Derek, Stiles and everything else
Mouths
Light was fading fast. Stiles glanced at Derek. They were in the woods for one of their bi-monthly quests which could possibly result in Stiles' death. Most likely a Derek Hale induced death, because as usual Stiles was stuck with his least favourite werewolf. Or he is stuck with me; depends on who you talk to, Stiles thought. He had the distinct feeling that he was of zero use and idly wondered how he always managed to get dragged along on these crazy trips. It was Scott's fault and to make matter worse Scott had practically skipped off as soon as they'd reached the tree line – the bastard. When Derek stopped walking to glare at him, Stiles realized that Derek had been talking and he hadn't been listening.
'Hmmm?' Stiles said, managing to sound kind of polite but not all that interested. That turned out to be the wrong tone. He was pushed backwards until his shoulder bumped right into a tree. Looking up at Derek, Stiles attempted to mould his face into an approximation of a smile.
'You're looking at my lips,' Derek claimed. Stiles thought he had gotten that annoying habit under control, but apparently not. Great. Feigning innocence, he coughed once. Then, when that didn't work, he coughed a second time. It was a really good one too. Discreet, but distracting. Still, Derek continued to stare at him.
'Dude, at least say mouth,' Stiles protested, shaking off Derek's hand. He winced when he heard his voice do that slightly higher pitched thing it did when he was nervous. It didn't get more suspicious than that. Shit. So much for casual.
'Why?'
'That sounds less… Would you kindly back up? Just say mouth. And back up,' Stiles requested. Derek rolled his eyes, but obliged on both counts.
'Why were you looking at my mouth?' he demanded, stepping back.
'You've got teeth the size of piano keys,' Stiles blurted out, quickly thrusting out his hands in self-defence. 'Okay, I don't know why I said that. That's obviously not true. I'm sorry.'
Derek crossed his arms. A brief silence followed during which his piercing stare intensified. It was all very uncomfortable. Stiles, who had never met an awkward moment he couldn't make a million times more awkward by saying some stupid shit, tried to explain the situation in a way that hopefully wouldn't get him killed.
'Well, sorry, I guess. I don't mean to. It just happens. When you're all 'grrr' and close, your lips are sort of the first thing my eyes land on. I can't help it. Why are you getting on my case about this? It's not like I'm doing it on purpose.'
'You said lips,' Derek pointed out. A flush crept up Stiles' cheeks, but it was almost dark. Maybe Derek didn't see. Who the hell was he kidding? Like a freaking werewolf wouldn't notice that.
'Lips, mouth, whatever,' Stiles muttered. His eyes scanned their surroundings to check if anyone was nearby. Not that he could afford the luxury of worrying about this at the moment – busy as he was trying to make it out of this fiasco alive – but Scott was around here somewhere and if he heard this exchange, Stiles would just die. Besides, they were done now, right? Mystery all cleared up. Yep, nothing left to talk about. Stiles tentatively resumed walking. To his immense relief, Derek soon did the same.
'Do you like my mouth?' Derek asked. Stiles' jaw dropped. He cleared his throat. Twice. He forced out a distinctly hysterical sounding laugh. Was there even a right answer to that question?
'You need me to tell you that you're good looking now?' he finally joked, quickening his pace. It wasn't wholly unexpected when he subsequently found himself pinned to the nearest tree with Derek all up in his face. Without meaning to, Stiles lowered his gaze.
'You're doing it again,' Derek growled.
'Stop shoving me up against trees then,' Stiles countered, adding a disgruntled, 'Jesus.'
'Stop staring at my lips.'
'No,' Stiles replied, bluntly. Derek's eyes widened. Defiance was not a smart move. Stiles knew this. He had made up his own Zombieland-style survival manual a long time ago. And right now he was violating rule number one: #1 Don't taunt Derek Hale. Ever. Fully aware that this was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea, Stiles' brain ran with it anyway. He leaned forward, maintaining eye contact.
'Watch how I can't take my eyes off your mouth. Oh yes, I'm ogling those lips now. Bite them for me, baby. You're so attractive. I can't resist you,' he fawned. The effect on Derek? Nada. Nothing. Zip. He actually seemed blasé, which gave Stiles pause. Derek raised his eyebrows. Stiles surrendered with a frustrated groan.
'You really want me to say it? Yeah, your mouth is beautiful, okay? Moving on.'
'That's not what I asked,' Derek said, his voice low. For a second, Stiles didn't get what he meant, but then it hit him. Derek didn't want facts. He wanted opinions. Specifically, for some reason, Stiles' opinion. His throat felt awfully dry all of a sudden.
'Oh my God,' he huffed, exasperated. 'I, Stiles, like your mouth. That's why I look at it. There. Happy?'
Derek narrowed his eyes and slowly let go of the front of Stiles' shirt. He looked satisfied. Unable to resist the absurd urge to belatedly cop some more attitude, Stiles petulantly straightened his clothes. Without another word, they started to walk.
Silence was good. It didn't need to be filled up or anything. Stiles slid his tongue over his teeth, touching one at the back that felt a little hinky. He focused on his breathing. In. Out. He heard Derek's breathing, uncharacteristically rough for such mild exercise, next to him. He flexed his fingers into fists. He was not going to say anything. Not-talking was fine. He was not going to break this nice not at all tense silence.
'For a handsome guy you sure need a lot of validation. You're welcome, you know. Hey, what about my mouth?' Stiles rambled, mentally slapping himself on the forehead. Ugh. Shut up, Stiles. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Derek gave him a long, hard look.
'It's not made for talking,' Derek deadpanned. It sounded sort of like a joke, but a scary one. Stiles decided not to pursue it. That was probably the first intelligent thing he'd done that day. He was not an idiot. Really, he was not. He just got bored easily.
'Fair enough.'