headlong 74/?
Jan. 9th, 2012 03:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
januarylightStiles and Scott are still hanging out on the couch when Derek gets back from work, watching old episodes of Death Valley on Stiles’ laptop, empty Chinese trays littering the floor around them. “I don’t know how I feel about this,” Scott is saying when Stiles hears the key in the door. Stiles loses some of what Scott says next, head craning over the couch to watch Derek walk towards them, smile slow at him. “—stay indoors all night, the poor werewolf, that doesn’t seem fair, nobody else has to do that, the vampires don’t. Hey, Derek.”
“Dude,” Stiles says, “you stay indoors voluntarily, you don’t even need a law.”
“Exactly,” Scott says triumphantly. “Voluntarily.”
“I don’t think it counts if you mostly only do it because you hate waking up with rabbit hair caught in your teeth.”
“It counts,” Scott says, injured.
Stiles has a rejoinder, but Derek leans down to kiss him hello and he gets distracted. When he resurfaces, Scott is picking up the empty take-out containers, refusing to look their way, face red as a tomato. “We didn’t save you any food,” Stiles murmurs, face still touching Derek’s, thinking about letting Scott fade away again, just for a little while. “Sorry.”
“I need to cook anyway,” Derek says, rubbing his hand over Stiles’ belly, nudging at his cheek until he tips his head all the way back. “The pack is coming over.”
“Oh,” Stiles says. “Because of—“
Derek stands up, backs off. “I was going to tell them.”
“But I thought we—“ Scott is listening, rinsing out plastic boxes in the kitchen; Stiles knows he can’t ask. He wants to know what Derek is going to say about him, and if he’s going to want to hear it.
“It affects them,” Derek says. “They should know.”
“Okay,” Stiles says reluctantly. “But they already do. What—“
“It’s nothing serious,” Derek says, glancing at Scott. “I just need to speak to them about it. We were due a meeting anyway.”
“Okay,” Stiles says, sliding off the couch to pause the video still playing on the screen of his laptop. He goes to help Scott at the sink, drying containers before Scott grabs them out of his hand and dumps them in the garbage. Derek comes over and starts pulling out food. Scott looks interested, but Stiles tugs at his sleeve and looks pathetic. He doesn’t want to lie to Derek, but he doesn’t want to be here right now either.
“So, hey,” Scott says, continuing his streak of being an awesome friend today. “You brought your Star Wars dvds, right? Jeremy was going to buy a set but I told him we could just borrow yours.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Come on, help me find them.” And that gets them into Stiles bedroom and the door shut behind them.
Stiles actually has to dig out the dvds then, but once he has them he drops them on Scott’s chest and flops down on the opposite end of the bed. They kick at each other to get settled and then they lie there peaceably if not exactly comfortably. He looks at his boxes, some still neatly packed, some spilling their contents everywhere. He thinks he should bring some of his clothes into Derek’s room, maybe, for convenience, like earlier today it would’ve been nice if he’d had some clothes of his own to put on. On the other hand, maybe it would have freaked Scott out even more, knowing Stiles had space in Derek’s closet. Stiles groans and turns over, hiding his face against his cool sheets, ignoring Scott’s grunt when he gets a knee in the stomach.
“Dude, relax,” Scott says crossly. “And stop moving.”
“I don’t want to do this,” Stiles confesses.
“You don’t want to do what?” Scott asks, voice strangled. “Derek?”
Stiles almost laughs. “No. I don’t want to hear what he’s going to say to everyone about me. I don’t know what he’s going to say about me.”
“For some weird reason he actually likes you,” Scott says sweetly. “He won’t say anything bad.”
“He might not think so.”
“Well,” Scott says after a moment. “That’s the same with anyone. And you should know.”
Stiles pulls a discarded t-shirt from the bedpost and tosses it over his head. “Maybe I don’t want to.”
“Tough.” Scott plucks the shirt up and spins it away into the wall. “You made your bed.” He looks down. “Or not.”
“Right.” Stiles doesn’t regret it, but he’s miserable, anticipating the worst possible outcomes, humiliation, hurt, disaster, disaster zooming towards him down so many possible avenues.
“Right!” Scott slaps him on the ankle reassuringly.
The doorbell rings. “Who doesn’t have a key?” Stiles asks, brightening.
