Derek can be old-fashioned when it comes to some things—hard copy books, written letters, tea made in a pot, and romance.
Commission for @loveyprophet.
Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy | Queen.
Derek was old-fashioned when it came to some things. He liked to read hardcopy books with leather-bound covers or worn-down and battered paperback covers, and pages that were thumbed smooth by how many times they had been read. He liked to receive letters in the mail and write down or print out the recipes that he liked. He’d make coffee on a stove-top expresso maker or make tea in a pot.
But one of the thigs he was most old-fashioned about was romance.
Derek was a kiss-on-the-third-date kind of guy.
But Stiles didn’t mind.
Stiles had always felt pressured by the fast-paced relationships of those around him. He liked this—he liked taking it slow. He liked going for walks and holding hands. He liked spending evenings curled up on a couch with Derek, talking, or dancing in the living room with the lights down low as Derek sang along to the words of the song.
The Sheriff laughed the first time Derek asked him if he could take Stiles out on a date.
“Even if I said no, there’s no way I can stop Stiles from doing what he wants to do,” he had told Derek. “So yes, you have my permission or blessing—or whatever—to take my son out on a date. As long as you respect him and don’t go causing trouble.”
Their first date had played out as cliché as anyone could imagine; Stiles and Derek had gone to the movies and then out to dinner afterwards, and when Derek walked Stiles home that night, he gave him a kiss on the cheek before leaving.
For their second date, they had gone out for a walk and ice cream in the park, holding hands. And when Derek walked him home, he gave him another kiss on the cheek.
It wasn’t until the third date that Derek actually kissed him—and when he did, they both knew there was no going back.
They had gone for a walk through the reserve and went back to Derek’s to spend time together and maybe watch a movie. Stiles sat down on the couch, turning to look at Derek as he set up the movie.
“Does this count as a date?” Stiles asked.
“I guess so,” Derek replied as he sat down on the couch beside Stiles. “Why?”
“Well, the first date is a kiss on the cheek, the second date is holding hands,” Stiles recounted. “So what’s the third date?”
Derek pretended to think about it. He turned to face Stiles, gently reaching out and cupping Stiles’ face in his hand. He leant in close, tilting his head so his lips were millimetres away from Stiles’, his warm breath rolling across Stiles’ lips.
“This,” he whispered as he closed the space between them and drew their lips together.
The kiss was tender and hesitant.
Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs, his eyes fluttering shut as he looped his arms around Derek’s neck. He balled the soft cotton of Derek’s Henley into his fist, holding on tightly as he melted into Derek’s warmth.
Derek drew back, grinning at the euphoric expression on Stiles’ face.
Stiles tilted his chin, chasing his Derek’s lips. He felt Derek chuckle against his mouth as he brought their lips back together again.
Stiles couldn’t explain it; it just felt right.
…
Stiles pulled on a light grey dress shirt, buttoning it up but leaving the top button undone.
They had a dinner reservation for seven o’clock in the city, and Stiles was beginning to panic a little.
There was a knock downstairs.
“Just a second,” Stiles shouted from his room.
He grabbed the black jacket he had laid out on the bed and pulled it on as he made his way downstairs. He opened the front door, a bright smile lighting his face when he saw Derek standing on the doorstep with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
The man was dressed in a neat suit—a blue-grey dress shirt and a tailored black jacket with a smoky-grey silk lining. His short dark hair had been pulled back from his face, somehow looking rugged but groomed at the same time.
Derek smiled back at him, his deep aventurine eyes sparkling as he looked at Stiles.
“Hey,” Stiles said softly.
“Hi,” Derek replied, looking Stiles up and down. A look of amazement settled over his face. “You look incredible.”
“So do you,” Stiles replied.
Derek let out a quiet chuckle, a soft pink blush colouring his cheeks as he hung his head bashfully. He held the flowers out. “These are for you.”
It was a stunning arrangement of pale purple roses, white prairie gentians, lilac, and sprigs of baby’s breath wrapped in silver paper and tied off with a silky white ribbon.
“They’re beautiful,” Stiles said softly. “Come on in. I’ll put these in some water.”
Derek followed Stiles into the kitchen, sitting down on one of the stools by the bench and watching as he got a vase down from the top cabinet and filled it with water, carefully unwrapping the flowers and setting them in the vase.
Stiles untied the silky ribbon from around the bouquet and tied it off around the vase before carefully carrying it over to the kitchen table where he was sure it wouldn’t be knocked over.
He turned around to face Derek, looking down at himself. “Is this alright?”
Derek reached out for Stiles’ hand, pulling the young man close and pressing a tender kiss to his lips.
“Perfect,” Derek whispered, looking at Stiles lovingly.
“I don’t nearly look as good as you,” Stiles said softly.
Derek reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair back from Stiles’ face. “You do in my eyes.”
Stiles felt the flush of heat rush to his cheeks. He bashfully bit into his lower lip as he bowed his head.
Derek slid his finger under Stiles’ chin, gently coercing him to lift his head and meet his gaze. He stared lovingly into Stiles’ eyes as he leant forward and brought their lips together.
