a/n: if the timeline is a little confusing for you at the beginning of the chapter:
kate's arrest - january 22nd
first scene of this chapter - february 3rd
and derek's regular therapy sessions happen on mondays
"Lydia, Allison is only five months pregnant. You still have a lot of time to get everything ready. I don't know why you have to start worrying about things right now and insist on dragging me down with you. And it's not like the baby is even going to care about whether or not she has pink or purple balloons on her baby shower because she's not even going to be-"
Stiles cuts off, startled, when he feels arms snaking around his waist and stubble scraping over the side of his neck, the glass of orange juice he's holding almost slipping from his hand.
He twists his head to the side, his nose bumping against Derek's cheek, one eyebrow raised in silent question as he lets his boyfriend pull him back against his chest.
"Lydia," Stiles says, interrupting her in the middle of telling him exactly what an unconsidered dick he is, eyes taking in the expression on Derek's face. "I'm gonna have to call you back."
He hangs up without bothering to let her answer and sets the glass on top of his dresser, turning in Derek's arms so he can cup Derek's jaw, fingers brushing against the soft skin under his eyes.
Derek's doesn't look good.
Well, that's not entirely true.
Derek always looks good.
Stiles sometimes thinks it's impossible for him to look anything less than hot like burning all the time, but right now he doesn't look particularly happy about something.
It doesn't take Stiles too long to guess why, considering it's the beginning of February and since Kate's arrest Derek's had two emergency therapy sessions and is now just coming back from his second regular appointment.
He never comes back in the best of moods after seeing his doctor, and this time is no different.
Stiles knows the shock of seeing Kate on TV, Peter's involvement in that happening, and all the calls Derek had to make after his and Allison's disappearing act almost two weeks ago shook him up; and having everyone who didn't know about who Kate was to him and Allison and what she did to them figure it out after they all got together at Scott and Allison's to explain things also didn't help matters.
Not to say that their friends aren't understanding, because they are.
They don't push for information and don't go all up in arms about being kept in the dark about this part of their lives for so long, but are rightfully angry about having people they care about going through what they did and being hurt by someone.
Stiles is just glad that they all have the background they have and don't make things awkward for Allison and Derek, not treating them any differently than they did before they found out about Kate's existence.
Not that any of that keeps Derek from feeling a little embarrassed and uncomfortable around them now that they know.
Stiles does his best to help him with that, though, trying to make things as smooth as possible whenever they happen to see or hang out with any of their friends.
And also offering Derek a shoulder to lean on or some of his time so they can talk, kind of like he's doing right now.
"Hi."
Or, you know, kind of like he will do as soon as Derek stops standing there and just staring at him.
"Hey," Derek answers, leaning in so he can bump their noses together. "You didn't have to hang up on Lydia."
"'S no trouble," Stiles shrugs one shoulder, moving his hands from cupping Derek face so he can tangle his fingers through Derek's hair. "Plus, you're way more interesting than discussing baby shower decorations."
Derek's lips twitch up minutely at that, his fingers squeezing Stiles' hips, "Good to know."
Stiles flashes him a quick smile, closing the distance between them and pecking Derek on the lips.
"You okay?" Stiles asks when he pulls back, even though he can practically see the tension seeping out of Derek as they hold each other.
Like being around Stiles is enough to give him a little peace of mind, to make him relax.
Derek still makes a face at him for the question, one hand letting go of Stiles' hip so he can pick up Stiles' glass and take a sip of juice instead of giving him an answer.
Not that that's not an answer on itself.
Derek still doesn't really like talking about what goes on during therapy, but less and less he's been needing some time for himself after his hour is up, either coming over to Stiles' so they can have a quiet night in or calling him sometime after he gets back to his place so they can catch up on their days.
It goes without saying Stiles prefers whenever Derek comes to him, liking to be able to see for himself how he is and liking to be able to touch him and offer him comfort when Derek decides he's in a sharing mood.
Which it doesn't seem to be the case today, with the way Derek presses his lips together and keeps quiet, letting go of Stiles' hip in favor of taking his hand and tugging him in the direction of the bed.
"Scott left me alone with Allison today," Derek comments as they lie down side by side, making Stiles smile.
Even though Scott accepted Derek's apology about disappearing with Allison, it doesn't mean he forgot all about it.
Because he didn't.
Which he made evident by always being around whenever Derek and Allison met this past couple of weeks, going as far as popping up wherever they were with lame excuses about what he was doing only to make sure they didn't go anywhere.
"Oh, did he really?"
"Yes," Derek nods, cheek rubbing against Stiles' pillowcase, looking smug. "We got to spend an entire afternoon watching the boxset I got her for Christmas without him interrupting to ask stupid questions."
Stiles snorts, "You can't blame him for wanting to be sure you wouldn't run away with the mother of his baby again."
"We didn't run away," Derek rolls his eyes, and then says in a more serious tone, "And no, I can't blame him."
Stiles gives him a small smile, tracing the veins on the back of Derek's hand with a finger.
"Danny told me Ethan's still not talking to his brother," Stiles says, licking his lips.
Ethan took it hard when Derek told him about his brother's part in everything that happened, and to say he was pissed about being left in the dark and having his brother lie to him for so long is an understatement.
From the many conversation Stiles had with Danny in the past, he knows how much Ethan cares for his brother, and he can't imagine how hard it must be for him to accept that the reason Aiden's so absent from his life is because of the kind of work he does.
Especially when that work involves him putting the aunt to one of his boyfriend's best friends in jail.
Nevermind said best friend hasn't seen her aunt in years.
"Pushing him away is not going to help anyone," Derek sighs, lips turning down.
Stiles figures if there's anyone who knows this to be fact, it's Derek.
Because heaven knows he tried to do just that to every single person he knows after his relationship with Kate ended.
"Danny agrees with that," Stiles says, smiling slowly.
Derek narrows his eyes.
"Does he now?"
"Yep," Stiles says, popping the 'p'. "Which is why he asked Aiden to stop by for a visit. And Aiden said that after Valentine's Day he'll start looking into taking some time off to come here."
Derek blinks at him.
"I'm going to pretend you didn't tell me that," he says. "You know, in case this ends in disaster."
Stiles rolls his eyes at him, simultaneously moving so he's laying on top of Derek, chin propped on the back of his hands that are clasped over Derek's chest.
He's careful not to straddle him, kissing Derek's chin when Derek spreads his legs so Stiles can settle between them.
"Aiden being here or Valentine's Day?"
Derek raises an eyebrow at him as if saying what do you think? and then asks, "What do you want to do for Valentine's Day?"
Stiles' stomach flips at hearing Derek asking him that, at knowing they get to celebrate together.
He also has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying you.
"I was thinking of putting my new found culinary skills to use and cook you dinner for once," Stiles tells him. "You know, woo you with food. Kind of like you did with me on our first date."
Stiles enjoys the soft look on Derek's face at the mention of their first date more than he should, meaning he misses the first part of what Derek's saying.
"-place? Mine or yours?"
"Sorry? I didn't catch that," Stiles says, and when Derek wrinkles his nose at him he adds, "Your face distracted me."
Derek huffs and tries to look put out by that, but he can't hide the way his cheeks start to flush at Stiles' comment.
The same way Stiles can't resist but close the distance between them and steal a kiss, pulling back after only a few seconds so Derek can answer him.
"I asked where you want to do this? My place or yours?" Derek says, one of his hands sliding under Stiles' shirt and rubbing circles over his back.
"Maybe here? I don't want to ruin your kitchen in case something goes wrong."
"You won't," Derek says, like he has absolute faith in Stiles. That is, until he keeps going, "But I'll make sure to bring a few takeout menus, anyway."
Stiles gasps, all mock offense, sliding off of Derek and to the side, making sure to kick him in the shin in the process.
"You think you're so funny."
"I am," Derek says, propping himself up on an elbow and giving Stiles one of his rare grins. "That's why you keep me around."
Stiles sniffs.
But he doesn't disagree.
That actually is one of the reasons why he loves Derek so much.
And by the way Derek's grin turns smug, he totally knows.
"Shut up," Stiles huffs, not even bothering to stop Derek when he starts leaning in closer.
"I didn't say anything," Derek raises an eyebrow at him.
Stiles gesture a hand in the direction of Derek's face, almost hitting himself in the process, "You don't need to. Your eyebrows speak for themselves. And right now they're mocking me."
"Right now I'm only wondering why I fell in love with someone who thinks my eyebrows speak to him," Derek shakes his head at him, sounding equal parts fond and exasperated.
Stiles doesn't melt at those words.
Or at the ease in which Derek says them.
Really.
He doesn't.
He also doesn't say that's because they totally do.
"If you keep that up I'm gonna cancel Valentine's," Stiles threatens with no heat. "There'll be no wooing you through the means of really great food. There'll be no gifts. And there'll be no enthusiastic celebratory blow jobs from the love of your life the morning after when you wake up."
"That's the one of other things I said," Derek says, completely ignoring Stiles' speech.
