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It’s moments like this that make him love Derek more than he thought possible. When he’s singing loudly and off-key, voice straining to reach the high notes and yes, he knows he sounds like a gerbil being stepped on, okay? But sometimes a man just needs to sing. So Stiles does. Badly. Oh, so badly. Without shame or inhibition. There’s dancing too. It’s kinda pretty much epic when he’s on a role.
It’s when he’s at his very worst, be it emotionally, physically (wasn’t the stomach flu AWESOME, especially when your boyfriend has super hearing AND smelling? Seriously, Derek was getting his sympathetic gag reflex on like a fucking champ that week), or musically, times where he knows even humans would be more than ready to walk out the door for a few hours (or days, if his ex was any kind of litmus test, the douchewaffle), these are the times Stiles can see how much Derek loves him.
See, when Stiles’ sings, he really does put everything he has into it. Justin Timberlake has nothing on Stiles. Except range, tone, the actual ability to sing...but Stiles has something better.
He has Derek.
‘Cause when Scott laughs and throws a foam football at Stiles face in an effort to shut him up, and Allison cringes but claps anyway and Isaac finds somewhere else he needs to be for the duration of Stiles impromptu concert and Lydia starts a powerpoint presentation with bulleted lists, alphabetized examples, detailed diagrams, (there was even a pie chart once, it was beautiful) on all the wrongy wrongness inherent in his singing, Stiles looks at Derek.
His Der-Bear, who is smiling and biting his bottom lip a little with those adorable as fuck bunny teeth of his, and who isn’t cringing or wincing or stuffing cotton into his ears or making pointed comments or barbed jokes or jabby remarks or other sharply illustrated insults, thank you very much CORA. No, Mr. Cuddlewolf has this quietly happy look that kind of radiates from him, and his eyes, oh my god, they pretty much just make Stiles melt okay? They have this thrilling little sparkle and they crinkle at the corners when Derek smiles (which happens so much more these days, but every fucking smile is still just as precious to Stiles as goddamn diamonds or vibranium or some shit like that, you can’t judge him for wanting his wolfman to be happy and getting smug over being the reason Derek smiles more often than not and that’s not being conceited because he tells Stiles these things). And don’t even get him started on the rest of Derek’s….Derekness because no one is going to escape the hours (days, months, years, the rest of his life) Stiles could wax bad poetic about all things Derek.
So when everyone else is finished having a laugh and faking eardrum ruptures at his expense, Stiles grabs Derek’s hand and pulls him in close, gets all up in that, and sways them around the backyard slowly. His hands squeeze Derek’s hips, and he loves the weight of Derek’s heavy arms around his shoulders, strong fingers buried in the hair on his nape. Stiles sings softly enough that even super powered were-hearing needs to focus a bit, but it’s easier to whisper this out between them and he can interrupt himself to kiss Derek as many times as he wants, even though he doesn’t want to stop the soft shuffle they have going on. He touches their foreheads together and starts humming under his breath, kissing Derek’s answering smile and sharing the breath between when they laugh as Scott yelps and rushes to save the burgers from becoming charcoal. It doesn’t matter anyway. Stiles has no problem being an epic sap and admitting that he has everything he needs right here in his arms.