Disclaimer: See initial chapter.

Prompt 3: Gaming/Watching a Movie

"Get your hand out of my face, Derek, I can't see what's happening," Stiles whined, and batted at Derek's hand. He tried to duck around the massive paw, but Derek remained firmly in place, blocking Stiles' view of what what was happening on the movie screen.

"I thought you said this was an action film," Derek hissed, managing to sound hurt. Stiles didn't miss the flash of red in the wolf's eyes, and the way his shoulders tensed as another round of gunfire erupted from the film.

"It is. Relax," Stiles said, rolling his eyes and forcing himself to relax, so that Derek would hopefully get the hint and stop the stiff shoulder act.

Had he known that taking Derek to the movies was going to be so stressful, he wouldn't have. He'd have asked him out for dinner, or maybe they'd have gone to the mini-golf park. Though, he couldn't imagine Derek holding one of those tiny golf clubs and being happy about puttering through the park, hitting a ball into multiple holes. It was an amusing thought, and Stiles caught himself before he could laugh aloud. Laughing would do nothing to get Derek to calm down.

Derek's hand was still in his line of vision as the onscreen violence continued to mount. He knew that he was missing the best parts - where the hero blew the bad guys to pieces while sustaining few injuries himself, and that body parts were being strewn across the whole length of the screen in a glorified rush of blood and guts - he'd have to come back, without Derek, maybe drag Scott out to the movie with him. Scott wouldn't pull this kind of macho crap on him. Wouldn't block out the best parts of the movie.

Stiles frowned at his wolf, and gave him his best, I-mean-business-mister, look. A look he'd learned from his mother. His father, it turned out, was a lot like Derek.

Not that he was, in effect, dating his father, or however that old saying went. He wasn't. No matter the equal parts stubborn and clueless that the wolf, like his father, was, and how annoying Derek was right now as he denied him what he wanted. No doubt the wolf thought it was for Stiles' own good. Just like his father when he refused Stiles access to important police files, the truth about his mother's passing...

"Derek, move," Stiles kept his voice at a whisper, pouring as much indignation as he could into the two words, and pushing at the immovable hand for effect. It didn't budge an inch, and judging by Derek's narrowed eyes, it wasn't the best of moves for him to make and it had only angered the wolf.

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and sunk back into his seat. He knew that his actions could be misconstrued as pouting, or throwing a 'temper tantrum' - a rather adult one - but he didn't care. Derek was ruining the movie for him, and he'd been looking forward to watching it for months now. It wasn't fair, and clearly, in the future, he wasn't going to be taking the big, bad werewolf to a bloody action movie. Obviously, in spite of all of the horror that Derek had witnessed, and participated in, Derek couldn't handle movie violence. It was almost laughable, except it was costing Stiles.

"It's not like I haven't seen this kind of thing before," Stiles tossed out, shrugging his shoulders and hardening his jaw. He could be stubborn too, when it was warranted, and, missing the better part of a movie featuring his favorite actor, was one of them. He deliberately kept his voice low and soothing, though, in an effort to 'tame the beast'.

Derek's face replaced his hand, hovering in front of Stiles, blocking his view of whatever was happening onscreen. Judging by the cacophonous sounds, there was another gun battle. The look in Derek's eyes - intense, dark, and pained - pinned Stiles in place as effectively as his hands ever had, back in the days when he'd slam Stiles up against a wall or a locker just for the heck of it.

Stiles blinked and searched Derek's face for a clue as to what the hell was going on, why the wolf was having a hard time with Hollywood style violence. What he saw was largely unquantifiable, though he recognized grief and regret, both emotions so powerful that Stiles felt as though he'd been struck. In the chest. By a lightning bolt.

"I'm sorry," Derek said. His voice was a jagged whisper. "I should've done more to protect you."

It suddenly struck Stiles that, in his own, broken way, Derek was trying to protect him from the very violence that he'd exposed him to when they'd first met and he'd been a broody, overly aggressive ass of a grumpy wolf with a heavy hand, and an even heavier heart. That Derek was, in a very convoluted way, attempting to fix something that could never be fixed.

Dating Derek was sometimes like trying to swim, upstream, in a river of molasses.

Stiles pressed a hand to Derek's chest, and shook his head. He gave the wolf a lopsided grin, reminding himself that Derek hadn't had much practice with dating when he'd been younger, and that his idea of an action film was probably something along the lines of, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, as opposed to a Jason Statham film.

Stiles got the impression that it was mostly about the sex with what's her name. He'd decided, awhile back, that he was going to treat Kate's name the way that the Harry Potter world treated Voldemort's name, because she'd broken Derek's heart, and the boy - now a man - himself. She didn't deserve a name. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

It was a shame that she'd only been after one thing, because other than crap like this -where Derek went psycho-protective on him - it was kind of nice dating Derek. He had a wicked sense of humor when he let his guard down, and was a damn good kisser.

The look that Derek gave him caused Stiles' heart to jump into his throat and his stomach to flutter. He felt his cheeks flush, and, as calmly as he could, he swallowed his heart back to where it should be. Beating, like a multi-winged butterfly, inside his chest.

"This is where you're supposed to kiss me," Stiles breathed the words out. They felt like a prayer.

He licked his lips, and wondered why he hadn't brought Derek to a horror film instead. It was common knowledge that dates were supposed to be shielded from the on-screen horror, that cuddling and making out were pretty much requirements of viewing horror films in a theatre, especially by teens - it was in the teenage dating handbook- and Stiles was very much still a teen, and, emotionally, so was Derek.

"Am I?" Derek's question was an intake of breath.

The wolf's eyes were too dark to read, especially within the semi-darkness of the theatre. The hand that had been blocking Stiles' view of the violence was now cupping the back of his neck, making him shiver.

Stiles held his breath, marveled at how gentle Derek could be when he wanted to, hoped, heart juddering in his chest, that Derek's kiss wouldn't be as gentle as the hand on the back of his neck was.

As their lips touched, the movie theatre was rocked with the sound of multiple explosions, one occurring right after another in what was no doubt a well-timed strike against the enemy's camp. But right now, Stiles had better things on his mind, and in front of his face, blocking his vision.

Just like the fireworks I've heard people about, Stiles thought, lips tingling, heart hammering, light sparking behind lids that had closed of their own accord. All thoughts of taking Scott to future action movies that he actually wanted to watch were banished as the kiss deepened, and Derek let loose a small, possessive growl. He'd wait for the DVD to come out.

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