headlong 77/?
Jan. 12th, 2012 02:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
januarylight*
Stiles fell asleep on the floor, he’s pretty sure, but he wakes up in bed. He stretches lazily and spreads out onto Derek’s side. Derek threw the covers back getting out of bed; it’s still warm enough not to matter, but Stiles pulls them back up and huddles into the softness. He isn’t drowsy enough to fall back asleep but he wants to, because he’s kind of embarrassed about last night and he’d prefer to postpone seeing Derek as long as possible. He’s naked, but he isn’t sticky anymore, so Derek must have cleaned it off him, jesus.
He buries his head under the pillow, but after a couple minutes of ostriching he decides he’s being ridiculous. He has stuff to do today. He has to call Scott right now, he thinks, digging through Derek’s drawers again; he has to find out how much of a fool Scott made of himself last night and if there’s any chance of recovery. He has to move some of his clothes in here too, because Derek has a dozen black wifebeaters and no boxers. He has to get clothes from his bedroom. And he has to go to class. He definitely has to do that today. Unless it’s Saturday. It might be.
He’s puzzling over that when he steps out of the bedroom, wondering what time it is, if Derek made breakfast, if he should try to talk to Lydia. Derek did make breakfast, and he’s sitting at the table eating it with Stephanie.
“Hi,” Stiles squeaks, and catches himself halfway through windmilling backwards into the bedroom again. There’s still no clothes in there. He straightens with ersatz dignity and marches into his own room before he can give way further.
“Why is everybody always over here?” he mutters into his hand, cheeks flaming hot. This is Derek’s fault for being so hospitable. He doesn’t even like her; why is she eating Stiles’ breakfast?
Once he’s dressed he sidles back outside. “Good morning,” he says, smiling winningly.
“Morning,” Derek grunts.
Stephanie’s dark eyes are dancing with amusement but she doesn’t address Stiles, holding her coffee cup against her mouth longer than necessary. Half a bagel is sitting on the plate in front of her. There better be more bagels for Stiles. He forces himself to stop frowning and refuses to check the kitchen to see if Derek made food for him too, like a puppy scrounging for scraps. “This is awkward,” he says, trying for brightness.
“It’s fine,” Derek says. “We’re talking.”
“Right,” Stiles says, because they aren’t: they’re both sitting there staring at him like they’re waiting for him to go away and leave them to their little confab. Fine, he won’t interrupt.
He goes back into his bedroom and comes back out with an armful of clothes, trekking them over to Derek’s room, ignoring the silence, the eyes he can feel tracking him. He’s just taking care of business. No time like the present. He dumps his bundle on the floor, not bothering to make space for himself yet, and goes back through the living room for another load.
When he comes back through Stephanie is speaking. “—very unlikely any of them will be—“ Stiles doesn’t listen; he doesn’t care.
He drops his second lot on top of the first, considers the otherwise tidy room and figures Derek won't mind. “—and even if they did—“
Why did he bring this many clothes? He’s reluctant to walk his pyjamas and underwear through in front of Stephanie, but he’s committed to this now, so he buries the pile under a few pairs of shoes and hopes she won’t look too closely. “—is very large already—“ He speeds past.
Stephanie isn’t looking at him at all, but Derek’s eyes are fixed on his face as he crosses back to his own room, ignoring Stephanie as she continues to blather away beside him. “—and with the gender imbalance—“
That’s enough, Stiles thinks, although he has very little idea what he’s actually carted into Derek’s bedroom. He grabs his bookbag and goes out to retrieve his laptop from the floor beside Derek. “—desirable addition, but—“
Stephanie stops speaking as Stiles bends over beside Derek, as Derek reaches out and halts Stiles with a hand on his chin, examines his face, touches his thumb to Stiles’ mouth and pushes him away gently. Stiles staggers a little, but tells himself it’s just the laptop throwing off his centre of gravity. “—but we really wouldn’t—“ Stephanie resumes. Stiles so much does not care.
He drops his bags inside the door of the bedroom, triumphant. He needs those though; he has to get to class! It’s ten! He scrambles to the kitchen, just to see, just to check, because surely there'll be something.
“—would appreciate it if—“ Derek is saying, and Stiles wants to listen, he does, but he has to hustle and there’s a bagel on the counter, waiting for him. Pumpkin, yes!
This has been an entirely satisfactory morning.
“Where are you going?” Derek asks.
“I’m late for class!” Stiles throws over his shoulder.
“It’s Sunday!” Stephanie calls as the door closes behind him, and really, there’s no coming back from that, so Stiles just carries on.
Stiles fell asleep on the floor, he’s pretty sure, but he wakes up in bed. He stretches lazily and spreads out onto Derek’s side. Derek threw the covers back getting out of bed; it’s still warm enough not to matter, but Stiles pulls them back up and huddles into the softness. He isn’t drowsy enough to fall back asleep but he wants to, because he’s kind of embarrassed about last night and he’d prefer to postpone seeing Derek as long as possible. He’s naked, but he isn’t sticky anymore, so Derek must have cleaned it off him, jesus.