"Other- What?"
"You don't need to woo me with food," Derek tells him, his eyes soft and his ears turning red.
Stiles blinks.
And then gulps.
"I don't?" Stiles asks weakly, knowing that no matter what he does, he'll always be caught off guard by moments like this.
Moments when Derek is a little embarrassed but not afraid to tell Stiles how he feels about him.
You know, moments when Derek is romantic.
And sappy.
And about the most adorable person Stiles has ever had the pleasure of meeting.
And that's what makes this deadly.
How genuine Derek is when he speaks, how he absolutely means what comes out of his mouth, how he's not afraid of being made fun of for sharing what he feels anymore.
"No," Derek says quietly. "You already got me. You had me since I saw you in your costume, Bunny. It only took me a while to catch up."
Stiles-
Well.
Stiles doesn't know what to say.
He always finds himself without words when faced with Derek's feelings for him, and this time is no exception.
But Derek doesn't seem to mind his stunned silence, doesn't seem to mind the way he just lies there gaping at him like he can't quite believe he got this lucky.
In fact, Derek starts smiling again.
Small and soft at first, only for it to turn into something sharp and teasing and that makes Stiles feel torn between being scared or really turned on.
And in the end it doesn't matter if Stiles has an answer to him, because he bursts out laughing as soon as he hears Derek say, "I'll take the blow jobs, though."
From: Derek
I caught Erica trying to stuff Isaac's pants with dirty rags today.
From: Derek
I never thought I'd say this, but I missed having her around.
From: Derek
And if you ever tell her I told you this, I'll tell your dad who really was to blame for his empty stash of chips.
"So, Laura," Stiles starts, wiggling his eyebrows. "When are you going to introduce us to that boyfriend of yours?"
"It took Derek months to bring you around," Laura huffs, trying to look put out, but Stiles can tell by the way she bites down on her bottom lip that she's trying not to smile. "So I don't see what the rush is."
"You're not Derek," Stiles points out.
"And I already know him," Lydia says, checking her nails.
"She means to say that she agrees with me," Laura offers, smiling sweetily at Lydia.
Lydia nods.
Stiles makes a face at them.
"You can't blame me for being curious," he says. "You do talk about him a lot."
Stiles never thought he'd see the day Laura would blush, but right now it is happening, as she ducks her head and lets her hair fall over her face as if trying to hide the way her cheeks are suddenly pink.
Stiles grins.
Even Lydia smiles a little at her, the glint in her eyes making it obvious she's infinitely pleased with herself for being the one to introduce Laura to someone who makes her this happy.
It's a good look on both of them.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Laura sniffs, trying to save face. "And I doubt I talk about him as much as Derek talks about you."
Stiles finds himself liking this information a lot more than he probably should, and also doesn't stop himself in time before blurting out, voice a little higher than usual, "He still talks about me?"
The look Laura gives him is half disgust and half amusement, and she lets out a slow breath before saying, "I don't think he'll ever stop talking about you, to be honest."
Stiles squirms in his seat, pressing his lips together to keep himself from beaming like the besotted idiot he is.
Because Derek still talks about him, after all of these months.
He still finds reasons to bring Stiles up during a conversation, still thinks about him enough to say something about him when he's talking to someone else, still thinks Stiles does or says something exciting enough worth mentioning.
Which is not as different from how Stiles behaves himself, finding excuses to bring Derek up whenever he can just so he can tell people just how fucking amazing he is.
"If you think this is annoying, you should have seen Scott and Allison when they started dating," Lydia comments, startling Stiles out of his thoughts.
"They were even worse than they are now?" Laura asks, horrified.
"Hey," Stiles frowns, feeling like he should put up some kind of protest in behalf of his friend.
Lydia just raises an eyebrow at him and says, "Like you weren't the one who spent countless times crashing in my guest bedroom because you couldn't handle how in love with each other they were. And how much it showed."
Stiles purses his lips.
And changes the subject, "So can you two tell me what it is that you're doing here at my house this lovely afternoon?"
"This is not your house," Laura and Lydia say at the same time.
Stiles sputters.
"They do have a point, Stiles. And if this was your place? I'm sorry to say, but you're a terrible host. You didn't even offer the girls something to drink."
Stiles cranks his neck so he can glare at his dad as the Sheriff joins them in the living room, giving Stiles a pointed look before saying hello to Lydia and Laura and conveniently handing them both glasses of water.
"Thank you, Sheriff," Lydia says, smiling. "And you shouldn't feel bad about Stiles. I know you tried your best."
"I regret introducing you two," Stiles grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.
"No, you don't," Lydia and his dad say in unison, both grinning.
Stiles looks skyward and asks for strength.
"But really, what brings you by?"
"The girls were kind enough to offer to help me with Melissa's Valentine's Day gift," his dad explains, grin turning into a soft smile. "I was thinking of turning the guest bedroom into a sewing room and your old room into the new guest bedroom. That's why you're here. I know you left practically nothing in the house when you moved, but I want you to take a look at what's still here because I don't want to end up throwing something away that you want to keep."
Stiles blinks.
He doesn't know if he should feel a little sad about his dad finally dismantling the remains of Stiles' childhood bedroom or make fun of him for doing something so thoughtful and nice and that shows just how much he cares about Scott's mom.
So he settles for asking, "Mrs. McCall can sew?"
The Sheriff stares at him.
"Yes, Stiles, she can," he says slowly. "Who do you think made the ducky blanket you carried everywhere when you were little? Or all of Scott's Halloween costumes? Or the quilt in the back of the couch your sitting on?"
"Ducky blanket?" Laura asks, delighted.
"Don't even think about it," Stiles narrows her eyes at her before turning back to his dad. "I didn't know that. I thought all of that stuff was bought. Now I feel bad I never complimented her on her amazing sewing skills."
"I'm sure you can make it up to her by cleaning out your old room," the Sheriff raises an eyebrow at him, lips twitching up.
"I can do that, yes," Stiles nods.
"You should start now," Lydia says, checking her watch. "I have to be in the hospital in a few hours, and I want to make sure I have all the measurements right before I leave."
"Yes, ma'am," Stiles sighs, getting up. "I still don't understand why Laura's here, though."
"Stiles," his says, tone sharp. "Don't be rude."
"It's okay, sir," Laura says, and Stiles tries not to laugh at Laura calling his dad sir. "I'm mostly here because I was curious about what Stiles' bedroom looked like."
"Then I'm not sorry to say I got rid of all the embarrassing stuff right after I moved out," Stiles bats his lashes at her, grinning when Laura's lips turn down.
"If you mean your supplies, then I'm the one who's sorry to say you forgot the condoms and lube you stashed behind your dresser," the sheriff inform his, expression pained.
Stiles pales, "Dad!"
Laura cackles.
Lydia just sighs like this kind of thing is above her and starts leading the way upstairs, not bothering to look back and see if everyone's following her.
Which they are.
Stiles still gets that sense of nostalgia whenever he enters his bedroom, even though he hasn't lived with his dad in years and there's little to nothing of his still in the room.
Laura takes nite if the emptiness with a sigh of disappointment, pouting at Stiles when he winks at her.
"Your old lacrosse pads are still in the closet," his dad says, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. "And so is a skateboard I think it actually belongs to Scott. There are also a few old shirts and a pair of ripped shorts around."
"Ripped short, Stiles?" Lydia pinches the bridge of her nose. "Really?"
"It's hot in California in the summer!" Stiles flails. "What do you expect me to do?"
"Let me take you shopping," Lydia tells him, like she can't quite believe what an idiot he is.
Stiles sputters.
And then wheels around when he sees Laura kneeling down in the floor and liking around under his bed.
"What are you doing?"
"Derek used to keep his journals in a box under his bed when we were teenagers," Laura throws over her shoulder, before sitting back in her heels and frowning at him. "You only have a dirty sock. And this."
Stiles gets stuck on the fact that apparently Derek kept journals when he was young and how fucking adorable that is, so it takes him a couple of seconds to focus on what Laura currently has in her hand.
He gasps when he does, though, practically wrenching the thing from Laura's grip, hugging it tight to his chest and sneezing when a fluff of dust gets caught in his nose.
"You found Dog," Stiles says, getting teary eyed. "I thought I lost him during the move. It never crossed my mind that he'd still be here."
"Dog?" Lydia raises an eyebrow, judging him. "That's a wolf, Stiles."
Stiles glares at her before looking down at the black plush wolf toy in his hands, taking in the tear in one of his paws, the missing blue eye, and how the fake fur is completely covered in dust.
"My mom gave him to me," Stiles says, scratching Dog behind one of his ears, and heart twisting in familiar pain at the mention of his mom.
"You mean you saw him at the toy store, grabbed it, and refused to let go," the Sheriff says, lips forming a sad smile. "I remember Claudia told me you'd start crying whenever she tried to take him from you, so in the end she decided to buy it."
Stiles sniffs.
He can't disagree, though.
