It’s movie night and the pack decides to play ‘Never Have I Ever’ in order to decide who’s buying dinner.
For @maia-nebula
(You can read it on AO3 here)
Movie night was a tradition now: the pack would gather at Derek’s houses every second weekend to watch movies, binge watch TV shows, eat take out, and just talk about everything that was happening in their lives.
The group were all gathered in the large lounge room of Derek’s newly rebuilt house. Scott, Allison and Lydia had called dibs on the couch: Scott sitting up one end with Allison’s head resting in his lap. She was stretched out across the couch, her feet resting on Lydia’s legs as the two quietly talked to each other. Jackson had claimed one of the arm chairs and Isaac sat cross-legged in the other. The rest of the pack had moved the coffee table that usually sat in the middle of the room out of the way and stacked pillows, cushions and blankets on the floor, making themselves comfortable.
They were talking quietly, trying to remember whose turn it was to pick the movie.
Erica bolted upright excitedly.
“Let’s play ‘Never Have I Ever’,” she said.
“No,” Derek said softly from where he stood by the open doorway.
“What are the stakes?” Boyd asked, ignoring Derek’s protests.
“Winner picks the movie; loser buys dinner,” Erica proposed.
“Can’t we just play rock-paper-scissors and get this over with?” Jackson whined from where he was stretched across the arm chair, his legs hanging over one armrest and his head resting against the other.
“No, we’re playing ‘Never Have I Ever’ and that’s that,” Erica said with finality.
“I’m in,” Lydia said.
Allison gave a half-hearted shrug. “Why not?”
“I’m out,” Jackson replied.
A coy smile played across Erica’s lips. “You don’t have a choice.”
“I’m not playing,” Derek said.
Erica turned to the alpha. She batted her eyelashes and pouted.
Derek shook his head.
“Count down from five?” Boyd suggested.
“Yeah,” Erica agreed.
They each held up a hand.
The pack all looked at Derek with puppy eyes.
Derek rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. He - reluctantly - held up his hand.
Erica flashed a delighted smile at him, but he just sated at her with an unamused expression.
“If you’re going to be a sourwolf, we’re not going to play fair,” she warned him.
“Hey,” Stiles objected. “I’m the only one who’s allowed to call him sourwolf.”
“Can we just play already?” Jackson moaned, throwing his head back in frustration. “The sooner someone looses, the sooner we get food.”
“Fine,” Erica said. “I’ll go first. Never have I ever killed my uncle.”
Derek levelled her with a look and lowered a finger.
“Never have I ever relied on Stiles to save me,” Isaac said, a smug smile lighting up his face and a hint of pride filling his voice as he watched everyone but Stiles and himself lower a finger.
“Never have I ever run through Beacon Hills, naked, on a full moon,” Derek said, narrowing his eyes as he levelled Isaac with a piercing glare.
“That happened one time,” Isaac objected, his cheeks flushed bright red as he lowered a finger.
“Never have I ever been arrested,” Boyd said, continuing the game.
Scott, Stiles and Derek lowered their fingers.
“Never have I ever gotten a tattoo,” Allison offered.
Scott and Derek lowered their fingers.
“Never have I ever had a crush on someone in this room,” Lydia said.
There was a collective sigh as Scott, Allison, Stiles, Erica and Boyd all lowered a finger.
Derek rolled his eyes, dropping his hand and walking out of the room.
The pack exchanged looks.
Stiles stared at the doorway as the alpha left, feeling worried that the pack may have overstepped.
He lifted himself off the floor and followed Derek out of the living room. He made his way across the hallway, through the dining room, and into the kitchen where Derek stood, leaning back against the counter and looking down at his phone.
“Hey,” Stiles said softly as he stepped over to Derek’s side. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Derek replied.
Stiles stood across from him, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “They can be pretty childish sometimes.”
“I know,” Derek said, not looking up from his phone.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asked.
“Ordering dinner,” Derek answered.
“Why?”
“Because I lost,” Derek said matter-of-factly.
“But you only had four down when you left the room,” Stiles said, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“Nope, five,” Derek corrected.
