potosi | and I know the call of my unborn sons colors all I've done.

No, Stiles. It doesn't.

[ Stiles is a fascinating study-- from fearless fear in the face of danger, to the way that he talks with his entire body at all times, to the different twists in his smiles, and how he just doesn't back down-- but the one thing Derek's still trying to place is the doubt. He doesn't completely have the puzzle that Stiles presents down yet, but this is one piece he doesn't know what to do with.

He reaches to set his bottle on the counter, before resting his hands on either side of Stiles' hips. Considering him up close, he tilts his head in that wolfish way he does. ]

The couch doesn't, the bed doesn't. The boys definitely don't, and neither do I.

So long's the house doesn't, I'm on a roll. [He can't help the stupid comments that come out of his mouth, either, or the fact that his heartbeat ratchets up yet again, this time for an entirely different reason. Stiles is used to Derek being in his space. He's not quite sure if he's used to it like this.

(Or if he'll ever get used to it, if it keeps happening. And he's not really sure if he ever wants to be used to it. He'd rather keep enjoying it every time.)

When Derek cocks his head, his eyes flicker down to his mouth for half a second before coming back up, meeting his stare. His mind's already formulating about six different ends to this, but his hormones have settled on one, and God, if it doesn't happen in about ten seconds, he's about to initiate it himself.

Maybe.

If he can't work up the courage, he'll have to leave.]

[ As he picks up on the changes in Stiles, Derek reflects on the night they just had. All the blatant flirting, the close proximity to one another, what was said. He considers how far they've come since that first night in the woods, years after the fire and even more since Melissa babysat a young Stiles. All that progress from thinking Stiles a possible threat, into whatever this can be called.

Friends, maybe.

He's pretty sure there's more to it. He just doesn't know what label to put on it.

Listening to Stiles' heart, he watches his eyes flick to his mouth before back up again. It's a reminder that he spent much of the night trying to look at anything but Stiles' own mouth. Now, he does, almost contemplatively. It's a little awful how distracting he's found Stiles' mouth to be, and idle thoughts that have popped up only to run wild.

He figures he should indulge in one of them, leaning in the rest of the way to kiss him. ]

[Any and all of the tension in Stiles' shoulders snaps out in seconds, but it takes the rest of his body (and god forbid, his mind) time to react. The initial surprise gives way to what feels like a million different nerves suddenly being resolved, and it practically makes him go boneless--but it's for a snap second before he reacts again, pushing forward and sliding his arms around his shoulders.

His own methods at being smooth during the night had more or less failed--honest to god--]

...this whole thing was a date. [He says it quietly against his mouth, not willing to pull away, but that doesn't exactly stop him from talking about it.] You've even been paying for my meals for ages, oh my God we've been dating for like six months. [Now he pulls away, laughing stupidly.]

[ Patient for Stiles' reaction, Derek brings his hands up once Stiles puts his arms around his shoulders. One settles at the side of his neck, the other rests at his waist as he lets his own tension leave him. It's not much, but overall he simply relaxes. Which is something he's noticed himself doing more and more of around this stupid human that barged into his life. ]

You've basically been living in my house for five. [ Rather than let him get too far, though, he leans after him to steal another, though quicker, kiss. ] I swear to god I keep finding your stuff everywhere.

I leave a trail of destruction wherever I go. You let me barge in here with craft supplies and you--mfft--were doomed. For the record, you're the one who invited me in. [Not even the quick kiss is enough to shut him up completely, and he crosses his wrist over Derek's back, giddy and kind of stupid with the fact that this is actually happening right now.

It doesn't mean he can't tease him though, they wouldn't be the same without it, and he murmurs] Worst goodnight kiss ever. That was like a 2. [But he's grinning like a little shit, pretty much disproving his point, but. You know.]

There's glitter everywhere, even in places you've never brought in crafts. [ The temptation to bite him for the goodnight kiss is there, but instead Derek cants his head again and brushes their noses together for a brief second. After, he starts to lean back in--

--before pulling back completely out of his reach, an entirely inappropriate grin on his face. Ass. ]

Time for bed, then. A goodnight kiss is a goodnight kiss. [ He takes the album from Stiles' lap, calm as can be. ]

[...really.]

In case you weren't sure, I totally grew out of ""bedtime"" [airquotes included.] about ten years ago.

