for @emmkolenn because she is my biggest enabler asked ❤
It’s early morning.
Not the kind of early where it’s still dark out and your limbs feel heavy, your eyes watery and you just want to crawl back into bed again.
No, this is the good kind of early morning.
The kind where the sun is rising slowly and you forgot to close the curtains last night so its rays are falling into the bedroom, soft and warm and the specks of dust seem to dance in its rays. It’s the kind of early where outside nothing is happening yet except for the birds singing their song celebrating a new day.
It’s the kind of morning where the smell of black coffee hangs heavy in the air together with the promise of eggs and bacon for breakfast because they’re on Shore Leave so they deserve it.
It’s the kind of morning where Jim is awake and out of bed before Leonard is.
A rare treat.
For Leonard is a sight to behold, slightly tanned skin – and how he manages that in space is beyond Jim – and dark hair a beautiful contrast against the rumpled white sheets. Ruggedly handsome, perhaps, as he’s forgone shaving for the past few days and the hickeys on his neck and shoulders are all Jim’s.
“Jim,” he murmurs.
Jim raises his eyes slowly to Leonard’s face but the other is merely mumbling in his sleep.
He leans his shoulder against the doorway, boxer shorts low on his hips, hair sticking in all directions and a cup of coffee in his hands, and just stands there.
Basking in the sunlight and watching the man he’s come to love more than space itself.
On the bed, Leonard turns his head in his sleep, a drowsy “love you,” filling the air.
“Love you too, Bones.” Jim murmurs and his smile is soft and gentle around his cup of coffee as he takes a sip.
Stiles stood at the door, staring at Derek on his front porch. Derek, who had apparently driven all the way over here at midnight for…for…
“I didn’t drive all this way to say ‘hey.’,” he’d said.
Stiles swallowed. Wow, his throat was suddenly really dry. When had his throat gotten so dry? “Then why did you drive over here?”
Derek took one step closer to him, and then another, until they were chest to chest. This close, Stiles could count the different colors in his eyes, was reminded that he and Derek were almost the same height.
“I–” Derek started, and then fell silent again.
Stiles’s heart hammered in his chest. “You what? Come on, dude, you know I’m not psychic. You’ve got to give me something to w–”
Derek cupped his head and kissed him.
Stiles froze, speechless both because Derek’s mouth was on his and because his brain had completely stopped working. This was something he’d shoved squarely in a box in the back of his brain called “never, ever going to happen.” He’d been working on getting over Derek. He hadn’t been super successful, but he’d been working on it!
But now…
Now…
Stiles pulled back for air. “Are you drunk?”
Derek looked at him, brow furrowed. “I can’t get drunk?”
“Are you high? Drugged?”
“No?”
“Have you crossed paths with any witches, fairies, or any other supernatural beings who might want to curse you?”
Derek’s face fell. “If this isn’t what you want–”
Stiles cut him off. “Are you in your right mind?”
That got him Derek’s patented Hale glare. “Yes, I’m in my right mind.”
Stiles grabbed his collar. “Good.”
He pulled Derek back in for a second kiss. Stiles had, admittedly, fantasized about a lot of different ways of kissing Derek, but absolutely none of those had really captured how it would feel to have Derek’s stubble scraping along his skin, to have Derek’s teeth skim over his lips, to have Derek’s shoulders right under his hands.
By the time they had to stop again to breathe, Stiles was so light-headed that he had to cling to Derek to just keep himself upright. “So. Uh. That’s why you drove over here at midnight?”
Derek nodded.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Stiles ran his hands up the back of Derek’s neck, “but this couldn’t have waited until morning?”
Derek shook his head. “No. I couldn’t wait another minute without letting you know.”
Stiles stilled with his hands buried in Derek’s hair. “Oh. Okay. I approve that, just so you know.”
Derek slowly smiled. “Yeah?”
“If you want to come over at midnight and make out with me? Hell yeah, I approve that.”
“It’s not just making out,” Derek whispered. “I…I want more than that.”
Stiles grinned so wide his face hurt. “I approve that, too.”
Summary: Nothing makes a party more interesting than
accidentally seeing your best friend’s erect penis.
