potosi | crayola doesn't make a color for your eyes.

[ Slowly leveling a look over at Stiles, he turns his attention towards the road again so that he doesn't get stuck staring at him and thus wind up running the Cruiser into a tree or something. Because knowing his luck-- ] Yes, that's exactly what I would tweet about.

[ Tone dry, Derek listens to the beat that Stiles drums out, somehow soothed by the sound rather than annoyed by it. Tapping sets him on edge, idle fidgeting distracting and annoying. And then he met Stiles, got used to him and his constant movement and absent chatter. Going without it, even for a day or two, makes him feel restless.

His eyebrows raise a little. ]

Are you downplaying yourself or just playing me up due to the fact that they've known me in a different setting?

[ He definitely just implied Stiles was hot. ]

I'm sure someone's already got one pretending to be you, anyway. The price of internet celebrity-ness. [ He's grinning by the time they pull into the suburban paradise that is the host's home--everything here looks like it was pulled straight out of a Home and Garden magazine, minus the snow. It's kind of nice, in a domestic kind of way, and it makes something deep in Stiles' soul remind him to never, ever, ever let any of these ladies see the hovel he calls home. Like, ever.

The next thing Derek says make him blink a little owlishly, startled by it. That is the second compliment he's paid his looks tonight, and he feels his ears go red as he turns his gaze out of the window to try and hide it, reaching down to undo his seatbelt as they pull into the drive. ] I wouldn't call it playing you up, dude.

No doubt there's someone out there planning on making one for you, then. You've got your own following now. [ His expression curls in distinct amusement at that thought, but his eyes focus on the house that they pull up to. Derek drifts until he can find a good parking where he doesn't have to worry about being stuck. Hopefully, anyways. Much as he likes the army of housewives he's amassed, he's... also less inclined to be stuck at their houses for ages when they're all gathered together.

A quiet sort of pleasure crosses his face when Stiles looks away, catching the red in his ears as he puts the car in park and turns off the engine, and honestly he really is incredibly pleased about flustering Stiles like that. He looks good with a flush in his skin, and he should maybe be worried that he enjoys it so much. For now, though, he just reaches over and takes the casserole out of Stiles' lap so he can actually get out of the car. ] Mm. C'mon.

[ Stiles is not going to survive this dinner. Between Derek who has been--god, he could swear he's been flirting with him for the past half an hour, and the housewives, who tend to be meddlesome at best, he is probably just going to have to hang himself with his shoelaces before the night is over from sheer embarrassment. ] Someone, somewhere, is probably making fun of me. It's the constant sensation you learn to shut out when you're the Star Wars geek in high school.

[ Passing the casserole over, Stiles opens the door to the cruiser and slides out of the front seat, tugging down his sweater and putting the tupperware full of cookies on his hip as he comes around the other side of the car to walk with him. Comically, Stiles looks from Derek to the house and puts on a mock serious expression. ] I hope you're ready for war, private.

[ Derek has absolutely been flirting, and he should probably stop at some point because he's going to regret every life choice he's ever made in his life if he keeps going. But Stiles is, well. While he's caught off guard, he's also receptive to it once he actually recovers. But the problem now is that they're about to be surrounded by housewives and their families and associates, all of which will latch onto the smallest thing. ] I'm surprised people didn't make fun of me more often if that's the bar we're setting for mockery.

[ He offers him an amused look as he slides out of the car, before he moves to follow suit. Bumping the door shut with his hip, he smooths his hand over his sweater again before he makes his way to meet him halfway. Part of him really wants to retreat, but it's too late now. ]

Not my first time in the trenches. [ And with that, he makes his way forward. ]

People make fun of you? Okay. [ He almost laughs, because let's be real here, Derek is entirely too hot and entirely too amazing to be made fun of. He can't imagine anyone disliking him, because even if he'd come off as abrasive...well, Stiles kind of digs abrasive. But he latches onto the Star Wars joke and just brightens all over. ] Oh, what, you a Jedi at heart?

[ If he likes Star Wars, Stiles is just going to lean over and kiss him smack on the mouth into that little light up deer on Mrs. Johnson's lawn.

Christ.

He fluffs a hand through his dark hair and tries to pretend he's not making himself look good as he walks in easy stride with Derek up to the house, shooting him a look out of the side of his eye before ringing the doorbell. ] Let the warfare begin.

I played baseball and basketball in high school, in between watching Star Wars and Star Trek while trying to decide where my heart lie. [ Leaning a shoulder against the door once they rise to the porch, he angles his head a little to look more at Stiles than at where their focus is supposed to be. His attention has always been immediately drawn to Stiles, regardless of situation, so of course he gets it now. Especially when they're in the midst of flirting.

The corners of his mouth curl downwards even more, and he gently knocks his hip into Stiles' as he hears the occupants of the house light up with the ringing of the doorbell.

Stiles looks good, his hair ruffled and clothes fitting, flattering. Of course his eyes stay on him even as the door starts to open. ] May the Force be with you.

[ And then he straightens up, smiling charmingly at the housewife that opens the door. Obligingly, he lets her pull him in by his forearms, ducking to let her kiss his cheeks above his beard. ] Mrs. Johnson, good to see you.

[ And let the night begin. ]

[ Oh my god.

Stiles is going to die tonight. He is clearly going to die tonight. He rolls his head back in what's basically an eyeroll and mouths "jesus frickin christ" at the sky, and tries to ignore the fact that his heart literally swooped into his stomach at a friggin' star wars joke.

This is so bad, it's not even funny.

Luckily, Mrs. Johnson comes around and Stiles reaches over to greet her too, leaning down to kiss her cheeks in return and offering her the cookies in his arms. She beams at him and Stiles tries to will the blush on his face--when she turns around to take their stuff inside, he elbows Derek in the rib and hisses "you're an asshole", and tries to pretend he's not kind of jittery and happy as they make their way inside. ]

[ Rather than be disgruntled by Stiles elbowing at him, Derek just smiles charmingly at him in a completely different way than he does the older woman. She takes their cookies and the casserole and ushers them into the house, and he simply sets his hand in the small of Stiles' back as they go. It's for just a moment, like he's bracing himself for the inevitable avalanche of excited middle-aged women that have adopted him into their strange family, but then he's swept away like he predicted.

They keep commenting on the fact that he looks happier than usual, and think that they're so sly when they do, like he doesn't know exactly what they're implying every time they titter at him and look off to wherever the kindergarten teacher has been taken off to.

But he can't help but gravitate towards Stiles every time he's given the chance, when he's not sneaking off to the kitchen to escape from them for a couple minutes at a time before someone is sent to retrieve him.

He's so doomed. He really is. ]

crayola doesn't make a color for your eyes.

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