Work Text:
Stiles winces in pain as he tries to stand up on his own, his fractured foot not cooperating in the least. "Derek!" he drawls in a whine and falls back on the couch. He'd be content to pout into the comfortable cushions for the foreseeable future if he didn't feel the need to shower so badly. It's not his fault that his latest video game experience is so immersive and stress inducing. He knows Derek doesn't mind a little ripeness, he actually seems to be really into it sometimes, but the be-moled young man prefers to be so fresh and so clean. Werewolves are weird. Weird and kinky.
Derek makes his way toward Stiles from the kitchen, deeming that whatever culinary triumph of the day will be fine simmering on the stove by itself with no danger of burning the house down.
"My stubbled and muscled knight in shining A-shirt!" the honey-eyed boy beams melodramatically, "Help me to the bath? I think I'm done stewing in my own filth for the day." This lovely explanation causes the werewolf to wrinkle his nose in what Stiles is aware is only mock disgust.
Said muscular gentleman stops in front of the couch and makes to snake an arm around his beau’s waist to help him up. "Alright, let's get on with it then.”
“Ah ah ah!” Stiles quickly places an overly large hand on the other’s chest to halt his progress. “Piggyback?” He asks with a cheesy grin that earns him a bushy eyebrow quirk. “Pleeease?” Derek kneels in compliance, and Stiles manages to gracelessly maneuver himself into position, only accidentally flailing into the bigger man’s kidneys a few times.
Derek rises gingerly, and Stiles hooks his chin over a shoulder to snuggle along the scruffy cheek he finds. “If the ride isn’t too bumpy, maybe I’ll let you join me in the tub,” he propositions, and his transporter knows him well enough to assume the presence of the smirk and eyebrow wiggle.
“I’ll try not to damage the goods,” Derek responds, and Stiles can feel the wry smile against his own cheek.
“Onward, Hodor!” Stiles commands, flinging an arm out with a long, pointed finger.
Derek sighs. “The only reason you wanted a piggyback ride was to make a Game of Thrones reference, wasn’t it?”
Stiles squints his eyes and pinches his lips together. “Maybe,” he levels, knowing full well that based on their streaming history, Derek is as into the show as Stiles is. He leans his head down slightly to catch his plump lower lip on the stubble he finds on the warm face he’s squished against. Slowly dragging it upwards, he exhales hotly then presses a firm kiss into Derek’s cheekbone, bringing about a shudder from the wolf.
With a small huff, Derek shakes his head but nonetheless tilts in to nuzzle Stiles more and squeezes the back of his thighs where he’s supporting the boy. Derek carries him down the hall, cautiously ensuring that the sensitive foot doesn’t jostle into anything. Stiles writhes his hips provocatively against the strong back he’s wrapped around and makes a mental note that he should break his foot more often.