Notes: A college AU. Fluffier than you would expect from the
summary. (On AO3)
Derek’s not much of a party person. He’s kind of shy, and a little
socially awkward.
But when Stiles had invited him, he’d remembered all those
late-night phone calls between them—the latest of which had included Stiles
mumbling “You’re one of my best friends,” before drifting off—so he’d said yes.
Because Stiles wanted him there, and
Derek was more than flattered by that.
Other info: This is apart of a 31 Day December Challenge that I’m doing on Ao3. The prompts were originally supposed to be for photography, but they worked so well for one-shots 🙂
Summary: Day Twelve: Beauty Ritual // Jim wasn’t gifted with low-maintenance skin
Stiles and Derek hanging out like all the time. Stiles asking one day, “are you attracted to me?”
And Derek regarding him kind of incredulously at the question, which is seemingly out of nowhere and asked with such seriousness that Derek doesn’t have a chance to really process it.
Stiles telling Derek that his friend from school was confused when Stiles mentioned going on a date with someone because they thought Derek was his boyfriend based on the way (and frequency) Stiles talks about him.
“She was all like, why aren’t you dating? And I thought, ha, because,” Stiles tells Derek. “But then I was like…cos I couldn’t come up with an actual reason. So now, I’m wondering…why aren’t we dating?’
And before Derek has a chance to respond Stiles pushes forward, “so I thought maybe you aren’t attracted to me cos that would do it. Probably, so like?” And Stiles is looking at Derek expectantly.
Derek regards him for a moment before speaking. When he does he shrugs and says, “we aren’t dating because neither of us has asked the other out.”
Which is probably not what Stiles is expecting for an answer. “So are you saying if I were to ask you out you would say yes?” Derek is trying not to smirk and Stiles knows the look well, it’s sort of devious and adorable all at once. It makes Stiles’ chest constrict and he feels his stomach somersault.
“I am attracted to you,” Derek finally says. Stiles feels his face heat which is annoying because he’s trying to play it cool. He feels his pulse spike so it’s pretty much a total loss.
“So, that’s a yes?” Stiles confirms.
“Yes, I will say yes if you ask me out,” Derek tells him. Stiles nods.
“So, do you like…wanna get dinner tonight?” Stiles asks, still sort of nervous because he’s not sure totally that Derek isn’t fucking with him.
“I’m free now,” Derek says. Stiles swallows the choked sound of surprise in his throat. Derek is smirking at him now.
“Me too,” Stiles nods. Which should be obvious because they’re actually hanging out together and have been for the past half an hour.
I cheated, sorry. This is half for the nonnie above, half to fill a ko-fi commission from a sweet soul I am unable to track down. Rowan, this is for you! Also…I’m obsessed with sphinx cats and would soooo have one already if I weren’t living on campus haha.
I’m also realizing I do NOT know how to finish things. So, sorry for the abrupt ending.
“Stiles,” Derek attempts to level Stiles with a warning glare, but is unsuccessful as he is too preoccupied with the creature in his hands. “No.”
“Stiles, yes,” Stiles says more to himself, a grin spreading across his face that makes him look half mad.
He lifts the cat up to be level with Derek’s face. He looks absolutely crazed, and Derek is about 90 percent sure Stiles chose this cat based on the fact that Derek would say no. And how could Derek not say no. The cat was…hairless. It looked like someone forgot to hang it out after a wash. There was no way Derek was taking it home.
Said cat reached her paw out to lightly pat at Derek’s filling out beard, staring him straight in the eye as if she were daring Derek to take her home. Another glance at Stiles showed he had a similar expression on his face, and Derek sighed. Goddamn it.
“Yay!” Stiles cheers, Derek not having to say a word. He just hands over his card and signs the paperwork, Stiles alternating between cooing at the cat and riffling through the collars next to the front desk.
Which is how Derek finds himself the proud owner of a sphynx cat in a diamond collar. Or something like that.
**
“We have to give her a name,” Stiles calls across the loft from his spot on Derek’s couch where he’s been hanging off the edge, upside-down, playing with one of those string cat toys since they got back from the pound. The cat in question is across the room, slowly getting accustomed to her new home.