"Why did you named him Dog, though?" Laura tilts her head to the side.
"It was a new word," his dad says, now grinning. "I think you called about everything and everyone dog that week. Then you learned how to say poop. I think you can imagine how well that went over."
Stiles doesn't know whether to laugh or glare at his dad.
"That's a cute story," Laura says, eyes bright. "I'm gonna go tell Derek all about it now."
She pushes past him and into the hallway before Stiles can do anything, and he's stopped by his dad's handon his shoulder before he can get to her and pluck her phone out if her hand.
"Go pack the rest of your stuff," his dad says. "Just leave whatever you don't want anymore and I'll give it to Melissa so she can donate it."
Stiles lets it go.
Mostly because of Laura let it slip about the journals.
"I'll let you know when I'm done here," Stiles says, perching Dog on top of his nightstand. "Then Lydia can swoop in and do her thing."
His dad squeezes his shoulder once before letting go, Lydia nodding at him and turning to ask his dad questions about furniture and color schemes and how involved he wants to be in all of this.
The Sheriff tells her something to the lengths of I just want her to love it, and Stiles smiles to himself as he starts on cleaning the room.
It doesn't take him long at all to gather everything, only wanting to take Dog and his old Iron Man shirt back with him.
Stiles sees his dad leaning against the doorframe of the guest bedroom much like he did before, and he bites back a laugh at the started yelp his dad keys out when Stiles pokes him in the ribs.
"You need to be aware of your surroundings, old man," Stiles grins. "You never know when someone might come at you."
The Sheriff narrows his eyes at him, trying to look angry, only to ruin everything when his lips curl up.
"I would be mad at you if you weren't exactly like your mother," he says, shaking his head.
Stiles doesn't even have to force himself to smile at that.
His expression turns serious as he sees Lydia rattling off measurements and Laura write it all down on her cell, and he bumps his shoulder against his dad's before saying, "This is a good thing. What you're doing for her. Even though you're putting us all to shame with your perfect Valentine's Day gift."
Stiles ignores the way his dad preens.
"She was talking about getting back into it," his dad says softly. "Now that Allison's pregnant and she's going to have a grandkid. I just want her to have somewhere she can do that. A space for herself."
"She'll love it," Stiles says honestly. "So much so I'll tell Scott not to stop by for the next couple of days after Valentine's so he doesn't run the risk of walking in on you two doing gross stuff."
"There's nothing gross about two people showing-"
"I'm going away now!" Stiles says loudly, turning his back to his dad.
Although, he's not fast enough not to hear him yell, "-their love for each other by sharing their bodies!"
"So," Stiles says, glancing at Derek from the corner of his eye.
"You're not buying anymore Reese's," Derek gives him a pointed look. "I know you still have some hidden behind those oatmeal cookies Allison gave you."
Stiles gapes, all mock offense, "I'll have you know, that's not what I was going to ask you."
Derek raises an eyebrow at him.
"It wasn't," Stiles insists.
Derek regards him for a few seconds before nodding, as if secure in knowing Stiles won't be begging for more chocolate as they grocery shop.
Stiles can't really blame him, since that kind of thing happens a lot.
So much so that him inviting himself to go to the store with Derek even though he doesn't need anything has become sort of a habit.
Case in point being right now.
To be honest, though, Stiles is making a mental list of all the things he'll need to come back for so he can cook Derek Valentine's dinner, so it's not like he's not doing anything.
Not that he's gonna tell Derek that.
"What do you want to ask me, then?"
"Well," Stiles says slowly. "I might have heard something about some journals you used to keep."
Derek blinks.
And then groans, scrubbing a hand over his face, "Fucking Laura."
"So it's true?" Stiles asks excitedly. "What did you used to write in them? Your deepest and darkest thoughts? Poetry? The name of everyone of your enemies and how they wronged you so you could seek revenge later in life?"
Derek looks at him, bewildered, "How does your mind even work?"
"In the most mysterious ways," Stiles deadpans. "So, what was it? Because if you've been keeping the fact that you're a closeted poetry writer then I'm gonna be very upset."
Derek takes his time to answer, instead taking things off the shelves, putting them in his cart, and checking them off the grocery list he has on his phone.
"They weren't journals, not really," Derek says, and at Stiles' frown of confusion he explains, "They were notebooks, yeah, but there wasn't anything like that in them."
"Were there drawings?" Stiles asks, eyes wide. "Do you draw? Are you an artist?"
"I'm not an artist, Jesus," Derek rolls his eyes at him.
"You'd be a hot artist, though," Stiles muses out loud, eyes glazing over. "With charcoal stained fingers and always carrying a sketch pad around and drawing me like one of your French girls."
"That was a horrible joke," Derek says, lips curling up. "Even for you."
Stiles refuses to be offended.
"So?"
"They were-," Derek stops, swallows, and keeps going, lowering his voice. "They were recipes. Not poems or drawings or me talking about my day and how much of a pain in the ass Laura is. They were just cooking recipes."
Stiles stares at him, the look on Derek's face telling him they meant more to him than he's letting it show.
"From your dad?" Stiles guessed, knowing he's right when Derek's jaw clenches.
"Sort of," he says, eyes sad. "He lost the majority of them in the fire, but that really didn't make much of a difference to him because he knew them all by heart already. The ones in the notebooks are what I started writing down whenever he let me help him in the kitchen, so I could cook by myself if I ever wanted to."
Stiles wraps an arm around Derek's waist and leans into him, knowing Derek lost his father and ended up without a choice in the matter.
"Do you still have them?"
Derek nods, "They're at the house. I left them with my mom when we moved back here, though, so I don't know exactly where she put them."
Stiles wonders if Derek did that because the memories of cooking with his father hurt a little too much, heart twisting in understanding if that's the case.
He and his dad know all about quitting things because the memories are too painful.
"I could-," Stiles hesitates, biting down on his bottom lip. "I could scan them for you. Make digital copies so you wouldn't have to worry about them getting damaged. We could give them to your mom and sisters, too. And Peter. I mean, if that'ssomethingyou're okay with and think they would like."
Derek is looking at him in surprise and something else that warms Stiles to his toes and steals his breath at the same time, eyes shining and cheeks flushed and lips forming a small smile.
"I think they'd like that," Derek says. "I would, too."
"Okay," Stiles nods. "Good."
"Good," Derek says softly, closing the distance between then and brushing their lips together. "Thank you, Bunny."
"No problem, baby," Stiles rubs their noses together. "But if you really want to thank me, there's something you can do."
Derek watches him intently, eyes raking over Stiles' face, from his bright eyes to his slightly flushed cheeks to the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips.
And then he tips his head close, eyebrows raised, and says, tone completely flat, "I'm not buying you Reese's."
"Godammit, Derek!" Stiles snaps.
And then gets distracted by the sight of Derek's ass in tight jeans and the sound of his laughter as Derek walks away from him.
Goddammit, indeed.
To: Derek
when you gave me the box with the journals you forgot to grab the picture of 16yo you in baggy jeans and flannel jacket holding a basketball
To: Derek
it's mine now
To: Derek
the picture
To: Derek
i'm not giving it back
To: Derek
also your eyebrows still look exactly the same
"Holy shit," Stiles says as his eyes widen, his jaw goes slack, and his stomach flips.
Because Derek-
Okay, Stiles is aware of how attractive Derek is.
He always has been, since the first moment he saw him on his bike with bunny ears perched on top of his head and whiskers drawn on his cheeks.
He's also aware of how Derek doesn't really appreciate whenever someone makes a big deal about the way he looks like, something that comes from Kate only valuing him for his looks and what they could give her.
Derek doesn't mind it so much when Stiles is the one looking at him like he wants to eat him, though, but Stiles still avoids leering at him as much as possible.
Not that he succeeds, because, I mean, come on.
It's Derek.
Not showing how attractive Stiles finds him is almost always a losing battle.
Kind of like right now.
Because Derek-
Derek looks like the embodiment of everything Stiles has ever dreamed of for himself.
And he's standing just outside of Stiles' door, staring at him with a raised eyebrow, holding on to his helmet, something Stiles thinks is a blazer, and a gift bag, and wearing black slacks, a white button down, suspenders, and a fucking tie.
Stiles' dick twitches.
And his mouth waters.
And he gives no indication that he's going to stop looking at Derek like he's died and gone to heaven and let him inside the apartment.
Not until Derek huffs and pushes past him, stopping only so he can press a kiss to Stiles' cheek.
Stiles gulps.
And closes his eyes and hopes to fuck he'll be able to restrain himself and not jump Derek before they manage to eat dinner.
He figures he could pass on the dessert if it means he'll get Derek instead.
"Are you going to close the door anytime soon?" Derek asks, and Stiles doesn't have to be looking at him to know that he's smirking.
"I am, yes," Stiles says slowly, voice a little rough, shaking his head to clear his mind from thoughts of pulling Derek to him by his tie and keeping him exactly where he wants him.
