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Isaac and Boyd are laughing about something in the kitchen when Derek comes downstairs. He wasn’t gonna ask but he hears Stiles’s name, and like a reflex, he’s tuned right in.

“What about Stiles?” he asks, aiming desperately for casual as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Nothing important,” Isaac says, still snorting. “Only, just, you know how he’s in my Wednesday night communications class, right? Back in high school, he wrote this epic long essay about circumcision, for literally no reason. For Finstock, too, and I’m pretty sure Finstock made him run suicides over it. So last night, he did it again, like it was going to be any less weird in college.”

He starts laughing all over again, and Derek doesn’t really get it. Why does Stiles care about circumcision? He’s pretty sure Stiles is an engineering major, not like, pre-med.

Boyd tries explaining more. “He’s obsessed with uncut dicks,” he says. “It’s just really funny. One time he asked me if the healing made mine grow back.” That sets Isaac off again, and he laughs so hard he sprays his mouthful of food out on the table.

Derek walks away, because he’s learned that sometimes he’s never going to be able to join in on the joke, and this conversation is just making him have more questions. Like, why is Stiles so obsessed? Is he grossed out by uncut cocks or does he like them? Is Stiles cut? His face starts heating up the way it always does when he starts thinking about Stiles like that and he ducks into the shower, manfully ignoring the new round of laughter from downstairs.

Stiles doesn’t really come around or anything, especially now that everything sort of settled down. He’s in college, they all are, over at the big state university a couple towns over. He doesn’t live on campus though, like Scott does. Derek doesn’t know why, thinks maybe because of his dad. But Derek still sees him, mostly because Stiles works at the grocery store near the loft. He hasn’t memorized Stiles’s schedule or anything, but he’s usually working when Derek ends up swinging by.

He’s stocking cans of soup when Derek stops in for milk on Thursday. “Hey,” he says cheerfully, balanced on his stepladder. It puts him a foot taller than Derek, and Derek looks up at him, backlit by the harsh fluorescent lights, and thinks about foreskins.

“I need eggs,” he says. He doesn’t. Isaac bought like, three dozen eggs the other day. It was milk he was supposed to get.

Stiles doesn’t know that though, just shrugs his shoulders and points. “Right down there,” he says and picks up another can.

“Okay,” Derek says. “Did your teacher like your essay?”

Stiles flushes. “You heard about that?” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was an open assignment, we were supposed to write whatever we were interested in. Whatever, it’s just comm class.”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “I’m uncut.” He has no idea why he said it. He sort of had a plan, last night when he was falling asleep and it involved him being way more subtle than that.

“Okay,” Stiles says, blinking. His eyes drop down and then dart back up, like Derek wasn’t going to notice.

Derek clears his throat. “In case you got another assignment,” he says. “I mean, if you need to see one.”

“That,” Stiles says, “was the world’s worst pickup line. Seriously, that rivals ‘there’s a party in my pants, and you’re invited.’ It’s up there with ‘I lost my number, can I have yours?’ Like, I want to write this moment down for posterity.”

“You just had to say no,” Derek says, staring at the ground.

“Oh, I wasn’t saying no,” Stiles says instantly, and Derek’s head snaps up. “My shift’s up at five. Tell Isaac to clear the hell out.”

“Okay,” Derek says, and turns tail before Stiles changes his mind.

*

“Drop ‘em, Hale,” Stiles announces when Derek buzzes him in.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Isaac screeches, and he’s still scrambling into his pants while falling out the door in his haste to get out.

Derek scowls. It’s been two hours since he saw Stiles at the store, and it’s been a long two hours, where Derek had nothing to do but imagine Stiles, and how the night was going to go. He definitely hadn’t imagined it like a doctor’s physical.

“Aw,” Stiles says, kicking the door shut behind him. “You’re not taking it back are you?”

“No,” Derek says, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s not just going to take his pants off. That’s stupid.

“Good,” Stiles says, and he shrugs out of his hoodie, and comes towards Derek, walking right up close. “Can I see, then?” and his hands are at Derek’s buckle, touching the metal just light enough for it to pull Derek’s waistband away from his skin. Derek nods, spreading his legs just a little. Stiles drops, his knees hitting the floor with a thunk that makes Derek wince, but Stiles doesn’t even pause. His hands are steady and sure, getting Derek’s belt open and zipper down. Derek braces his hands on Stiles’s shoulders as Stiles defly reaches in and takes his cock out.

