Summary: Stiles just wants something to take with him to
college. Something special.
Notes: I’ve been wanting to poke fun at this inconsistency
in the show for a while, and I finally wrote it! Just another excuse for a
little fluff and humor. (On AO3)
Derek grabs a few of Stiles’ heaviest boxes (but not enough
to be suspicious, who knows if the neighbors are watching), and slides them
into the back of the jeep with the rest of Stiles’ college “essentials.” He’d
said he was only taking the bare minimum, but Derek is beginning to doubt that.
At this rate, they’re going to have to pack some stuff in
the Camaro, too.
Is it cool/not cool to post fic based on someone else’s tags? Idk, idk! This is why I never tumblr fic. I’m to worried about stepping on toes. Except I totally porned tonight, something I haven’t done in awhile, so…if I’m stepping on toes, I’m sorry. Inspired by alltruthwaitsinallthings’ tags:
“I heard that,” Stiles says, his voice hoarse, still. He tilts his head back, craning his neck to look at Derek upside-down. His feet are aimed in the opposite direction, his long legs stretched out along the wall, resting over his Arctic Foxes poster.
“So what?” Derek directs to the phone in his hand. He busies himself with changing its wallpaper so he doesn’t have to look at Stiles. At his pleased grin and the hickey on his collar bone.
“Who’d you send it to?”
Derek sets his phone down on the dresser and approaches the bed. “Nobody.”
“So then what’d you take it for?” Stiles asks with a laugh.
“Because.” The space next to Stiles is warm when Derek kneels next to him, his hand combing through Stiles’ hair where it’s been flattened.
“You are so weird,” Stiles murmurs, almost a purr. He turns into Derek until his nose bumps Derek’s knee, his hand seeking warm, naked skin.
Derek snorts and leans down and whispers, “Says the guy with his feet sticking up in the air,” into Stiles’ ear. His lips skim along Stiles jaw to his chin. The skin there is starting to get sandpapery with Stiles’ version of scruff and Derek licks at it, liking the rough texture on his tongue.
“You knew what I was like before we started this,” Stiles says with a gasp, his hand sinking into Derek’s hair to hold him in place at his chest.
Derek tries to murmur a reply around Stiles’ nipple, but it comes out wet and garbled, and sucking on Stiles’ nipple is more important, anyway. He want to focus on Stiles’ chest rising and falling under Derek’s hands and mouth, the gasps Stiles tries to hold in, the wild thump of his heart against his ribs. It doesn’t take long for Stiles to start whimpering, for his legs to crumple and his knees to nudge Derek in the head. Derek can smell the precome already.
“How long ‘til the food gets here?” Stiles asks, low. He still has a hand on Derek’s head, but the other has inched its way to his boxer briefs, and Derek has noticed how they seem to be moving; he’s certain his feet weren’t hanging off the bed two minutes ago.
“‘Bout forty-five minutes or so,” Derek says into Stiles’ belly, between wet sucking kisses. The muscles under his mouth tremble and he smooths his palm over them, working his way down until he’s stopped by gray elastic and a hint of dark, wiry hair.
Stiles gasps, “Plenty of time, then,” and shoves at his boxer briefs. Derek keeps them from getting tangled in Stiles’ feet and tosses them somewhere over his shoulder, too intent on getting his Stiles’ dick in his mouth to care. He sucks just long enough to get Stiles squirmy and and slick, his groans high and breathy. Before Stiles can get too into it, Derek pulls off with a loud slurp, his tongue dragging around the crown, and looks up to find Stiles’ pout.
“Where’s the lube?”
Stiles’ head drops back on a groan, but he manages to give a vague hand wave toward the head of the bed, the space behind Derek. “Somewhere up there, dude. I don’t know.”
Derek isn’t in a hurry, but the sheets are all twisted among the pillows and it’s hard to find anything in the mess. Stiles sits up once to try and help, but Derek shoves him back down with a palm to Stiles’ chest. “I got it,” Derek growls, and he does, finally, in the middle of the massive knot, of course.
