Erm. Tumblr. That's all I have as an explanation.
Disclaimer: I still, still don't own teen wolf. I just wish I did.
Stiles has noticed something. A thing. A...thingy thing.
Derek has a Thinking Face.
Capitals.
Whenever Derek is mulling something over, he gets this little expression, and Stiles can't help but find it increasingly adorable.
His head tips down, and his brows draw together over those pretty green eyes of his, and they go a little glazed over as he puzzles through whatever he needs to.
It's the cutest freaking shit.
And Derek does the Thinking Face with his entire body, too. He shuffles one foot slightly, and his shoulders tense, and he clenches and unclenches his left hand against his thigh, while his other hand fiddles with the hem of whatever shirt he is wearing.
Sometimes Derek nibbles his lip, and Stiles is utterly transfixed, and he is just thankful that no one seems to have noticed.
Yeah, Stiles might have a bit of a thing for the thing.
Or for Derek.
Either, or.
One day, they're in Derek's loft, and Scott has gone to see Allison, and Isaac is out with Cora, (and oh boy, where did that come from) and Derek is lounging on the couch, with his feet slung over Stiles' lap, and Stiles is trying not to fidget under the weight of him, because they are tentative friends. He has already propped a book of lore on top of Derek's bare feet, and is trying not to sneak glances at Derek as he peruses his own book.
Especially as Derek is wearing glasses.
They are square and black and perched on his nose as he reads, and what is killing Stiles at the moment is that Derek is also doing the Thinking Face.
He turns the page, but he isn't actually reading anything, so he thumps the book closed and slouches against the back of the couch, rubbing his eyes and sighing.
"What." Derek mutters distractedly.
"I need a break." He nudges Derek's feet off his lap, and Derek pulls them towards himself, curling around his book like a little boy. He looks so much younger like this, all soft edges and no anger and child-like interest and focus.
"So break." Derek mumbles, turning the page. His eyebrows draw together a little more as he reads, but he manages to make it look endearing rather than worried. Stiles scrambles up, heading towards the kitchen and grabbing a soda from the fridge.
"Want a drink, sourwolf?" Derek just hmms in response, and Stiles sighs, cursing the fact that he somehow got saddled with a bookish werewolf. How the hell did that even happen, anyway?
He presses the can into Derek's spare hand as he goes to sit back down, and the older man takes it, absently resting it against his leg, and turns another page. Stiles purposefully hurls himself back down, smirking when Derek grumbles when the couch rocks slightly.
"Stop." Derek pokes him with his toe.
"Why?"
"Trying to read."
"But I'm bored!" Stiles whines, grinning.
Derek is still doing the Thinking Face, but it is slipping, the longer Stiles stares at him.
"Oh my god. Do you ever stop being annoying?" Derek snaps the book shut one handed, and Stiles represses a gasp. Instead he falls back on sarcasm.
"No. It's like my super power." Instead of the growl and glare Stiles expects, Derek grins and chuckles, prodding him again.
"You got that right." They laugh, and Stiles tosses the book carefully on the table, watching as Derek does the same.
They sit quietly for a minute, and Stiles glances at Derek. He has his Thinking Face on again, and now that he is getting the full force of it he feels a bit faint.
"Wanna play Call of Duty?" He blurts out suddenly.
"Sure." Stiles hauls himself upright, and Derek hops up, striding across the room to his fancy tv and gaming system. He puts the game in, and chucks Stiles a controller. He barely catches it before it hits him in the head, and Derek lets out an unrestrained laugh, the sound echoing through the room unexpectedly. Stiles pouts, and scowls at the wolf playfully.
"What? Even if you were a wolf you'd have the grace of a newborn foal." Derek is grinning though, and Stiles concedes the point.
They play zombies for an hour, until they get bored, and Stiles has learned that Derek makes the Thinking Face when he shoots stuff too. Then Derek switches the game without telling him what it is, and turns back grinning wickedly, and he gulps.
"What did you do, Derek?" Then Derek reveals the screen, and Stiles doubles over, laughing so hard that tears leak from his eyes.
"What?" Derek smirks unrepentantly.
"JustDance?" Stiles manages to force out between giggles. "You play JustDance?"
Derek manages to look just a little embarrassed.
"It was Cora's." But then the wicked little grin is back, and suddenly Stiles' brain shuts off a bit. "Think you can manage to keep up?" And then Derek is prowling towards him, slyly grinning and peeking at him from under his lashes.