Stiles slowly drew back. “We’d better get going if we’re going to make our reservation.”
“Alright,” Derek said softly, pushing himself off the stool and standing upright.
Stiles grabbed his keys and wallet from where he had left them on the small table in the hallway, shutting the door behind himself as he followed Derek out into the front yard.
Stiles stopped short, looking at the car that was parked out the front of his house.
“We’re taking the Camaro?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Derek said, stepping around to the passenger’s side and holding the door open for Stiles.
“I thought you put it in storage?”
“I brought it out for tonight,” Derek answered. “I wanted this to be special.”
“I didn’t forget a milestone or an anniversary, did I?” Stiles asked, panicked.
“No,” Derek reassured him, shutting Stiles’ door before stepping around the car and climbing into the driver’s seat. He leant across and pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’ cheek. “I just wanted this to be special.”
Stiles smiled sweetly, turning his head and returning the kiss.
The Camaro roared to life, the rumble of the engine rolling through Stiles as Derek drove down the street. He navigated his way through the town and onto the freeway, driving towards the city.
Stiles let his mind drift away as they drove, looking out the window at the world that flew.
The landscape was full of colour: lush evergreen trees and thick undergrowth filled with blooming wild flowers with blue, purple, white, yellow, and orange petals. The sun was just beginning to set, streaking the azure blue sky with bursts of orange and pink and lighting the world with rich colours.
The day had faded to dusk as they made it to the city. Derek pulled up before a towering building. It looked old—probably one of the first buildings built in the city—with thick columns framing the door and pale sandstone bricks scaling the building. The archways over the windows and doorways were decorated with ornate carvings of fleur de lis, flourishing leaves, and curling tendrils.
Two mahogany doors marked the entrance, the doorhandles made of gold and polished to shine.
“When you said we were going somewhere fancy you weren’t kidding,” Stiles muttered before stepping out of the car.
Derek passed his keys to the valet, waiting for Stiles to step around the car. He set his hand on the small of Stiles’ back and ushered him towards the door.
A man in a crimson-red uniform stood by the door, bowing politely before pulling open the door and inviting them inside.
Another man greeted them in the doorway, checking the reservations before ushering them through the large space and up a staircase to the second floor.
The far wall was decorated with glossy grey marble, the other walls painted white and lit by the shimmering chandeliers that hung in the centre of the room. The walls facing the street were lined with windows that reached the ceiling.
The man led them over to the table by the window, offering them their menus before returning downstairs.
“Derek,” Stiles started slowly.
“I know it’s not the Ritz,” Derek said quietly. “But there’s nowhere in Beacon Hills that you can get a view like this.”
He nodded towards the window beside them.
Stiles looked out across the window, watching as the city disappeared beneath them. The bold colours of the sunset that had lit the world with a stunning glow had disappeared, the sky dark. From where they say, they could see all the way into the distance, where the faded silhouettes of mountains bordered the horizon.
He watched as the last light of dusk disappeared. He looked up at the sky above them, a pool of onyx in which the few scattered stars that glittered in the darkness like fireflies dancing across the surface of a lake.
“Wow,” Stiles whispered, staring at the view.
When he turned to look back at Derek, the man was watching him with a dreamy gaze and a soft smile.
“What?” Stiles asked.
“Nothing,” Derek said softly.
“No, what are you smiling at?” Stiles encouraged.
“You,” Derek answered honestly. “All of this was worth it just to see that look on your face.”
Stiles chuckled breathlessly, bowing his head and hiding his blushing face behind his menu.
…
They ordered dinner and ate, their quiet conversation mingling with the hushed buzz of voices that filled the restaurant.
Stiles levelled Derek with a glare when he ordered a vintage wine with their meal.
“Stiles,” Derek said softly as he poured Stiles a glass of wine. “I have the money to cover this. Order what you want and just ignore the price.”
Stiles pouted, lifting the wine glass to his lips. He took a sip, shocked by the rich flavour of the liquor.
“Good, isn’t it?” Derek said, a hint of a smug smile lifting the corners of his lips.
Stiles reluctantly nodded as he set his glass down on the table.
They finished the meal and Derek waved over the waiter and for the bill.
Stiles reached into his jacket pocket.
“Don’t,” Derek said warningly, his voice soft and quiet but enough to halt Stiles. “I’m paying.”
“Derek,” Stiles started.
“No,” Derek replied softly.
Stiles let the argument die away, pouting at Derek.
The man gently shook his head, chuckling. He paid for their dinner and rose from his seat, holding his hand out to Stiles.
Stiles rose from his chair, taking a step towards Derek and letting the man pull him close.
They made their way back downstairs, stepping out into the cool night air as the valet brought the Camero around front.
Derek held the door open for Stiles and tipped the valet before stepping around into the driver’s seat.
“Your place or mine?” Stiles asked teasingly.
Derek let out a low chuckle. He turned the key, letting the car come alive.
Stiles let his gaze drift out the window, watching the world pass by.
The starts danced across the sky as they drove through the streets, wisps of cloud drifting across the inky-black abyss.
