2015.08.16 - Breakfast with Derek Gets Too Close for Comfort

**Emitter:** N/A

*After crashing at Derek's place, Stiles makes breakfast, and the two try to hang out. It gets too personal, though, and Derek can't quite take it. Stiles is left worried and frustrated. Good times.*

August 16, 2015

Derek Hale's Loft, Beacon Hills

*This takes place the morning after 2015.08.15 - "I'm Bored" Means "I Love You" -- Or, Stiles Has a Betty and Veronica Problem.*

Stiles wakes up with that same warm, secure feeling that he had the other day... only this time it's snuggly and nice instead of... crushy and nice. He stirs, finding himself still nestled against Derek, and the surge of happy, gushy feelings inside him is almost enough to make himself sick. Almost. He shifts a bit, leaning over to nuzzle against Derek without even thinking about it. This kind of contentment is so unusual for him. It's not even quite the same as with Lance. Lance is by turns peaceful and exciting, as is Derek... but it's not the same. Like the difference between chocolate and vanilla, they're both richly delicious, but until you've had them, it's impossible to explain. He looks round, checking to see if the big werewolf beside him is awake.

There's a soft little sound like "mm" from Derek, and it's rumbly and deep and made even rougher by the sleep that they've both fallen into. It's the storm's fault. Rain always makes it easier to sleep. Stiles is evidently the first one awake, though Derek does seem to be steadily coming out of his sleep, little by little.

The storm itself has waned for the moment, it seems like -- no loud thunder, no lightning to see, but rain still comes down with a steadiness that is greater than just a sprinkle.

Stiles goes very still once he sees that Derek is still asleep. How often does he get to do *this*? Breathing as softly as he can, Stiles lies half-turned-over, just watching Derek sleep and begin to stir in silent fascination. It's such a quiet, personal, beautiful moment, that very little in Stiles' usually snarky and cynical outlook really quite suits the moment. So he shuts up and tries to enjoy it.

Soon Derek's eyes open, lashes fluttering for only a second before they're OPEN. It's like he goes from asleep to awake like flipping a switch: there is no middle part, no transition, he's either on or he's off. "Mmmhnnnmm." Though that is definitely a different sort of noise to hear from him. It's not one he apparently makes other than when he wakes up. It's kind of like a question, but he hasn't really put words into it.

Stiles, who has managed to lie so still and quiet while watching Derek wake, can't quite contain himself any longer. He just puts on a big grin--all just honest happiness, not a trace of snark, which seems to be becoming a trend with him around *certain people*--and says, "Hey there, Sourwolf. Mornin'." He restrains himself, barely, from trying to kiss Derek good morning. Much as he'd like to, he doesn't want to spoil the moment.

Derek looks around as he sits up, yawning and stretching, then scratching at his sides. His gaze returns to Stiles though. He registers that Stiles has spoken, though it takes him a few kind of long seconds before answering him in kind. "Mmmmhhh." It's another one of his sounds that doesn't quite become words, and he never really gets to the words point. It must be too early for sourwolves.

Stiles sits up, too, though behind Derek's back, and carefully reaches around him from there, slipping his arms around that big, muscular chest to snuggle him softly, nuzzling just lightly at his shoulder. "You are so cuddly," he sighs in spite of himself. "I never sleep better than with you." Then, he reminds himself that he's making the mouth-talky-noises at Derek when Derek is clearly not awake yet, and he gives him one more squeeze. "I'll go make coffee," he says, and goes to slide from the bed and do just that.

Derek glances back, although of course he can't see over his shoulder. He doesn't seem to mind the hugging and all, reaching up to pat one of Stiles's arms. Once he's alone, he yawns and stretches again, and gradually he makes his way off the bed, stretching out once more as he gets to his feet and then tromps along to the kitchen. Does Stiles even know how to make coffee? He wonders to himself.

"Um, Derek?" Stiles calls out, helplessly. "What the hell is this?" He holds up the French press he found on the counter beside the coffee tin. "It doesn't even... plug in." His face falls, and he holds it out to Derek in a pouty little *Make it work!* gesture to Derek, like a child with a broken toy.

And Derek hasn't even had time to wake up. He gives Stiles a "really?" look -- brow up, eyes flared -- but he takes the press and goes to right where he needs to go. First, pot of water, which he sets to boiling on the stove. Then he finds the coffee and starts to scoop it into the grinder, pausing for a second. Yeah, he has a guest, so he'll need to make a bigger batch. He adds more to the grinder.

Stiles is relieved when Derek takes over, but he's not to be deterred! He goes rummaging around and finds a frying pan and a spatula, which he holds up triumphantly and declares, "Fine! But I'll make breakfast!" Apart from sandwiches and mac'n'cheese, it's basically the only thing he knows how to cook. Setting the pan and spatula down, Stiles goes to investigate what Derek has in the fridge.

Derek just sort of looks at Stiles. It's way too early for this kind of enthusiasm. He just keeps doing what he's doing and, once he's finally gone through this elaborate ritual -- which is simpler than it looks to someone who doesn't know it! -- he has two cups of coffee steaming nicely and probably two more in the press waiting to be poured up as refills. One is placed next to where Stiles is apparently working on breakfast, the other tipped to Derek's lips. There. That's getting the systems rolling.

By the time the coffee's done, Stiles has scrounged up some eggs, cheese, an avocado, and some sourdough bread. He begins to cook with the confidence of someone who's done it all before, cheerfully announcing, "The only thing you don't have is stuff for waffles. Next time I stay over, I'm bringing you waffle stuff." Because *waffles*. He begins frying the eggs sunnyside up, quickly slicing the avocado--apparently also not beyond his culinary limits--and then, via some quick voodoo of flipping pans and juggling a plate, gets the eggs into the bread along with cheese and avocados, and begins toasting the resulting sandwiches in the pan.

