[ Stiles' reactions have always been among some of Derek's favorite things, but it's in moments like these that he strives to get each and every single one he possibly can. They're like encouragement, rushing chills down his spine and heat pooling in his gut each time. It's so easy to return that kiss, even as a low moan presses into it, bringing a hand around from where he's holding his hips to curl against his jaw, hunger and aching conveyed in a single piece of contact between them.
But then he pulls back a little, reaching and taking his left hand, fingers folding over his so he can bring it up to his mouth. Eyes dark, in the moment and from the room, he looks at Stiles as he presses his lips quite intentionally over where a ring would sit, in the same moment he shifts his hips forward again. ]
[ It is pretty much guaranteed to send Stiles in a tizzy every single time that Derek makes noises like that into his mouth. It's the kind of thing he just can't really get enough of, when he can roll his hips up just right or get his hands on him the way he likes, because Stiles has fought his way through the puzzle that is Derek Hale, and he's discovering new stuff about him every day.
When he takes his hand, though, it makes something else explode in his chest, butterflies in his throat, and his mouth slides into a stupid grin for a minute, as he uses his other hand to pull him close, wrapping it around the back of his neck and pulling him in so their foreheads touch, just for a second, then pulls him in for another kiss, and if you catch him murmuring something that sounds like I love you, well, he's not planning on sharing it with anyone else.
So Stiles squeezes his thighs where they're still around his waist, going along with the roll of his hips, easy as anything, and drops his head back as he has to break away from the kiss, back arching. ]
[ Like it's any secret what Derek does to Stiles, any time he touches him or makes those deep noises against his skin. He can't help it, either, and doesn't even try to. He loves the response he gets out of it, just the same as he loves when Stiles does the same to him. If he could capture every single noise that comes out of him, every arch of his spine, he'd keep it all close to his chest every single time. Because it could be years from now and he'd still never get tired of it, never get tired of learning what gets the responses out of him.
He goes where he's pulled, pressing close and bumping their noses before he's kissing him back. Because there's a sort of intent behind that touch, that gesture, and he's going to make sure that he follows up on it after all of this. After the returned murmur of I love you pressed to his lips, gentle and relieved and almost adoring as he goes down, presses it to his chin, says it again along his jaw. Every word is meant for Stiles only, and he plans on sealing it across every inch of his skin.
A hand slips under his spine as he arches, fingers digging into soft skin at the small of his back as he moves down to his throat. He doesn't stop the quiet confession, making up for the entire month that he was gone. He goes so far as to tuck it into the line of his pulse, a soft hum of words as he slots his hips more firmly with Stiles'. ]
You're ridiculous. [ That mostly only comes out as a wall to hide his embarrassment, the fact that the flush is starting to spread down from his cheeks to his neck and shoulders. Stiles isn't really an overly affectionate person--he's not Scott, he can't imagine making out with someone passionately surrounded by people, or cuddling up to someone that he's not familiar with. He still gets startled when he's kissed, years and years after his first one, still gets awkward when he tries to make moves. It's not that he doesn't believe Derek--because oh lord, does he--but he's flustered, and mostly just refuses to admit to it.
Still, there's a little smile on his face and a chuff that escapes him beforehand, and Stiles reacts to the hand at his back easily, squirming along with him and uses his hand that's still just connected to Derek's to lace their fingers together and bring it down near his head, tilting just enough to press a soft, returning kiss to the knuckle of his ring finger, too.
It's smooth and slow, the kind of rhythm they'd perfected once they stopped faking it and just started being Derek and Stiles, and the quartermaster's not a big fan of cliches, but he'd fill this room with candles and rose petals if it kept things like this, if he could keep Derek close and mumble in his ear, where it's safe and no one can hear but him, I love you, I missed you, I'm so glad you didn't die. ]
Maybe. [ But you missed it goes unsaid, and Derek tilts his head the slightest bit where he's curled over him, looking up from under his brow without an ounce of shame. Rather like Stiles, he's not a huge fan of public displays of affection, more subtle even when it's a select group of people, muted but honest. He's a private person, has been since tragedy first struck him when he was younger. Before the fire really took everything from him. But here, with Stiles, he lets go a little. Especially when he hasn't had this in so long, has been missing it in the month of his recovery.