“Look at you,” he breathes, and the air ghosts over Derek’s cock, making him shiver.

“Did you think I was lying?” Derek says, strained.

“Shh,” Stiles says. “Let me enjoy this.” Derek doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all. He’s still soft, but hardening under Stiles’s gaze and his skin is still loose and covering the head of his cock. Stiles touches him, one finger tracing lightly around the edge of his foreskin and even just that makes Derek want to pop his claws. He doesn’t, holds on tight to his human side but Stiles darts a look at him like he knows anyway.

“You gonna hurry up and do something?” he says, trying to cover his embarrassment.

“What did I say?” Stiles reprimands, but he grips Derek’s length with his whole hand, and gives it one firm tug, sliding his skin back until his head is uncovered, and then forward again, an intense, concentrated look on his face. Derek may not survive this.

Stiles does it again, a little faster and a little surer, then dips his head to flick his tongue out. It’s warm and wet, and sends little sparks of pleasure up his spine, and he has to close his eyes before he comes embarrassingly quickly. There’s no doubt in his mind it’s going to be quick, but he’d like to not have to move to Nebraska in shame.

He reconsiders the idea though, when Stiles uses his teeth, lightly, scraping just a bit over his skin.

“This is perfect,” Stiles says, grinning wide like a shark, and then his entire mouth is on Derek, working his cock with a twisting flick of his wrist and the clever little sweeps of his tongue, circling the inside of his foreskin.

Fuck it, Nebraska sounds more and more worth it.

It’s not that he’s never gotten a blow job before. There was Kate, and she liked it, holding his hips down and biting the inside of his thigh before she set to work, dragging his orgasm out of him. But that first time, in her car when he was supposed to be at practice, she had stopped dead and stared down at him.

“You’re uncut,” she had said, clearly displeased.

“Yeah,” he had said, uncomfortable. She was the first person who had seen his naked body since he’d been little, and he flushed with the shame of being found lacking.

“Well,” she said. “I hope you take care of yourself,” and gingerly inspected him. He was too embarrassed to look at her, shamefaced and mumbling that he did.

There had been a few since then, not many, and nothing to tell about. Certainly never anyone like Stiles, who looks blissed out, like he loves it, like Derek’s cock is doing things for him.

“Can I touch you?” he says abruptly, suddenly yearning to get his hands on Stiles.

Stiles pulls off, blinking like he’s coming back to himself. “Normally,” he says, and his voice is a little hoarse. “That answer would be ‘hell yes,’ but I’m kind of interested in these,” and he gestures up towards Derek’s cock, “proceedings.” Then his eyes narrow, and he gets the gleam in his eye, like he’s got an idea. Derek’s suddenly, unavoidably nervous. “Okay, wait, I want to try something,” and he’s leaning back, unbuckling his own belt and Derek doesn’t know what’s happening but he’s on board, glad enough to get to see Stiles. He doesn’t disappoint, long and thick, flushed pink at the tip.

When they’re both naked, Stiles urges him down until they’re kneeling across from each other, close enough that they’re near enough in each other’s laps. Stiles reaches until he’s got his hand on Derek again, and his other hand on his own cock, and he positions them until they’re touching, and Derek shivers when he feels Stiles’s cock brush against his. Stiles tugs at Derek’s foreskin, testing it lightly a few times before he pulls it over the tip of his own cock.

Derek nearly stops breathing, eyes fixated on where he’s covering Stiles, where Stiles’s head disappears into his own. “Fuck,” he says and when he looks up, Stiles’s pupils are blown, and his lips are red where he’s biting them.

“Okay,” Stiles exhales shakily. “So that’s as hot as I thought it was,” and he lets the skin fall back before doing it again and again, pulling Derek’s foreskin down a little farther every time, covering another centimeter of Stiles’s cock.

