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After a week in their new place, Derek seemed to stop caring what Stiles saw him in and walked out in a slightly too large red jumper. Stiles thought little of it until later. They were sat on the couch, Stiles had asked Derek about the one thing he knew he'd keep talking about: food. Stiles learnt after their first two real dates that Derek was a huge foodie, he wouldn't shut up once he got started he got all animated and rivalled even Stiles on the enthusiasm of his hand gestures. Stiles thought it was brilliant and brought it up as much as he could.
It was when Derek was motioning something about making the perfect puff pastry when he noticed it, it was pretty inconspicuous on anyone else. But on Derek Hale, previous Alpha, badass leather-jacket wearing, camaro owning, Derek Hale it was unexplainably adorable and sexy and oh god, how was stiles going to cope if something so small made him want to marry the bastard on the spot.
Derek Hale was wearing a jumper with thumb holes. Thumb holes. Kill me now, was all stiles could think before launching himself at Derek, pressing their bodies together and trying to put his feelings into kisses.
***
After a month of sharing space 24/7, Derek wondered why he had kept it up so long. He figured Stiles was used to his 'god-like physique' now and relaxed.
Stiles wasn't used to it though, it took his breath away every time he walked into the kitchen in the morning to see Derek pouring coffee without any clothes on. His heart skipped every time Derek walked out the bathroom towel drying his hair and not covering anything up.
Stiles can never stop himself staring at the flexing muscles in Dereks bum and thighs when he walks, or the stretch of his back when he reaches for things. He can never bring himself to tear his eyes away from the sight of Derek in nothing but an apron fixing them breakfast.
The best thing is that Derek doesn’t bring it up. It’s casual, as casual as if he were in clothes, or if he was just wearing glasses.
***
Two and a half months was Derek giving in to his urges. Stiles would be at work and he'd receive flowers that looked more suited to the halls of the White House or Buckingham palace. He'd come home to Derek cooking his favourite meal, they'd have breakfast for dinner, cheesey scrambled eggs and maple bacon with milk and then they'd eat the best brownies Stiles has ever tasted whilst they spoon on the couch.
***
Three months and Derek stretched his wolf out indoors. Turning with a crack of his neck during a film, letting Stiles cuddle up to him and running his sideburns over the top of his head.
***
Six months later and Derek still surprised Stiles with naked coffees and spontaneous gifts, spoiled him with food and kept wearing that infernal jumper. It's not that they don't argue, they do. But they make up and they manage to be stronger. Stiles doesn't stop thanking his lucky stars, and Derek doesn't take for granted how hard he can be to live with.
If Derek connected the dots, he would’ve seen it coming.
Derek comes home late after a long shift, he’s ready for a small snack and lots of sleep, but as he climbs out the car the smell hits him. He can’t quite place it at first, but then realises its the smell of burning sugar and Stiles’ singed flesh, without thinking he wolfs out and runs into the house, mind racing with stileshurtstilesmatehurtstilesstilesstilespleasenostilescantbe. His mind takes a second to catch up when he’s standing in the kitchen, looking around at the chaos everywhere but not seeing any danger.
He sighs, cracking his neck to reel in his wolf. “Stiles, what the fuck?”
Stiles turns so quickly Derek is surprised that he’s still standing straight, he looks behind him, as if trying to conceal something, “Honey! You’re home! Oh,” His face falls as derek quirks an eyebrow and gestures the kitchen, “yeah, just close your eyes and go sit at the table.” Stiles grins, shooing Derek away.
Derek seems exhausted as he turns and files himself away, toeing off his shoes in the doorway and shrugging his jacket off in the hall before seating himself in his usual place at the table. The table which has been set, with wine glasses and cutlery and placemats - Derek had been sure Stiles didn’t even know they owned placemats, let alone where they were kept.
Derek shook his head as he heard Stiles approaching the dining room. It sounded like he was balancing more trays than he could manage, if the stumbling and cursing were anything to go by. Derek smiled and stood to get the door.
“I told you to sit dude, but thank you. Now sit down.” he said sit down like it was all one word, Derek smiled, Stiles only smushed words when he was excited or nervous.
“Look, I cooked. Bacon, steak and mash. And I did creme brulee for afters. I know its your favourite.” That would explain the burnt sugar. Didn’t explain what was going on though.
“Stiles, this is wonderful, but I’m tired, I was going to just go to bed, sorry.” Derek did look sorry, which helped Stiles cope with the feelings that were bubbling inside.
“Derek,” Stiles started softly, pulling his regular chair a little closer and perching on the edge of it, “I’d like to start by saying that I love you,” He leaned in to press his lips to Derek’s cheek, smiling, “but I hope that’s obvious. I know I’m a pain in the ass, and that I don’t always pull my weight, but I’m trying and I want to keep trying. Forever.” Stiles eyes were glistening and trained on his hands, “I’m usually so good with words. This is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say. I feel like there aren’t enough words in any of the languages known to man, known to you. To express what I want to, but I’m going to try, because that’s all I’ve got.”
“When I saw you, in the forest exactly six years ago today, I never thought we’d ever be here. Fleetingly, I thought about you bending me over your front steps and making me scream, but I never imagined getting to live with you. Getting to know that you don’t like wearing clothes if you don’t have to, that you love it when I scratch behind your ear, or see your face peaceful with sleep. I never imagined getting to cook your favourite meal in our kitchen, on our crockery, in our home. And now I can’t imagine my life without you, without this house with your beard clogging the drain and the smell of your coffee in the morning, I can’t imagine not getting to see you in that damn hoodie with the thumb holes, I can’t imagine not seeing you stretch as you wake up, arching off the bed and making me want to spend the rest of the day making you arch like that in pleasure. I can’t imagine getting used to the wonder of having you around, of learning your mannerisms and developing new ones together. I want to know your habits and your everything the same way I know my own.”
Throughout his little speech Stiles had been looking down at his hands, twisting them and trying to work out the right way to say everything. When he paused to take a breath, Derek’s hands cupped his face, palms fitting snugly against his jawline as he pulled his face up to look at him. Derek can’t stop himself, his eyes are on the verge of tears, his heart his beating double, if not triple time, and he can’t breathe, he kisses Stiles, pulling him into his lap and wrapping his arms around his waist. He mumbles against Stiles’ mouth, “Of course, you idiot, of course I will.”
Stiles pulls back, momentarily shocked into silence, “Will what?” he stutters out.
“Marry you, dumbass” Derek laughs against Stiles’ neck.
“Oh, I was totally gonna ask if you’d wash up, but sure, marriage is good too.” Stiles grins and presses himself into Derek, his derek, his fiancee. Derek nibbles the side of Stiles neck, dinner is forgotten until after they’ve tumbled onto the floor and almost destroyed both of their clothes.
Stiles noses under Derek’s chin, feeling safe with a strong arm wrapped around him and the steady breathing of Derek beneath him, “So, um, creme brulee?”