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

[ The "oh my god" that slips out of his mouth is definitely not actually supposed to, but he can't help it. This stupid crush on Derek has reached Lydia like proportions, and Stiles has the distinct feeling that it's only going to get worse over time.

But if Derek doesn't return the favor, then so be it. Stiles is damn good at the pining game.

His smile shifts up to something lopsided as he looks at him, a little bit of unbridled affection in his brown eyes before the compliment registers and the flush on his cheeks darkens a little. ] It's my parent teacher conference outfit.

[ A hand comes up, waves a little like he's trying to dissipate it, don't be ridiculous, he doesn't know what you're talking about. Stiles pauses and looks at him, though, mid gesture, then holds up a finger, only to stumble back into the apartment. He returns a couple of seconds later holding a round tin full of thumbprint cookies in a bunch of different colors and flavors.

Then, he shoots him a little more of a stupid grin, nodding at Derek, and rests the tin on his cocked hip.

God he still looks stupidly attractive--Stiles wants to fist his fingers in that sweater. This is the worst. ] Yeah, didn't want to go to the sharks without the chum first. Let's go.

[ He's not a plus one. He was invited too. That's just all he needs to keep repeating to himself. ]

[ A snort manages to leave him at the slip, but Derek doesn't comment on it. Just leaves it as he always does, just Stiles being Stiles-- which doesn't make it easier-- and just shrugs a shoulder in response to his attempts to wave it off. It doesn't matter if it's his parent teacher conference outfit. He looks good in it, the way the sweater follows the taper of his body from broad shoulders to slender hips. When did he notice that? He doesn't even know.

There's a heat at the back of his neck and aiming for his ears, but he ignores it because there's something incredibly pleasing about watching pink become a little redder, and he tries to remind himself that he's not supposed to run his fingers over it. (Or want to put his mouth on it.)

He waits as he watches Stiles disappear into the apartment again, expression soft and fond as he does. ]

Good plan. They're vicious, and need appeasement. [ A small huff of a laugh leaves him, and he nods his head back so that they can head out over to the car. ] Which means we need to go before we're late, because that'll just incite them further.

[ Though he's going to pretend it's not because they'll think they were up to something beforehand. ]

Yyyeah. I teach their kids, I don't need their wrath incited on me for another reason. I mean, I've already gotta sugarcoat the conferences for the host. [ Picking up the cookies proper, Stiles slips out under Derek's arm and heads down the stairs of his brownstone, making his way out to his car. It feels natural, just to be walking around with him like this--hell, to be going to some kind of party with him, really--and even if they're just as friends, it's still kind of nice. Stiles has his friends, but most of them through Scott.

But Derek--Derek's different. They argue and banter and fight over everything, but it's settled into a rhythm that pulsates through every one of his actions, finds it's way into his heartbeat and settles there.

He leans on the window of the Cruiser while he waits, raises his eyebrows at Derek and grins at him as he comes closer. God only knows how this is going to go--he likes most of the ladies, even if he spends most of his time gravitating naturally towards Derek whenever they hang out with them. They mother over him as much as they do over Stiles, and honestly, it's--kind of hilarious to watch. ]

And they'll complain for weeks about it. To both of us. [ Derek watches after him as he goes, smile softening around the edges even as it grows. But he follows after him easily, pulling his keys free from his pocket again as he goes. Truth be told, Stiles is really his only friend outside of his family and the housewives he typically talks to. There are some fans of his vlogs that he'll talk to, even some people in Beacon Hills that he spends some amount of time with.

But Stiles is different for him, too. Has been, since day one. Their dialogues are rarely bumpy, even when they actually do fight. It's a one-two step that continues, revolving around each other seamlessly and constantly evolving.

Clicking the unlock button on his electric key, he practically crowds into Stiles' space to reach and curl his fingers around the handle of the door. It'd just be another one of their one-two steps for him to come in a little closer, dip in the short distance between them. But he doesn't, just raises his eyebrows at him in return and offers an amused look as he pulls on the handle and jostles him a little with the door.

