It's The Sudden Stop
Title: It's The Sudden Stop
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 2x12
Word Count: 5000
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "Are you asking me for Sharktopus's motivation? Because if you are, I think you're wildly overestimating how much thought the writers put into this movie."
AN: Part eleven in the Milkshakes and Matchsticks series.
It's not easy to have a relationship with someone who's occasionally mortal enemies with your best friend. And, ok, maybe mortal enemies is stretching it a little bit. But the faces Scott has taken to pulling at Derek aren't exactly friendly, even when they're working together. Which seems to happen a lot lately, as they lurch from one crisis to the next. For all Scott's insistence that he doesn't want to be involved in any of this, he's always the first person to jump in whenever someone's in trouble. The first person to insist that they have to help. Which is a Scott thing, and one of the reasons why Stiles can't stay mad at him, why he can never stay mad at him. Scott just cares about people - and no amount of pouting, and grumbling, and stupid faces, can make Stiles forget that.
Of course, it's also kind of a Derek thing too. Scott keeps grumbling that Stiles has divided loyalties, which Stiles is kind of pissed about, because he has a better track record with divided loyalties than anyone here. Also, it's really hard to feel conflicted when said best friend and boyfriend are both equally good at making the stupid decisions. Decisions which Stiles is quick to call them on, because he's awesome like that.
Though to give Scott credit he hasn't attempted to convince Stiles that he's sleeping with - that's he's working with the enemy, yet. Or in any way tried to make him see why he should stop seeing Derek, since that first conversation. Maybe because he's afraid of turning himself into Chris Argent? Or because Stiles has already been through so much shit for him, that he can't make himself do it. Instead there's just a stubborn refusal to acknowledge it on a bad day, and a sort of grudging acceptance on a good day. But there are more good days lately, so he thinks Scott will get there eventually. Scott's really bad at hating people for very long, especially when they're pretty much constantly hanging around, trying to help. Derek tends to hover a lot, in that way he does. Where he swings wildly between being protective, being grumpy and overbearing, and being grumpy and unbearable.
Stiles tries really hard not to make it obvious in front of everyone else. Even though they all know already. He's thought about it, a couple of times, he's thought about sidling up to Derek and doing something, but he has this idea that it will end in either humiliating rejection, or terrible mockery, and he gets the weirdest feeling that Derek feels the same way. So, yes, mostly the trying not to be obvious about it, involves standing at least five feet away from each other at all times. Though Scott sometimes gets this haunted look, like he thinks they might throw themselves at each other at any moment (Scott might actually think that's normal given the whole Allison thing.)
Though Scott would totally deserve it if they did.
That doesn't mean Scott doesn't still sulk like a little kid, when Stiles blows him off for Derek. Which, y'know, is only fair considering the amount of times Scott has abandoned him for Allison. Not that he's been making a list, but it's a lot, and the life-or-death situations count for double, maybe triple. So Stiles is probably owed at least a few weekends where he texts apologetic messages to Scott, forcing him to spend the time being sad and lonely in his room, possibly tragically eating chips and thinking about things. It's not like Stiles enjoys that mental image, no that would be cruel, he feels bad for Scott, he does. There is no satisfaction there at all. Because that would make Stiles a terrible person.
Ok, maybe the tiniest bit of satisfaction - fractional.
Barely worth mentioning.
Also, Stiles finally gets to experience first hand how spending time with your exceptionally hot other half - who you're still not even close to being over the insane hotness of - can make a pretty awesome change to eating chips, and shooting the crap out of cyborgs and/or zombies with your best friend. The fact that Stiles now has the option of both - he kind of understands why Scott was so distracted for the whole Allison thing.
Derek's sprawled out on his couch, since Stiles's dad's isn't going to be back until eight tomorrow morning, and having the whole house to himself on movie nights - which there now are, movie nights are now a thing apparently - is kind of awesome. Derek's jacket is thrown over the arm, and he's leaning back against the cushions, half amused and half impatient, while Stiles spins an unlabeled DVD on one finger.
"You deserve this, really, you do," Stiles tells him. Which is true, he's been planning this. He's had plans, he's made plans, for time he spends with Derek. Which is a thing he can do now.
"I deserve this?" Derek says with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes." Stiles flips the DVD into the tray. "I'm filling the very glaring and depressing holes in your cultural knowledge. It's a burden I've taken upon myself." He crawls his way back to the couch, and throws himself down next to Derek, as close as he can get away with. Derek huffs and leans back into the cushions, in a way that shoves their shoulders together, without any sort of awkwardness at all. It feels pointed, and ok, yes, you're probably allowed some sort of familiarity when you're dating someone. But, in Stiles's defense, Derek's need to be sprawled against him is kind of new. It's very new, in fact, and he's still not used to it. Derek acts like it's not even a thing. Like he's not supposed to mention how one moment Derek makes it seem like a huge deal to get close enough to kiss him, and the next he can just yank Stiles up against his chest and thigh, and it's all completely fine.
Derek acts like it's not a big deal. So Stiles is pretending it isn't either. Even though it is, and he's still dealing with the hugeness of it, in a strangled, internal sort of way. Which tends to make him more jittery, and talkative, and demented than usual. So, yay, for that.
The title of the movie hits the screen almost straight away, in huge, blocky letters, complete with overly dramatic - and loud - music.
"What the hell is a Sharktopus?" Derek demands.
Stiles throws his hands up.
"See, this is why you need to be here, on my couch, absorbing important cultural information."
Derek doesn't look convinced.
"Shark movies," Stiles says. "They're like the cornerstone of adolescence. That's one of the first things you learn when you graduate from talking animals, the ocean will just straight up kill you if you go near it, with its many teeth, also possibly tentacles. Seriously don't go in the water kids, or you will die - only then we do go in the water, obviously, because it's a right of passage. There's nothing quite like the threat of being eaten in half. Because the real life ocean isn't scary enough. They have to make it more scary."
"I've seen Jaws," Derek says with a frown, because obviously that's the only thing he got from that. And he makes it sound as if Stiles has accused him of something, or of missing something.
