2015.08.15 - "I'm Bored" Means "I Love You" -- Or, Stiles Has a Betty and Veronica Problem

**Emitter:** N/A

*Stiles experiments with being annoying, playful, and downright petulant in trying to understand the complexities of Derek Hale. Results: mixed.*

August 15, 2015

Derek's Loft, Beacon Hills

 ***Previously on Before the Dawn...***

*Stiles has just tried to kiss Derek.*

*"Wait!" Derek finally does object a little bit, moving his face away, turning away as his cheeks actually turn a little bit red. Not a deep blush or a full flush, but more than enough to notice the change. "Are you sure this is...I mean Lance..." He heard some things as they were in the house, but he did leave before they had the even more serious talk later. To say nothing of the fact that this is...is this...no, it's not Stiles's first kiss. He knows that. But...it's still something special. He doesn't entirely want to take that away from him.*

*Seductive Stiles? What the--?!*

*Stiles gives a hearty pout at Derek's refusal, managing a pair of puppydog eyes that would give even Liam a run for his money. But then he shakes his head, smiling some, and says, "I'm not sparing a single detail when I tell Lance about this, Derek. I'm not keeping any secrets." His smile fades some, and he bites his lip slightly, glancing away. "If... if you can't handle me being with Lance, then... I understand. But... I was really hoping that... I could be with you, too." He flushes from neck to ears, pressing on, "I know, it's weird. It's not traditional. But... I care about Lance a* lot*." He closes his eyes, tight, and presses his forehead against Derek's chest. In a very soft voice, he finishes...*

*"Also... I think... I love you."*

*Derek turns his head back, looking down to Stiles and raising one arm to wrap around Stiles. "You...love. Me." It's a little hard to take all at once, especially after everything else that's happened between them today. Poor Sourwolf. He's really been overloaded by a tsunami of emotion and so many issues he doesn't know how to handle. "And...Lance is okay with this." It's a half-question. He doesn't bear Lance any ill will particularly, after meeting him. They're two very different men, but in some things, more similar than they might want to admit. Of course, one of those common grounds is Stiles.*

*Stiles reaches up slowly to brush his fingertips along Derek's cheek, soft against the rasp of his stubble, and he smiles softly. "I told you. I'm not keeping any secrets from Lance. If he wasn't okay with it... I wouldn't be here. It's complicated. I won't pretend it's not complicated. But... could it work? Can... can I care for... you both?" His brow furrows a bit, and he seems to really be asking. There's a quiet need in his voice, too, that speaks wholly of feelings and not of lust. He's all but begging the werewolf to understand his feelings. "It's like I told you. If Lance hadn't been here... I'd still love you. But I don't think I'd have been brave enough to tell you. Maybe not until it was too late. And... at least a little... I love him for that, too." His brow furrows. "But I'm only just getting to know him. I could easily... see myself being in love with Lance, too." He looks up at Derek again, distressed, uncertain. When he speaks again, his voice trembles, "I need to know that's okay. Or else... maybe you* should *throw me out a window. 'Cause... seriously, Derek... I don't want to lose either one of you."*

*"Can I still throw you out a window if it's okay?" Derek replies, so evenly it sounds at first like he's turning Stiles down. But a moment's thought to his tone and response will indicate, that's not the case at all. There's a light in his eyes, even with his impassive facade. Maybe--just maybe--he can learn to understand this and at least be okay with it. But it's going to be quite an adjustment. And there are bound to be questions if anyone else finds out.*

Stiles brought Derek a pizza earlier. It wasn't anything fancy, as Stiles was known not to have too much money to throw around, but he brought Derek an extra large, thick-crust cheese pizza. Because you can't go wrong with that! The obvious choice would have been meat-lover's, but what if Derek secretly hated linguiÃ§a? No, that wouldn't do. So, it had been cheese.

That was over an hour ago.

