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seasons may change, winter to spring
seasons come, seasons go |
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[ It usually doesn't get that cold in Beacon Hills-- they're far enough from the mountains that they usually avoid harsh winters-- but every now and then, the temperature drops and could very easily rival that of New York. Derek is used to it by now, even if he can count how many times it's snowed here badly on one hand in the past twenty years, and spent six years in New York. Some pretty harsh winters struck them when he and Laura were there, so this isn't much to him.
It is, however, much to Stiles. Who is the reason why the tall windows of the loft now have thick, insulating curtains over them, and the fact that his bed is now covered in two comforters and an assortment of blankets. All of which take his werewolf space heater far too much effort to weasel out of in the morning, but he suffers through it because otherwise his human would probably freeze to death.
For as much as he has a resistance to the cold, he's not exactly keen on being out of bed for long. Even a workout isn't on his mind as he heads into the kitchen, filling the food bowl on the floor (with a square of carpet set down on the hardwood, because his newfound stray complains about the cold as much as her namesake) and making coffee with the immediate thought of going back to the bed and letting the blanket monster burritoed into his bed leech heat off of him.
Which is a strange thought. A year ago, he'd let the county tear down his childhood home, what had been only ruins for the better part of a decade. Back then, he'd known there was something between him and the teenager that'd barreled straight into his life and found his way into the cracks of his defenses. But he'd never acted on it, because Derek Hale is nothing if not self-depreciating, and he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop now. He ruins everything he touches, and for as much as he'd fought to fix Stiles when his mind was falling to pieces, protect him however he could, he still fears breaking him now.
Drawn away from where he can just barely see Stiles' bedhead poking out of the nest of the bed, a small blotch of white and brown and black nestled amongst it, he fixes up two cups of coffee with a faintly amused snort leaving him. He's pretty sure the bundle of fur won't get out of bed to eat until Stiles does-- he really did pick the perfect name for her-- but he's not complaining, really. This is... this is good. Nice. Something he never thought he'd get to have again.
It feels like home.
Coming back to the bed, he sets the mugs down on the bedside table after he steps up and over it, picking through the layers of the nest until he can find the bottom and slide back in. If he wakes Stiles at all during this process, he doesn't necessarily feel guilty, considering he can make it up to him if he decides to whine at him any. ]
It is, however, much to Stiles. Who is the reason why the tall windows of the loft now have thick, insulating curtains over them, and the fact that his bed is now covered in two comforters and an assortment of blankets. All of which take his werewolf space heater far too much effort to weasel out of in the morning, but he suffers through it because otherwise his human would probably freeze to death.
For as much as he has a resistance to the cold, he's not exactly keen on being out of bed for long. Even a workout isn't on his mind as he heads into the kitchen, filling the food bowl on the floor (with a square of carpet set down on the hardwood, because his newfound stray complains about the cold as much as her namesake) and making coffee with the immediate thought of going back to the bed and letting the blanket monster burritoed into his bed leech heat off of him.
Which is a strange thought. A year ago, he'd let the county tear down his childhood home, what had been only ruins for the better part of a decade. Back then, he'd known there was something between him and the teenager that'd barreled straight into his life and found his way into the cracks of his defenses. But he'd never acted on it, because Derek Hale is nothing if not self-depreciating, and he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop now. He ruins everything he touches, and for as much as he'd fought to fix Stiles when his mind was falling to pieces, protect him however he could, he still fears breaking him now.
Drawn away from where he can just barely see Stiles' bedhead poking out of the nest of the bed, a small blotch of white and brown and black nestled amongst it, he fixes up two cups of coffee with a faintly amused snort leaving him. He's pretty sure the bundle of fur won't get out of bed to eat until Stiles does-- he really did pick the perfect name for her-- but he's not complaining, really. This is... this is good. Nice. Something he never thought he'd get to have again.
It feels like home.
Coming back to the bed, he sets the mugs down on the bedside table after he steps up and over it, picking through the layers of the nest until he can find the bottom and slide back in. If he wakes Stiles at all during this process, he doesn't necessarily feel guilty, considering he can make it up to him if he decides to whine at him any. ]
[ The fact that Stiles spends more time at the loft than he does at home is not lost on him. It's been a year since the day that he stood with Derek and held him at home until the walls of the Hale house came down, and since then, well...it just kind of felt like things took another leap forward. Stiles already spent a good chunk of his life in this room, researching and studying and fixing up werewolf wounds and god only knew what else, but their friendship had already bloomed into something like the plot where the house used to be, now covered in flowers and herbs and a garden that Stiles' own mother would be proud of. Now, he was here to argue playfully with Derek, to cook him dinner and vice versa, to sleep in his bed and watch movies and kiss him until he felt like he was making up for three or four years of lost time.