[The thoughts that follow practically put themselves in a flowchart in Stiles' head. 1. Snark. 2. Impulse. 3. Attempt at a kiss. 4. Derek Hale's Bed.

It takes two seconds for him to make his less than educated decision, and he slides off the counter as if he's going to go along with it, but darts forward, grabs Derek's cheeks, and pulls him in for another kiss. Stiles can so play along with this, thank you.]

Could fool me some days.

[ Though Stiles might not notice it, Derek braces himself pretty much immediately, knowing better than to think that he's not going to do something in retribution. There are a few different thoughts that occur to him, so he's wary when he seems to go along with it. The kiss isn't too surprising, but he has to remind himself not to just drop the album in his hand.

Thankfully, he sets it on the counter as he steps into the kiss, not stopping until he can crowd and pin Stiles back against the fridge. Once he feels the bump, he brings his hands up to frame his face, more than happy to up that 'goodnight kiss' from a two into something much higher. ]

[Oh.

Oh. Oh well, uh, okay then.

He's had Derek manhandle him about a million times but never quite like this, and Stiles is more than okay with it. His arms come up to snake around Derek's torso, fingers clutching in his leather jacket, and he kisses him back with just as much intensity as he's given, only shifting enough to plant his feet against the fridge and pull Derek as close as he can.

Stiles mentally has to tell himself he's not dreaming. ~~Not that he's dreamed about this before or anything.~~]

[ Derek goes easily as he's pulled close, a major difference compared to his stubborn resistance in the past. If he doesn't want to go somewhere, he's not going to go without a lot of force. Here, though, he presses close to Stiles, pinning him with his weight and warmth though he knows that he's not about to go anywhere.

But the feeling is there, and in the kiss-- he doesn't want Stiles to go anywhere. After the early weeks and months of aggression and distrust, of keeping distance between them, it's an even greater testament to the change between them.

As he finally pulls back from the kiss, he takes Stiles' lower lip in a quick nip, finally giving in to the temptation he's had for a while now. It's a good temporary end to the kiss, though he'll deny the rumble that leaves him. ]

Edited (s2g swype AS NOT ADD) 2013-01-25 02:38 (UTC)

[It's hard to admit that he's completely and totally dazed by the kiss, but. Holy frickin god, that was daze-worthy. It takes a few seconds for Stiles to catch back up, mentally, and when he opens his eyes, it's slow. He definitely shot up to about an eleven on that scale from earlier. Stiles' arms are still wrapped tight around Derek, pressed up chest to chest, hip to hip, and it's warm and amazing and jesus christ he's not sixteen years old anymore, you think he'd know how to handle this. ]

Oh my Gooddd, no, that's the exact opposite of what I wanted.

[When Derek pulls away he practically moans his complaint and clutches his fingers tighter in the back of his shirt, keeping him close. Okay, he's just whining, but he deserves to whine. That was awesome.]

Edited 2013-01-25 03:05 (UTC)

My kids are upstairs. [ He nips at Stiles' mouth, though, the rumble in his voice and chest, and doesn't try to pull any further away. Truth be told, Derek doesn't feel like dealing with their smugness if they decide to come downstairs in the middle of this. It's not that he worries about how they'd react to catching their dad in the middle of something with another person-- because werewolf packs have no modesty or privacy.

As his fingers curl against his neck, he can't resist kissing him again. When he first thought of kissing Stiles, he had a feeling this would be a problem. It's a little bit addicting. ] They're precocious and have bad timing.

[Stiles rolls his eyes, but it's good-natured, and he drags his arms up around Derek's shoulders. He goes through the same exact thought process--it's not that Isaac and Scott'll be freaked out (maybe a little scarred for life, every kid had that experience once in their life), but that he's sure they'll come down the stairs at exactly the right time. Or wrong. Probably wrong.]

That bed still not minding me or do I have to sleep in the guest room?

[Stiles' mouth slides into a grin, even at the second kiss, and he raises his eyebrows at him. As much as he'd like to continue making out in Derek's kitchen, he's probably right.

Not to mention a bed's more comfortable anyway.]

[ Huffing a quiet laugh, Derek draws his hands down along Stiles' neck as he kisses him one last time, then pulls back. It's slow and unwillingly, but he slips out of Stiles' grasp and nod his head back towards the foyer and thus the stairs. ]

Go on. I need to check the house.