Since then, they'd eaten, and Stiles had become immersed in his phone. Derek, for whatever reason, had picked up a *book*. Not that Stiles didn't like books, of course. He loved books! But how could a book be more interesting than *he* was? It couldn't stand. Especially when Stiles ran out of things to look at on Facebook. Stiles sets his phone down. He sighs softly. He drums his hands idly on the couch cushions beside himself. He looks at Derek thoughtfully.

To say Derek was surprised at the pizza is a gross understatement, although as is typical for Derek Hale, he wasn't terribly overflowing with emotion. For Derek, though, it really was practically gushing: he made several comments about how much he enjoyed the pizza, and he carefully kept touching Stiles all throughout the meal, with words and sounds of encouragement and approval. It's sort of the same thing as being emotional, just in the rare and difficult-to-learn Sourwolf language.

Once everything's settled down, Derek seems to be finding enjoyment in his book. He has the modern conveniences and appliances, of course, but it's plain to see he prefers more traditional fare. He likes a quiet night, of reading or other personal, mildly-interactive adventure. His life is exciting enough outside of his hobbies. He turns a page, looking particularly content.

It shouldn't surprise Stiles. This is how the other night was, too.

But the other night, Stiles was feeling so much more... calm! Now Stiles is all... antsy! He tries. He tries really hard to be good and hold still. Then he gives up, walking over to a bookshelf, and pointedly looks for something to read.

There's nothing to read.

Nothing interesting anyway. So, finally, Stiles just wanders back over... and flumps down *right across Derek's lap*. His knees are on the ground, but he lets his whole torso fall diagonally across Derek's thighs. *That* should get his attention, right?

Derek doesn't really pay Stiles that much attention, at least not outwardly. After a moment, he reaches down and pats Stiles on the head. Like you would a dog who did much the same thing. Really, it's a lot alike. He's pretty sure Stiles isn't hungry again, so he must just be wanting some kind of minor acknowledgement. He can do that! That's easy enough.

Stiles makes a very animated *Oh no he didn't!* face, complete with gaping mouth and head-bob, which of course goes unobserved. Derek just... patted him on the head? Oh, hell no! So, spreading his hands to get a good grasp on the couch, he pushes up with his feet, gets careful bearings... and shoves forward!

This sends Stiles into a very brief sort of handstand, flipping over so he ends up with his knees over Derek's shoulders, his butt resting against Derek's chest, and his back curving against his lap, looking up at the Sourwolf expectantly.

Surely... *this* will get his attention!

Derek happens to glance up as he notices something different is happening. As he witnesses Stiles's ass in a collision course with his face, he throws his book-holding arm to the side and prepares the other just in case he needs to...do...something. But as he thinks about it, he realizes there's really not going to be anything terrible about this, just...weird. He looks down Stiles's body at Stiles, frowning with an unspoken question on his face, in the thick brows punctuating his silent wolf language.

Stiles frowns up at Derek, scowling just lightly... and finally he reaches up with one hand to just *bat* the book right out of Derek's hand. He's not even totally sure where the impulse came from, but it's just sort of seized him, and he can't help going with it. Then, leaning his head up a bit so he's craning his neck at Derek, Stiles announces forcefully, "*I'm bored!*"

Derek looks over as the book just flies onto the floor and flops closed. Now his frown deepens too, but there's a kind of conflicted flicker in his eyes, just for a second. He's having to try not to smile, and it's a particularly herculean task. "Yes?" He answers, voice not quite as forceful as it might be, but still deep and distinct, maybe a bit edged more than a regular voice would be. "How is that my problem?"

"Because," Stiles says in a playfully petulant voice. "You're the host. So... you're not supposed to let your guest be bored!" It's inane. It borders on *insane*. But Derek's just so damned entertaining--not to mention cute--when he goes all frowny-face like that. It's classic Sourwolf. Trying to win Derek over, Stiles flashes what he thinks is his most adorable grin. (But it's not. It's actually his 'I'm being a little shit right now' grin. His most adorable grin is one that never really makes on purpose, just sort of happening naturally.)

Dammit. Derek can't help but wear what is possibly the mildest, thinnest smile anyone has ever let cross their face. "Okay. Then you decide what we do." So THERE! If Stiles wants to play around like this, he'll be the one who has to make the decisions. He was perfectly content just reading his book on his own. It's not his fault that his loft isn't a very happening place.