“Um, Allison,” Scott says, shamefaced. “I was supposed to make her a copy.”
“Could you not?”
“Take it up with her,” Scott says shortly, eyes sliding away from Stiles’, body sliding off the bed. “Come on.”
Stiles hides his sigh under a deep breath, like that’s any better, and follows Scott back out.
“Dude,” Stiles says, “you stay indoors voluntarily, you don’t even need a law.”
“Exactly,” Scott says triumphantly. “Voluntarily.”
“I don’t think it counts if you mostly only do it because you hate waking up with rabbit hair caught in your teeth.”
“It counts,” Scott says, injured.
Stiles has a rejoinder, but Derek leans down to kiss him hello and he gets distracted. When he resurfaces, Scott is picking up the empty take-out containers, refusing to look their way, face red as a tomato. “We didn’t save you any food,” Stiles murmurs, face still touching Derek’s, thinking about letting Scott fade away again, just for a little while. “Sorry.”
“I need to cook anyway,” Derek says, rubbing his hand over Stiles’ belly, nudging at his cheek until he tips his head all the way back. “The pack is coming over.”
“Oh,” Stiles says. “Because of—“
Derek stands up, backs off. “I was going to tell them.”
“But I thought we—“ Scott is listening, rinsing out plastic boxes in the kitchen; Stiles knows he can’t ask. He wants to know what Derek is going to say about him, and if he’s going to want to hear it.
“It affects them,” Derek says. “They should know.”
“Okay,” Stiles says reluctantly. “But they already do. What—“
“It’s nothing serious,” Derek says, glancing at Scott. “I just need to speak to them about it. We were due a meeting anyway.”
“Okay,” Stiles says, sliding off the couch to pause the video still playing on the screen of his laptop. He goes to help Scott at the sink, drying containers before Scott grabs them out of his hand and dumps them in the garbage. Derek comes over and starts pulling out food. Scott looks interested, but Stiles tugs at his sleeve and looks pathetic. He doesn’t want to lie to Derek, but he doesn’t want to be here right now either.
“So, hey,” Scott says, continuing his streak of being an awesome friend today. “You brought your Star Wars dvds, right? Jeremy was going to buy a set but I told him we could just borrow yours.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Come on, help me find them.” And that gets them into Stiles bedroom and the door shut behind them.
Stiles actually has to dig out the dvds then, but once he has them he drops them on Scott’s chest and flops down on the opposite end of the bed. They kick at each other to get settled and then they lie there peaceably if not exactly comfortably. He looks at his boxes, some still neatly packed, some spilling their contents everywhere. He thinks he should bring some of his clothes into Derek’s room, maybe, for convenience, like earlier today it would’ve been nice if he’d had some clothes of his own to put on. On the other hand, maybe it would have freaked Scott out even more, knowing Stiles had space in Derek’s closet. Stiles groans and turns over, hiding his face against his cool sheets, ignoring Scott’s grunt when he gets a knee in the stomach.
“Dude, relax,” Scott says crossly. “And stop moving.”
“I don’t want to do this,” Stiles confesses.
“You don’t want to do what?” Scott asks, voice strangled. “Derek?”
Stiles almost laughs. “No. I don’t want to hear what he’s going to say to everyone about me. I don’t know what he’s going to say about me.”
“For some weird reason he actually likes you,” Scott says sweetly. “He won’t say anything bad.”
“He might not think so.”
“Well,” Scott says after a moment. “That’s the same with anyone. And you should know.”
Stiles pulls a discarded t-shirt from the bedpost and tosses it over his head. “Maybe I don’t want to.”
“Tough.” Scott plucks the shirt up and spins it away into the wall. “You made your bed.” He looks down. “Or not.”
“Right.” Stiles doesn’t regret it, but he’s miserable, anticipating the worst possible outcomes, humiliation, hurt, disaster, disaster zooming towards him down so many possible avenues.
“Right!” Scott slaps him on the ankle reassuringly.
The doorbell rings. “Who doesn’t have a key?” Stiles asks, brightening.
“Um, Allison,” Scott says, shamefaced. “I was supposed to make her a copy.”
“Could you not?”
“Take it up with her,” Scott says shortly, eyes sliding away from Stiles’, body sliding off the bed. “Come on.”
Stiles hides his sigh under a deep breath, like that’s any better, and follows Scott back out.