The cold front that came into Beacon Hills was said to be one of the worst in years--Stiles' dad was out of town with Melissa, meaning he was here and Scott was off at Kira's. The weeklong sleepover has basically contended with Stiles "moving in"--his laundry invades Derek's machine, his shoes are waiting in the doorway, his school books spread all over the kitchen table. Stiles basically lives with Derek, because let's be real, he's got a feeling that this whole "love laser focus" thing he's got going on means that he and Derek are probably in this for the long haul.
Currently, he's under probably seven blankets (that Stiles bought, because Derek is a weirdo and just had his black sheets and a thin comforter--there are now two quilts from the Stilinski house, a batman throw, and a thick feather down comforter to add to it) with just his head and his nose sticking out, half awake since Derek got up. The cat that he'd picked up on a rainy day a couple weeks ago is curled in a ball near his near his head and he's vaguely aware of the smell of coffee drifting through the room. By the time Stiles stirs enough to actually be responsive--he's spent a lot of time catching up on street for the years that he lost it as a teenager--the warmth returns and a lazy smile cross his face as he unfolds from his position under the nest of blankets, rolling over on his side, eyes still closed, and tucking himself into the open space Derek leaves him, cheek on his chest. ]
Mmmmcoffee. [ He doesn't even both opening his eyes. ]
The cold front that came into Beacon Hills was said to be one of the worst in years--Stiles' dad was out of town with Melissa, meaning he was here and Scott was off at Kira's. The weeklong sleepover has basically contended with Stiles "moving in"--his laundry invades Derek's machine, his shoes are waiting in the doorway, his school books spread all over the kitchen table. Stiles basically lives with Derek, because let's be real, he's got a feeling that this whole "love laser focus" thing he's got going on means that he and Derek are probably in this for the long haul.
Currently, he's under probably seven blankets (that Stiles bought, because Derek is a weirdo and just had his black sheets and a thin comforter--there are now two quilts from the Stilinski house, a batman throw, and a thick feather down comforter to add to it) with just his head and his nose sticking out, half awake since Derek got up. The cat that he'd picked up on a rainy day a couple weeks ago is curled in a ball near his near his head and he's vaguely aware of the smell of coffee drifting through the room. By the time Stiles stirs enough to actually be responsive--he's spent a lot of time catching up on street for the years that he lost it as a teenager--the warmth returns and a lazy smile cross his face as he unfolds from his position under the nest of blankets, rolling over on his side, eyes still closed, and tucking himself into the open space Derek leaves him, cheek on his chest. ]
Mmmmcoffee. [ He doesn't even both opening his eyes. ]
[ In Derek's defense, he hasn't been able to rebuild any sort of blanket collection that should be utilized for pack nesting. He hasn't needed them until Stiles firmly inserted himself into his bedspace, curled up in his side or against his chest or completely overtaking it with books for homework and research alike. It's as if Stiles is taking advantage of his regained ability to actually read things, and also of the open space that no one's going to barge in on.
Except him, anyways, but it is his bed. And it's not as if he doesn't bring him things to distract him, break that hyperfocus and bring him back to the real world with food or the press of kisses. It's never going to be enough, in exchange for what Stiles has done for him, what he continues to do for him, but it's something. Especially in the long run, where he hopes that the other shoe never drops, where Stiles doesn't realize that there's someone better out there for him.
Getting resettled in the nest that Stiles has built up, he regards the clothes scattered all across the floor absently, thinking of the laundry he's going to have to do that doesn't involve Stiles turning all of his whites pink (again). The fact that Stiles' clothes fill up half of his closet doesn't shock him, but every now and then he's pleasantly surprised by it still. The same as he's pleasantly surprised to find a sudden influx of junk food in his pantry, toothbrush and bodywash and an extra towel always in his bathroom.
But he's so far from complaining, and just lets a smile curl across his expression as Stiles rolls over into him. The kitten barely stirs, save for sliding down the pillow she's settled herself onto, half-disappeared beneath the errant blankets everywhere. Tilting his head to nose into Stiles' unruly hair, Derek chuffs softly at the very intelligible greeting that he gets. ]
Ah, it speaks.
Except him, anyways, but it is his bed. And it's not as if he doesn't bring him things to distract him, break that hyperfocus and bring him back to the real world with food or the press of kisses. It's never going to be enough, in exchange for what Stiles has done for him, what he continues to do for him, but it's something. Especially in the long run, where he hopes that the other shoe never drops, where Stiles doesn't realize that there's someone better out there for him.
Getting resettled in the nest that Stiles has built up, he regards the clothes scattered all across the floor absently, thinking of the laundry he's going to have to do that doesn't involve Stiles turning all of his whites pink (again). The fact that Stiles' clothes fill up half of his closet doesn't shock him, but every now and then he's pleasantly surprised by it still. The same as he's pleasantly surprised to find a sudden influx of junk food in his pantry, toothbrush and bodywash and an extra towel always in his bathroom.