Stiles' eyebrows shoot up at this development. He lets his hands fall to his chest, lightly and absently drumming them there, and asks, "...Anything I want?" Uh-oh. Now he's got that *Stiles is getting ideas* look in his eyes, and it's spreading into a little smile that curls up the corners of his mouth.

Derek's brows flatten to a resting line, with the slight angle that keeps him pretty much perpetually looking irritated with the world in general. It's not too far from the truth. "No." There's a kind of long-suffering patience about Derek Hale. Even if he lashes out, even if he's angry or fierce at any time, it's always kind of something that is pretty understandable, given how his life usually goes. But he keeps staring down at Stiles for a silent moment or two more. "There are limits."

Raising his hands and shoulders in a mild shrug, Stiles argues, "But how can I decide what we should *do* if I don't know the *limits*?" And he just keeps sitting on Derek that way, like some kind of upside-down chair. "I mean, I *could* say let's watch a movie--but I'm not gonna. I'm guessing a movie's probably okay! But, like..." He pauses, moving his head and letting his eyes wander around the room. Then, "What if I said... let's bake cookies and have a tea party?" This time, he *knows* he's wearing his *I'm being a little shit right now* grin.

Derek would say it. he would just say "you're being a little shit", but it's pretty self-evident and everybody in the room knows it. He reaches a hand down and pokes Stiles in the stomach. A few times. Not exactly hard, but definitely not gently. His jaw is set, his nostrils flare with a breath taken and breathed out again.

"Derek," Stiles says in a too-reasonable tone, "Just because my abs are softer than yours doesn't mean anything happens when you poke them. I am *not* the Pillsbury Doughboy." Then, his grin widening, he asks, "So... no tea party? Hm. Then how about sex!" Yep. That's what he was building to. It's not even a really serious suggestion, and if he really thought about it, he'd feel bad. But he's just in a mood where nothing's off limits. It's all a game!

Derek just takes his hands and, not even changing his expression, reaches up to take Stiles by the thighs...and pushes forward. He doesn't even shift slightly in place where he's sitting! It doesn't require the least bit of effort from the sourwolf.

Stiles asks, "Derek, what are you--?" And then, with a little (and embarrassingly high-pitched) yelp, he's tumbling in reverse, heels over head, and has to clutch at Derek's thighs with his hands to keep his balance... ending up, by either a miracle or virtue of Derek's strength, not in a heap on the floor but once again with his chest flopped across Derek's lap with his head spinning. "So," he asks dazedly, "is that a rain check on the sex, then?"

Derek grunts, and that's probably lucky for Stiles to get in response at all. He sighs and leans over, stretching, with his shirt riding up as he stretches so far, manages to hit the edge of the book and, with his fingertips, pulls it back close enough to pick up. He sits up again, dusting it off, then starts to look for the page he was on last, before it was so rudely smacked away. So rude!

Now Stiles tries to push up off of Derek's lap, precariously balanced via one knee on the edge of the couch, while reaching to snag Derek's book and try to pull it away again and toss it *even farther* away! "Derek!" he says, trying to give an authoritative admonishment, "don't ignore me!" (But, being honest, it comes out more like a whine.)

Agh! Derek sighs, this time an especially noticeable sigh, combined with a sort of growly grunt again as he looks Stiles square in the face. He doesn't want his book to be destroyed, so...he just lifts his hands and lets them fall to his sides. "What do you want?" He's been irritated by this, but he's determined not to just explode on Stiles since, after all, he's trying very hard to be patient with this whole bizarre process that has unfolded in his life in an almost surreal way recently.

"Mostly?" Stiles asks, sinking to a more stable kneeling position on the couch beside Derek, his butt resting on his own feet. "I want you to pay attention to me!" he admits, grinning. It's silly, it's even *brazenly immature*, but Stiles always feels more relaxed, more himself, and more playful around Derek these days. It's not exactly like being a kid--it's just like being that carefree and playful again.