Finally, they pulled into the driveway of Stiles’ house.
His father had left the front light on for them, the dull glow lighting their path as Stiles and Derek climbed out of the car and made his way up to the front door.
Stiles pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, shoving it open and stepping inside. He flicked on the lights as he moved through the house, lighting up the darkness.
Derek shut the front door and followed Stiles into the living room, turning on the radio.
Stiles turned to look at him. “What are you doing?”
“Come here,” Derek said softly, reaching out to take Stiles’ hand.
Stiles stepped into his arms, letting Derek pull him close and burying his face in the curve of Derek’s neck.
Derek rested a hand on Stiles’ waist as he began to move his feet—swaying to the music. He began to sing the words, his voice quiet and tender.
“I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things
We can do the tango just for two
I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings
Be your Valentino just for you
Ooh love ooh loverboy
What're you doin' tonight, hey boy
Set my alarm, turn on my charm
That's because I'm a good old-fashioned lover boy.”
Stiles looked up, his eyes meeting Stiles'.
Derek watched as the light played across the young man's face, highlighting his cheeks and the freckles that charted constellations across his skin before settling in his eyes, making the chocolate-brown depths shimmer like pools of golden liquor.
He held Stiles’ gaze as he serenaded him,
“When I'm not with you
I think of you always
I miss you
When I'm not with you
Think of me always
Love you, love you”
Stiles bowed his head again, nuzzling his face into the curve of Derek's neck.
A soft smile played across Derek's lips. He craned his neck and pressed a tender kiss to the crown of Stiles' head before resting his cheek atop Stiles' head, letting his body move in slow circles and he and Stiles swayed back and forth-dancing across the living room.
“Ooh love, Ooh loverboy
What're you doin' tonight, hey boy.
Everything's all right
Just hold on tight
That's because I'm a good old-fashioned fashioned lover boy.”
The music drifted away as another song began to play, but Derek wasn’t paying attention anymore.
“I love you,” he whispered.
He felt Stiles smile as he bashfully lifted his face and met Derek’s gaze. “I love you too.”
For @kirjastorotta, thank you so much for your support. I hope you like it.
Stiles dragged his feet through the door, dropping his bag by the small table in the hallway and nudging the front door shut behind himself. He raked his fingers back through his hair as he stepped into the living room.
He froze, his eyes growing wide as he looked around the room, taking everything in.
“Welcome home, babe,” Derek said with a mischievous smile.
He was laying back on the couch, his feet resting on the coffee table. He was dressed in a dark green Henley—one of Stiles’ favourites—and a pair of jeans, but Stiles’ eyes were drawn to the black boots he wore; the heels covered in silver studs and spikes that seemed to change colour as they caught the light.
Erica sat beside him, her knees folded under her and a wine glass full of tea in her hand.
Stiles swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room.
“What’s wrong?” Derek asked.
“It’d be easier to list what isn’t wrong,” Stiles muttered. “You moved everything.”
“I thought a little change would be nice.”
Stiles nodded slowly. He pursed his lips, his mouth drawn into a thin line as he bit his tongue.
“I think it’s nice like this,” Erica said with a sweet smile.
“Mm-hmm,” Stiles hummed, shifting from one foot to another.
“What’s so wrong about this?” Erica asked.
Stiles knew she was baiting him for a response, and he was too tired to stop himself. “For starters, the TV is in front of the window. You won’t be able to see the screen if you’re looking at the glare—especially when the sun sets.”
“But we get to see the sunset this way,” Derek pointed out.
“You’ve put magazines and books on the mantle—the books I can understand, they can stack, but the magazines are just falling off. Meanwhile, the photos are on the coffee table where they’re bound to get knocked over or damaged,” Stiles continued, his agitation growing. “The arm chairs are facing the TV instead of the couch which means we can’t sit together if we want to watch the tv without turning our heads. The grey cushions from the couch are on the arm chairs and the blue cushions from the arm chairs are on the couch. You’re drinking tea out of a wine glass—not a mug—and my boyfriend is wearing boots that make him look like he’s going hiking with Madonna.”
A smile lifted Erica’s lips. She lifted the wine glass to her lips and downed the last of her tea before standing up.
“My work here is done,” she said triumphantly. She made her way over to Stiles’ side, kissing his cheek before taking the empty wine glass into the kitchen.
“What work?” Stiles called after her.
She didn’t answer. When she came back, she smiled at him, said a quiet goodbye, grabbed her coat, and left.
Stiles watched her leave, his lips moving around unspoken words as he tried to make sense of what happened.
He heard Derek move and turned to watch him stand up and walk over to Stiles’ side.
“Say that again,” he said softly.
“Your boots look like you’re planning to go hiking with Madonna,” Stiles said bluntly.
“No,” Derek whispered, a soft smile playing across his lips as he sauntered towards Stiles. “That’s not what you said.”
“That is what I said,” Stiles argued.
Derek shook his head, taking a step closer until he was only inches away from Stiles. “No, it’s not. That’s paraphrasing.” His voice was soft and tender, a small plea hidden behind his smile as he said, “Say it again, the way you said it the first time.”
