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Derek Hale was not a people person. They were too loud, too complicated, too in-your-face. He was a flower person.
He had grown up with his sisters teasing him, telling him he was too scowly to be a nymph, that he needed to be loose and free and fun and one with nature.
Derek was perfectly fine with his lifestyle. Owning a small flower shop, holding back from letting his power seep into the leaves and flowers too much because he didn't want them to look too perfect. Then he'd attract more people.
Like the woman in front of him, humming to herself and stroking the petals of a hyacinth, before glancing at a group of peonies and scuttling to them.
Derek sighed, loudly, obviously, but the woman didn't hear him. She came in an hour before, and Derek had been counting, chatting about some dinner party that Derek really didn't care about.
Just take the flowers and go, Derek thought desperately, growing a daisy in his palm absent-mindedly. At this point, he'd pay her to get out of his store. Her perfume was irritating the plants, and every couple of minutes Derek had to calm them down before they started strangling her.
And then the door opened silently, even though there was a squeak in the hinges. Derek looked up and stopped breathing for a second.
Standing there was the most beautiful man Derek had ever seen, and he'd been to enough nymph festivals to get his fair share of eye-candy.
This man was a direct contrast to the rest of the store: he was dressed in tight black jeans, a stylishly-ripped black shirt covering broad shoulders, with leather cuffs and swirling tattoos that seemed to move as Derek stared at them.
The man's face was the worst(best) part. His dark-brown hair was ruffled as though he had just gotten out of bed, and was backed up by the tired, red-rimmed amber eyes. The man's nose was upturned in an elvish kind of style, but he evidently wasn't elvish, because elves don't have freckles.
But it wasn't just his looks that drew Derek in. It was his aura. Derek hated using that word, but in this case there was no other way to describe it. It was like a magnetizing pull, and every plant in the store could feel it, subtly reaching out to the newcomer.
Derek blinked and drew them back before the woman could notice, but she seemed to be looking at the man with pursed lips and a judgmental look on her face.
The man locked eyes with Derek and grinned, and wow. Derek had to refrain from sprouting daisies all over the fucking counter. “Hey,” he greeted, his voice rough with youth and cockiness. He leaned against the door and gave Derek a once-over. “I heard this place has flowers.”
Before Derek could reply, the woman cut in with, “Oh, it's such a shame. A handsome man like you shouldn't be wearing that.”
The man glanced at the woman sharply, his face indignant and confused. “Uh, why should you care what I wear?” he asked, the question genuine, instead of a rhetorical challenge.
The woman tsked and bustled past the man, uttering a, “Bye, Derek” before she left.
Derek let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in and relaxed. The man walked up to the counter leisurely, taking his time, a smile taking place of the confusion. “So, Derek ,” and Derek didn't notice the way his name rolled off this guy's tongue so seductively, he didn't, “do you have any... uh...” He glanced at his hand, where something was written in ineligible handwriting, “jasmines? Like, flowers? Well, I'm assuming they're flowers. I don't, uh, know much about flowers.”
And then the man's pale cheeks flushed and Derek smiled. He smiled. His sisters would have a fit, but he couldn't exactly stop.
“There's jasmine at the front of the store,” Derek said, gesturing in that general direction.
The man looked kind of freaked out, staring at all the flowers helplessly, so Derek walked around the counter and lifted the divider. “I'll show you where it is.”
The guy grinned, and it was almost blinding. “My name's Stiles, by the way,” he said cheerfully, following Derek.
“I'm Derek,” he said, brushing his fingers against the leaves of a lily and calming it down. Every living thing in the store was reacting to Stiles, including Derek. He suppressed the urge to brush up against him, to touch his hand, to lean into him.
“I know,” Stiles replied, grinning. He had a black beanie in his hands and his long fingers worried at it, twisting it around and pulling at it absent-mindedly. Derek tore his gaze away from those fingers and picked up a small pot with a vine-like plant crawling up the stake. “What's this for?”
Stiles shrugged, bouncing his feet energetically. “A friend of mine wants me to plant it at his wife's grave so it can grow on it or something.”