“So, you had a crush on someone?” Stiles asked, his voice filled with surprise and curiosity.
“I have a crush on someone,” Derek corrected.
“Who?” Stiles asked.
“You,” Derek answered.
Stiles blinked in surprise. “What?”
Derek looked up, his pale aventurine eyes meeting Stiles’.
“You,” he repeated.
“Me?”
Derek nodded.
Stiles seemed to think it over, the dark pools of his eyes swirling with thoughts. He looked back up at Derek, confused. “Why?”
Derek let out a low chuckle.
“A lot of reasons,” he replied. “You’re incredibly smart and funny. You’re strong, selfless, and brave. You’re always there when I need you and I can trust you; I can depend on you. I can let down my defences around you because I know you’re not going to hurt me.”
Derek bowed his head.
“I love the sound of your voice; it always makes me feel calm and safe,” he continued. “Your laughter makes me smile, and whenever you smile, I get butterflies in my stomach.”
He glanced up at Stiles, watching as the kitchen light lit his eyes, turning the deep smoky quartz depths to gold.
“There’s so much I love about you,” Derek admitted. “I just… couldn’t tell you.”
“Why not?” Stiles asked, still stunned by Derek’s confession.
“Because I couldn’t,” Derek answered honestly. “There was never the right time or a right way to say it. I was scared that if I told you how I felt you’d laugh at me, or you wouldn’t feel the same and I’d end up pushing you away, or you’d cut me out of your life… I didn’t want to lose you.”
“I like your eyes,” Stiles blurted out.
Derek blinked in surprise.
“And your smile,” Stiles added. “—even though you don’t let many people see it.”
Derek bowed his head, feeling a wave of warmth flush his face and colour his cheeks a rosy pink.
“You’re so smart and kind,” Stiles continued. “You’re brave and caring. And there are sides of you that you don’t let anyone see, like when you sit with Isaac when he has a nightmare—you tell him you were already awake, but you weren’t; or how you sat beside Lydia’s hospital bed when she got hurt; when you helped Scott with his college application; or when you paid off Boyd’s mum’s mortgage. There are hundreds of little things that you do that seem to go unnoticed, but I see them. I see how much you care, how much you give selflessly.”
Stiles dropped his gaze to his feet.
“I like you too,” Stiles said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve just felt like I’ve never been enough to deserve you, that I never will be enough for you.”
Derek set his phone down on the counter, pushing himself to his feet and crossing the kitchen to stand in front of Stiles.
He reached forward, gently sliding a finger beneath Stiles’ chin and tilting the young man’s head up. He met Stiles’ gaze, looking deep into the dark brown depths.
He leant forward, closing the space between them and bringing his lips to Stiles’ in a tender, loving kiss.
Stiles’ eyes fluttered shut as he weakened in Derek’s hold.
He reached up and gently cupped Derek’s face in his hands, encouraging him.
Derek set his hand on Stiles’ hip, pinning the young man back against the counter and pressing his body against Stiles’. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss.
Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs as his shoulders dropped, feeling himself melt into Derek’s warmth.
Derek drew back slowly, resting his forehead against Stiles’.
“You are more than enough,” he whispered. “You’re more than I deserve.”
Stiles shook his head.
“You are,” Derek repeated, refusing to stand down.
“Sorry to interrupt this beautiful moment,” a familiar voice said, unapologetically.
Stiles and Derek bolted upright.
Derek took a step back, his face twisted with agitation and exasperation as he turned to look at Jackson.
“Actually, no, I’m not sorry,” Jackson backtracked. He looked at them judgingly. “Gross.”
“What do you want?” Derek growled.
“We’re starving!” Erica called out from the other room.
“Dinner’s ordered,” Derek told Jackson. “You just have to wait for it to be delivered.”
Jackson pouted.
“By the way, Isaac won,” Jackson told them as he grabbed a packet of pretzels out of the cupboard and headed back out the open doorway that led through to the dining room. “We’re watching Bambi tonight.”
Stiles isn’t the best cook, but he tries his best, hoping to win the heart of a certain alpha.