“What’s this ‘we’?” Derek says as he finishes drying the last of the dishes and puts the plate away in the cabinet. He wanders over to the couch, leaning against the armrest and watching as the cat starts up the stairs. God, he hopes she’s potty trained.
Stiles sit upright, taking a moment to adjust to the sudden movement. “Derek, she…” He blinks a few times and Derek wonders for a moment if he’s going to throw up. “She’s your cat, dude. You should be the one to name her.”
“You chose her,” Derek rebuts, already knowing he’s going to lose this argument and should just go along with whatever Stiles wants.
That’s how they got here, isn’t it? Stiles was headed back to college in three weeks and claimed Derek would be too lonely without his presence. Not that that had mattered last year, when they had started dating and Stiles had gone off for his first year at university. Yet, somehow, this year was different. And Derek needed someone around when Stiles wasn’t there, hence the cat.
“Fine,” Stiles says, staring him down. “If you want me to name her, I will.”
Derek doesn’t like the look in his eyes and is about to cave when Stiles starts calling out, “Susan! Susan!”
“Stiles, I swear to god,” Derek groans, rubbing his eyes.
“Jessica!”
“I get it.”
“Barbara!”
Stiles does get a chance to come up with another ridiculous name as the next second, he’s being tackled into the couch, Derek zeroing on his most ticklish spots. Still, he tries to gasp out a few more suggestions before Derek effectively shuts him up with his mouth.
**
Derek is lying on the couch the next day, a rerun of The X Files playing on low volume on the TV, already half asleep when the cat hops up on his stomach and starts kneading him.
“That’s…weird,” Derek says more to himself than to the cat. He doesn’t move her, though. It’s kind of…nice, if he’s being honest.
She stretches out on his chest, her claws dangerously close to his throat though they don’t come in contact with his skin at all. Eventually she settles just under his chin, rubbing herself against his beard and her purrs vibrating against his throat.
“I guess you’re staying, huh,” Derek mumbles, receiving a twirp in return which forces a smile to his face. “I guess I can’t keep calling you ‘Cat’, then.”
He runs his hands over the smooth, wrinkly skin, not as appalled as he imagined he’d be.
“You don’t really look a Susan though, huh?”
The purring is definitely doing things to Derek’s brain as he has to fight to keep his eyes open. He’ll think of something later. Maybe.
**
“I knew you guys would get along,” a voice says from somewhere above Derek’s head.
Derek just moans and turns to snuggle deeper into the couch which in turn upsets the cat he’d forgotten about. She makes a chastising meow before jumping off of him and finding a sunspot closer to the window.
Stiles quickly replaces her, climbing over the back of the couch to lay on top of Derek and run his nose along Derek’s jaw. Derek pulls him in close and lets out his own form of purring, still half asleep.
“Did you choose a name for her yet?” Stiles asks, lifting his head just enough to catch Derek’s eye.
“Mmmm.”
Stiles grins, something between lovestruck and exasperation crossing his face. “I’m going to keep giving you suggestions until you do,” he warns.
Derek nips at his shoulder in retaliation. “Fine.”
Stiles waits for all of five seconds, a record for him, before he starts poking Derek in the chest. “Well, come on then.”
He can see the moment a name crosses Derek’s mind as his face goes soft and a light blush covers his cheeks, his eyes drifting down. Stiles smiles fondly at him.
“What is it?” he asks, curling himself up in the space under Derek’s chin once more. “I know you’ve found it.”
It takes Derek a few moments, but finally he breathes out, “Talia.”
Stiles grins against his throat before pressing a kiss there. “It’s perfect,” he whispers back, afraid to break the moment.
One day I will write something that isn’t tooth-rotting Sterek fluff, but today is not that day.
Title is from Pablo Neruda’s Crepusculario.
“… but I’ll be back by seven with dinner, so if you need me to pick anything up from the store before I get back, just text me.”
