[ the squirming, the squeaking, the way stiles needs a second to straighten out his spine and tentatively feel out how bad his injury might be - it all worries derek, who watches stiles manage his weight and stammer over his stupid-ass lie with open concern. he needs to get him home. when stiles offers him money, derek can't tell if he's joking or not, but he gets annoyed all the same. ]
Fuck off. I don't care about money. I care about you.
[ he brought the drugs, solely because stiles told him to, but - he doesn't exactly trust the drugs here to do what they say they will on the tin. not after the fort. spiking stiles with viagra while he's nursing bruised bones and a potentially bruised ego doesn't seem like the best way to end today, so he offers something else, instead.
stiles holds out his arm, and derek steps closer. he takes stiles' wrist in one hand, just to hold him steady, then grips his forearm with the other. they're still in public, and a quiet, scratchy part of derek's brain is telling him to at least drag stiles back into the cave and out of sight if they're going to do this, but he's impatient and he's worried and he doesn't want to waste any more time.
and then - derek takes stiles' pain. it pulls itself from his veins and coils up through derek's blood in dark, black tendrils, and derek gets tense and sweaty from the effort of it. he can feel the dull ache that stiles is going through transfer into his own body, and he holds stiles' arm a little tighter just in case he tries to pull away. derek closes his eyes when he needs the time to focus, and in twenty, maybe thirty seconds, the black ropes in his arm fade and blend into the rest of his bloodstream.
derek sighs. he lets go, running his thumb over stiles' wrist, soft and reassuring. he opens his eyes, looks at stiles, and he's a little sweaty, a little sore, but he's okay. stiles should be okay now, too. ]
You really scared me.
[ he's repeating himself, mumbling quietly under his breath, but. it's true. derek wets his lips, fishes his hand into his pocket. he's light-headed and sort of lethargic after taking stiles' pain, so he's moving slower than normal, but he fishes out the ibuprofen he promised and curls the packaging in stiles' hand. in case he still wants them for later. ]
[ stiles has half the mind to argue that it's not about money, it's about - equality, or something like that. about not being allowed to buy anything on his own even when he can afford it (and he can afford a couple single-dose packets of pain killers, thank you), and having to rely on derek for... practically anything and everything. which honestly isn't necessarily a bad thing, because relying on each other is just - what they do. stiles just wants to be able to pay for the things he wants and needs with his own money, even if derek is always going to have to be the one to hand it over.
but derek also tells him that he cares about him, and that kind of chases away any desire to argue. it's not as if it's the first time derek's ever said that he cares, but it still feels good. sometimes it's just nice to hear it, to be reminded.
stiles' mouth thins out, like he wants to be kind of mad at derek, but also like he's trying to stave off a pleased little smile. he breathes out a heavy sigh, and then - immediately starts to brace himself as derek closes both of his hands around his arm, one around his wrist, and the other around his forearm. he assumes derek is about to drag his ass through the city, glad that stiles is relatively okay (obviously), but still fed up with him in general. he opens his mouth, about to stammer through a panicky protest about how he's sore and stiff and power-walking is his current enemy—
—but none of that happens. stiles exhales slowly, like derek's pulling the breath out of him too. stiles has had his pain drained once before - by scott, after stiles punched the jeep's engine in a surge of pent up anger and frustration - but that was minor in comparison. not that stiles is dying, but it's easier to cope with a sore hand than it is to cope with a heavily bruised tailbone and a sore lower back.
the pain eases gradually but steadily, the tension slowly melting out of his muscles and making him feel a little woozy and warm with relief. stiles lowers his head slightly as he exhales, his gaze drifting to where derek's hand is curled around his arm, veins dark and black as they reach and fade toward his elbow. it takes stiles a couple of moments to remember that whatever pain derek takes from him, he has to experience himself.