When he turns back to Derek is to see him watching Stiles with amusement and fondness written all over his face, his hands now buried deep in his pockets while his helmet sits on the coffee table along with the bag and his blazer is thrown over the back of the couch.
Stiles licks his lips.
And the tips of Derek's ears blush at the same time a small and pleased smile tugs at his lips, like he's simultaneously happy about the effect he has on Stiles and embarrassed for the attention it brings him.
"You-," Stiles starts, stops, gives Derek a once over. "You look really fucking good."
Derek's small smile gets a little bigger and his blush a little deeper at hearing that, and he clears his throat and tilts his chin at Stiles before saying, "You too."
Stiles looks down at himself, taking in his dark gray jeans, black button down, and gray bow tie.
He thinks about how it took him around two hours and three phone calls to Lydia to get him to decide on what to wear, but from the look on Derek's face he figures Lydia's rage at being interrupted during her Romantic Movies Marathon with Jackson is worth it.
And really, it's not like she hasn't seen The Notebook three hundred times already.
"Thanks," Stiles says softly, shifting from foot to foot.
He and Derek stare at each other for a few seconds, not moving, not saying, and not doing anything.
If he's being honest, it warms Stiles' heart knowing they still have the ability to be just as awkward around each other as when they first met.
That all ends when Derek huffs again, eyebrow arching when he says, "Stiles."
"Yes?" Stiles asks, taking a step forward at the sound of Derek's voice as if tugged on by an invisible string.
"Come here," Derek says, taking his hands from his pockets and reaching one out.
Stiles is quick to walk up to him and place his hand in Derek's, letting Derek pull him closer and tilting his head so he can press their lips together.
The kiss is slow, sweet, with Derek sighing when he opens up and Stiles' tongue brushes against his tongue, Stiles wrapping his arms around Derek's shoulder and scratching his nails lightly on the back of Derek's neck at every soft meeting of lips.
Stiles is proud of the dazed look on Derek's face when he pulls back, even though he has no doubts he looks just the same.
"Hi," Stiles says breathlessly, grinning.
"Hey," Derek says back, leaning in to bump their noses together.
"I see you finally took the bike out."
"And I see you didn't burn the kitchen down while you were cooking dinner for us," Derek says, grinning when Stiles pulls back, offended.
"I'm not that bad. You know that already, you're the one who taught me."
"Boyd melted two pans and I burned about a month's worth of food when we started cooking," Derek comments, shrugging one shoulder. "Dad used to say there's no shame in failing, only in not getting back up and trying again."
"Your dad was a smart man," Stiles says softly, unwrapping his arms from around Derek's neck so he can rub his hands up and down Derek's chest.
"He also used to say one needs to know where his or her talents lie, and if it's not in cooking then they should better move on to other things," Derek tells him, frowning a little. "But I think that's mostly because Cora kept salting everything she tried to make, even pies."
Stiles presses his lips together, trying not to laugh.
He doesn't succeed much.
"I don't think I salted anything," he says. "But I guess you'll just have to try the food to be sure."
"What did you make?" Derek asks, eyes lit in interest.
"You'll see," Stiles winks at him, taking hold of Derek's hand and lacing their fingers together as he drags him to the dinner table. "Sit."
Derek does so without complaint, humoring him, and kisses the back of Stiles' hand before letting him go.
Stiles takes a few deep breaths as he goes back to the kitchen to take out the food, mentally preparing himself to sit in front of Derek while he wears suspenders and a tie for the next hour or so and without being able to just rip his clothes off and touch him.
He bites down on his bottom lip as he sets the food down, cheeks flushing at the noise of approval Derek makes as soon as he sets his eyes on what Stiles made.
"Smells good," Derek comments with a hint of surprise. "Really good."
"Obviously," Stiles sniffs, trying to hide his embarrassment. "I cooked it."
Derek gives him a look that tells him Derek's totally on to him, but aside from asking what it is he doesn't say anything.
"Chicken and pasta in vodka cream sauce," Stiles announces proudly, and then adds, "I hope I didn't overdo it with the vodka, though."
"We'll have to taste it," Derek says, eyes again glued to the food. "But it looks really good."
Stiles stares at him.
"You're super hungry, aren't you?"
Derek looks sheepish at that, the back of his neck turning red.
"No," he drawls, completely unconvincing.
Stiles bites on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from cooing.
"So you won't mind if we wait a little while to eat, will you? So we can catch up and whatnot."
Derek squirms in his seat, eyes on the table, the blood rushing from his neck to his cheeks, "I- No, I wouldn't."
Stiles shakes his head at him, taking a few steps until he's by Derek's side and getting a hand on the back of his neck.
"Fuck me, you're adorable," Stiles murmurs, right before he leans down and slots their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss, quick and wet. "I'm gonna go grab the wine, and then we can talk while eating. I know how grumpy you can get when you're hungry."
"I don't get grumpy," Derek scowls, totally proving Stiles' point.
"Sure you don't," Stiles says, kissing him again and then walking back to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of red before going back to Derek.
Derek's still slightly flushed when Stiles sits down and fills up their glasses, making Stiles want to forget all about dinner just so he can unbutton Derek's shirt and see how far down his chest the blush goes.
In fact, he doesn't go back to his normal color until he's stabbing penne pasta with his fork and bringing it to his mouth, chewing it slowly, a blank look on his face.
Stiles is almost at the edge of his seat waiting for the verdict, waiting to start eating after Derek tells him whether he fucked up or not.
He knows it's kind of a dick move in case the food tastes horribly, but still.
He waits.
Until he doesn't anymore.
"So?" he prompts when Derek doesn't say anything, just blinks slowly down at his plate. "Is it awful? Too salty? Too vodka-y? Should I just do as your dad said and move on from the kitchen and order us pizza?"
He watches as Derek swallows and takes a sip of his wine, worrying at his bottom lip.
"This is-," Derek starts, stops, eats some more.
"Yes?"
"It's really-," Derek tries again, his mouth full.
"What? It's really what?" Stiles snaps, nervous.
And a little impatient, if he's being honest.
Derek takes note of his tone and arches an eyebrow at him, lips tugging up as he takes his time before swallowing and saying, "It's delicious, Stiles. It tastes amazing."
"Really?" Stiles beams, not wasting any time before he's trying it for himself.
He hears the low sound of Derek's chuckle and lifts his head up to see him nodding, eyes crinkling in the corners, "Really. It's really good. Congratulations."
Stiles is too busy stuffing his face with pasta to do anything more than a little victory dance in place, moving his shoulders and torso from side to side.
He's rewarded by getting a real laugh from Derek this time, even if it's short lived by him following Stiles' example and going back to eating.
They don't actually talk much while having dinner, though, Stiles being infinitely pleased and proud of himself for making something so good it leaves Derek without the need for words.
Not that Derek talks much as it is, but still.
It warms his heart.
And kind of makes him want to rub it in everyone's faces that he's not as disastrous in the kitchen as they all think he is.
That is until Derek says, as he's going back for seconds, "I can't wait to see what you've done for dessert."
Stiles freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth and his eyes widen in something that can only be described as an oh shit look.
Derek notices his silence and looks up from his plate, brows furrowing when Stiles lifts his shoulders and gives him a tentative, but still sheepish, smile.
"Well," Stiles says slowly, stopping when Derek drops his head and starts laughing.
His second laugh from the night.
Stiles takes a minute to bask in the sound of Derek obviously being so happy and finding Stiles' fuck up funny.
And then he goes back to feeling a little bit guilty and a lot apologetic.
"You didn't make anything for dessert?"
"I was going to!" Stiles says loudly, waving the hand not holding the fork around. "But it took me two tries to get the sauce right, and by the time it was done I knew I wouldn't have time to do anything good for dessert."
"So you just decided not to have it at all?" Derek raises an eyebrow at him.
"Well," Stiles says again, biting down at his bottom lip.
"Tell me you don't consider yourself to be the dessert," Derek pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Hey," Stiles protests. "I can be sweet. I could totally pass for dessert. In fact, I'm sure a lot of people would be honored to have me-"
"Stop talking," Derek pleads.
Stiles huffs, narrowing his eyes at him, "But no, I didn't mean I was dessert."
The half relieved and half disappointed look on Derek's face almost makes Stileswant to take that back and tell him that he could be persuaded, but before he can do that Derek says, "It's chocolate mint ice cream, isn't it?"
"No," Stiles says slowly, skin heating, much like Derek's did when stiles asked him if he was hungry.
Derek rolls his eyes, lips curled up, obviously enjoying Stiles' embarrassment.
"At least you didn't open a bag of jelly beans and put them in a bowl and tried to pass that for dessert."
Stiles blinks, tilting his head to the side, "Erica?"
Derek smirks, "Laura."
Stiles snorts, shaking his head, "Of course."
"Hey," Derek says, bumping Stiles' feet with his own as he reaches out and takes Stiles' hand in his. "You- You know I don't care. There's more to tonight than- Than the perfect dinner or- Or- Whatever. It's about spending the day with someone- With the person you love. And showing them how much they mean to you."