But he's so far from complaining, and just lets a smile curl across his expression as Stiles rolls over into him. The kitten barely stirs, save for sliding down the pillow she's settled herself onto, half-disappeared beneath the errant blankets everywhere. Tilting his head to nose into Stiles' unruly hair, Derek chuffs softly at the very intelligible greeting that he gets. ]
Ah, it speaks.
Mmrmrgrghh. [ Stiles does lift his head off of the pillow enough to shoot him a dry look, because come on, Derek, only freaks are morning people. Bleary eyed blinking at the expanse of chest in front of him, he tilts his head up into his chin, getting comfortable in the spot he'd pretty much carved out for himself for the past year.
No actual words come out of his mouth--it's cold and it's morning--and Stiles just makes a pathetic grabby hand under the blanket for the cup of coffee. It's freezing out there and the last thing he wants to do is remove himself from this nest of heat, so when he realizes he probably can't grab the coffee and stay warm at the same time, Stiles drops his head again, muffling his voice into Derek's chest. ] 'time ssit?
[ He's literally never leaving this bed. Ever. The cat can even share, because he's feeling generous. Pants would probably help this whole frozen solid thing, but he goes for tangling his legs with Derek's instead, more or less turning into his personal human octopus. ]
No actual words come out of his mouth--it's cold and it's morning--and Stiles just makes a pathetic grabby hand under the blanket for the cup of coffee. It's freezing out there and the last thing he wants to do is remove himself from this nest of heat, so when he realizes he probably can't grab the coffee and stay warm at the same time, Stiles drops his head again, muffling his voice into Derek's chest. ] 'time ssit?
[ He's literally never leaving this bed. Ever. The cat can even share, because he's feeling generous. Pants would probably help this whole frozen solid thing, but he goes for tangling his legs with Derek's instead, more or less turning into his personal human octopus. ]
[ Derek can't help the amusement that he gives Stiles in response to the dry look, shifting so that he can wrap his arm around his middle and set his hand against his hip, head tilted to be able to look at him easily. He doesn't bother giving him his coffee right now, considering the fact that he's laying down and he's not exactly keen on having scalding hot liquid everywhere in his bed and all over their nest. Instead, his free hand seeks out the reaching one, fingers spread so he can weave them through Stiles' comfortably. ]
Past noon, if that's any consolation. [ Normally he doesn't sleep in, but his bed is warm and the loft is cool, and Stiles is comfortable. He probably could've gotten pants for them to wear from the drawers, or the floor, but he was more interested in getting back into bed and bringing his bedmate something to wake and warm him.
A soft snort leaves him when Stiles tangles his legs with his, and he doesn't even complain. Just tips his head down, kissing the top of his head. ]
Past noon, if that's any consolation. [ Normally he doesn't sleep in, but his bed is warm and the loft is cool, and Stiles is comfortable. He probably could've gotten pants for them to wear from the drawers, or the floor, but he was more interested in getting back into bed and bringing his bedmate something to wake and warm him.
A soft snort leaves him when Stiles tangles his legs with his, and he doesn't even complain. Just tips his head down, kissing the top of his head. ]
's an awesome consolation. [ His voice comes out in the Stiles equivalent of a rumble, heavy in his chest, and he yawns, big and overexaggerated, and lets his arm flop lazily across his chest, settling with it half on his arm. Whatever position he's settled into is like a ball of warmth and perfection, with Derek practically radiating into his side and the blankets tugged all the way up to his shoulders, and he's pretty much never moving.
Derek had been acting kind of weird the past day, though. Happy, but weird. Like he had something else going on, but Stiles has been trying to keep it in the back of his head--Stiles has at least forgotten about it from last night, because all he can think about is the bliss of Derek's heartbeat under his ear, the kiss dropped on his head, and the smell of coffee drifting through the room. Stiles rubs his foot against his calf for a second in greeting, a small, sweet gesture, and buries his face in the crook of Derek's neck again, tapping his arm once, twice, in greeting. ] You brought me coffee.
[ And then, he grins, a lazy thing, and finally actually opens his eyes, fluttering open long eyelashes to get an actual look at him. ] You're the best. G'mornin.
Derek had been acting kind of weird the past day, though. Happy, but weird. Like he had something else going on, but Stiles has been trying to keep it in the back of his head--Stiles has at least forgotten about it from last night, because all he can think about is the bliss of Derek's heartbeat under his ear, the kiss dropped on his head, and the smell of coffee drifting through the room. Stiles rubs his foot against his calf for a second in greeting, a small, sweet gesture, and buries his face in the crook of Derek's neck again, tapping his arm once, twice, in greeting. ] You brought me coffee.
[ And then, he grins, a lazy thing, and finally actually opens his eyes, fluttering open long eyelashes to get an actual look at him. ] You're the best. G'mornin.