With the returned kiss, his expression softens, and he shifts higher again, kisses his jaw before working around to the corner of his mouth, to his mouth proper. He doesn't say anything this time, just kisses him easily, conveying everything he has to say through it.
He keeps Stiles caged beneath him, squeezing his fingers in his as he rolls with him, slow and easy friction that's more than just thank god we survived sex. It's a month of longing, of mourning, of nearly losing something they'd both anchored themselves to. And he never wants to think of losing this, of losing Stiles. Not after all the loss he's already experienced in his life. ]
[ There's something warm and safe about being right here--don't get Stiles wrong, he is down with sex with Derek in multiple positions and multiple ways, and even if this isn't his favorite (it's a control freak thing), it's pretty damn close. It's intimate, romantic, where he can lace an arm around his shoulders, hold him closer, kiss him how he wants. The whole world can just narrow down to the two of them, where Derek's over him and he's holding on just as tightly, and he uses that hold on his hand as an anchor, squeezing tight as the angle hits just right, and his back arches off the bed underneath them, pressing them chest to chest.
The kiss he reaches for is sloppy, but it's starting to get to the point where it's hard to think about anything else but the friction between them, turning white hot by the second, and his eyes flutter shut as his free hand curls across his back, chewed down nails sliding slowly across the triskele that stretches between his shoulder blades. ]
[ Maybe in the beginning things hadn't meant to be this way-- they were supposed to fake intimacy, watch each others' backs to keep each other safe but never have that true sense of home-- but now it's there. Most people wouldn't think an agent of his caliber would need that sensation of warmth and home, of safety and security, but with Stiles? He had it by leaps and bounds, even outside of sex. But here, where he can curl over Stiles, offer him the same feeling that the Q gives him, pressing down over him and rocking forward, fingers curled tight together.
Arching up at the slow drag between his shoulders, almost as if encouraging it, Derek lets out a low, contented sound. As far as he's concerned, the world has narrowed down to them alone. After so long without Stiles in his life, it's more accurate than it ever was before, when they were easing out of the fake relationship and almost crashing into the real one. All there is, after everything that'd happened to him, is the taste and feel of Stiles, his heartbeat, and the friction growing between them. ]
[There were things about this he was looking forward to, a kind of permanence Stiles couldn't really describe in words. He'd gotten so used to Derek being such an intrinsic part of his life that imagining him without it was weird and jarring, and experiencing it was even worse. When he'd gotten him back now, after nearly losing him, Stiles wasn't planning on letting go anytime soon. And whether it happens now or in the next six months--because Stiles would propose to him if he never made the move--it didn't matter. Just that it happened, that he never had to let go of Derek again, never had to see his casket again, unless he was dying two days later of a broken heart.
He can barely kiss him anymore, can barely feel anything but Derek caging him in overhead, the heat between them, the mattress rocking under his hips (and he'd make a joke about it if he wasn't currently occupied), and Stiles drops his head back and away and draws his nails back up, his back arching off of the bed as a groan comes out of his mouth, long and slow and a name, Derek. He's not going to last much longer at this rate, and if the edges of dawn happen to be peeking through the curtains, then it was a night (and a reunion) well spent. ]
[ Bowing forward as Stiles drops his head back, Derek tucks his nose under his jaw, plants errant kisses along the line of his throat as he arches up underneath his touch. But all the while, he keeps moving, a slow roll of his hips, friction on friction as he takes in the moment. Stiles is here, Stiles found him like he thought he would-- hoped he would-- and there's a box tucked away in the nightstand that he's turned over in his hands on more than one occasion in the past month. With the dawn slowly reaching out, dim light through dark curtains, he figures he has the perfect moment coming up. He waited this long to bring it up, to propose something actually permanent between them. He's not going to wait any longer.
