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1.
Stiles is lost in the Rite-Aid when he first spots the damned thing.
He doesn’t normally come to the Rite-Aid – it’s in the city, and he prefers the convenience store a few blocks away from his house. But it’s almost ten and the convenience store closes early on Mondays for some reason that Stiles intends to find out. If he didn’t need a new notebook for class – (“And yes, Mr. Stilinski, I will be checking to see if you get one,” Mr. Harris’ words are still fresh in his mind) – Stiles would have skipped this trip altogether.
The store’s a god damned TARDIS – so much bigger inside than it had looked from his Jeep. He feels like he’s been wandering for hours and are there any employees working tonight or is there a party in the break room or something? He stops at the end of an aisle and scratches the back of his head, trying to remember if Rite-Aid even sells school supplies.
And that’s when he sees it.
At the end of the aisle he’s just come out of, there’s a wire shelf overflowing with stuffed animals and plush toys. Buried between a pink and white unicorn and an Incredible Hulk doll, there’s a jet black stuffed wolf. And normally, Stiles would have ignored it. He would have walked right on by, no care in the world.
But something about the wolf makes him laugh. It’s just bizarre thinking about real wolves now. He almost can’t even remember what one looks like, though he does know for a fact that there’s no way in hell it looks like this.
He plucks it out of the menagerie of stuffed toys and turns it over in his hands. It’s kind of cartoony-looking, with wide blue eyes and a bushy tail, something only little girls might like. It looks like a reject, like it was made by someone who has no idea whatsoever what a wolf looks like – it’s something that needs to be shipped off to the Island of Misfit Toys. Pronto.
But there is something about the blue eyes….
Like Derek’s before he became Alpha, whispers a voice in the back of Stiles’ mind.
He drops the wolf like it’s on fire, heat creeping up his neck. He shakes his head and snorts a little, embarrassed by his own thoughts, and he throws a quick look around, as though he’s afraid someone has not only seen him, but read his mind as well. It’s bad enough that he has a crush on Derek. He doesn’t need to start projecting said crush onto inanimate objects like this.
Miraculously, he finds the school supplies.
He grabs a book – one big enough to satisfy even Mr. Harris’ demands – and he even grabs a brand new pack of pens because he’s feeling fancy. Then, he makes a beeline out of the aisle and towards the front of the store, more than ready to get the heck out of there.
But the damned thing catches his eye again.
He backtracks and stares at the stuffed wolf, hating himself with each passing second. He’s not really thinking about this, is he?
Stuffing the book and pens under one of his arms, he picks up the toy. The more he studies it, the more it reminds him of Derek in a stupid, ridiculous way. He glances at the price tag – the unbelievably low price tag – and he starts to take a step, ready to make his purchase.
“No,” he tells himself, and he drops the wolf back onto the shelf. “No, it’s not happening. This is pathetic, even for you.”
He’s almost at the cash register when he decides that he needs this toy. He turns around to go back and get it, but halfway there he realizes how incredibly foolish he’s being. He marches up to the cash register, clutching hard at his resolve, and he pays for his school things.
He’s in the Jeep, pulling his seatbelt on, when he decides that he really needs this toy. No more than a minute later, he finds himself at the cash register as the clerk rings him up for the second time.
As she takes the money from his hands, she says, “This thing is cute.”
“It’s for my cousin!” he blurts out. His lie whips out of him so fast that the cashier jumps a little, and yeah, his ears are definitely burning, and he knows there’s a faint blush making its way up his neck now. He lets out a stupid and nervous little laugh, and he shrugs his shoulders. “Her birthday – tomorrow. I almost forgot it. She’d never let me live it down. I’m not good with dates, see… can’t remember birthdays….”
The woman hands over the wolf, now safely bagged and hidden from view. “Well, I’m sure she’ll love it,” she says politely.
“She will. Because it’s totally for her. And not me,” is Stiles’ unintelligent response.