Derek frowned at the casualness of Stiles' tone. “He couldn't do it himself?”
Stiles frowned. “No. He's kinda dead.” And then his eyes went wide and he opened his mouth a few times before saying, “I mean, like, uh... figuratively dead, you know? Like, uh-”
“It's fine, I get it,” Derek cut him off mercifully, even though he didn't get it. Stiles had to be one of the weirdest customers Derek had ever serviced, his cheerful and awkward demeanor contrasting to his clothes.
Stiles grinned at him, and Derek tried to ignore the warm feeling that he got from it being directed at him. He was being stupid, acting like one of the love interests in those terrible romance novels Cora reads, getting flustered and smiling too much.
They walked back up to the counter, and Derek had to reach out to the jasmine plant to stop curling around Stiles, at least until after he left.
“So, uh, will this be enough?” Stiles asked, holding out his palm.
Derek peered at the object in his hand, and his eyes widened. “Uh... that's a diamond.” It looked about as big as an eyeball, and it sparkled with the reflection of the fluorescent light above them.
Stiles' face fell slightly. “Is it... I mean, I can get a ruby or something. Or, like, an emerald? I don't know how much these things cost.” He sounded sort of forlorn, discouraged, and Derek was at a loss of what to say. Who pays for a plant with a diamond? Who is this guy?
Stiles' tattoos seemed to ripple anxiously, though maybe it was just the lighting, and he bit his lip with uncertainty.
Derek reached out and grabbed the diamond, on impulse, and got a beaming smile from Stiles in return. Derek's fingers curled around the weight in his hand to curb the need to sprout a fucking tulip or something, and the sharp edges dug into his palm. “It's fine,” Derek told him, sure that his cheeks were heating up.
Stiles gave him a soft look and gripped the plant tighter. “So, uh, I guess I'll see you around? Maybe? I mean, not that I'll, like, you know... I'm just gonna go, now,” Stiles stammered, jerking his thumb to the door and backing out. “Bye, Derek.”
Derek just stared after him, and it wasn't until the door had shut and the store had gone quiet that Derek said, “Bye, Stiles.”
And it wasn't until Laura sauntered in with two coffees that they found out that Stiles had left his beanie behind, on the floor.
“Can I see it?” Cora asked him excitedly.
Derek sighed. “For the last time, no. It's just a beanie.”
Cora pouted. “It's a magical beanie. I can feel it.” She gestured to the rest of the store. “They can feel it, too. Look at the direction they're growing in.”
Derek knew what direction the plants were growing in without having to look. They were growing towards the counter, where Stiles' beanie had been stashed for a week since his visit. Derek had to suppress the urge to stroke it every few seconds because, no matter how magical Stiles' beanie was, it was just damn creepy.
“And I don't get why you didn't just ask him what he was, Derek,” Cora continued.
“Cora,” Laura chastised from the back room. “You can't just go around asking people why they're magic. Jeez.”
Cora poked her tongue out at the doorway to the back room and walked her fingers along the counter, sprouting tiny roses with each fingertip. Derek sighed and brushed the roses off the counter. “Can you go bother Laura?”
Laura poked her head out. “No, I'm playing solitaire.”
Cora pulled a face. “You're both losers. You,” she said, jabbing a finger at Derek, “own a flower store, and Laura plays card games by herself. What happened to all the parties?”
Derek sighed. “We still go to parties,” he grumbled.
“Yeah, and do what? Stand to the side and grow little daffodils.” Cora leaned across the counter and snatched the beanie, twirling it in her hands. “Can we go to one tonight?”
Derek held back another sigh. Nymphs held parties every night, almost constantly, like one big, on-going party. They tired Derek out, and Laura preferred to spend her time talking to the old nymphs instead of flirting with the younger ones. Cora, however, could survive off parties. It was exhausting trying to keep up with her.
“We went to a party last week,” Derek reminded her.
“And you can just go by yourself,” Laura called out.
Cora glared at Derek and pulled the beanie on grumpily.