“Sure,” Derek said, barely concealing a smile as Stiles tried to simultaneously shrug into his jacket, finish pulling on his shoes and shove half a banana into his mouth on his way out the door. All he managed to actually accomplish was losing the banana in one of his sleeves and jamming the laces in under his foot, so Derek stilled him with hands firm on his shoulders and crouched down, slipped the wayward shoe off to retrieve the laces and helped Stiles slide it back on, tying the laces when he was done.
“Thank you,” Stiles breathed out, pathetically grateful, and Derek did smile this time.
“No problem,” he said, leaning forward and pressing his mouth briefly against Stiles’.
They both froze. That wasn’t a thing they did. Not ever. They weren’t… no matter how much Derek might… they didn’t do. That.
“Huh,” Stiles said thoughtfully, then just kind of swayed into Derek’s space and returned the kiss. It was as brief and chaste as Derek’s had been, but it made him frown a little, contemplatively, before he shrugged and smiled widely. “Okay. Gotta go. I’ll see you tonight!”
And then he was gone, leaving Derek standing alone in the front hall, wondering what the hell had just happened.
*
Things weren’t at all different after that day, a fact that Derek was pathetically grateful for. He hadn’t been sure how good an idea Stiles moving into the house would be when he returned home from college, but to everyone’s surprise but Stiles’, apparently, it was a match made in heaven. To have potentially messed it up with a thoughtless, unconscious display of affection had Derek’s stomach churning for the twelve hours that Stiles was on shift, only to have it all have been for nothing when Stiles came home exactly the same way he always did.
It wasn’t until a couple of weeks later that it happened again, and this time Derek wasn’t the instigator. They were shopping for outdoor furniture on Stiles’ first day off in a fortnight, and even though he’d been uncharacteristically sombre over the previous few shifts, he was talking more and smiling again on an unremarkable Thursday morning and that was enough for Derek.
Standing in front of a solid wooden table that seated twelve, Derek smiled a little as Stiles sat in one of the chairs and leaned back, wiggling slightly to test the comfort. “I like it.
“There’s a matching daybed and porch swing back there,” Derek told him, gesturing back the way they’d come. “We’ll get those too. More comfortable for you to read on than this.”
Stiles, who was in the process of getting back to his feet, paused and glanced up at Derek in surprise. “You– that’s your decision-making rubric for furniture?”
Uncomfortable with being unable to read the expression on Stiles’ face, Derek shrugged. “You’d just complain about it, otherwise,” he said eventually. “The cost-benefit analysis makes sense.”
Standing fully upright, Stiles began to smile, a slow and sleepy thing. “You’re very sweet,” he said in a light tone, and slid one wide palm up to cradle the side of Derek’s face and touch their lips lightly together. “Don’t worry,” he added, stepping away. “I won’t tell anyone. Now let’s go and get those cushions with the kraken on them.”
“Octopus/octopus,” Stiles said with the exact same inflection as he wandered away.
*
It became something that they did, after that. Not always, not in front of the others, and it was never discussed, but Derek thought it was… nice. More than nice, actually, but nice meant he didn’t have to think too hard about it or read too much into it, so.
Nice.
Stiles had always been tactile, it was one of the irrefutable facts of the universe. He had always been especially hands-on with Derek, something that had confused him and made him suspicious in the early days of their acquaintance when Stiles would instigate touch even as he reeked of fear. That hadn’t changed with this new thing that they did, but the intent behind it had shifted. There was a deliberateness there that Derek hadn’t noticed before, and a lingering that made his belly flip over, yet another thing he wasn’t investigating too closely.
With every kiss, whether to mouth or cheek or hand, or even the pulse point at the base of Stiles’ throat when he leaned quietly against Derek in the kitchen, morning yet to paint the sky as they stood still together before the wide windows over the sink as mugs of tea or coffee sending thick plumes of steam curling up into the air, Stiles’ fingers inevitably followed. They touched briefly at the back of Derek’s head, rested gently and comfortably on his hip, wrapped thoughtlessly around his own fingers, thumb stroking over the lifeline on his palm.
It sustained Derek, filled him up with warmth and comfort and home, and he treasured the long moments of togetherness they shared, affection and presence offered freely and without agenda for him to bask in. He began to remember that happiness had once felt a lot like this.