“I said my boyfriend is wearing boots that make it look like he’s going hiking with Madonna.”
“One more time,” Derek said, taking another step closer.
Stiles finally caught on. He bowed his head, a smile lighting up his face as he chuckled. He took a step towards Derek, running his hands up the man’s chest and looping them around his neck. He brought his lips close to Derek’s as he whispered, “You are my boyfriend.”
“God, I love hearing you say that,” Derek purred as he wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist and pulled him in closer. He brought their lips together in a tender kiss.
Stiles pulled back. His hands shook as he pointed towards the living room. “That—”
“I know,” Derek said softly. He wrapped his hand around Stiles’ and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his hand. “I’ll put it all back the way it was in the morning,” he promised, gently tracing circles across his hand with the ball of his thumb. “I took photos to make sure I’d get it right.
Stiles bit into his lip as he fought his smile. He hung his head as he laughed. He looked up at Derek through his lashes, smiling sweetly as he leant forward and tenderly kissed him. “You’re the best—and the worst—boyfriend ever.”
Imagine Derek sends little reminders to Stiles when he’s out of town: gentle reminders to drink water, eat breakfast, take his anxiety medication, go to bed, and “Remember, I love you.”
They promised no presents; they knew they didn’t need cheap chocolates, cliché hearts or red roses that would die in a day to know that they loved each other. But still, Stiles tried to surprise Derek for Valentine’s Day and it worked, up until it didn’t. But none of that matters to Derek.
[AO3]
Derek pulled the Camaro into the lot, gliding into his usual space and parking the car. He shut off the engine and looked out the front window, down the hood of his car at the huddled figure shuddering in cold night air. His brow furrowed with confusion and worry as he stepped out of the car and called to the boy, “Stiles?”
His face was buried in his hands and his shoulders were trembling with quiet sobs.
Derek stepped over to his side and knelt down before him.
“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Derek asked, his voice quiet and comforting but full of fear.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles babbled, sniffing back his tears.
“Stiles, look at me,” Derek encouraged softly. He slid a finger beneath Stiles’ chin and gently tilted the boy’s face to meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”
Stiles wiped away his tears and bit his quivering lip.
“Are you hurt?” Derek asked, slightly panicked.
Stiles shook his head. He drew in a deep breath and explained, “I tried to cook dinner so we could have a romantic night once you came home from work, but I turned my back for three seconds and the dog ate it all.”
Derek sighed and whispered, “Oh, babe, it’s okay.”
“No,” Stiles objected weakly. “I really wanted to do something special for you, but I couldn’t. I can’t do anything right.”
“That’s not true,” Derek argued. He reached forward and carefully took Stiles’ hand in his hand. He ran his fingers across the ridges of the boy’s knuckles before pressing a tender kiss to Stiles’ ring finger.
There was a reason behind his specificity. Before medical science discovered how the circulatory system worked, people believed that there was a vein that ran directly from the fourth finger on the left hand to the heart known as the vena amoris, Latin for ‘the vein of love’. It was a little piece of trivia that amused Stiles and led to a tender gesture that always made Stiles smile. And when all else failed, it was a sign of dedication, the faintest trace of a kiss that lingered on his skin like a ring.
It was a sweet gesture that was uniquely theirs.
Stiles smiled weakly and muttered, “I really wanted to surprise you.”
“Well sitting on the pavement and crying is one way to surprise me,” Derek pointed out.
Stiles chuckled slightly. “I wanted today to be special.”
“It is,” Derek assured him. “Every day with you is special. Just because it’s Valentine’s Day, doesn’t mean I love you any more today or any less any other day. Chocolates, hearts and red roses don’t change how I feel about you.”
Stiles smiled, bowing his head slightly as he hid his blush.
“So, how about we go upstairs and cook dinner together?” Derek offered.
Stiles nodded.
Derek rose to his feet and offered his hand to the boy, helping Stiles to his feet before walking with him up to the loft.
He led the way into the kitchen and started to rummage through the pantry and cupboards. He tossed a few ingredients onto the benchtop and rummaged for a few trays before turning on the oven.
The rich aroma of Stiles’ meal filled the air and Derek inhaled deeply.
“Whatever it was you had in store for me it smells divine,” Derek purred as he stepped over to Stiles’ side and pulled him into his arms. “I bet it would have tasted just as good.”
He craned his neck and pressed a chaste kiss to Stiles’ lips.
“Ask Titus,” Stiles muttered with a harsh tone as he glared at the Great Dane that cowered in the doorway. “He’s the only one who got to taste it.”
Derek smirked.
They had decided to adopt a dog a few months ago. Stiles loved him because he reminded the boy of Derek: a big burly recue dog with a bad past but more than capable of love. Derek had let Stiles name him and Stiles had chosen the same name as Damian Wayne’s dog, Titus, who was named after one of Shakespeare’s characters, and so it was a name that catered to Derek too. And while Titus was still a puppy, he was mischievous and sometimes drove Stiles to breaking point, like he did tonight.