Derek would've told her to take it off, or ripped it off her head himself, except suddenly she had disappeared. There one second, gone the next.
“Cora?” Derek called out, panicked. Laura picked up on it and came out of the back room, her eyes searching the store for Cora. They could still feel her energy, but she was nowhere to be seen. “Cora!”
“Jeez, chill, I'm right here,” Cora replied.
Derek squinted. “No, you're not. Cora, take off the beanie.” It was a testament to what Derek had to go through as Cora's older brother that he didn't freak out as much as he should've.
“Derek,” Cora's disembodied voice rang out, “you're a party pooper.” And then she reappeared, holding the beanie in her hands. “I didn't notice anything.”
Laura took a deep breath. “You were invisible.” She took the beanie from their younger sister and studied it. “I knew there was something cool about this thing.”
“Cool?” Derek echoed. “She scared the crap out of us.” He glared at Cora, who gave him a smirk and snatched the beanie back, putting it back on and disappearing.
“Cora...” Derek sighed as something starting tugging on his hair. “Take it off.”
“Imagine all the fun we could have with this!” Cora exclaimed, taking it off and waving it in Derek's face. “We could prank the mortals, it'd be fun.”
Derek let himself think it over for a second. He didn't really like the mortals, they were just good for business. Too whiney, too obnoxious, too arrogant. Too self-entitled and overbearing and just too much.
But the beanie was Stiles, and he was decidedly not mortal. And besides, Derek was kind of holding out hope that he would find out his beanie is missing and come back to the store, to see Derek. Yeah, it was kind of pathetic since all Derek knew about him was that he wore black and his name was strange, but there was a kind of pull that Derek hadn't been able to shake.
“No. It's Stiles' beanie.”
Cora sighed and dropped it on the counter. “Fine. God, you're both so boring.” She walked out, flicking a flower and making it grow to twice it's intended size.
Derek sighed and walked over to the flower while Laura poked at the beanie, shrinking it back to a healthy size before the stem broke under the weight.
“I think he's magic,” Laura declared with a grin. “I also think that he's going to want to come back for this.” Her eyebrows waggled suggestively. “You could trade it for a favor.”
“No sex favors, Laura,” Derek groaned. “Don't be disgusting.”
Laura widened her eyes innocently, though there was a glint in them that Derek didn't trust. “I wasn't saying anything of the sort. Just a, you know, coffee or something. Harmless, really.”
“He gave me a diamond, I think I'd be buying him coffee everyday for the next decade or so to pay him back.”
Laura shook her head. “That's a shitty courting plan. Mix it up a little. Throw in a party. Everyone likes our parties.”
“Except me,” Derek reminded her. “And I'm not courting him.”
“But you want to,” Laura sang out knowingly.
The next time Derek saw Stiles, he was tense and twitchy from concealing his powers for the past few hours. It had been a busy morning, and he had mortals coming up to him with questions about what flowers would go best for a Christmas wedding as if Derek was a damn wedding planner.
So as soon as he gets a spare moment, and he's scratching at the walls to let a little of his powers flow, the door opens. Before he can grit his teeth in frustration, that pull comes over him, and he sees Stiles standing there, and it all just... releases.
Which sounds gross and creepy, and Derek was just thinking that as he stared across his store at Stiles, the counter overflowing with white begonias. He didn't even like white begonias.
Stiles' eyes lit up. “Derek! Hey!” He sounded enthusiastic, and not at all freaked out by Derek's flood of flowers. “You have flowers!”
Derek said the first thing that came to mind. “This is a flower shop.”
Stiles grinned. “Yeah, and you're a nymph. I knew it! I could feel it.” He frowned. “Well, I mean, like, because I'm... I'm clairvoyant, you know?”
Derek blinked at Stiles in confusion. He didn't realize people still used that word. “No, you're not.”
Stiles leaned against the doorway. “What makes you say that?” Stiles challenged with a smirk.