[ A faint chuckle vibrates in his chest, listening fondly to the sleep-heavy tone of Stiles' voice as he lays there. Honestly, Derek could probably nod off again if there wasn't the alluring smell of coffee on the low table next to the bed. But considering it's there, and he's not going to be able to ignore it forever, he's more than content to just lay there with his human-shaped octopus attached to him.
The chuckle turns into a rumble, something small and happy, which he still marvels at just as much as Stiles' presence in his life. He really never expected to have this at any point again, but now he does, and-- it's not perfect, they aren't, but it's his and it's all he cares about. In response to the foot against his calf-- thankfully not frigid cold because it's been under two tons of blanket all night-- he rubs his thumb in a small circle against his hip, fingers curling around the shape of it easily. ] I brought you coffee.
[ He can feel his lashes against his skin where he's settled in the crook of his neck, and instead of pulling away from it he just angles his head to let him get comfortable there. ] Mm. [ Disagreeing without disagreeing. ] Morning.
The chuckle turns into a rumble, something small and happy, which he still marvels at just as much as Stiles' presence in his life. He really never expected to have this at any point again, but now he does, and-- it's not perfect, they aren't, but it's his and it's all he cares about. In response to the foot against his calf-- thankfully not frigid cold because it's been under two tons of blanket all night-- he rubs his thumb in a small circle against his hip, fingers curling around the shape of it easily. ] I brought you coffee.
[ He can feel his lashes against his skin where he's settled in the crook of his neck, and instead of pulling away from it he just angles his head to let him get comfortable there. ] Mm. [ Disagreeing without disagreeing. ] Morning.
[ The problem is the more he thinks about it, the more it bothers him. In fact, the whole loft is full of boxes, and it has been for days. Aside from Stiles' stuff, the loft looks kind of empty, and it makes something a little concerned roll in his stomach the more and more awake he is. It's not unheard of for Derek to up and leave--hell, he's done it twice, now--and Stiles knows that he has damn good reason to hate this town, and, really, his presence here has been nice and stuff but it probably doesn't erase ten years worth of shit.
Stiles lays there for a second, feels the trace of his thumb at his hip, a familiar drag of slightly roughened skin, but even that's hard to focus on; his heart starts to thump a little as the anxiety behind it grabs onto long buried insecurities and squeezes tight. They're not perfect, they still fight and argue but Stiles really--he kind of loves Derek, like, a lot, even if neither of them have ever really said the words out loud, they didn't have to be said.
Pushing himself up a little bit on his elbows, Stiles shifts back a little and looks at him. ] ...sooo, you, uh, goin' on a trip?
Stiles lays there for a second, feels the trace of his thumb at his hip, a familiar drag of slightly roughened skin, but even that's hard to focus on; his heart starts to thump a little as the anxiety behind it grabs onto long buried insecurities and squeezes tight. They're not perfect, they still fight and argue but Stiles really--he kind of loves Derek, like, a lot, even if neither of them have ever really said the words out loud, they didn't have to be said.
Pushing himself up a little bit on his elbows, Stiles shifts back a little and looks at him. ] ...sooo, you, uh, goin' on a trip?
[ Between his heightened senses and simply knowing Stiles, Derek can pick up on the upswing of his heartbeat, the slight twist of anxiousness that clouds his scent. And it causes his brow to furrow a little, whatever drowsiness hanging on the edges of clarity being swept away as he tips his head a little more to get a look at him that isn't dark brown hair tucked close to his jaw. Stiles makes it easier for him by putting weight onto his elbows and lifting himself up, and he has to blink at the question that finally comes out of him.
He knows that Stiles has been itching to ask since he first barged in, in the middle of him packing up his things. Once, it would've been a miracle for him to be able to pack up anything at all-- everything in the loft had been secondhand, found or bought cheap. But then the entire pack started to contribute to his little hole in the wall home, with its very own actual hole in the wall. He's got books to pack up (most of which are actually for Stiles, truth be told), a good collection of Coral plates that were a gift from Melissa, decorations that everyone's put up and moved around ever since he came back the second time.
And, with his luck, he doesn't get to surprise Stiles with everything actually moved. ] No, not going on a trip.
He knows that Stiles has been itching to ask since he first barged in, in the middle of him packing up his things. Once, it would've been a miracle for him to be able to pack up anything at all-- everything in the loft had been secondhand, found or bought cheap. But then the entire pack started to contribute to his little hole in the wall home, with its very own actual hole in the wall. He's got books to pack up (most of which are actually for Stiles, truth be told), a good collection of Coral plates that were a gift from Melissa, decorations that everyone's put up and moved around ever since he came back the second time.
And, with his luck, he doesn't get to surprise Stiles with everything actually moved. ] No, not going on a trip.
Are you sure? Cause, man, if you need help loading up the cruiser or whatever, I totally got you, and my dad could hook you up with a good realtor, for good this time.