He all but runs from the store after that, fleeing to his Jeep like he’s just robbed the joint. He throws the bag onto the floor of the passenger side, jams his key into the ignition, and he feels ten shades of stupid and equally flushed from mortification.
When he gets home, he grabs his school stuff and pointedly ignores the wolf. He hops out and jogs up to the front door, humming to himself. Stay out here and suffer, he thinks, as if it’s the toy’s fault that Stiles feels so stupid. And hey! It kind of is. If it didn’t remind him so much of stupid Derek and his stupider crush on him, Stiles would have had no reason to buy the damned thing.
It’s all Derek’s fault, he rationalizes. He’s not an idiot – Derek just makes him act like one.
Five minutes later, he finds himself slipping back outside and hurrying to the Jeep. He grabs the bag in his fist and trudges back into the house like a man on death row. He’s just glad his father isn’t home to witness his only son behaving like a little girl with her first love.
2.
Scott howls with laughter the first time he sees the damned thing.
Stiles’ ears immediately heat up, and he ducks his head a little as a blush begins its slow ascent up his neck. Thank God the sun’s beginning to set and they’ve yet to turn on any of the lights in his room – he still has a fighting chance that Scott won’t notice his embarrassment.
“What is this?” Scott asks, picking up the wolf and turning it over and over in his hands. “Where’d you get it, man?”
“What? You’ve never seen a stuffed animal before?” Stiles asks. “We’re supposed to be studying, you know. Where we try not to fail the big test we have tomorrow?”
“This is great,” Scott says, completely ignoring Stiles’ words. He brings the toy up to his face and actually rubs it – yes, rubs it – against his cheek. “It’s soft.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of the point, buddy.”
Scott doesn’t stop rubbing it against his face, like he just can’t comprehend how it can be so soft. Like it’s the hardest concept in the world to grasp. Like the guy’s never had a single toy before in his whole life. Stiles almost wants to point and laugh at him – if he knew what the stuffed wolf represented for him, he certainly wouldn’t have been nuzzling it like so.
In fact, he’d probably burn it if he knew that Stiles had spent the last cash he’d had (cash that was supposed to buy him lunch for the rest of the week) on a toy all because of his stupid crush on stupid Derek.
“Look, can we not molest my things?” Stiles asks when he’s had enough. He grabs the wolf by its bushy tail and yanks it out of Scott’s grasp. “It’s starting to get a little weird for me, guy.”
Scott looks disappointed as Stiles tosses the toy into the corner of the room, but he doesn’t make a move to get it. He looks back at Stiles. “Why do you have it? I’ve never seen it before.”
“I found it in the attic,” Stiles lies through his teeth. “Guess it was mine when I was a kid.”
Scott makes a face that says he actually believes Stiles. Stiles guesses he’s getting better at lying. Or Scott’s getting dumber. Either one is possible. “Maybe I’ll try and find one like it – it’d make a great gift for Allison.”
Stiles fights the urge to roll his eyes. And vomit. To roll his eyes and vomit at the same time. Besides the fact that he doesn’t think such a gift would sit well with Allison’s parents, just… ew. Don’t ruin this for me, Scott, he thinks. The wolf is for Derek, not Allison.
As if reading his mind, Scott suddenly says, “Oh man, if it had red eyes, it would be perfect for Derek.”
Stiles feels like he’s been socked right in the gut. He tries his best to look neutral, and he blinks at Scott vacantly.
“Just for fun,” Scott says. “If I wasn’t afraid of him ripping my arms off and beating me with them, it’d be pretty hilarious.”
“Somehow, I don’t think Derek knows the meaning of the words ‘fun’ or ‘hilarious,’ and I doubt very much that he would agree with you. Though he would definitely enjoy beating you with your own arms, I’ll give you that one,” Stiles says, and he’s proud of how cool his tone is, how impassive. His secret’s still safe, thank God.