“Stiles,” Derek pleads when he’s had enough, when he just needs more and Stiles seems to hear him, lets his own cock drop in favor of getting his hands on Derek again, and it doesn’t take long after that, just a few firm strokes and Stiles saying, low and intent, “I can’t wait to get you in me,” and Derek’s done, gone, left the building, shooting all over them both. Stiles isn’t far after him, and Derek dips his thumb into the mess they’ve made, lifting it up to taste.

“Stop it,” Stiles says crossly, and Derek jerks, looking at him. “I can’t go again yet, and that’s just taunting,” he says, and oh, he’s not mad, not really. Derek just shrugs at him, and does it again. “God,” Stiles says, and hauls them both to their feet. “You’re a menace.”

They get cleaned up, and Derek half expects Stiles to leave, having gotten what he came for, but he doesn’t really seem inclined. He talks Derek into ordering out and they sit, feet up, with their boxes of Chinese food, watching the last half of The Karate Kid while Stiles steals Derek’s chicken fingers.

*

Derek doesn’t expect it but Stiles comes over again the next night, and they have sex again. This time they make it into Derek’s bedroom, and Stiles lays Derek out and touches him, still clearly entranced by his dick. The game changes when Stiles digs around on the floor for his discarded jeans, pulls out a packet of lube, and slicks his own fingers up.

“I thought about this all last night,” Stiles tells him as he presses one, and then another in. Derek can’t really see much, can only see Stiles’s hand disappearing between his legs, but he can see Stiles’s face, flushed and excited. Derek watches, and doesn’t say anything, doesn’t say me too but Stiles seems to know it anyway, sinks down on his cock with a smug, thrilled look on his face. “Oh my God,” he says, bracing his hands on Derek’s chest, and rises up before sinking right back down again, and Derek groans, a punched out noise pulled deep from his chest. “Wondered how you would feel,” Stiles is still talking, and Derek wants to see how long he can keep it up, what it takes to get him speechless. Stiles tosses his head and rises up on his knees again. “Reality is so much better.”

Stiles rides him for a good while, palms warm and flat on his chest while he takes his pleasure, and it’s not enough and too much for Derek. He feels like he’s panting too loud, like it’s drowning out all the other noises in the room. Stiles finally groans and slumps forward, and Derek feels the wet warmth all over his stomach. He can’t help but make a protesting noise when Stiles stops moving.

“Sorry, dude,” Stiles says weakly, and rolls himself sideways. Derek catches him, turns him over on his back, guides himself back in. “Do it,” Stiles says, hooking his legs around Derek’s back, driving him forward with the heel of his foot. “C’mon, Derek.”

Derek does, thrusting for all he’s worth. It’s not the lazy rhythm of before, he’s uncoordinated and frantic and without thinking, he leans forward and captures Stiles’s mouth, kissing him hard as he shoves in. He has a moment to realize they haven’t done that yet, but thinks maybe he shouldn’t have. Stiles is winding his arms around Derek’s neck, hanging on as he kisses back and it’s with that Derek comes, pressing closer and closer until he’s spent.

“Carry me to the shower,” Stiles demands flopping back against the bed.

“You can walk,” Derek says, unwilling to roll off and let him.

“Can’t,” Stiles says dramatically. “Your big beautiful dick broke me. I’m broken now and I can’t get up.”

Derek does roll off him then, and tips him onto the middle of the top sheet before grabbing the edge of it and pulling until the whole thing, Stiles included, comes off the bed. Stiles hits the soft carpet with a thump, and he’s laughing and yelling insults as Derek tows the tangled mess all the way to the bathroom.

*

“Bring me coffee,” Stiles’s text says the next night, and Derek knows he’s on campus, but has no idea where. He’s not doing anything so he could, but he’s kind of not sure if Stiles is joking.

“I’m serious,” the next text says. “I’ll put out forever, just please, a tall americano with two sugars please.” The third text reads, “fiiiiiind meeee i’m dying.”

Derek texts back, “fuck you,” but he’s weirdly charmed by the idea, like a game of hide and seek. Narrowing it down to the right part of campus is easy, but it’s a challenge to his wolf senses from there, and he closes his eyes and takes it all in. There’s a ton of smells to sift through, unwashed teenagers, paper, hair gel, and weed until he finds the familiar scent of Stiles, still imprinted in his memory after being immersed in it, covering everything in the apartment, lingering in the sheets. Bingo, he thinks. Library.