Derek ducked his head, tearing his gaze away from those eyes. Stiles still looked tired, but he was wearing a soft blue henly today, with the same black jeans and combat boots. He had forsaken the leather cuffs, and his tattoo seemed to be sending out waves of energy. Derek could feel it, as though it were a curious cat sniffing around him, brushing up against him.
“Uh, just... Nope.”
There was a snort from the back room. “Eloquent, Der,” Laura said, poking her head out. “You must be Stiles.”
Stiles caught her eye and grinned. “Another one! This is so cool. I haven't met many of you guys before.”
Laura tilted her head and Derek eyes the begonias, sweeping them off the counter and into the bucket he had behind the counter for these situations. Though he usually sprouts flowers out of anger or irritation, not... whatever this was.
Laura grabbed the beanie and tossed it at Stiles. “What are you really ?”
Stiles shrugged. “Nothing important.”
“That's a lie. You have to be important for every single one of Derek's flowers to lose the plot like this,” Laura said, touching a peace lily and relaxing it. It wilted slightly, and drew back from where it had been leaning towards Stiles.
Stiles raised an eyebrow and Derek felt his cheeks going red. “So, uh, is it just your flowers, then?”
Derek had opened his mouth to defend himself when he blinked, and three people had occupied the room. He glanced at Laura, whose eyes were wide in disbelief, just like his.
Stiles sighed and crossed his arms, as though this were a daily occurrence. “What's happened?”
The three newcomers all wore dark clothing, leather jackets, and innocent expressions. “Another one has escaped, my lord,” the female with blonde curls chirped, studying her fingernails.
Stiles glanced at Derek, who sniffed at the air. It smelled slightly of pomegranates, which calmed Derek down. Laura told him he was crazy, but pomegranates were his favorite fruit.
“Uh, cool, right, that's cool, thanks, Erica.”
Erica raised an eyebrow. “It's 'cool'?” She narrowed her eyes at Derek. “Why are you here, anyway?”
Stiles raised his beanie up, and Erica nodded. She gestured to the other two. “We can deal with the runaway, but you may need to interrogate him. It stank of ozone in his cell.”
Stiles' face darkened, and he waved them off. The three people disappeared as quickly as they had appeared, and Derek started to feel out of his depth.
“ My lord ?”
Stiles looked uncomfortable, scuffling his feet. “Well, yeah, I mean... I-”
“You're the lord of the dead,” Laura interrupted with an awed voice. “ You .”
Derek made a small noise in the back of his throat, and cleared it. “Oh. Um, Your-”
“Don't,” Stiles snapped wearily, dragging a hand down his face. “Nobody is throwing around any titles. At all. None. Just Stiles. Call me Stiles.” He squinted at Derek, whose knees had started feeling kind of weak. “Please?”
Derek nodded, because what else could he do? This was Hades . Derek was a nymph . Stiles could take life without a thought. Derek had always thought Hades to be this morally-ambiguous concept , not Stiles . Stiles seemed to be the most alive guy Derek knew, even after a brief, ten-minute encounter.
Stiles sighed. “You're freaking out. Great. This is not what I wanted to happen.” He took a deep breath. “First of all, I'd like to point out that I'm not evil. Or, at least, I don't thinkI'm evil, but evil people think they're good , so I don't know.” He shrugged again. “Also, I don't just go around killing people. That's a gross misconception. People die, and I guide the special ones to the underworld myself.”
Laura muttered an oh my god , and Derek shared the sentiment. He was in the presence of a god .
“And I'm just a dude. A normal guy.”
“You are not a normal guy,” Derek blurted. “You're the king of the underworld!”
An abundance of emotions passed on Stiles' face, before it settled on sad . “I just... I think I'm going to go,” he mumbled, reaching behind him blindly for the door handle.
“Wait!” Laura cried, shooting Derek a glare, which Derek returned with a narrowing of his eyes.
Stiles looked up at her, and his face seemed hopeful. “Yeah?”
Laura smirked at Derek. “So how often do you get away from that kingdom of yours?”
Derek wanted to groan, because you don't just ask that, but the smile on Stiles' face took his breath and words away. And it was directed at Derek, not Laura.