He draws his hand away from the bed where it's been mostly supporting his weight, fisted in the sheets, so that he can drag his fingers down Stiles' side. For as much as he'd want to stay like this for longer than a night, there's something about Stiles unraveling that makes him want to push more, leave them both raw and open. So he moves, curls long fingers and broad hand around them both as best he can, adding to the friction and breathing out Stiles' name as he does. ]
[ His hands drop off of his back and hit the bed instead, long fingers curling into the rucked up bedsheets, and Stiles can practically feel it boiling over in his gut--the noises that come out of his mouth are shorter, interspersed by gasps, "oh my god"'s, until he groans his name to the ceiling, body rolling with his shoulders-chest-stomach-hips all the way down until his toes curl from where they're tucked against Derek's back and he shudders, something full body and shaky, twitching and shooting a hand down in between them to wrap around Derek's and match, and the pressure is enough. He gasps, and practically goes off like a shot, arching his back up and grinding his hips into the tight grip as he jerks a couple of times, writhing underneath him and trying to refocus and get the stars behind his eyes to clear.
It's a little light outside, when the two seconds of white pass, and pale swathes of blue cutting across the room as the sun's starting to come up. Stiles flutters his eyes open and looks at Derek, stares at the way the morning sun falls into his eyes, and his mind is just blown. There are a thousand words in the English language he could come up to describe the sight, and he brings his other hand up to curl in his sweat soaked hair, pushing himself upwards until he can curl a little near him, wind his long fingers around the back of his neck and keep his other hand moving with Derek's, twisting his wrist as he leans in and mutters-- ] C'mon, Der.
[ There's really something about watching Stiles come undone like this, and Derek watches as he does, even as he feels the pressure building up in him. He tries to hold off, even as his entire body mirrors Stiles', a slow roll to match his and there's the feel of those long fingers overlapping his, the heat of his hand just adding to the friction. For as much as he'd like to swallow down the noises he makes, the thoughtless words that come out, he just soaks them in instead, listening as he watches. It sends a rush straight down his spine to the pit of heat that's built up in him, and he breathes out shakily as he tries to hold on for just that moment longer.
But as always, for as much as he can take Stiles apart, he does the same to him. Watching him let go, seeing that look in his eye as he comes back into dim focus and looks at him, the touch of his hands-- and he bows forward again, presses their foreheads together as he rocks up and into that twist of his wrist. At the end, though, what pulls him apart, has him letting go, is his voice. A soft, guttural groan leaves him, just as shaky as he is with the tremor that rolls through him. ]
[ He pretty much feels boneless--that spent him physically and emotionally. They'd had nights like that occasionally before, after dangerous missions, but nothing to this level. Whatever tension in him had just melted out, but he doesn't lay downwards until he can pull his hand away and wrap both of his arms around his shoulders instead, keeping their foreheads together but not getting any further away. He's panting shallowly, more or less exhausted as he leans forward a little, craving the contact even as another shudder goes down his spine.
Stiles smiles at him when he catches his eye again, a tiny sliver of a thing that warms up his eyes and makes him drop his gaze in a little bit of embarrassment, because he's--Derek's alive. He's still fucking ecstatic. He's going to be for forever. ] Jesus--Christ, I'm out of practice.
[ It's a joke, at least, and he bumps their noses together, just for a second, and drops his hand to wipe it on the sheets. ]
[ It's a wonder that he can keep himself upright and not just drop his weight into Stiles. He keeps himself supported above him on his elbow, breathing heavily with him as he tries to get his wits about him again. His hand slowly eases away, wiping off on the sheets-- and for a moment he's thankful that he tends to pile on the sheets, for when Stiles rolls in them and becomes a blanket hog-- as he refuses to break contact with him otherwise. For as exhausting as that was, he's more than happy to stay right there as he catches his breath, comes down from the high.
