There is a spot in the woods that Stiles has grown rather fond of. A tree there, large and immaculate, extends so far up that he's convinced its branches could touch the stars. Derek always laughs when he says as much, but there is a fondness in his eyes that leaves Stiles breathless and unable to defend his point.

It's their spot, ridiculous as it may sound, because they're apparently one of those couples. He and Derek spend countless nights under that tree, under the stars, under the moon. Each night is different but strikingly familiar; some nights are meant for pure comfort, while others are keepsakes for memories.

There are the nights where they lay there on a large blanket and stargaze, exchanging stories about constellations and counting as many stars as they can. Sometimes, when Stiles is lucky, Derek opens up about his family. "My mother used to tell me," he'd once murmured, "that if I ever fell in love, there wouldn't be enough stars in the universe to describe how much I loved that person." Pausing, Derek had peered down at Stiles with a soft smile. "She was right."

There are the nights where the full moon shines down on them, brilliant in all its glory, while Derek centers his focus on Stiles's scent and pulse and voice, grounding himself as Stiles talks about anything and everything for the duration of the night. Stiles distinctly remembers a full moon when it had been the exact opposite; Derek had been wounded by a rival pack, and desperate for the assurance of his well-being, Stiles had dragged them both, quite literally, to the spot under the tree.

"Stiles," Derek had said, the warmth of his hand acting as an anchor for Stiles.

"Please," Stiles had replied, voice hoarse from the raw emotion. "Just... please. Let me have tonight, okay? I need to know you're still in one piece. That sounds so damn stupid out loud, but I need—" The warmth of Derek's lips on his had stunned him into a silent stupor, the words caught in his throat as Derek curled a hand around his neck and pulled him in even closer.

"I get it," had been Derek's only explanation, but it was more than enough. Stiles had said nothing in return, instead surging forward and instigating another ferocious kiss, fierce and distraught.

Then, of course, there are the nights like tonight, where they make love under the waning moonlight, Derek thrusting in and out in a rhythmic pattern. These are the nights Stiles loves the most. They spend agonizing moments, halfway over the edge, movements unhurried but deliberate. (Derek's touch, so incredibly light, always leaves him undone. His skin tingles where a trail of kisses is peppered up and down his spine.)

Control means little to nothing at all during the evenings resembling this one; it is shared as they slowly work their way toward release. The mornings following these nights are always tender: they make love again, they clean up and they take their sweet time on the journey back home.

oOo

"We should carve our names into the tree," Stiles says one morning. It comes out of the blue, he'll admit, so naturally, Derek lifts his eyebrows questioningly. "Don't give me that look, Hale. Just because you've tapped this, doesn't mean you can stare at me like I'm some kind of nut."

Derek snorts. "I didn't say anything; you came to that conclusion all by yourself." One glance at Stiles's narrowed eyes warrants a smug grin, accompanied by a considerably less smug, "Whatever you want, honey."

"Did you just call me honey, or do I need to clean my ears again?"

"See," Derek says, "this is why most people can't take you seriously."

"You wound me, Derek. I swear, it's like we're back to square one." Stiles wraps his arms around Derek, though, drinking in the sight of his still-naked form in the sunlight. He smiles easily at Derek before leaning forward and kissing with all his might. There are words on the tip of his tongue that he cannot convey properly, but maybe, just maybe, the message will be clear through his actions. I don't ever want to lose this.

When they pull away, Derek's eyes are soft and warm as he watches Stiles. "As long as we have the moon and the stars, we'll always have this. This isn't going anywhere. We're a done deal, remember? Your words, not mine."

"Yeah," Stiles breathes out, "we are."

oOo

The tree remains untouched until the night of the new moon, when the moonlight is notably absent. "The wolf always searches for a moon," explains Derek. "An anchor is essentially a second moon to the wolf. One moon unleashes the beast, while the other keeps the animalistic side at bay." A beat passes in silence. "You're both for me," Derek continues. "When I smell your blood, all I see is red. But during the full moon, you remind me of my human side."

"Not that I don't love to hear you talk," Stiles says, "because I do, but what are we doing out here?"

"The moon seemingly disappears during this phase. It makes me wonder: if you're like the moon, what's to stop you from disappearing altogether on some days?" Derek holds up a hand when Stiles opens his mouth again. "Let me finish. Please. I need to get this off my chest." With his hands on either side of Stiles's face, Derek leans forward until their foreheads are touching. "I don't ever want to lose this, either."

"As long as we have the moon and the stars," Stiles echoes his words with a placating smile, "we'll always have this." Then, softer, "The moon isn't going anywhere, Derek. Even if you can't see it."

Notes: This was originally posted on AO3, written for a prompt at the comment_fic comm on Livejournal. The title is derived from "Wolf & I" by Oh Land.