Oh, hello narcissism!

Wonder Woman 2 is about how Diana covertly prevents the Cold War into breaking out into nuclear war and how her actions lead to the fall of the Soviet Union. During her mission she comes across her imprisoned Uncle Hades who was forced to do the bidding of the movie’s villain. She releases him, and when she does he’s like “holy shit thanks so much for saving my ass back there. Here, Imma get you a gift, brb”. But like he doesn’t come back and Diana kinda just shrugs and is like “lol ok whatevs I didn’t want a gift from my weird uncle anyway” and just continues on with her life

Derek knew, when the only person to laugh was Jackson, that the joke had wildly misfired. He was going for banter, he was going for a gentle ribbing, he was…god he was useless.

Stiles’s virginity wasn’t something he hid, for god’s sake. He joked about it himself all the time! Didn’t he? And witches (mother fucking witches, who knew?) were in town and were sacrificing virgins because as well as being vindictive hags, they just loved a cliché. Ergo, a joke aimed at Stiles, about him needing protection, should have just received a little laugh from everyone and they would have moved on to planning how to take the witches down.

What Derek didn’t plan on was the shame, embarrassment and sadness that spiked Stiles’s in scent as soon as the weight of Derek’s words landed. Jackson barked out a cruel laugh and punched Stiles in the arm and Stiles just. Deflated.

Scott, bless his heart, changed the subject effortlessly and the conversation soon went back to battle strategy. Derek refrained from any further ad hoc attempts at humour and Stiles got involved again, but he was muted somehow. Derek tried to think of a time he’d felt worse but was coming up empty. And that in itself was laughable given his fucking tragedy of a life history.

He’d always just assumed Stiles was human kevlar. He was impossible to embarrass. He couldn’t be laughed at because he was always in control of the comedy. But somehow Derek had managed it. It didn’t make him feel special.

Once the plan was in place, people started drifting off to their respective lives and he could see Stiles heading to the door but the feeling that he had to fix things was itching under Derek’s skin. He needed to…something.

“Stiles, wait a minute”

The boy looked like waiting even a minute was the furthest thing from his mind, but he hung back anyway as Scott pulled the door closed behind him. The soft click of the door seemed to echo around the loft as they were left alone. The silence stretched on and Derek couldn’t remember the last time Stiles had been this quiet without being unconscious.

He cleared his throat, determined to clear the air. “Look. I’m…sorry. I didn’t, I mean, it was just a joke and-”

“You can’t joke about that” Stiles interrupts quietly

“What?”

If possible, Stiles looks even more embarrassed. “You don’t get to joke about…that. Okay Derek?”

“I know, and like I said, I’m sorry - ”

“What were you trying to do anyway?” he asks. “Hell, you never make jokes EVER, so why try now?” Stiles voice was becoming harder, angrier. “Just what were you trying to achieve?”

What was he trying to achieve? What possible answer could he give? The truth? The truth was that he was trying to make Stiles laugh. That his laugh warms parts of him he thought long dead. That when this annoying, bright, stubborn boy throws his head back and laughs, Derek allows himself to believe for a moment that the world isn’t all dark and twisty? No. Hah. Not in a million years.

“I was just, trying, I guess.” He settles on a partial truth. “You guys are always getting at me for being quiet, stoic, you know? I think I was trying to fit in more. Erica makes digs all the time and I just.” He sighs. “I thought I could be like that”

Stiles softens slightly. “I get it, I do. Just.” He looks at his feet. “Just don’t joke about…that. Me. The sex-not-having thing. Erica can joke because I’m not in…I mean she isn’t who I…I mean” he lets out a frustrated sigh and at this point Stiles seems to snap. He’s gone full word-vomit. “God! It’s not like I don’t have offers, okay buddy? Because I do. Lots of offers. Guys, girls, I got my pick. I’m attractive, you know? To people? With eyes? Maybe not glowing blue eyes but eyes and I could have any-”

(Derek has come to think on Stiles’s word vomit fondly, tuning out what he’s saying and becoming captivated by his hand gestures and his perfect cupid’s bow lips moving but this time something Stiles says gives Derek pause)

“What did you say?” Derek interrupts sharply.

“- guy or girl that I want to but -what?”

“The ‘glowing blue eyes’ thing you just said? You…was that about me? You don’t think I think you’re attractive?” Derek stares at Stiles in disbelief.

“Don’t play with me, Derek” Stiles says quietly “It’s not fair. I know you don’t think of me that way, and that’s fine, I’ve learned to live with that but until someone comes along that I want as much as I want you, or until you get your head out of your perfect ass and realise you’re the only person I can even think about sleeping with right now I’m not going to just sex-up anyone in the name of getting rid of the V-card. Virginity is just a social construct anyway so it doesn’t even matter and oh my god I didn’t just say that, forget I said that, it was a lie and what the hell is happening to your face?”

He’s smiling. Derek is smiling big and bright and Stiles is right to question this because he never does that. And he’s smiling because Stiles wants him. There may be witches out there to be stopped, and he’s sure that next week there’ll be something else for them to hunt and kill but for now, Derek can’t think of anything other than the fact that the boy he likes, likes him. He’s going to allow himself this little bit of happiness. He moves closer to Stiles and gently brushes his fingers down his forearm before clasping Stiles’s hand in his.

He woke up gently, warm and comfortable in the bed he’d spent 7 mornings waking up in. As his eyes adjusted to the late morning light they settled on the dark dusting of hair on Derek’s arm. The arm that was slung around his middle, and the cause of a not insignificant amount of the warmth he was feeling. Derek ran hot. Hotter than humans anyway.

But it didn’t matter how gentle, warm and comfortable his waking was, as soon as his brain caught up with his body the heavy ball of lead in his stomach made itself known. Today was the last morning he’d wake up in this bed, with this warmth. With Derek.

Their escape from reality was over, his life back in Beacon Hills could be avoided no longer. His life of college essays and part time jobs and werewolves and danger and other people. His life of being ignored by Derek in the name of keeping up the pretence that they weren’t in love with each other.

No. Scratch that. He wasn’t in love, he couldn’t be. They’d made that deal. One week. One week together to get it out of their systems, to let each other give in to the desire that had been simmering below the surface of their every exchange since the day they met 2 years ago. They’d made the deal. No feelings were going to be had. Sexual tension, untensed. That’s all this was. That’s all he’d let it be.

At least, out loud.

Privately, he’s going to allow himself to never forget the 7 days in Derek’s bed, in Derek’s arms. 7 days of whispers and moans and sweat soaked skin. 7 days of soft touches and harsh kisses and teeth grazing skin. This holiday from reality had become the only reality he ever wanted to experience.

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