He's, admittedly, a little dazed when he meets Stiles' gaze, but Derek still returns the smile as well as the bump of their noses. And after, with Stiles' eyes lowered, he tips up, presses a kiss against his brow. ] At least we didn't pop any stitches.
[ A joke for a joke. The injuries needing stitches have healed enough that he thinks he'll be all right. ]
This time. [ He snickers a little and a hand comes downward to find one of the scars, angry and pink and white, and Stiles runs his hand over it, covering him with his hand. Derek's always been made of titanium, and it's weird to see him hurting, bleeding, the supposedly unkillable one.
In the end, he really had been, and Stiles couldn't be gladder for it.
Brown eyes search his face for a moment, the flush from exertion high on his cheeks, covered by what's become more of a beard than a spreading of stubble, the dazed look in his eyes, and he's hit with so much affection that it practically makes him dizzy. So he leans forward and wraps his arms around both of his shoulders, tucking his face in his neck and holding on tightly. They're both sweaty and disgusting and a total mess, but for a couple of seconds, he doesn't really care. ]
Maybe later. [ Skin twitches a little at his touch, though it's simply sensitivity responding to the softness of his fingers more than anything relating to pain. It'll fade before too long, but he doesn't mind it-- relishes it, almost, because it means he's alive. Means he can feel him again, feel his pulse and the flush of skin.
Shifting to tuck an arm around his waist, practically pinning it between Stiles and the bed, Derek leans into the embrace and tucks his nose against his shoulder. It lets him leave a faint scrape of his beard, a light kiss on speckled skin as he just soaks up the moment. They might be gross and tired and needing a shower, but right now?
He doesn't want to be anywhere else. And he murmurs it again, presses it to pale skin. ] Love you.
Love you too, big guy. [ It comes out muffled, and he gives his shoulders a squeeze from where he's still holding on tight, like Derek is his anchor and his lifeline, because he is. He has been for a long, long time now.
Stiles turns his cheek and presses a kiss to his neck, where a little mark is still there, admiring his handiwork. For all the bruises and pain Derek's been through lately, he likes this one the best--it's his, a mark caused by something good instead of pain and agony. His smile goes a little lazy, even as he makes a face and shoves at his face a little lightly when his beard scrapes against overheated, sensitive skin. ] Jesus, you got hairier, dude. Like, this mountain man life is really suiting you.
[ Mouth curling in a smile, he keeps his arms secure around Stiles as they lay there in their tangle of limbs and bodies. They really ought to clean up, at least a little, but right now he's not in any real hurry to move. Not when he has this, not when he has his anchor back. Some agents slip away from their humanity, turn to machines. He was on that path for some time, but then Stiles came along.
Gave him something again.
A small, content noise leaves him at the kiss to his neck, instead of tension filling him again. But it turns into a laugh as he pushes at his face, head lolling a little so that his cheek rests against his shoulder briefly. Deciding to shift, he squeezes his arms a little more securely and tips his weight lazily, rolling them over so that Stiles is on top of him. It's friction that sensitive skin doesn't need right now, and gets a small hiss out of him, but then he just settles back and looks up at Stiles. ]
Shaving took too much energy to keep on top of it every day.
Aaaahh--jesus. We'll work on that. [ Talk about sensitive. Stiles goes when rolled and only makes a noise that's slightly whiny when he brushes up in all the right-slash-wrong places, but immediately gets resettled, resting his palms on his chest and putting his chin on top of his hands so he can peer down at him from him like a comfortable cat, obviously pleased with his useful position.
This is kind of perfect. A squint to the clock reveals the time around four in the morning, and it makes a long, lazy smile curl across his face as he tilts his head into his hand a little, watching him with bright eyes, and singing quietly. ] Alllll night loong--all night.