They go back to studying – well, Stiles goes back to studying while Scott stares at their Chemistry book like it’s written in Archaic Latin. While Stiles attempts to help him understand, he can’t help but notice that Scott keeps looking towards the corner of the room. At the stuffed wolf.
After about the seventh time, Stiles gives him a skeptical look. “Really, Scott? Really?”
“Come on, can’t I just play with it and study at the same time?” Scott asks, looking like a child begging his parents to open just one present on Christmas Eve.
“No, ew man. Keep your filthy paws off my things. Forever, in fact. No more touching my stuff for the rest of your natural life, alright?” Stiles asks, but the silly smile Scott’s wearing is infectious, and he can’t help but grin back at his best friend.
“Maybe I’ll get my own someday,” Scott says.
“Good luck with that – I hope you do. But first, maybe you ought to pass this test so you don’t fail, so you can get into a good college and actually be able to afford one, okay?”
Scott grabs a pillow from Stiles’ bed and tosses it at Stiles’ face. They exchange a few play punches – Scott always wins; he just doesn’t know his own strength, the great oversized puppy – and then they return to studying. After a few hours, Scott leaves, and it’s with a last, parting look at the damned thing like he’s going to mourn being away from it.
Stupid Scott. And stupid Derek for making stupid Stiles buy it in the first place.
3.
Stiles has started talking to the damned thing.
Not in the crazy way where he pretends it’s actually speaking back, but in a casual, throwaway way. You know, he walks in from school, throws his backpack on the floor and says things like, “Man, practice was brutal today – that bench is merciless on my ass,” or “You won’t believe what Scott and I did to get detention today.” It’s not like he expects an answer, of course. It’s just nice to have someone – something – that’ll listen to him whenever he needs it.
And he hasn’t named it or anything. That would just be weird.
It’s Friday, and he walks into his room with slouched shoulders and dragging feet. He drops his backpack and kicks it aside, making his way to his desk so he can turn on his laptop. He toes off his shoes and then drops into the chair like his body is nothing more than a bag of bones. He looks at the stuffed wolf.
When Scott’s not around to molest it, Stiles keeps it on his desk like it’s some sort of paperweight. He has to lean it against his printer for it to stay up, but he likes it there – it’s like it can watch over the whole room.
“Is it just me or does it feel like every week is a week from hell when you’re in high school?” he asks the toy casually while he waits for his computer to start up. He yawns. “Feel like I could sleep for days.”
“Stiles.”
His eyes widen and he focuses all of his attention on the stuffed wolf. Is he hearing things? Just what sort of toy is this? He leans forward in the chair, bringing himself closer to it. “Yeah?”
“Stiles.”
He realizes too late that the voice hadn’t come from his stuffed wolf at all, but from behind him, and he spins around in the chair so fast that he almost flies out of it. Derek’s standing there as if he’s just appeared out of thin air – which is normal, of course – and Stiles nearly shrieks like a little girl – that too, is also pretty normal. What else can you do when a werewolf randomly appears in your bedroom?
“Derek!” His hand goes to his chest, where his heart is hammering so loud that he knows Derek has no trouble hearing it. “What the hell? Can you not do that anymore?”
As expected, Derek doesn’t look all that apologetic. He just looks broody. Like always. “Where’s Scott?”
“Probably with Allison, I don’t know. Use your sniffer and find him yourself,” Stiles says grumpily, and he turns back around to his desk. He expects Derek to leave, wants him to leave, but he suddenly feels the Alpha standing behind him, looming like a great big looming thing. Trying to sound calm, he asks smartly, “Can I help you?”
“What’s that?”
Wild heat creeps up Stiles’ neck and he longs for a hole to crawl into and die. He doesn’t even need to ask Derek to clarify what he’s talking about. So he doesn’t say anything, and Derek reaches around him to grab the stuffed wolf. Stiles holds his breath – Derek being so near is like standing next to an open fire. Warmth radiates from him almost as strongly as his stupid musky wolf scent, and Stiles closes his eyes and grinds his teeth.