"Everyone's seen Jaws. Also, I think actual sharks stopped being scary about fifteen years ago, now it's giant sharks, prehistoric sharks, shark-octopus hybrids, sharks from space - ok, I haven't actually seen any movies about a shark from space yet, but I guarantee you, there's some drunk guy, sitting in an over-priced swivel chair, trying to find a script writer for that right now. I'm not quite sure how they'd swim in space. Or if it would just be an alien shark that crashed to earth? Some sort of alien D.N.A. made into a shark?"
"I feel old," Derek decides. Which is a joke, it's totally a joke. Probably.
Stiles slings an arm over his huge shoulders and pats consolingly.
"Shush, just watch."
Derek loops a hand round his wrist and squeezes, just tight enough to tell him he's not getting his arm back. Stiles isn't going to complain about that, considering that he'd been desperately trying to think of a way of subtly leaving it there anyway.
"It's chasing a speedboat," Derek points out five minutes later. "How is it chasing a speedboat?" He already sounds like he's going to regret the answer. It's like he doesn't know Stiles at all.
"Tell me you would not shit yourself if a shark-octopus hybrid was all up in your business, and you were in a speedboat?"
"Why would I be in a speedboat?" Derek demands, like that's a genuine question he needs the answer to.
Stiles pulls a face at him, because sometimes Derek is sadly lacking in imagination, and it pains him, it does.
"Work with me here. Shark-octopus hybrid, you really think you're going to be swimming away?" He gestures at the screen, where Sharktopus is not exactly helping with his point, by currently looking exceptionally fake.
Derek shakes his head.
"No, I wouldn't be scared of it, not if it looked like that."
"Like what?"
"Like it was made of plastic and curtains," Derek says scathingly.
"I'm sorry, were you expecting a realistic shark-octopus hybrid?" Stiles says. "Because if you were I think you should maybe lower your expectations."
Sharktopus is now fighting the speedboat, in as much as a CG shark can fight a speedboat anyway.
"I'm seriously considering not having any expectations at all," Derek says carefully. "Though I suppose you're going to tell me it gets better."
Stiles laughs and shakes his head.
"No, no it does not get better. It pretty much stays at this level the whole way through, with the occasional moment of glorious and magnificent awfulness."
Derek looks at him like he hopes he's joking. Stiles nods slowly. There's a burst of air that manages to sound irritated and amused at the same time. Which is so perfectly Derek that Stiles can't help laughing too.
"How is it walking on land?" Derek asks a minute later, more in angry protest than confusion. Stiles is sensing that this is going to be a recurring theme.
"Because it's half shark, and half octopus." Stiles gestures with his hands, in a way that almost certainly looks nothing like a shark or an octopus. Shadow puppetry, how the fuck does that work anyway?
"Yeah, they never exactly explained why it's half shark and half octopus."
"Do you really need a reason? If you could wouldn't you, really?" Stiles points at the screen. Where Sharktopus is having some sort of existential crisis over its broken control collar. Derek's face does a complicated scrunching thing, like he suspects Stiles is insane, the really bad sort of insane for which there is no help. "No really, it's an experiment. Mad scientists, government contract to kill things, money no object. Do you need any more information than that. Smart people are terrifying."
Derek grunts in a way that says he's not going to argue with that.
"Octopuses can't walk on land either," he adds, like the movie is now ruined beyond any hope of repair. He frowns like the scientific inaccuracy is actually giving him ulcers.
"Sure they can," Stiles says, mouth pulled carefully into a straight line. "I saw it on the Discovery channel, they totally, like, squidge along on their tentacles."
Derek glares at him, because he clearly thinks he's being mocked - which, yeah, a little bit.
"I'm pretty sure they can't," Derek says firmly.
"Are you going to argue with the Discovery channel? What am I saying of course you are. You're very stubborn, and you get testy when people prove you wrong."
"I do not get testy."
"You absolutely do, with the eyebrows, and the mouth, and the exasperated pouty thing. It's very distracting, different distracting, since you stopped being so angry and started hanging around on my couch without any shoes on. I like this relaxed, shoe-less version of you."
"I don't pout," Derek complains, in what he's clearly absolutely certain is not a pouty way.
Stiles is going to mention it, but there's a quick, hard knock at the door.
"Pizza." Stiles waves a hand as he slides his way off the couch. "Don't pause it, I know what happens next."
"How many times have you seen this?" Derek says slowly.
Sties just laughs, slides on socked feet towards the door.
"I'm judging you," Derek calls from the living room.
When Stiles comes back with pizza it's to discover Sharktopus murdering two guys who can't act, with its unrealistic CG tentacles. Derek's face is a confused sort of pained, as if he's no longer sure if they should be dating, because clearly Stiles has horrible, horrible taste. He's clearly wishing he'd been informed of this beforehand.
Stiles wants to be offended but he can't, he can't do anything but laugh. Also, he has a lap full of pizza box, and he's pretty sure Derek is not going to mock his movie taste while he's in charge of it. He's a genius, because Derek flips open the lid and steals a slice, before Stiles can even decides which bit he wants. Unsurprisingly, Derek eats like the huge werewolf he is, like his body runs in high gear all the time. He's worse than Scott, who can actually stop paying attention and eat an entire pizza to himself without noticing now. That had been worth the loss of pizza, if only to see the expression of unexpected surprise and horror, when Scott had put his hand down and found an empty box - an empty box and his own terrible shame.
"Oh, so you'll mock my taste in movies but you're happy enough to eat my delicious pizza."
"Yes. Because your taste in movies doesn't impact on the taste of the pizza."
Stiles subtly draws a line down the centre of the box in barbecue sauce. Which Derek looks at - and then ignores by flagrantly stealing a piece from his side.
"Oh my god, this is where it starts isn't it? First all of the pizza, and then you're stealing my clothes, and making me do your taxes, and write up all the werewolf mission reports -" It's really hard to talk around the mouthful of pizza he ends up with, when Derek gets sick of him complaining. Though Derek looks like he's on the verge of laughing, so it's worth it.
Sharktopus is dragging a woman off the beach and into the sea.
"What exactly does this half shark - half octopus want anyway?"