[ A sound of agreement leaves him, but he gets comfortable once everything has stopped setting sparks to his skin. The familiar weight of Stiles against his chest causes him to relax further, and he laces his fingers together at the small of his back as he looks up at him without much concern, and so much affection that it aches in his chest. ] Will we?
[ Derek doesn't bother looking at the clock, clear green eyes trailing across Stiles' face in the faint light of pre-dawn, taking in the lazy smile and the brightness to amber eyes. Everything he's seen before, but adores more and more every time he sees it. Laughing softly at his sing-song, he slides his hand up the line of his spine. ] No, Stiles.
[ God he's tired. It's been a long day in every sense of the word, but his cheeks are hurting from the smile that feels like it's been attached to his face since--well, since he finished yelling at him for almost dying. Derek's alive, and it feels like Stiles' world has slowly come back to its normal tilt.
He mumbles something else about going all night long, but it kind of seems like gibberish. Stiles tucks his cheek under Derek's chin, tufts of his hair just brushing against his throat, and throws an arm across his chest, sprawling in that little space like it's his home.
He more or less passes out asleep mid sentence, mouth still open, and the only warning is a soft, faint snore. ]
[ Stiles falling asleep on top of him doesn't surprise him in the least. They're on top of the covers, still sort of gross but for the most part comfortable, and Derek is perfectly content. His cheeks hurt from smiling, something he hasn't done much of since the failure of a mission, and he spends a couple minutes just stroking his knuckles up and down his back as he hears the faint snore.
He only gets those when Stiles is particularly worn out. It's a testament to just how exhausted he must be, between the past month apart and the night spent on their reunion.
Taking care of him-- shifting just enough that he won't wake Stiles so that he can take the topmost sheet and clean them up a little better, dragging the sheet beneath it up and over his quartermaster's back-- he pauses before he really gets settled to join him. And he wants to, badly, the pull of sleep dragging him under despite his movements.
Derek regards him thoughtfully, before reaching for the nightstand and nudging open the top drawer, reaching in for a velvet box that saved his life. Thumbing at the bullet hole, he flips it open and withdraws the ring. It's a little cliche, slipping it onto Stiles' ring finger to surprise him in the morning with, but it makes something warm spread even further through his ribs as he tucks his nose in his hair, closing his eyes and finally finding a quiet night's rest. ]
[ It ends up that Stiles rolls off of him in the middle of the night-slash-morning, but he repositions himself almost immediately, tucking his head against Derek's shoulder and resting his hand on his chest, fists curled just a little against his bare chest.
But he sleeps like an absolute rock, and he wakes up around two in the afternoon. The sun's shining through the windows and right in his face, and he winces a little as he cracks open brown eyes and stares blearily into it. It takes a couple of minutes to properly recall what happened the day before, and a slow, lazy smile curls across his face as he pushes himself up on his palms, looking down at Derek underneath him. He's really not there mentally for a few minutes, as he lays back down and gets comfortable in the space he'd been inhabiting before, and Stiles blinks a couple of times, trying to readjust, and stretches his arm across Derek's chest.
And that's when the light catches on something shiny on his hand. His brow crinkles and he stares at it, brings it closer to his face.
And then he yelps-- ] Oh my god?!
[ Was that all a crazy dream?! Did he get married in his sleep last night?! Stiles is not awake enough for this, holy jesus. Maybe he just--no, no, they stopped faking it like a year ago, that's impossible, unless there was some other fake-married mission but they aren't supposed to be even bothered by headquarters right now-- ]
[ The fact that Derek sleeps for a solid ten hours, at least, is amazing. Even when he was in drug-induced dozes, he never slept more than six hours, maybe. And even then, it wasn't really rest. It was just him trying to recover, pushing past dark images and feeling the loss of Stiles in his bed like he'd been truly torn from him. (Though, in a way, he had been.)