For @s-is-for-stiles
(You can read it on AO3 here)
The baking trays and metal pans were stacked in the cupboard, tentatively balanced on top of each other and seconds from falling. Stiles eyed the pile, looking for the cake tin.
He tried to pry it out from under the others, but it didn’t work. The pans and trays came crashing down with a deafening clash. A few fell out of the cupboard and bounced across the kitchen floor.
Stiles set the cake tin up on the counter and began to stack the trays and pans up in the cupboard again.
There was a rumble of footsteps as his father raced downstairs and sprinted into the kitchen.
Stiles slowly stood up, flashing a smile of feigned innocence as his dad’s panicked face appeared in the doorway.
“Are you alright?” his dad asked, looking him up and down. “What happened?”
“I’m fine. The trays fell out of the cupboard,” Stiles explained.
The Sheriff let out a sigh of relief, nodding as he slowly turned to leave. He paused, his weary, wrinkled brow furrowing for a moment as he turned back to Stiles and actually took in the sight of his son.
Stiles stood by the oven, dressed in a pale blue apron with colourful cupcakes printed over it. There were stacks of packets and ingredients scattered across the counter in front of him – flour, sugar, eggs, butter, baking powder and vanilla.
“What are you doing?” the Sheriff asked hesitantly.
“Baking a cake,” Stiles replied innocently, wincing as the baking trays slid about and crashed together with a loud bang.
“What for?”
Stiles dropped his gaze, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other.
“Ah,” the Sheriff said quietly, piecing it together. “Mating Week.”
Stiles had been dreading this week. He’d been tense, anxious – scared, even. He’d been trying to think up different ways to impress the alpha he had his heart set on. But he wasn’t strong, he wasn’t pretty, he wasn’t confident. He was quickly running out of ways to impress a mate.
“You don’t have to stress,” his dad said quietly, trying to reassure him. “It’ll work out one way or another.”
Stiles didn’t look up at his dad.
The Sheriff let out a measured sigh.
“I have to head off to work,” he said. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” Stiles replied.
“Alright. See you later, kiddo.”
“Bye, Dad,” Stiles replied.
The Sheriff turned to leave but froze. He hesitated for a second before turning back to the kitchen and walking over to one of the cupboards. He pulled out the bright red fire extinguisher and set it on the counter, leaving without another word.
“I’m not that bad,” Stiles shouted after him, offended.
The sound of his father’s laughter drifted through the house as he left, shutting the door behind himself.
...
The school was abuzz with chatter; students gathered in the halls, talking amongst themselves as some found their mates and others were rejected.
Derek looked around the halls, his eyes searching the sea of faces, looking for one.
He stepped outside, burying his hands in the pocket of his worn leather jacket as he began to walk around the school grounds.
He found Stiles sitting on a bench around the back of the school, hidden away from everyone. An old Tupperware box rested in his lap. His dark brown eyes stared into oblivion, darkened with thoughts and glistening as he blinked away the waves of tears that welled in his eyes.
“Hey,” Derek said softly, stepping over to his side.
“Hey,” Stiles replied without looking up.
“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, sitting down next to Stiles.
“Nothing,” Stiles said quietly, staring down at the battered, old container in his hands.
“Stiles,” Derek said softly, getting the teen’s attention. “I’ve known you long enough to know something’s wrong.”
Stiles bowed his head.
“Whatever it is you can tell me,” Derek encouraged.
Stiles let out a heavy sigh.
“There’s… There’s someone I’m trying to impress,” Stiles admitted.
“Oh,” Derek muttered, trying to hide the pang of pain in his chest.
“But I don’t stand a chance. There’s any way they would ever want me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m skinny, defenceless, and weak,” Stiles said quietly. “I’m anxious, sarcastic, and I can’t cook to save my life. I thought if I just tried then maybe something would work out. But I failed. No one would ever want me.”
“I don’t know about that,” Derek said softly. “Can I have a taste?”
Stiles shrugged, pulling off the old blue lid and holding out the container to Derek.
The cake inside was sunken in the middle and the edges were slightly overcooked and brown. It didn’t look appetising, but it didn’t look inedible.
Derek reached into the container, pulled off a bit of the cake and into it. He coughed slightly, pursing his lips as he tried not to spit it out. He swallowed hard.