He knee-walks up the bed, nudging in between Stiles’ spread thighs until they can’t open anymore and then slings his legs over, one at a time, until he’s straddling Stiles, his ass snug against Stiles’ cock. He rocks into it a few times to catch Stiles’ attention, then focuses very deliberately on opening the lube and squirting it onto his fingers.
“Yeah, c’mon,” Stiles hisses, hips bucking up once. His eyes are wide and dark, and his hands twitch at his sides, elbows propped up so he can see everything Derek does.
Derek rises up, as tall as he can be on his knees, and makes no show about getting his fingers inside of him, two at once. The burn is a little much, but it doesn’t take long for Derek to work himself through it, pumping in and out of himself in a slow rhythm. Stiles’ hand finds Derek’s knee and squeezes, the nails digging into Derek’s skin, giving him something else to focus on.
He doesn’t work himself too open, though. Only a few minutes worth of careful stretching. He wants to feel the drag of Stiles’ dick, wants Stiles to lose it with how tight Derek is. Derek wants that short, bright moment of being near human, feeling the pleasure-pain of it as long as he can.
With Stiles’ hands on his hips, Derek sinks down onto Stiles’ cock. It’s slow going with how tight he is, but Stiles’ litany of “Oh shit, oh shit,” is worth it, the way his eyes roll back only to open wide again, watching every inch of himself disappear into Derek’s body, until they’re skin to skin, their harsh breathing the only sound in the room.
“You are amazing,” Stiles rasps.
Derek smirks down at him. “I know.” He doesn’t move yet, even though Stiles legs tremble with it, the need to thrust up.
“You’re also an asshole.”
“I know that, too,” and proves Stiles’ point with a slow roll of his hips. He keeps on like that for awhile, lazily fucking himself while watching Stiles, the sweat gathering at his temples and along his collar bone, how his tongue pokes out to lick his dry lips. He can’t seem to decide whether he wants to keep his eyes open or not, alternating between throwing his head back and groaning through it or focusing wide, unseeing eyes on Derek.
But soon Derek needs more and he leans forward, hands flat on the bed on either side of Stiles’ chest. It changes the angle, but also means he has to work harder to take Stiles deeper. Their skin slapping together is both the best and worst sound he’s ever heard, but it’s good, so good.
It still isn’t…Derek needs more. He wants his mouth on Stiles, wants to nip at his mouth and feel Stiles’ gasps against his chest. “Sit up,” he slurs, tugging at whatever part of Stiles’ body Derek can get his hand on; a shoulder, probably.
Stiles’ gasps out, “I can’t,” like it physically hurts him to say it. “My abs are not your abs.”
“Such a whiner,” Derek growls, and tugs Stiles up by the neck so he can kiss him wet and sloppy.
“Oh,” Stiles gasps, somewhere in the middle, and wraps his arms around Derek’s neck. This pulls Derek’s head down, his wide open mouth pressed against salt-tangy skin. It’s only natural, then, for Derek to bite it, to stroke his tongue over it and suck until blood rushes to the surface. He does it again on the other side, again on Stiles’ shoulder, his rhythm breaking down because he isn’t paying attention.
“Derek,” Stiles croaks right into Derek’s ear. “I gotta come, Derek, please.”
The desperation there pulls Derek back and he slings his arm around Stiles’ waist, pulling him close to give Derek’s cock something to grind against. The angle isn’t great, Stiles hardly hitting Derek’s prostate at all, but Derek doesn’t care. What he needs is for Stiles to be close, to be here.
The fuck with their cheeks pressed together, Derek’s dick sliding through Stiles’ sweat, Stiles’ hands flat on Derek’s back, low where Derek’s orgasm builds, slow and warm, spooling out of him inch by inch until he’s coming all over Stiles’ stomach and letting him sink backward onto the mattress.