When Stiles does finally stir, it barely nudges him at first. He's used to Stiles moving around, even with a month apart, that so long as he's not leaving the bed it doesn't really register with him. But enough movement has him stirring a little more, and he stretches his legs out, arm hooked around Stiles' waist comfortably. The corner of his mouth twitches a little as he feels him pushes himself up, but he still doesn't open his eyes as he simply lays there.
It's when he yelps that he actually wakes up, jolting a little and blinking sleep from his eyes to look down at him.
And then he sees what he's freaking out about, and lets out a small huff of a laugh. Voice throaty from deep sleep as he murmurs at him, he rubs his thumb against the small of his back, dropping his head into his pillow again. ] I didn't want to wait six months.
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But then he pulls back a little, reaching and taking his left hand, fingers folding over his so he can bring it up to his mouth. Eyes dark, in the moment and from the room, he looks at Stiles as he presses his lips quite intentionally over where a ring would sit, in the same moment he shifts his hips forward again. ]
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When he takes his hand, though, it makes something else explode in his chest, butterflies in his throat, and his mouth slides into a stupid grin for a minute, as he uses his other hand to pull him close, wrapping it around the back of his neck and pulling him in so their foreheads touch, just for a second, then pulls him in for another kiss, and if you catch him murmuring something that sounds like I love you, well, he's not planning on sharing it with anyone else.
So Stiles squeezes his thighs where they're still around his waist, going along with the roll of his hips, easy as anything, and drops his head back as he has to break away from the kiss, back arching. ]
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He goes where he's pulled, pressing close and bumping their noses before he's kissing him back. Because there's a sort of intent behind that touch, that gesture, and he's going to make sure that he follows up on it after all of this. After the returned murmur of I love you pressed to his lips, gentle and relieved and almost adoring as he goes down, presses it to his chin, says it again along his jaw. Every word is meant for Stiles only, and he plans on sealing it across every inch of his skin.
A hand slips under his spine as he arches, fingers digging into soft skin at the small of his back as he moves down to his throat. He doesn't stop the quiet confession, making up for the entire month that he was gone. He goes so far as to tuck it into the line of his pulse, a soft hum of words as he slots his hips more firmly with Stiles'. ]
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Still, there's a little smile on his face and a chuff that escapes him beforehand, and Stiles reacts to the hand at his back easily, squirming along with him and uses his hand that's still just connected to Derek's to lace their fingers together and bring it down near his head, tilting just enough to press a soft, returning kiss to the knuckle of his ring finger, too.
It's smooth and slow, the kind of rhythm they'd perfected once they stopped faking it and just started being Derek and Stiles, and the quartermaster's not a big fan of cliches, but he'd fill this room with candles and rose petals if it kept things like this, if he could keep Derek close and mumble in his ear, where it's safe and no one can hear but him, I love you, I missed you, I'm so glad you didn't die. ]
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With the returned kiss, his expression softens, and he shifts higher again, kisses his jaw before working around to the corner of his mouth, to his mouth proper. He doesn't say anything this time, just kisses him easily, conveying everything he has to say through it.