Stupid Derek.
“I didn’t know you collected… stuffed animals,” Derek says, and the ridicule is all but dripping from his every word.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “It’s not mine,” he says, and he spins the chair angrily to face Derek.
This is a mistake, of course, because Derek is right there and all Stiles wants to do now is run away. He looks up at Derek, who’s holding the toy in front of his face and studying it like he doesn’t quite get the point of it.
What’s with him and Scott not understanding stuffed animals? Is it a werewolf thing?
“I mean, it is mine. But I got it for someone else,” Stiles adds quickly.
Derek arches those stupid eyebrows, and Stiles flushes even harder. He consequently hates himself for it.
“For Scott,” he explains, thinking fast. “You know, a gag gift. For fun. You do know what fun is, don’t you?”
He reaches up to try and snatch the toy away from Derek, but Derek takes a step back. Stiles wants to die. His gaze drifts to the window Derek’s so considerately left open despite the fact that the air conditioner is on, and he wonders if the fall would put him out of his misery.
“Well in that case, I can give it to him,” Derek says. “When I find him later on.”
“No!” Stiles is on his feet in an instant, and Derek does that stupid thing with his eyebrows again. “I mean – I want to be the one to give it to him. Obviously. Since I’m the one that bought it for him.”
He grabs for it again, and yet again, Derek takes another step back, holding it out his reach. Then Derek just looks at him, staring at Stiles for a long, hard moment. His eyes are intense and piercing, and Stiles knows he’s still blushing, knows that his heart is still beating just a little too fast.
For a wild moment, he begins to think that Derek can read his mind. For just a moment, Stiles thinks Derek can see right through him, and Derek knows – he just knows that Derek knows.
Derek looks at the wolf again, then back at Stiles. “Didn’t you see him at school? Why not give it to him then?”
“I’m not going to give him a gift at school,” Stiles says. “God, what? Have you never given someone a present? That’s tacky. Then he’d have to carry it around all day and explain it to everyone.”
“Oh, I see.” Why does it sound like Derek is mocking him?
“Oh, do you?”
“Are you sure you don’t just want me to give it to him?” Derek asks, and he suddenly takes a step towards the open window.
“No!” Stiles lurches towards him, catches his foot on one of his discarded shoes, and he falls forward, sprawling face first at Derek’s feet. He gets a good taste of carpet – makes a mental note to have the carpet cleaned – and he flattens himself against the floor, face burning.
Is this what that stupid toy is turning him into? A spastic klutz with no dignity?
Maybe if he asks nicely enough, Derek will carry him to the open window and chuck him out.
All too suddenly, Derek’s bending over him, touching him, and Stiles’ mind reels. For a split second, he wonders if he’d voiced his thoughts aloud – if he’d actually asked Derek to throw him out the window. And then he gets scared because Jesus Christ, is Derek actually going to do it?
But Derek just grabs him by the crook of one of his elbows and hauls him effortlessly to his feet. Stiles blinks stupidly at the werewolf, swaying a little before he regains his balance, and Derek stares back.
His expression is even harder to read than normal – he doesn’t look broody for once, merely… thoughtful. Contemplative. Like he’s trying to figure out how something works. It reminds Stiles of the face Scott had made a few months ago when he’d helped Stiles put together his desk from Ikea.
Derek presses the stuffed wolf into Stiles’ arms. “You should probably sit down. Before you break your neck or something.”
“Oh, ha ha, the wolf has jokes now,” Stiles grumps.
Derek’s mouth twitches. It’s a brief flicker of movement, like he’s trying to bite back a smile, and something bordering on amusement dances in his green eyes. Is he… is he actually amused by something out of Stiles’ mouth?
And Stiles is stunned. He gapes at Derek as he makes his way to the window he’d come in through. “Where are you going?” he asks when he finally finds words.