Oh no, he does not get to play that game.
So Stiles hooks his thumbs in his belt loops, and tips his hips slightly forward in a the way that one of the drag queens had once told him was sexy, and he runs his tongue over his lower lip, looking directly at Derek.
"Can you?" Derek grinned, scrolled through the menu in practised motions that told Stiles he definitely had played this before.
"Ready?" The game started, and Stiles recognised the familiar opening bars of a Beyonce song. Then the screen was giving him instructions, and he was rolling his hips to the music and trying not to watch Derek as he did the same.
They danced their way through five songs before Derek stopped, padding to the kitchen to get water, his back turned.
And Stiles had had an idea a song or two back, so he swiped Derek's controller, and put the game on solo, picking his favourite song. The song started, and he did a full body roll with the first move, something he had only done whilst very drunk with Lydia once. The rest of the added-to routine that the two of them had come up with was a good deal sexier and raunchier than the game's version, and it was embedded in Stiles' memory rather firmly. So he twirled and dipped and gyrated their routine out, forgetting about his plan after thirty seconds and losing himself to the music. When the song ended, and he came back to himself, panting and happy, he went over to the kitchen, only to find Derek staring at him, the Thinking Face firmly planted on his face. He got a glass of water, and leaned against the counter, flicking looks at Derek every so often. After a couple of minutes, he was thoroughly wigged, and decided just to poke him. So he did, poking Derek in the ribs and waiting as the man jerked slightly, surprised.
"Whatcha thinking about, sourwolf?" Derek looked up.
"How'd you know I was thinking?" Stiles shrugged.
"Well, you get that little line between your eyebrows and you fiddle with your shirt, and your eyes sort of go all unfocused and misty. And your mouth kind of falls open a bit, too."
"You noticed that?" Stiles sighed, and turned more towards the shocked looking man.
"I'm not quite as unobservant and twitchy as people think I am." Derek smiled.
"No, you're not, are you?" Derek was regarding him with something akin to wonder.
"What?" Stiles shifted.
"Just got reminded of something my mom used to say." Stiles held his breath, knowing how rare it was for Derek to open up without being pushed.
"Oh yeah?"
"Mmm. She used to say that the perfect person for me would notice the weirdest little things about me, and would accept it as if it was totally normal for them to notice those tiny things." Derek lifted his head; pinned Stiles with a hot stare that for some reason wasn't uncomfortable in the slightest. Instead, Stiles felt all light headed and floaty.
"Wow."
"Yeah, she was a clever lady. She also used to say that I'd notice things about them, too. Like the way you press your lips together when you want to say something but think you shouldn't, and the way you grit your teeth when Scott is being stupid and it's barely visible, and the way you hook your left thumb in the waistband of your pants when you feel uncomfortable, and the way you rub the second joint of your little finger with your thumb when you're nervous." Derek chuckled softly. Stiles fought to still the motion of his thumb against his pinkie finger. Derek had been taking steps towards him with each sentence. He was almost chest to chest with Derek now, pushing himself against the counter almost unconsciously. Derek took a tiny, half step, closer, pressing into him pleasantly, and Stiles took a deep shuddering breath.
"I think your mom was a very, very perceptive woman." He says quietly. Derek grins, and for once Stiles is completely at ease, completely comfortable. So he does what he has wanted to do ever since he noticed Derek thinking, he tips himself forward the centimetre he needs to and kisses Derek. And Derek doesn't even hesitate, just meets him halfway like he'd been planning to do the same thing. And they just kiss and kiss, and at some point Stiles finds his hands on Derek's shoulders, gripping his t shirt, and Derek finds his looped around Stiles' back, pulling him closer.
And they don't talk once they break apart, just mosey back to the sofa and tuck themselves into each other's space, and doze off in the heat of that lazy summer afternoon.
When Stiles wakes up, he lifts his head to see Derek's face, and notices the complete lack of stress, and the way Derek has balled his hand up in the fabric of Stiles' shirt, and when Derek stirs later on, he notices how Stiles folds himself against Derek like he is trying to occupy the same space, and buries his nose in his shoulder.
When the pack comes back, there is a general cacophony of questions.
And Derek just waves his hand in the air, annoyed that he has had to let go of Stiles for a moment. When the ruckus dies down, Stiles just yawns, and waggles a hand and tells them they're together now, and to shut up about it.
They do.
And Stiles just wriggles closer, and pulls Derek's arm around him and they go back to sleep.