"Are you asking me for Sharktopus's motivation? Because if you are, I think you're wildly overestimating how much thought the writers put into this movie. The people in this movie barely have motivation, beyond 'scream' and 'try not to get eaten.' Also, possibly 'drive a speedboat.' Which I still think would be cool, the speedboat, not the being chased by a mutant, hybrid shark part. I'm pretty certain that part would suck." Stiles chews pizza for a minute. "I think he mostly just wants to fuck shit up. In a 'rargh, I'm a shark,' sort of way."
"You've watched this with Scott, haven't you?"
"I watch everything with Scott. I mostly watch everything with Scott. Scott is great movie company - not that you aren't, because you are. But you're very judgmental, you judge. These people probably worked really hard on the CG shark-octopus, and you're just judging them, and how they choose to apply their artistic talent."
Derek's mouth scrunches up in a way that says he's unimpressed.
"Can we put the word talent in sarcastic quotes?"
"No, because that's cruel. Watch the mutant shark wreak havoc."
The mutant shark does exactly that, in ever more unlikely ways. Derek makes a variety of confused and pained expressions. Which Stiles isn't going to stop finding hilarious any time soon.
"This movie is awful," Derek says at last.
"Of course it's awful," Stiles says with a laugh. "That's the whole point. It's not pretending to be great art. It's just trying to be entertainment."
Derek shakes his head.
"I'm not entertained, I'm confused. I feel like I'm being punished in some way."
"I'm hurt by that," Stiles admits, remote spinning on his hand. "I am, see if I invite you to any more of my trashy, monster movie evenings. Next time I'll just invite Scott, he appreciates my exacting taste, and my delicious pizza, and I'm pretty sure he takes up less of the couch."
Derek makes a low, rumbling noise in his throat, and then steals the remote, shoves it pointedly down the arm next to him. In a way that says if Stiles wants it back he'll have to climb over Derek, and dig it out - and that is so very tempting, Stiles kind of hates himself a little bit, for putting that mental image in his brain. Because now he can't stop thinking about being sprawled across Derek's lap.
He really needs to stop thinking about it, eat his pizza and watch the badly CG'd shark. Stiles put a hand down and encounters cardboard instead of delicious pizza.
"Hey, did you eat the last piece of pizza?" he demands.
"It was on my side," Derek tells him, and then gestures at the wobbly, smeared line of barbecue sauce that's still mostly intact down the middle of the box. That makes no sense, because there had been at least two pieces left on Stiles's side, and the piece of cheese he dropped is now -
"Oh my God, did you turn the box round? You did, didn't you?" Stiles is surprised enough by that that he gives a startled snort of laughter, and doesn't even call him on it, even though he was cheated out of pizza - cheated out of pizza by his boyfriend.
When the credits roll, Derek digs the remote back out. "You don't get to pick any more movies," he says firmly.
Which Stiles thinks is completely unfair, because Derek probably doesn't even know any movies. He lives in a house in the woods, and lurks in tree lines, and went to the movies for the first time like a month and a half ago.
"Do you even know any movies?"
Derek huffs out a breath, that's admitting to nothing, and then nudges him with a knee.
"Go and find some non-shitty movies."
Stiles laughs and climbs over Derek's legs to get to the stack. He finger-skips his way through them, pulling out a bunch of the classics, and then sets the whole lot on Derek's lap.
Derek immediately pulls out The Thing, and reads the back of it.
"The Thing, then? Though, honestly if we ever meet shapeshifters in real life, I'm going to hope they're the sort that rip their own skin off, like the ones from Supernatural, rather than the consume your DNA and pretend to be you, sort like in that movie."
"Rip their own skin off?" Derek says, with a dubiously raised eyebrow.
"Yeah, in Supernatural they're literal skinwalkers, like the legends. You did read my bestiary, didn't you?" Stiles is disappointed, leaning towards hurt. "Dude, I added notes for you and everything."
"Yes, I read it. I just wasn't exactly memorising it as I went."
Which makes sense really, it's not like Derek is expecting to need to bone up on anything, not until they're attacked by something mysterious and vicious anyway. Stiles is supposed to be the one who remembers all of this crap, just in case.
"No, I mean, I don't expect you to. I just thought it would help, with the weird stuff that happens."
Derek tosses him The Thing, so clearly he's in the mood for horrible, mutated dog-creatures and flamethrowers. But really who isn't in the mood for that? Unless he's never seen it, and then he can be surprised by all the horrible, mutated dog creatures and flamethrowers.
"Oh, hey, I've just realised I can get into all the movies now. I can watch fake versions of all the horrible things I've actually seen happen in real life."
"Yeah, congratulations, I've been there for seven years, and I never bothered," Derek says, like he's not impressed at all.
"Because you're a gloomy misanthrope who hates fun," Stiles complains, and flicks the DVD in. "And what have I told you about crushing my happiness?"
"No crushing," Derek grumbles, then hauls Stiles back up on the couch, and it's completely accidental how their legs end up sort of tangled - and then stay that way.
"You need a TV," Stiles insists, which he's been thinking about a lot, but hasn't actually pointed out yet.
"There's no point having a TV without electricity," Derek says, and really, that makes a lot of sense.
"You need electricity. How do you not have electricity?" Stiles makes a sad noise, to cover up the fact that he knows exactly why Derek doesn't have electricity. Because he's always careful about not veering into anything to do with that. "How does Peter charge his laptop? That is actually a good question, how does Peter charge his laptop?"
Derek frowns, like it's never actually occurred to him.
"Stuff like that should occur to you, you know," Stiles tells him. "Seriously."
"I know," Derek grumbles.
"Knowing what's going on with him is kind of important. Because I know you don't trust Peter, and you don't lurk as much as you used to. Though, y'know, I'm happy that you spend what used to be your designated lurking hours with me - don't glare, you know it's true. And I may be amazing but I can't just notice everything for you."
"Why not?"
Stiles can see the smirk, which is too obvious to even call him on. He smacks Derek on the arm.
"Because it's not my job, and it will make you lazy. Also, I would like to remind you that every single time I've been put in charge of watching someone I've managed to screw it up."
"Pretty sure my track record isn't that much better," Derek grunts out, with feeling.
"But you're much better at chasing people and catching people, and the ensuing melee combat, that's totally your thing too. You're very majestic."
"Lions are majestic," Derek says, and it sounds an awful lot like he's complaining.
