“What happened here?”
It takes Derek a second to process the question. More than a second, actually. Because he has no fucking clue what happened here. All he knows is that he went from shouting at Stiles about his recklessness to -
Well. There was some kissing, after the shouting. And then there was the hurried, embarrassingly desperate rush to Derek’s bed. Jesus.
“I don’t know,” Derek admits, staring at the ceiling.
If he had to try to explain it, he’d probably say that it was…inevitable. Now that they’re both back in Beacon Hills, they’ve been spending a lot of time together and maybe they’ve fallen back into their old patterns. Where they bicker and snark at each other but actually rely on each other more than anyone else. And Derek hasn’t actually had a date in a while, or anything resembling one. Not to mention the almost-tangible sexual tension between the two of them over the past… Well. Forever.
He sort of wants to ask if Stiles is okay. If they’re okay, their friendship, their pack relationship. Derek’s never tried to have a platonic pack relationship with a guy who sucked his dick. But the words are caught in his chest, his throat; he can still see it, in his mind’s eye, the way Stiles had grinned when they were finally naked, the way his eyes had darkened and his tongue had slipped between his lips to make his mouth look all wet and lush. Fuck. Just thinking about it is making his skin all tight again, making blood rush south.
He should ask Stiles’ opinion. On exactly what happened. How they went from bickering to foreplay to mutual orgasms. He cares a little more about what happens next, though.
“Nobody taught you how to separate colors, huh?” Stiles asks with a laugh in his voice, and Derek frowns at the confusing shift in topic.
“What?” he asks as he shoves himself up on his elbows, finally looking up at where Stiles is standing by the foot of the bed. He’s poised against Derek’s dresser, still naked, rifling through his underwear drawer. Holding a pair of pink boxers. “Oh,” Derek exhales. “Is that - that’s what you meant.”
Stiles smirks as he waves the boxers in Derek’s direction. “Yeah. Didn’t picture you as a pink underwear kinda guy. Honestly, I’m surprised you had white underwear to turn pink.”
“It was an accident, obviously.”
“The purchasing of white underwear?”
Derek sighs as he collapses onto his back again. The ceiling fans whirls and whirls without a care, disinterested. “One of Eli’s sweaters got into the whites pile last week. Bunch of his socks are pink now too.”
“Very cute. I bet Miss Pearl loves that.”
Eli’s first-grade teacher, the heroine of their household lately. Eli worships her almost as much as he does Stiles, which is really saying something.
“I’m gonna wear these,” Stiles tells him as he steps into the pink shorts. “Since my underwear got torn by an impatient werewolf.”
Derek winces. “Shit, really?”
“It’s cool,” Stiles laughs. “Definitely worth it. Next time you wanna rip something off me, I’ll wear my cheapest rags.”
Derek’s heart beat a little faster. “Next time?”
“Well, you know.” Stiles’ smile is a little hesitant - shy, maybe - as he dresses. Jeans over pink boxers. Shirt over naked shoulders. “Now that we’ve crossed the line, seems like it might happen again. But I get it if - well. I know Eli’s your priority, so.”
Eli is his priority. But Stiles is pretty special to him too. And Derek doesn’t want to have just the one memory, the one rushed encounter. He wants…more. He wants to take his time. He wants to memorize the feeling of Stiles’ skin under his hands, the taste of him, the musical thumping of his heart. Now that he’s given into his urges, he doesn’t want to stop.
“The next time,” Derek says, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels, “can be right now, if you want.”
Stiles beams. “You just want your pink undies back.”
“They look better on you.”
“I think you’re supposed to say something about them looking better on your floor.”
“Pretend I said that, then.”
He laughs, bright and loud, and kneels on the mattress, crawling his way back up to Derek. His honey-colored eyes examine Derek’s face in fast movements, leaning in slowly enough that Derek could protest the offer of a kiss. But he doesn’t. He accepts Stiles’ mouth eagerly, in fact.
“You think Auntie Cora will wanna keep him a little longer today?” Stiles asks between kisses.
“She owes me,” Derek says.
“Sunday in bed it is, then. C’mon, Der. Rip the pink undies off. With your teeth.”