He keeps Stiles caged beneath him, squeezing his fingers in his as he rolls with him, slow and easy friction that's more than just thank god we survived sex. It's a month of longing, of mourning, of nearly losing something they'd both anchored themselves to. And he never wants to think of losing this, of losing Stiles. Not after all the loss he's already experienced in his life. ]
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The kiss he reaches for is sloppy, but it's starting to get to the point where it's hard to think about anything else but the friction between them, turning white hot by the second, and his eyes flutter shut as his free hand curls across his back, chewed down nails sliding slowly across the triskele that stretches between his shoulder blades. ]
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Arching up at the slow drag between his shoulders, almost as if encouraging it, Derek lets out a low, contented sound. As far as he's concerned, the world has narrowed down to them alone. After so long without Stiles in his life, it's more accurate than it ever was before, when they were easing out of the fake relationship and almost crashing into the real one. All there is, after everything that'd happened to him, is the taste and feel of Stiles, his heartbeat, and the friction growing between them. ]
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He can barely kiss him anymore, can barely feel anything but Derek caging him in overhead, the heat between them, the mattress rocking under his hips (and he'd make a joke about it if he wasn't currently occupied), and Stiles drops his head back and away and draws his nails back up, his back arching off of the bed as a groan comes out of his mouth, long and slow and a name, Derek. He's not going to last much longer at this rate, and if the edges of dawn happen to be peeking through the curtains, then it was a night (and a reunion) well spent. ]
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He draws his hand away from the bed where it's been mostly supporting his weight, fisted in the sheets, so that he can drag his fingers down Stiles' side. For as much as he'd want to stay like this for longer than a night, there's something about Stiles unraveling that makes him want to push more, leave them both raw and open. So he moves, curls long fingers and broad hand around them both as best he can, adding to the friction and breathing out Stiles' name as he does. ]
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It's a little light outside, when the two seconds of white pass, and pale swathes of blue cutting across the room as the sun's starting to come up. Stiles flutters his eyes open and looks at Derek, stares at the way the morning sun falls into his eyes, and his mind is just blown. There are a thousand words in the English language he could come up to describe the sight, and he brings his other hand up to curl in his sweat soaked hair, pushing himself upwards until he can curl a little near him, wind his long fingers around the back of his neck and keep his other hand moving with Derek's, twisting his wrist as he leans in and mutters-- ] C'mon, Der.
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But as always, for as much as he can take Stiles apart, he does the same to him. Watching him let go, seeing that look in his eye as he comes back into dim focus and looks at him, the touch of his hands-- and he bows forward again, presses their foreheads together as he rocks up and into that twist of his wrist. At the end, though, what pulls him apart, has him letting go, is his voice. A soft, guttural groan leaves him, just as shaky as he is with the tremor that rolls through him. ]
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Stiles smiles at him when he catches his eye again, a tiny sliver of a thing that warms up his eyes and makes him drop his gaze in a little bit of embarrassment, because he's--Derek's alive. He's still fucking ecstatic. He's going to be for forever. ] Jesus--Christ, I'm out of practice.
[ It's a joke, at least, and he bumps their noses together, just for a second, and drops his hand to wipe it on the sheets. ]
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He's, admittedly, a little dazed when he meets Stiles' gaze, but Derek still returns the smile as well as the bump of their noses. And after, with Stiles' eyes lowered, he tips up, presses a kiss against his brow. ] At least we didn't pop any stitches.
[ A joke for a joke. The injuries needing stitches have healed enough that he thinks he'll be all right. ]
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In the end, he really had been, and Stiles couldn't be gladder for it.
Brown eyes search his face for a moment, the flush from exertion high on his cheeks, covered by what's become more of a beard than a spreading of stubble, the dazed look in his eyes, and he's hit with so much affection that it practically makes him dizzy. So he leans forward and wraps his arms around both of his shoulders, tucking his face in his neck and holding on tightly. They're both sweaty and disgusting and a total mess, but for a couple of seconds, he doesn't really care. ]
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Shifting to tuck an arm around his waist, practically pinning it between Stiles and the bed, Derek leans into the embrace and tucks his nose against his shoulder. It lets him leave a faint scrape of his beard, a light kiss on speckled skin as he just soaks up the moment. They might be gross and tired and needing a shower, but right now?
He doesn't want to be anywhere else. And he murmurs it again, presses it to pale skin. ] Love you.
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Stiles turns his cheek and presses a kiss to his neck, where a little mark is still there, admiring his handiwork. For all the bruises and pain Derek's been through lately, he likes this one the best--it's his, a mark caused by something good instead of pain and agony. His smile goes a little lazy, even as he makes a face and shoves at his face a little lightly when his beard scrapes against overheated, sensitive skin. ] Jesus, you got hairier, dude. Like, this mountain man life is really suiting you.