Derek wanted to brain himself on his desk. He was gone on Stiles. Who was a god. Of the underworld.
Stiles came every week since then. Sometimes it would only be for a few minutes, sometimes it would be hours before he left, and yet no matter how long he stayed, it was never long enough for Derek.
And the horrible thing was that Stiles was shy . He was modest, he was humble. He never used his godly influence to do anything other than guide souls to the underworld. He would come in, and leave with flowers for his latest client, as he called them.
And he was lonely, that was clear to see.
“I have a best friend,” he said, a wistful smile on his face. It had been a month since The Big Reveal ™, and he and Derek had settled into a tense friendship (but the tension wasn't a bad thing, it was heavy stares, lingering touches, and confused flower-sprouting). “His name's Scott. But I don't see him much. He died from a werewolf attack.”
Derek used to be freaked out by Stiles' nonchalant talk of death, but now he was used to it. It was comforting, knowing that if he died, he's still be able to see Stiles.
“Werewolves have been extinct for centuries.”
Stiles grinned, leaning over the counter, capturing all of Derek's attention. “Yeah, he's centuries old. Scotty's like a brother to me. Probably my favorite dead person. When everyone realizes they're dead, they all go oh no, please sir, give me another chance! I have a family, I didn't do anything wrong. ” Stiles pulled a face. “They don't realize that they're going to bloody see their families when their families die.”
Derek tilted his head. The only time death had ever affected him was when Kate tried to take advantage of his powers and Talia strangled her with vines.
“Is there a heaven and a hell?” Derek asked, smirking as Stiles' face darkened, like it did whenever Derek brought up Christian values. Stiles had suffered as much as any of them when it was introduced, more so because he was already considered a b-grade god (his words, not Derek's).
“Yeah, we have Elysium, where the pure of heart go. I didn't even need to judge Scott to know he'd go there. And then there's Asphodel, where the neutral ones go. Sort of like those dudes that just stand and watch while someone else gets bullied. Those ones are the whiners.” Stiles gave Derek an unreadable look. “Then there's the Vale of Mourning, for those who died consumed by an unhappy love.” The serious tone lifted and he grinned. “Then the Fields of Punishment for the murderers and rapists and shit.”
Derek raised his eyebrows. “Sounds heavy.”
Stiles stroked a flower, which immediately leaned towards him. Derek had figured out that it was the pull of death, the link between life and death, that made Stiles so magnetizing. Every living thing (except Stiles himself) dies, and the plants could feel that. “I wouldn't worry,” Stiles told Derek with a small, private smile. “You'll make Elysium at least.”
Derek shook his head. “Why would I make Elysium?”
Stiles scratched at the back of his neck. “Because you're my friend.” And before Derek could read into that, to even think the word 'friend-zoned', Stiles added, “At least.”
“At least?” Derek echoed. What was that supposed to mean?
Some color rose in Stiles' pale cheeks, and he turned away, running his fingers through leaves with a smile as they extended to meet his hands. “Yeah, I mean, you're... uh, you're really cool. You're all surly and sarcastic and pretty,” Stiles mumbled.
“Pretty?” Derek echoed. “I'm not pretty .”
Stiles turned back to Derek, that familiar, taunting grin playing on his lips. “You're the prettiest, Derek,” he cooed.
The door opened, and Stiles drew his hands back from the flowers that had started to snake up his arms before the mortal could notice.
The man that had walked in zeroed in on Stiles instantly, like they all did. This was the highlight of Stiles' visits. People would flirt with Stiles, drawn to him, and Stiles shoots them down politely, or gets increasingly uncomfortable until either Derek or Laura saves him.
Derek didn't like to analyse the warm feeling he got in his chest whenever Stiles shot him a panicked look before trying to convince the interested party that he's really not that fun to date.
And he kept his thoughts to himself, the ones that whispered He would be fun to date . Because you can't just have those thoughts about the king of the underworld, it was crazy.
“Are you sure you want to take me to a club?” Stiles was saying. “Because the only dance I know how to do is the robot.”