“I have to find Scott,” Derek says simply. He glances back at Stiles. “What? You want me to stay?”
“No!” Stiles exclaims. He clears his throat and shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean… pfft, no. Of course not.”
Derek stares at him again. Once more, it feels like he can read Stiles’ mind, and Stiles shifts his weight from foot-to-foot awkwardly. Derek finally says, in a low, mocking tone, “Articulate.”
Stiles glares.
It’s probably just his imagination, but as Derek ducks out through the window, Stiles swears he can see the werewolf smiling. The thought almost makes him feel like he’s suffocating, and he tells himself that surely he was seeing things. Derek isn’t the type to smile, and he most certainly isn’t the type to smile at Stiles.
He looks down at the damned thing and groans. He can’t believe that Derek saw it, held it, even. Why did I buy you? he thinks, feeling so very stupid. I should have just left you in the store where you belonged.
The toy just stares up at him with those wide blue eyes.
4.
He certainly doesn’t sleep with the damned thing. That would be sad. And kind of creepy.
He does, however, set it on his bedside table when he goes to sleep, propped up against the alarm clock. It’s stupid, he knows, but he spent the money on it, he might as well get some use out of it. Even if it’s just him pretending that it’s watching over him as he sleeps.
It’s Tuesday, and he’s stayed up too late. Again. Sometimes he just can’t get himself in the mood for bed – he has too many thoughts racing through his head, too much stuff he feels like he needs to do. When it gets really bad, he sometimes sneaks one or two of his dad’s sleeping pills, though he knows he’ll be murdered on the spot if he’s ever found out.
The house is still and quiet as he finally climbs into bed. He shoves himself under the sheet, thinking it’s pointless because he’ll just kick it off with his tossing and turning, and he leans up to click off his lamp. The luminous numbers on his clock are red and glowing, and with the way the stuffed wolf is leaning against it, the red glow just slightly touches its eyes.
In the dark, the toy’s eyes are no longer wide and blue, but dull and red.
Like most nights, he dozes off with his mind on Derek.
He doesn’t sleep for long. The urge to pee stirs him, and for a moment, he just lays there, contemplating whether or not he can hold it until morning. In the end, he shuffles through the darkness to the bathroom to do his business. When he returns, he doesn’t bother turning on any lights – even if it means stepping on a CD case and cracking it, or almost stumbling over a balled up shirt.
He collapses back into the bed, pulls the sheet back over him, and gets comfy against the pillows. He darts a quick look at the clock to see the time – too late, it’ll be hell when it’s time to wake up for school – and he closes his eyes to sleep again. Just as he’s nodding off this time, he realizes that something isn’t quite right.
The stuffed wolf isn’t there.
Suddenly wide awake, he turns and looks back at the bedside table. Sure enough, his wolf – his precious, he thinks in Gollum’s voice – isn’t where he set it. He leans over the side of the bed, hand searching, but it doesn’t seem to have fallen to the floor. He sits up and reaches to turn on the lamp, bathing the room in light.
And he promptly cries out.
Fortunately, he’s a fast-thinker. He claps a hand over his mouth, muffling the sound, and he stares, bug-eyed across his room. Derek is sitting in his computer chair, legs stretched out in front of him as casual as you please, holding Stiles’ stuffed wolf in his lap. The absurdity of it all almost makes Stiles laugh – replace the stuffed toy with a cat and he’d look exactly like a Bond villain.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demands instead, sounding every bit as affronted as he feels. He hurriedly looks down, but remembers he’s wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt – he doesn’t really have anything to be embarrassed of.
Derek makes a contemplative face but he doesn’t answer. He looks down at the stuffed toy, and Stiles rolls his eyes, wishing he had something to throw at Derek. He vaguely wonders if he can take a spray bottle to him, just spray Derek every time he pops by unexpectedly. Would that make him stop?
“God, what is it with you and Scott?” he asks, and he gestures wildly at the stuffed wolf. “Can’t you just leave that alone? Have you guys never seen a stuffed animal before?”