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Gave him something again.
A small, content noise leaves him at the kiss to his neck, instead of tension filling him again. But it turns into a laugh as he pushes at his face, head lolling a little so that his cheek rests against his shoulder briefly. Deciding to shift, he squeezes his arms a little more securely and tips his weight lazily, rolling them over so that Stiles is on top of him. It's friction that sensitive skin doesn't need right now, and gets a small hiss out of him, but then he just settles back and looks up at Stiles. ]
Shaving took too much energy to keep on top of it every day.
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This is kind of perfect. A squint to the clock reveals the time around four in the morning, and it makes a long, lazy smile curl across his face as he tilts his head into his hand a little, watching him with bright eyes, and singing quietly. ] Alllll night loong--all night.
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[ Derek doesn't bother looking at the clock, clear green eyes trailing across Stiles' face in the faint light of pre-dawn, taking in the lazy smile and the brightness to amber eyes. Everything he's seen before, but adores more and more every time he sees it. Laughing softly at his sing-song, he slides his hand up the line of his spine. ] No, Stiles.
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He mumbles something else about going all night long, but it kind of seems like gibberish. Stiles tucks his cheek under Derek's chin, tufts of his hair just brushing against his throat, and throws an arm across his chest, sprawling in that little space like it's his home.
He more or less passes out asleep mid sentence, mouth still open, and the only warning is a soft, faint snore. ]
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He only gets those when Stiles is particularly worn out. It's a testament to just how exhausted he must be, between the past month apart and the night spent on their reunion.
Taking care of him-- shifting just enough that he won't wake Stiles so that he can take the topmost sheet and clean them up a little better, dragging the sheet beneath it up and over his quartermaster's back-- he pauses before he really gets settled to join him. And he wants to, badly, the pull of sleep dragging him under despite his movements.
Derek regards him thoughtfully, before reaching for the nightstand and nudging open the top drawer, reaching in for a velvet box that saved his life. Thumbing at the bullet hole, he flips it open and withdraws the ring. It's a little cliche, slipping it onto Stiles' ring finger to surprise him in the morning with, but it makes something warm spread even further through his ribs as he tucks his nose in his hair, closing his eyes and finally finding a quiet night's rest. ]
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But he sleeps like an absolute rock, and he wakes up around two in the afternoon. The sun's shining through the windows and right in his face, and he winces a little as he cracks open brown eyes and stares blearily into it. It takes a couple of minutes to properly recall what happened the day before, and a slow, lazy smile curls across his face as he pushes himself up on his palms, looking down at Derek underneath him. He's really not there mentally for a few minutes, as he lays back down and gets comfortable in the space he'd been inhabiting before, and Stiles blinks a couple of times, trying to readjust, and stretches his arm across Derek's chest.
And that's when the light catches on something shiny on his hand. His brow crinkles and he stares at it, brings it closer to his face.
And then he yelps-- ] Oh my god?!
[ Was that all a crazy dream?! Did he get married in his sleep last night?! Stiles is not awake enough for this, holy jesus. Maybe he just--no, no, they stopped faking it like a year ago, that's impossible, unless there was some other fake-married mission but they aren't supposed to be even bothered by headquarters right now-- ]
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When Stiles does finally stir, it barely nudges him at first. He's used to Stiles moving around, even with a month apart, that so long as he's not leaving the bed it doesn't really register with him. But enough movement has him stirring a little more, and he stretches his legs out, arm hooked around Stiles' waist comfortably. The corner of his mouth twitches a little as he feels him pushes himself up, but he still doesn't open his eyes as he simply lays there.
It's when he yelps that he actually wakes up, jolting a little and blinking sleep from his eyes to look down at him.
And then he sees what he's freaking out about, and lets out a small huff of a laugh. Voice throaty from deep sleep as he murmurs at him, he rubs his thumb against the small of his back, dropping his head into his pillow again. ] I didn't want to wait six months.