“It’s—” His raspy voice broke off as he coughed to clear his throat.
“It’s terrible,” Stiles ventured.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Derek said. “A little dry, maybe, but not that bad.”
“You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings,” Stiles told him. He let out a heavy sigh, resting his head back against the rough brick wall and staring into oblivion. His blurred, dissolving into streaks of colour and light as he fought back tears, his voice quiet as he muttered, “How am I ever going to find a mate?”
“Maybe you need to find a mate who likes cooking,” Derek suggested.
“An alpha who likes to cook?” Stiles reiterated.
It seemed absurd; omegas were meant to be the domestic ones.
Derek shrugged slightly. “It’s feasible. I mean, I like to cook.”
Stiles blinked in surprise. He turned to look at Derek. “You do?”
“Yeah. I…” His voice trailed off as he looked away.
“You what?” Stiles asked.
“It’s stupid,” Derek said dismissively.
“Tell me anyway,” Stiles said, almost pleadingly.
“I’ve always wanted to find someone I can cook for,” Derek admitted. “I’d love nothing more than to make dinner and sit down and eat with the one I love.”
“That sounds nice,” Stiles said, his chest aching slightly as he tried to imagine what it would be like.
They settled into a moment of silence.
Stiles turned to look at Derek. “Have you asked anyone yet?”
“No,” Derek replied.
“Do you have anyone in mind?” Stiles asked.
“Yeah,” Derek admitted. “But they like someone else.”
Stiles perked up slightly, sitting upright. “Who?”
Derek turned to look at Stiles, a hint of pain in his eyes as he confessed, “You.”
Stiles’ eyes flew open wide.
“What?” he muttered, stunned.
“I’ve felt this way about you for a long time, but I was always too scared to say anything in case I scared you away or ruined our friendship,” Derek explained. He bowed his head, looking down at his hands. “You’re like a puzzle piece; without you, nothing makes sense—I feel incomplete. But when you’re with me… I can’t explain it. It just—”
“It just feels right,” Stiles finished.
Derek looked up, meeting his gaze and losing himself in the golden depths as they caught the light. The faintest hint of a smile turned up the corner of Stiles’ lips.
Derek reached out, cupping Stiles cheek as he brought their lips together in a tentative, loving kiss.
Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs as his shoulders dropped, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted into the kiss.
Stiles’ lips were so soft, so warm – so perfect – that it almost pained Derek to break away.
He drew back slowly, lingering for a moment longer before pulling away completely.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting back. He dropped his gaze. “You were hoping for someone else.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Stiles admitted, his voice soft.
Derek looked at him, his brow furrowed with confusion. “But you said you were trying to impress someone.”
“I was trying to impress you,” Stiles admitted.
“Oh,” Derek said, quietly, a puzzled look passing over his face as he thought it through. Realisation washed over him, his eyes widening as he looked up at Stiles. His face lit up with a bright smile. “Wait. Does that mean…?”
“We’re mates?” Stiles finished, a hint of uncertainty making it seem like a question.
“I mean, if you want to be,” Derek proposed hesitantly.
“I do,” Stiles said. “Do you?”
“More than anything,” Derek admitted.
Stiles smiled sweetly. He leant forward, bringing his lips to Derek’s in a sweet, tender kiss.
Stiles and Derek work for the same publishing company—Derek as an author of children’s books and Stiles a contract illustrator. They’re paired up to work on a lot of projects together but have never met. When one of their works becomes a bestseller, they finally get the chance to meet.
Commission for @loveyprophet
His desk was covered in stacks of paper and folders, drafted stories held together by the colourful paperclips his sister had bought him as a joke, various notebooks and scraps of paper with reminders or ideas written on them, published copies of his books, colourful sticky notes, his laptop, and a coffee mug that had left a ring scorched into the wooden table top over time.
Derek sorted through the files, pulling out the pale blue folder of his latest project.
It was another collaboration with Stiles Stilinski, a contact illustrator. He and Derek had worked together on several projects now and Derek loved working with him. They had never actually met in person, but they had spent months sending emails back and forth and every draft or manuscript that they passed back and forth had fun little notes written in the margins.