stiles lifts his head up. he takes in the thin sheen of sweat, the mild tension, the effort derek is putting in just - to make him feel better. stiles immediately tries to pull his arm out of derek's grip, just as derek predicted he would, but he doesn't put nearly enough strength behind the tug of his shoulder. his tone is quietly urgent. ]
Derek, wait—
[ he lifts his free hand, but he catches himself before he touches derek, unsure if another point of skin-to-skin contact would just push more of his pain into him, faster. even as his palm hovers near derek's elbow, his other hand curled into a loose fist, stiles' posture starts to improve in increments. his shoulders square up out of their minor slouch, his lower spine straightens out as he breathes in deep, his eyes on derek, ready to do whatever he can to yank his arm free if he thinks, even for a second, that derek is pushing himself too far.
stiles still feels a little unsteady by the time derek opens his eyes, his own eyes flickering over derek's face, his expression a mix of quiet concern and mild affection, but most of all, gratitude. he feels - good. he feels better, and it's a weird feeling, just like it was weird when scott took the throbbing pain from his hand.
derek looks soft and lazy though, and he's quiet, and stiles feels a little guilty, both for scaring derek (enough that derek has mentioned it multiple times) and for being the reason he looks as worn out as he does now. stiles lets his hand settle at derek's elbow finally, cupping his hand around the back of it and letting his palm rub slowly up the back of his bicep and then back down. ]
Sorry, big guy. I just... wanted to check it out. Didn't really think it through. [ he squeezes just above derek's elbow before letting go, his voice still on the quieter side, but trying to sound a little brighter, attempting to reassure him. ] I'm okay, though. ... Thank you.
[ even though he lets derek go, stiles' hands kind of hover for a couple moments longer as derek starts to rifle around in his pocket for something. at first, stiles thinks derek's looking for his phone, but before stiles can drop his hands so he can slide it out of his pocket to give it to him, derek presses a single-dose packet of ibuprofen into his palm.
stiles blinks at it once, twice, uncurling his fingers from around the little foil square. when he'd asked about pain killers, stiles had assumed they'd just swing by the nearest convenience store on the way home to pick something up. but not only did derek show up without hesitation when stiles said he needed him, but he showed up with what stiles asked for, presumably to minimize the amount of time stiles would have to be in pain if it weren't for derek's neat little trick.
stiles glances up from the pills and pockets them as he looks at derek. the corners of his mouth pull a little, his smile faint at first. he steps forward and twists slightly and, as casually as he can manage, he slides one arm around derek's back and lifts derek's arm, pulling it around his shoulders. he doesn't make derek lean into him, doesn't assume or imply derek needs him for support at all, but he's there all the same, just in case. stiles starts to lead them away from the caves and back toward the center of the down, his pace slow and easy. ]
You wanna take the train or the elevator? Elevator might be faster if we catch it at the right time, but - you can sit down on the train.
[ derek has these moments with stiles that feel... memorable, for no real reason. looking at stiles when he's throbbing with stolen pain, slightly more exhausted from worry than he's letting on and still smelling salt and dirt from being so deep in those caves... looking at him and seeing this thin, battled smile on stiles' face while he struggles to counterbalance how pleased he is to be cared about with a weak, bristling, funny little anger... seeing that expression slip into genuine worry, genuine panic, genuine concern, as he tries to ease his arm out of derek's grip to-- to bear with pain, so that derek won't have to?
this is going to be one of those moments. he's going to remember this. he's going to see stiles' face when he tries to sleep, and then his heart's going to beat fast enough to keep him awake. he's going to roll over tonight, and stiles is going to be there on the other side of the bed, safe and warm, cuddled up against him. he's going to kiss stiles on the back of his neck, and he's going to want to tell him he loves him for the ten thousandth time since fort harmony, and he's going to quietly promise to himself that he'll do everything in his power to keep stiles safe. he's going to remember this.
it's. good. it's really good. derek's going to remember a lot of really good things, because of stiles. it's been a long time since his memories were good.
stiles touches his elbow, his arm. it's soothing and comforting and makes him feel loved, and after siphoning away so much pain, he doesn't have the wherewithal to stop himself from smiling. he just - grins, his smile splitting apart his face and making him look ten years younger, eyes crinkling at the edges and looking all that softer. stiles calls him big guy, and that actually kind of turns derek on more than it should, given that under the sweetness of the moment, he's still sort of annoyed this afternoon went the way that it did.
but it's fine. derek sways on his feet a little and starts to move, grin fading, but stiles intercepts before he can get too far, slinging his arm over his shoulders and offering himself as something to lean on. derek doesn't even notice that that's what he's doing, at first; their bodies fit so neatly and naturally together that he just feels like he's walking comfortably with his boyfriend, like normal couples do. stiles asks a question, and derek doesn't really have much of an opinion, but. he still finds a way to be annoyed. ]
I don't need to sit down. I don't-- ugh.