*
It was almost two in the morning by the time Stiles finally came home, the fatigue of far too much overtime casting a sickly pallor over his ordinarily-mobile face and shadowing his eyes. Derek was sitting at the kitchen table, having woken when he heard the sound of tyres on the driveway, waiting for the kettle to boil with just the light from the rangehood to illuminate the room.
“There’s pyjamas fresh from the dryer in the bathroom,” Derek called as Stiles shrugged out of his jacket and hung it in the hall closet before removing his shoes. “Do you want something to eat?”
“No, thanks,” Stiles sighed, and he sounded so flat, so defeated that Derek followed the sound of his voice and met him at the bottom of the stairs.
“What do you need?” he asked, barely enough light making into the hall to see by.
Stiles was silent for a long moment before smiling faintly, raising his hand to run the backs of his fingers against Derek’s jaw. “Nothing,” he said eventually, his scent sweetening with melancholy. “Just a cup of tea, please. I’ll be back down in a minute.”
“Take your time,” Derek murmured, trapping Stiles’ hand against his face with his own hand, turning and pressing his lips lingeringly to the palm of it before Stiles disappeared upstairs. Derek returned to the kitchen and made a cup of the strong black tea that Stiles favoured, adding just a little milk when he heard the shower shut off. Resting his chin in his hand, Derek yawned widely as he waited for Stiles.
“You shouldn’t get up when I come home,” Stiles told him as he shuffled tiredly into the kitchen.
“Best part of my day,” Derek said softly, hooking an arm around Stiles’ waist and drawing him close so that he could press his face to the warmth of Stiles’ belly, rubbing back and forth like a tired child. “Having you come home to me.”
One of Stiles’ hands splayed over the tattoo on Derek’s back, the other gently cupped the back of his head as he sighed. “You have to stop saying things like that,” he finally said. “Derek…”
“Why?” Derek asked tiredly, pulling Stiles a little closer. “It’s true.”
“That’s exactly why,” Stiles explained patiently. “Because it’s true, but it means something different to you than it does to me. And I don’t think I can do that anymore.”
The words finally penetrated the sleep-dazed haze of Derek’s brain and he pulled back a little to rest his chin against Stiles’ side and look up at him. “I don’t think it does,” he said after a beat, the look on Stiles’ face and the desperate want in his eyes finally making Derek brave enough to say what he’d been aching to for years.
“You don’t get to–” Stiles began, trying to pull away, but Derek held him firmly in place as he got to his feet, remaining squarely in Stiles’ space.
“I think I do,” Derek told him firmly, bracing him back against the table. “Because,” he swallowed hard, “because I think maybe you’re in love with me. And I’m in love with you too.” The way Stiles had paled and then begun to flush at the confession was fascinating and beautiful, and Derek wanted to taste it.
“I want to kiss you all the time, for no real reason. I want to kiss you in front of the pack, in front of your colleagues, even in front of your dad, okay? I want you to kiss me when you’re laughing, when you’re angry, when you’re half asleep and can’t be bothered to even open your eyes enough to find my mouth. I want it without either of us thinking about it. I want to take it for granted. I want it to become a habit. I want it for the rest of our lives.”
Stiles stared at him wordlessly for so long that Derek began to think he’d misread the situation, but then Stiles smiled, wide and unrestrained and joyous, the shadow lifting from his eyes. “You’re not the best with words,” he said, laughter in his voice, “but by god you make them count when it matters most.”
Matching Stiles’ smile with one of his own filled Derek’s chest so full with something terrifying and all-encompassing that he felt his breath hitch.
“How many kisses do you think it’ll take before we take them for granted?” Stiles asked, winding both arms around Derek’s neck and shifting back to sit on the table and hook his ankles around the backs of Derek’s knees.
“More than either of us will ever have time for, even if I kissed you a thousand times a day,” Derek promised him.
“Derek,” Stiles smiled, love and promise turning the word into a sigh.
“I suppose we could get started on making it a habit, though,” Derek suggested, and the laugh in Stiles’ kiss was just as delicious as Derek had always imagined it would be.
shealwaysreads 