“Oh,” Stiles says, dazed, close to his own orgasm. He trails his fingers through the mess on his belly and gives one finger an experimental lick. Derek watches it all until he can’t, until even his superhuman muscles can’t hold him up, using the last of his strength to roll them both over.
“C’mon,” he says, nudging Stiles in the ass. “I need you to come in me.” He’s restless with it, his body unsettled, yet.
Stiles groans, “You can’t say things like that,” but his hips start moving, slow at first, until he gets his knees under him and he can find the rhythm he needs. It’s easier like this, to send off sparks behind Derek’s eyes, but it’s almost too much, his hands gripping too tight to Stiles’ hips to keep himself grounded. It only takes a handful of minutes, though, for Stiles to finish, arms collapsing underneath him. His body is a pleasant weight on top of Derek and he lets them lie there for a minute, for Stiles, at least, to catch his breath.
Stiles moves first, pulling out slow and careful. He uses his thumb to circle Derek’s rim a few times, smearing the come over Derek’s skin, pushing it back inside. Derek likes to watch Stiles’ face when he does this, takes in his rosy cheeks and his intensity. The hint of a confident smile at the corner of Stiles’ mouth. Eventually, his touch turns teasing and there’s a glint in his eye, one Derek cannot possibly answer just yet, so Derek reaches for Stiles’ wrist and tugs him up into a slow, lingering kiss.
“Be right back?” Derek asks.
Stiles flops down onto his back, arms splayed every which way. “Bring some water, wouldja? I am <i>so hungry</i>. When is he getting here?” He pops his head up to look for his phone, but gives up when he remembers it’s next to Derek’s on the bureau.
Derek scans the floor from the edge of the bed and feels his face heat up. “He got here a couple of minutes ago.” There are clothes all over the floor, but he finally spots Stiles’ pair of boxer briefs, the ones Derek yanked off of him, flopped over the lamp. They’re a tight fit, but they smell like Stiles, and they still have the little spot of precome at the top of the fly. Derek ducks away from Stiles’ fist to get them.
“You did that on purpose!” Stiles yelps
With his back to Stiles, Derek shrugs and makes a show of pulling Stiles’ boxer briefs on, bending low until he hears Stiles’ muffled voice say, “You have got to quit stretching out all my underwear, you possessive freak.”
Derek shoots him a smirk from over his shoulder. “Not likely.”
“Fuuuck.”
(unbetad and not read through because I am supertired and late for bed. if you notice anything odd, let me know)
Derek groaned loud and long and punched Boyd in the shoulder. Boyd just laughed.
“Man, you did not just quote High School Musical at me,” Derek said.
“Well, if you weren’t too busy pining to see the ball—” The ball in question smacked into Derek’s chest, thrown his way by the smirking Isaac always at Boyd’s shoulder. “—maybe I wouldn’t have to.”
Derek threw the ball back to Isaac with a roll of his eyes.
Seriously though, it was like three days ago tops when I announced 300. I swear you’re just trying to squeeze celebratory fics out of me …
“You’re so fucking stubborn!” Stiles shouts in exasperation, running his hands through already messy hair. They had been at it for at least twenty minutes now, arguing because Derek didn’t want to go to Lydia’s engagement party. He didn’t want to, knowing Lydia would be inviting everyone and their mother who had anything to do with her and Parrish. It would be too many people, too much noise and he simply didn’t want to if she was going to hold a pack-only version the week after. Stiles said he should go out of duty as her Alpha.
“No, you just won’t let it go,” Derek growls, fists clenched in his lap so his claws don’t rip up the couch again. Although, last time, it was under much more fun circumstances.
It wasn’t uncommon for them to argue. It ranged from small skirmishes that end in mumbled apologies to bigger blow outs that ended in mutually satisfying hate sex that Stiles seemed to enjoy enough to start shit for (and Derek plays along because he loves his boyfriend and absolutely not because he likes it, too). The fights could rarely be called fights because it just was never really that heated.