[ wait, hold on. he realizes all at once that stiles is trying to offer him support, as if he can't walk to the up on his own, or something. ugh. impatiently, derek slaps at stiles' arm and slinks out from underneath it, putting a couple of paces difference between them. all that softness, the sentimentality - that's gone, because now the pain he stole is genuinely starting to get on his nerves, and the ache in his bones is quickly pushing him back into that old grumpy shithead standard he's so well-known for. ]
I don't need to lean on you, either. You dick. I just want to go home.
[ from the direction he's walking, it looks like derek's heading back to the elevator, if only out of spite. he's slightly hunched over, hands in his pockets, and he's not walking as fast as he could. he's not worried - it's only pain, and he's not really injured, so once he gets home and lays down for a while, his body will rush through the healing process and make him feel better.
it's stiles, that he's worried about. the pain might be gone, but that's not going to knit his tailbone back together if it really is damaged. derek drags his feet up the street, one hand on his neck. he feels a little feverish, and that's annoying, more than anything else, because the patchy complexion and the sweat is only going to make stiles think he's suffering more after taking his pain than he is. derek heaves a very big, very canine sigh. ]
Let's - pick up the key to the new place. We can just...
[ derek pauses. he keeps walking. ]
It's not like we have a lot to move from the apartment. We could seriously just... get the key and go.
[ stiles has those kinds of moments too. moments where derek says or does something relatively unremarkable to most, but to stiles, those little moments - when derek laughs unexpectedly, when he says something sarcastic or impressively witty, when he does something so human that it's strange, when he smiles, wide and unguarded and beautiful like he's smiling right now - as few and far between as they are, as they have been over the past two years for stiles, those moments stick.
as they walk, stiles cranes his head up an inch or two to look at derek, patiently waiting for his answer. they have a little ways to walk yet before they'll have to veer off in a specific direction toward whatever derek settles for, but even though stiles may not be in pain anymore, he's not in any particular rush to get anywhere fast, either. the only reason he's not hurting is because derek is now - which stiles is still kind of annoyed about, but it is what it is and stiles will just have to make it up to him somehow. he'll think about it later.
i don't need to sit down, derek says, and stiles opens his mouth to mmmaybe try and push his point, but he just wets his lips instead, licking at the corner of his mouth in a poor attempt to disguise a doubtful, shitty little smile. and then derek smacks at stiles' arm and ducks out from his loose and casual and definitely-not-supporting embrace and puts a little space between them with a handful of wide strides, and stiles just kind of - throws his arms up and rolls his entire head like he's already fed up. he huffs a sigh, dropping his arms so his hands thump lightly against the outside of his thighs, and just. stops.
for no particular reason, stiles stops and he watches derek continue to stomp off, veering in the direction of the elevators like he's going to prove some kind of point here, but stiles just feels... good. he feels a quiet sort of fondness, even after derek calls him a dick for wanting to take care of him - because they're going home, where they live, together. it's still relatively new, stiles living with derek, and sometimes stiles has to remind himself that it's real.
he jogs to catch up to derek, muscles still a little stiff and tight, but not sore, and pulls up at his side with a couple of heavier footsteps as he slows his approach. stiles almost shoves playfully at derek's arm in retaliation for calling him a dick, but catches himself when he notices his's posture and his complexion and his dewy skin. he frowns softly and curls his hand into a loose fist, lightly running his knuckles down derek's side instead before letting his hand fall away.
stiles is concerned, but he also doesn't want to be overbearing, and derek distracts him anyway with talk of their new place. his eyebrows furrow gently and then lift sharply, and he takes a few hurried steps ahead of derek, turning on his heel so he's walking backwards, but also able to face derek a little more head on.