Titus whimpered quietly.
“I think he’s sorry,” Derek whispered.
“He should be,” Stiles growled.
“Stiles,” Derek said warningly. “You know he loves you. He just really wanted to be your official taste tester, and obviously it was a delicious meal.”
They heard Titus’s nails tap at the polished concrete as the puppy trotted away. He quickly returned with his favourite toy in his mouth, a floppy rabbit-shaped teddy with really long ears and legs that made it look more like a rag doll than an actual rabbit.
He carefully placed it at Stiles’ feet before hurrying back to the door and peeking into the kitchen.
Derek couldn’t help but smile. He looked at Stiles with puppy eyes that made his aventurine irises glitter in a way that Stiles couldn’t resist.
“Okay,” Stiles said quietly. “I forgive him. But he’s not getting any of our dinner this time.”
Derek leant forward and kissed Stiles.
“I’m thinking pizza,” Derek announced.
“I’m thinking you’re either a genius, a mind reader, or trying to get in my pants,” Stiles replied.
Derek met Stiles’ gaze, lifting his brow suggestively.
Stiles smirked.
“Dinner first,” Derek said firmly.
Derek often made meals from scratch – it was a lot healthier and sometimes tastier that way – but he was so hungry that he was willing to cut a few corners.
He burrowed through the pantry until he found the pre-made, store-bought pizza bases. He tore open the packet and set them on trays. He brought over the pizza sauce and toppings.
Stiles and Derek made a pizza each, making masterpieces of flavour and colour.
Derek put them in the oven and turned the timer on.
“Do you want to eat al fresco tonight?” Derek asked as he made his way out of the kitchen and into the closed off alcove that was their bedroom.
Titus followed him, tilting his head with curiosity as he trotted in his master’s footsteps.
“That sounds nice,” Stiles called after him, making a start on cleaning the dishes.
Derek stripped off his dress shirt and pants, tossing them in the hamper before changing into a loose V-neck shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He quickly returned to the kitchen to help Stiles clean up and put away the dishes.
“You know, only you can make that look sexy,” Stiles muttered as he looked Derek up and down.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Derek said, slightly confused. He glanced over his shoulder at Stiles, smirking when he noticed the boy’s eyes were fixed on his ass.
Stiles gently gnawed the corner of his mouth, licking his lips ravenously.
Derek turned and looked at him, his brow raised and an unimpressed expression on his face.
Stiles smiled innocently.
Derek rolled his eyes and smirked as he stepped forward, silently edging his way across the room and sauntering up to Stiles’ side. He slid in between the boy and the bench, reaching back to turn off the stove before running his fingers across Stiles’ pale skin. He ran his fingertips over Stiles’ surprisingly-firm shoulders before trailing down his chest, following the ridges and seams of his muscles that were hidden beneath his shirt. He leant in close, his breath rolling across Stiles’ lips as he edged the boy backwards, pushing him back against the table. He was pleased by the surprised gasp which escaped Stiles’ lips as his hips met the wood and Derek pinned him in place.
Derek’s hands instinctively fell to Stiles’ hips. He tilted his chin, bringing their lips together and relieving the space that divided them.
Stiles laid back on the table, pulling Derek down with him. The boy moaned in ecstasy, deepening the kiss.
Derek struggled to catch his breath as they broke apart.
He clambered up onto the table, straddling Stiles’ slender waist.
Derek could taste the boy’s lips, the lingering sweetness of his saliva and the heat of his tongue which seemed to submit before his own. His breathing was broken and ragged as they parted for mere seconds.
He trailed his lips across Stiles’ jaw and up to Stiles’ ear, gently gnawing at the boy’s earlobe and eliciting a quiet whimper from him.
The timer on the oven finished, interrupting them.
Derek let out a sigh as he pulled back.
“I’ll dish if you take some cushions and a blanket out to the balcony,” Derek bargained.
“Deal,” Stiles whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Derek’s lips before leaving.
Derek made quick work of slicing the pizzas and setting them on a wooden board. He carried them out onto the balcony, shutting the door behind him so that Titus was left inside.
The puppy whimpered quietly before prancing away to play with his toys.
Derek smiled as he noticed the nest Stiles had made out of cushions and blankets.
The boy held up one edge of the blanket and welcomed Derek into the pile.
Derek smiled and sat down next to Stiles, setting the wooden board down before them and leaning back against the concrete wall to look up at the stars that filled the sky. The sky was a gorgeous pool of onyx, dusted with stars that reflected the lights of Beacon Hills like the scintillating surface of a lake.
Stiles laid back against the wall and curled up against Derek’s side as he whispered, “This is perfect.”
“Almost,” Derek muttered. “There is still one thing.”
“You promised no presents,” Stiles reminded him, because – as Derek had said a million times - their love wasn’t defined by cheesy gifts like chocolates, roses and hearts and they had everything they needed so practical presents would be redundant.
“Says he who tried to make dinner to surprise me,” Derek pointed out.
“That wasn’t a present,” Stiles argued. “That was a gesture of love.”