Derek had memorised Stiles’ handwriting at this point, and every time he saw one of his illustrations he was mesmerised. It didn’t matter what it was, he knew the art style—slightly sketchy linework and soft colouring, not bold colour and blocked out shapes.
Stiles had a way of making his art look enchanting and inviting. And every illustration made Derek’s stories come to life.
Derek’s laptop chimed, a notification lighting up the screen of his phone beside him. He picked up his phone, reading his sister’s name before setting the phone aside again and turning back to his work.
He rifled through the collected pages of the drafted story and the sketches Stiles had made up for him—character designs and quickly drawn backgrounds that he wanted Derek’s feedback on. The manuscript pages were filled with scrawls of colourful pen.
Stiles had explained it once: red was unsolved—things that needed clarity, yellow was ‘to be confirmed’—typos and corrections or suggestions, green was solved, and blue was ‘just pretty’.
Most of the pages were full of blue—messages to Derek or little doodles in the corner of the page that always made him smile.
There was a quiet knock at the door.
“Come in,” he said, glancing up from his work to see Lydia step into his office, her long strawberry-blonde hair pulled back from her face.
“Laura just called,” she told him. “She says to tell you to look at your emails.”
“I will,” Derek replied.
“Now,” Lydia said with finality.
Derek let out a measured breath and pulled his laptop forward, opening up his emails to find several unread messages. He found the email from Laura and opened it.
Congratulations—your story, ‘What’s Mine is Yours’, is on the bestsellers list for the second month running.
Because of this, the company has set up a deal with a few local bookstores and libraries for you and Stiles to do meet-and-greets, reading sessions, and book signings—this is not optional, Derek.
I’ve attached a schedule of the dates and places as well as airline tickets for the few signings that are out-of-state.
Dress code is casual and don’t scare the little kids.
Love,
Laura.
Derek typed out a quick reply to let his sister know he’d read the email and downloaded the attachments before turning back to his work.
He picked up the piece of paper and froze, a wave of realisation washing over him.
He was finally going to meet Stiles.
Stiles span around on his chair, turning from his desk to the lightbox he had set up nearby, he grabbed a pencil and began to sketch out an illustration.
His desk was a mess of paper—sketches, pieces of paper, drafted stories he had to draw illustrations for. Scattered among the mess were coloured pens, pencils and markers, and a tablet that was connected to his computer.
He had stacks of sketchbooks full of illustrations, doodles and drafts—he liked to sketch things out on paper before transferring them to digital copies and refining the illustrations before putting them into the manuscript drafts or emailing them to Derek.
The rest of his office was full of cardboard boxes—packed full of sketchbooks, reference books, and folders of old projects. Their office was being renovated, which meant they had to move all their filing cabinets and storage boxes.
Pages of drafted stories and notes lay around him or pinned up on the wall, covered in Derek’s neat cursive writing—the writing that always gave him butterflies in his stomach and made him smile whenever he saw it.
His computer screen lit up, catching his attention. An email notification showed up in the bottom corner of his screen. He clicked on it and opened the email.
Hi Stiles,
Congratulations—your story, ‘What’s Mine is Yours’, is on the bestsellers list for the second month running.
Because of this, the company has set up a deal with a few local bookstores and libraries for you and Derek to do meet-and-greets, reading sessions, and book signings.
I’ve attached a schedule of the dates and places as well as airline tickets for the few signings that are out-of-state.
Dress code is casual.
Best wishes,
Laura Hale.
Stiles smiled slightly, a feeling of triumph settling in his chest.
What’s Mine is Yours was one of the first books he worked on with Derek—the story about two dragons – Plush and Snug – and their hoards, one of pillows and the other of blankets, learning to share.
It was also one of his favourite stories.
Derek had a way with words, a way of making everything seem so magical. He could take a story—a world of magic and adventure—and refine it into a couple-hundred words for children to read.
He opened the attachments, printing them and pinning them to his wall before pulling out his planner and writing down the dates and times—flagging them with colourful tabs.
He sent back a reply and sat back in his chair.