derek... has a point. kind of. stiles doesn't really have a whole lot of stuff to haul - just his backpack, full of clothes and essential toiletries like his toothbrush and deodorant, his laptop and charger, a jar of mountain ash; his bat, and whatever clothes don't fit in his bag, and derek has... probably less, if stiles knows him at all.
stiles holds his hands out a little, taking a quick glance back over one shoulder to make sure he's not about to eat shit again before looking back at derek. ]
... Are you serious? [ his tone isn't accusatory or doubtful. it's quietly hopeful, if anything. ] I mean, I'm down, I'm ready, I'm so ready, but.
[ stiles takes another second or two to look derek over. his mouth twists subtly, and he sighs, anticipating a little push-back here. ]
Are you sure you don't want to just - relax first? I know you're like, a big bad - [ he lifts his hands slightly, spreads his fingers and curls them, bares his teeth to demonstrate werewolf, because he's still wary about saying it out loud here where anyone could hear him and anyway, the gesture itself is up for interpretation, ] - but... that fall really hurt, and I can tell you're feelin' it.
[ 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. ]
[ derek speeds up, but stiles maintains his own pace, mostly because he's still mildly concerned about tripping over his own feet or misstepping over a curb while walking backwards and ending up back on his ass, and he doesn't trust derek not to try and leech his pain again, on top of the pain he's already stole from him. so derek closes some of the distance between them, and when he catches up, stiles kind of... side-steps for a few steps. he crab-walks, does a little number with his feet as he turns and puts himself back next to derek again, opening his mouth to reiterate that he really does want to move, don't get him wrong—
but derek puts his hand up, cutting stiles off before he can even begin, and stiles has maybe two seconds to look mildly offended at being interrupted before derek hits him with fucking - i want a blowjob, completely unexpected, though maybe stiles should have expected it. it's enough to stop him in his tracks for a moment though, enough to actually trip him up a little but not so much that he nearly ends up sprawled on the pavement.
he stands there, blinking after derek as he keeps walking, face kind of... dumb. he looks a little bit like the human equivalent of a blue screen, expression somewhat vacant, eyebrows lifted, eyes vaguely distant. stiles blinks, his stomach flipping subtly. pleasantly. anxiously, as he thinks about the new place - the living room, the wrap-around balcony, the island in the kitchen, picturing himself on his knees—
christ. ]
Hhhokay.
[ he sounds a little weak, a little squeaky, maybe slightly overwhelmed, but in a good way. stiles doesn't have to jog this time to catch back up to derek again, and he closes the space with a couple long, slightly-awkward strides, hands in his pockets once they reach the elevators. he stands at the opposite side of the doors across from derek, idly rocking backwards onto his heels before tilting his weight forward onto flat feet. he repeats this, knees bending slightly every time he rolls onto the balls of his feet.
derek leans against the wall. stiles tries to think of something witty to say, but he's still thinking about blowjobs and how - bad it's probably going to be for derek, because stiles is inexperienced and just because he wants to blow derek... pretty freaking badly, that doesn't mean he's going to be any good at it. it seems relatively straight-forward, but nothing is ever as easy as it seems in stiles' experience.
derek is fantastic at giving blowjobs, though. he's probably got standards.
stiles is just making himself nervous, so he finds something else to focus on so he can stop thinking about derek's dick in his mouth. and that something just happens to be derek himself, slumped against the wall as they wait for the elevator, which, by the sounds of it, is going to take an eternity before it makes it back down to their level.
he laughs. derek calls him stupid, tells him he's wrong, and stiles huffs an amused breath out through his nose, taking his hands out of his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest. his eyebrows arch, eyes narrowing near the corners as he looks derek over. ]
... We're standing here waiting for the elevator, which we both know won't make it back down here for at least another, what - fifteen, twenty minutes? And then it's another ten minute ride between here and there. That's thirty minutes of waiting, it would take maybe ten minutes to get to the train from here, another ten minutes to get back to the Up.
If you want a - blowjob so badly, then why are we taking the long way?