There’s a big sign when he gets there that says “No Food or Beverages,” and Derek almost turns around and goes home, but the kid in front of him is holding a coffee too. Derek pauses, watches as he drops the cup down against his hip, below the eyeline of the bored looking girl at the desk. He’s got two but he manages to do the same, balancing one on top of the other.

Stiles is in a big plush armchair in the corner by the windows, and Derek plops his coffee down with a scowl.

“Thanks dude, you’re a lifesaver,” Stiles says, totally ignoring his look. “I have a test tomorrow that I’m 100% going to fail.”

“Not on circumcision?” Derek quips.

“I’d be much less worried about passing,” Stiles leers and then visibly redirects himself. “Shut up, don’t make me think about your dick. I have to learn this.”

“Do you want me to quiz you?” Derek says, and he doesn’t know why he keeps saying shit to Stiles that he doesn’t mean to say. He helps Isaac sometimes, when the bruises under his eyelids start sticking around, and he hasn’t slept in way too long, vibrating with stress and anxiety. But maybe Stiles wouldn’t want that, doesn’t need Derek’s help.

Stiles shoves the book at him so fast he almost drops it. “Please,” he says, gratefully. “You’re the best.”

*

Stiles sleeps over that night, and Derek’s driving him home so he could change his clothes before his test. He’s fully prepared to wait in the car, maybe a block down the street, sunk low in his seat but Stiles gives him a weird look when he starts slowing down and Derek reluctantly pulls up right in front of the house.

“Hurry up, asshole,” Stiles says, dashing up the walk. “I don’t have all day.” Derek ignores him, staying firmly in the car, but his door opens and he finds himself being dragged out by his ear. He could fight this, could easily send Stiles flying but for some reason, he finds himself trudging up the front stairs, letting Stiles lead him in, fingers still clamped on the cartilage of his ear.

“Morning, boys,” the Sheriff says, standing just inside the doorway to the living room, watching with amusement.

“Yeah yeah,” Stiles says and flies up the stairs. “So late, oh my God.”

“You still have forty-five minutes,” Derek says, avoiding the Sheriff’s gaze. “You’re fine.”

“I need at least ten minutes to hyperventilate outside the room,” Stiles shouts down the stairs.

Derek rolls his eyes. Stiles knew every answer last night; Derek has literally no idea why he lets some shit psych him out while diving fearlessly into everything else.

“Maybe he should have come home last night,” the Sheriff says lightly and Derek flinches.

“Derek wouldn’t let me drive,” Stiles says and he appears on the landing buttoning up his shirt. His pants are still undone, and Derek doesn’t look at him, determinedly doesn’t.

“Oh?” the Sheriff says, zeroing in on Derek.

“I’ve never seen someone so sleep-deprived and yet so caffeinated,” Derek says. uncomfortable. “He was shaking.”

“Was not,” Stiles says, and he’s got his bag together, slung over his chest. “C’mon, let’s go, Florence Nightingale.”

There’s a screeching noise from the other room, and Derek winces as it seems to pierce his eardrum.

“God damnit,” the Sheriff says, throwing up his hands. “Someone just came to repair the damn dryer and it’s already making the noise again.”

“It’s a belt,” Derek says, and apparently his brain to mouth filter just doesn’t work around Stilinskis. “I can fix it for you.”

The Sheriff is so much warmer to him when he ushers them out, and Stiles grins at him as Derek races them across town. “Suck up,” he accuses but his hand is warm when it nudges at Derek’s thigh.

*

Stiles ends up at the house more nights than he’s not, and Derek’s getting used to him, hogging the space in the bed, eating all his Pop-Tarts, jumping in the shower with him. Stiles loves shower sex, as it turns out, loves dragging a warm washcloth over his thighs, belly, cock. He loves cleaning Derek’s cock for him, teasing as he makes a featherlight pass over it, once, twice, again and again until Derek wants to cry a little.
.
“C’mon,” Derek urges, shoulders tensed where he’s blocking the spray from hitting Stiles. “Just,” and he shoves his hips forward a little, nudging at Stiles’s lips.

“Patience, Padawan,” Stiles says, and teases him all the more, until he’s pounding the shower wall, gritting his teeth until they feel like they’re going to fall out of his head.