The man looked uncomfortable, but still intrigued. “What about-”
“So are you here to buy some flowers?” Stiles interrupted cheerfully, clapping his hands together.
The man's face cleared and he nodded. “Oh yeah. For, uh... Yeah. Roses.”
It was times like that when Derek wondered if Stiles was the god of infatuation or something.
The man walked off to find his roses, and Stiles walked back towards Derek. “I'm going to have to start wearing my beanie soon. This is getting ridiculous, are all mortals hormonal sex freaks?”
Derek flushed, because he may as well be one of them, jacking off to Stiles' shoulders and forearms and fingers almost every night. And every single time, he wakes up to bees buzzing in his face because of all the flowers he grew.
“Uh... yeah.” Derek looked up at the clock and sighed. “I'm not going to be here next week,” he told Stiles regretfully.
Stiles' face fell. “Why not?” he all but whined.
Derek fought an amused smile off unsuccessfully. “Family gathering. If I don't go, my mother with eviscerate me.”
Stiles smirked. “I'll bring you back, don't worry.”
“I'm slightly more scared of the agonizing pain before death.”
Stiles laughed. “Well I better go. Important dead people stuff to deal with.” His tattoos shifted slightly. Derek still hadn't asked him why they do that.
There was a moment, between Stiles finishing his sentence and turning away, where Derek almost plucked up the courage to tell him to visit more often than once a week. Because the rest of his weeks were boring without Stiles, and because Derek wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle two weeks without seeing Stiles.
Turns out he could, but he didn't enjoy it.
The next time Derek saw Stiles, he was running.
He burst into the store, his face paler than usual (which was saying something) and his breath coming out in pants. He locked the door behind him and glanced around the store. There were a few mortals in there, but they just gave him weird looks and went back to touching flowers and sniffing them and just being annoying in general.
“Stiles?” Derek walked out from behind the counter and approached Stiles cautiously, because, for all intent and purposes, he was a god, and there was no saying what he could do when he's riled up.
Stiles' unfocused eyes landed on Derek, and he gave Derek a weak, exhausted smile. “I need a place to crash.”
Derek frowned, and Stiles sagged, almost falling to the ground. Derek caught him and held him up. “Laura!” he called out. “Cover for me.”
Laura came out, grumbling, but she blanched when she spotted Stiles, and rushed to their side. They both dragged him to the back room, and sat him on a chair. Laura shot Stiles a concerned look, brushing his damp hair away from his forehead before going back into the store.
Derek checked Stiles' pulse. Which was non-existent. And he really should have expected that.
“Stiles, are you okay? What happened?”
Stile blinked his eyes open and stared blearily at Derek. “Oh, nothing. No danger. Um, not anymore.” He chuckled weakly, his head lolling.
Derek slapped him lightly on the cheek, his fear growing. What could possibly harm a god like this? “Stiles, are you hurt? Stiles , goddammit!”
Stiles jerked back to consciousness with a scowl. “No, jeez. Just drained. I, uh... I had a rough week.”
Derek let out a weak laugh, dropping his head so his forehead rested on Stiles' shoulder. “Don't scare me like that.”
Stiles' arm came around Derek's shoulders in a gesture of comfort. “Dude, I'm not that easy to kill. I just...” His voice grew weaker, like he was struggling to stay awake. “I had to deal with this suicidal cult downstairs, and they kept stirring trouble. I finally, finally got away, and I think Erica, Boyd, and Isaac are trying to find me and drag me back.”
Derek created an orchid and fumbled around with it, drawing away from Stiles, who had fallen asleep before he finished his last word.
He watched Stiles for a while, and even though it was creepy, his defense was that he didn't even know gods could sleep, so it was strange, seeing Stiles so soft and young-looking, even though he was the complete opposite. It was strange seeing how his mouth hung open slightly, how he huffed out little snores and half-mumbled words about boats and demon cats.
“You know, there's a reason he came here to escape his crazy life,” Laura commented from the doorway, giving her brother a gentle look.