Maybe he's been spending most of his time "trying to woo," as he's been told, Stiles with food, but a lot of their flirting has to do with picking on one another. They're like the kindergarteners Stiles teaches. ]

I'll get it from them and their five year olds. Passive aggressive lunch notes are not fun, let me tell you. [ Stiles backs up into the door when Derek crowds him into it and tilts his head in a little, flashing him a bit of a smirk, even if the distance makes his heart flutter--go figure he's just shoving him with the door.

Stiles rolls his eyes, but it's good natured, and shoves him with the cookie tin in his arm, then dips out from under his arm like water and slides into the car. It's practically his front seat at this point--the seat's set to the length of his legs and leaned back the way he likes it, and one of his hoodies is piled up on the floor, which he notices waiting for Derek to come back. Whoops. He really does spend a lot of time here, to the point of where Scott asks him once a week how his boyfriend's doing.

It's so not funny.

Kicking back and propping his feet up on the dashboard, he tugs Derek's seat up to the very closest it can go to the wheel before he can get in, then offers him a bright grin, putting his casserole in his own lap. ] Let's get a move on, I'm pretty sure that Mrs. Johnson's gonna make those sweet potatoes that I love and if they're gone when we get there, I'm gonna be pissed.

They send me chain e-mails. Like from the 90s. They'll dig them up from old forums and shoot them my way just to clog my inbox when they're mad at me or trying to be "teach me a lesson." [ There's a twist of regret in his chest that he doesn't just lean in to kiss Stiles right there, but Derek decides that he's not going to potentially ruin something when there's a whole evening ahead of them. Teasing him is natural, easy.

Laughing a little as he's pushed at, he takes a step back but doesn't go until Stiles has ducked into the car like it's completely natural. And maybe it is, because he has things of Stiles' everywhere-- the seat's adjusted just for him, the hoodie's there, he has some of his crafts in the trunk space. He's pretty sure he has an Arby's bag under one of the seats somewhere, too, from just an errant night.

Shutting the door, he walks around the front and completely misses Stiles being a little shit. He practically hipchecks his seat and knocks his knee against the wheel. He shoots him a look, trying for annoyed but it just comes across as fondly exasperated, and he jerks his seat back so he can actually slide into it. ]

She'll have made extra, considering how many people are going to show up. [ Unlike how he used to, he doesn't tell Stiles off for putting his feet up on the dash. ]

They're probably just getting back at you for your lack of a facebook. [ Stiles says that like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and throws him a lopsided smile as he leans back in the passenger seat. It's undeniable that the prank on his seat makes him grin, too, because honestly, ribbing at Derek is like one of his favorite things ever, and he loves it when he actually falls for whatever's happening.

Whether it's an instagram picture of him unwittingly wearing a "smack the chef" sign with an arrow pointing to his ass or something with the two of them goofing off instead, these kind of moments have been littering his life for the past year. His instagram account has about a good hundred thousand followers, people who are interested in Derek's life (and that doesn't surprise him, Derek is, for all intents and purposes, a celebrity), and that makes something weird and warm twist up in his chest, because--hell, because people are following him because he's such an important part of Derek's life.

It's a little sobering and a little exciting, to be honest.

Pumping his fist in a "yesssss" gesture, Stiles pauses for a second before Derek can start the car and tugs him over by the collar of that stupidly attractive sweater. It's not for a kiss (as much as he would love that), but he holds up his phone and clicks the selfie camera once he gets a good shot of them both, grinning like a doofus at the screen.

Might as well give the people what they want, right? ]

Off to a Christmas party, armed with baked goods. #yourejealous #haleofakitchen

[ He clicks send and sets the phone on his chest as they start to head off. ] You said you were making something new. What is this? It smells awesome.

Edited 2013-12-25 18:59 (UTC)

Probably. They keep trying to get me to make one. [ It's not that Derek doesn't understand the concept of facebook or other networking sites-- he does, and he's mastered the aspect and role of youtube in that regard-- it's that he doesn't like them. Laura getting him to do the youtube channel involved a whole lot of twisting his arm, but five years later he's one of the top food channels, has over a million subscribers, and has been featured on a few Food Network TV spots.