"I love it when you use your words," Stiles teases, getting up so he can lean over across the table and press their lips together.
You know, instead of doing what he actually wants.
And by that he means say fuck it and climb Derek like a tree.
A very sexy tree.
Derek rolls his eyes again, but brings a hand up to cup Stiles' cheek so he can kiss him one more time.
"You know what I mean," Derek says. "So stop being a dick about it."
"I'll try my best," Stiles says, smiling against Derek's lips. "I love you too, by the way."
"I know," Derek says, looking smug.
Stiles grins, clutching a hand to his chest and falling dramatically back in his seat, "It does things to my heart when you Han Solo me."
Derek doesn't say anything, just stares at him from under his lashes with a look that clearly says I know that too as he goes back to eating, smug expression still in place.
And Stiles is hopeless to do anything other than keep grinning at him, losing himself a little in the feeling of happiness and warmth and love surrounding him.
It's no surprise to him when Derek is the one to finish all the pasta, making Stiles press his lips together in an effort not to burst out laughing at the little frow of disappointment Derek gives the empty bowl when he's done.
His heart doesn't flutter at the sight.
And he absolutely does not preen.
Really.
He doesn't.
"You can leave them in the sink," Stiles eyes the dirty dishes as they clean out the table. "I know you're gonna insist on washing them since I cooked, but you can do that in the morning."
"I'm gonna be spending the night, huh?" Derek arches an eyebrow, eyes glinting.
"If you have any hopes of getting those blow jobs I mentioned when we made plans for tonight, then yes, you are," Stiles throws over his shoulder as he walks to the kitchen, not missing a beat.
And also not complaining when the first thing Derek does after they're free of the dishes is to crowd him against the counter and kiss him breathless, nipping at his bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, hands going under his shirt to clutch at his hips.
But before Stiles can do much more than lean against the counter's edge and kiss him back Derek pulls back, lips red and swollen and slick and curved in a faint smirk.
"I guess I'll be staying the night, then," he says, voice low and teasing, hands sliding up to Stiles' side.
And Stiles, being who he is and having no control over what comes out of his mouth when he's nervous or blindsided by something or someone, blurts out, "Just the night?"
Derek blinks at him, fingers spasming against Stiles' sides, obviously surprised.
"You're not asking me to move in, are you?"
It's Stiles turn to stop and look at him, a million things going through his mind, most of them being insults at himself for not keeping his mouth shut.
Some of them also being how Derek doesn't get that panicked look on his face he used to get whenever something meaningful like this happened between them, like he was going to bolt before he can have a chance to screw things up.
But there's one thing he knows for sure, and that is, "No, that was not- Not that I wouldn't want you to, you know, in the future. Maybe. Someday. If you were okay with it. But that wasn't what I meant. It was more like, you could spend the weekend? Since tonight is Friday and all. And then there's the weekend. And people as yourself and me don't usually work on weekends, as you know."
"Yes, Stiles, I am aware," Derek says dryly, lips twitching.
"So," Stiles pokes him in the chest. "Do you wanna?"
Derek gives him a long look, eyes raking over Stiles' face before he shrugs one shoulder and says, lightly, "I could be persuaded."
Stiles narrows his eyes, lifting a hand up so he can scratch his chin, "I see."
Derek just smiles, pecks him on the lips, and then steps back, throwing over his shoulder as he walks back to the living room, "The ice cream. You can start from there."
Stiles watches him leave, a small smile on his face.
And as it turns out, it doesn't take much more than the ice cream to get Derek to stay.
In fact, it only takes Stiles accidentally spilling some on his shirt and getting his fingers caught on his bowtie as he tries to unknot it and walk back to his bedroom at the same time, Derek following after him and wasting no time in batting Stiles' hands away so he can take care of that for himself.
And then attach his mouth to Stiles' neck and collarbone as soon as the bowtie is off and his collar is unbuttoned, biting and sucking marks at the now visible skin.
"If I knew being clumsy was all it would take for you to jump me I would have spilled something a lot sooner than I did," Stiles balances himself with two hands on Derek's shoulders, hissing when Derek rubs his chin against Stiles' neck, stubble scraping at the skin.
"Not clumsy," Derek tells him, kissing his way up from Stiles' jaw to his mouth. "It's your- It's your fucking fingers. They're- They're ridiculous."
Stiles doesn't get a chance to say anything in response to Derek's apparent hand kink, getting distracted by Derek's tongue tracing the seam of his lips, Derek's own fingers fiddling with the rest of the buttons of his shirt, Derek's thigh between his legs as he leans back against the wall of his room.
But he's not distracted enough not to take advantage of his new-found knowledge of what gets Derek going, through, sliding his hands down from Derek's shoulders and past his chest so he can grab and pull at his suspenders.
"You look really hot in this," Stiles says between kisses, tugging at the suspenders. "But they need to go."
That seems to be the magic word for Derek, and in no time Stiles finds himself lying flat on his back on top of his bed with Derek between his knees, trying to unzip Stiles' pants.
Still completely dressed.
And that's not okay with Stiles, who sits up and pulls Derek to him by the end of his tie, grinning wickedly at the way Derek's breath hitches, his eyes go even darker, his mouth parts.
And as fucking gorgeous as Derek looks right then, it's nothing compared to the way his eyes glaze over when Stiles starts to mess with his tie, undoing the knot, wrapping the fabric around his fingers and pulling it off.
"Fuck," Derek breathes out, palming his dick over his pants, coming unstuck when Stiles starts on his shirt and pants.
Together they manage to get rid of their clothes in record time, Stiles accidentally knocking a few things on top of his dresser when he throws Derek's belt away - and maybe also popping a few buttons on Derek's shirt on his haste to get it the fuck off of him -, the both of them too lost in themselves to pay much attention to anything that's not skin and lips and tongues and hands and making the other feel good.
And it's never been like this for them, not yet, not so far.
It's never been this rushed and this crazy and this hot, like they need to keep touching and kissing and feeling every inch of each other's bodies otherwise they'll go mad with how much they want each other.
With how much they need each other.
So much so they don't even get, or have the patience to, do anything too complicated, with Derek bracing himself over Stiles with one hand, the other wrapped around both of them, his face hidden against the side of Stiles' neck and his mouth busy sucking marks on his skin as he jerks them off.
Not that Stiles is complaining as he tangles his fingers around Derek's and helps him, his head thrown back, his other hand firmly placed over Derek's ass, nails biting hard at his cheek.
If Derek is going to leave marks, then so will Stiles.
It's only fair.
And not that he's thinking about much at all when, about a dozen strokes later and Derek teeth biting at his earlobe, he stills and spills all over Derek's hand and himself.
And not that he has any brain cells left at the sight of Derek rubbing his hand over the come on Stiles' stomach before going back to jerking himself off, the wet sounds of his hand moving only being drowned out by him gasping at every upstroke and Stiles' wrecked voice telling Derek to, "Come on, baby. Let it go."
And Derek does exactly that, catching Stiles' mouth in a kiss when he comes, adding to the mess on Stiles' stomach.
He has the presence of mind to slide down to the side instead of slumping down on top of Stiles when he's done, but he still keeps their legs tangled together, their hips touching, his hand splayed over Stiles' chest, right above his heart.
"Well," Stiles blinks at the ceiling a few minutes later, trying to catch his breath. "That was… kind of fast."
He turns his head when he feels Derek press his forehead against his bare shoulder, biting down a smile as he sees the way Derek's lips are stretched in a smile.
"It was also good," Derek mumbles, pressing a kiss to Stiles' skin, hand rubbing circles over his chest.
Stiles huffs, offended. "Good? It was good?"
"Amazing, wondrous, spectacular-"
"Damn right."
"-ly fast," Derek finishes, grinning.
"Fucker," Stiles says, poking Derek in the ribs before rubbing his hand up and down Derek's side, Derek's own hand sliding down from his chest to the mattress. "But it was- You were- I know we haven't really-"
"Done anything like that before?" Derek offers, still smiling, even though the tips of his ears go red.
Kind of like he's embarrassed about his own eagerness to get Stiles naked and to get him off.
And if by that Derek means jump each other and rip their clothes off like Stiles has kind of been wanting to do since he first laid eyes on Derek but haven't gotten a chance to do so until now than yes, that's exactly what he means.
Stiles honestly doesn't know what came over them.
It might be that he just looked that good in his bowtie that Derek couldn't resist but pounce the first chance he got.
Or, you know, it might just be the full moon.
And now that the post-orgasmic haze is dissipating, Stiles starts noticing how fucking sated Derek looks.
Kind of like that first time they ever were together, but without the whole too fucked out to function thing going on.
Stiles doesn't know which one he likes best.
Sleepy and sated Derek or teasing and sated Derek.
He'll settle for a tie.
And speaking of which, he makes a mental note to hide Derek's before he leaves.
He has plans for that tie.
Sexy plans.