Derek sighs again, but this time it's softer than before. "Fine." He turns in place and just stares at Stiles, not actually doing anything, not interacting with him in any way, but looking at him. That's paying attention, he figures. That'll be enough.

It is! For almost twenty seconds. Then Stiles starts to fidget idly, then shift a bit, then sigh. Then, finally, he darts forward to fling his arms around Derek's neck, hugging himself chest-to-chest with the werewolf while his knees press down into the couch cushions. "That's better!" he declares, now that they're face-to-face and Derek can easily smell the mint mojito gum on Stiles' breath that he chewed to get rid of the pizza smell.

Derek winces at the gesture, though part of that is that exact gum. He wasn't sure what it was before, but now he's sure of it. "What...is that on your breath?" It's minty, but it's different. He can't place all the different things, maybe because it's not an actual mojito. He reaches a hand up, waiting for an answer, to pat Stiles on top of the head.

Stiles makes a slightly sour face at having his head patted like that, something he associates with small children and pets. But he answers, his voice dripping with snark, "It's gum. Mint mojito. My favorite. The gum I chew, like, all the time." Well, not *all* the time. Mostly at school. When Derek isn't around. But that doesn't stop Stiles from giving Derek his best *Duh, obviously!* look.

Derek takes that in. Something else to be aware of. Maybe when he shows up sometime at the school, he'll be able to pick Stiles out easily with that little bit of information. "Don't all mojitos have mint?" It's not asked in a teasing way, just as generally flat as most everything that comes out of his mouth.

Stiles actually looks puzzled for a moment."*I've* never had one, dude. I'm underage, remember?" Then he rolls his eyes and says, "But, ohhh, I'm Derek Hale, I'm a smart-ass werewolf who knows everything about *everything*!" Then, suddenly more seriously thoughtful, he gives one of those Stiles think-faces and suggests, "Maybe it's, like, a sub-genre of mint? Mint, specifically mojito flavor?"

"That doesn't mean anything. I know you've had alcohol." Derek calls it like he sees it. "Mint and rum are the two major ingredients in a mojito." Evidently this exchange is going to be a show of his knowledge anyway. Who dares try to outdo the grand alpha of cocktail mixing? But at the possibility of it being a specific sub-genre, he slowly nods his head. Sure. He's willing to admit that. It sounds possible.

And Stiles is still balanced on his knees with his arms around Derek's neck. After a couple of moments, he sighs loudly (but at least with minty fresh breath) and declares, "Bored again." And he lurches forward, slumping slightly, so his chin ends up on Derek's shoulder, looking out through his bank of windows. And a little smile touches Stiles' lips. Temptation wins. He leans over to nuzzle at Derek's ear.

Derek rolls his eyes as Stiles perches chin on shoulder like that. There's a faint little shiver as he's nuzzled though, and he turns his head only slightly in Stiles's direction, to address him. "What are you even doing?" Not that he doesn't know, but he's going to have Stiles inform him. Just so he has to say it clearly.

"Me? Doing?" asks Stiles, filling his voice to the brim with false innocence. "Oh! I'm just looking out the window and admiring the view!" His voice has a lightness to it that only manifests when he's being especially playful. Few others really hear it. Then, unable to resist taking the game farther, Stiles leans over to nip at Derek's ear. After all, it always seems to drive Lance wild... so why not try it?

"Stiles!" Derek reaches up, grabs Stiles by the shoulders, and pulls him to the front with an insistent amount of wolf-strength. He's completely confused, and it shows in his face, in possibly the most "WTF U DOIN STILES?!" expression he has ever worn. Definitely not like Lance, at least not in this way. Or maybe he likes it, but can't figure out how to express it. There are so many possibilities!

