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[needlebomb]

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[needlebomb]

[ marcus really, really can't stand being looked at the way stiles is looking at him now - if he didn't like stiles so much, he'd get defensive and angry and maybe even a little mean, but with their relationship the way it is, marcus just feels kind of humiliated and regrets bringing up the deal tate roped him into at all. he goes red, wiping his sweaty hands on his thighs, searching for a way out of this itchy, uncomfortable feeling. stiles provides the first opportunity by moving on, scooping up the milk he left on the floor and trying to hide it for some reason, very casually shifting focus towards his phone while he orders food - and marcus just watches him in silence, waiting for a chance to step in and say i'm not stupid, seriously, i have a plan, i'm making money without it sounding forced. that chance never comes, and marcus has to sigh quietly, defeated, and live with the fact that he said something stupid. he'll obsess over this dumb, forgettable fucking interaction for hours while he's trying to sleep tonight.

he's directed towards stiles' laptop, and marcus nods, uncharacteristically quiet while he kneels in front of it and stares blankly at the screen. he's still not sure how to use these things, but he's had enough time in the city to at least be vaguely familiar with how they work - the screen is black, and rather than know that's because stiles' laptop is asleep, marcus assumes it's off entirely and holds his finger down on the power button. it shuts down, and he stares, expecting the screen to light up... which it does, when he presses the power button again, now under the impression that laptops need to be turned on twice to actually turn on. hey, he fucking hates the future.

it takes an uncomfortably long amount of time to navigate to stiles' itunes, once the laptop is booted back up and stiles has typed in his password for him. he pecks at the letters on stiles' keyboard in slow, individual presses, and he clicks mouse buttons way harder than he needs to, but he does eventually get a long list of music in front of him, ready to be browsed through. he's about to listen to the first track he can find when the pizza arrives, and marcus, well. marcus would be embarrassed about how long he's taking if he had any frame of reference to know he's taking a long time.

marcus almost offers to get the pizza for stiles, but he's kind of annoyed by the thought that he'd get to the door and be told by the delivery guy that a dom needs to sign for it, so. he just waits it out while stiles collects their food. the smell is fucking outstanding, and marcus's stomach rumbles the second stiles is back in the living room, eyes wide and focused on the box. there's-- a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, kind of self-deprecating but nevertheless genuine, and he sighs, chewing the inside of his cheek for a second before he announces his defeat with as much airy, well-natured joy as he can. ]

Hey, uh - I'll take a slice.

[ or two. or three. or four. who knows. marcus might be quick to feel shame under certain circumstances, but he also used to eat burgers out of trashcans and smoke joints he found half-burnt out in the gutter, so accepting free pizza from a friend probably doesn't seem all that bad, in comparison. or maybe he's saying the wrong thing again! maybe stiles will respect him even less than he already does. maybe stiles thinks he's a needy piece of shit who needs his hand held and can't stick to his ideals if it's this easy for him to roll back his rejections. marcus shrugs, trying to sound casual as he focuses on stiles' music again. ]

If that's cool.

[overshirts]

[ fortunately for marcus, stiles just assumes that maybe his laptop rebooted itself for a system update (which is... stupid, because there probably aren't any system updates that'll reach his laptop in wherever-the-fuck, duplicity, but listen), so he doesn't really think much of it when marcus waves him over so he can put his password in again. as much as he likes marcus though, he still turns his laptop away slightly as he taps at the keys, and then turns it back once it starts to load up again.

and then he leaves marcus to it, at least for a minute or two while he disappears down the hall toward his bedroom so he can grab his laptop charger. when he returns, he plugs it into his computer and the wall without disturbing marcus too much. stiles only notices belatedly that marcus doesn't really... seem to have a whole lot of experience with computers, and then he feels like an asshole, because hello - marcus is from the freaking 80s, so he wouldn't have any know-how. he's about to apologize and offer to give marcus a brief "walkthrough" so to speak, when there's a quiet, curt knock at the door.

once he's collected his food and quietly thanked the doorperson, stiles takes the pizza directly to the kitchen, unsure still if he's being rude by ordering and eating pizza in front of someone who, yes, declined the offer of food, but likely hasn't eaten anything substantial in who knows how long. it's probably rude. stiles is probably an asshole, but. well, marcus is welcome to it, and maaaybe the smell will be tempting enough to change his mind. stiles just wants to help the same way he'd wished someone had helped him when he'd needed it, without forcing him to commit to a binding contract. he sighs, grabs two plates, and stacks them on top of the box before taking all of it out to the living room. hiding it from marcus in an attempt to not be rude isn't going to make him feel welcome to asking for a slice, so stiles just sucks it up.

in the living room, he slides the box of pizza onto the table near his laptop, shifting the plates off of the lid so he can flip it open. he sits on the couch this time, leaning forward a little and doing his best to separate a slice from the rest of the pie without getting sauce or cheese on his splint, pinching with his free fingers. when marcus speaks up, stiles huffs a quick, amused breath out through his nose, laughing a little under his breath. ultimately, he's relieved, and lets go of any remaining anxiety over looking like an asshole as he passes marcus the second plate he brought in anticipation of - well, exactly this. ]

Yeah, go for it, dude.