Derek’s nose wanted to shrivel up and die with the anger Stiles’ scent was boiling in and his wolf howled with such an unhappy mate. Even as his human mind wanted to throw something at a wall with how angry he was, his wolf prowled in distress and he wasn’t sure if that was annoying or reassuring.
“News flash, buddy, you can’t be a hermit,” Stiles spits and Derek growl increases in volume in response. He may grumble about ‘big guy’ and snap his teeth as Stiles giggles about ‘sourwolf’, but he absolutely despised ‘buddy’. It only ever came out when Stiles was pissed and his sarcasm grew teeth that he intended to shred whoever his opponent was.
“I’m not a hermit, I go out. We go out,” Derek snaps back, eyes tracking as Stiles paces in front of where he sits on the couch. The line of his shoulders is stiff and the soft skin of his cheeks is blotched red.
“Yes, thank you, you’re dating me, but that doesn’t count as social interaction.”
“Why not?”
“Because! You need more people in your life besides me and the pack! You can’t have just me forever!” Stiles shouts, throwing his arms up obviously trying to dispel the anger that seems to build in his joints when he gets worked up. Derek just scoffs as he gets up and retreats to their kitchen.
He stops right there, even as Stiles continues his angry rant in the other room behind him. He pauses in the middle of their kitchen with the backsplash Stiles chose after weeks of debating it over and the cabinets Derek bled over while he installed them (staple guns were dangerous, damnit). Down the hall was a movie room that Stiles insisted on because pack movie nights were always going to be a thing. Upstairs and to the left was the master bedroom where their scents were so soaked into the very frame work, there was no way to tear apart Derek’s from Stiles’. This was their home, their pack, their life.
Derek turned around, eyes wide but unflinching as he walked back to where Stiles was still ranting and pacing. He’s still seething, and Derek can relate. He still wants to throw Stiles onto the couch and pin him there in full shift for a week until Lydia’s party has past. Instead he stops a few feet away and opens his mouth.
“Marry me.” Stiles stumbles where he’s wearing a divot into the carpet, dropping off mid-sentence to turn his head and stare open mouthed.
You wanted “trembling hands” + Sterek and an anon requested flaccid dick playing forever ago, so I’m killing two birds with one stone.
It’s past midnight when Derek finally comes home but the light is still on in the living room. As soon as he steps inside, he picks up the quiet heartbeat of his husband, his breathing is peaceful and even. Obviously, Stiles hasn’t heard him come home. He’s lying on the couch with his glasses askew, the book he was reading face down on his chest. Derek smiles fondly at the sight.
He rarely has the chance to see him so quiescent and at peace. When he’s awake, Stiles is a whirlwind, all flailing limbs and rapid thud-thuds in his chest, rarely placid or still. Even now, with a sliver of grey on his temples and a few more laughter lines on his face. Stiles is the storm, Derek is his anchor, the tree that stands proud and strong when the wind storms, tortured and restless. Other times, Stiles is the gentle and mischievous breeze that rattles and caresses his leaves.
Derek is not in a hurry to wake him up, drinking the sight in front of him.
Stiles’ always-so-tempting pink lips are barely parted, his lashes casting a subtle shadow on his mole-dotted cheeks. It’s a familiar sight, but Derek never gets tired of it. Stiles was obviously waiting for his return, reading on the couch in his pyjamas.
Derek’s eyes travel lazily over the fabric when he sees it. The leg of Stiles’ pyjama shorts has rid so far up that his dick has escaped its confine and is now visible, the heavy head still hidden by the foreskin is resting on the crease of his leg. It looks irresistibly soft and vulnerable. His lightly furred balls are just as tempting, full and tight under the velvety wrinkled skin of the sack. Derek has always found Stiles’ balls to be particularly pretty. He likes to pet them tenderly when he sucks Stiles’ dick. Far be it from Stiles to complain about Derek’s slightly odd fondness for his balls. On the contrary.