Stiles is quite jostled by this, and he has to shift his grip to hang on to Derek's arms just to keep from falling over. He gives a little roll of his neck, letting his eyebrows shoot up and his mouth hang open slightly, as he returns back, in a slightly mocking voice, "Derek!" Then, giving Derek a *Seriously, for real?* skeptical look, which quickly melts into an exasperated expression, he asks, "*What?!*"

Derek shakes Stiles, though gently, perhaps after seeing how discombobulated he was from being repositioned like that. "You have got to find something to do!" He's not even sure he's ever seen this side of Stiles. Similar, but not this exact side. It's like he's a slightly different Stiles, and Derek does not have the interdimensional alternate-universe knowhow to deal with him.

Cheerful, playful stiles is alternate-universe Stiles? It's just as well that wasn't said out loud. He'd be hurt. As it is, he groans and tries (mostly without success) to shake Derek back. "I did! But you're not playing along!" He gives Derek a *look*. "Do you want me to go? Do you want me to be sarcastic and grumpy? Do you just want me to shut up and leave you alone? The whole point of spending time together is interacting, Derek!"

Derek just stares forth, uncomprehending for a second as he's shaken, though mildly, by Stiles. "We're both here." It might seem like a strange or even ridiculous statement, but thinking more about it, maybe that's just in Derek's nature. Spending time in close proximity *is* interaction, especially with someone as action-oriented as he is, instead of word-oriented. As far as he's considered, being in the same place with Stiles is quality time. "Suggest something."

"I did!" Stiles argues. "Two things! I led with sex, figuring you'd say *no*, and then tried my fallback idea: making out! You shot both down!" Well, he's all worked up and being loud again. Maybe this is more the Stiles that Derek's used to! Annoyed now, he shifts position, putting his foot down on the ground, and moves to stand up and pull away.

Derek just sort of sits there in disbelief. Were those *really* legitimate ideas that Stiles thought he'd be okay with? Because he's pretty sure even Stiles knows how bad his love life has been, especially recently. "I'm not like you, Stiles. We don't have the same way of approaching things." He looks around the loft, trying to think of something that might appeal to his guest. "We can watch a movie."

Stiles makes a strangled noise of frustration and turns to walk over to the window and stand there, glaring out through it at the storm raging outside. He leans against the glass, then, and sighs. "I thought... you said you liked me," he says quietly. "I told you I *love* you. And I still have no idea what any of it *means*. You... still treat me like I'm just some *kid* you're friends with." He turns his back on the window and slumps slowly down until he's sitting on the floor. "I was gonna just leave it, but then, the other night, you slept in my bed and drove me *crazy* all night long. And then, after, you did that whole... *other* thing." He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and groans. "I'm not trying to force you into anything, Derek. I *swear* I'm not. But I want to *understand*." Because if there's anything that drives Stiles absolutely crazy... it's a mystery he can't solve.

Derek watches Stiles walk, watches him stop, observes every single thing that he does. Each action, each movement, even the subtle things he likely doesn't even notice himself doing. It's all part of that keen attention to detail that he has always had. He eases himself back on the couch for a second, but then he thinks better of it and pushes up to stand. Crossing the room to pick up his book, he returns it to the shelf and slides it back where he had taken it from originally. Then he turns almost silently and closes the distance between himself and Stiles. He doesn't touch him. He just stands close, close enough to be noticed easily.

"I treat you like someone I respect," Derek counters. "If I didn't like you, I wouldn't let you come up here like this. And I certainly wouldn't let you *sleep* with me."

Stiles lets his fingers down onto the top of his head, drumming them there lightly, and then slides them back through his hair while exhaling a long, slow sigh. Finally, he lifts his head, squinting thoughtfully up at Derek and pressing his lips together into a thin, pensive line. Finally, he he just lets the expression break, dropping his hands and letting his elbows rest on his knees, giving his head a mild shake and making a sort of *I give up* expression.

"Derek, I respect you... more than anyone. And I'm glad you respect me, but... c'mon. It's like you're afraid of something, and I don't even know what it is." His brow furrows. "Are you just... straight? I mean, that's okay. I don't... I don't *love* it or anything, but if you are... you are. I can try to learn to be just your friend. Do you just not like me in *that* way? And... dude... the whole 'sleeping with you' thing doesn't count. Not when it's *literally* just sleeping."

