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Yellow was an interesting color. It wasn’t one that Derek found himself particularly drawn to, however, there were times even he couldn’t deny it’s beauty. As with most things, it was Stiles who made him reconsider his stance on the subject.
Derek didn’t fully shift often. It wasn’t necessary, it consistently made him ravenously hungry afterwards, and he didn’t see the point when he could accomplish all of the same tasks in his human form. As such, he left most of his shifting to new moon perimeter runs when the pack wasn’t around to bother him and his form would lend an extra layer of camouflage in the thick Californian woods.
It was after one such night that Derek had to reconsider his feelings about the color yellow.
Everything was fine on his perimeter run. It usually was now, considering the serious slowdown of supernatural threats in the area. So, he patrolled until dawn, then started his leisurely trot back to the house to shift back.
It wasn’t unusual to find a pack member or a few at the house at any given time. It was, however, unusual to find one of said pack members passed out on the deck swing.
Derek’s nose caught the unusual situation first. He stopped just in front of the door, ready to shift back when he caught Stiles’ scent on the gentle morning breeze. It took an embarrassing moment of snuffling along the deck to track the scent to the swing where one Stiles Stilinski lay haphazardly, teetering partially off the cushioned seat.
He could shift back, wake Stiles up or take him inside. He should, probably. That would make the most sense. But, like he and his pack are wont to do, he does the less logical thing and presses one paw onto the bench next to Stiles’ thigh.
When the swing shifted back in response to his weight, Derek paused. He turned his gaze to make sure Stiles was still asleep - a silly concern given how likely it would be that Stiles would wake up as soon as Derek was fully on the swing. That’s when he noticed it. The patchy traces of yellow clinging to Stiles’ skin and clothes.
The light was still pale as dawn slowly crept further along towards the bright, crisp morning it was bound to be, but was somehow still entrancing to see contrasted against Stiles’ skin.
Derek shifted forward more, the swing moving with him, as he tried to get a better look. For fear of completely toppling the unsuspecting Stiles from the swing, Derek pushed up hard and tried to maintain balance as the bench shifted beneath his legs.
The movement of the bench caused the light to dance over Stiles’ features. It caught in his hair and warmed the cool tones of his skin. It illuminated the rosy pink tracing the soft edges of Stiles’ face. Derek let out a puff of air through his nose before deciding to press his damp nose to Stiles’ cheek. He snuffled over as much skin as possible then pressed his nose to Stiles’ hairline, behind his ear, and finally to the warm pocket of heat just under the collar of Stiles’ sweatshirt.
Very little of the house lingers on Stiles’ person. Derek licked at his nose, scratchy from being pressed to hair and skin and fabric. Stiles has been outside for a while. Long enough for the early morning scent of dirt and pine to be stuck to him. And it was such a Stiles thing to do, but frustration bubbled in Derek regardless.
Stiles let out a startled sound of question when Derek dropped onto him. Before Stiles seemed to register Derek consciously, his hands burrowed into Derek’s fur. He blinked and yawned and all the while Derek watched. He watched the dusty yellow morning light reflect in Stiles’ eyes and brush over Stiles’ lips. All the while, he knew he wouldn’t be able to be mad. Irritated? Sure. Would he still chastise Stiles later? Unquestionably. But at that moment, as he reconsidered whether he should paint one of the many rooms in the pack house yellow, he wouldn’t do more than nip at Stiles’ fingers before nosing into the proffered warm palm.