Work Text:
“Honey, I’m home!” Stiles calls around the bag of takeout between his teeth and a bunch of files in his arms. He walks to the small kitchenette, dropping everything on the counter, only then does he look up to find Derek on the other side of the room, looking at him with crossed arms and a small curl to his lips. Oh, great. “Okay,” Stiles says, grabbing the bag of takeout, “what did I do?”
Derek raises his brows. “What do you mean?”
“You look like you want to rip my head off.”
“Sorry, that’s just how my face works.”
Stiles drops the food on the coffee table, annoyed that Derek still hadn’t gotten around to buying an actual dining table even though they spend a significant amount of time having dinner with the pack in this very loft. They can’t make Isaac eat on the carpet forever. “No,” Stiles says, crossing his arms over his chest, “that expression?” He gestures vaguely in the direction of Derek’s face. “That expression says ‘I would rip you a new one if I didn’t love you so much’. So, I’ll ask you again, Sourwolf, what did I do?”
Unsurprisingly, Derek doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze cuts to the files lying on the kitchen counter. “How’s the case going?”
“It’s going about as well as getting an answer out of you,” Stiles retorts, collapsing on the couch next to Derek. It’s been a shitty day at the department, and although he does not have the energy to argue, he’d rather get it over with, eat dinner, watch a movie and have some hot make-up sex — not necessarily in that order. “Please, what is it?” Sighing, Stiles kicks his shoes off and shifts into a cross-legged position.
Derek sighs and leans over to unpack the dinner. “Still no lead on what slaughtered the families?”
“No.” Stiles grabs the box with the dumplings. Fine, if Derek doesn’t want to tell him what’s wrong, then he’s gonna act like everything is peachy. They really need to talk about Derek being afraid of conflict in his personal life. Again. Stiles can’t be the only one who says out loud what’s bothering him. “That’s why Jordan and I had to get some extra research in.” Which didn’t really lead the anywhere, and which he hasn’t finished either. Hence the files. Fucking hell, this is going to be a very long night, isn’t it? Maybe they should just lock Peter up for good measure. If people are getting slaughtered, he’s usually involved. Except that this time, he’s probably not the culprit; mostly because he’s not that messy.
Derek blinks, hand hovering inches from the other box of dumplings. “Is that why you’re late?”
“Is that why I’m late?” Stiles echoes confused, poking a dumpling with his chopsticks, and looks up. “Yes, of course, that is why I’m late! I texted you like five hours ago that I probably wouldn’t be home before nine, and now it’s—“ Oh. Oh no. “Come on, Kochanie, you have a phone for a reason!” They’ve been over this three times in the past two months. Stiles has no idea why Derek is so against phones. He understands that they can get quite annoying — Stiles has muted every group he’s forced to be in — but it shouldn’t be too hard to check it every once in a while, especially when someone is running late.
Frowning, Derek sinks deeper into the couch.
Stiles snorts out a laugh. “Have you been moping for the past two hours because you thought I forgot movie night?”
“I have not been moping.” Derek’s ears turning slightly pink tell a very different story. At this point, it would be surprising if his phone was even turned on. It probably sits somewhere in one of his drawers and hasn’t seen a charger in days.
Laughing, Stiles pats Derek’s thigh. “You tell that yourself, Sourwolf.”
Derek mutters something under his breath, ears turning a little pinker, and shoves food into his mouth. Adorable.
“I could send smoke signals the next time.” Stiles puts the dumplings back down, turning to Derek with a grin. “If that’s easier for you than checking your phone. I mean I’m working with a hellhound, it should be relatively easy to do.”
Despite the taunt, Derek remains very focused on his dinner which only hammers home how embarrassed he is by the fact that he got mad about Stiles being late. His boyfriend may be just as much of a mess as he is, but at least he will forever be a cute mess — one Stiles cannot get enough of. Ever.
“Aw, Baby,” he coos, scrambling closer, and kisses Derek’s cheek, “it’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed about missing me so much. It’s adorable, really.”
“Shut up.”
Stiles cackles, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders. “I’ve missed you too.”
Sighing, Derek places his food on the table and pulls Stiles onto his lap. He’s never going to admit anything Stiles just accused him of, but he doesn’t have to. Stiles knows, and he’s perfectly fine with teasing Derek if that means he gets his very much-needed cuddles earlier than usual.