“So it’s not a gift for Scott.” It isn’t really a question. It sounds like Derek’s known all along.
And yep, there’s Stiles’ ears beginning to heat up – just on time, actually. He settles back against the headboard, his gaze darting frantically all throughout the room, like he hopes he can find something to say written somewhere.
“What does it even matter?” he asks finally, and he hates how high his voice sounds. It’s so easy to lie to Scott but Derek’s just too intense – he just muddles Stiles’ thoughts up and turns him into a drooling monkey. “No, it’s not for Scott, it’s for me. It’s mine, alright? I… collect stuffed animals.”
Derek purses his lips a little, nodding. He looks up from the wolf finally, his gaze locking with Stiles’, and though Stiles wants nothing more than to look away, he can’t. He’s trapped by stupid Derek and his stupid green eyes, and he really wishes he had that spray bottle about now.
“Is this your first?” Derek asks.
“What?”
He shakes the wolf a little. “This is the only one you have,” he says. He sounds very smug and very arrogant, and very freaking irresistible and it makes Stiles want to punch himself in the face. “You must just be starting out your collection.”
“Yeah alright, whatever. It’s my first. You got something against stuffed animals or something? Is this conversation going anywhere or can I go back to bed?”
“It’s cute,” Derek says.
And despite his embarrassment, Stiles actually guffaws at that. Derek’s stupid eyebrows knit together, and he gives Stiles a look that says very clearly that he doesn’t understand the joke.
“Sorry,” Stiles says, even though he isn’t. “It’s just… you saying that word? Pretty hilarious.”
Derek nods again, though he doesn’t look like he agrees with Stiles. A heavy silence falls over them, and Derek’s gaze returns to the toy. He studies it like it holds all the secrets of the universe, like it’s the most interesting thing in existence. Stiles watches him, his anxiety climbing with each passing millisecond.
Why does he get the feeling that Derek knows why he bought that stupid wolf?
“When’d you even get here?” Stiles asks finally, when he just can’t take the silence anymore.
“I was here when you woke up to go the bathroom,” Derek answers. “I thought I woke you. But you walked right by without even noticing – you really should be more perceptive, Stiles.”
“And you really should bite me. This is my room.”
Derek’s mouth does that thing again – the thing it did on Friday. His lips twitch like he’s fighting back a smirk, and when he glances up at Stiles, his eyes seem… happy. It’s a strange sight, a really, really bizarre thing that makes Stiles wonder if maybe he’s dreaming this entire encounter up.
Derek suddenly stands, and Stiles almost shrinks back against the headboard. Derek, carrying the stuffed wolf by its tail, draws closer to the bed, and Stiles is almost entranced by the way he moves – all fluid and full of grace, like every move is perfectly thought out and choreographed. He doesn’t just walk, he stalks, like a predator.
And oh God, that turns Stiles on way more than it should. Did Derek come in through the window, by any chance? Is it still open? Can he throw himself out now and save himself more embarrassment later?
“It’s a school night,” Stiles says weakly. “What do you want?”
Derek suddenly sits down on the bed, sideways so that he can still face Stiles, and he’s way too close to be normal. Stiles wants to move away. Heat radiates off of Derek like he’s the freaking sun and he’s so close that Stiles can’t breathe. Yet no matter how badly he wants to run, his limbs have turned to lead. He can only stare, slightly open-mouthed, as Derek gazes down at him with that stupid intense gaze of his.
Don’t notice the way the shadows play on his cheekbones, he tells himself fiercely. Don’t notice the way the light makes his eyes shine. And for God’s sake, don’t think about the fact that his hand is almost touching your leg…. Oh God, his hand is almost touching my leg.
“So what’s its name?” Derek asks. How does he do that with his voice? How does he get it to sound so low and thick and perfect?
“What?”
Derek shakes the wolf in his hand again, and Stiles blinks.