Derek glances at Stiles’ face, he’s still sleeping and showing no signs of waking up. Derek can’t resist the temptation. He falls to his knees as quietly as possible, hoping that Stiles won’t wake up just yet and let him enjoy this for a bit.
Derek leans in and breathes in the familiar scent of musky skin. It’s mouth-wateringly warm and inviting. Derek licks his lips in anticipation, he gently lowers his hand on Stiles’ thigh, careful not to frighten him lest he wake up suddenly. Now is not the time to get his jaw fractured again.
Derek starts peppering featherlight kisses on the ballsack, nuzzling the shaft and enjoying the incredibly silky-smooth feeling on his lips. He keeps his touch gentle, letting himself be overwhelmed by his senses. Lost in his ministrations, he doesn’t notice Stiles waking up until he feels the light touch of a hand on his scalp. Derek looks up and smiles.
“Hello” whispers Stiles, voice raspy from sleep, a soft and fond look in his eyes. Derek winks in response and starts licking in earnest.
Stiles moans quietly under Derek’s tender assault, his hand still delicately ruffling Derek’s hair. Stiles is hovering between sleep and wakefulness, Derek’s insistent tongue being the only thing his still cottony mind can focus on. Good. So good.
Derek on the other hand is slowly losing his mind, fueled by Stiles’ irresistible scent. His hands pawing at Stiles’ shirt are trembling from barely restrained desire, eager to uncover more skin. His dick is pulsing in his jeans, the head rubbing against the zipper in the most delicious way as he shifts on his knees. He feels himself getting wetter by the second. God, he hasn’t felt so ravenous for Stiles in a while but tonight he can’t seem to get enough of him. His lips quiver with lust as he finally takes Stiles in his mouth. He wants to choke on him, to let himself drown. He grunts with contentment when Stiles’ cockhead hits the back of his throat.
Stiles whimpers, fully awake now. It would be impossible not to with how increasingly vocal Derek has been since he arrived and in lieu of saying hello has started mouthing at his balls. Which could be considered weird – if Stiles had any fuck left to give about this thing called normality. He lives in Beacon Hills after all and his husband is a werewolf. A werewolf who is wickedly good with his mouth. Stiles has got no complain, none at all.
“Fuuuuck, Derek, come here”, he whispers urgently.
Derek awkwardly climbs on Stiles lap, eager to lose himself in his mouth. Stiles unbuttons him as fast as possible and wraps a hand around them both. It doesn’t take long for Derek to come, Stiles follows into ecstasy mere seconds later. Derek is still shaking and gasping when Stiles fondly pats his back and nuzzles into his neck.
I tried… I’m not sure where this went. *Throws some fluff and feels at you and runs away*
Stiles had no idea why he had thought getting caught in the rain would be romantic. In movies if always looked so sweet and it almost always lead to hot sex, but in reality it was cold and by the time he and Derek made it to the beach house they were renting Stiles was pretty miserable.
Derek hadn’t even tried to kiss him. This was their first trip as a, well not as boyfriends, but as whatever they were now, and Derek had been weird the entire time.
Not that it was surprising, Derek always acted a little weird around the full moon. Stiles had is own theories on why, but he wasn’t going to ask him, he knew that Derek would tell him when he was ready.
They both stripped off their wet clothes in the entryway of the house. Stiles grabbed their clothes and made his way to the small laundry room to toss the clothes into the dryer.
“You smell like wet dog,” Stiles said with a smirk in his voice. He turned around to see Derek standing in his still wet boxer briefs in the doorway.
Derek’s eyes went a little wide at the comment and then he shook his head softly, his voice easy as he said, “If you have something to say, just say it.”
“Oh nothing,” Stiles said with a little smile, leaning against the dryer, the sound of their clothes tumbling filled the quiet.
“Stiles,” Derek said, stepping forward, caging him against the dryer, “Ask.”
“Say it,” Stiles said, leaning forward and kissing Derek’s neck, his hands on Derek’s hips, “If I already figured it out and I’m still here, you can just say it.”