And yet he continues to turn down an actual show any time someone asks about it, or he gets an offer. The revenue he gets from ads is enough for him, and he isn't in this for the fame, really.

Occupied in fixing his seat back to its usual spot, he startles a little as Stiles pulls him over by his sweater. But it's obvious pretty quick what Stiles is doing-- something that he's done enough times that he doesn't pull away, just focuses his attention forward on the phone and raises his eyebrows at it-- before he's resettling in his adjusted seat and putting the key in the ignition.

Though he may not have an instagram account, he's seen Stiles' plenty of times. The pictures of him, of them together, are pretty damn popular even among people that don't watch his videos. And Stiles looks so happy in a lot of them that they take together, he can't even question it. If it makes Stiles happy, then that's all he cares about. ]

Basically bread pudding. Maple cream cheese french toast casserole. [ Which is a mouthful to say, but just as much to eat. Hopefully. ]

It's a valiant cause, trying to get you to join the 21st century. Besides, instagram and twitter are where it's at now, anyway. You're already too far behind. [ He's just teasing, mostly because he knows Derek's disdain for Facebook and much of the internet's social qualities in general--he remembers a raucous dinner where Laura and Cora (acting as Derek, in perfect imitation) reenacted everything that had happened when they tried to get him to create the video channel in the first place. It'd ended up being a huge huge success, so of course Laura'd never let him live it down, ever.

And besides, that was how Stiles got to meet him. So he was thankful for Derek's crotchety views on the internet and his stupid amazing video channel. Stiles has been in it a few times now, either acting as a second pair of hands or doing the occasional (just twice) guest spot, and the Hale of a Kitchen recipe broadcasts had become an integral part of his life, even more so than before.

Stiles' phone is already pinging with likes--it makes him grin a little, and he uses that as a distraction so he can not so smoothly sniffs the casserole. Stiles immediately makes a noise in his throat because holy god wow. ] Maple cream cheese french to--ohhh, my god, jesus that smells awesome. Dude, you are blowing me out of the water as usual.

[ Derek does kind of have an unfair advantage. He puts the lid back on carefully and holds it in his lap like the precious cargo it is. ] Maybe they'll have mercy on me because I'm poor.

I had a twitter for all of five minutes. [ That sounds a little reflective, thoughtful, and he raises his eyebrows a little as if he's actually thinking about it. But honestly, he doesn't care enough about the social networking of the internet. Facebook is annoying and invasive, twitter is pointless to him due in part to texting, and instagram is just a still version of youtube to him. He can't be bothered to figure out the filters, honestly, except for when he steals Stiles' phone and takes pictures of him (on his own, with Talia, with his sisters, whatever) for him to upload, so people get his side of their relationship too.

Otherwise he doesn't care. He has youtube. He uploads videos of Stiles where they're goofing off, makes him stand on the other side of the camera with him or on his own. Includes him in his life as much as Stiles includes him in his. It's a great thing, something that he'd grown to really appreciate in the past year.

He can't help the short bark of a laugh that leaves him as he sniffs at the casserole, a small grin curling across his expression. ] I have to up the game every Christmas or they get that motherly disappointment I would rather avoid.

[ Turning his head to actually look at him and not the road, he snorts. ] They'll have mercy on you because you're you.

What would you even tweet about? [ He sounds incredulous, but it's mostly a joke--Stiles shoots him a look, one eyebrow raised, and snickers under his breath, imitating-- ] "My sisters drove me crazy today." "Today I cooked. Tomorrow I will brood."

[ He would actually pay money to see that, to be honest, but he wouldn't press. Either way, it's hilarious, and he taps out an absent staccato on the lid of the casserole container, long fingers drumming to some unknown beat as he considers Derek's response, tilting his head back to laugh like a little kid. ] Dude, no, I'm their precious sunshine angel children's teacher. If anything, they'll be less merciful on me. You're hot and wrapped around their fingers.

[ ...did he just say that out loud, that Derek was hot? Whoops. Maybe he'd take it as a joke?

It was so ridiculously true though. God. ]

[ 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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stupid distracting anchorman i want stereks

gathers up the stereks

kisses them tenderly on the nose

dreamily sighs

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