"Dude, are you actually bad-mouthing lions, lions are fucking awesome. Oh, hey, wait, I've totally had an idea, half lion and half shark!"
"You're an idiot," Derek tells him, and shoves him over a little, leaning his huge obnoxious weight on him. Which Stiles is not going to complain about, even if his entire arm goes dead. Ok, he'll probably complain if his arm goes dead, but he'll put off the complaining as long as possible. There may be atrophied nerves involved. Derek is heavy.
Stiles has probably heard more out of Derek tonight that he ever has, at any time. So he just lets him talk, about everything, about the science, about how he'd be able to tell if someone was a shapeshifting alien (which he almost certainly wouldn't, because he doesn't pay attention.) About how there were easier ways to test if someone had been replaced (most of them stupid, but Stiles missed his chance to explain why, because Derek kissed him to shut him up.) About how flamethrowers were the worst possible weapon to use in the Arctic, when most of your stuff was made of wood, or food - no matter how many times Stiles pointed out that guns probably wouldn't work in those temperature (also flamethrowers are awesome.) About how the spaceship built out of bits of helicopter and storage shed was just stupid (which Stiles completely concurred on.)
Until the credits of The Thing have finished rolling, and they've stopped arguing about whether a 'grip' is really essential to the process of movie making. Which, yeah, otherwise all the badly rigged machinery would just fall apart, or possibly fall and kill someone.
Derek's warm against his arm, and his hair is untidy, and he looks like he belongs on Stiles's couch - in a way that Stiles has never really gotten a handle on before. The fact that they sort of fit together - and they shouldn't, they probably shouldn't - and it feels huge to have gotten to this place. The place where you breathe out, stop watching everything you say, and everything you do. Where it's ok to just be whatever you are.
The TV's dark, and Derek's pushing his feet back into his shoes, and Stiles is suddenly all tension, and jittery, nervous bravery. Because his dad's not due back until morning, so they have all night if they want it - and that's - Stiles doesn't want Derek to go. He's thought about it. He's been doing nothing but thinking about it all week. But there's a huge difference between thinking about it by himself, and thinking about it while Derek's here, while they're pressed together, shoulders to knees, and Derek is like a huge, warm, and very real thing. Who might be thinking the same thing as Stiles. He kind of hopes that Derek's been thinking the same thing, because he likes the idea - he really likes the idea that Derek's been thinking about him like that.
If Derek wants to - if Derek wants to have sex, Jesus. They don't have to - they don't have to do everything. They don't really have to do much, but Stiles is absolutely one hundred percent up for doing something. He's pretty sure Derek wouldn't push, considering the way he looked that time with the vengeful ghosts, when he'd tugged too hard on Stiles's wrist, and left a ring of dark bruises behind. So, no, he's not scared about that. Not scared, scared is the wrong word. Ok, maybe not entirely the wrong word. But it's not entirely the bad type of scared.
Even if the idea of Derek in his bed is still pretty much the point where his brain stops making sense and just pictures it. So, yeah, even if they only get to that, the whole Derek in his bed part. Stiles is absolutely fine with that. Honestly, that's the only best case scenario his brain is able to cope with, because anything beyond that - he's seventeen, and he knows if he actually tries to picture anything else while Derek is actually here, his brain will short-circuit, and there will be electricity and possibly humiliation.
Only he doesn't know how to ask, or offer. Because how do you subtly let someone know that you want to fool around - do people even still say 'fool around,' any more? Is this a situation where he needs to hint, or is it better to be honest? Because he knows damn well Derek will judge him if he resorts to euphemisms, and vague suggestions, possibly using metaphors. Please, God, let him not panic and slip into the realms of metaphor. Is it more adult if he just asks, if he just asks Derek if he wants to have sex? Do people do that, is that an acceptable thing to do? He can't exactly picture himself doing it. If it comes down to asking Derek flat out if he wants to go upstairs, and do something not all that far removed from sexual touching - and ok, fine, he's not phrasing it like that either.
Stiles takes a deep breath - and that doesn't help at all. Because Derek's sitting there in that sexy, casual sprawl, kind of half-smiling at him.
It's so much easier to think about than it is to say.
"Do you want to - " Stiles rubs his palm on his jeans. "Do you want to stay over?" That's good, right? Subtle, but not too subtle.
The half-smile Derek's wearing falls apart while Stiles watches. Derek shakes his head, one rough, abortive movement, instinctive almost.
"Stiles, no," Derek says simply. As if Stiles has suggested something terrible.
Stiles's face goes hot, heartbeat thumping panic, and he has no choice but to desperately try and backpedal away from whatever he did there. He doesn't know how this went wrong - did he accidentally suggest something he never intended? Because that's exactly the sort of thing he would accidentally do.
"No, it's cool, I mean - I didn't mean - if you don't want to it's fine. I was just - I don't even know. It was a stupid idea."
"I should go," Derek says, and he's dragging his jacket off the arm, and pulling it on, in rough, jerky movements. Stiles doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know whether to apologise, or say he wasn't serious, or it's ok if Derek doesn't want to do anything...like that. But his throat is locked up tight, thick and confused. Because he doesn't understand what he did. This is supposed to be the easy part, isn't it? You're supposed to say yes when you thought you were ready - and the rest was supposed to be easy. Or it was supposed to happen, at least.
Derek just looks at him, and the expression on his face is painful. For a second, Stiles thinks Derek's just going to go, that he's just going to leave Stiles sitting there in the mess of his own words. But he doesn't, he leans down, warm hand clasped round the back of Stiles's neck. The kiss he gives him is firm and brief. It's just a push of mouth that feels half-numb.
"Derek?" Stiles is trying to shove his own foot into his shoe, without looking, and he can't because the fucking laces have fallen inside it or something. "If I did something wrong -"
"No, it's - I'll talk to you tomorrow, ok," Derek says, thready and too fast.
"Derek."
But Derek doesn't wait for him to get anything out, he's just gone, and Stiles doesn't know why. He doesn't know what he did. Because Derek is emotionally constipated and he doesn't tell him anything. And because Stiles doesn't know when to shut the fuck up, and suddenly he's sitting alone in his own living room feeling like shit. Because clearly even the people who like him, even the people who are actually dating him, don't want to have sex with him.
