hale-of-stiles-heart:

SO IT’S BEEN MONTHS AND NOW IT’S SUMMER BUT I FINISHED IT (also on ao3!)

Stiles never would have thought apple picking, of all things, was romantic. Then again, he never would have thought Derek ‘Angry Eyebrows’ Hale was romantic, either. And on both counts he was wrong.

Ever since they’d started dating–having gotten together the summer before senior year after Stiles had come dangerously close to dying from the aftereffects of having been possessed by the Nogitsune, Derek not wanting to risk never being able to love Stiles the way he wanted to, open for the world to see–Derek had absolutely blown him away with how affectionate and downright romantic he could be. Not a day went by without Derek performing some sort of grand romantic gesture.

On their first date, Derek had surprised him with a bouquet of deep red roses, despite the fact that they were only going to dinner at the local diner that served Stiles’ favorite curly fries. They held hands throughout their meal, Stiles somehow managing to eat a greasy, bacon loaded double cheeseburger one-handed, playing footsie under the table like the dorks they both unabashedly were.

It had started raining by the time they finished dessert, sharing a milkshake like it was the nineteen fifties, Stiles teasing Derek about looking the part of the bad boy greaser in his leather jacket. As they fled to the Camaro, hoping for a reprieve from the heavy rain, Derek used his jacket as a makeshift umbrella, holding it above their heads to shield them from getting pelted by the cold rain.

Once they’d climbed into the Camaro, Derek draping his jacket over Stiles as he unlocked the doors and jogged around the front of the car to climb into the driver’s seat, they’d luxuriated in the Camaro’s heated seats as they laughed about their luck and poor timing, going on their first date the only time it rained that month. Stiles had made a comment about rain on a first date being a sign of good luck, Derek arguing that it was only wedding days that were lucky if rained on, sparking an intriguing conversation about various good luck signs as Derek drove Stiles home.

Stiles had kissed him on the front porch after Derek walked him to the door until his dad started flicking the porch light on and off. Stiles had smiled like an idiot when Derek insisted he hold on to his leather jacket for a little while, laying a kiss on Derek’s cheek for the sweet gesture. He’d put the roses in a vase and set them on his nightstand after Derek left, stealing glances at the beautiful bouquet for the next two weeks, breaking into a blinding grin whenever he did.

On their second date, a double feature at the local movie theater across town, Stiles had attempted to return Derek’s jacket, slipping it off his shoulders when Derek pulled up in front of his house, only for Derek to insist that he keep it, at least for just a little bit longer. Stiles had proudly strut over to the Camaro, chin held high as slid into the passenger seat still wearing the leather jacket despite the midday heat, slipping his hand into Derek’s as they pulled onto the road.

They’d sat in the back of the darkened theater, Derek leading Stiles to their seats, his werewolf night vision guiding him through the crowded theater, the location of the seats prompting many innuendos and eyebrow waggles from a jokingly scandalized Stiles. He’d only stopped teasing Derek about his choice of seating when Derek had grabbed the front of his Star Wars t-shirt and pulled him into a deep kiss as the opening credits rolled.

They’d spent the rest of the double feature holding hands as they shared a tub of popcorn and a box of Reeses Pieces, occasionally feeding each other the peanut butter candies before leaning in to kiss the butter from the popcorn off each other’s lips afterwards. They both blissfully ignored the appalled, genuinely scandalized looks they received, mostly from the elderly couples in attendance, due to their blatant public displays of affection, Derek assuring Stiles that he had no reason to be embarrassed or shy, casually throwing his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and kissing his temple.

A few hours later they left the theater with Derek’s arm still around Stiles’ shoulders, smiles proudly plastered on both their faces.

Their third date consisted of a nice dinner in at loft, giving Derek an opportunity to flex his culinary muscles, thoroughly impressing Stiles with a three course meal — an appetizer of potato skins followed by an entree of filet mignon before a dessert of various fruits dipped in chocolate and caramel sauces. They ate on the couch, the informal seating belying the sophistication of the meal, cuddling as they took Boyd’s suggestion to heart and watched Luke Cage on Netflix.

They watched Mike Colter kick ass on screen, Stiles making an offhand comment about how hot he was, Derek huffing and crossing his arms over his chest in faux jealousy until Stiles peppered kisses over his cheeks. Whenever there was a lull in action on the TV screen they took advantage of the opportunity to lick the sticky sweetness of chocolate and caramel off each other’s lips, hands tenderly stroking each other’s faces, fingers brushing through each other’s hair.

On Stiles’ eighteenth birthday they had sex for the first time.