Derek is impressed, not to mention more awake little by little as he takes in the aroma of the cooking food mingled with the coffee he's drinking, which is rich and strong and delicious. He licks his lips, leaning against the counter, and faintly, very faintly, a one-sided sort of smile touches his mouth. "I admit it. I never thought you'd be good at food."

"It's part of the whole 'single parent household' gig," Stiles explains, slightly picking up one sandwich and leaving it to toast a bit longer on that side. "Dad usually took care of dinner, and I bought lunch at school, so..." he shrugs. "I learned to make breakfast. Cheerios got a little old eventually. And if you're from California and don't know what to do with an avocado... I dunno. You're basically doomed." Then he does flip the sandwiches, which are a pleasing gold along the cooked side. "I can actually *make* pancakes and waffles, and I'm not bad at omelets, but--and I know, it's like a sin--I never got good at cooking bacon. It's always either too soft or burnt."

"I usually just have coffee," Derek answers. And as if to illustrate this, he takes another mouthful of delicious french roast, swallowing it down after letting it sit and its taste open on his tongue. He must make up for it at other times of the day though, judging by those muscles of his. It wouldn't be a surprise if he started off every day with a four-course meal. It's got to come from somewhere.

"Lemme guess," Stiles says, sliding the sandwiches onto the cutting board and the pan into the sink. "You're a big lunch kind of guy?" He slices each big sandwich into three narrow strips, transferring them to the plate without any disasters, and then glances up to admit, "That's the part where I usually screw it up. We got lucky!" Then, flashing a grin, he puts the knife in the sink. Picking up the plate and his own coffee mug, he says, "I hope you'll eat *now*, or I'm gonna feel pretty dumb about cooking!" And he carries it all back into the living room to serve on the coffee table.

"Most of the time, I eat when I can." Derek just watches Stiles move, not getting in the way or interrupting his flow. Once it's taken to the coffee table though, he picks up both coffee cups and takes them along, setting each by its corresponding plate and lowering himself to the couch. "Looks great -- wait." For a time, he just stares ahead. "Right. School's not in yet." And it's the weekend. He thinks?

"Also, it's Sunday," Stiles agrees, then flashes a grin. "Aw, Sourwolf! Were you gonna make me get ready for school and all that? That's... kind of awful. But still adorable." He lifts the coffee, taking a sip, and makes the kind of sound that only a true coffee-drinker understands, a mingling of pleasure and relief. "Okay," he says with a contented sigh, "Your weird coffee system is worth it. That's good." Then he picks up a slice of sandwich and dives in, taking a giant bite. A dainty eater, Stiles is not.

Derek is, perhaps surprisingly, more of a careful eater. He takes a slow approach, careful to take regular sips of his coffee as he eats. He makes a few small but appreciative sounds of clear approval for this breakfast. Maybe he isn't usually a big breakfast person, but this is good. "I don't want your father hearing you weren't at school and then finding out you were sleeping over at my place." He takes another bite and chews. Even if he's polite about it and slow, steady, those are kind of big bites. "Good breakfast."

Stiles doesn't talk much until he's finished two thirds of his sandwich and half the cup of coffee, and then he finally relaxes some. Derek's concern brings a cheerful smirk to his lips, and Stiles says, "Don't worry. I don't think he's into the shotgun wedding thing." He falls quiet for a moment, just savoring the coffee, and then he says quietly, "Thanks." It's no quite clear whether this is in reference to Derek's approval of the food or his concern over the whole school thing.

Derek's eyes narrow as he directs them towards Stiles. He had opened his mouth to take another bite of food, but he slowly closes it again, sandwich held up at face-level. "I wasn't imagining a 'wedding' component there." Then, still facing Stiles, he takes that delayed bite and chews. Pointedly. Like he's got something to prove by eating.

Stiles holds back the laughter with mixed success, but he does manage not to explode food or coffee everywhere. "I figured," he says amidst his mirth, "but that's why it was a *joke*." He takes a sip of the coffee, steadying, and adds in an almost convincingly serious tone, "In actuality, my dad's *totally* into the shotgun wedding thing." He tries, then, to mimic Derek's "proving the point by eating" thing with his last section of sandwich, but... well, he lacks that quintessential Derekness to pull it off.

Derek's eyes shift to look at Stiles's sandwich, then his mouth, then up to his eyes again. He asks a question with his very expression, which is probably why he doesn't speak during it, and indeed doesn't break the silence again until he puts his sandwich down on the plate for the moment. "Stiles, it doesn't work if we're both *guys*. I can't get you pregnant."

Stiles doesn't put the sandwich down until he's managed to devour three quarters of it. He's only just finished swallowing when Derek makes his observation, and Stiles is immediately grateful for the timing. He takes a sip of coffee to get past the coughing fit that threatens, and then he boggles openly at the werewolf. "I... we... pregnant?" His eyes are doing their best impression of saucers, and he seems to have utterly lost his capacity for speech.

Derek is at least as surprised at the reaction, although it's more confusion than anything else. "Shotgun weddings? Because he gets her pregnant?" Now it's the "come on Stiles, we're on the same page here. Please be on the same page" look. In an attempt to encourage, he raises his brows and widens his eyes slightly.

"Oh," Stiles says, with the air of someone who's just put two previously separate ideas together. "Right. Pregnant. That makes sense." He blushes a bit, and then he picks up the last remnant of sandwich. "Well, uh, I guess you're right. That's not going to be a major issue. Or, well. Any kind of issue." He shoves the last of his sandwich into his mouth, crunching, and generally goes all quiet and thoughtful.