[ God, it kind of hurts to say that. He can feel his heart starting to bottom out in his toes at the thought, because the last time Derek skipped town Stiles talked to him almost every day, texted him pictures of Beacon Hills and stupid signs and the occasional selfie, and that was without being in love with him. This would suck ten times worse, but... he'd get it, he'd understand. He really would.
Stiles swallows and offers him a crooked grin, sinking off of his elbows for a second and going to lay back down. He had his own stuff to get out of here, probably pretty soon, by the looks of it, and his dad'd probably be glad that he'd be home all the time again, right? Bright side. He's going to try his damndest to be the Scott McCall in this situation--except Scott kinda blew at separation, too, so it was just Stiles left fumbling and wishing he could have helped Derek make Beacon Hills feel like home. ]
[ God, it kind of hurts to say that. He can feel his heart starting to bottom out in his toes at the thought, because the last time Derek skipped town Stiles talked to him almost every day, texted him pictures of Beacon Hills and stupid signs and the occasional selfie, and that was without being in love with him. This would suck ten times worse, but... he'd get it, he'd understand. He really would.
Stiles swallows and offers him a crooked grin, sinking off of his elbows for a second and going to lay back down. He had his own stuff to get out of here, probably pretty soon, by the looks of it, and his dad'd probably be glad that he'd be home all the time again, right? Bright side. He's going to try his damndest to be the Scott McCall in this situation--except Scott kinda blew at separation, too, so it was just Stiles left fumbling and wishing he could have helped Derek make Beacon Hills feel like home. ]
[ There's something that clenches tight around his heart as Stiles speaks, and he can just feel the way that his heart's not in the words. Derek has absolutely thought about leaving Beacon Hills for good before, though about staying away back before Scott kept messaging him for help, kept asking what he should do. Before Stiles made the place feel like home again. And that's what this is, what Stiles is. They're boyfriends, for as often as they don't say the word. They're each others' anchors, which is the one they say more often.
But to Derek, Stiles is home.
Without warning, as the teen sinks down to lay again, he tips his weight and uses his superior size to roll them over, careful not to wind up on top of the kitten but effectively pinning Stiles under him. His hands snake out, up along his hips to his sides to his arms, following them until he can get his hands around Stiles' wrists. Bringing them up, he holds them loosely against the pillows on either side of his head, green eyes scanning his face for a moment. ]
I bought a house already. [ The words tumble out of his mouth before he really thinks about it; honestly, he was going to lead with something else. But he wants to soothe whatever fear has wrapped itself around Stiles, and now. ] Here, in Beacon Hills.
But to Derek, Stiles is home.
Without warning, as the teen sinks down to lay again, he tips his weight and uses his superior size to roll them over, careful not to wind up on top of the kitten but effectively pinning Stiles under him. His hands snake out, up along his hips to his sides to his arms, following them until he can get his hands around Stiles' wrists. Bringing them up, he holds them loosely against the pillows on either side of his head, green eyes scanning his face for a moment. ]
I bought a house already. [ The words tumble out of his mouth before he really thinks about it; honestly, he was going to lead with something else. But he wants to soothe whatever fear has wrapped itself around Stiles, and now. ] Here, in Beacon Hills.
[ The last thing Stiles was expecting was to get rolled over. He blinks, a little startled and very much awake, as he's suddenly pinned down and his arms are moving and that was--really not the direction he was expecting that to go. Some moping, some brooding, some "thanks for the whole year let's keep in touch until I realize how much better I deserve than you and leave you here in this shitty town"--well, maybe not that specific, but that's what his mind helpfully fills in.
He gets a faceful of Derek's eyes and his heart lurches like it always does, the intent in his gaze like a hawk and curling up his insides like a tiny piece of prey trying to avoid the highbeams of his gaze, even without the colors that bleed in and out of them for effect and then, Derek surprises him, because he's looking at him with this face and Stiles has to sit there and blink again like an absolute idiot, completely thrown for a loop. ]
Wait--what?
He gets a faceful of Derek's eyes and his heart lurches like it always does, the intent in his gaze like a hawk and curling up his insides like a tiny piece of prey trying to avoid the highbeams of his gaze, even without the colors that bleed in and out of them for effect and then, Derek surprises him, because he's looking at him with this face and Stiles has to sit there and blink again like an absolute idiot, completely thrown for a loop. ]
Wait--what?
Edited 2014-01-08 06:50 (UTC)
I bought. A house. [ Normally when he speaks slowly, concisely like this, it's to tease Stiles after he's woken up, after he's snapped from hours of focus. But now, Derek means to be completely clear, and there's nothing teasing in his tone, even for as soft as it is. His thumbs smooth across the insides of his wrists, following his pulse in a memorized path as he watches him, takes in his reaction. If it weren't for the fact that Stiles is actually a pretty bad about hiding his emotions, he'd question if he wanted him to go.
But for all the fights they have, for all the times Stiles could just leave-- whether to leave him behind in the midst of danger or to just leave this relationship that's been built between them-- he always comes back. He always welcomes Derek back.