[ stiles unfolds one of his arms, holds his hand out the same way derek did to him, stopping him from interrupting. the question's rhetorical, he's not done. ]
It's because walking hurts more than standing still, doesn't it? And you're in enough pain that you need a break.
[ he gestures at derek with a sweeping hand, from his chest to his knees, and then back up, as if to emphasize his point. his point being that derek is leaning, and it's not as casual as derek might think, at least not to stiles. he softens a little, though, dropping his arms and turning slightly to lean his shoulders against the paneling, opposite from derek, head turned to look at him. ]
... You didn't have to take all of it, you know. I could have handled it.
[ but, you know. thank you. stiles presses his lips together for a moment, then smiles faintly. derek is too good for him, even if he gets on stiles' nerves like - all the fucking time. stiles lightly drums his hands on his thighs, knees locked and legs extended and braced. ]
Let's - get the keys, and we can move our stuff, but you're gonna take it easy when we get there. Don't argue with me. I will pin your ass down and make you relax if I have to. Don't try me.
[ as if stiles could actually hold derek down, but that's not the point, ok. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Fuck off. I don't care about money. I care about you.
[ he brought the drugs, solely because stiles told him to, but - he doesn't exactly trust the drugs here to do what they say they will on the tin. not after the fort. spiking stiles with viagra while he's nursing bruised bones and a potentially bruised ego doesn't seem like the best way to end today, so he offers something else, instead.
stiles holds out his arm, and derek steps closer. he takes stiles' wrist in one hand, just to hold him steady, then grips his forearm with the other. they're still in public, and a quiet, scratchy part of derek's brain is telling him to at least drag stiles back into the cave and out of sight if they're going to do this, but he's impatient and he's worried and he doesn't want to waste any more time.
and then - derek takes stiles' pain. it pulls itself from his veins and coils up through derek's blood in dark, black tendrils, and derek gets tense and sweaty from the effort of it. he can feel the dull ache that stiles is going through transfer into his own body, and he holds stiles' arm a little tighter just in case he tries to pull away. derek closes his eyes when he needs the time to focus, and in twenty, maybe thirty seconds, the black ropes in his arm fade and blend into the rest of his bloodstream.
derek sighs. he lets go, running his thumb over stiles' wrist, soft and reassuring. he opens his eyes, looks at stiles, and he's a little sweaty, a little sore, but he's okay. stiles should be okay now, too. ]
You really scared me.
[ he's repeating himself, mumbling quietly under his breath, but. it's true. derek wets his lips, fishes his hand into his pocket. he's light-headed and sort of lethargic after taking stiles' pain, so he's moving slower than normal, but he fishes out the ibuprofen he promised and curls the packaging in stiles' hand. in case he still wants them for later. ]
C'mon. Home.
no subject
but derek also tells him that he cares about him, and that kind of chases away any desire to argue. it's not as if it's the first time derek's ever said that he cares, but it still feels good. sometimes it's just nice to hear it, to be reminded.
stiles' mouth thins out, like he wants to be kind of mad at derek, but also like he's trying to stave off a pleased little smile. he breathes out a heavy sigh, and then - immediately starts to brace himself as derek closes both of his hands around his arm, one around his wrist, and the other around his forearm. he assumes derek is about to drag his ass through the city, glad that stiles is relatively okay (obviously), but still fed up with him in general. he opens his mouth, about to stammer through a panicky protest about how he's sore and stiff and power-walking is his current enemy—
—but none of that happens. stiles exhales slowly, like derek's pulling the breath out of him too. stiles has had his pain drained once before - by scott, after stiles punched the jeep's engine in a surge of pent up anger and frustration - but that was minor in comparison. not that stiles is dying, but it's easier to cope with a sore hand than it is to cope with a heavily bruised tailbone and a sore lower back.
the pain eases gradually but steadily, the tension slowly melting out of his muscles and making him feel a little woozy and warm with relief. stiles lowers his head slightly as he exhales, his gaze drifting to where derek's hand is curled around his arm, veins dark and black as they reach and fade toward his elbow. it takes stiles a couple of moments to remember that whatever pain derek takes from him, he has to experience himself.
