@cruentusreus
It’s not the heat, so much as it’s the humidity. It sits oppressively over their shoulders, sends droplets of sweat running down their spine. Derek can smell the sweat at Stiles’ temple, and where it sits against the soaked collar of his shirt.
But more importantly, he can hear Stiles’ heartbeat. Always a little too fast, always a little uneven, but not driven by fear, or stress, or anxiety.
Derek has to remind himself not to think about things being permanent. That it doesn’t matter if this is just a summer for Stiles, or if he might stay forever. (When you’ve lost as much as he had, you grip things too tightly.)
What matters is that he’s here now.
They’re both here now, and Derek finally has the chance to show Stiles why he kept circling back, why he kept running here when things got tough.
It’s the green.
Lush on all sides, serenaded by the insects and the call of other wild things just on the outskirts of Chiapas.
Their hotel room isn’t the nicest, but it’s got AC and bug nets on the windows. He doesn’t mention the chess piece sitting on the windowsill, but he’s seen Stiles’ dark eyes slide over more than once.
Derek lets himself be drawn down against the sheets, and he relearns every line of muscle, every freckle spattered against skin. There’s magic in this, magic in Stiles and it makes the hairs on Derek’s arm stand on end.
He knows he should wait, but the moon is fat and full in the sky, but it’s calling to him, the same as the siren’s call of something beneath Stiles’ skin.
They whisper-argue-banter in the quiet, but Stiles lets himself be led by the hand through the underbrush, and out into the Montes Azules reserve. When Derek undresses, there’s an eye roll, but Stiles still lets him shove his clothes into his backpack before he shifts.
The magic is easier to follow this way, to put his snout to the ground and follow the wisps of it. He stops once to howl at the moon, a big, wide open sound with no grief to it. A call to the wild.
Stiles jumps, but his laughter twines with the howl before they’re on their way again.
Derek dresses silently when they find their way to the cliffs, the sounds of rushing water all around them. He’s never been much for words, and Stiles has always had enough for the both of them, though he’s quiet now.
Stiles glows with it. With magic, and stillness, and the joy Derek has only ever been able to find out here, in the green.
So Derek does the only thing he can think of. The only thing that matters.
He kisses him.