Head bowing forward, he makes sure to hold his gaze, expression still soft but pushing now towards gently serious. ] Here, in Beacon Hills. On the rural side of town, with a yard that leads into the woods.
But for all the fights they have, for all the times Stiles could just leave-- whether to leave him behind in the midst of danger or to just leave this relationship that's been built between them-- he always comes back. He always welcomes Derek back.
Head bowing forward, he makes sure to hold his gaze, expression still soft but pushing now towards gently serious. ] Here, in Beacon Hills. On the rural side of town, with a yard that leads into the woods.
Well, yeah, I heard that the first time-- [ Because it's Stiles and he just can't keep his mouth shut, even in the most serious of situations but come on Derek, he got that part, god. But he snaps his mouth shut the minute he leans forward a little, swallowing his anxiety, trying to force his heartbeat back to a normal level when Derek's thumbs brush against his wrists, a familiar gesture that he takes to be soothing. It's intimate and normally makes an undeniably red flush whisper over his cheeks, if only to match the butterflies that push out of his throat and steal the words from his tongue.
Stiles never looks away from him though--his quick brown eyes search his face, bright eyes romanesque nose perfect cheekbones dark stubble, something he's memorized with every part of his body and every brain cell in his head. ] You bought a house with a yard.
[ Now who's repeating. ] --You bought a house with a yard?! Dude, that's--that's awesome!
[ The ache just melts out of his chest and if you're paying attention, if you know him, you can just see the way relief melts his shoulders, brightens his eyes, and he gives a smile, a legitimate smile, because seriously, Derek deserves a house with a yard. ]
Stiles never looks away from him though--his quick brown eyes search his face, bright eyes romanesque nose perfect cheekbones dark stubble, something he's memorized with every part of his body and every brain cell in his head. ] You bought a house with a yard.
[ Now who's repeating. ] --You bought a house with a yard?! Dude, that's--that's awesome!
[ The ache just melts out of his chest and if you're paying attention, if you know him, you can just see the way relief melts his shoulders, brightens his eyes, and he gives a smile, a legitimate smile, because seriously, Derek deserves a house with a yard. ]
[ For as much as he wants to give him a flat look for being smart, Derek keeps it bitten back for the time being. He could so very easily point out that Stiles wasn't exactly specific about what apparently caught him off guard, but he doesn't, because there's more important things to focus on right now. Like how he can feel the thrum of his pulse against his fingertips, slowly starting to steady into its usual jackrabbit fast rhythm. The touch continues, slow and easy, almost subconsciously as he steadies again. He loves everything about Stiles, but the fact that he trusts him at his most vulnerable points-- his neck; his wrists; every soft, thin stretch of skin he could so easily sink his teeth into until he bled-- is something that weakens him at the knees, could fell him easier than anything.
Waiting for the words to sink in, a soft huff leaves him when it seems that Stiles' bright, amber eyes have found whatever it was that he was looking for, when whatever worries had sunken into him lose hold. Slowly, his fingers loosen around his wrists so that he can slide them up, slotting their palms together, still feeling the rush of blood beneath the skin as he keeps close contact with him. ]
It was going to be a surprise. [ Murmuring, he can't even be annoyed that Stiles ruined said surprise. Not when he looks at him like that, when he can just bow forward a little more and brush the straight line of his nose into the pixie upturn of Stiles', bridge to tip in the smallest of nuzzles. ] I was hoping I could at least finish setting up the study to show you.
Waiting for the words to sink in, a soft huff leaves him when it seems that Stiles' bright, amber eyes have found whatever it was that he was looking for, when whatever worries had sunken into him lose hold. Slowly, his fingers loosen around his wrists so that he can slide them up, slotting their palms together, still feeling the rush of blood beneath the skin as he keeps close contact with him. ]
It was going to be a surprise. [ Murmuring, he can't even be annoyed that Stiles ruined said surprise. Not when he looks at him like that, when he can just bow forward a little more and brush the straight line of his nose into the pixie upturn of Stiles', bridge to tip in the smallest of nuzzles. ] I was hoping I could at least finish setting up the study to show you.
[ The moment his hands brush over Stiles', he relaxes a little more, opens his hands fully and twines their fingers together too. It's a perfect fit, where Derek's are broad and Stiles' are long, and his fingers curl over the back of his hand like they belong there, because--if he couldn't use anchor like Derek could, he could sure as hell use home. He feels kind of damn stupid that he thought he was going to leave, actually, and the little chuckle he lets out is half self-deprecating and half actually kind of amused at Derek, who looks a little huffy at first that Stiles was a smartass.
He doesn't really think he'll ever get tired of watching Derek react to things like that--it brings him a great personal joy to rile him up, just because Derek always always does it in return.