Derek blinked at her and glanced down at all the flowers that littered the ground. “What?”
She grinned happily. “I'm just saying, he feels safe here. With you.”
Derek glared at her. “It doesn't mean anything, Laur.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I'll bet my left boob that he does, Derek. Cora gets sickened by all the lover-eyes and sexual tension, and you know the books she reads.”
“We're just friends,” Derek grumbled, picking the flowers up.
Laura scoffed. “Sure. But I'm the godmother of your firstborn.”
Derek shot her a dirty look, pushing her out of the way so he could close the door and leave Stiles in peace. “ Fine , Rumpelstiltskin.”
Laura laughed and took the flowers from Derek. “I'm going to make him a daisy chain with these,” she announced. “And he's going to love it.”
Stiles came out of the back room bleary-eyed and scowly, oblivious to the daisy crown hanging down around his ears. He was obviously not a morning person, even though it was nine in the evening and the store was closed, apart from one dim light at the desk, where Cora and Derek were playing cards.
Derek jumped up from his seat as if he were stung by a jellyfish, and Cora glanced at him in amusement. “You're such a loser,” she commented with a snort.
Derek flushed and looked at Stiles. His clothes were rumpled and his hair sticking up in attractive tufts. Derek shifted on his feet uncomfortably, feeling weird being so aroused in front of his sister.
“Uh, are you okay?”
Stiles blinked and groaned. “No. There are limits to what gods can do. One of them is that using your powers for ten days straight drains you. Completely.”
Cora stood up. “I'm going to get a coffee. Do either of you guys want one?”
Derek and Stiles both shook their heads, still staring at each other. It would be awkward, but Derek was used to it.
Cora sighed and walked out to the kitchen at the back of the store, shaking her head. Stiles stumbled to the counter and leaned on it heavily, obviously still drained. “I'm sorry for passing out on you.”
Derek gave him a reassuring smile. “It's fine, Stiles.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure? Because it was really uncool-”
“Stiles, if I minded, I would've chucked you out on the street.”
Stiles grinned happily. “I have to ask you something,” he blurted. He flushed and looked down at the hands that gripped the counter.
Derek leaned forward slightly. “What is it?”
Stiles bit his lip and looked up at Derek, those amber eyes burning with his raw power. “Could you... Um, do you think you could, like, grow me a garden?” He winced as soon as it came out. “I mean, you don't have to, no one likes visiting my place, it's like apparently all dead people which I thought was a given but-”
“Stiles,” Derek interrupted firmly. Stiles closed his mouth and gave Derek a nervous look. “I'll make you a fucking garden, okay?”
Stiles gave Derek one of his larger smiles. “Cool. Um, when do you want to...”
Derek shrugged. “May as well do it now.”
Stiles frowned. “You sure? It won't, like, take hours will it?”
“Depends. And I have a day off tomorrow, so I don't mind staying out all night.”
Stiles straightened, and gave Derek an assessing look. “So, are you okay with teleportation?”
“Yeah,” Derek lied. He wasn't a big fan. He dated a lamia once, Jennifer, who possessed the unique ability to teleport after a feeding. She'd just touch his arm and bam , they're in fucking Africa. It pissed him off because sometimes, in the middle of a fight, she'd teleport Derek to China or Russia without money or a passport, and by the time he made it back home (with the help of some nymphs and harpies), she had gotten herself into trouble with someone and Derek had to save her, and by then he was roped back into her games.
Stiles smirked. “No you're not.” But he reached across anyway, and Derek felt cold fingers press against his forehead gently. He closed his eyes and stumbled, the air pulling and pushing at him for a millisecond before he opened his eyes, gasping slightly at the sudden change of environment.
It looked like he was in Alaska or something. There was snow everywhere, covering the ground. The sky was a slightly darker blue, and right in front of them was a simple house.
Stiles scratched at the back of his neck. “Yeah, it's probably not what you expected, but uh...” He shrugged. “I hated the stereotypes. Hades lives in an obsidian palace, the Underworld is consumed by fire and heat, Hades is a reclusive dickhole ,” he recited in a mocking tone.