“Then I am also making a gesture of love,” Derek whispered. He reached forward and picked up Stiles’ hand, gently running his fingers across Stiles’ knuckles. “We’ve been together for five years now and I just want you to know how much you mean to me. I’m not very good at using words to describe my feelings but I just want you to know that the past five of years that we’ve been together have been the best in my life. For the first time, I’m happy and I feel safe. For the first time, I have found someone that I love with all my heart and who I know loves me back. You’re more than I could have ever hoped for and better than anything I deserve. But you deserve the very best, Stiles, and I hope that I can be that for you.”
He lifted Stiles’ hand and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ ring finger.
“I’m not saying this because it’s Valentine’s Day; I think about saying this to you every day and I guess that today’s the day.” He looked up and met Stiles’ gaze as he whispered, “Stiles Stilinski, will you marry me?”
Stiles looked as if he were about to cry. He cupped Derek’s cheeks and leant forward, bringing his lips to Derek’s.
The kiss was tender and loving.
They drew it out as long as they could before very slowly pulling back.
Stiles rested his forehead against Derek’s and whispered, “Yes.”
Derek sighed with relief, cupping Stiles’ cheek and bringing their lips together again.
“I love you,” Derek whispered, tears threatening to fall past his eyelashes.
Stiles smiled, pressing another tender kiss to Derek’s lips as he replied, “I love you too, Sourwolf.”
Stiles stumbled out of his Jeep and shoved he door shut, his grip fumbling with the straps of his backpack as he shrugged it up onto his shoulders and shuffled over to the path. He kept his eyes on his feet, trying not to trip as his shoes scuffed against the concrete. He made his way out of the carpark and along the side of the school where large blue double doors led into the hallways full of lockers. He turned down the path that led up to the blue doors and froze, his eyes falling upon the figure who slouched back against the brick wall beside the stairs.
The older boy’s leather jacket hung heavy on his broad shoulders, the worn black leather melting into the shadows. His stern features and cold composure made him look a good few years older than he was; the sleepless shadows under his eyes didn’t help either. His raven-black hair was short and tousled, and the soft whiskers of an unshaved pubescent stubble cast a shadow across his jaw, highlighting and framing his sharp cheekbones.
Derek Hale.
Stiles felt his heart skip a beat, swallowing hard against the growing lump in his throat.
Unsure of what to do, he leapt into the nearby bush, hiding in the shadows behind the leafy foliage. He stayed there for a moment, trying to steady his breathing and calm his racing heart.
He dared to look, peering over the top of the hedge.
Derek still stood by the stairs like he did every morning; his head bowed and his glimmering aventurine irises focused on the book in his hand, his eyes rolling across the pages of printed text. He held a glossy red apple in the other hand, absentmindedly rolling it about in his hand as his arm hung by his side.
Stiles felt his chest ache as his heart fluttered against his ribs, his lungs burning for the relief of the wisps of air that played across his lips.
He ducked behind the bush again and let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He shrugged off his bag and made his way over to a nearby tree, trying to remain inconspicuous while he got a better angle.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he scolded himself for being a creeper, but he couldn’t help himself; Derek was just too damn gorgeous. He had fallen head over heels for pretty girls like Lydia Martin, but then Derek had walked into his life and he had started to question everything.
He climbed up into the low branches, the bark scratching at his hands as he hoisted himself higher and higher.
He looked down across the common area, watching as Derek pushed himself upright and began to make his way around the far hedges and towards the path. He watched how Derek’s lean fingers toyed with the apple and how he gently gnawed at the rosy pink flesh of his lower lip, his mouth quivering slightly as he read the words on the page.
Stiles hoisted himself higher, trying to get a better view. His head thumped the branch that hung over his head and he hissed in pain.
Derek heard him. He lowered his book and turned around, his pale eyes searching the nearby space for the source of the strange sound.
Stiles dropped out of the tree, stifling a grunt of pain as he hit the ground. He hunched over himself and hid behind the thick trunk of the tree, his hand clamped over his mouth as he held his breath and cowered like prey avoiding the gaze of a predator.
He felt tears well in his eyes as everything crashed over him at once: anxiety, shame, and fear.
Thoughts and fears swarmed his mind as his heart began to beat faster and faster, slamming against his ribs so painfully that it felt as if it were about to burst through his chest. He clutched his chest, wincing in pain.
The shrill ring of the school bell made him jolt, the painful sound filling his ears as streams of teenagers began to filter into the large building.
Stiles peered through a gap in the leafy edge, watching as Derek glanced over his shoulder at the large doors behind him, burning slightly before he hesitated. He turned back and looked in Stiles’ direction, his shimmering eyes glimmering with curiosity and concern.
Stiles stood still and held his breath.
Eventually, Derek let out a weak sigh and turned his eyes to the bright blue doors, stepping around the small bush that bordered the path and making his way towards the small flight of stairs.