[ Habits are hard to break, especially when they tie into his protective instincts. Even in the face of going upstairs with Stiles, he's not going to skip out on routine. True, a locked house stands no chance against most supernatural, but it does give them some amount of warning. Same with human risks. ]

Yes, dad. [Rolling his eyes, he pulls back from the kiss with an amused smile on his face, letting his arms fall to the side before he starts to make his way towards the stairs. Stiles pauses on the banister and glances back over his shoulder for a minute, watching Derek retreat; it takes a while for him to move again, and when he does, he scrambles to the master bedroom, shuts the door, and throws his arms up in the air in a spastic motion of victory.]

Yessssssssss---yesyesyesyesyes. [He's trying to stay quiet because the boys are asleep, probably, but he doesn't take in to factor werewolf hearing. Instead, Stiles just celebrates. Because he's only been waiting for that for ages. By the time he's finished his victory ~~flail~~ dance, Stiles slides over to the dresser and opens one of the drawers, pushing aside a few of his own plaid shirts (when did those get there?) and tugging his t-shirt over his head, dropping it to the side and kicking out of his pants. Eventually, he settles on a beaten up gray henley and pulls it on, reveling in the smell for half a second and digging around for a pair of pajama pants.

To be honest, a part of him is surprised that Derek even owns pajamas. Guy looks like he'd sleep in his jacket or nothing. Mmm, naked Derek.

Okay, wait, getting off that train of thought, Stiles considers getting into bed--naturally, his curiosity gets the better of him, instead, and he starts to look around the room.]

[ Shrugging out of his jacket as he goes, Derek hangs it up on the doorknob of the hall closet as he checks the front door. Locked. The windows are all next, as he makes sure all the lights are turned off as well. (It's then that he hears movement upstairs, along with Stiles' voice, though muffled. He snorts.) Toeing his shoes off on his circuit back to the kitchen, he leaves them at the gathering of other shoes near the door, listening to the rest of the house and the woods outside.

Kitchen door locked, beer bottles taken care of, he peers into the garage before locking the door out there, too. Once he's satisfied with the downstairs, he climbs the stairs in absolute silence. By this point, as he checks in on the boys and the upstairs, Stiles will get to see his room. There's pictures on the dresser, of a younger Derek and his sister at the station, of him at school with Scott asleep in his back carrier and wolf eared hat. Then, older, with Isaac on his shoulders looking pleased with himself.

The centerpieces, though, are the two pictures with mouse eared hats featured. One is a teenaged Derek holding Scott on his shoulders and Laura beaming at the camera. The other is fairly recent, one boy seated on each arm and smiling all dimples.

They're really the only personal things openly on display. Otherwise, the room is fairly neat and simple, clothes put away and everything organized.

Derek doesn't say anything as he opens the door, just crosses his arms and leans against the frame. ]

[It's the Disney pictures he stops on, taking the one with Laura first in his hands and turning it over. Stiles can barely remember her--she worked in the precinct with his dad for a while, and she was nice, always shared her lunch with Stiles if he asked nicely enough, but she'd died before he could really get to know her beyond that. She looks like her brother, and as he sets it down again, he snorts over the mickey mouse ears, smile on his face fond as he brushes his thumb over Derek's face. It brings back his own memories; running across Disneyland on his dad's shoulders to meet Peter Pan, his mom and dad in matching ears. It's a nice thought if a little melancholy, and Stiles squats a little to get a look at the other one. He makes a mental note to go on a roadtrip to Disneyland with the Hale clan, chuckling a little to himself as he starts to stand up again.

Setting down the frame, he glances over his shoulder as if to snoop again, and jumps about half a foot, not expecting Derek to be there.]

--Christ, you've got to stop doing that.

Your reactions are too priceless, though.

[ Derek smirks softly, swaying forward and closing the door behind him. Eventually, he knows that Stiles will get used to his sudden appearances and silent lurking, but he's going to enjoy the surprise while he still can. It's just hilarious. He comes closer, looking down at the pictures, and his expression softens further for a second. He wishes he had more pictures of his family, but they all burned up in the fire.

At least he has these, and the ones in safe keeping in albums in the attic.