“You sure showed them,” Derek replied faintly, his eyes wide.
The house was two-storied, and homely. Just like any other house you'd find in the living world. It was dark inside, and seemed quite lonely.
Derek looked back at Stiles, who seemed to be staring intently at Derek, gauging his reaction. “Where do you want it?”
Stiles raised his eyebrows and looked back at the house. “I, uh, around the back. There's a backyard.”
“Do you also have a dog named Fido and a neighbor named Mrs Rogers?” Derek said sarcastically. He breathed in deeply, but the air seemed to be heavy with something. It wasn't stale, it was just... electric. It made him feel alive , which was strange, since this was the land of the dead. Derek couldn't see anything but the peaks of snowy mountains in the distance and a forest of dead trees surrounding the house.
Stiles laughed, throwing his head back, and Derek grinned with him. His magic was buzzing at his fingertips as Stiles led them around the back of the house. Derek tried to peer through the windows, but the curtains were pulled shut.
And then they came to the backyard, and Derek's breath was stolen from him.
There were silver trees with blue gems embedded in them, leafless branches and smooth bark. They looked almost liquid-smooth, all of different sizes and shapes, some obvious imitations of oaks and yews and pines.
“It's silly, I know,” Stiles said, his face red. “I tried , you know, but it's not the same. I can't create life. Only some cruel mockery of it. It's just-”
“Beautiful,” Derek breathed, looking back at Stiles. “Beautiful.”
Stiles' eyes lit up, and then Derek's mind just went blank with selfish want, and he surged forward, their lips crashing together in a desperate sort of kiss, Stiles making a small noise of surprise before melting into it.
Kissing Stiles was like taking in a lungful of air after being underwater too lung and having it stolen from you simultaneously. The desperation tapered off into a familiar sweetness, a press of lips and hesitant tongue, slow and just right.
And then Derek broke it off, slowly, giving Stiles a small smile. But Stiles wasn't looking at him, he was looking over Derek's shoulder, with an awed look on his face.
Derek looked back and saw green and silver. Vines curling up the silver trees, jasmine flowers sprouting from the barren ground and winding their way past blue sapphires. Brown tree trunks intertwined with silver ones, willow leaves hanging down from empty branches, reaching the ground.
Stiles broke away from Derek, uncharacteristically silent, running his hands down the trees and fondling the leaves. Derek watched as he walked in between the trunks, through the trees, before Stiles was suddenly there , leaping at him, laughing.
Derek caught him with a grunt that was quickly swallowed by kisses, sweet, urgent kisses, Stiles' legs wrapping around him and his hands curling around Derek's neck. They had to break away from smiling too much, though, and Derek dropped Stiles, who landed heavily on his feet.
“I didn't think it would work,” Stiles said, the tone of his voice doing something to Derek's stomach. “I didn't think anything could grow here. Not anything this beautiful.”
Derek grabbed his hand, even though he felt like he was acting out one of Cora's books, and squeezed it. Stiles turned to him. “We should do more of that ,” he said, waving to one of the rose bushes that were scattered across the yard.
Derek raised his eyebrows. “Don't get too carried away. I might decorate the whole forest.”
Stiles' eyes lit up, and he tugged Derek through the garden, stopping every few seconds to sniff at a flower or to touch the leaves. He had been visiting Derek's flower store once a week for the past two months almost, and yet his eyes were wide, as though he had never seen living plants before.
Derek stared at him unabashedly, wondering how this man, this god of the dead , seemed to be the embodiment of life, even as pale as he was, with his dark clothes and tired eyes. It was in the way he moved around energetically, the way his eyes lit up when Derek made a joke or laughed at one of his, the way he looked terrified when old ladies started hitting on him, the way he acted like eating Laura's cooking was like tasting heaven itself, or the way he promised Cora he would go to a party with her. It was the way he looked, soft and happy, the way his tattoos hummed.
Derek scowled at the ground. He was feeling too happy, it was disturbing and gross.