Derek's gaze lingers, as if he's not sure if Stiles might sprout a second head or something. When he appears to be sufficiently satisfied, he moves back to finishing his food, then sits back with his coffee cradled between his hands. "Thanks. I should get you to cook breakfast for me more often." He doesn't punctuate this with laughter, nor really with any significant change in tone, so maybe it's not a joke. Or is it? Derek just quietly sips his coffee.

Stiles may or may not have gotten the joke. He brightens, grinning a bit lopsidedly, and picks up his coffee. "Hey, sure! I like cooking for someone besides myself, and if I'm here for breakfast, that probably means I got to stay over, and you know I love to--" And then he catches on. Blinking a bit, he then narrows his eyes. "Wait. Are you making fun of me?"

Derek finishes his cup of coffee and starts to roll forward, to get to his feet. But he stops right in mid-roll, looking very awkward indeed as he slowly turns his head to gives Stiles another of the looks they seem to share. It's too early in the morning for too many words, especially from a wolf more accustomed to body language. "Of course, because you just made me the best and only breakfast I've had in the past year. Of course I'm making fun of you, I love to make fun of people that do nice things for me, there are so many of them." Then he continues into the incomplete gesture and gets up, reaching a hand over towards Stiles's cup. "Do you want a refill?"

Stiles turns quite red at this, ducking his head some, and says, "Yes, please." Damn his suspicious nature! Derek was being so sweet, too. Stiles hops up too, then, determined to get his guest-at-Derek's score back up, and picks up both plates to carry them into the kitchen. "Uh, let me just... clean up." Which he *never* volunteers to do, but... well, he *is* trying to make a point here. So he carries the plates into the kitchen and prepares to wash the few dishes he dirtied while preparing breakfast! That should make a good impression, right? Maybe it'll even make up for his dumb jokes, failing to understand the pregnancy reference, and being weird about Derek saying thank you.

Suddenly, Stiles understands why people have image consultants. Making a good impression is hard!

Derek nods and goes to pour up two more cups of coffee, but when Stiles gets to the sink, he joins him. Apparently he's not going to let his guest do dishes alone. Because even a big bad wolf must think that would be kind of rude. "You cooked, why don't you let me wash the dishes? Drink your coffee." It is nice and steaming and aromatic, especially delicious now that the flavors have had time to really develop in the press.

Stiles is thrown off his whole neurotic worry by Derek's gesture, and he even blushes a little, but he takes the coffee and steps just far enough away from the sink so it's clear that he's going along with Derek's suggestion. He leans back against the counter and sips the coffee, and after a moment he says, "Thanks."

Derek smiles a little wider, still that thin smile, and not too long on the face. But it's long enough for Stiles to see, and it's certainly long enough to be remarkable. He starts washing the dishes like he's some sort of automated dishwasher in humanoid form, with the same sort of urgent efficiency with which he does everything. There is a glance afforded to Stiles, just a brief flick of the eyes, but he looks back to his work almost at once. It's just...nice not to be alone, and not to have to constantly question. Surely Stiles, of all people, isn't a danger to him. Stiles is right.

Stiles sips coffee while Derek does dishes. It feels kinda odd, but also nice... in a domestic kind of way. And Derek seems so relaxed! Stiles all but exudes a little aura of cheerfulness. Again, it's something others may not be used to. Stiles has often had a bit of a chip on his shoulder, feeling that life likes to kick him too often to really be happy for long. But lately, he's had more and more things present themselves that he just can't *not* be happy about. Like this quiet little moment. He glances out the narrow window, overlooking the balcony, and notes, "I think the sun's coming out."

"Is it?" Derek rinses the dishes and stacks them in the drainer, wiping off his hands on the little towel. It's a plain, neutral color. Kind of typical for Derek. It's not that he gets cheap things, because he totally doesn't -- they're good quality and probably a good many expensive or at least not cheap. But they're just...so dull. He could roll around in the dirt in a post-autumn forest and pick up more interesting colors.

Stiles may be reflecting on Derek's oddly lackluster color palette choices, but if so, he doesn't comment. Instead he turns and approaches Derek, carefully hugging him from behind. Without any particular explanation, he just says, "...Thanks."

Derek goes still when he's hugged. He seems to do that whenever it happens, like he really doesn't want to do anything that might risk ruining the moment maybe? Or maybe he's just not sure how to handle this new physical interaction. Hugs! Who has those? Not Derek Hale, at least not enough. Not as much as probably anyone else in Beacon Hills. "For what?"

Lately, Stiles seems to be trying to remedy that deficit! He slides around to one side, so he can look Derek in the eyes, but doesn't release his waist. "For... coffee. For letting me stay over. For... being here." He hesitates, almost unsure if he can get away with this level of sincerity, but then he shrugs and just says, admittedly, "...For being you."

Derek wears that expression of happy, but not getting ridiculous or expressive or anything. "You made breakfast," he answers this. As if that completely just waves off everything else. He places a hand on top of Stiles's head, but he doesn't ruffle his hair or anything. He just leaves it there.

Stiles keeps up the hug for long enough to really make his point... but not *quite* so long that it gets weird to be standing there. Then he steps back, grinning a bit, and says, "Well, you're my *favorite* sourwolf. Making breakfast just seemed like the nice thing to do."

"I'm the only one." Derek points out. And he's right, but he gives the impression that he's not really trying to counter the point, he's just pointing it out. He keeps his hand on Stiles's head a little longer, then lets it fall back to his side. "So what now?" After yesterday, he's pretty sure that just doing what he usually does will end up with a similar situation of acrobatics and book-flinging.

