Lil bit from a Sterek fic I'm working on.
Stiles drives Derek to his loft, humming along to the soft song on the radio. His brakes screech quietly, and he smiles at Derek; "Goodnight, baby. And it was a damn good night," his smile flips to a smirk, in reference to their earlier escapade. And then Derek surprises Stiles with a soft kiss, cradling his neck and really savoring the moment— eyes closed, foreheads touching, warmth and comfort. When their lips finally split apart, Derek doesn't open his eyes for a moment. He's smiling— soft and reverent and real. Stiles is just watching him.
"What... What was that for?" Stiles asks, shocked not at the kiss but at the tenderness of it and the peacefulness of it. Derek opens his eyes and they lock with Stiles'. "For a damn good night." And then he leaves, heading up into the loft. Stiles half-laughs-half-scoffs in disbelief as he pulls away to head home.
Meanwhile, up in the loft, Derek waltzes in and heads to the large window at the end of the room. He stands, just staring and waiting for Stiles' jeep to come around the corner on the road beneath. When it finally does, Derek feels himself sigh, shoulders relaxed and smile calm. He waits till the jeep is no longer in view before he turns towards the spiral stairs, and there's Peter— leaning smugly against the rail, smirk soaking his features in the soft night light. Derek doesn't say anything, tries to walk past Peter, hoping the prideful man won't say anything. His hopes are squashed pretty thoroughly; before he even gets to the first step—
"Did you have a fun night, nephew?" Derek rolls his eyes, but it doesn't kill the joy there as Stiles dances through his mind.
"Fun with your boyfriend?" Peter adds as Derek continues past, trying to ignore him.
"I'm going to bed, Peter. I'll see you in the morning."
Peter frowns, "You're no fun at all, you know that?"
Derek scoffs, and heads to bed. After a very quick shower and brushing his teeth, he sits on the edge of the bed in a pair of sweatpants. His hair is still damp, and it makes the cold air of the loft feel that much sharper. He runs his thumb over his knuckles quickly and intensely, thinking over everything in his mind. He runs a hand over his face and lies back on his bed with a sigh, staring at the ceiling.
Stiles.. he thinks, his boyfriend's face flashing through his mind and making his chest flutter. Hyperactive, spastic, crazy, silly, ridiculous, adorable, genius Stiles. All the memories flood his mind, like a broken damn of love. First date flowers, Stiles had been allergic. First kiss shenanigans, Stiles had made the first move— thank God, Derek would've never had the courage. Make-out sessions in the library, Erica had caught them and started laughing so loud she got them all kicked out. Stiles holding Derek's hand as they walked around aimless. Stiles kissing Derek's cheek to bring him back when he would start to zone out. Stiles during their first time, fair skin and soft smiles. Stiles and his weird-ass music taste Derek has grown to love. Stiles chewing his pens as he wrote things down or read some book Lydia had given him. Stiles sticking his tongue out childishly at Isaac when he'd called him and Derek "sappy." Stiles' laugh. Stiles' eyes. Stiles' moles. Stiles' pouty lips. Stiles' bad jokes. Stiles' soft skin. Stiles' everything. Stiles.
And yeah, it's for sure. Derek is gonna marry him. He's sure they've still got his mother's ring somewhere, but it'll be a hellish thing to have to ask Peter for it and face that interrogation. But, he'll have to. It's worth it.
The plan begins to formulate; asking Stiles' dad, setting it up, making sure Scott was there or nearby for Stiles to tell immediately (cuz of course he would). Everything will be perfect.
Back at the Stilinski house, Stiles is giddy as always. His smile is permanently etched into his face as he tosses his keys into his desk, twirling around in his room and still snapping his fingers and humming to the song that's stuck in his head from the radio. Just as he's twirling to face his doorway, his dad catches his eye and scares the shit out of him. He lets out a startled (and very weird sounding) scream noise, and Noah laughs.
"You were out late," Noah comments, his arms folded as he leans on the doorway. Stiles shrugs, not able to hide his smile so he looks away; "Yeah, I was at Scott's.." it's not a lie— not technically.
"I know," Noah answers. Stiles, intrigued, cocks an eyebrow at him.
"Melissa," he begins. Then, "She called me," he clarifies. "To let me know when you and Derek had left." Noah raises his eyebrows when he says Derek's name, in wait of a response.
Stiles goes a little red, nervous now, "Yeah, well, I just— we were– He needed—"
"Stiles," Noah interrupted, a hand open towards him as a stop gesture, "Don't bother. Don't worry. I don't mind, I know he's a good guy."
Stiles is kind of surprised; Noah has known about their relationship, sure, but Stiles didn't expect him to be so chill about— so proud-looking. He smiles at his dad, partly in gratefulness. But mostly, it's that same giddy-in-love smile he's been wearing for months returning to his face.
"But seriously, don't stay out that late anymore. Not without telling me. Capiche?" His dad raises his eyebrows, waiting for the confirmation.
"Well, I didn't mean to, we just—"
Noah raises his eyebrows even higher at Stiles, now a little concerned. Stiles doesn't finish that sentence, "Absolutely!" He gives an overly-enthusiastic thumbs up, "I will totally tell you next time." He adds hastily, yet trying to sound casual, "You know, if there's a next time.."
Noah laughs, "Yeah, right.. 'if'." He turns, bidding Stiles goodnight and walking off to bed.
"Night, dad!" Stiles calls in response. He changes into his PJ's— red flannel pants and one of Derek's old T-shirts that Stiles had managed to steal only a week ago, so it still smells like him. Stiles breathes it in— old wood and polo blue cologne. He flops down onto his bed, staring at the ceiling with a dumb grin splitting his face. He sighs again;
Hmmm.. Derek..
He thinks fondly, closing his eyes. He shifts into his side, pulling the blanket up over himself and crumpling the T-shirt up to smell it again. Sleep claimed him, images of Derek in his mind as he realized that this— this— was finally everything he ever wanted.
