AN: I don't own Teen Wolf.
To Love Somebody
Stiles knew Derek's body almost as well as he knew his own (he was more conscious of Derek more than anyone or anything in his life).
Stiles knew the topography of Derek's face better than he knew his Dad's or Scott's. The faint accents of blue in his green eyes, the length of his dark eyelashes, framed by his thick and expressive eyebrows. He memorized the straight line of his nose and how sometimes it would twitch when he smelled something unfamiliar (or when he smelled something that wasn't his scent on Stiles. Those nose twitches often prefaced a low growl and long scenting [cuddle] session that more often than not lead to the two kissing all day long).
He knew everything about Derek's body. The stubble on his jaw; darker shadows in places where he hadn't shaved, the faint white scars that mottled the skin of his ribs and arms (stories he refused to share with Stiles [he assumes Hunters]), his strong back adorned with a celtic tattoo (Stiles would trace the tattoo over and over as Derek would lay with him, both content to remain silent, shutting out the world for just a little while), he knew Derek's body from the top of his head (where his soft hair lay) to the tips of his toes.
But most of all, Stiles knew Derek's mouth. The way it twisted into a sneer, how it contorted into a snarl, a frown, a growl. His favourites, though, were the ones that almost no one saw; the way his lips quirked when he was amused and trying to hide it, how his whole face transformed when he smiled; showing teeth and his eyes crinkling in the corners as he allowed himself to feel, to be happy. That often led to Derek leaning toward him, brushing his lips across Stiles', holding Stiles in a firm grip by the hips, kissing him as if trying to find salvation.
Stiles knew everything there was to know about Derek's body, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to relearn everything.
Again.
(And again.)
[And again.]