"Well," Stiles says thoughtfully. "I dunno." He gives Derek the thoughtful side-eye. "I'm... trying very hard to be good right now," he admits. "But it's not coming easily, and... maybe I shouldn't talk." He smirks a little. "I don't want to get too creative. I mean, I was trying to see what would happen if I annoyed you last night--how you'd react--and it ended up good, but the whole argument thing wasn't what I had in mind, either."

Derek turns to lean sidelong on the counter, regarding Stiles as he does. He folds his arms over his chest again, though the leaning makes it a bit more of a casual resting pose than an assertive or authoritative one. "Sundays are boring." Maybe the sun is going to come out. But the rain's going to have a last hurrah, it sounds like: hard drops rapping on panes of glass.

"Don't *have* to be," Stiles declares, but he also gives a shrug. The renewed rain draws his interest, and he wanders over to look out the window at the heavy droplets spattering the pane. "...You're a tough nut to crack, I'll give you that," he says absently, just sort of letting his mouth wander while his brain checks out. "I still can't believe the whole 'I'm bored' thing didn't work yesterday."

Derek watches Stiles go. With no one watching, he can let his gaze wander, he can appreciate the lines and curves and ripples in what Stiles wears and the body it indicates underneath. He's sized him up before, but not like this, not like he does while he's watching the rain. "I guess we don't have hobbies in common." He pushes off the counter and slowly makes his way in the direction of the window, though he stops a few feet away. Not that he has many hobbies really at all, to be fair.

Stiles turns slowly back to Derek, his brow furrowing again. "That can't be right," he says, frowning. "We've gotta have *something* in common." He smirks a little. "Y'know, besides breakfast, and... you smacking my ass." He chuckles to himself, then, and turns to look over his shoulder at Derek, grinning.

Derek's brows lift as one, but only slightly. It's not like he'd forget something like that so soon, especially something that actually seemed to work and make some difference. It does make him grin though, and not the slow, slight hint of a smile, but more of his "big bad wolf" grin that Stiles will know. "I'm waiting for suggestions."

Stiles gives Derek a kind of sideways twist of his mouth, a thoughtful and measuring kind of look, and then shrugs. "I'm having a really hard time keeping my brain anywhere near 'appropriate' right now," he admits with a sigh. "And I don't want to freak you out. Let's just say that I've got myself thinking about you taking off my pants... and yeeeaaah."

Derek turns slightly, then turns the rest of the way around. There's a very slight movement that even Stiles can see with his back turned. He's actually trying not to make a big thing of it, but he really doesn't want Stiles to see him laughing. He just knows it's going to be taken the wrong way, but he honestly can't help himself. Stoic alpha has to hide his feelings!

Stiles takes it the wrong way anyway, thinking he's made Derek uncomfortable, and sighs. "Yep, I'll go look and see what I can find on Netflix," he mutters, turning to walk (only a *bit* dejectedly) out of the room to go and find his laptop.

"No!" Derek answers, turning back around and trying to push the laughter off his face. It's very hard to keep himself quiet and all, but he manages. Years of practice. "I mean...okay." He kind of awkwardly adjusts his response, taking a few more seconds to fully banish the hilarity from his visage before pursuing Stiles at a slightly quicker speed than necessary.

Stiles gives Derek a weird look at that sudden reaction and change of opinion. Okaaay, Derek. That was weird. But he shrugs it off, going to plug in the laptop, and sets it up on the coffee table. He loads up Netflix, then groans. "Ugh. THIS." He gestures at the "last played" movie, called *The Wolves of Kromer*. "This movie was *so* bullshit. It was narrated by Boy George, which is random, but then--it's about these two hot werewolf dudes who are in love... and then they get murdered by lame townspeople. The only gay werewolf movie I know of, and it's a complete travesty of cinema." He starts scrolling through other titles. Of course, the most interesting part of all that is probably that Stiles knows who Boy George is.

"That does sound lame." Derek sits beside Stiles. The Boy George thing doesn't escape him, although he's also not sure why Stiles would know that. But he seems to know a lot of strange trivia, and this would be another one of those. Not sure what use it actually has in his life, though. Derek imagines it must have come up somewhere, at some time. It must have been useful once, and he just maybe never forgot it. "So...is this your research?" Gay werewolf movies. He wonders what he watched when they found out Scott was a werewolf. The Howling? Silver Bullet?

Stiles snorts. "No! Seriously? Werewolf movies are just a guilty pleasure. I mean, come on. *The Wolf Man*, *The Howling*, *An American Werewolf in London*? Just... clasics. Some good, some so bad they're good... but the point is, the wolves at least have to be *badass*, even if the ending is dumb." He shakes his head, frowning harder and harder at the computer. Nothing looks good. "Man. Do *you* have any favorite movies? Because at this point we're down to TV series you won't like, anime, lame comedies, or bad softcore gay porn pretending to be a movie." He smirks. "Oh, or we could watch one of the dozen or two movies by this same guy, where it's always set in this same weird mansion, and it's just long shot after long shot of dudes in their underwear wandering around it until they gradually get killed off by whatever random monster they picked for that movie."

Derek opens his mouth to answer, then shuts it again after this torrent of possibilities. He's just not at all sure what to think about any of these things, or the appropriateness of watching them with Stiles. It's also not that easy to think of movies he's seen and enjoyed that Stiles wouldn't be bored by. He much prefers books, on the whole. But how can he say that? So after at least two minutes of total silence, with Derek staring at the screen determinedly, as if it would just produce something for him, he just sort of shrugs in an apologetic manner.