Derek just gives Stiles an "are you high?" look when all that is laid out. "Do you know who you're even talking to? Are you aware of how many people have tried to kill me? I'm letting you be around me when I have no defense!" With one hand he motions to himself, emphatically, to his chest. "You know my history. You know how it's gone when I've had relationships. Did you forget that almost *every person I've been with* has turned out to want to try and kill me or people close to me?"

Stiles gives the look right back! Just, Stiles-flavored. "Derek, it's *me*. Me! You know, pathetic, defenseless Stiles?" He pantomimes knocking on his he head and throws up both hands. "First of all, I'd never betray you! And second, you know I'm no threat to you anyway! I'm not a darach or--whatever else you've dated! If I could or would hurt you... don't think I'd have done it by now? Like, maybe that time you were *dying* and I had a *bone saw*?" He wraps his arms around himself. "But what happened? Oh, yeah. I tried to save you. I was willing to commit myself to a *lifetime* of extremely necessary therapy *because Derek Hale told me to*. So don't...just don't act like I'd do that--and if you think I would, for god's sake, just kill me now and spare us both the anguish!"

"Stiles." Derek doesn't get angry. He doesn't growl, he doesn't roar, he doesn't do anything unkind, but his voice remains even and controlled. Probably helped by his very carefully-controlled breathing. He tilts his head slightly down, looking up at Stiles, partway through the thick brows of his. "I know that. Emotional damage from my past doesn't have to be rational." He's easy to hear, easy to understand. He makes the extra effort to be. "You're not pathetic or defenseless," he adds, slightly more quietly.

"Just... needed to know you knew that," Stiles says quietly. "Because I don't wanna even think about you thinking I'd...do that." Then he gives a bigger sigh and throws up his hands, now more resignedly. "So. You've been hurt. I'm an idiot. Nothing's new and different." He pushes up to his feet, slowly, and then reaches up to tuck his hands behind his head. "Now what, huh?"

"Stiles, I will really throw you out the window without a second's hesitation if you really believe that." Derek takes the time-honored position of folding his arms over his chest. He just stands there and...breathes, for a good long while, looking at Stiles and occasionally letting his eyes wander up and down his body. "Can you be patient instead of...this?"

"I'm sorry," Stiles says, shoulders sagging. "I guess I thought... with *things*, I mean... I just thought we'd reached somewhere I guess we haven't." He shrugs again. "Derek, I'm not just being dramatic. I feel *stupid* about all this. Literally. Like, if I'm ever smart about anything... I feel like when it comes to this I go into idiot mode." He whirls around, thumping his head against the window, and presses his arms folded over his stomach. Thump, thump. Head against glass. "I'll try to be more patient. I'm just dumb. About you, anyway."

Derek doesn't show any reaction...at first. Then he shifts into motion and reaches out to pick Stiles up. Is he really going to throw him out the window?! It wasn't like that, was it? He surely can't be about to do that. Even Derek can't imagine Stiles would actually survive that. But throw him he does, if he can get hands on him...right onto the bed.

Stiles doesn't even struggle, partly because he figures it would do no good. Partly because he just plain doesn't believe Derek would really defenestrate him. And then he's bouncing on the bed, blinking at Derek, with his brow furrowed and his mouth hanging partly open. "Wha...?" he asks, confused.

Derek walks over to the bed after Stiles is on it, casual purpose in his every step. He finally lowers himself to slide into a position lying on his front, before rolling onto his side and curling slightly. "Stop feeling stupid. How do you think that makes me feel?" He reaches out with one hand, lightly stroking at whatever he can touch, just with the very tips of his fingers.

Stiles shivers under Derek's touch, suddenly so very still. His arms go slack at his sides, and he just slowly turns his head to look at Derek, still wearing that vaguely puzzled expression, his mouth open. He barely dares to breathe, since... Derek's *touching* him. Sure, it's not sexual. It's not even mildly dirty so far. But it's something. His eyes seeking out Derek's, finally he breathes the words, "I don't know?"