Derek made love to him so gently and so sweetly, holding him and touching him and kissing him like he was something to be cherished, something to be treasured and protected and loved, that Stiles had buried his face in the crook of Derek’s neck and cried. Derek had held him for the rest of the night, rolling over so Stiles lay on his chest, running his hand up and down the smooth, mole dotted planes of his back, whispering hushed words of love into his sweaty hair as Stiles sobbed softly.

In the morning, Derek made him breakfast in bed and scattered kisses over the marks he’d left on his neck the night before, combing his fingers through Stiles’ disheveled bed head as Stiles munched on the perfectly crispy bacon and wonderfully fluffy pancakes Derek had made, trying not to be too embarrassed by the previous night’s waterworks.

After breakfast, Derek had literally carried him to the bathroom where they’d taken a hot shower together, Derek, unable to help himself, nipping and sucking at Stiles’ neck as he massaged body wash into Stiles’ smooth, pale skin. Soon enough, Derek’s amorous kisses and less than innocent touches led to what was both Stiles’ first time having shower sex and his first time having sex standing up–all in only his second time having sex at all.

Between moans he thanked the heavens above for Derek’s foresight to have a bottle of oil based lube on hand in the bathroom, smirking to himself as he idly wondered about how long Derek had wanted to fuck him in the shower.

After their steamy shared shower, Derek had carried Stiles back to bed after drying him off, Stiles too boneless with pleasure to even lift his head off Derek’s shoulder. They spent the rest of the day lounging in bed, not bothering to put a shred of clothing on, Stiles lazily pressing kisses over Derek’s neck and shoulders and collarbone as Derek gently stroked his hand up and down Stiles’ naked back, tracing the play of moles across the breadth of his shoulders.

And the romance hadn’t stopped there. If anything, it had intensified.

Derek made a point of continuing to be as romantic as humanly–werewolfily?–possible, constantly one upping himself with every gesture.

A few days after he gave Stiles another bouquet of red roses for their three month anniversary, he one upped himself by scattering rose petals and candles around the entire loft leading to the bed upstairs where he made love to Stiles for hours. Only a few hours after he’d absentmindedly began singing to Stiles on the couch, Stiles’ head in his lap as he re-read one of his favorite books, he pressed kisses to Stiles’ shoulders and back as he mumbled poetry into his skin in fluent Spanish as they laid in bed together.

So, naturally, he was intrigued when, while he and Derek were driving along a country road on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, Derek had pointed out a sign in front of a local farm, advertising for people to pick their own apples, and insisted he pull over. He’d cocked an eyebrow at his boyfriend but parked and climbed out of the Jeep nonetheless, eager to see what Derek had in mind.

Derek slipped his hand into Stiles’ and led him over to a display of produce for sale where an elderly man was restocking a wooden shelf of cartons of cranberries. The man turned to greet them with a warm, toothy smile, wiping his hands with a handkerchief. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“Hi,” Derek greeted, holding his hand out to shake the man’s hand. “How much to pick our own apples?”

“Five dollars a head,” the man replied, returning Derek’s firm handshake. He visibly blanched when Derek handed him a twenty dollar bill, shaking his head as he stammered, “Oh, no. This-This is too much.”

Derek simply shrugged and slipped his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, hugging him tightly against his side. Looking back at the man who was still gawking at the twenty dollar bill, he explained, “It’s a special occasion.”

After blurting out a few thank you’s, the man directed them over to the apple orchard, handing them each a hand woven basket to collect their apples in. They had eagerly hurried to the orchard where Derek set to work explaining which apples were the best to pick.

Stiles waited until they were both immersed in picking apples, steadily filling their baskets, to ask the question that had been burning in the back of his mind since they parked. Glancing over his shoulder at Derek who was reaching up to pluck a juicy red apple, he inquired, “So… Apple picking?”

“Yeah,” Derek answered simply, a smile audible in his voice. “My mom used to bring us every year. All of us — me and my sisters — would spend the whole day picking apples with her.”

Stiles smiled himself, biting his bottom lip. He loved hearing about Derek’s family though he always ached at the fact that he would never meet any of them.

“My mom would always bake an apple pie that same night. With streusel on top, not pie crust,” Derek continued on, luring Stiles away from his downright depressing thoughts. A soft, nostalgic smile accompanied his words as he recalled, “She’d use the rest of the apples to make her own apple sauce. And apple cake and cider and muffins, even cheesecake.”

Derek raised his head to smile over at Stiles who beckoned him over with a wave of his hand. He set his basket down and meandered over to Stiles with a sly grin, backing him against a nearby tree. “Yeah?”

“I love you,” Stiles announced, raising his hands to fist them in the front of Derek’s shirt to reel him in for a sweet kiss. The funny thing was it almost tasted like apples.