But then-- ] Wait--
He doesn't really think he'll ever get tired of watching Derek react to things like that--it brings him a great personal joy to rile him up, just because Derek always always does it in return.
But then-- ] Wait--
[ His voice goes soft for a second as realization hits him, brown eyes going huge and wide, and he practically whispers it out. ]
Derek.
Derek.
[ --and then, in a typical Stiles reaction, he grabs square onto Derek's face and practically shakes him, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. ]
Dude--holy shit, you bought that for me?! [ Oh, wait, shit. ] I mean--for us?! Dude!
[ SHAKES HIS FACE AGAIN ]
Dude--holy shit, you bought that for me?! [ Oh, wait, shit. ] I mean--for us?! Dude!
[ SHAKES HIS FACE AGAIN ]
[ Part of him wants to chastise the self-depreciation that he can detect from a mile away, because it's so familiar to him on a personal level, but he's distracted by the feel of longer fingers slipping between his. Derek is content to weave them together, warm and soft but worn, calloused from lacrosse and books and the recent years of handling weapons, tools, digging through the earth and climbing through trees. This is not a life he would wish on anyone, but he's thankful that Stiles has it, now.
It doesn't last too long, though, because suddenly he's tearing his hands away to grab hold of his face. He's not exactly surprised, but he does let out a soft grunt as his face scrunches, dog-like in response. ]
I bought the house for the pack. [ That's definitely him grousing, but it's to try and cover up what eventually escapes him anyways. ]
It doesn't last too long, though, because suddenly he's tearing his hands away to grab hold of his face. He's not exactly surprised, but he does let out a soft grunt as his face scrunches, dog-like in response. ]
I bought the house for the pack. [ That's definitely him grousing, but it's to try and cover up what eventually escapes him anyways. ]
[ Leaning into Stiles' touch instead of pulling away, he brings his own hands up to overlap their fingers, settling on his elbows to do it without laying his full weight into him. ]
I picked it because it has the study for you. [ Maybe a little hesitance is underneath his tone, but he tries to ignore it because Stiles has practically been living with him for months now, invading his loft and making it feel like home. Moving somewhere else, somewhere bigger that's actually warmer, somewhere that can be a new start, hopefully won't carry the weight of a graveyard, isn't going to change that. ]
And is maybe a lot less drafty and more human-friendly.
I picked it because it has the study for you. [ Maybe a little hesitance is underneath his tone, but he tries to ignore it because Stiles has practically been living with him for months now, invading his loft and making it feel like home. Moving somewhere else, somewhere bigger that's actually warmer, somewhere that can be a new start, hopefully won't carry the weight of a graveyard, isn't going to change that. ]
And is maybe a lot less drafty and more human-friendly.
[ The little smile on his face explodes across his cheeks and Stiles gives his face another shake, like he can't even get the words out about it--he leans back just a little and raises his eyebrows at him, in a look that means trouble. ]
Sooo, you picked a house that's human friendly, with a big study. For the pack. The pack, which is made up of ninety percent werewolves.
[ But he's just absolutely beaming at him, and Stiles keeps his hands there for a second, thumbing at his cheeks and just shaking his head, because sometimes it blows his mind how fucking huge Derek Hale's heart is. Stiles uses that grip he has and pulls him in for a kiss, closed mouth, but long and enough to make his toes curl in the kind of unbridled joy that comes with the fact that your kinda-sorta-boyfriend-slash-the-guy-you've-been-in-love-with-since-you-were-seventeen buys the two of you a frickin' house. ]
Sooo, you picked a house that's human friendly, with a big study. For the pack. The pack, which is made up of ninety percent werewolves.
[ But he's just absolutely beaming at him, and Stiles keeps his hands there for a second, thumbing at his cheeks and just shaking his head, because sometimes it blows his mind how fucking huge Derek Hale's heart is. Stiles uses that grip he has and pulls him in for a kiss, closed mouth, but long and enough to make his toes curl in the kind of unbridled joy that comes with the fact that your kinda-sorta-boyfriend-slash-the-guy-you've-been-in-love-with-since-you-were-seventeen buys the two of you a frickin' house. ]
[ There's every attempt to look sour as Stiles pretty much calls him on it, but Derek can't manage it with the way that Stiles is outright beaming up at him. Once upon a time he could glare at Stiles even when he had the biggest grin on his face, but now it just melts his core and keeps him from getting too angry at him when there's so very little tension in the air.
Any that was there, anyways, disappears as he draws him in for a kiss. He goes easily, like it's literally the easiest thing in the world for him to do. It weaves something warm through his ribs, fills in the old spaces that had been made hollow over the years, where pack was gone and he could feel their absence some days like he would if he'd lost a limb.