stiles lifts his head up. he takes in the thin sheen of sweat, the mild tension, the effort derek is putting in just - to make him feel better. stiles immediately tries to pull his arm out of derek's grip, just as derek predicted he would, but he doesn't put nearly enough strength behind the tug of his shoulder. his tone is quietly urgent. ]
Derek, wait—
[ he lifts his free hand, but he catches himself before he touches derek, unsure if another point of skin-to-skin contact would just push more of his pain into him, faster. even as his palm hovers near derek's elbow, his other hand curled into a loose fist, stiles' posture starts to improve in increments. his shoulders square up out of their minor slouch, his lower spine straightens out as he breathes in deep, his eyes on derek, ready to do whatever he can to yank his arm free if he thinks, even for a second, that derek is pushing himself too far.
stiles still feels a little unsteady by the time derek opens his eyes, his own eyes flickering over derek's face, his expression a mix of quiet concern and mild affection, but most of all, gratitude. he feels - good. he feels better, and it's a weird feeling, just like it was weird when scott took the throbbing pain from his hand.
derek looks soft and lazy though, and he's quiet, and stiles feels a little guilty, both for scaring derek (enough that derek has mentioned it multiple times) and for being the reason he looks as worn out as he does now. stiles lets his hand settle at derek's elbow finally, cupping his hand around the back of it and letting his palm rub slowly up the back of his bicep and then back down. ]
Sorry, big guy. I just... wanted to check it out. Didn't really think it through. [ he squeezes just above derek's elbow before letting go, his voice still on the quieter side, but trying to sound a little brighter, attempting to reassure him. ] I'm okay, though. ... Thank you.
[ even though he lets derek go, stiles' hands kind of hover for a couple moments longer as derek starts to rifle around in his pocket for something. at first, stiles thinks derek's looking for his phone, but before stiles can drop his hands so he can slide it out of his pocket to give it to him, derek presses a single-dose packet of ibuprofen into his palm.
stiles blinks at it once, twice, uncurling his fingers from around the little foil square. when he'd asked about pain killers, stiles had assumed they'd just swing by the nearest convenience store on the way home to pick something up. but not only did derek show up without hesitation when stiles said he needed him, but he showed up with what stiles asked for, presumably to minimize the amount of time stiles would have to be in pain if it weren't for derek's neat little trick.
stiles glances up from the pills and pockets them as he looks at derek. the corners of his mouth pull a little, his smile faint at first. he steps forward and twists slightly and, as casually as he can manage, he slides one arm around derek's back and lifts derek's arm, pulling it around his shoulders. he doesn't make derek lean into him, doesn't assume or imply derek needs him for support at all, but he's there all the same, just in case. stiles starts to lead them away from the caves and back toward the center of the down, his pace slow and easy. ]
You wanna take the train or the elevator? Elevator might be faster if we catch it at the right time, but - you can sit down on the train.
no subject
this is going to be one of those moments. he's going to remember this. he's going to see stiles' face when he tries to sleep, and then his heart's going to beat fast enough to keep him awake. he's going to roll over tonight, and stiles is going to be there on the other side of the bed, safe and warm, cuddled up against him. he's going to kiss stiles on the back of his neck, and he's going to want to tell him he loves him for the ten thousandth time since fort harmony, and he's going to quietly promise to himself that he'll do everything in his power to keep stiles safe. he's going to remember this.
it's. good. it's really good. derek's going to remember a lot of really good things, because of stiles. it's been a long time since his memories were good.
stiles touches his elbow, his arm. it's soothing and comforting and makes him feel loved, and after siphoning away so much pain, he doesn't have the wherewithal to stop himself from smiling. he just - grins, his smile splitting apart his face and making him look ten years younger, eyes crinkling at the edges and looking all that softer. stiles calls him big guy, and that actually kind of turns derek on more than it should, given that under the sweetness of the moment, he's still sort of annoyed this afternoon went the way that it did.
but it's fine. derek sways on his feet a little and starts to move, grin fading, but stiles intercepts before he can get too far, slinging his arm over his shoulders and offering himself as something to lean on. derek doesn't even notice that that's what he's doing, at first; their bodies fit so neatly and naturally together that he just feels like he's walking comfortably with his boyfriend, like normal couples do. stiles asks a question, and derek doesn't really have much of an opinion, but. he still finds a way to be annoyed. ]
I don't need to sit down. I don't-- ugh.