Not that he needs to be thinking about them now in the middle of a serious conversation.
Stiles puffs out a breath, "Well, yeah."
"I'm okay with it," Derek tells him, curling one hand over Stiles' hip, eyes glinting. "More than okay with it. Watching you rip my shirt open and hitting about three different things when you threw my belt away like it personally offended you was super sexy. Really. I was very impressed."
"Oh my god, fuck you," Stiles groans, scrubbing a hand over his face as he gets up. "Just because of that I'm keeping your gift. And I'm not giving you a wet towel to clean the jizz off of you."
"That only means you won't be getting yours either," Derek tells him as he watches Stiles disappear into the bathroom, unconcerned, like the thought of come crusting over his skin is nothing to be worried about. "And I can get my own damn towel!"
"On the other hand," Stiles says loudly, ignoring Derek's laughter as he walks back with a wet towel in hand, cleaning himself up before throwing it at Derek, and then turning to open one of his drawers, grabbing Derek's present, and handing it to him before flopping down on the bed. "So you can't say I never gave you anything."
Derek rolls his eyes before throwing the towel on the floor by the bed and then focusing on unwrapping his present, Stiles worrying at his bottom lip as he waits for Derek's reaction to what Stiles bought him.
He knows he can't really top what he gave Derek for Christmas - if he's being honest, sometimes he thinks he'll never be able to give him something as meaningful and wonderful as the garage's picture wall -, but he knows he made the right choice when Derek's eyes light up as he stares down at the 50th Anniversary Edition of The Lord of the Rings.
"This is great," Derek grins at him, eyes crinkling, fingers tracing the title.
"Yeah?" Stiles asks without really needing to, knowing Derek's inner bookworm must be doing cartwheels right now.
"Yeah," Derek nods, getting a hand on the back of Stiles' neck and pulling him into a kiss. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Stiles bats his lashes at him. "Now where's mine?"
Derek sighs, long suffering, before kissing the tip of his nose and getting up from the bed, "I'll be right back."
Stiles doesn't watch his naked ass as he leaves.
Really.
He just lies back against his pillows and pulls the covers over his lap.
He also doesn't keep staring at Derek's soft dick between his legs when he walks back, his mouth watering.
Really.
No one can prove it.
And Derek doesn't call him on it, just raises an eyebrow when he catches Stiles' looking, cheeks turning red.
"Is that mine?" Stiles asks him, pointing at the bag Derek was holding when he got in.
"It is."
"Then gimme," Stiles says, making grabby hands.
Derek snorts, but does exactly that, sitting back down and moving under the covers as he watches Stiles with his gift.
"We sort of had the same idea when gift shopping," Derek says, shrugging when Stiles looks at him. "You'll see."
And Stiles does, face breaking into a wide smile when he sees what Derek got him.
"Really?"
Derek shrugs again, starting to look a little embarrassed, "I know how much you like it."
"Dude," Stiles pokes him in the chest.
"Don't call me dude," Derek grumbles, batting Stiles' hand away.
"You got me Star Wars."
"I did."
"The Complete Saga."
"You were complaining Scott borrowed the original trilogy from you about five years ago and never gave it back. It was the least I could do."
"You know I'm going to make you watch it with me, don't you?" Stiles asks him, still smiling. "We'll have marathons."
"I know," Derek mumbles, entire face red from embarrassment. "I don't mind."
"You don't mind," Stiles repeats. "You don't mind because you love me."
Derek sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, "I'm kind of reconsidering that."
"Because you're in love with me."
"Less and less every minute that passes."
"Because you want me, forev-"
"Time to shut up now," Derek says, clamping a hand over Stiles' mouth.
Stiles licks his palm.
Derek looks unimpressed.
"I thought we agreed on you not being a dick about my feelings for you," he says, giving him a long look.
Stiles feels kind of bad.
But then again, he never agreed to anything.
Only that he'd try his best.
And apparently, his best is not that much.
Derek must see all of that flash through his face, because he gives another sigh and drops his hand.
Stiles, for his turn, lets go of the boxset he's holding in favor of cupping Derek's face between his hands and slotting their lips together in a slow and deep kiss, laughing into the kiss when he feels Derek practically sag against him.
"Thanks for my gift, baby," Stiles murmurs. "I love it."
"You're welcome," Derek says back, bumping their noses together.
Stiles kisses him one more time before pulling back so he can put his new present on top of his nightstand, right beside where a recently restored Dog and Bunny Yummy are sitting.
Stiles blinks at them.
And wonders if collecting plush toys is going to turn into a thing for him.
Derek asks him that much when he hooks his chin over Stiles' shoulder and follows his line sight, rubbing his stubble against Stiles' jaw.
"I don't think so," Stiles says, bringing a hand up so he can pat Derek's cheek. "Since it's one from you and one from my mom, I think I got it covered."
Derek places a kiss on his cheek and lies back down, pulling Stiles with him, and only huffing a little when Stiles accidentally elbows him in the stomach when he starts to move so he and Derek are face to face.
They don't say anything for a while, just stare at each other, trading soft kisses every few minutes.
It's nice, Stiles thinks, comfortable, being like this with Derek.
It feels right like so many other things don't, and he doesn't hesitate to shift closer to Derek at recognizing that.
At how good they are together.
"We could talk about it," Derek tells him out of nowhere, in that way of his where he picks up something Stiles said to him a while ago and runs with it.
And as usual, Stiles has no idea what he means, "About what?"
"You fucking me."
And Stiles-
Well.
Stiles is pretty glad he's already lying down, otherwise he thinks he would have fallen over.
Even so, he still sits up so fast he headbutts Derek in the chin.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" Stiles yells, grabbing Derek's face between his hands, staring at the pained expression on his face with wide eyes. "Are you okay? Do we need to go to the hospital? Did I break your jaw? Say something!"
"If you broke my jaw I wouldn't be able to talk," Derek points out, hissing through gritted teeth when Stiles' thumb starts rubbing the now red spot on his chin, eyes watering.
"I'm sorry," Stiles says again, miserable.
"It's fine," Derek mumbles, opening and closing his mouth a few times.
"Here, I'll kiss it better," Stiles tells him, pressing his lips against Derek's chin once, twice, three times.
When he pulls back is to see Derek staring at him with soft but still pained eyes, his ears red, his lips curled up in a small smile.
"I'm okay," Derek tells him, running his hands up and down Stiles' arms.
"Of course you are," Stiles sniffs, still sorry. "I kissed it better."
"Really," Derek says, resting their foreheads together. "I'm okay."
"I'm sorry," Stiles says quietly. "Guess I ruined the mood, huh?"
"We can still talk about it," Derek says, his eyes crinkling. "You know, if you promise not to headbutt me again."
"You think you're so funny," Stiles glares at him, but doesn't pull away when Derek pecks him on the lips. "But I think I can manage."
"I appreciate it," Derek says flatly, rearranging the pillows so he can lean back against the headboard.
Stiles settles for sitting crossed legged by his side, cover bunched in his lap, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
"So," Stiles starts. "Butt sex."
Derek rolls his eyes at him, but still nods, "Yes, butt sex."
"Is that-," Stiles stops, licks his lips. "Something you… want?"
"It is," Derek tells him, with all the calm in the world, which shows Stiles this is something he's been thinking about for a while. "You know that already. We just haven't talked about when that could happen or the- the-"
"The mechanics of it," Stiles offers.
"Right," Derek nods, blushing slightly.
"Right," Stiles repeats.
And then silence.
Awkward silence.
Until Derek clears his throat and starts talking again.
"You said- You said I could talk to you about it. About anything. That I wanted or didn't want," Derek says, letting out a breath. "And that nothing would like that would happen until we were on the same page. Until- Until I was ready to do it."
"I still stand by that," Stiles says. "Neither of us needs to do anything we're not comfortable with."
"Right," Derek gives him a sharp nod. "So I wanted to talk to you about it. About us, maybe, considering the idea of- Because I- I want that. With you. I'm- I thought about it, a lot, since we first started talking about it. And I think- I know that I'm ready for it. So I wanted to know if- If you are okay with it happening."
"I'm- Yeah, I'm okay with it happening," Stiles rushes out. "Absolutely one hundred percent okay with it happening. Just- Are you sure? Because what I also said about you doing this only because you think that's what I expect or that you owe me-"
"It's not because of that," Derek interrupts him. "I don't want it because of that. I want it because I want to have that with you. To share that with you. Not because I think that's what I should do. It's because I want do it."
Stiles gives Derek a long look, considering his words, taking in the way Derek's jaw is clenched in cheer determination, his shoulders tense, his eyes bright and a little angry, like he's daring Stiles to tell him he doesn't mean what he's saying, that he doesn't know what he's feeling, that what he wants is not important.
And it's not that hard to give Derek a soft smile and say, "Okay," because it's obvious by the way he looks and the way he's holding himself and the way he right out asked Stiles for something he wanted that he means everything that just came out of his mouth.
That he made up his mind and knows exactly what he wants.