[ maybe he sounds a little more enthusiastic than he means to, but whatever. stiles nudges the box a little closer to marcus once he's got a hand free, and folds his slice of pizza in half before taking a bite of it. it's... a little too hot still, so the cheese is extra melty and stringy and obnoxious, and stiles has to pinch it off with his fingers so he doesn't end up with cheese on his chin, or worse, dragging all of the cheese off of his slice. he should have brought some napkins, shiiit. he gets up, taking his pizza with him, and talks kind of over his shoulder as he wanders back toward the kitchen for a couple paper towels, and two bottles of water while he's at it. ]

So, iTunes. There's a search bar on the top riiiight? Yeah, top right, and you can type whatever you want in there. Artist, song, whatever, and it'll narrow down the selection by filtering out everything not related to the search content. It'll only pull from what's in my library though, so you probably won't find everything you're looking for. ... And no judging me, alright - there's a lot of weird and/or old stuff in my library because I have dumb friends with questionable tastes who want mix CDs to give to their girlfriends, and also my dad.

[ stiles pauses, still in the kitchen, nudging the fridge closed with his foot and trying to juggle his pizza, the napkins, and the bottles of water. ]

Not - they don't give mix CDs to my dad, that's weird. I mean my dad's music is also in my library.

[needlebomb]

[ the only way to really clear out whatever remaining tension marcus feels, in his mind, is to follow in the footsteps of every insecure, egomaniacal asshole he's ever met by just ignoring all his problems and pretending that everything's okay. he still feels like a bit of a parasite by bogeying some of stiles' pizza, despite how enthusiastic stiles sounds now that marcus has caved and promised to eat something, but if he just keeps his head down and his thoughts to himself, then he can blindly and quietly slip a piece of pizza onto his plate while keeping all the build up of guilt and young, teenage self-consciousness to a bare minimum. he focuses on the screen in front of him instead of any anxiety in his stomach, listening to stiles talk from the kitchen and ignoring the irritation that comes with feeling, again, like his hand is being held. he hates being like this. behind. not knowing how to act like other kids his age. it's been this way for longer than he can remember.

still, once stiles is back, drinks and food in hand, marcus takes a bite, lets the pizza melt in his mouth, enjoys the cheese burning his tongue in a masochistic, self-flagellating, marcus-is-a-downer kind of way. he clicks through stiles' library, unreadable and impassive, learning how to use all this with surprisingly fast aptitude. adaptability has always been one of marcus' strongsuits, and if he just focuses on learning something new, he can get the hang of it without too much trouble; it's just a matter of staying motivated, keeping interested. luckily, trying to find never before heard songs by the bands he loves is a pretty high priority for him, and the excitement wins out over anything else he might be feeling, in the end. he drags his cursor to the first song-title that catches his eye and responds to stiles as nonchalantly as he can. ]

Totally gonna fuck your dad if I ever meet him. Really gonna gargle that load.

[ a normal escalation after stiles made an uncomfortable joke about his friends giving his dad mixtapes, he thinks. hidden beneath all the ghostbusters themesongs, rick astley and some band called aqua, stiles has a couple of depeche mode songs on here that were released well past '87. marcus picks one at random, frowning when no audio comes out of the laptop's speakers and figuring out through trial and error what he needs to press to unmute things. for a moment, he's just quiet. the tinny, low-quality sound flows through the speakers and marcus just keeps himself to himself while he processes what he's listening to - a song by a band he loves released years ahead of his timeline and years before stiles' birth, crackling through laptop speakers that barely know how to do the job right. marcus actually gets pretty emotional, the bars hitting him hard in a way that makes him want to crack open his journal and write something new. he doesn't - just listens until the end of the song and resists the urge to hit repeat as it shuffles onto something modern and pop-rock that he doesn't really like.

marcus looks up from the laptop before too long, at least, pretending like his mind is full of nothing but thoughts of chewing his pizza and curling a noodle of cheese around his tongue. he swallows, then shuffles his knees to the side, patting the floor next to him to get stiles' attention, asking him to join him in front of the coffee table. ]

Play me some of your favorites?

[overshirts]

[ by whatever miracle, stiles manages to make it back to the living room and onto the couch without dropping the napkins, the water, or his half-eaten slice of pizza. he sets the bottles of water down on the table first, one by the edge and one closer to marcus, and then kind of nudges the back of his hand against marcus' shoulder as he sits down, wordlessly offering him one of the napkins. once he's settled, he folds one leg and tucks his foot under the bend of his knee, and leans forward to rest his elbow on his thigh so he can watch as marcus browses.

the comment about his dad almost makes him choke on a bite of pizza. he coughs once, twice, mouth closed and eyes watering slightly, and once he gets through it, he clears his throat, slightly red in the face. surprisingly, though, he plays it off and runs with marcus... joke. stiles hopes it's a joke. obviously it's a joke, so... he can joke, too. ]

Whatever. I'm not gonna call you Dad.

[ but also fuck marcus for making stiles think about his dad and literally anything related to sex. stiles focuses on eating the rest of his slice and sits back, listening to whatever song marcus picks. it's a good one, but most of his music is good, bar pretty much anything scott's ever had him download for... "wooing" purposes, or whatever. as he finishes off his first slice of pizza and sits forward again to reach for another, marcus pats the floor near his foot. stiles glances down, arms outstretched toward the cardboard box on the table, and once he realizes he's being invited down onto the floor, he unfold his legs and slides down off the couch, rearranging himself so he's not all up in marcus' space. stiles takes another slice of pizza for himself, and slides another one onto marcus' plate too, while he's at it, pinching his napkin between his fingertips to wipe away any grease before he reaches across the space between them toward his laptop, dragging his fingers across the touchpad. ]

Uhhh. I mean... [ he clicks around, finds a decently-long list of random playlists, and clicks one of them called cartoons, which is... just a playlist of random songs he likes that he can listen to on his phone in the car if and when the radio happens to crap out on him, as if often does. ... car tunes. he hits shuffle. ] I wouldn't say all of these are my favorite, but there are some good ones here.