His delight gave way to panic as reality set in and he realised he was finally going to meet Derek.
The first meet-and-greet came around faster than Derek thought.
He’d spent the morning pacing back and forth in his apartment, fussing with his clothes and changing several times. He eventually settled on a faded grey Henley and dark jeans.
The event was at a local library—not too far from his apartment—so he decided to walk there to try and calm his nerves.
When he arrived, he stepped over to the front desk. He offered the young librarian a friendly smile when she looked up at him and opened his mouth to introduce himself when a familiar voice rang out across the library.
“There you are.”
Derek looked at the librarian apologetically before turning to look at his sister. “Hi, Laura. Nice to see you too.”
“Come on, we’re setting you up in the children’s corner,” Laura said, making her way through the rows of bookshelves and over to the corner of the library where the children’s section was.
There were two rows of low shelves with children’s book lined up on them and another shelf running along the wall. The space was open—a few plush benches were pushed up against the walls for the adults or the children to sit on while they read.
The clear floorspace by the window had been filled with a bunch of blankets, pillows and cushions for the children to sit on. There were beanbags and stools for the parents and two stools in the corner for Stiles and Derek.
They’d set it up with a table for when they signed the books, copies of the book stacked up on the table with a few on display while boxes of stock were hidden beneath the table.
A young man stood by the window, dressed in a blue-and-grey hooded sweatshirt and jeans. His dark brown eye caught the golden sunlight that streamed through the wall of windows, swirling like pools of golden liquor. His chestnut-brown hair was a tousled mess and he was covered in moles that charted constellations across his skin, a sweet smile lighting up his face as he met Derek’s gaze.
Stiles.
Derek was starstruck as he stared at the young man. He was more beautiful than Derek could have ever imagined.
“Hi,” Stiles said, smiling sweetly at Derek.
“Hi,” Derek replied, breathless. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
A soft, rosy-pink blush coloured Stiles’ cheeks. “You too.”
“The reading circle starts in about half an hour,” Laura told them. “Lydia’s going to be here in a minute to help with book sales. You just have to read the story, say hi to the kids, and sign the books. I’ve got to run, but I’ll be back in an hour or two. If you’re good, I’ll even bring you coffee.”
She took a step to leave before turning back.
“And, Derek?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t scare the little kids.”
Derek screwed up his face at her.
Laura laughed before turning to walk away.
The reading went well.
Stiles sat nearby as Derek read the story, listening to his deep, soothing voice.
He watched as the crowd of children—who were sitting on the cushions or with blankets draped around the shoulders—watched on, mesmerised.
Once they were done, they made their way over to the table where Lydia was selling copies of the book.
There was two seats behind the table, but Derek took one glance at a little girl who was too small to look over the table and shook his head. He sat down on the floor in front of the table, greeting the kids, signing the books, getting hugs and taking photos.
Stiles joined him, sitting down beside him.
The kids lined up, looking shy or smiling broadly as they handed over their copies of the book to be signed.
Stiles and Derek opened each of the books to the first page and wrote messages inside for the children before signing them. Stiles left the occasional doodle at the bottom of a page, watching as the kids’ faces lit up with joy when they saw them.
After a while, things started to quiet down. A lot of the children had left, but one boy—who looked to be barely five years old—lingered in the corner of the room with his big sister, clutching a toy to his chest.
His sister talked quietly to him before taking his hand and walking him over to Stiles and Derek.
“Hi there,” Derek said softly. “What’s your name?”
“Corey,” the boy muttered quietly.
“Hi, Corey. I’m Derek.”
The boy bowed his head bashfully, tightening his hold around his toy.
“What have you got there?” Derek asked.
“Plush,” Corey answered, loosening his hold slightly to show Stiles and Derek his toy dragon—the same dragon from their book, the one who hoarded pillows.
“Wow,” Derek whispered, a bright smile lighting up his face.
Stiles watched in amazement as the quiet boy slowly opened up to the man.
“It’s my favourite book,” Corey said quietly. “My brother reads it to me before bed every night. And for my birthday, my sister made me Plush.”
Derek looked up at Corey’s sister.
“You made him?” he asked.
