#homelesspackless

[cruentusreus-blog]

homelesspackless replied to your post: //it was $3 margarita night at the mexican down...

comes at you

nice try, Sourwolf. No skype call, no kisses.

[cruentusreus-blog]

@homelesspackless

“——you gave it back.” Try again. Less vague, this time.  “The King, I mean the chess piece, you—you put it back.”

[cruentusreus-blog]

[text] don't do anything stupid

[text] rude.

[text] wait what am I doing?

[text] specificity is your friend, Derek

[text] lot of stupid stuff going on lately

[homelesspackless]

This isn’t his strong suit. 

Hindsight is 20/20 and Derek has been so much of his life on the run and in a fight, that he can barely remember anything else. After Paige, it was all downhill. His life stopped being about living, and started being about surviving. 

And he’s been watching Stiles go down that same road, step by step. 

This does nothing to ease the ache in his chest, the constant pressure of a bottled hurricane inside of him every time he looks at the boy across from him in the passenger seat. 

Get in the car, Stiles he said, because you need a break from your house and your life was too soft for teeth as sharp as his, too sweet for a tongue that only knew bitterness. 

They drive for hours. No place is really any more safe than the other, but it’s the ritual of putting Beacon Hills in the rearview. Escaping, even if only for the night. 

Their lives are too complicated to really turn their phones off, but they’ll drop them into the glove box and try to pretend they’re not there, radio low enough to hear their rattling if it goes off. 

He’s out of his element, on edge from the start, and admitting to being madly in love doesn’t make Stiles any less annoying for long periods of time. By the time they park in front of the cheap hotel, Derek is ready to strangle him. 

They’re…cautious…in public. It’s not like they’ve had the talk about telling people. Their alphas knew…but everyone else? Still off limits. Stiles smiles at him like the cat in the cream, and Derek flashes blue eyes in challenge. 

They take their cheap diner food to go. 

This still isn’t exactly what Derek planned. Then again, Stiles had a way of making his plans go haywire. 

The owner of the club is a girl Peter used to date, a very long time ago. She embraces him with warmth, and if her gaze lingers, she thankfully does not question Derek bringing Stiles in with him. 

It’s loud. Bordering on painfully so. Packed to the brim with people, with scent, with heartbeats and yelled whispers. Dark when the lights of the dance floor don’t catch their edges on them. 

Derek presses in close, shoulder to hip, fingers curled against Stiles’ waist. Somehow, he manages to be heard above the din without raising his voice. 

“Get drunk, if you want. Dance. Have fun for one night.”

[cruentusreus-blog]

Nobody knows them here, there’s no need to hide. 

If he wanted, he could hold Derek’s hand while they wait for food, just to get a reaction and see what Derek does, because there’s fun in change, and there’s no risks to worry about here.

For whatever reason, it’s easier to just get on Derek’s nerves. 

He hasn’t been to a club just for the sake of dancing since before the Nogitsune, and even then, those instances always had something or other to do with a supernatural related problem.

Stiles leans into Derek’s side, eyes looking through the crowd in search of a Kanima, or the Oni, or anything to betray the harmless fun of the scene. When nothing creeps out of the dark corners, he grins at Derek and hopes there’s no traces paranoia in his eyes.

“Does that mean you’ll buy me a drink, Sourwolf?” 

Getting drunk takes an embarrassingly short amount of time, and when Derek doesn’t follow the tug of his hand, Stiles moves to the center of the crowd by himself, and resorts to dancing in the most embarrassing way possible. Because Derek is boring and won’t move from his spot at the bar.

Two songs later, he forgets about why he started dancing, just this side of too drunk, and when a large hand is pressed flat to his stomach and pulls him in close against someone’s chest, all Stiles knows is that it’s not Derek.

[begiltedged-blog]

“So what happened?"

It’s not as nice as it should be, and his shoulders are tense, but he’s trying, okay?

[cruentusreus-blog]

[text] Should have known you wouldn't be

[text] That’s all you guys’ fault for being creatures of the night.

[text] I had a perfectly reasonable sleeping schedule before all of this started.

That’s a big fat lie. Stiles has always been prone to spending the night awake at his computer. It’s just more a matter of life and death than it used to be, these days.

[cruentusreus-blog]

[text] Getting breakfast, not gone. Stay in bed.

He should have rolled his eyes at the unnecessary reassurance. Instead he flops back against the pillows and waits for relief to drown out the spike of panic that seized his lungs once he realized he was alone.

It’s pathetic.

[text] Should’ve known you’d be a morning person.

[cruentusreus-blog]

@homelesspackless

“Hey, so are you still gonna make me funnel cake, or was that a one time deal?”