“This feels like a scene from Twilight,” Derek said, laughing against Stiles’ temple.
“Wrong powers,” Stiles said, kissing Derek’s jaw, “Wrong genetic makeup. So say it. I’m not running away.”
“Stiles,” Derek said with a sigh, “I’m a werewolf.”
“I know,” Stiles said, leaning back so he could kiss Derek’s lips, “I’ve known since English 101 freshman year.”
“Why didn’t you say anything,” Derek said, resting his forehead against Stiles’.
“Why didn’t you,” Stiles countered with a smile. He saw it reflected on Derek’s face, “I mean Scott’s a werewolf, you know he’s my best friend. You should have figured I knew about werewolves.”
“Scott never mentioned that you knew,” Derek said, “I don’t assume anything.”
“I’m the one who figured out that Scott was a werewolf,” Stiles said with a laugh, “But I’m glad you told me, I wouldn’t be able to date a guy who wasn’t honest with me about who he is.”
“So we’re dating now huh?” Derek asked with a smile.
“It looks like it, yeah,” Stiles said kissing Derek again and again.
“I can live with that,” Derek said after a moment, kissing Stiles back.
“No take backs,” Stiles singsonged, ducking under Derek’s arm and running toward the stairs, “Now come on wolfman, show me what you’re made of.”
Derek’s eyes flashed blue and he chases after Stiles, tackling him onto the bed with a dull thump.
Maybe the rain wasn’t as romantic as the movies made it seem, but Stiles didn’t really mind anymore.
Stiles and Derek date for a few years before Derek turns 27. Derek starts getting baby crazy and thinking about starting a family, settling down, having kids.
He knows Stiles is a 21 year old man, but he still feels like a 21 year old kid sometimes and Derek thinks Stiles probably doesn’t even want that. Isn’t thinking about it yet. They don’t talk about it at all because Derek is too afraid of losing Stiles.
And then one night Stiles shows him a house he saw in the real estate listings. “I can see you in a house like this,” Stiles says, “it has a sun room, too. I’ve always wanted a sun room.”
It’s a large house, on a bigger plot of land set back into the preserve. Stiles isn’t wrong. It’s a nice house. “So, you could see me in a house like this or…you could see us in a house like this?” Derek asks.
“You–do you want us to have a house together?” Stiles asks. Derek shrugs. “We don’t live together now,” Stiles points out. Case in point them currently sitting on the Sheriff’s couch, a sitcom on in the background they aren’t watching.
“Maybe because we don’t have a house,” Derek suggests. Stiles smirks.
“Do you want me to move in with you?” Stiles asks, he slides his hand under Derek’s.
“What if I wanted more than that?” Derek asks. Derek can feel Stiles’ pulse quicken beneath his wrist, hear his heart pound.
“Like…my soul?” Stiles asks. Derek huffs a laugh, Stiles looks pleased. He always looks pleased when he makes Derek smile.
“Yeah,” Derek says, sincerely. “Sort of.”
“Are you asking me to marry you?” Stiles asks.
“I wasn’t planning to, or anything, but, yeah I guess that I am.” Derek looks down at their hands, instead of at Stiles, uncertain. Stiles squeezes his hand.
“If…I say yes will you buy me that house?” Stiles asks, laughing as Derek pulls him against his chest, kisses him.
“Before you say anything,” Derek says, pulling back. He lets go of Stiles’ hand, and Stiles’ pulse spikes again. “Do you want kids?”
Stiles smiles, “I want, like, twelve. A whole pack of them!”
Derek feels his eyes sting, pulls Stiles against him again. He feels Stiles’ nose nuzzling at his shoulder and neck. “I want to be your baby daddy.”
Derek doesn’t treat himself often. The store had been one of Laura’s favorites, and for the longest time he could never walk past it without the scents of the vanilla and cinnamon making him think of her. She’d enjoyed using the bath bombs a lot, and Derek remembers as a teenager he’d complain all the time about the colorful streaks left in the tub.
