or more accurately I want to see Stiles watching Scott watch Star Wars, smirking to himself every time Scott leans a little closer to the screen or takes a sharp breath with his hands clenching in his lap or looks like he wants to throw something.
I want Stiles pretty much giving up on watching it himself (he’s seen the whole box set enough times he can basically quote the scripts verbatim, okay, there’s way more entertainment in Scott’s reactions).
And yes I could go on about Scott identifying with Luke and his drive to be good and his whole rise to becoming a hero despite the odds and all the crap that gets thrown at him. I could talk about the way Scott looks over at Stiles at one point and says something like, “You know you’re Han, right?” And Stiles grinning, maybe blushing. Maybe getting a little turned on for reasons he can’t quite unravel just then.
But really I want Stiles to end up biting his lip and tapping his hand on his leg, winding tighter and tighter as Luke confronts Vader in Cloud City and…wait for it… wait for it… wow he’s pretty sure Scott’s not breathing—
He told me you killed him.
Here we go…
No, I am your father!
Stiles almost falls off his end of the couch, so caught up in waiting for the moment that Scott’s deafening yell takes him by surprise.
Meanwhile Scott’s up on his feet, a cushion dangling from one hand, eyes fixed on the screen and his mouth hanging open. He flails at the screen and then at Stiles with his mouth working, drops the cushion, flops back heavily onto the couch and grips his head in his hands.
He sounds like he’s gonna vibrate into atoms.
Stiles grins hurts his face. “Told you it was good, didn’t I, huh?”
So Luke gets his cool new hand and the score signals the end, and Scott’s quiet for a long minute, and he’s so—there’s just something - or a lot of something - about his face and his eyes and Stiles can’t look away. Which makes it hard to keep his breath when Scott suddenly looks at him like he’s just remembered where he is and that Stiles is there.
"You uh, you want me to put the next one on?" Stiles asks, floundering for something say. He needs Scott to look somewhere else, just for minute or two, so he can yank the shades down over whatever his expression’s showing.
"Yeah," Scott says, in a rush that’s all breath and emphasis, still wide-eyed and slack-mouthed, one of his lips shiny and bright red where he’s been chewing it.
Stiles trips on his way to the DVDs stacked up ready by the TV. Boners make navigation awkward.
Yeah, he may have shot himself in the foot with a blaster over this whole improve-Scotty’s-pop-culture-knowledge plan. But Scott’s mouth twitches into a smile when the opening crawl starts to the sound of trumpets, and Stiles regrets exactly nothing.