Everyone else was already inside, rummaging through their lockers and collecting their books for first period. Every time the doors swung open, the sound filtered out into the open air: voices; endless chatter and gossip; phones ringing as texts flew back and forth; lock dials clicking as they span; the thin plated metal of locker doors rattling and booming as they slammed shut; books sliding from the fumbling hands of students and crashing against the linoleum; papers flittering and crackling in lockers as the children sorted through their notebooks, worksheets and homework; the hinges on the heavy blue doors whined. It was a crescendo of chaotic noise that filled Stiles’ head, amplifying every negative though.
Stiles held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He let the breath out and drew in another, inhaling deeply as he opened his eyes and slowly counting to ten. He felt his body relax slightly, his shoulders dropping despite the tension in his muscles.
He reached for his bag when he realised there was a strange weight in his hand.
He looked down at the pulsating bulb that was nestled into the palm of his hand. It was pale, rose-pink, and slightly animated. It fluttered like a resting butterfly before unfolding and morphing into shape.
He pressed his free hand to his chest, feeling for something that wasn’t there.
“Oh my god,” he rasped as he realised what he was looking at: his own beating heart.
The heart in his hands looked up at him with wide eyes, tilting lightly with curiosity and a child-like innocence.
“What the hell?” Stiles whispered. “Look, I know this is Beacon Hills and strange shit happens every day, but this is beyond strange.”
The heart ignored him, leaping out of his hands and gliding through the air.
“No, no, no,” Stiles called after it, panicked and reaching for it. But it eluded his grasp.
He braced his hands against the ground and scrambled to his feet, scurrying out of the bushes and following the heart that flew across the empty space. He looked ahead at where his heart was going; straight for Derek.
Derek’s attention was focused on his book again, his agile fingers absentmindedly rolling the glossy red apple about in his other hand.
“No,” Stiles gasped, but it was too late; with perfect timing, Stiles’ heart knocked the apple out of Derek’s fingers and nestled itself, happily, into the palm of Derek’s hand.
Derek didn’t seem to notice.
“No,” Stiles whispered, scurrying up behind Derek. He looked down at his heart in Derek’s hand and then back up to Derek, who seemed oblivious. Frantic thoughts filled his head; he had to think of something, he had to somehow get his heart back without Derek noticing.
He carefully reached forward, his fingers trembling as they edged closer to Derek’s hand.
The toe of his shoe struck a crack in the pavement and he stumbled forward, grasping for whatever he could reach.
He felt his hand touch something soft and warm. He froze. His dark chocolate eyes looked up to where his hand laid… in Derek’s.
“Sorry,” he said as he quickly snatched his hand back, a warm blush colouring his cheeks as he struggled to keep a hold of his heart.
His heart broke free of his hold, bursting into the open and skirting around Derek.
Stiles lunged forward and grabbed at the heart, cupping it between his hands. He let out a small sigh of relief but it was short-lived as he realised where he was, standing with his body pressed up against Derek’s, his arms looped around the older boy’s neck while Derek’s hands rested on his waist to steady him; their faces inches apart.
Stiles froze, his gaze transfixed on the swirling depths of Derek’s aventurine eyes.
His lips quivered breathlessly as he pulled away slightly.
“Are you okay?” Derek asked, his eyes full of worry as he looked at Stiles.
Stiles didn’t reply. He scurried back over to where he had dropped his bag and swung it onto his shoulder, hurrying up the stairs towards the large blue doors.
He felt his heart fight against his grip.
“Stop it,” he hissed under his breath. He felt a whimper in his throat as he said, “You don’t understand. I can’t. I can’t be… that. Everyone will shun me… I just… I can’t.”
The heart paused for a moment, looking up at Stiles with wide eyes. It broke free of his grasp and flew through the air, hurrying ahead of Stiles and into the hallway; chasing after Derek.
“No,” he called after it, kicking up his heels and running towards the doors. He burst through them and froze, his eyes falling upon Derek.
The older boy laid on the ground, his book cast aside and his bag laying by his feet as Stiles’ heart nuzzled itself against Derek’s chest. Derek stared down at it, his eyes wide with shock and curiosity, but not terror.
Stiles lunged forward and grabbed the heart, pulling it back, but it seemed reluctant to go; it grabbed Derek’s hand and pulled the other way.
Everything was silent; a screaming silence that rang in his ears as all eyes fell on him. He glanced up and saw that he was surrounded by a gathering crowd, their glares fixed on Stiles as they watched on in horror and disgust. The silence was broken by the buzz of soft whispers, building on top of each other until it was a deafening, raging mess of sound.
Stiles pulled harder.
A small fissure tore down the centre of the heart but Stiles ignored it and pulled harder, trying to get away.
Gleaming tears trailed down his cheeks as a wave of dread and shame washed over him.
He pulled harder.
The tear grew, his heart aching.
It tried to cry out but it was too late: the heart broke in two.
Stiles wheeled backwards, his back striking the blue doors. He shoved back at them, clutching his fragment of a broken heart to his chest as he kicked up his heels and ran.
Derek fumbled and caught the falling half of the heart, his glittering eyes wide with shock as he looked down at it. His lips trembled around unspoken words. He lifted his gaze and tried to call after Stiles but it was too late: the doors swung shut.