Stiles gives Derek a long look, and then he finally just does a search, clicks, and hits the play button. Flopping back on the couch, he says, "Fine. If you won't pick, we'll both just suffer until you decide on something!" And, apparently he feels that his film choice will accomplish this: Joel Schumacher's film version of *The Phantom of the Opera* from 2004.

"I don't watch movies, Stiles." Derek seems to be willing to watch this one anyway, though. He's never seen it, which is probably not surprising at all. He remains impassive. So impassive. In a way, he's not really sure how to do this. He hasn't really gone to the movies in...years. And definitely not on a full adult date with anyone! It ends up being an occasion with some novelty. Something occurs to him, and he suddenly turns to Stiles, but then stops himself. "We just had breakfast."

Stiles reaches out and pauses the movie, sighing a bit at Derek in mild frustration. "You know, you're *really* bad at this," he complaints, though not in a serious tone. He slumps on the couch. "Scratch plan 'Put on a lame movie so Derek will make out with me,' then," he sighs, sinking down a few inches in his seat.

"Stiles. I don't watch movies!" Derek restates. He had thought they might put on popcorn, but the whole "just had breakfast" thing instead occurred to him. He slumps a bit too, brows lowering in a frustrated frown, though more frustrated at himself than anyone else. He just doesn't have the experience or the context necessary to provide Stiles with the entertainment he apparently needs.

Stiles reaches over and shuts the laptop. Then he climbs up onto the couch and just... sits in Derek's lap. He puts his hands on Derek's shoulders, giving him a mild shake, and says, "Well, what can we do *together*? I'm trying to get you to try things we can do together! Books are great, but they suck as group entertainment. You don't do movies... so... maybe we should try going out and..." He blushes faintly for some reason as he says, "...shoot pool or something. Sometime." Then he frowns. "But... I'm not really being fair to you. I keep... *wanting* stuff before you're ready for it. I'm sorry."

Derek allows himself to be lap-sat and shaken. "I'm willing to try movies," he calmly replies, and with not inconsiderable patience in dealing with all of this newness and all of the enthusiasm that far outdoes anything he'd seen in Stiles before. "Just don't *expect* things from me if you don't *tell* me what they are!" And a little bit of irritation showing there. He hasn't been disagreeable! He thinks! He just is so lost with what Stiles seems to envision, as opposed to the reality of the matter.

Stiles leans over and opens up the computer again. He navigates to another site, then loads it up... and cues up *Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope*. "Okay," he says pointedly, "*This* is a for-real movie I want to watch with you." He slides off of Derek's lap, snuggling up against his side instead. "But... if you decide you want to kiss me or... anything else... during it... Just remember I'd like that, okay?" He unpauses it, then, and settles back as the Lucasfilm logo pops up.

"Oh. Yeah, I've seen this." Derek actually has some foundation here! Something he knows, something he recognizes! He thinks back, and it's a good memory, though not entirely a happy one. He remembers when he saw it for the first time, when he was much younger. When his family was still around. Under the surface, there's a lot going on, like a swan. After a while it seems a little bit like he's not watching so much as he is experiencing the memory of watching in his mind.

Stiles watches Derek watch the movie just as much as he actually watches the movie. When he realizes that the film seems to be evoking an emotional response, he reaches out to gently lay a hand across Derek's. "Hey," he asks softly. "You okay, Sourwolf? Did I make a bad pick?"

Derek starts, though not too sharply. It's like something has brought him suddenly, abruptly back to the here and now, and he turns with a slight alarm in his eyes, which then quickly enough vanishes. "No. I'm fine." A thin, unconvincing smile, before he settles back to watching it again. He can deal with this! He can get this. He's sure of it.

Stiles sighs softly. "Derek?" he asks softly. "I'm... not gonna ask you to talk about anything you don't want to, but... I do have a request." He looks up at Derek, trying to meet his eyes. "Don't... don't lie to me? Even if it's a little white lie? Just... tell me not to ask, if you want. I'll understand. But... you don't seem fine. Maybe... maybe I'm *way* off, and if I am, I'm sorry, but... if you ever feel like you need to lie to me... Don't. Okay?"

That just makes Derek frown again, and for a time he just turns back to the screen. But after a few minutes, without turning to look at Stiles, he does at least say something. "I was just...thinking about the past. When I first saw this." It's all stated so softly, like it might be breakable. Every time he uses words with his voice, he seems to either fling them haphazardly out like weapons or cushion them like glass.

Stiles slides his arms around Derek and gives him a *squeeze*. "Do you want to stop? I didn't... shit, Derek. I never thought that *Star Wars* might be depressing for you. I'm sorry. I can turn it off... we can watch something else instead." It's a sobering thing, for Stiles, to think that something that brings him so much joy might be sad for Derek. If he thinks about it, he *does* get it. He used to watch this movie with his parents, after all.

Derek shakes his head, just once. "It's special," he continues, as if he hadn't paused at all. "You wanted to watch it with me. You can make new memories...right?" He turns his head then, just slightly, to look at Stiles. To see his feelings in his face, and Derek knows they're there: Stiles is nowhere near as emotionally suppressive as he is.

Stiles' expression is hard to read, if only because for once it's trying to display a lot of emotions at once. Normally he tends to gravitate toward one strong feeling at a time, at least on the surface. There's something about the eyes, though, that's clearly grateful. Something in his mouth that speaks of sadness, a hint of understanding in the set of his jaw. Derek, so good at reading body language, will be able to sort through the details.

Derek moves with purpose, as always. His arm lightly slides around Stiles, around his waist from the back, and he keeps his gaze on the boy. He meant what he said: new memories. He can let go, even if he knows in his mind that those thoughts will come back from time to time, sooner or later -- probably sooner, knowing Derek and Beacon Hills -- but new memories and experiences are just as important. Maybe more.

