For that prompt thingy, can I request Derek/Stiles with either "Are you flirting with me?" or "Stop trying to cheer me up!" (you pick whichever you like better. If you have time of course, you don't have to if you can't.)
Summary: Derek likes Stiles, and the wolf inside him can’t help but want to court.
Word Count: 1017
Warnings: A mention of sex; alcohol consumption; tickling.
A/N: Stiles is over 18 and out of high school in this. Also, I haven't watched Teen Wolf, nor have I posted a fic, since 2016. Enjoy!
[Read on AO3]
He can’t help his instincts, goddamn it.
Honestly, Derek doesn’t even know where they came from. That burn he feels whenever Stiles is in the room, the urge to shut the kid up with a pair of lips. Sprung out of nowhere, really. But when they did, the wolf in Derek perked up.
Attraction does a thing or two to werewolves. It’s like an invisible tether has been established between him and Stiles, reigning Derek in if he dared stray too far. Something inside him needs the closeness.
Beyond proximity, though, Derek has found that the wolf has the impulse to express affection in more... direct ways. To court, one can say. The feeling is foreign to him. Derek isn’t the most touchy-feely person in the first place, and the vivid imaginations of him and Stiles, chest-to-chest in an embrace and fucking as if their lives depended on it, are unfamiliar, to say the least.
Doesn’t mean he wants him any less.
So, Derek lets the smallest of gestures slip into his interactions with Stiles (he can’t help his instincts, but he can curb them). Careful not to cross any boundaries, he allows himself to fiddle with Stiles’s hair from time to time, to “accidentally” brush against him and his belongings in an attempt to leave his scent, to step in front of him as a defensive measure in dangerous situations.
Stiles doesn’t notice. As the only human in the pack, he’s used to people doting on him. What are a few more acts of care?
One night, the two find themselves on Stiles’s bed. The boy had thrown a little party for the pack because, according to him, “even you supernatural freaks need to unwind!” Scott brought the Svedka, Isaac brought the shot glasses, Lydia brought the aspirin.
People started drunkenly knocking out at around 2am, but Derek, who has never been much of a drinker, and Stiles, who has made one too many regrettable decisions under the influence, were content being tipsy. To avoid disturbing the cuddle-pile on the couch, they’d retired to Stiles’s room.
Now, sitting at either end of the bed, they talk. First about the pack, then about pack drama, then, finally, about each other.
“It’s surprising how well we work together.” Stiles muses.
A tad offended, Derek snaps, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Stiles chuckles, fidgeting with his hands. "What I mean is that there used to be so much friction between us. There still is, at times. But,” He looks up, makes eye contact. “after everything we’ve been through, we just work for each other.”
Derek’s heart swells, and he again has to confront the fact that he wants Stiles. Borderline intoxicated, he lets the wolf take control, for once.
From the foot of the bed, he leans towards Stiles for a hug. Words can’t capture his adoration. Slinking his arms around the boy’s shoulders, Derek nestles his face into the crook of his neck. Stiles accepts him wholeheartedly, returning the embrace with a smile.
For a few beats, the two stay like that, but the wolf gets antsy quickly. Not enough. Derek starts to nuzzle, brushing his lips up and down Stiles’s neck.
The action makes Stiles jump, and he lets out a choked laugh before gently pulling away. Derek, all at once embarrassed at having been caught and high on the reaction he elicited, does the same.
When Stiles looks Derek in the face, he still has a smile on his face. “You’re a lot touchier than you used to be.” He pauses, contemplative. “Sometimes, it's like you need to be around me.”
Derek huffs. “Isn’t everyone like that?”
“Yeah, but you’re not everyone.” His breathing has gotten a little unsteady. “Everyone is like that with every other person in the pack. But I’ve noticed that you’re only like that with me.”
Hm. Maybe Stiles is more perceptive than Derek had assumed.
Derek clears his throat and attempts to save face. “It’s not intentional. You mean a lot to me – you know you do – and sometimes, instincts want me to keep you around. Everything just comes off as sappy.” He crosses his arms.
"So, basically..." The corner of Stiles’s lip quirks up into a smug half-grin. “You’re flirting with me.”
“That is not the case,” Derek snarls. “Get fucked.”
But Stiles, it seems, is on a roll. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you, pretty boy?”
Properly pissed off, Derek lunges. In an instant, he pins Stiles to the bed and leans in close. “Take that back.”
“Wait, shit! Der– don’t!”
His face returns to the crook of Stiles’s neck, nuzzling with renewed energy. Stiles melts.
“Ohoho my God! Hey!” he giggles.
Derek is deliberate with his movements. As his lips mouth at Stiles’s neck, his stubble grazes his collarbone, and his nose strokes against his ear. After a while, he maneuvers himself to gives the other side the same attention, and Stiles whimpers.
“You’re so mehehean!
The wolf preens at the sound of his laughter. It wants more.
Continuing the onslaught against his neck, Derek lets his hands find their way under Stiles’s shirt, and his thumbs dig into his ribs. Stiles arches his back.
“Stop it stop it stop it!”
Derek takes his time kneading over the ridges of his torso, counting each bone he comes across. As he gets higher and higher, Stiles becomes increasingly desperate, and when he finally worms his fingers into Stiles’s armpits, his laughter goes silent – definitely a weak spot.
Stiles's struggling gradually decreases due to fatigue, but he keeps on smacking Derek’s shoulder as if he’s tapping out of a fight. Satisfied with his work, Derek retracts his hands and head. Slumping against a pillow, Stiles glares.
“You call that flirting?” he pants.
Derek smirks. “Maybe.” A pillow smacks him in the face, but he just chuckles and rests his weight beside Stiles. They lay like that for a bit, comfortable in the lull.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Stiles murmurs, “I like it when you flirt.”
Derek, red in the face from something stronger than alcohol, just leans closer.
