib cage, and stiles knows this, but he doesn't care. he balls one of his hands up, pounds it pathetically against the door, and just kind of rolls himself away, squishing his backpack between his shoulders and the wall as he leans to wait for derek to let him in. ]
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Rosalind's lab is ventilated, right? You didn't... inhale anything toxic?
I'm worried about you.
[ you know, because stiles' head is so fucked up that he thinks he stands a chance!! checkmate!!!!!!
whatever. whatever? whatever. fuck. derek's feet are hurting. his legs are tense and his muscles are taut, and he just keeps walking in front of his front door, over and over again, trying to hear the distant ping of an elevator eighty floors below him. waiting shouldn't be such a big deal; stiles ended things with rosalind sooner than derek expected him to, and he's coming over early to shower. the elevator could get stuck, maintenance could come and fix it, and stiles could get caught up in a fucking flash mob and he'd still make it to derek's apartment sooner than they'd originally planned. being impatient is just... the same as being greedy.
but he is impatient. he's very, very impatient, and he's very, very lonely, and it's not like he and stiles haven't seen each other since the fort, but he hasn't told stiles he missed him, and stiles hasn't promised to share a bed with him again, and there's so much here that derek wants that it's this scary, intimidating, amorphous blob of good feelings that he just wants to dive into already. this is taking too long, and... and he can swear that he's caught stiles' scent, somehow, through all the thick layers of concrete and wood and metal standing between them, and that's only making him feel worse.
he wants stiles. he wants to see stiles, he wants stiles so fucking bad.
impulsively, derek opens the door to his apartment and walks out, shutting it behind him. he takes a hard left down the hall, ducking out of sight from the top of the stairs, turning down a corner and making it to the end. the elevators are a ways away, but derek walks until he gets there, staring blankly up at the little LED display indicating that the elevator is still a good sixty floors below him. cool.
cool. cool. cool. great. fine. this is fine. derek's still pacing, but he's pacing a little faster now, arms crossed over his chest. sixty floors. fifty nine. fifty eight. fifty seven. derek glowers at the light above the elevator doors like it's just another stupid fucking act of aggression from duplicity against him. another shred of evidence that this apartment is fucking stupid, and that he hates it, and that he hates the city, and that he hates being here, and that he wants to be somewhere else. somewhere safe. with stiles.
stiles sends him another message and derek doesn't reply, but he stops walking just long enough to read it. he stares at the text, hears the words in stiles' voice. the uptick when he says something that's supposed to be a joke, the cocky little smile he'd have if he were saing this to derek's face. the way he'd laugh, that kind of soundless, sarcastic laugh he does, where he just exhales air through his nose and lets his shoulders shake. derek misses that fucking laugh. it hasn't been long since he's seen stiles laugh, but derek still misses it so bad.
he lifts his thumb to his lips and anxiously bites the nail, which isn't a good habit, and he knows that, so he crosses his arm again and tucks his hand beneath his bicep, sandwiching it against his side. he chews his lip, stops himself from peeling away any dry skin, because that's not a good habit, either. he can work with anger, he can shoulder his grief, but he sure as shit doesn't know how to deal with this impatient, scratchy anxiety that makes everything in him feel so tightly wound.
and then he hears a noise from behind him, just out of sight. the gangly footsteps of an uncoordinated idiot, crashing through derek's anxiety like he crashes through everything else. derek frowns, eyebrows meeting in the middle, and after a quick glance up at the elevator - still thirty floors down, maybe a little less - he turns, and he heads back.
and then there's stiles, sweaty and exhausted and trying to catch his breath, struggling to reclaim whatever dignity he has left in him before derek opens the door he's not actually behind and catches him. there's a window here where stiles doesn't realize he's there, and derek knows he should - take advantage of that, or something. come up with something biting and clever and funny, maybe. but he doesn't want to? he just...
this makes him feel happy. this makes him feel warm.
so derek walks over, keeping his footsteps light, and he's smiling, all self-satisfied and content and kind of endeared. stiles ran up to see him, and derek can't exactly pretend like he wasn't waiting outside the elevators to meet him - he wouldn't hide it, either, if stiles asked why he's not inside. they both wanted to see each other as soon as possible, and derek latches onto that, even though it would be so easy to assume the worst. so easy to assume that stiles is being chased by a fucking murderer and just needs to get inside as soon as possible, so easy to assume he's fucking-- shit his pants, or something, and just ran up here to change. derek doesn't let himself scroll through the rolodex of pessimistic and kind of mean bullshit, he just - assumes that stiles wanted to see him as much as derek wanted to see him back.
derek leans against the wall beside his door, arms still loose across his chest, but just seeing stiles is enough to relax him. he feels so much less tense, so much happier. derek might not know stiles as well as he should, being two years behind, but he knows that it's been a long, long time since he's just been this fucking happy to see someone.
and he's not an idiot. he knows what that feeling is. ]
It's unlocked.
[ he nods his head towards the apartment, like stiles is too dumb to know what he's talking about. "you look like a mess", fuck, that's what he should have said. ]
If you want to head in.
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