Stiles snuggles up close. He watches the movie in silence for a while, right up until the scene where Luke finds his murdered aunt and uncle, and then Stiles cringes. Sighing a bit, he murmurs, "You know, I feel st--uh, kind of silly. I've been watching this movie my whole life... and I never once thought seriously about the story before. It was just... 'cool.' But when you think about the characters as *people*... it's way more interesting. And pretty sad."

It didn't really seem to be affecting Derek much more after that moment, but then when Stiles points it out, it occurs to him that it is really sad. And that makes it hard to put aside the thoughts he'd mentioned just a few minutes earlier. "They are people," he points out in agreement of sorts. "What do you usually think of them as?" It could be a smart-assed, sarcastic question, but it doesn't really have the emphasis for that.

"I... don't," Stiles tries to explain. "It's like... you just know the story so well, it's just a detail. It's just a pattern. Like... in Little Red Riding hood, at least the original, the grandmother gets killed. So does the wolf, in most versions. But nobody thinks about how that sucks... like, wow, how fucked up is a situation where some poor wolf is starving so bad that he has to go and trick his way into an old lady's house and eat her? Why would a wolf do that when he could hunt deer. So, obviously he was starving. And so the grandmother dies. The wolf dies. And all anyone thinks of is the pattern. Nobody thinks... wow. That's fucked up."

Derek takes his attention from the movie and places it on Stiles as he speaks. The points are made, and they're valid points, admittedly. His reaction is muted as ever, at least in the face, but his thoughts come once he's sure it's his turn. He always seems to leave a space, at least in polite conversation, to be sure it's time to speak. "I always did." It's so plain, but it's honest. They were people to him, no matter how many times he'd heard a story. And that story specifically...the whole thing was a very conflicted story to learn, growing up the way he did. "In one of the earlier versions, the wolf gets her to take off her clothes and get in bed with him. Do you know what saves her?"

Now Stiles just feels dumb again, though upon further reflection he realizes that it's a pretty common problem. Derek's a minority that's been marginalized by the mainstream cultural narrative, like so many others. Werewolves are "evil" in stories because stories say so. It's all very incestuous. But then Derek's referencing another version of the story that Stiles doesn't know, and plain old curiosity wins out. Blinking a bit, he shakes his head. "No... I don't know that one. What?"

Derek leans closer. "Imagine it...there's a wolf. In your bed. And you know he's there. He's got a disguise, but it's not a good one." His voice lowers, until it's almost an intimate sort of whisper. It's the kind of tone he could be imagined to take when he's murmuring secrets of love. His eyes are locked with Stiles's own. His scent is strong, too, from having slept and not showered yet. It's not unpleasant, just...enhanced, especially with him being so close. "But you're playing along. So you take off your clothes right while he watches. You're naked. You have nothing to defend yourself. You have nothing at all. And you slide into bed, and you can feel him there. You know who he is. You know what he is. So what do you do?" Then, just like that, he places his hand on top of Stiles's head and suddenly he's wearing his wicked, wicked grin. "She said she had to go take a huge crap and ran naked through the woods. The end."

Stiles' eyes grow wider and wider as Derek tells the story. His licks his suddenly dry lips, giving a shiver. The effect the story has on him is obvious, and he is *definitely* picturing himself in bed with a (certain) wolf. When Derek lays a hand on his head, Stiles leans closer, eyes shining with anticipation--and then *that*. He gapes. He stares. He glowers. He punches Derek in the shoulder as *hard* as he can.

He really hurts his hand.

"*Ow!* Ugh! That--that--! That was *pure evil*!" he complains, rubbing his bruised knuckles. "Oh my *god* that was *evil*!"

It's one of the few times that Derek actually laughs, although when Stiles punches him, it makes him react. Not with anger or pain, but with concern over the hand that smashed into the immovable force that is Derek Hale's muscular shoulder.

"Stiles!" He reaches over and takes the hand, inspecting it to make sure he hasn't dislocated anything or broken anything. He takes his thumbs and softly rubs, trying to work out the hurt. But he's still chuckling while he does it. "I'm the Big Bad Wolf, Stiles. What do you expect?"

Stiles glares at Derek, but he lets him inspect the hand. "D-dammit, Derek! Do you at least know that I own a red hoodie? Do you at least realize what that story *did* to me?" He shivers again, unable to help it. "Are you really gonna tell me, how you *just told that story* it wasn't supposed to--!?" And he turns away, giving a big huff. "I *want* the big bad wolf. And *I* wouldn't threaten to crap the bed!"

Derek is unable to stop laughing entirely, although to be polite he does keep it at a soft chuckle. His hands do good work, though. He does at least help to relieve some of the pain from it. He just...he doesn't have any words for that. It's quite possibly one of the most hilarious things he's ever heard in his life, but in large part because it's Stiles. Just the whole thing is so perfect for that reason alone.

Stiles lets Derek rub the pain out of his hand, but he's still very indignant! Muttering to himself, but definitely intending Derek to hear, he grumbles, "Nothin' to laugh at that *I* can see. If someone you were in love with told you this really sexy story and then laughed at you and made you feel *so stupid*."

"Shut up," Derek replies, though softly. Kind of affectionately really. He keeps rubbing, not stopping even though he probably knows that Stiles has been relieved of the pain by now. "You're not stupid. You just have..." He casts his eyes upward, to try and choose the right word. "The best reactions."