The girl nodded.
He watched as Derek’s pale aventurine eyes glimmered in the daylight, full of surprise and amazement.
“That’s incredible,” Derek said.
A sad look settled on Corey’s face as he bowed his head.
“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, craning his neck to look the boy in the eye.
“I left my book at home,” Corey admitted.
Derek looked around—there was no one else there, only them.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Derek whispered as he reached under the table and pulled a copy of the book out from one of the boxes.
“We don’t have any money on us,” Corey’s sister object.
“This one’s for free, but you can’t tell anyone that,” Derek said, winking at the boy. He opened the book to the first page and signed it before offering it to Stiles.
Stiles smiled as he took it from Derek, looking down at the familiar cursive of Derek’s writing as he read over the message Derek had written.
Down the bottom of the page, he wrote his own message and drew a quick sketch of Plush before offering the book to Corey.
The boy’s eye flew open wide.
“Really?” he whispered.
A soft smile turned up the corners of Derek’s lips. “Really.”
“Thank you so much,” Corey said, trying to juggle Plush and the book. He paused for a moment. “Can I… Can I have a hug?”
“Of course,” Derek said.
Corey passed the book to his sister before rushing into Derek’s arms and hugging him tight. He muttered quietly as tears welled in his eyes. He pulled back from Derek and hugged Stiles, his tears falling down his pale cheeks.
“Come on, Corey,” his sister said softly. “We’ve got to get going.”
Corey pulled back, steadying himself on his feet before taking his sister’s hand.
She began to lead him away but he stopped, turning back.
“Thank you,” he said one last time.
“You’re very welcome,” Stiles and Derek said in unison.
Stiles waited until Corey and his sister were gone before turning to Derek. “Isn’t your sister going to notice there’s a lack of profit?”
“What lack of profit?” Derek asked, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and handing the money over to Lydia.
She put the cash in the small box they were using as a till, a sweet smile turning up the corners of her lips as she looked at Stiles and Derek.
Stiles felt a rush of warmth settle in his chest, a soft smile playing across his lips. If he wasn’t in love with Derek before, he sure was now.
He’d fallen—hard—and there was no going back.
Stiles sat on the hotel bed, resting his sketchbook against his knees as he leant back against the headboard. He had a pencil in his hand, the tip scratching at the paper.
They were days into the book tour and had flown across the country to continue the readings. They had been put up in a hotel room with double beds.
It was a large room with light grey walls. A table and two chairs sat in the far corner of the room by the large glass door that led out onto a small balcony and there was a small bathroom by the door. The beds had small tables beside them and a plush grey headboard that ran the length of the wall the beds were pushed against. Behind the plush headboard was a small shelf with a strip of lighting that lit the room.
Across from the beds was a large television, the screen lit up with light and colour. The volume was turned down and neither of them were watching—it was just background noise to break the silence between them.
Derek sat on the other bed, reading over a manuscript and making small notations and edits. Usually other sounds in the room would drive him mad, but there was something about Stiles’ presence—something about the rhythmic scratching of the pencil against his sketchpad—that seemed to calm him.
Eventually his curiosity won him over.
Derek set down his pen, looking over at Stiles.
“Do you draw every night?” he asked.
Stiles looked up, slightly alarmed. “If I’m annoying you, I can stop.”
“No, you’re not annoying me,” Derek said softly. “Quite the opposite actually.”
Stiles looked down at his sketchbook. “Kind of. I try to draw every day. A lot of the time I don’t, but I figured we’ve got a lot of downtime right now so I should probably get some practice in.”
“What are you drawing?”
Stiles’ face flushed bright red.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Derek said reassuringly. “I was just curious.”
“It’s a little embarrassing,” Stiles admitted.
“I’m not one to judge.”
“It’s you,” Stiles admitted.
“Me?”
“I need more practice drawing people and you have a really nice face—and I can’t believe I just said that out loud,” Stiles rambled.
Derek let out a low chuckle.
“Can I see it?” he asked.
Stiles let out a measured breath and turned his sketchbook around to show Derek.
Derek’s face fell, his amused expression giving way to shock and awe as he looked at the sketched portrait.
