Work Text:
Stiles sat on the couch pushed against the far wall of the workshop. Pulling his legs up, he reached for the blanket on the back and settled it around his shoulders. He’d brought a book to read, but he preferred to watch Derek as he moved about the space. When he’d first met Derek in the Preserve, and even as he’d gotten to know him through life-threatening situation after life-threatening situation, he’d never imagined seeing him like this.
His shoulders held none of the tension he carried during his everyday life, and his muscles rippled beneath a light coating of sweat. His graceful movements had Stiles wishing he could paint to create a likeness of the beauty he was so fortunate to witness. Only one other person in the Pack knew of the workshop, and what Derek got up to within its walls.
Stiles hadn’t even known about the place until about two years after he and Derek had gotten their shit together and started dating. One night after dinner at their favorite diner, Derek had turned left instead of right when they’d entered the Preserve. As they drove, he explained to Stiles that what he was about to show him was a secret. He’d only frowned and started to turn the car around when Stiles had jokingly asked if he was going to his murder shack to meet his untimely end.
Entering the small cabin, Stiles grinned at the simple setup. Derek could live in the space for a while, with the perfunctory kitchen setup and the couch that pulls out into a bed. The living area only took up a small portion of the square footage. Large tarps covered the remaining floor space, the canvas paint-splattered and smelling strongly of paint.
The center of the room held an easel and a large canvas covered in varying shades of brown paint. The impression was strange, and Stiles stepped forward for a closer look, freezing when Derek let out a slight growl. Holding his hands up, he backed up and settled onto the couch, smiling when Derek wrapped a blanket around his shoulders.
“I keep it cold in here because I get hot while I work,” he explained. He started to strip out of the jeans and button-up he’d worn for their date before grabbing a pair of paint-spattered jeans from a hook on the wall and sliding them over his legs. He left them undone and crossed to the canvas.
“You’re killing me here,” Stiles called, whistling when Derek bent over to pick up a small container of paint.
“I could take you back to your house,” Derek said, glancing over his shoulder. “I really wanted to spend the whole night with you but I have a deadline.”
“A deadline? You do this for work?” Stiles asked as Derek poured some green paint into a small basin. Using his hands, he scooped up some of the paint and studied the canvas for a moment before moving to add green to the browns.
Derek didn’t answer, just continued working while Stiles tracked his movements. As Derek continued to work, the canvas became a forest with jeweled greens and the impression of sunbeams shining through the leaves. By the time Derek moved to clean the paint off his skin, the image was alive in front of Stiles and his finger twitched with the desire to touch.
“Yes, I do this for work,” Derek said, as he crossed back to Stiles, wiping his hands off on a rag before moving it to drape over his shoulder. “My mom used to say, ‘If you feel like there's something out there that you're supposed to be doing, if you have a passion for it, then stop wishing and just do it.’ When I was a kid, I would paint and draw all the time. As I got older, I got busy doing other things and after my family died, I stopped altogether.”
Stiles held up a hand, waiting for Derek to take it and then tugging him to sit next to him on the couch. Once Derek settled, Stiles moved to straddle his lap, cupping his cheeks and looking him in the eye. “What made you start again?”
“You,” Derek replied. “I watched you work so hard to achieve your dream of becoming a deputy. I saw the passion you had for helping others, for throwing yourself into every case with every ounce of your being to make everything better.” Stiles ducked his head, his cheeks heating up. Derek leaned in to nuzzle against them, his breath warming them even more. “One night, I thought, ‘I wish I had something like that,’ and I realized I did.”
“So, you started painting again?”
Derek shook his head. “I fixed up the cabin first. Turns out, I have a bit of a passion for building and remodeling as well.” He grinned. “Then, I got some paint and canvases. My first few paintings were awful but soon the cabin was full of them.”
“How did you go from that to selling them?”
“Jackson,” Derek responded, a wry twist to his lips. “He followed me one night. I’m still not sure how he managed without me knowing, but since it wasn’t long after we’d started dating, I’m sure I’d been thinking about you.” Stiles laughed and shoved him in the shoulder. “He snapped some pictures and sent them off somewhere and the next thing I knew, I had an agent and my paintings were selling.”
“That’s amazing. I can’t believe I never knew this about you,” Stiles told him.
“Only you and Jackson and you’re the only one that I want to know,” Derek told him. “I want to share everything with you. All of my dreams and all of my passions. All of my life.”
“I think I’d be okay with that,” Stiles responded. “As long as you let me keep coming back to watch you paint.”
It had been five years since that night and at least once a month, Stiles found himself on this sofa watching Derek. He loved to see the passion in his boyfriend’s eyes as he move about the space. Every painting was different and beautiful but they were always sold almost as soon as the paint dried. Stiles grew sad whenever it happened because he desired having one to hang in the bedroom they now shared at the Pack house, but he never said anything to Derek.
Stiles didn’t know what Derek was working on that night, but the colors were even more vibrant than normal and the strokes of his hands wilder. Derek’s movements were a dance that Stiles wished he could learn. He made a small sound and Derek glanced over his shoulder at him.
“Come here,” he said and Stiles rose to his feet, crossing the space. He slipped off his shoes and stepped onto the canvas for the first time. Derek held out a bowl of sea green paint. “Take some.”
Frowning in confusion, Stiles dipped two fingers into the paint. Derek stepped back from the canvas and gestured towards it. “Go ahead.”
“Go ahead and what?” Stiles asked.
“Add to it,” he replied, rolling his eyes.
“I’ll ruin it.”
Sighing, Derek stepped up behind Stiles, wrapping one arm around his waist and grasping his wrist with the other hand. He guided Stiles’ hand to the canvas and swooped the color over it. Stiles gasped at the feeling that came with the movement. Derek stepped back. “Again.”
Stiles hesitated before dipping his fingers into some amber paint. He glanced at Derek and then back to the canvas. He swiped the paint across the center in a similar fashion and laughed when some of it splattered off the side and onto the dropcloths. He moved to get more paint and Derek stepped up beside him. Moving together, they worked on the painting until Derek declared it complete.
Stepping back, Stiles smiled at the mix of colors, his chest tight and tears in his eyes as he thought about Derek selling their creation. “It’ll look nice on the wall above our bed,” Derek said.
“What?”
“It’s ours. No one else can have it,” he declared. “This is our passion project. The only thing left is our signatures.” He handed Stiles a brush and black paint. They squatted next to the canvas and signed, ‘D.H.’ and ‘S.S.’
Cleaning off their hands, Stiles got ready to head back to the house, but Derek stopped him with a hand on his arm. Turning him around, he pulled him into a deep kiss. “What was that for?”
“Just reminding you that Painting isn’t my only passion,” He said, sliding his hands under Stiles' legs, picking him up, and carrying him over to the couch.