No big deal or anything.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 2x12
Word Count: 5000
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "Are you asking me for Sharktopus's motivation? Because if you are, I think you're wildly overestimating how much thought the writers put into this movie."
AN: Part eleven in the Milkshakes and Matchsticks series.
It's not easy to have a relationship with someone who's occasionally mortal enemies with your best friend. And, ok, maybe mortal enemies is stretching it a little bit. But the faces Scott has taken to pulling at Derek aren't exactly friendly, even when they're working together. Which seems to happen a lot lately, as they lurch from one crisis to the next. For all Scott's insistence that he doesn't want to be involved in any of this, he's always the first person to jump in whenever someone's in trouble. The first person to insist that they have to help. Which is a Scott thing, and one of the reasons why Stiles can't stay mad at him, why he can never stay mad at him. Scott just cares about people - and no amount of pouting, and grumbling, and stupid faces, can make Stiles forget that.
Of course, it's also kind of a Derek thing too. Scott keeps grumbling that Stiles has divided loyalties, which Stiles is kind of pissed about, because he has a better track record with divided loyalties than anyone here. Also, it's really hard to feel conflicted when said best friend and boyfriend are both equally good at making the stupid decisions. Decisions which Stiles is quick to call them on, because he's awesome like that.
Though to give Scott credit he hasn't attempted to convince Stiles that he's sleeping with - that's he's working with the enemy, yet. Or in any way tried to make him see why he should stop seeing Derek, since that first conversation. Maybe because he's afraid of turning himself into Chris Argent? Or because Stiles has already been through so much shit for him, that he can't make himself do it. Instead there's just a stubborn refusal to acknowledge it on a bad day, and a sort of grudging acceptance on a good day. But there are more good days lately, so he thinks Scott will get there eventually. Scott's really bad at hating people for very long, especially when they're pretty much constantly hanging around, trying to help. Derek tends to hover a lot, in that way he does. Where he swings wildly between being protective, being grumpy and overbearing, and being grumpy and unbearable.
Stiles tries really hard not to make it obvious in front of everyone else. Even though they all know already. He's thought about it, a couple of times, he's thought about sidling up to Derek and doing something, but he has this idea that it will end in either humiliating rejection, or terrible mockery, and he gets the weirdest feeling that Derek feels the same way. So, yes, mostly the trying not to be obvious about it, involves standing at least five feet away from each other at all times. Though Scott sometimes gets this haunted look, like he thinks they might throw themselves at each other at any moment (Scott might actually think that's normal given the whole Allison thing.)
Though Scott would totally deserve it if they did.
That doesn't mean Scott doesn't still sulk like a little kid, when Stiles blows him off for Derek. Which, y'know, is only fair considering the amount of times Scott has abandoned him for Allison. Not that he's been making a list, but it's a lot, and the life-or-death situations count for double, maybe triple. So Stiles is probably owed at least a few weekends where he texts apologetic messages to Scott, forcing him to spend the time being sad and lonely in his room, possibly tragically eating chips and thinking about things. It's not like Stiles enjoys that mental image, no that would be cruel, he feels bad for Scott, he does. There is no satisfaction there at all. Because that would make Stiles a terrible person.
Ok, maybe the tiniest bit of satisfaction - fractional.
Barely worth mentioning.
Also, Stiles finally gets to experience first hand how spending time with your exceptionally hot other half - who you're still not even close to being over the insane hotness of - can make a pretty awesome change to eating chips, and shooting the crap out of cyborgs and/or zombies with your best friend. The fact that Stiles now has the option of both - he kind of understands why Scott was so distracted for the whole Allison thing.
Derek's sprawled out on his couch, since Stiles's dad's isn't going to be back until eight tomorrow morning, and having the whole house to himself on movie nights - which there now are, movie nights are now a thing apparently - is kind of awesome. Derek's jacket is thrown over the arm, and he's leaning back against the cushions, half amused and half impatient, while Stiles spins an unlabeled DVD on one finger.
"You deserve this, really, you do," Stiles tells him. Which is true, he's been planning this. He's had plans, he's made plans, for time he spends with Derek. Which is a thing he can do now.
"I deserve this?" Derek says with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes." Stiles flips the DVD into the tray. "I'm filling the very glaring and depressing holes in your cultural knowledge. It's a burden I've taken upon myself." He crawls his way back to the couch, and throws himself down next to Derek, as close as he can get away with. Derek huffs and leans back into the cushions, in a way that shoves their shoulders together, without any sort of awkwardness at all. It feels pointed, and ok, yes, you're probably allowed some sort of familiarity when you're dating someone. But, in Stiles's defense, Derek's need to be sprawled against him is kind of new. It's very new, in fact, and he's still not used to it. Derek acts like it's not even a thing. Like he's not supposed to mention how one moment Derek makes it seem like a huge deal to get close enough to kiss him, and the next he can just yank Stiles up against his chest and thigh, and it's all completely fine.
Derek acts like it's not a big deal. So Stiles is pretending it isn't either. Even though it is, and he's still dealing with the hugeness of it, in a strangled, internal sort of way. Which tends to make him more jittery, and talkative, and demented than usual. So, yay, for that.
The title of the movie hits the screen almost straight away, in huge, blocky letters, complete with overly dramatic - and loud - music.
"What the hell is a Sharktopus?" Derek demands.
Stiles throws his hands up.
"See, this is why you need to be here, on my couch, absorbing important cultural information."
Derek doesn't look convinced.
"Shark movies," Stiles says. "They're like the cornerstone of adolescence. That's one of the first things you learn when you graduate from talking animals, the ocean will just straight up kill you if you go near it, with its many teeth, also possibly tentacles. Seriously don't go in the water kids, or you will die - only then we do go in the water, obviously, because it's a right of passage. There's nothing quite like the threat of being eaten in half. Because the real life ocean isn't scary enough. They have to make it more scary."
"I've seen Jaws," Derek says with a frown, because obviously that's the only thing he got from that. And he makes it sound as if Stiles has accused him of something, or of missing something.
"Everyone's seen Jaws. Also, I think actual sharks stopped being scary about fifteen years ago, now it's giant sharks, prehistoric sharks, shark-octopus hybrids, sharks from space - ok, I haven't actually seen any movies about a shark from space yet, but I guarantee you, there's some drunk guy, sitting in an over-priced swivel chair, trying to find a script writer for that right now. I'm not quite sure how they'd swim in space. Or if it would just be an alien shark that crashed to earth? Some sort of alien D.N.A. made into a shark?"
"I feel old," Derek decides. Which is a joke, it's totally a joke. Probably.
Stiles slings an arm over his huge shoulders and pats consolingly.
"Shush, just watch."
Derek loops a hand round his wrist and squeezes, just tight enough to tell him he's not getting his arm back. Stiles isn't going to complain about that, considering that he'd been desperately trying to think of a way of subtly leaving it there anyway.
"It's chasing a speedboat," Derek points out five minutes later. "How is it chasing a speedboat?" He already sounds like he's going to regret the answer. It's like he doesn't know Stiles at all.
"Tell me you would not shit yourself if a shark-octopus hybrid was all up in your business, and you were in a speedboat?"
"Why would I be in a speedboat?" Derek demands, like that's a genuine question he needs the answer to.
Stiles pulls a face at him, because sometimes Derek is sadly lacking in imagination, and it pains him, it does.
"Work with me here. Shark-octopus hybrid, you really think you're going to be swimming away?" He gestures at the screen, where Sharktopus is not exactly helping with his point, by currently looking exceptionally fake.
Derek shakes his head.
"No, I wouldn't be scared of it, not if it looked like that."
"Like what?"
"Like it was made of plastic and curtains," Derek says scathingly.
"I'm sorry, were you expecting a realistic shark-octopus hybrid?" Stiles says. "Because if you were I think you should maybe lower your expectations."
Sharktopus is now fighting the speedboat, in as much as a CG shark can fight a speedboat anyway.
"I'm seriously considering not having any expectations at all," Derek says carefully. "Though I suppose you're going to tell me it gets better."
Stiles laughs and shakes his head.
"No, no it does not get better. It pretty much stays at this level the whole way through, with the occasional moment of glorious and magnificent awfulness."
Derek looks at him like he hopes he's joking. Stiles nods slowly. There's a burst of air that manages to sound irritated and amused at the same time. Which is so perfectly Derek that Stiles can't help laughing too.
"How is it walking on land?" Derek asks a minute later, more in angry protest than confusion. Stiles is sensing that this is going to be a recurring theme.
"Because it's half shark, and half octopus." Stiles gestures with his hands, in a way that almost certainly looks nothing like a shark or an octopus. Shadow puppetry, how the fuck does that work anyway?
"Yeah, they never exactly explained why it's half shark and half octopus."
"Do you really need a reason? If you could wouldn't you, really?" Stiles points at the screen. Where Sharktopus is having some sort of existential crisis over its broken control collar. Derek's face does a complicated scrunching thing, like he suspects Stiles is insane, the really bad sort of insane for which there is no help. "No really, it's an experiment. Mad scientists, government contract to kill things, money no object. Do you need any more information than that. Smart people are terrifying."
Derek grunts in a way that says he's not going to argue with that.
"Octopuses can't walk on land either," he adds, like the movie is now ruined beyond any hope of repair. He frowns like the scientific inaccuracy is actually giving him ulcers.
"Sure they can," Stiles says, mouth pulled carefully into a straight line. "I saw it on the Discovery channel, they totally, like, squidge along on their tentacles."
Derek glares at him, because he clearly thinks he's being mocked - which, yeah, a little bit.
"I'm pretty sure they can't," Derek says firmly.
"Are you going to argue with the Discovery channel? What am I saying of course you are. You're very stubborn, and you get testy when people prove you wrong."
"I do not get testy."
"You absolutely do, with the eyebrows, and the mouth, and the exasperated pouty thing. It's very distracting, different distracting, since you stopped being so angry and started hanging around on my couch without any shoes on. I like this relaxed, shoe-less version of you."
"I don't pout," Derek complains, in what he's clearly absolutely certain is not a pouty way.
Stiles is going to mention it, but there's a quick, hard knock at the door.
"Pizza." Stiles waves a hand as he slides his way off the couch. "Don't pause it, I know what happens next."
"How many times have you seen this?" Derek says slowly.
Sties just laughs, slides on socked feet towards the door.
"I'm judging you," Derek calls from the living room.
When Stiles comes back with pizza it's to discover Sharktopus murdering two guys who can't act, with its unrealistic CG tentacles. Derek's face is a confused sort of pained, as if he's no longer sure if they should be dating, because clearly Stiles has horrible, horrible taste. He's clearly wishing he'd been informed of this beforehand.
Stiles wants to be offended but he can't, he can't do anything but laugh. Also, he has a lap full of pizza box, and he's pretty sure Derek is not going to mock his movie taste while he's in charge of it. He's a genius, because Derek flips open the lid and steals a slice, before Stiles can even decides which bit he wants. Unsurprisingly, Derek eats like the huge werewolf he is, like his body runs in high gear all the time. He's worse than Scott, who can actually stop paying attention and eat an entire pizza to himself without noticing now. That had been worth the loss of pizza, if only to see the expression of unexpected surprise and horror, when Scott had put his hand down and found an empty box - an empty box and his own terrible shame.
"Oh, so you'll mock my taste in movies but you're happy enough to eat my delicious pizza."
"Yes. Because your taste in movies doesn't impact on the taste of the pizza."
Stiles subtly draws a line down the centre of the box in barbecue sauce. Which Derek looks at - and then ignores by flagrantly stealing a piece from his side.
"Oh my god, this is where it starts isn't it? First all of the pizza, and then you're stealing my clothes, and making me do your taxes, and write up all the werewolf mission reports -" It's really hard to talk around the mouthful of pizza he ends up with, when Derek gets sick of him complaining. Though Derek looks like he's on the verge of laughing, so it's worth it.
Sharktopus is dragging a woman off the beach and into the sea.
"What exactly does this half shark - half octopus want anyway?"
"Are you asking me for Sharktopus's motivation? Because if you are, I think you're wildly overestimating how much thought the writers put into this movie. The people in this movie barely have motivation, beyond 'scream' and 'try not to get eaten.' Also, possibly 'drive a speedboat.' Which I still think would be cool, the speedboat, not the being chased by a mutant, hybrid shark part. I'm pretty certain that part would suck." Stiles chews pizza for a minute. "I think he mostly just wants to fuck shit up. In a 'rargh, I'm a shark,' sort of way."
"You've watched this with Scott, haven't you?"
"I watch everything with Scott. I mostly watch everything with Scott. Scott is great movie company - not that you aren't, because you are. But you're very judgmental, you judge. These people probably worked really hard on the CG shark-octopus, and you're just judging them, and how they choose to apply their artistic talent."
Derek's mouth scrunches up in a way that says he's unimpressed.
"Can we put the word talent in sarcastic quotes?"
"No, because that's cruel. Watch the mutant shark wreak havoc."
The mutant shark does exactly that, in ever more unlikely ways. Derek makes a variety of confused and pained expressions. Which Stiles isn't going to stop finding hilarious any time soon.
"This movie is awful," Derek says at last.
"Of course it's awful," Stiles says with a laugh. "That's the whole point. It's not pretending to be great art. It's just trying to be entertainment."
Derek shakes his head.
"I'm not entertained, I'm confused. I feel like I'm being punished in some way."
"I'm hurt by that," Stiles admits, remote spinning on his hand. "I am, see if I invite you to any more of my trashy, monster movie evenings. Next time I'll just invite Scott, he appreciates my exacting taste, and my delicious pizza, and I'm pretty sure he takes up less of the couch."
Derek makes a low, rumbling noise in his throat, and then steals the remote, shoves it pointedly down the arm next to him. In a way that says if Stiles wants it back he'll have to climb over Derek, and dig it out - and that is so very tempting, Stiles kind of hates himself a little bit, for putting that mental image in his brain. Because now he can't stop thinking about being sprawled across Derek's lap.
He really needs to stop thinking about it, eat his pizza and watch the badly CG'd shark. Stiles put a hand down and encounters cardboard instead of delicious pizza.
"Hey, did you eat the last piece of pizza?" he demands.
"It was on my side," Derek tells him, and then gestures at the wobbly, smeared line of barbecue sauce that's still mostly intact down the middle of the box. That makes no sense, because there had been at least two pieces left on Stiles's side, and the piece of cheese he dropped is now -
"Oh my God, did you turn the box round? You did, didn't you?" Stiles is surprised enough by that that he gives a startled snort of laughter, and doesn't even call him on it, even though he was cheated out of pizza - cheated out of pizza by his boyfriend.
When the credits roll, Derek digs the remote back out. "You don't get to pick any more movies," he says firmly.
Which Stiles thinks is completely unfair, because Derek probably doesn't even know any movies. He lives in a house in the woods, and lurks in tree lines, and went to the movies for the first time like a month and a half ago.
"Do you even know any movies?"
Derek huffs out a breath, that's admitting to nothing, and then nudges him with a knee.
"Go and find some non-shitty movies."
Stiles laughs and climbs over Derek's legs to get to the stack. He finger-skips his way through them, pulling out a bunch of the classics, and then sets the whole lot on Derek's lap.
Derek immediately pulls out The Thing, and reads the back of it.
"The Thing, then? Though, honestly if we ever meet shapeshifters in real life, I'm going to hope they're the sort that rip their own skin off, like the ones from Supernatural, rather than the consume your DNA and pretend to be you, sort like in that movie."
"Rip their own skin off?" Derek says, with a dubiously raised eyebrow.
"Yeah, in Supernatural they're literal skinwalkers, like the legends. You did read my bestiary, didn't you?" Stiles is disappointed, leaning towards hurt. "Dude, I added notes for you and everything."
"Yes, I read it. I just wasn't exactly memorising it as I went."
Which makes sense really, it's not like Derek is expecting to need to bone up on anything, not until they're attacked by something mysterious and vicious anyway. Stiles is supposed to be the one who remembers all of this crap, just in case.
"No, I mean, I don't expect you to. I just thought it would help, with the weird stuff that happens."
Derek tosses him The Thing, so clearly he's in the mood for horrible, mutated dog-creatures and flamethrowers. But really who isn't in the mood for that? Unless he's never seen it, and then he can be surprised by all the horrible, mutated dog creatures and flamethrowers.
"Oh, hey, I've just realised I can get into all the movies now. I can watch fake versions of all the horrible things I've actually seen happen in real life."
"Yeah, congratulations, I've been there for seven years, and I never bothered," Derek says, like he's not impressed at all.
"Because you're a gloomy misanthrope who hates fun," Stiles complains, and flicks the DVD in. "And what have I told you about crushing my happiness?"
"No crushing," Derek grumbles, then hauls Stiles back up on the couch, and it's completely accidental how their legs end up sort of tangled - and then stay that way.
"You need a TV," Stiles insists, which he's been thinking about a lot, but hasn't actually pointed out yet.
"There's no point having a TV without electricity," Derek says, and really, that makes a lot of sense.
"You need electricity. How do you not have electricity?" Stiles makes a sad noise, to cover up the fact that he knows exactly why Derek doesn't have electricity. Because he's always careful about not veering into anything to do with that. "How does Peter charge his laptop? That is actually a good question, how does Peter charge his laptop?"
Derek frowns, like it's never actually occurred to him.
"Stuff like that should occur to you, you know," Stiles tells him. "Seriously."
"I know," Derek grumbles.
"Knowing what's going on with him is kind of important. Because I know you don't trust Peter, and you don't lurk as much as you used to. Though, y'know, I'm happy that you spend what used to be your designated lurking hours with me - don't glare, you know it's true. And I may be amazing but I can't just notice everything for you."
"Why not?"
Stiles can see the smirk, which is too obvious to even call him on. He smacks Derek on the arm.
"Because it's not my job, and it will make you lazy. Also, I would like to remind you that every single time I've been put in charge of watching someone I've managed to screw it up."
"Pretty sure my track record isn't that much better," Derek grunts out, with feeling.
"But you're much better at chasing people and catching people, and the ensuing melee combat, that's totally your thing too. You're very majestic."
"Lions are majestic," Derek says, and it sounds an awful lot like he's complaining.
"Dude, are you actually bad-mouthing lions, lions are fucking awesome. Oh, hey, wait, I've totally had an idea, half lion and half shark!"
"You're an idiot," Derek tells him, and shoves him over a little, leaning his huge obnoxious weight on him. Which Stiles is not going to complain about, even if his entire arm goes dead. Ok, he'll probably complain if his arm goes dead, but he'll put off the complaining as long as possible. There may be atrophied nerves involved. Derek is heavy.
Stiles has probably heard more out of Derek tonight that he ever has, at any time. So he just lets him talk, about everything, about the science, about how he'd be able to tell if someone was a shapeshifting alien (which he almost certainly wouldn't, because he doesn't pay attention.) About how there were easier ways to test if someone had been replaced (most of them stupid, but Stiles missed his chance to explain why, because Derek kissed him to shut him up.) About how flamethrowers were the worst possible weapon to use in the Arctic, when most of your stuff was made of wood, or food - no matter how many times Stiles pointed out that guns probably wouldn't work in those temperature (also flamethrowers are awesome.) About how the spaceship built out of bits of helicopter and storage shed was just stupid (which Stiles completely concurred on.)
Until the credits of The Thing have finished rolling, and they've stopped arguing about whether a 'grip' is really essential to the process of movie making. Which, yeah, otherwise all the badly rigged machinery would just fall apart, or possibly fall and kill someone.
Derek's warm against his arm, and his hair is untidy, and he looks like he belongs on Stiles's couch - in a way that Stiles has never really gotten a handle on before. The fact that they sort of fit together - and they shouldn't, they probably shouldn't - and it feels huge to have gotten to this place. The place where you breathe out, stop watching everything you say, and everything you do. Where it's ok to just be whatever you are.
The TV's dark, and Derek's pushing his feet back into his shoes, and Stiles is suddenly all tension, and jittery, nervous bravery. Because his dad's not due back until morning, so they have all night if they want it - and that's - Stiles doesn't want Derek to go. He's thought about it. He's been doing nothing but thinking about it all week. But there's a huge difference between thinking about it by himself, and thinking about it while Derek's here, while they're pressed together, shoulders to knees, and Derek is like a huge, warm, and very real thing. Who might be thinking the same thing as Stiles. He kind of hopes that Derek's been thinking the same thing, because he likes the idea - he really likes the idea that Derek's been thinking about him like that.
If Derek wants to - if Derek wants to have sex, Jesus. They don't have to - they don't have to do everything. They don't really have to do much, but Stiles is absolutely one hundred percent up for doing something. He's pretty sure Derek wouldn't push, considering the way he looked that time with the vengeful ghosts, when he'd tugged too hard on Stiles's wrist, and left a ring of dark bruises behind. So, no, he's not scared about that. Not scared, scared is the wrong word. Ok, maybe not entirely the wrong word. But it's not entirely the bad type of scared.
Even if the idea of Derek in his bed is still pretty much the point where his brain stops making sense and just pictures it. So, yeah, even if they only get to that, the whole Derek in his bed part. Stiles is absolutely fine with that. Honestly, that's the only best case scenario his brain is able to cope with, because anything beyond that - he's seventeen, and he knows if he actually tries to picture anything else while Derek is actually here, his brain will short-circuit, and there will be electricity and possibly humiliation.
Only he doesn't know how to ask, or offer. Because how do you subtly let someone know that you want to fool around - do people even still say 'fool around,' any more? Is this a situation where he needs to hint, or is it better to be honest? Because he knows damn well Derek will judge him if he resorts to euphemisms, and vague suggestions, possibly using metaphors. Please, God, let him not panic and slip into the realms of metaphor. Is it more adult if he just asks, if he just asks Derek if he wants to have sex? Do people do that, is that an acceptable thing to do? He can't exactly picture himself doing it. If it comes down to asking Derek flat out if he wants to go upstairs, and do something not all that far removed from sexual touching - and ok, fine, he's not phrasing it like that either.
Stiles takes a deep breath - and that doesn't help at all. Because Derek's sitting there in that sexy, casual sprawl, kind of half-smiling at him.
It's so much easier to think about than it is to say.
"Do you want to - " Stiles rubs his palm on his jeans. "Do you want to stay over?" That's good, right? Subtle, but not too subtle.
The half-smile Derek's wearing falls apart while Stiles watches. Derek shakes his head, one rough, abortive movement, instinctive almost.
"Stiles, no," Derek says simply. As if Stiles has suggested something terrible.
Stiles's face goes hot, heartbeat thumping panic, and he has no choice but to desperately try and backpedal away from whatever he did there. He doesn't know how this went wrong - did he accidentally suggest something he never intended? Because that's exactly the sort of thing he would accidentally do.
"No, it's cool, I mean - I didn't mean - if you don't want to it's fine. I was just - I don't even know. It was a stupid idea."
"I should go," Derek says, and he's dragging his jacket off the arm, and pulling it on, in rough, jerky movements. Stiles doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know whether to apologise, or say he wasn't serious, or it's ok if Derek doesn't want to do anything...like that. But his throat is locked up tight, thick and confused. Because he doesn't understand what he did. This is supposed to be the easy part, isn't it? You're supposed to say yes when you thought you were ready - and the rest was supposed to be easy. Or it was supposed to happen, at least.
Derek just looks at him, and the expression on his face is painful. For a second, Stiles thinks Derek's just going to go, that he's just going to leave Stiles sitting there in the mess of his own words. But he doesn't, he leans down, warm hand clasped round the back of Stiles's neck. The kiss he gives him is firm and brief. It's just a push of mouth that feels half-numb.
"Derek?" Stiles is trying to shove his own foot into his shoe, without looking, and he can't because the fucking laces have fallen inside it or something. "If I did something wrong -"
"No, it's - I'll talk to you tomorrow, ok," Derek says, thready and too fast.
"Derek."
But Derek doesn't wait for him to get anything out, he's just gone, and Stiles doesn't know why. He doesn't know what he did. Because Derek is emotionally constipated and he doesn't tell him anything. And because Stiles doesn't know when to shut the fuck up, and suddenly he's sitting alone in his own living room feeling like shit. Because clearly even the people who like him, even the people who are actually dating him, don't want to have sex with him.
No big deal or anything.