He buries his head under the pillow, but after a couple minutes of ostriching he decides he’s being ridiculous. He has stuff to do today. He has to call Scott right now, he thinks, digging through Derek’s drawers again; he has to find out how much of a fool Scott made of himself last night and if there’s any chance of recovery. He has to move some of his clothes in here too, because Derek has a dozen black wifebeaters and no boxers. He has to get clothes from his bedroom. And he has to go to class. He definitely has to do that today. Unless it’s Saturday. It might be.
He’s puzzling over that when he steps out of the bedroom, wondering what time it is, if Derek made breakfast, if he should try to talk to Lydia. Derek did make breakfast, and he’s sitting at the table eating it with Stephanie.
“Hi,” Stiles squeaks, and catches himself halfway through windmilling backwards into the bedroom again. There’s still no clothes in there. He straightens with ersatz dignity and marches into his own room before he can give way further.
“Why is everybody always over here?” he mutters into his hand, cheeks flaming hot. This is Derek’s fault for being so hospitable. He doesn’t even like her; why is she eating Stiles’ breakfast?
Once he’s dressed he sidles back outside. “Good morning,” he says, smiling winningly.
“Morning,” Derek grunts.
Stephanie’s dark eyes are dancing with amusement but she doesn’t address Stiles, holding her coffee cup against her mouth longer than necessary. Half a bagel is sitting on the plate in front of her. There better be more bagels for Stiles. He forces himself to stop frowning and refuses to check the kitchen to see if Derek made food for him too, like a puppy scrounging for scraps. “This is awkward,” he says, trying for brightness.
“It’s fine,” Derek says. “We’re talking.”
“Right,” Stiles says, because they aren’t: they’re both sitting there staring at him like they’re waiting for him to go away and leave them to their little confab. Fine, he won’t interrupt.
He goes back into his bedroom and comes back out with an armful of clothes, trekking them over to Derek’s room, ignoring the silence, the eyes he can feel tracking him. He’s just taking care of business. No time like the present. He dumps his bundle on the floor, not bothering to make space for himself yet, and goes back through the living room for another load.
When he comes back through Stephanie is speaking. “—very unlikely any of them will be—“ Stiles doesn’t listen; he doesn’t care.
He drops his second lot on top of the first, considers the otherwise tidy room and figures Derek won't mind. “—and even if they did—“
Why did he bring this many clothes? He’s reluctant to walk his pyjamas and underwear through in front of Stephanie, but he’s committed to this now, so he buries the pile under a few pairs of shoes and hopes she won’t look too closely. “—is very large already—“ He speeds past.
Stephanie isn’t looking at him at all, but Derek’s eyes are fixed on his face as he crosses back to his own room, ignoring Stephanie as she continues to blather away beside him. “—and with the gender imbalance—“
That’s enough, Stiles thinks, although he has very little idea what he’s actually carted into Derek’s bedroom. He grabs his bookbag and goes out to retrieve his laptop from the floor beside Derek. “—desirable addition, but—“
Stephanie stops speaking as Stiles bends over beside Derek, as Derek reaches out and halts Stiles with a hand on his chin, examines his face, touches his thumb to Stiles’ mouth and pushes him away gently. Stiles staggers a little, but tells himself it’s just the laptop throwing off his centre of gravity. “—but we really wouldn’t—“ Stephanie resumes. Stiles so much does not care.
He drops his bags inside the door of the bedroom, triumphant. He needs those though; he has to get to class! It’s ten! He scrambles to the kitchen, just to see, just to check, because surely there'll be something.
“—would appreciate it if—“ Derek is saying, and Stiles wants to listen, he does, but he has to hustle and there’s a bagel on the counter, waiting for him. Pumpkin, yes!
This has been an entirely satisfactory morning.
“Where are you going?” Derek asks.
“I’m late for class!” Stiles throws over his shoulder.
“It’s Sunday!” Stephanie calls as the door closes behind him, and really, there’s no coming back from that, so Stiles just carries on.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 05:18 am (UTC)I laugh myself silly when Stiles walked in naked while they were talking and Stiles thinking it is Derek's fault for being so hospitable. Oh and Stiles running out to class on a Sunday....lmao!
I wonder how Derek is going to respond to the pile of Stiles cloth on the floor in his room and I am curious how Scott is doing.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-13 02:13 am (UTC):D Stiles just lost track of time, what with all the sex, how could anybody expect otherwise? His professors would have understood!
Oh, yeah, you're right -- Derek is treating his own experiences as universal, but he hasn't had all that many experiences, really -- more than enough to make Scott think he knows everything, but he's never even been part of a pack as an adult. So it is perfectly possible, yes.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-13 02:57 am (UTC)True, Derek has never been a part of a pack as an adult, though he did grew up in the culture. We can't discount that. I am still giggling about Derek being considered hospitable.