Exasperated but having a hard time staying really angry. Stiles flings his arms up in the air and declares, "But Derek, I don't want to be a *joke* to you! Do you know how pathetic that makes me feel? After everything I've told you, and... you act like I'm just this dumb spaz kid who you might *like* but you also think is *dumb*." Then he groans, giving up, and just turns to flop face-first on the couch.

"Stop walking away all the time!" Derek isn't harsh about it, but he does find it difficult to maintain a conversation when the other party happens to be constantly going somewhere else. He doesn't have to move a lot, okay! He's very comfortable being in just one place for most of a discussion! But he follows Stiles anyway. "You're *assuming*," he continues, in that gentler, more patient tone of voice. "You aren't a *joke* because you make me laugh. Seriously? Do you know how often I laugh? How often have you heard me laugh? I want to know."

Stiles mumbles halfheartedly into the couch cushions and raises a hand, letting it drop back down. Still, he probably at least understands the point Derek's making. And he doesn't try to walk away! He just lies there, stretched out on the couch with his face buried in the pillows.

"Answer me!" Derek sits on the couch. On the edge of it. Which is really kind of tricky considering how much larger he is than Stiles, but he at least has the discipline over his body to accomplish it. He reaches a hand down to pat Stiles in the center of his back.

Stiles twists his head so he can frown up at Derek. "It's *hard*, okay? You're always so... *cool*. I always feel like a dork around you, and then... c'mon, Derek! That story was *seriously* getting me *excited*. No way you couldn't tell! Then it was a joke! That made me feel pretty lame." He's not ranting anymore. He's just... well, more like sulking, really.

Derek holds his hands up, lifting his shoulders. "Why?" It's not like he's trolling. He's seriously asking. He waits to hear a response, keeping his attention right on Stiles. Intently -- intensely -- on him. "I feel like you're expecting something different from me. But I'm being honest with you. Is that wrong?"

Stiles lies still for a moment. Then he pushes up, twisting around, so he can sit up, and starts yanking his shoes back on. "No," he says in a low voice, though sounding now more tired than sulky. "You're right. *I'm* the one who wants what he can't have. I just need to quit kidding myself." He ties his shoes, then goes to recover his shirts, which he'd tossed... somewhere. At some point.

Derek looks to Stiles evenly. Everything is even: his brow line, his mouth, his set jaw. Then he just reaches out and yanks Stiles up, holding him up over his head. "You're being a brat." He remarks, before just sort of half-tossing him back down on the couch.

Stiles makes a surprised little yelp, dangles there with a startled expression, and lies in a heap on the couch, kind of sideways. He twists around so he's sitting up, facing Derek, and glares. "I am not! I'm admitting you're right! How is admitting you're right being a brat?"

Derek opens his mouth, then closes it again, and after a little longer, he just releases the shoulders. He sits back a little bit and rests his hands in his lap. "I get this feeling like you're not really *getting* what I'm saying to you."

"Derek," Stiles sighs, "I don't want to feel like your little brother or something. I get that you like me as a person, and I'm glad, but... it's confusing. Right now I feel like... I'm your Liam or something! I'm just this silly kid you care about. I might as well hang out with... with... Melissa! At least I know *why* she thinks of me as a kid."

Derek lifts one brow, still looking evenly at Stiles. He remains silent for a little longer, and then he lifts his hands and gets to his feet. "Suit yourself." He dusts his legs off and walks over to the bookshelf.

And Stiles hops off the couch to fling himself at Derek's back, reaching out to hang on by his shoulders. "Derek," he groans. "That was the part where you're supposed to tell me not to be stupid and that you don't think of me that way! I want to be reassured..." His voice drops to a sheepish tone, "Even if that's dumb, or it makes me a brat."

Derek had selected a book, but then he drops it all over the shelf, even as he tries to recover. He wasn't expecting that! There's a kind of resigned sigh, and he turns his head slightly, as if to look back at Stiles hanging on him like a cape. A half-naked, skinny cape. "If you don't know that by now, I don't know how me saying it again is going to help."

"I'm a stupid brat," Stiles says in perfectly reasonable tones. "And I need to be reassured so I don't let my overactive imagination make me insecure. Especially when my Sourwolf tells stories that get me all worked up, but then ends them on a punchline about poop!"

Derek rumbles half a growl, but his heart really isn't in it. He ends up with a more pleasant expression on his face anyway. "Fine. I don't think of you as a kid or my offspring. Better?" He starts to walk around the room, taking big, broad strides with his Stiles-cape. "You're still stupid sometimes."

Stiles hangs on, clinging and not even totally knowing why, but it seems the thing to do just now. "Little bit better," he agrees, "but I'm the one who told you I was dumb! See? Now you agree with me." He's not even sure what his point is, anymore. He's also not sure why he's still clinging to Derek. His arms are starting to hurt.

Derek walks to the couch and just sits down. With the cape basically being what he sits on. He wiggles back on Stiles, seeming perfectly pleased with himself to be in this situation. There. Now at least his arms won't hurt, right? "I can't win either way, so I might as well?"

Stiles squirms beneath Derek, pinned down into place. "Well," he says, trying to wriggle free, "What would *winning* be?" He's legitimately curious about that one. Not making much progress, he tries twisting to one side but finds himself stuck. "You're heavy," he declares.

"Am I?" Derek continues to wiggle on top of Stiles. He's obviously enjoying it too, pressing Stiles into the cushions and pretending, though not particularly believably, like he's just incidentally moving around. He never moves this much once he settles down to sit anywhere, ever. "Am I heavy?" And of course, he really is.

"Yes!" Stiles protests, struggling and squirming and unable to get out from under the solidly build Derek. "I'm squashed!" He halfheartedly pushes at Derek's back, probably accomplishing nothing but pushing his shirt up.