His hands slide down along Stiles' arms, until he can rest his fingers against his jawline. ]
So I bought you a house. [ At least against the soft bow of Stiles' mouth he can admit it, shoulders drooping as whatever hesitance was in him fades as well. ]
Any that was there, anyways, disappears as he draws him in for a kiss. He goes easily, like it's literally the easiest thing in the world for him to do. It weaves something warm through his ribs, fills in the old spaces that had been made hollow over the years, where pack was gone and he could feel their absence some days like he would if he'd lost a limb.
His hands slide down along Stiles' arms, until he can rest his fingers against his jawline. ]
So I bought you a house. [ At least against the soft bow of Stiles' mouth he can admit it, shoulders drooping as whatever hesitance was in him fades as well. ]
[ Ugh, that just makes a surge of butterflies practically explode out of his chest and Stiles has to grin against his mouth, fingers still curled on his face, dropping the soft kiss for a second until he can bump their foreheads together, like he wants to kiss him more but is literally smiling so freakin' stupidly that he lacks the physical ability to. ]
That's a big step forward, y'know. Most people go for the apartment, first.
[ He's obviously just teasing him though, and Stiles leans in and kisses him again, making an "mmmmmmmm" noise through it until he pulls away enough to give him a look, affectionate and warm and just happy. God. Sometimes, Stiles thinks he's the only one who sees through this, but he knows from the time he's spent in Beacon Hills that that's a lie--that Derek cares for people so much it's practically blinding sometimes, and somehow, someway, he became the center focus of it. And really, Derek is his center focus too, the narrowed down point that usually takes him ages and ages to find until it just clicks and he just-- ]
I love you. [ It comes out before he even really gets to think about it, and he blinks, like he surprised himself, then grins at him again and presses it to his mouth, I love you, I do, because you do stupid things like try to pretend you bought a house for the pack because you're nervous about telling me that you bought it for us. ]
That's a big step forward, y'know. Most people go for the apartment, first.
[ He's obviously just teasing him though, and Stiles leans in and kisses him again, making an "mmmmmmmm" noise through it until he pulls away enough to give him a look, affectionate and warm and just happy. God. Sometimes, Stiles thinks he's the only one who sees through this, but he knows from the time he's spent in Beacon Hills that that's a lie--that Derek cares for people so much it's practically blinding sometimes, and somehow, someway, he became the center focus of it. And really, Derek is his center focus too, the narrowed down point that usually takes him ages and ages to find until it just clicks and he just-- ]
I love you. [ It comes out before he even really gets to think about it, and he blinks, like he surprised himself, then grins at him again and presses it to his mouth, I love you, I do, because you do stupid things like try to pretend you bought a house for the pack because you're nervous about telling me that you bought it for us. ]
[ His expression immediately begins to mirror Stiles' as the grin breaks out across his face, and Derek can feel the way that his cheeks start to ache a little as it does. While he's been smiling, laughing a lot more in the past two years, this is something else entirely. ]
You've practically lived in the loft for two years now, Stiles.
[ It was just more official in the past one, where they've slept in the same bed with actual intimacy attached. And it's interesting to reflect back on that, though he's drawn away from his thoughts as Stiles kisses him again. The prolonged noise makes his shoulders twitch in a barely restrained laugh, but he rumbles back at him instead, deep in the back of his throat and vibrating down to the pit of his chest. Every bit of it is content, and he feels happier than he has in the past decade. And it's all because of Stiles.
Who could've left him for dead on more than one occasion, who had biting words and sharp barbs when he was angry but supportive touch and soft looks to make up for them, a humor that matched his and a sharp mind that balanced out a big heart. And--
And he completely catches Derek off guard. Stiles is surprised, but Derek matches him easily, looking at him-- well, owlishly is a good way to put it. Even as he presses the words to his lips, narrows the world down even more to just the two of them. It's like his heart bottoms into his stomach before clenching in his throat, a hiccup in his pulse and then he knows he's looking at Stiles like a complete dope, framing his face in his hands and kissing him back. ]
I love you, too.
You've practically lived in the loft for two years now, Stiles.
[ It was just more official in the past one, where they've slept in the same bed with actual intimacy attached. And it's interesting to reflect back on that, though he's drawn away from his thoughts as Stiles kisses him again. The prolonged noise makes his shoulders twitch in a barely restrained laugh, but he rumbles back at him instead, deep in the back of his throat and vibrating down to the pit of his chest. Every bit of it is content, and he feels happier than he has in the past decade. And it's all because of Stiles.
Who could've left him for dead on more than one occasion, who had biting words and sharp barbs when he was angry but supportive touch and soft looks to make up for them, a humor that matched his and a sharp mind that balanced out a big heart. And--
And he completely catches Derek off guard. Stiles is surprised, but Derek matches him easily, looking at him-- well, owlishly is a good way to put it. Even as he presses the words to his lips, narrows the world down even more to just the two of them. It's like his heart bottoms into his stomach before clenching in his throat, a hiccup in his pulse and then he knows he's looking at Stiles like a complete dope, framing his face in his hands and kissing him back. ]
I love you, too.
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