[ wait, hold on. he realizes all at once that stiles is trying to offer him support, as if he can't walk to the up on his own, or something. ugh. impatiently, derek slaps at stiles' arm and slinks out from underneath it, putting a couple of paces difference between them. all that softness, the sentimentality - that's gone, because now the pain he stole is genuinely starting to get on his nerves, and the ache in his bones is quickly pushing him back into that old grumpy shithead standard he's so well-known for. ]
I don't need to lean on you, either. You dick. I just want to go home.
[ from the direction he's walking, it looks like derek's heading back to the elevator, if only out of spite. he's slightly hunched over, hands in his pockets, and he's not walking as fast as he could. he's not worried - it's only pain, and he's not really injured, so once he gets home and lays down for a while, his body will rush through the healing process and make him feel better.
it's stiles, that he's worried about. the pain might be gone, but that's not going to knit his tailbone back together if it really is damaged. derek drags his feet up the street, one hand on his neck. he feels a little feverish, and that's annoying, more than anything else, because the patchy complexion and the sweat is only going to make stiles think he's suffering more after taking his pain than he is. derek heaves a very big, very canine sigh. ]
Let's - pick up the key to the new place. We can just...
[ derek pauses. he keeps walking. ]
It's not like we have a lot to move from the apartment. We could seriously just... get the key and go.
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as they walk, stiles cranes his head up an inch or two to look at derek, patiently waiting for his answer. they have a little ways to walk yet before they'll have to veer off in a specific direction toward whatever derek settles for, but even though stiles may not be in pain anymore, he's not in any particular rush to get anywhere fast, either. the only reason he's not hurting is because derek is now - which stiles is still kind of annoyed about, but it is what it is and stiles will just have to make it up to him somehow. he'll think about it later.
i don't need to sit down, derek says, and stiles opens his mouth to mmmaybe try and push his point, but he just wets his lips instead, licking at the corner of his mouth in a poor attempt to disguise a doubtful, shitty little smile. and then derek smacks at stiles' arm and ducks out from his loose and casual and definitely-not-supporting embrace and puts a little space between them with a handful of wide strides, and stiles just kind of - throws his arms up and rolls his entire head like he's already fed up. he huffs a sigh, dropping his arms so his hands thump lightly against the outside of his thighs, and just. stops.
for no particular reason, stiles stops and he watches derek continue to stomp off, veering in the direction of the elevators like he's going to prove some kind of point here, but stiles just feels... good. he feels a quiet sort of fondness, even after derek calls him a dick for wanting to take care of him - because they're going home, where they live, together. it's still relatively new, stiles living with derek, and sometimes stiles has to remind himself that it's real.
he jogs to catch up to derek, muscles still a little stiff and tight, but not sore, and pulls up at his side with a couple of heavier footsteps as he slows his approach. stiles almost shoves playfully at derek's arm in retaliation for calling him a dick, but catches himself when he notices his's posture and his complexion and his dewy skin. he frowns softly and curls his hand into a loose fist, lightly running his knuckles down derek's side instead before letting his hand fall away.
stiles is concerned, but he also doesn't want to be overbearing, and derek distracts him anyway with talk of their new place. his eyebrows furrow gently and then lift sharply, and he takes a few hurried steps ahead of derek, turning on his heel so he's walking backwards, but also able to face derek a little more head on.
derek... has a point. kind of. stiles doesn't really have a whole lot of stuff to haul - just his backpack, full of clothes and essential toiletries like his toothbrush and deodorant, his laptop and charger, a jar of mountain ash; his bat, and whatever clothes don't fit in his bag, and derek has... probably less, if stiles knows him at all.
stiles holds his hands out a little, taking a quick glance back over one shoulder to make sure he's not about to eat shit again before looking back at derek. ]
... Are you serious? [ his tone isn't accusatory or doubtful. it's quietly hopeful, if anything. ] I mean, I'm down, I'm ready, I'm so ready, but.