He’s never been happier.

Boyd’s there when he gets downstairs, and he nods to Derek when he comes in. “I see Mr. Curiosity up there finally got his wish,” he says dryly, smile tugging at his lips.

“Twice last night,” Isaac says bitterly, shooting a death glare at Derek. “And all this week. And last week. Isn’t he over it yet?”

Derek’s wondered the same thing, but he’s not going to say anything to Stiles to hasten the process. “Shut up,” he says pleasantly, and gets out a carton of eggs.

Stiles comes down eventually, and plops himself down next to Isaac. He completely ignores Isaac’s mood, starts talking about their comm class, and trading stories about Scott, until Isaac’s done sulking and is sitting up and talking. It’s done so deftly that Derek, who was listening the whole time at the stove, couldn’t have explained how Stiles did it if you paid him.

*

Stiles shoots him a text that night, saying he’s going to dinner with Scott, and then to the science labs with his lab partner. There’s something about an experiment involving fungus dishes. Derek’s not sure what the real parts are and what parts are just the punchlines to his kindergarten-level jokes. ok he replies, and gives the other half of his lasagna to Isaac and they watch two hours of Billy the Exterminator before passing out.

He has a nightmare where Allison shoots him with a wolfsbane arrow in the crotch and he has to cut his own dick off, and Stiles stops sleeping with him. Dream-him is much more pissed about that than losing his dick, which awake-Derek’s not sure he agrees with.

Stiles cancels the next night too, calls this time, huffing as he’s clearly jogging across campus. “And then I had to call the grocery store and switch shifts with Gertrude, and you know how she is about working nights,” he pants and Derek doesn’t know who Gertrude is but assumes anyone with a name like Gertrude has earned the right not to work at night. “I better get a damn good grade on this,” Stiles is saying. “Paolo thinks we will but who knows with this professor.”

“Who’s Paolo?” Derek says, balancing the phone on his shoulder as he puts pieces of the washing machine back together.

“The lab partner,” the sheriff says, coming back in the room with two beers in his hand.

“Is that my dad?” Stiles shrieks into the phone, and Derek pauses to take the beer with a nod of thanks.

“Go do your work,” he says into the phone, and hangs up.

*

Stiles does get an A, comes over and has celebratory sex with Derek, lets Derek hold him down and rim him until he comes, gasping and flopping like a fish. Isaac throws a shoe at the wall, and Stiles just laughs, kissing Derek shamelessly. He gives Derek his hand to thrust up into and Derek does, kissing his laughter right out of him.

Someone calls in the morning, waking them both up. Stiles tiptoes out of bed before answering, trying not to wake Derek.

It’s a lost cause though, because Derek’s too conscious of the lack of warmth against his side to go back to sleep. He sits up and waits for Stiles to come back, and Stiles peeks around the corner before realizing he’s up.

“Guess who just got invited to a dinner party thrown by the faculty tonight,” Stiles crows, kneeling on the edge of the bed to poke at Derek’s side.

“Good job,” Derek says, squirming away from him. “Have fun.”

“Oh no,” Stiles says, eyes gleaming. “Bringing guests is encouraged.

“Nope,” Derek says, rolling over and away from Stiles. “Absolutely not.”

Stiles pulls him back, settling on top of him. “Please,” he begs. “Come with me, we don’t have to stay long. Please. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me when we get back. I know you have weird stuff you want to try,” and he rolls his hips against Derek’s.

“Jesus,” Derek says, pained, and knows it’s a lost cause.

*

Stiles knows a lot of people. Derek had sort of grasped that from the way his phone was always buzzing and going off, but it’s even more evident here, where Stiles is in his element. He’s more appreciated now, is often the center of a conversation, and he drags Derek from one group to another.

Paolo ends up near them again and again and he and Stiles have this rapidfire way of communicating that irritates Derek. He can’t help but notice Stiles knows a ton of European men, more than he knew even lived in California, but Paolo is the most European of them all. He doesn’t know why the guy bothered putting on a suit; why he didn’t just turn up in a soccer uniform, trying to pay for things in Euros.

The more he thinks about it, the more he feels like Paolo is the Roman ideal of a warrior, like he should model for a statue of a god. He should be in a breastplate with a sword in his hands. He probably has foreskin a mile long.