"Okay?" Derek asks, blinking.
"Yes," Stiles' lips twitch up. "You don't have to convince me to have sex with you. I just wanted to know you were completely sure about what you wanted. And you obviously are so, yeah, okay. I'm okay with it. More than okay with it. I also want that with you. I've always wanted that with you. So, again, okay."
"Oh," Derek says, looking a little taken aback, shoulders slumping. "Okay then."
"Okay," Stiles says again, laughing a little.
And then a lot harder when Derek makes a face at him, mumbling, "Shut up," under his breath.
"Alright, so," Stiles claps his hands together.
"Butt sex?" Derek pipes up, lips curling up when Stiles rolls his eyes at him.
"Yes, butt sex. Do you still- Are you still not comfortable with topping? At least not right now?"
Derek shakes his head, "I'm not. I want- I want you to do that. To fuck me."
Stiles swallows hard at hearing the words fuck me coming out of Derek's mouth, but nods.
"You already know I don't have a preference when it comes to who tops and who bottoms, so I'm good with topping if that's what you want," Stiles tells him.
"It is," Derek says, without hesitation.
"Good. So, did you bring this up today just because or because you want this to happen sometime soon?"
Stiles doesn't really have to ask to know the answer to that question.
He doesn't even need to see Derek squirming uncomfortably in place and the tips of his ears and the back of his neck to go red as he tries to think of what to say.
Of what to admit to.
Because Stiles knows Derek never really mentions something like this without having a pretty big reason to, and this time it's obviously no different.
And Derek must see that on his face, because he slumps on himself and blushes even deeper, his entire face turning red.
"You know," Derek accuses, eyebrows twitching in a way that tells Stiles Derek wants to glare at him but is too embarrassed to maintain eye contact.
So Stiles just shuffles closer to him and leans forward to wrap his arms around Derek's neck, his fingers going to Derek's hair so he can scratch at his scalp, his lips tracing the shell of Derek's ear.
"Of your plan to mention sex and then, after we talked, suggest I have it with you?" Stiles asks, kissing Derek's head when he feels him tense. "I do know about it. And I don't mind. I'm also not sorry for ruining it, though. But I am all up for it, if that's something you still want to do."
"Yeah?" Derek asks, relaxing a little.
"If you wanna," Stiles says, pulling back a little so he can see Derek's face.
And Derek, once again, doesn't hesitate before saying, "I want to."
So Stiles doesn't waste any time before closing the distance between them and brushing their lips together, soft and slow, trying to show Derek how much it means to him having Derek trust him with this, how much he loves him, how much he wants to make this good for him.
He thinks Derek gets it, with the way he curls a hand around the back of Stiles' neck and keeps him in place, kissing back just as softly.
"How do you want to do this?" Stiles asks him, kissing Derek's chin, the red from when Stiles accidentally hit him now faded to a light pink.
He knows Derek doesn't like to be straddled during sexy times - or at any times, really -, but so far he hasn't had a problem with Stiles settled on top of him or between his legs. He still asks, though, wanting to know what is okay with Derek and for him to be comfortable while they do this.
Derek flushes from his hairline down to his neck and chest at the question, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times before gulping and asking, "I- Is it okay if- Can I ride you?"
Stiles makes an involuntary sound in the back of his throat that is most definitely not a whimper, stomach flipping and heart constricting in his chest at the images that Derek's question brings him.
"Is that-," Stiles starts, fingers squeezing at Derek's shoulders. "Is that what you want? You on top with me under you?"
Derek nods, curling a hand around Stiles' wrist, eyes dark and cheeks still red when he croaks out, "Yes."
"Okay," Stiles breathes out, one hand moving down to Derek's chest, his heart beating wildly under Stiles' palm. "Yeah, okay. Come here."
And Derek does, without having to be asked twice, wrapping an arm around Stiles' waist and pulling him as close as he can without both of them still sitting on the bed, moaning quietly and opening up instantly when Stiles nips his bottom lip with his teeth and traces his tongue over the hurt.
They don't do anything other than taste each other for a few minutes, Stiles knowing they're both using this time to calm themselves down, using the familiar feel of their lips moving against each other's to ground themselves to reality.
But after a while Stiles' back starts to hurt - and he knows his knee must be digging painfully against Derek's hip -, and as much of a fan as he is of a little pain during sex, this isn't working for him.
"Move," Stiles says, tilting his head to the side when Derek starts marking his neck, sucking bruises into the skin. "We need to move."
Derek gives his neck a light bite before leaning back, helping Stiles kick the covers to the foot of the bed and then arrange the pillows so he can lean comfortably against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him.
Not that he stays there for longer than about two seconds, plastering himself to Derek's back when Derek turns around to grab the lube and condoms from the nightstand, his tongue tracing each of the swirls of black ink.
And Derek lets him, dipping his head and pressing his back against Stiles' mouth, his shoulders and sides moving with each panting breath.
Stiles kisses his way from Derek's tattoo up to his nape, fingers tangling through Derek's hair and tugging his head up and to the side so he can rake his teeth over the tendon of his neck, mouth at his pulse point, suck one of his own marks right under the skin of Derek's jaw.
And then burst out laughing when Derek groans and squeezes the bottle of lube in his hand so hard the cap pops open and spills all over the floor.
"Shit," Derek curses, dropping the bottle and condoms he's holding and eyeing the mess of lube on his hand with annoyance, his lips turned down.
"Oh my god," Stiles clutches at his sides, flopping back down on the bed, still laughing. "That was amazing."
"Shut up," Derek snaps at him, trying to look angry mid his embarrassment.
Stiles grins up at him, eyes crinkled, "I will not. You just squeezed half of my lube supply onto the floor because I was giving you a hickey. That was hot. You're just lucky I'm naked and can't go around knocking on my neighbors' doors telling them I'm the fucking best."
"You're something, alright," Derek throws back at him, hand still dirty, glare still in place. "The fucking worst."
"You love me," Stiles sing-songs, tongue poking out between his teeth.
Only for his eyes to widen when Derek gets this look on his face that promises either very good things or very bad things for Stiles.
Not that Stiles has any time to dwell on whether or not he wants to hang around to see what that look means, because next thing he knows he has Derek on top of him, pinning him down, and sticky lubed up hand super close to his face.
"You wouldn't," Stiles says, voice weak, eyes going from Derek's hand to the downright wolfish smile now on his face.
"Wouldn't I," Derek raises an eyebrow at him, voice flat.
Stiles gulps.
And fails not to cant his hips up an inch at the image Derek makes on top of him, with his eyes glinting and crinkling at the corners, his cheeks flushed and his eyes dark, his lips stretched in a smile and his bunny teeth showing.
Derek's smile falls as he feels the hard line of Stiles' cock brushing his stomach, tongue darting out to wet his lips, throat working as he swallows.
"I could think of a few other things you could do with that," Stiles says, sounding a little breathless.
Derek's smile returns, but this time smaller, half amused and half disbelieving.
"Of course you could," Derek mumbles, shaking his head a little.
He still doesn't look any less like a man in love, though.
A man in love with Stiles.
So Stiles can't really help it when he surges up and kisses him, chaste and quick, before settling back down again.
And Derek-
Derek looks down at him with such intensity it makes Stiles wants to close his eyes, before letting him go and kneeling between Stiles legs, his clean hand patting Stiles lightly in the thigh.
"Sit back against the pillows."
Stiles scoots backwards, doing as he's told, leaning back against the headboard and making himself as comfortable as possible.
His hands slide up over Derek's thighs to settle loosely on his hips when Derek straddles his lap, his head tipping up when Derek tilts his down to nip at his upper lip, sucking it into his mouth.
Stiles sighs contentedly and lets Derek kiss him as much as he wants, his hands wandering over Derek's body, up his back and down his shoulders, over his chest and stomach, only to circle around his waist so Stiles can do what he's wanted to do since Derek told him he wanted to be fucked.
And by that Stiles means cupping Derek's ass and kneading the flesh, smiling against Derek's lips when he hears Derek's sharp intake of breath at the sensation, letting the tips of his fingers brush over Derek's opening whenever Derek pushes his ass back into Stiles' hands.
Not that he ever presses inside, like he knows Derek wants him to, enjoying the frustrated little sounds Derek makes whenever Stiles pulls his fingers back.
So it's no wonder Derek literally takes matters into his own hands leans away from Stiles, bracing himself with his clean hand on Stiles' shoulder while the other one reaches behind him and-
"Holy god," Stiles chokes, his grip tightening on Derek's cheeks, eyes going from where Derek's arm disappears behind his back to the way his mouth goes slack and his eyes half-mast and his lips curl up into a fucking smirk.
The asshole.
No pun intended.
"You-," Derek gasps, teeth biting briefly at his bottom lip. "You were taking too long."
"Well, fuck you."
"That's what I'm trying to do," Derek rasps out, rolling his eyes at Stiles.
Like he's annoyed.
