Word: Xyst
...
Stiles was reading a book that Deaton had loaned him when Derek returned to the loft in the early hours of the morning. He'd spent most of his night patrolling Beacon Hills (Scott was off on a holiday with Allison and Isaac, and he'd handed over his territorial duties temporarily to Derek because neither of them trusted Peter) and while there was nothing threatening the town this week, he still felt it prudent to make sure it stayed that way.
"Hey, you're up late," Derek commented, dropping a kiss to the top of Stiles' head as he passed to get changed for bed.
"Yeah, well, someone in this pack has to keep up to date on the supernatural world," Stiles snapped.
Derek paused, shirt halfway off his body, and he pulled it back down before turning to face Stiles again. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Stiles chose to give him the cold shoulder, glaring as he returned to his book. Derek was exhausted and didn't have the patience to deal with whatever the fuck this was about, so he continued to their bedroom and stripped down, tugging on a pair of sweatpants. He did a few breathing exercises to calm himself, breathed in the scent of one of Stiles' shirts to help with the calming aspect, and then returned to the lounge area of the loft a few minutes later.
Stiles had his head resting over the edge of the lounge's armrest and looked to either have a migraine or be contemplating someone's murder, Derek wasn't entirely sure.
"Ready to talk?" Derek asked.
"I'm sick of everyone's stupidity. I have to deal with an insane level of stupid at work - like, seriously, I'm going to fucking slap the next person to ask me where the bathroom is after they've just walked past the fucking neon sign for the fucking bathrooms! Then I come home and have to deal with even more stupidity because no one knows what the fuck a xyst is, Lydia was smart and didn't answer her phone, and the others can't be bothered to look at a fucking dictionary!"
"What's a Roman garden got to do with anything?" Derek asked as Stiles' vent trailed off.
He was somewhat glad for his degree in Roman and Greek History now.
"Oh, thank you! Sometimes I forget that you're so fucking smart, and if I wasn't so pissed off, I'd blow you in gratitude, because arrghh," Stiles groaned, flopping back over the armrest again.
"I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or not," Derek muttered, shaking his head.
Stiles groaned again, sliding his body back onto the couch to sit up properly. He sighed and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, obviously fighting a migraine now. "I'm sorry, Derek. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm just... I'm just so tired with everything right now, and I took my frustration out on you. I'll sleep on the couch if you want me to."
"You sleeping on the couch isn't going to help your mood at all. Come on; time to put the book down and come to bed. Whatever this is can be dealt with tomorrow after we've both slept, okay?" Derek said, not taking no for an answer as he tugged Stiles off the couch and guided him to the bedroom.
Stiles muttered something under his breath about a Chimera that Derek just did not want to know about right then. He pulled Stiles' shirt off, working his hands over his shoulders and back firmly, easing the tension in his body slowly but surely. By the time he finished a few minutes later, Stiles was soft and pliant, and let Derek undress him to his briefs. Stiles sighed and kissed Derek gently, thanking him without words, before pulling Derek over to the bed. Curling up facing each other, Derek and Stiles kissed languidly, arms stroking and touching lightly. They fell asleep that way, with Stiles' lips still pressed against Derek's neck as sleep claimed them, wrapped up in each other.
The next morning, Stiles and Derek woke up to find the Chimera already dealt with by Erica, Boyd, and Lydia. They thanked the other three, not complaining in the slightest, and then deservedly spent the rest of the day in bed.
...
The end.
Thanks for reading!