Derek doesn't seem to mind this, and it certainly doesn't get him moving. "Huh." It's stated like he'd just learned something new and vaguely interesting about the weather pattern for the upcoming week. Like "we'll have rain Wednesday" or "it's supposed to get up to 85 tomorrow evening". Of course, he doesn't stop wiggling around, and he ends up just stretching out on Stiles.

"Dereeeeeeek!" Stiles whines, "You're *heavy*!" And he continues to paw at Derek's shirt, figuring that if he can't get free, he'll at least even out their level undressedness. "And you are *so* obviously enjoying this," he accuses.

"Did I say I wasn't?" Derek likewise seems utterly unconcerned about Stiles taking off his shirt, and he doesn't make any real effort to stop it, ending up more or less just covering Stiles with his own body at least mostly. "Are you enjoying it? Hm. Let's see." Then he wiggles back with his butt.

Stiles gives a sudden *moan*. "D-Derek! Yes, I liked that!" He starts attacking Derek's shoulder from behind, then, leaving little love-bits all over it, certainly not hard enough to break the skin.

Derek rumbles again, though this time it's less a growl, more of a statement of approval, of pleasedness at what Stiles does. Love-bites, yes! He can get behind love-bites. He keeps wiggling back, moving his ass against Stiles, against his front. He doesn't comment -- the reaction was exactly what he needed to know.

Squirming more, only now in reaction to Derek's squirming, Stiles grabs ahold of Derek's shirt and attempts to hoist it off over his head. Then he attacks the back of Derek's neck, biting and nibbling all up and down it. Then, feeling daring, he goes for the earlobes.

Derek lets it be taken, and he flexes his magnificent back, smiling proudly, a thin, wide smile, as he arches his back for Stiles. He knows this is what he's wanted. But the time wasn't right, the moment didn't lend to it, until now. What a little animal! But he approves, he likes it. Why not?

Stiles lets his tongue dart out a little to graze Derek's ear, along the back, and then down his neck a bit. He pauses periodically to graze his teeth against the skin, biting and lightly gnawing. He doesn't speak, not trusting himself not to say something that would ruin the moment.

There's another sound that comes from Derek, and it's deep and low. Maybe this is more like Stiles expected. Suddenly he turns and presses Stiles almost violently to the couch, leaning down to lick up the side of his neck, then nipping with a distinct sting in his teeth at the jawline. But that sound he's making ceases to be human. It's definitely something at least half-wolfen.

The look in Stiles' eyes after Derek growls like that is one of pure and open excitement. He exposes his throat freely to the wolf's biting, almost daring him to follow up on the threat, made so long ago, about throats and teeth. (Of course, he's also clearly able to trust Derek not to do any ripping or tearing.) He wraps his arms around Derek, raking his fingers up and down that well-muscled back.

Derek starts, but then he stops himself, pulling back, breathing hard and heavy. He looks surprised, which means he's probably no less than shocked at what's happened, what's unfolded. He licks his lips, staring at Stiles's face. "I'm...sorry." Pulling away, brow lowering, he folds his hands. "I..." Trailing off, he shakes his head. "It's dangerous."

Stiles makes a little whimper when Derek breaks off, and it swiftly becomes a strangled vocalization of confusion and wordless protest. Then, when Derek speaks up, he groans. "Sorry? Dangerous? What--*what*!? Derek, that was--that was *awesome*!"

Derek stays quiet for a little while longer. It's easy to see the conflict in his expression, the tension in his body. "I wasn't kidding when I told you something's wrong, Stiles." The tone is quieter than ever before, when he was trying to be patient and show his understanding. It's almost like he's scared, of himself or what might be happening.

Stiles goes from being confused to concerned pretty quickly. "Wrong? What? What'd I do?" he asks, trying to figure it out. He'd thought he understood Derek's hangups and had been respecting them. Now it occurs to him that he really might not know them at all. "Derek... what are you afraid of?" he asks quietly, concern overriding the other emotions boiling up.

Derek gets to his feet, taking a few steps and holding up a hand. He shakes his head once, then after a pause does it again. "I need to go. It's not safe for you." With the rest of what's been happening lately...maybe there is something to what he said. Maybe there is something very weird about the whole way his body is responding to him. He's been able to shift, sure. Stiles has seen that. But other things...

Stiles *wants* to argue. He wants to demand that Derek trust himself, insist that he *knows* Derek's safe... but Stiles was also almost mauled by Scott at least twice, back in his early days as a werewolf. "I... okay," he says, concerned and bewildered. "But please... call me, text me, anything. I want to understand. Derek, I want to help!"

Derek gives a quick nod, stepping farther away, putting some distance between them. He seems to be beyond speaking for a time, but eventually he does say something, even if it's in a rough, strangled voice. "Thank you."

Meanwhile, Stiles scrambles to get his things together. He yanks on his shirts, shoves his feet into his shoes without finding his socks, and then, very reluctantly, backs away until he's inside the elevator. "Derek," he calls quietly, "Be safe. I..." He hesitates, afraid saying it will be bad. But then he has to. "I *love* you." And he hits the button, making the elevator shudder and rumble its way down.

Derek closes his eyes, fighting very hard to calm himself down. He almost lost himself, that moment ago. He could feel himself slipping away into...what? Into the beast? He doesn't know. And that lack of knowing chills him to the bone. The words called to him warm his heart, give him some modicum of comfort...but what he's afraid of, what he isn't ready to admit, is that not knowing what's happening and what's wrong is exactly what he's afraid of. This isn't something he ever learned about from his family, ever growing up. It's something outside of his experience and that of every wolf he's known.