"Well, fuck that," Stiles snaps without any heat, twisting around as much as he can with Derek still in his lap so he can get to his nightstand.
He makes a tiny sound of victory when he finds the new bottle of lube he keeps in his drawer and a condom, ignoring the way Derek's body shakes like he's laughing at him in favor of setting them by his side on the mattress.
He doesn't waste any time coating his own fingers, closing the lid with a click and throwing the bottle somewhere on the far end of the bed, catching Derek's lips in a dirty kiss before he replaces Derek's two fingers with his own and closes his other hand around Derek's dick.
They've done this before, Stiles stuffing him full with his fingers as he jerks him off, opening him up, fingering until he was writhing and begging and flushed all over, so it doesn't take more than a few kisses and well placed bites and Stiles murmuring that's it and you're so good and Derek for Derek to relax against him and move back into Stiles' hand, gasping and panting and cursing and asking for more at every curl of Stiles' digits inside of him.
And Stiles loves seeing Derek like this; half out of his mind with lust, too far gone to care about his reactions or what he's doing or how it makes him look.
"Stiles," Derek pleads just as Stiles slips another finger in, dropping his forehead against his, breath hot and wet ghosting over Stiles' mouth.
"I know, baby," Stiles murmurs, lips brushing Derek's. "I know. Just a little longer, I promise."
"Been waiting long enough," Derek huffs, and then whines low in his throat and arches his back, dick bumping against Stiles' stomach, when Stiles curls his fingers inside of him.
And Stiles-
Stiles has to give him that.
They have been waiting long enough, longer than Stiles ever had to wait for sex when in a relationship with someone, but that still doesn't mean he wants to rush things.
He wants to take his time, and he doesn't want to end up doing something to hurt Derek just because he was too eager to fucking fuck him already.
It might be cliché, but he wants to take care of him, and make him feel good, and not have this be another experience Derek regrets later in life because Stiles is too busy thinking about what he wants and not thinking about what Derek needs.
He doesn't realize he's said any of this out loud until Derek kisses him, slow and sweet, and says, "I'm pretty sure that, right now, what you want and what I need are the same thing."
"And what's that?"
"Your dick inside of me, for one," Derek teases, making his point by wrapping his hand around Stiles' cock and tugging it once.
Stiles makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, his fingers moving of their own accord inside of Derek and making his groan.
"You sure?" Stiles pants, licking his lips.
Derek leans in, eyes bright, lips pressed in a thin line as he says, "If you ask me that one more time instead of getting inside me, I'll rip your throat out. With my teeth. And then I'll go fuck myself on the red dildo you keep under your bed and show you exactly just how sure I am about all of-"
"Condoms!" Stiles yells, interrupting him, and already looking around the bed in search for them. "Where are the fucking condoms?"
He hears Derek choke on something that could be either a laugh or him regretting everything that's lead him to be straddling Stiles' lap and having three of his fingers inside of him, but Stiles is too busy trying to find the foil package he threw on the bed when they started this whole thing.
Stiles finds it under his pillow, raising one of his arms in victory and grinning up at Derek as he says, "Found it!"
"Can you get on with fucking me now?" Derek raises an eyebrow at him, rocking back into Stiles' hand.
"Yes, dear," Stiles bats his lashes at him, running a hand up and down Derek's side as pulls his fingers out.
Derek grunts at that, resting his forehead against Stiles' temple, and staring down at Stiles' hands as he puts the condom on and slicks himself with lube.
"You ready?" Stiles blinks up at him, practically vibrating out of his skin for finally being able to have this, to have Derek like this.
Derek nods, lips tipping up, voice low and rough and cracking when he says, "All systems go."
Stiles shakes his head, smiling, before getting a hand on himself and one around Derek's hip, "Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?"
"Promise," Derek says, closing the distance between them and bracing himself on Stiles' shoulders as Stiles positions himself against him.
Stiles has to break the kiss as he starts pressing inside, partly because he can't really concentrate on kissing when all he can think about is Derek and hot and tight and don't come don't come don't come, but also because he wants - because he needs - to see the look on Derek's face when he enters him.
The way his brows furrow and he bites down on his bottom lip and sweat gathers at the hollow of his throat.
The way his breath hitches as he helps Stiles and lowers himself into Stiles' dick inch by inch, his chest heaving, his thighs shaking, and his nails digging painfully into Stiles' skin.
Tightening his grip on Derek's hips until he's sure to leave bruises is the only thing Stiles can do not to thrust up, to bury himself inside Derek, to do like he's been wanting to since he first laid eyes on the man in front of him.
But this isn't about him.
This is about Derek.
This is about what Derek wants, about Derek having control of what's happening to him, about Derek taking his own pleasure the way he wants it, enjoying it, and not feeling guilty about it.
And as Stiles is finally all the way inside, with Derek sitting fully on his lap, getting used to the feel of him, the burn of him, the stretch of him, he knows that's why Derek decided to do this this way.
It's his way of acknowledging and accepting that this is happening, that is different and good and right, and that it's okay for him to want it.
Derek shows that to him by resting a hand on the side of his neck and the other on his cheek, catching his eye and flashing him a small and pleased smile.
And Stiles can't really help himself when he surges up and kisses that smile right off his face, trying to show Derek he understands what this means.
He thinks Derek gets it.
Especially when Derek rocks his hips experimentally and laughs against his mouth when Stiles curses, one of his hands coming to grip Stiles' hair while the other goes down to his shoulder.
"You can move," Derek tells him, sounding all kinds of wrecked already as he starts fucking himself slowly on Stiles' dick. "I need you to move."
Right then no one can't say Stiles can't do as he's told when he plants his feet flat on the bed and starts to push his hips up, matching the slow pace Derek sets up with every roll of his hips, every now and then changing the angle until he knows by the arch of Derek's back and the sounds he's making and the amount of precome he's leaking all over Stiles' stomach that he's hitting Derek's prostate every few thrusts.
And it's-
Stiles always knew fucking Derek would be different, in the way it always is when you're having sex with someone you're in love with, but he never counted on-
He never counted on this.
Because he can't fucking breathe as he watches Derek ride him, as he watches him taking what he wants, as he watches Derek watching him, with his eyes dark and deep and reflecting every single thing Stiles is feeling right now and more.
He can't fucking breathe because he's never wanted someone as much as he wants Derek and he doesn't think he ever will, not ever after this, not after everything.
He wants Derek, and he wants this, and he wants them, and he wants it all for the rest of his fucking life.
"Derek," Stiles chokes out, breath catching in his throat.
"I know," Derek says, now fucking himself in earnest, tugging at Stiles' hair so he can tilt his head up. "I know."
Stiles kisses him.
Because that's all he can do.
Because he doesn't have the words or the brain cells necessary right now to tell him just how much he loves him and how much he wants him and how he's never going to let Derek go.
But he knows Derek knows all of that.
So Stiles kisses him.
And keeps kissing him.
He kisses him as he wraps his fingers around Derek's cock and starts jacking him off in time with his thrusts, and he kisses him when Derek's grip in his hair turns so tight it hurts, and he kisses him even when he's not kissing his lips anymore, mouth now at Derek's throat, when Derek throws his head back and gasps his name and his body tenses and he spills over Stiles' hand and stomach.
And then Stiles doesn't kiss him anymore.
He bites instead, blunt teeth at Derek's pulse point, marking him again, his hips snapping up once and twice and three times as he feels Derek clenching around him, as he's the one being tipped over the edge and coming.
And then he can't do much more than slump back against the headboard, just as Derek slumps back against him, trying to catch his breath.
Not only because of what they just did was fucking fantastic, but also because of what he's feeling, of what he realized, of what he wants for them.
Not that he says anything.
Not now.
Not that he can, anyway, when Derek lifts his head up from its place against Stiles' neck and shoulder and looks at him, hair matted against his forehead with sweat, cheeks flushed and lips raw and eyes shining.
And Derek's smiling at him, big and bright and like he just got everything he ever dared to ask for or dream for himself.
And Stiles-
Stiles kind of forgets himself, drowning in how much he loves Derek, being helpless to do anything other than smile back, kissing him softly and slowly and sweetily before helping him up and off of him, getting rid of the condom and picking up his discarded shirt so he can clean himself and Derek up as best as he can.
Not that he cares that much, when they lay side by side in his bed, legs tangled together, arms around each other, Derek's eyes slowly dropping in that way they do after he's had mindblowing sex.
Especially when Derek shifts closer to him, until their noses touch, their lips brush, and Stiles goes cross-eyed trying to look at him.
"Bunny," Derek murmurs, and nothing else.
Stiles can see it, though, in the way his eyes flash.
Everything Derek doesn't know how to say, everything he can't put into words about how much tonight meant for him.
How overwhelming it was and how good it was and how right it was.
And how grateful he is.
And how in love he is.
And how he doesn't want to let go.
"Me too, baby," is what Stiles whispers, pressing their lips together once. "Me too.
a/n: finally! and just a reminder that there's only one chapter and the epilogue left!