He’s looking in the shop window, and for the first time in a long while, the feeling is different– time has eased the pain and the guilt, and now it’s just the fond memories of his sister.
Derek pushes the door open, and the bell tinkles merrily. The employees are friendly– perhaps a bit too friendly and knowledgeable, and Derek doesn’t know how he finds himself talking, but talk he does. He doesn’t know what quite he wants, but he likes this scent, and he like relaxing after a long day, and … ends up purchasing an entire bag’s worth of bath bombs, hand creams, and a soap bar shaped like a spaceship for Stiles.
He gets home and puts dinner in the oven, puts away the laundry, and sits on the couch, wondering what to do next. Stiles won’t be home for awhile; Derek could take this opportunity to work on his next book, but he’s still waiting for feedback from his editor from the last one, and he doesn’t want to switch mindsets on his projects just yet.
The little brown bag is still sitting invitingly on the table; Derek takes out the tissue-wrapped one for Stiles and puts it in the bedroom, then takes the rest of it to the bathroom. He fills the tub, wondering when the last time he took an actual bath. He must have been a kid.
The purple-and-pink bath bomb has a touch of glitter in it, and when dropped in the water it starts fizzing immediately, exploding in a cascade of color and gentle lavender scent. Derek undresses and gets in the tub, closing his eyes.
It is calming. The warm water and bubbles are foaming gently around him, and the scent lulls him into a soft peace.
“There you are,” Stiles says, his voice a little awed.
Derek opens his eyes. Stiles is standing in the bathroom doorway, still in his deputy uniform, smiling fondly at him.
“You’re home early,” Derek says.
Stiles walks over to the tub, bending down to kiss Derek on the forehead. “Yeah, I finished everything. Plus, I wanted to see you. Dinner smells amazing, by the way. How was your day? Got yourself some bubble bath, I see.” Stiles dips his fingers in the water, flicking a bubble at Derek.
“I like it.”
“It’s a good look on you,” Stiles says.
“What is?”
“Happy.”
This makes Derek smile, and he tugs Stiles closer by the shirt, pulling him in for a deep kiss. “You’re getting me all wet,” Stiles says, laughing.
“Good, now you can join me.”
Stiles laughs and gets undressed, stepping carefully in the tub. It takes some bit of rearranging for them both to fit, but they manage. Derek hums to himself, kissing the back of Stiles’ neck, listening to him talk about his day. He may have never thought he’d get this quiet, soft domesticity, never thought he’d deserve it. But he does. He closes his eyes and lets the sound of Stiles’ voice and the warmth of the bath draw him in, the feeling of safety and comfort and love all around him.
Stiles dropped the book onto the table and opened it. The spine of it cracked. Some of the pages fell out and fluttered to the floor.
“Oh come on,” Stiles whined, “I just bought this one.”
The baby made an inquisitive cooing sound and reached for the book.
“No, Jellybean,” he said patiently, as he gently pried her pudgy hands away from it.
A half laugh, half choked sort of noise from across the table made Stiles lift his head. Derek was staring at him, eyebrows raised in question.
“I don’t want to give her a name, we’ll get attached. So that’s my nickname for her.” Stiles said, slowly.
Derek’s eyebrows seemed to crawl higher (which Stiles hadn’t thought possible until just then), “Yes, but, Jellybean?”
“It’s cute.”
Derek just huffed out another laugh and turned his attention back to the laptop.
“Not hard to find stuff about the fae, at least.” Stiles mused, “Although a lot of the lore seems to agree they’re nothing like Tinkerbell.” He held up the book to show Derek an illustration of a rather vicious-looking pixie, and bared his teeth in a poor imitation of it.
This seemed to delight Jellybean, as she let out a high-pitched squeal and waved her hands towards him. Stiles turned his attention to her and tickled her belly, and she dissolved into giggles. When Stiles looked up, Derek looked a little dazed. Stiles grinned at him.
shealwaysreads 