MONDAY

When Derek woke up, Stiles was gone, and he felt a sharp pang at Stiles's absence. Stupid, he knew, considering he'd only known Stiles for a handful of days, if that. He wanted to wake up beside him, though. He wanted to trace his hand over the marks he'd left on Stiles's back, wanted to dip a finger or two inside of him and see if he was still open from the night before. He wanted to swallow the noises Stiles made as Derek made him come with his hands pressing into old bruises.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Derek sat up and tried to remember where he'd left his clothes.

"Here you go, big guy," Stiles appeared in the doorway, grinning cheekily. "I brought coffee."

"I thought you left," Derek said, dumbly, watching Stiles cross the room towards him, wearing nothing but his boxers.

"I'd be eight kinds of idiot if I left someone who looks like you in bed alone," Stiles replied with a wink, handing Derek a mug and bending down to press a swift kiss to Derek's startled lips.

"I—um—thank you," Derek said, flustered.

"No, no, thank you," Stiles insisted, dropping down to the bed beside Derek and nearly making the older man spill his coffee. "I've never slept better than last night, ever."

"You're welcome?" Derek hedged. Stiles laughed and clinked their mugs together before taking a long drink.

"Seriously," Stiles continued as he flopped back against the mattress, careful to keep his mug steady and only wincing slightly at the soreness in his ass. "Never better. I don't know how to tell you this, but you're mine now. I call dibs. All the dibs. The most serious of dibs. I'm going to have to fly you out to L.A. at least every other weekend. Possibly every weekend. You okay with that?"

"Uh…"

"Great. I'll have my people talk to your people." Stiles grinned at Derek's puzzled look, but then rolled his eyes and became more serious. "I'm kidding, honest. But… I'd like to see you again. I'd like to do this," he gave a gesture that somehow encompassed the whole room and Stiles's bruises and Derek's body in one go, "Again."

If Stiles was honest, he never wanted to do anything but Derek for the rest of his life, but he figured he'd better ease into the whole marriage proposal thing. Maybe talk Derek into letting him take him out for a couple dates or two, a few weekend sleep-overs in L.A. or Beacon Hills. A week-long getaway to Montreal, or maybe Napa. He'd introduce Derek to his dad and Melissa, meet whoever it was Derek called family, have big, loud, messy sex in all kinds of interesting and creative places, and then once he'd lulled Derek into a false sense of security Stiles would propose in some kind of grand, romantic gesture that would probably involve at least one air balloon.

"Yeah," Derek agreed, eyeballing Stiles over the rim of his mug. "I would too." He figured he could see Stiles at least once over Christmas before Stiles had to go back to work. If Derek rearranged his work schedule he'd be able to get a few days off in February and could definitely drive out to L.A.. Then, maybe, they could take a weekend to visit Cora in New York. They could take off for a week or two in the spring, go down to New Orleans, or just hole up in Derek's loft in Beacon Hills and see how many different ways they could get each other off. Derek could quietly start developing a relationship with the Sheriff, get Scott to help him learn all the things that Stiles liked, and then after a year or two, a respectable amount of time, had passed, he could ask Allison and Lydia to help him go ring shopping. He was thinking something simple, an unadorned band that wouldn't detract from Stiles's long, clever fingers.

"So I can get your number?" Stiles asked, head charmingly tilted to the side.

Derek laughed and bent forward to slant his lips over Stiles's. "I think that's something you already have," he admitted against Stiles's mouth, and let Stiles pull him back into the bed.

He wondered if a vanilla wedding cake would be out of the question.