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Stiles was fidgeting. More than usual. Derek watched mildly amused as Stiles’ hands skittered over the table, threaded his fingers together, unthreaded them and dropped them to his lap, his leg bounced up and down restlessly. He smelled nervous, anxious, and it was getting to Derek’s subconscious.
"Stiles."
The young man jumped, his eyes wide in alarm. ”What?” he squeaked.
Derek raised a curious yet worried eyebrow. Stiles’ leg kept bouncing under the table, and Derek sighed and used his knees to clamp his lover’s thighs together. They were in a restaurant - not too fancy, but definitely an upgrade from their usual fast food joints and diners - and underneath the nervousness and anxiety, Stiles smelled clean and fresh. He was purposefully not wearing cologne or deodorant - Derek hated it when Stiles masked his scent in chemicals, and Derek had made that abundantly clear several years ago when they first started dating - and he was actually dressed in a button down. Something was up.
"What’s wrong?"
"Nothing," he said much too quickly, and Derek squeezed his knees against Stiles’, making the younger man grimace. "I just - we - uh." He started threading and unthreading his fingers again, his eyes darting across the table, to Derek, to Derek’s hand that rested innocuously on the table. It was strange to see Stiles stumble over his words and not know what to say. "How long have we been together?" he asked suddenly.
Derek blinked, surprised. ”Just over five years,” he answered, his mind racing to figure out what Stiles was on about.
"Right." Stiles licked his lips and shifted in his seat. "And, uh - " his eyes darted again to Derek’s hand - his left hand - then to his own which he had somehow managed to keep still on the tabletop.
Oh. A grin started to tug at his lips. Stiles noticed and he flushed hotly, which only made Derek’s heart flutter and his stomach swoop and the already goofy smile stretch wider.
"And?" he prodded.
"You’re actually gonna make me say it?" Stiles whined.
Derek rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh. ”Just because I know what you’re going to say, doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t still say it.”
Stiles scowled, “Don’t use my own words against me, you dick.”
He shrugged unapologetic, and reached over to grab Stiles’ hand. ”You were right, though.”
Stiles blinked, his mouth agape, and Derek wanted to lean forward and capture those lips in a kiss. But he didn’t. This was an important moment and Stiles was going to follow through no matter how long it’d take. ”Close your mouth, Stiles,” he said, nudging him under the table. ”It’s unbecoming.”
He snapped his mouth closed and glared at him. ”Remind me again why I’m with you.”
"Because you have bad taste in men," he retorted easily. It was banter they were used to, and Derek could see Stiles visibly relax.
"Then what does that make you?"
Derek lifted Stiles’ hand a placed a kiss on his knuckles and locked gazes with those whiskey-colored eyes. ”Yours.”
"Dude," he said weakly, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "I’m supposed to wooing you, not the other way around."
"Then ask me."
"You know my question."
"You know my answer."
"Then - "
“Stiles.”
He huffed and grabbed both of Derek’s hands, cradling them between his own. His thumbs stroked lightly on the back of his hand, on his knuckles, and Derek met Stiles’ eyes.
"Marry me?"
Derek smiled and leaned over the table, finally giving in to the urge to kiss Stiles. It was gentle and chaste, with the underlying hint of passion and desire. Derek pulled away and felt just a little smug when Stiles let out a shaky breath.
"Yes," he breathed against Stiles’ lips.
"Okay. Good. Cool."
Derek snorted and kissed him again.