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

[ 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.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject