For Now We Pretend
Author: blue_emotion
Title: For Now We Pretend
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Lydia, Derek, Stiles
Summary: Derek knows neither of them are ready to put a name to this fragile thing that's forming between them, yet.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 846
Prompt: #13 Pretending
Author's Notes: Pre-slash fluff basically.
It's been a long day. This isn't new, but it's still something they could all do without. Stiles and Lydia have been researching in at his for most of it. This isn't new either. They like to do their research at Derek's, so they can pick his and Peter's brains when they need to. Peter knows more than any of them, but they kept their questioning of him focused and brief, and he left some time ago. It was only then that Lydia kicked her shoes off and properly relaxed.
The clock hanging on the exposed brick wall says 1:30am, and Derek can see they're spent. Lydia is sat on a futon up the corner, books spread all over the floor in front of her and, whilst she's still valiantly reading, she keeps rubbing a hand over her eyes every few minutes.
Stiles is sat next to Derek, on the battered blue couch that Lydia still wrinkles her nose at every time she arrives. Stiles has a book open in his lap, but his head keeps lolling to the side and landing on Derek's shoulder. Around the eleventh time it happens, Derek reaches over and shuts the book and Stiles leaves his head where it is and closes his eyes.
Within minutes he's making soft snoring sounds, his mouth slack and open.
Lydia arches an eyebrow at Derek. "Cute as this little game of denial you two have going on is, you need to man up and stop pretending you aren't totally in love with him."
Derek almost chokes on thin air. He meets Lydia's eye with a firm glare, "Nobody is in love with anybody."
Lydia snorts, "Please, I might not be able to actually hear a lie like some of the freaks I hang around with these days, but I can certainly smell just fine, and that thing I'm smelling right now? That would be bullshit." She flips her hair.
Derek is rapidly remembering why he doesn't like being left alone with Lydia, she is a menace. A menace who is far too perceptive.
"You know he feels the same," Lydia needles.
Derek says nothing, his jaw tightening.
Lydia rolls her eyes before she starts slamming her books shut with a flourish. "You are as bad as each other, and it's driving the rest of us mad." With that she grabs her handbag and strides towards the door, looking back over her shoulder one last time to add, "sort it." Then she's gone.
-----
Stiles wakes a couple of hours later, with an extremely sore neck. "Ugh, why did you let me sleep like that?" he complains, tentatively straightening up.
Derek is still reading, and he ignores Stiles until he's finished his sentence, before finally replying, "So you'd have preferred it if I'd woken you? I've woken you before, and it's never pretty."
"I'd have preferred it if you'd have carried me to bed," Stiles grouses, then his heart rate cranks up a gear. "I mean -- you're not a very attentive host to your guests, is all I'm saying."
"And you're not a guest, you're pack. You should have gone home if you wanted a bed." Derek chides dryly, and tries not to dwell on the sounds Stiles' heart is making, or the mental image that his words created.
Stiles scowls and Derek sighs and gets too his feet. "Fine. It's too late for you to drive home now, I'm not even convinced you're properly awake," Derek pauses for a moment, briefly battling his own indecision, before he grabs Stiles around the waist and throws him over his shoulder.
Stiles squawks indignantly. "What the -- Derek what the hell? Put me down! What is the meaning of this?"
Derek ignores the hands swatting at his back, simply replying, "I'm being a good host," before dumping Stiles unceremoniously onto the bed. "Now sleep."
Stiles gathers himself, and moves into a less sprawled position. "And where are you going to sleep?"
"I still have work to do--"
"Oh no you don't. You know you're not allowed near the research without my supervision, now get your wolfie ass to bed." Stiles pats the other side of the bed, before rolling onto his side and closing his eyes.
Derek let's out the sigh of a put upon man before laying down next to Stiles, facing him.
Stiles cracks his eyes open. "Oh, and for the record, I hate you." He says the words softly, undeniable warmth in his voice.
Derek meets his gaze and murmurs, "I hate you too."
Lydia can push all she wants, Derek knows neither of them are ready to put a name to this fragile thing that's forming between them, yet. They both seem to share the fear that saying it out loud will some how break it into a million pieces before it's strong enough to stand the fallout. So for now they'll keep on pretending.
Stiles smiles into his pillow, "that's settled then, good to know the feelings mutual." Within seconds he starts to snore again. Derek dozes off shortly after.
Title: For Now We Pretend
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Lydia, Derek, Stiles
Summary: Derek knows neither of them are ready to put a name to this fragile thing that's forming between them, yet.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 846
Prompt: #13 Pretending
Author's Notes: Pre-slash fluff basically.
It's been a long day. This isn't new, but it's still something they could all do without. Stiles and Lydia have been researching in at his for most of it. This isn't new either. They like to do their research at Derek's, so they can pick his and Peter's brains when they need to. Peter knows more than any of them, but they kept their questioning of him focused and brief, and he left some time ago. It was only then that Lydia kicked her shoes off and properly relaxed.
The clock hanging on the exposed brick wall says 1:30am, and Derek can see they're spent. Lydia is sat on a futon up the corner, books spread all over the floor in front of her and, whilst she's still valiantly reading, she keeps rubbing a hand over her eyes every few minutes.
Stiles is sat next to Derek, on the battered blue couch that Lydia still wrinkles her nose at every time she arrives. Stiles has a book open in his lap, but his head keeps lolling to the side and landing on Derek's shoulder. Around the eleventh time it happens, Derek reaches over and shuts the book and Stiles leaves his head where it is and closes his eyes.
Within minutes he's making soft snoring sounds, his mouth slack and open.
Lydia arches an eyebrow at Derek. "Cute as this little game of denial you two have going on is, you need to man up and stop pretending you aren't totally in love with him."
Derek almost chokes on thin air. He meets Lydia's eye with a firm glare, "Nobody is in love with anybody."
Lydia snorts, "Please, I might not be able to actually hear a lie like some of the freaks I hang around with these days, but I can certainly smell just fine, and that thing I'm smelling right now? That would be bullshit." She flips her hair.
Derek is rapidly remembering why he doesn't like being left alone with Lydia, she is a menace. A menace who is far too perceptive.
"You know he feels the same," Lydia needles.
Derek says nothing, his jaw tightening.
Lydia rolls her eyes before she starts slamming her books shut with a flourish. "You are as bad as each other, and it's driving the rest of us mad." With that she grabs her handbag and strides towards the door, looking back over her shoulder one last time to add, "sort it." Then she's gone.
-----
Stiles wakes a couple of hours later, with an extremely sore neck. "Ugh, why did you let me sleep like that?" he complains, tentatively straightening up.
Derek is still reading, and he ignores Stiles until he's finished his sentence, before finally replying, "So you'd have preferred it if I'd woken you? I've woken you before, and it's never pretty."
"I'd have preferred it if you'd have carried me to bed," Stiles grouses, then his heart rate cranks up a gear. "I mean -- you're not a very attentive host to your guests, is all I'm saying."
"And you're not a guest, you're pack. You should have gone home if you wanted a bed." Derek chides dryly, and tries not to dwell on the sounds Stiles' heart is making, or the mental image that his words created.
Stiles scowls and Derek sighs and gets too his feet. "Fine. It's too late for you to drive home now, I'm not even convinced you're properly awake," Derek pauses for a moment, briefly battling his own indecision, before he grabs Stiles around the waist and throws him over his shoulder.
Stiles squawks indignantly. "What the -- Derek what the hell? Put me down! What is the meaning of this?"
Derek ignores the hands swatting at his back, simply replying, "I'm being a good host," before dumping Stiles unceremoniously onto the bed. "Now sleep."
Stiles gathers himself, and moves into a less sprawled position. "And where are you going to sleep?"
"I still have work to do--"
"Oh no you don't. You know you're not allowed near the research without my supervision, now get your wolfie ass to bed." Stiles pats the other side of the bed, before rolling onto his side and closing his eyes.
Derek let's out the sigh of a put upon man before laying down next to Stiles, facing him.
Stiles cracks his eyes open. "Oh, and for the record, I hate you." He says the words softly, undeniable warmth in his voice.
Derek meets his gaze and murmurs, "I hate you too."
Lydia can push all she wants, Derek knows neither of them are ready to put a name to this fragile thing that's forming between them, yet. They both seem to share the fear that saying it out loud will some how break it into a million pieces before it's strong enough to stand the fallout. So for now they'll keep on pretending.
Stiles smiles into his pillow, "that's settled then, good to know the feelings mutual." Within seconds he starts to snore again. Derek dozes off shortly after.