[ tucking his phone back in his pocket, stiles allows himself to be pulled over--a laugh bursts out of him and he slides his free arm around derek's waist, leaning forward to plant a messy kiss on him. he's happy, hell, he's friggin joyful, because stiles doesn't speak a damn word of french--hell, this is the first time he's been out of the country--and he's freakin' ecstatic to be out here anywhere. ] I figured that was part of the equation anyway.

[ giving the hand in his a tight squeeze, stiles honestly doesn't give two fucks if they look like that stupid, sappy couple to the taxi driver, who pulls their suitcases out before driving off--someone already asked if they were honeymooning when they were on the plane and derek was asleep. he'd pretend that he didn't look stupidly fond when he said no.

(maybe next time.)

grabbing his suitcase handle, he gives derek's hand an emphatic tug. ] C'mon, hotel, then food. Plan can't start with friggin suitcases. ~Le suitcases~, if you will.