Derek leapt to his feet, ignoring the worried onlookers as he ran out the doors.
His wide eyes searched the area, but there was no sign of Stiles.
A strange ache settled in his chest as he looked down at the broken half of the heart in his hands. He felt his heart sink into his churning gut as he looked up again. He heard a loud rumble as the rolling grey clouds overhead broke and heavy drops of water hit the ground.
Somewhere behind him, he could hear people asking if he was okay, but he ignored them, gently coiling his lean fingers over the broken fragment in his hand and setting off into the pouring rain.
Stiles ran.
He ran until the pavement became a worn-down dirt track and the houses became trees.
He didn’t dare look back.
His limbs flailed about as he ran, stumbling over rocks and twigs as his legs wheeled beneath him. He bounced off of nearby tree trunks, pushing himself forward. He used a hand to steady himself, leaping to his feet and tearing into the darkness beyond the trees.
The falling rain lashed at his skin, washing away the tears of shame and humiliation as he ran, his broken gasps mixing with his strangled sobs as his feet hit the ground with a thundering beat and he drove himself forward.
He sprinted through the dense forest, weaving his way through the labyrinth of thick tree trunks. He sprung over the fallen trees, broken branches and thick shrubs, his nimble legs and spring-locked ankles projecting him over the large logs. The thick undergrowth and claw-like twigs dragged at his feet. He tried to keep himself upright, struggling not to stumble or trip as he sprinted away from the trailing sounds of ghostly whispers that followed him.
He heaved in deep breaths, his chest aching as he collapsed onto the cushion of damp autumn leaves, piles of rotting flesh which littered the forest floor.
He balled his fists, the wet, slimy leaves sticking to his pale skin as he hunched over himself, heaving in deep breaths. His frail arms trembled under the strain of his weight.
He braced his hands against the ground, sharp sticks prodding his palms. Twigs and leaves rustled and broke beneath him as he lifted his weight to his wobbling legs. He slowly turned in circles, surveying his surroundings. Fallen branches snagged at his calves, scratching at the pale skin beneath his pants and leaving angry red marks across his legs.
He dragged himself over to the nearby stump of a large tree, curling up among the twisting roots. The world spun around him, voices screaming in his ears as he slumped back against a tree. He nestled himself into the shadows and pulled his knees up to his chest, cradling the broken fragment of his heart to his chest. He held his breath, waiting until the pain was too much before finally letting it out, steadying his breathing.
He looked up and looked around the dark shadows of the forest. The usual autumn tones of brown, gold and red were darkened by the night, now a dreary mix of greys and heavy black shadows. Dense foliage hung overhead, enclosing the space, shutting out the sky and filtering the dull light.
Among the darkness, he could make out the fluorescent bleached skeletons of the birch trees, their slender trunks lining the shadows with eye-like rings that watched him, mockingly, from all angles.
A shape broke the static silhouettes, slowly making their way towards Stiles.
He gasped and rubbed at his tear-stained face with the sleeve of his face. He sniffed back his tears and straightened his back, keeping his head bowed as the figure stepped over to him. His eyes fell upon a pair of slightly scuffed boots as the person stopped and knelt before him.
They reached out for his hands but Stiles pulled them back.
They paused for a moment then gently reaching forward again, their lean fingers tenderly brushing the backs of his hands and encouraging Stiles to relax and let the warm hands guide him.
His fingers unfurled, revealing the fragment of his broken heart.
The other half slid into his hand, the jagged edges matching as the fragments began to melt together.
The heart pulsed gently then burst to life, leaping into the air before him
Stiles let out a sigh of relief, a soft sob falling past his lips as he gently cradled his heart against his chest.
He looked up and met the gaze of the boy who stood before him, his eyes were darkened by the shadows and shifted between emerald green and jade.
Stiles knew those eyes; they were unmistakable.
Derek.
Stiles bowed his head, gently gnawing at his lip as a soft blush coloured his cheeks.
Derek shuffled across the leaf-littered forest floor and sat down among the tangled roots of the large tree stump, next to Stiles.
They sat in peaceful quiet for a moment.
Stiles clutched his heart tighter against his chest where he felt it sink back into place. After a moment, his chest felt heavy and his heart throbbed against his ribs. He drew in a deep breath and looked up at Derek.
Derek was looking back at him, a soft smile playing across his lips while his wavering eyes looked at Stiles lovingly.
Stiles was unable to fight the smile that lifted the corners of his lips, gently gnawing at his lower lip and blushing shyly.
Derek’s smile grew wider as he reached out across the twisted roots of the tree, taking Stiles’ hand in his own and lacing their fingers together. He gave Stiles’ hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze and Stiles smiled more.
Stiles’ heart fluttered as he chuckled breathlessly. Then it settled into a calm beat and Stiles lost himself in the swirling depths of Derek’s shimmering eyes.
[AO3]
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Whatever you do, don't imagine Derek singing 'Can't Help Falling In Love' to Stiles, nice and slow with nothing but love in his eyes. Just, don't imagine it... You just imagined it, didn't you?