He glowers at him, sulks silently next to Stiles where Stiles is cheerfully ignoring him, and hates everyone.

Paolo leans over, touches Stiles’s shoulder and says, “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” Stiles looks at him with bright, happy eyes and smiles, waving him off.

Derek knows it’s a bad idea but he can’t stop himself, trailing after Paolo and immediately breaks all urinal etiquette rules by taking the middle stall after Paolo has already chosen the one on the right.

Paolo gives him a look but doesn’t say anything. Derek keeps his eyes on the wall for a few seconds, before subtly drifting down and sideways.

“Buddy,” Paolo says, indignant and covering himself.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Derek defends, and Paolo shakes himself off and exits, almost running for the door.

Derek goes to wash his hands and avoids his own eyes in the mirror. Then he turns and walks out the bathroom door and doesn’t even bother going back into the party.

Stiles comes slamming in an hour later, calling Derek’s name.

“You realize I still live here?” Isaac says, sticking his head out of his room.

“I don’t care,” Stiles says, looking at Derek like Isaac isn’t even there. “Did you look at my lab partner’s dick in the bathroom?”

There’s a shocked silence and then Isaac retreats back into his room, closing the door tightly. There’s a loud noise like he’s dragging the dresser in front of the door.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Derek says, turning around towards his own bedroom.

“Well I do,” Stiles says, charging after him. “You seriously don’t want to comment on the situation? Not even a little interested in explaining yourself?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” Derek says, refusing to face him. “I don’t know why you’re still here.

“What does that mean?” Stiles says, outraged. “You don’t want me here? Oh my God, were you actually hitting on Paolo?”

“No,” Derek yells, finally rounding on Stiles. “I just wanted to see if he was cut!”

“You what?” Stiles says, jaw dropping, mouth hanging wide open in shock. “Did you think I was going to sleep with him if he wasn’t? Oh my God, you did, didn’t you? You think I’m just up for anyone? That I’m so slutty for uncut cock I’ll cheat on my boyfriend for it?”

“Am I your boyfriend?” Derek says, nonplussed.

Stiles stares at him unblinking. Derek fidgets, and eyes the window speculatively, wonders if he could dive through it before Stiles could grab for him. “Sit,” Stiles says, voice like steel. “You’re going to sit down and be completely silent for five minutes while I think about this.”

“I don’t think--” Derek starts but Stiles holds up his hand.

“Five minutes,” Stiles says, not joking in the slightest. Derek sits on the edge of his bed, hanging his head. Stiles just stands there motionless, eyes staring at a spot on the wall, clearly deep in thought.

Derek counts the seconds, and at four minutes and fifty seconds, Stiles says, “Derek, do you want to be with me?”

“Yes,” Derek says, because he does. That much, at least, should be clear.

“Okay,” Stiles says, exhaling. “Good. I thought so.” His eyes are on Derek now, evaluating. Derek squirms under the scrutiny. “I like your dick,” he says eventually, “I’m pretty sure I’ve made that clear on more than one occasion. I’m not real interested in seeing other dicks, so I’m going to keep calling you my boyfriend.”

“Okay,” Derek says.

Stiles sits down next to him and wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders, and Derek gives in and shoves his face in Stiles’s neck. “I also like your other parts,” Stiles says, chin resting on the top of Derek’s head. “Like your stupid face and your eyebrows, and how you don’t laugh at me when I’m being me, and that you’re nice to my dad.” Derek’s face is hot and he presses a kiss to Stiles’s collarbone. Stiles pets his jaw. “I can’t believe you thought I was only into you for your dick,” Stiles says, and snickers.

“You wrote a whole essay about the history of male circumcision,” Derek says, muffled.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I also have a thing for angry guys with dark hair, and somehow I kept myself from banging Finstock.”

Derek has nothing to say to that, so he pushes Stiles until Stiles collapses backwards into his bed. Between kisses, Derek gets him undressed, gets his own clothes off before Stiles flips them and Derek lets him. He fists them both together, long fingers stroking them both in the same rhythm and Derek arches into it, too wound up to last. “Your dick doesn’t hurt the situation,” Stiles says and laughs when Derek comes with a scowl on his face.