[ stiles takes another second or two to look derek over. his mouth twists subtly, and he sighs, anticipating a little push-back here. ]
Are you sure you don't want to just - relax first? I know you're like, a big bad - [ he lifts his hands slightly, spreads his fingers and curls them, bares his teeth to demonstrate werewolf, because he's still wary about saying it out loud here where anyone could hear him and anyway, the gesture itself is up for interpretation, ] - but... that fall really hurt, and I can tell you're feelin' it.
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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. ]
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but derek puts his hand up, cutting stiles off before he can even begin, and stiles has maybe two seconds to look mildly offended at being interrupted before derek hits him with fucking - i want a blowjob, completely unexpected, though maybe stiles should have expected it. it's enough to stop him in his tracks for a moment though, enough to actually trip him up a little but not so much that he nearly ends up sprawled on the pavement.
he stands there, blinking after derek as he keeps walking, face kind of... dumb. he looks a little bit like the human equivalent of a blue screen, expression somewhat vacant, eyebrows lifted, eyes vaguely distant. stiles blinks, his stomach flipping subtly. pleasantly. anxiously, as he thinks about the new place - the living room, the wrap-around balcony, the island in the kitchen, picturing himself on his knees—
christ. ]
Hhhokay.
[ he sounds a little weak, a little squeaky, maybe slightly overwhelmed, but in a good way. stiles doesn't have to jog this time to catch back up to derek again, and he closes the space with a couple long, slightly-awkward strides, hands in his pockets once they reach the elevators. he stands at the opposite side of the doors across from derek, idly rocking backwards onto his heels before tilting his weight forward onto flat feet. he repeats this, knees bending slightly every time he rolls onto the balls of his feet.
derek leans against the wall. stiles tries to think of something witty to say, but he's still thinking about blowjobs and how - bad it's probably going to be for derek, because stiles is inexperienced and just because he wants to blow derek... pretty freaking badly, that doesn't mean he's going to be any good at it. it seems relatively straight-forward, but nothing is ever as easy as it seems in stiles' experience.
derek is fantastic at giving blowjobs, though. he's probably got standards.
stiles is just making himself nervous, so he finds something else to focus on so he can stop thinking about derek's dick in his mouth. and that something just happens to be derek himself, slumped against the wall as they wait for the elevator, which, by the sounds of it, is going to take an eternity before it makes it back down to their level.
he laughs. derek calls him stupid, tells him he's wrong, and stiles huffs an amused breath out through his nose, taking his hands out of his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest. his eyebrows arch, eyes narrowing near the corners as he looks derek over. ]
... We're standing here waiting for the elevator, which we both know won't make it back down here for at least another, what - fifteen, twenty minutes? And then it's another ten minute ride between here and there. That's thirty minutes of waiting, it would take maybe ten minutes to get to the train from here, another ten minutes to get back to the Up.
If you want a - blowjob so badly, then why are we taking the long way?
[ stiles unfolds one of his arms, holds his hand out the same way derek did to him, stopping him from interrupting. the question's rhetorical, he's not done. ]
It's because walking hurts more than standing still, doesn't it? And you're in enough pain that you need a break.
[ he gestures at derek with a sweeping hand, from his chest to his knees, and then back up, as if to emphasize his point. his point being that derek is leaning, and it's not as casual as derek might think, at least not to stiles. he softens a little, though, dropping his arms and turning slightly to lean his shoulders against the paneling, opposite from derek, head turned to look at him. ]
... You didn't have to take all of it, you know. I could have handled it.
[ but, you know. thank you. stiles presses his lips together for a moment, then smiles faintly. derek is too good for him, even if he gets on stiles' nerves like - all the fucking time. stiles lightly drums his hands on his thighs, knees locked and legs extended and braced. ]
Let's - get the keys, and we can move our stuff, but you're gonna take it easy when we get there. Don't argue with me. I will pin your ass down and make you relax if I have to. Don't try me.
[ as if stiles could actually hold derek down, but that's not the point, ok. ]