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Stiles has always talked in winding, unending circles, in spiralling, breathless waves, and Derek is standing in his apartment, staring at the man he knew had not been there when he had first left to run a quick errand. He gestured wildly as he spoke with the bane infused wine sloshing in its dark, ruddy bottle and if Derek thought Stiles had the foresight to be even mildly anxious in the face of an ill-advised and likely completely avoidable situation, he would say he looked a tad nervous.
Again, he had been gone less than fifteen minutes.
“How did you even get in here?” he interrupted Stiles’ spiel about his shitty jeep breaking down early in the day, his jaw tight, and Stiles bit back a smile at the familiar expression, the growl implicit in his voice.
He laughed. “You know the answer to that, Derek.”
“‘I don’t want to know,’” Derek intoned as Stiles simultaneously said, “You don’t want to know,” and though the words may have been the same, Derek spoke his through the tone of a man long-suffering, and Stiles had sang the often repeated phrase with an impish smirk.
Derek glared at him. “I told you to stop breaking in. I hate you.”
“We both know that isn’ t true, big guy,” Stiles answered faux breezily as the man scowled at him. He knew Stiles’ laid-back tone attempted fruitlessly to hide a rabbit jittery heart and he nearly bit through the skin of his lip resisting the urge to lunge and claim his throat with a mating mark. The soft lines in his brow and the quiet huff of his chest sent a thrill through Derek’s gut, still. “Anyway, I brought you wine.”
They stared at each other, unmoving, unblinking. Derek could win a staring contest against the best of them, and though Stiles was unnaturally stubborn, to a severely detrimental fault, he broke under Derek’s heated gaze and sighed, glancing down at his feet before smiling sheepishly up at him.
“Scott told me.”
“Yep,” Derek sighed. He should’ve known not to mention his ‘mild’ crush on Stiles to Scott the week before as they drank and caught up at a quiet bar, but the bane infused brew made his tongue weak as his mind kept drifting to Stiles’ mouth while Scott raved about his best friend. “I don’t want to talk about that with you,” he said pointedly.
“And yet, I am the best person to talk about this with,” Stiles replied pointedly.
“You’re absolutely not.”
“Why?”
He ran a hand through his hair before rubbing at his silver streaked beard. “Because, Stiles. You’re an idiot.”
An incredulous, outraged laugh exploded from his belly before he could stop it. “Me? I’m an idiot? Are you serious? You, one of the dumbest motherfuckers I know, are calling me stupid?”
“You’re reckless. How many life or death situations have you gotten us in the last six months alone, Stiles?” Derek snapped, suddenly looming over him, his face inches away, and Stiles swallowed, stunned into silence.
Derek’s lips began to curve, and he watched Stiles experience a myriad of emotions before the rage he could sense budding began to take over. Stiles pointed a finger in his face. “Okay, wha-no, back up, this is about you having a massive crush on me. Also, don’t do that, don’t try to make this seem like this is a bad idea, when we’ve been dancing around this for a decade, Derek. And you know fucking what, I know what your small little alpha brain is thinking and guess what, you can’t blame me for accidentally helping that witch conjure actual Hellfire, in my defence, how was I even supposed to freaking know she wasn’t one of those girls who just like to wear crystals and a lot of eyeliner an---“
Derek laughed, loudly, and Stiles swallowed, hard, not even trying to fight the urge to grin just as madly back, his cheeks flushed. “You nearly burned down Beacon Hills! Your own father considered putting you on house arrest!” he exclaimed.
“Coincidences,” Stiles scoffed inanely, and he watched as Derek’s eyes rolled so far back into his head the whites were supremely visible, and then he was looking at Stiles fondly with his too pretty greenish blue gaze, or perhaps a blueish green, or even a verdant aqua, and then he was licking his lips, and he was looking at his mouth, and Stiles definitely had not intended on softly moaning when Derek was suddenly kissing him, one firm hand cradled under his jaw, the other hot and big and rubbing slowly against the small of his back through the thin cotton fabric of his shirt.
And Stiles needed him, was close to almost begging for him as his kisses grew more insistent, as Derek licked into his mouth, his tongue swirling languidly against his own until he had to pull back, too overwhelmed with lust for Derek fucking Hale to both breathe and kiss him senseless. He felt Derek’s burning mouth suck bruising kisses against his neck, licking and scenting him as he pulled him close against him.
“Stop breaking in,” he whispered into Stiles’ ear, and Stiles laughed before kissing him hard.
“Never.”