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

Gonna--hehe. Gonna read me a story, too? [ Still a little shit to the end. Stiles leans heavily into him when he reaches out, even frowning at the fact that he didn't get the water--but he's easy to distract, considering, and he finds his grip on Derek's shirt, stumbling forward a couple of steps.

See, look, he's so totally got this. Stiles is a legend. (It's a seriously good thing their apartment doesn't have stairs. ] Comiiiiiiiiiiiing.

If you want one. [ More like if he's still conscious by the time he gets stripped and hydrated and put into bed. Derek lets out a soft hum as he leans into him and follows easily as he starts stumbling forward. He isn't exactly keen on the idea of him falling over, and he's definitely grateful for a lack of steps anywhere.

Just furniture and errant things on the floor, which are easy enough to nudge out of the way or steer Stiles around as he lets him lead him by the shirt towards his bedroom. ] What do you want for breakfast?

[ That gets a pleased smile out of the kindergarten teacher, who stumbles his way to his room, but freezes when Derek asks the last question, and promptly whirls around, to which he falls smack into Derek's chest.

But that's not enough to deter his questions anyway. ] You're really gonna stay the whole night?!

[ There's a beat. ] Pancakes.

Edited 2013-12-14 07:43 (UTC)

[ It's really a good thing that Derek has an excellent sense of balance, because otherwise there would be a pile of drunken teacher and infatuated cook on the floor of Stiles' bedroom, covered in water. He steadies them both as Stiles falls into him, surprised but then amused. ]

Yeah, unless you're planning on getting up to make sure that the apartment doesn't burn down due to the pulled pork somehow setting everything on fire. [ He hooks his hand around him, setting it in the small of his back. ]

What kind of pancakes?

Blueberry. [ He nods, saying that gravely like it is in fact the most serious decision in the world, and lets Derek steady him. He could totally stay right here for the rest of the night if he wanted to.

Slowly, he pushes himself up off of his chest and takes a couple more wobbly steps forward, leaning into the wall until he can basically drag himself into his room. Said room has clothes all over the floor, and posters and pictures lining the walls--his "bed" is a mattress propped up on what looks like literally planks of wood. It's big enough for two, though, and with nice (plaid) sheets and a batman pillow in the middle.

Crowing successfully, Stiles lets go and drops straight onto the bed, landing on the mattress with a muffled thump. ]

Blueberry it is. [ Mock-serious in response, he tries to keep from smiling at him. For some reason, it's incredibly difficult in the moment, which is strange because he's the master of keeping a straight face. (Laura loses the game to both him and Cora.)

Holding his hand up, in case he needs to make sure that Stiles doesn't fall over, he moves after him as he nudges the clothes out of the way with his shoe. The apartment isn't... exactly the best in the world, but Scott's still going to school and Stiles is a kindergarten teacher. He can get it. But it feels lived in and it's obvious that people spend time here. It's not all bad.

A snort leaves him as he flops onto the bed, eyebrows twitching. ] Are you going to sleep like that?

Mmmmmmmmm. [ Is the completely intelligible answer that comes out of his mouth. He lays there for a second, grinning goofily into his batman pillowcase, then rolls over, still holding the pillow against his face, until he's on his back on the far side of the bed.

Nailed it.

He peeks up behind the pillow, all bedhead and flush, and grins at him, then sets it down. ] Like this.

[ Oh god.

Stiles is going to kill him.

Derek has to set the glass down because otherwise he's going to spill it everywhere, because he absolutely cannot use any brainpower as Stiles peeks over the top of his pillow like that. This is such a problem, and it's really, really bad. Laughing shakily, he moves and sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out to prod him in the side. ]

Well, if you want to sleep in your day clothes I'm not going to stop you.

[ He immediately twitches away from the poke and laughs, bright and loud, then squints at Derek, like he's thinking. He's got a point.

But that requires getting up. And that's really a lot of hard work. Drunkenly considering his options, he fumbles with the button and the zipper on his pants, picking up his hips so he can kick them off. Shirt goes next, and this is normally where he'd put on a pajama shirt and sweats, but that is not happening.

So he just flops backwards again and throws an arm across the bed towards Derek, even doing a sarcastic jazz hand. ] Tadaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

[ He does at least try and worm under the covers. ]

[ He shouldn't have said anything.

Derek stares, transfixed, and tries to ignore the way that his neck heats up when he realizes that he's staring. Choking on a laugh at the jazz hand, he coughs a little afterwards and reaches to help him worm his way underneath the covers. He is not going to get up and find something for him to change into, because he does not need to fry his brain more than he already has.

Now is just the time to make Stiles go to sleep. ] Color me impressed.

[ It doesn't come out nearly as dry as he'd like it to, but he shoves that firmly aside and reaches to pick up the glass again from where he set it down. ] Time to indulge me and make your hangover slightly better in the morning.

Okay, mom.

[ Stiles gives him a look that is probably meant to be flat, but it mostly just looks goofy, and he pushes himself up to a mostly sitting position, picking up the water when Derek offers it and drinking it, a little unsteadily--he didn't realize how thirsty he was until he started--until he swallows the last bit and flops back over in bed, snuggling into his spot. ]

Y'don't hafta...[ Like it occurred to him now that Derek was gonna sleep on the couch. ] ...go sleep on the couch if you don't wanna.

Edited 2013-12-14 08:14 (UTC)

[ Unlike Stiles, Derek actually manages to give him a flat look at that. But he isn't actually bothered, considering he knows exactly how fussy this seems to be. Still, he'd much rather avoid Stiles having a godawful headache out to kill him in the morning. Having one that's just out to inflict lingering damage is much better, even if it's just a lesser evil.

Before he gets up and moves to leave the room, he regards Stiles as he seems to realize his original plan. It wouldn't bother him all that much, he's slept in worse places before, but-- ]

I'll come back after I get the roast in the oven. [ He reaches out, smoothing his fingers through his bedhead. ]

[ There's a doofy smile on his face as he leans into the hand in his hair like a satisfied cat, then he nods. ] Okay. Seeyasoon.

[ By the time Derek's finished with the roast, he's more than asleep, completely wrapped around a pillow and dozing with his mouth wide open as the alcohol finally takes its total desired effect.

However, he is scooted all the way over in bed, like he was waiting. Just in case. ]

[ It doesn't take too long for him to get things going. Derek's made this enough times, since he and Stiles actually started hanging out with one another, that he's mostly got the recipe downpat. Partially out of some want to impress Stiles, partially his need to perfect it on principle. It's a good recipe, and it's pretty damn delicious.

He'll have to get up and put it all in the crockpot when the roast finishes, but for about three hours he can just... lay in bed with Stiles.

He changes, silently thankful that he went ahead and brought things with him for an overnight. And then he stands in the doorway, shoulder leaning against it, to smile a little at where Stiles is asleep around a pillow. Huffing a laugh, he comes in, settling carefully in the space that's been left open. ]

crayola doesn't make a color for your eyes.

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