Derek continues to touch, to caress, idly, as if it's just something that he wants to do in the back of his mind, with his body automatically moving and doing what it will do. He had intended his question to be rhetorical, but that isn't how it apparently worked out. A number of options flash through his mind's surface, but it takes him a little longer to actually decide on one as a suitable answer.

"Ultrastupid."

Stiles reaches, hesitantly, as if afraid he'll break a spell, to lay his hand on Derek's chest, just lightly. "That doesn't make sense," he argues, inanely, but he can't quite shut off his mouth. "You're not stupid because I'm being stupid. That's... like not a thing. At all."

"Yes." Derek argues, turning his eyes up and stilling his hand. He looks intently into Stiles's eyes, his brows lowered, as if he were attempting to invest all of the potency possible into that statement. "It does make sense." But he does roll onto his back, stretching out, pulsing a flex to tense his muscles, and then relaxing under the hand on his chest. A little bit doglike. Maybe intentionally.

Stiles very tentatively begins to stroke Derek's chest, his abs--two of those areas that are so distracting. "You're not," he insists in that low, soft voice that so many people don't even know he has. "You're awesome. You're *brilliant*. You're so smart, Derek. You always understand the important things. You always know about the stuff that matters the most." He shivers a bit. "And I still love you." He smiles suddenly, surprising himself. "It's so easy to say now. I love you. I *love* you. Even if it means my life's complicated as hell. Even if it means I might need a flow chart to understand my own feelings. I. Love. You."

Derek eases his fingers to and along the inside of Stiles's arm, sliding to the crook of his inner elbow and over the front of biceps, then back down to his wrist again. His eyes don't really move, though, even if his expression softens more at the words he hears. They're sure to reassure anyone. "Take what you said and apply it to yourself. And believe it, because it's true." It's very Derek: why repeat words that were said perfectly well the first time?

"Workin' on it," Stiles concedes, staring deeply into Derek's eyes. Then, he slowly and carefully licks his dry-feeling lips. Shifting position so he face Derek better, Stiles asks, his voice rasping slightly, "Derek... can I.... can I kiss you? Not--not too much. I won't push it. I just... just a kiss? Please?" He's not starved for sex, as badly as he wants Derek. Lance has seen to it that Stiles is put quite masterfully through *those* particular paces. But this isn't, in the end, really about sex. Well, okay. Not *just* sex, anyway.

Derek tenses for just a second when he's asked that. He's not really sure if he's ready. He is, however, sure Stiles is ready to kiss him. So he takes a deep breath and calms himself, slowly letting it out, closing his eyes and then opening them again, and he hasn't moved their focus from where it formerly was a moment before. "Okay."

Stiles leans in very slowly. He reaches up to touch Derek's cheek, brushing it with his fingertips. Then he eases in, so much more gently than he does nearly anything else in his life, and just lightly brushes his lips against Derek's. Then he presses them firmly together. There's no attempt at shenanigans, nothing steamy or urgent. It's a perfectly soft, sweet, lingering kiss. And then Stiles pulls back a few inches, his eyes seeking Derek's, to see the result of it.

Derek thinks to close his eyes at first, for a moment, but then he opens them again, just as Stiles gets close enough for his breath to warm the skin of Derek's face. He leans up just a little bit into the kiss, although he likewise doesn't complicate it; he just lets it happen and remain as innocent as it ultimately does. Though once it's broken and Stiles is leaning back up, there's the hint of a smile that returns to his mouth, just for a moment.

A faint smile touches Stiles' lips, too, and then he snuggles in close. There's no sexual tension in it, no physical urgency. He just curls up close against Derek, not even trying to put his arms around the werewolf. Just lying close beside him. His hand once again comes to rest on Derek's chest, and Stiles says, very softly, "Love you, Sourwolf."

That satisfies Derek. He reaches out, scooping Stiles up and moving with him towards the top of the bed. They'll be more comfortable there, he figures, and once they reach it, his arms don't come from around him. They just stay hugged around Stiles with that good excuse. "Mmm," he answers, moving almost to curl his body around Stiles, as if he were a blanket to wrap him. Protective. He may not say it...but his actions make it pretty clear.