With a huff, he reaches to pull his shirt over his head in one, smooth motion. Rather than drop it on the floor, he tosses it into a hamper by the the master bathroom door. Rolling his neck and shoulders, he looks back to Stiles. ]

You'll get used to it eventually.

Edited 2013-01-25 05:06 (UTC)

Or you could just like actually stop, out of consideration or a less finely honed sense of sadism. [Rolling his eyes, he pushes away from the dresser and...

Well, he'd like to stay he didn't blatantly stare. But honestly, after all that just happened downstairs, Stiles has probably earned some staring at Derek and his twelve freakin' abs and his perfect everything. He at least tries to be smooth about it, but it doesn't exactly work, and he tries to transition his once over into a stare at the ceiling, rocking backwards on his heels and tugging down the shirt. Aside from the fact that it's a little too big around his chest, it's a decent fit. Definitely pajamas he's probably going to keep forever.

Jerking his head away to keep from doing anything particularly stupid, Stiles makes his way over to the bed and sits down, leaning back on his hands.] You pull off the mousketeer flawlessly.

Mm, no.

[ Neither oblivious nor stupid, Derek snorts as Stiles conducts his once over. But he doesn't comment on it, and instead goes back to getting undressed. He empties his pockets, contents going onto the dresser before he unthreads his belt from his jeans. Usually his process isn't this slow, but he's quite possibly doing this on purpose right now.

He pauses as he rolls his belt, looking at the pictures again. ]

Laura insisted until I agreed to wear them. It's been tradition ever since. Sort of doomed myself that first trip.

[Yep, still staring. Stiles isn't stupid, either, and he can tell that Derek's doing this on purpose. So, hey. If he's gonna put on a show, he probably needs an audience. And Stiles is definitely a willing audience. Granted, he should probably stop thinking about this before Derek can practically smell it on him, so he curls his fingers in the sheets under his hands and tries to focus on a topic that isn't Derek's ridiculously good looking everything.

(Thinking that that ridiculously good looking person/wolf/greek god descended from earth wanted to kiss Stiles was kind of exciting, and also, definitely not helping.)]

Man, my dad and I saved up and got season passes last year. Next time, I'm so coming with. I have to see that in person. [After a minute, he adds, eyes crinkling in a smile.] Mine's got my name on the back.

Your real name or your nickname?

[ Derek says it conversationally, but he's known Stiles' real name since he was under Melissa's care. Not that he's ever told anyone that, he just made the connection when Scott told him about Mr. Stilinski and it went from there. He's saving the reveal for when it'll be most amusing.

He sets his belt aside and undoes his jeans, pulling them off calmly and folding them once he's down to his boxer briefs. Sure, he's doing it on purpose, but Stiles is staring. He's going to give him something to actually stare at. Besides, he needs to find some pants to put on. With an absent hum, he goes through his drawers to pick a pair.

He doesn't seem intent on putting a shirt on. ]

Yeah, because I'm definitely going to wear a hat with my real name on it for the world to see. [He answers that with a derisive snort, almost rolling his eyes. It's a stupid question, but it's also a stupid question that makes him suspicious.

Luckily, he can't consider it for long, because then Derek's got no pants on, either, and Stiles is seriously reconsidering the whole "wait for a while, we just kissed like thirty minutes ago for the first time ever" mantra that was going through his head. In fact, it was starting to turn into "how would Derek react if you climbed him like a tree in the next ten minutes" instead.

Really, really not conducive. God damn it. Boxer briefs are God's best/worst invention.

Sitting up, he crosses his arms over his lap, but keeps his gaze forward. Definitely conspicuous. Super conspicuous.]

[ Totally, Stiles. And he definitely can't smell that, either.

Turning fully, Derek shuts the drawer are he selects a pair of pants. He leans against the dresser, unfolding the pants calmly as he considers the sarcastic comment. It's easier than thinking on whether or not he should stick to similar thoughts. They have basically been dating for months now, never mind the kiss and the heat behind it earlier.

But they should probably avoid anything more than that. (Even though he's questioning the merits of it in his head. Yes, that person/wolf/Greek god did very much want to kiss Stiles. Among other things.)

He starts to pull the pants on, sort of glad they at least didn't stay downstairs. ]

and I know the call of my unborn sons colors all I've done.

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