It was like looking in a mirror—although slightly distorted by Stiles’ sketchy art style, the art style that Derek loved. It was a perfect likeness—thick dark hair, a soft beard that cast a shadow across his jaw, and wide-set eyes were pale—shaded a little with his green pencil and so lifelike. It was as if they caught the light, the shade of his eyes shifting from hazel to green – clear, bright and focused. The hint of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth, softening his stern featured.
“That’s amazing,” Derek muttered, shocked.
A rosy-pink blush coloured Stiles’ cheeks as he turned the sketchbook back around, looking down at the drawing.
He paused for a moment, then with one quick movement, he tore the page out of the book.
“What are you doing?” Derek asked, alarmed.
Stiles quickly signed the bottom of the page before holding it out for Derek to take. “Here.”
Derek blinked in surprise, taking the page and looking down at the sketch. He felt a strange warmth settle in his chest, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
He looked up at Stiles.
“Really?” he asked.
“Really,” Stiles said.
“Thank you.”
Derek looked down at it one more time before carefully sliding the drawing into a folder where it wouldn’t get damaged.
“You seem distracted today,” Stiles said as the two of them returned to their hotel room. “What’s on your mind?”
“It’s nothing,” Derek said quietly.
Two weeks of meet-and-greets and book signings passed faster than Derek would have liked.
Tomorrow was their last reading. After that they’d fly back home and return to their jobs, only ever talking through emails or the notes in the margins of their drafts.
The thought made Derek’s chest ache.
He’d gotten so used to being with Stiles the past two weeks that he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not see his face—he didn’t want to imagine it.
“It’s clearly something,” Stiles argued, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “You said you didn’t judge me, and I’m not going to judge you. So if you want someone to talk to, I’m all ears.”
"When you're in the room, I find it so hard to focus on anything else," Derek blurted out.
Stiles was taken aback. His lips quivered as they moved around unspoken words. After a moment, he sheepishly said. "I’m sorry. I don't mean to be a bother."
"No, I didn't mean it like that." Derek paused for a moment, letting out a measured breath before saying, "I like you."
Stiles blinked in surprise.
"I know it sounds stupid since. I mean, we never even met before this book tour, but it..." His voice faltered and his words trailed off, shaky as he lost confidence. He dropped his gaze, looking down at his feet. "Never mind. Just forget I ever said anything."
"But it feels like we've known each other forever," Stiles finished.
Derek looked up, meeting Stiles’ dark eyes.
“I feel the same way,” Stiles continued, his voice quiet, shy. He fell silent for a second, swallowing hard as he looked from Derek to his hands in his lap. “I like you too… I really like you—and I… I’d never be able to live with myself if I didn’t tell you how I feel. But if you want to just go back home tomorrow and just go back to work and pretend like this never happened, then I can do that… I can try…”
“And what if I don’t want to?” Derek asked.
Stiles looked up at him. His shock gave way to a soft smile.
Derek took a step forward, stepping over to Stiles’ side. He gently cupped Stiles’ face in one hand, his tender touch sending shivers down Stiles’ spine. He leant forward, closing the space between them and bringing their mouths together.
Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs. His eyes fluttered shut as he leant into the kiss.
Derek’s lips were soft and warm, the kiss tender, slow and sweet.
Derek drew back, licking his lips as he savoured the kiss. He grinned at Stiles’ euphoric expression.
Stiles tilted his chin upwards, chasing his Derek’s lips. He felt Derek chuckle against his mouth as he brought them back together again. He looped his arms around Derek’s neck as he brought his lips back to Derek’s.
He fell back against the mattress, pulling Derek down on top of him.
Derek smiled against his lips, his body pressed against Stiles’ as they lay on the bed. He kissed him lightly—lovingly—slowly drawing back and resting his forehead against Stiles’.
A soft smile played across his lips.
“I’ve been meaning to ask…” Stiles started slowly, slightly out of breath. “Do you want to go out for coffee sometime?”
Derek burst out in laughter, his eyes sparkling as he met Stiles’ gaze.
“I’d love to,” Derek whispered, leaning forward to kiss Stiles again.