“I didn’t name it,” he says. Not yet, he thinks.
“Not at all?”
“I had a few picked out,” Stiles admits. His throat is dry and he holds his breath like he’s afraid if he exhales he’ll ruin the moment.
“What are they?” Derek asks.
“You don’t care.”
“Tell me.”
“Okay, so maybe I only had one picked out,” Stiles says, and he swallows hard. Why can’t he stop talking? Why can’t he just shut up, bury his head under a pillow, and refuse to come out until Derek is gone?
Because he’s a freaking moron, that’s why. He’s a stupid idiot who bought a stupid stuffed wolf at the stupid Rite-Aid, because it reminded him of stupid Derek Hale.
“Which is?” Derek asks.
Stiles doesn’t say. He presses his lips together in a firm line, and he shakes his head a little, finally able to tear his gaze away from Derek’s. He looks down at his hands, which he hadn’t even realized were clutching the bed sheet, and he knows his face must be red. Why can’t he just lie? He could say any freaking name in the world right now, and Derek would be none the wiser.
Except… he would. Because Derek can tell when he’s lying, right?
Derek stares at him. After a long, tense moment, he asks, “Is it Derek?”
Stiles lifts his gaze again, and their eyes meet. He doesn’t answer right away, but he knows he doesn’t have to. Unlike him, Derek isn’t a complete moron. Derek is smart and Derek probably knew the first time he saw the wolf that Stiles had bought it for him.
But Stiles tries to save face. He simply can’t keep his mouth shut.
“Well, someone thinks very highly of themselves,” he murmurs.
Derek suddenly leans in and Stiles bugs his eyes out at him again. A choked noise leaves Stiles, but he doesn’t move, and after a mini-eternity, Derek is kissing him. Actually, willingly, mouth-to-mouth kissing him.
And it’s… amazing.
Even if he has no idea what he’s doing and he sort of just sits there for a moment. Even if Derek’s lips are a lot firmer than Stiles had initially imagined they would be. Even if the only thing he can hear is his stupid heartbeat drumming loudly and embarrassingly in his chest.
He lets his eyes fall closed, and he opens his mouth against Derek’s, allowing for Derek to deepen the kiss. As he pushes his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, a current of fire seems to shoot through Stiles. He clutches the bed sheet so tightly in his hands that his knuckles are probably bone white, and he can’t help but get the impression that Derek is internally laughing at him, but this feels too wonderful to care about anything like that at the moment.
When Derek pulls away, Stiles’ lips are tingling and his mind is swimming. He feels a little light-headed, kind of giddy, and really freaking terrified that this might not be real. He opens his eyes to find Derek’s face only a few inches away from his own, expression unreadable and eyes searching Stiles’ face for some sort of answer.
And the only stupid thing he can muster up to say?
“Uh….”
There’s that mouth twitch – he wishes Derek would smile, really smile, and not just because he wants to see it, but because he thinks Derek deserves it. Derek sits up straighter, and though he isn’t smiling, he does seem… satisfied. Which is good. It means Stiles isn’t that bad a kisser, right?
“I guess ‘uh’ works,” Derek finally says. “Cat got your tongue?”
And suddenly, Stiles feels… normal. Derek Hale just kissed him. Derek. Just kissed him. Him, as in Stiles Stilinski. As in, Boy Who Nobody Ever Wants To Kiss. He suddenly doesn’t feel stupid or embarrassed, and instead feels pretty damn good about himself.
“Are you serious?” he asks, sounding strangely composed despite how life-changing the moment is. “You had a perfect opportunity to say ‘werewolf got your tongue’ and you still went with cat?”
Derek finally does smile. It’s slow and soft, and it’s like magic. It’s almost better than the actual kiss was.
Well, not really. Nothing could be better than that.
The werewolf climbs to his feet and Stiles very nearly protests. When Derek turns to face him, the smile’s gone. But it doesn’t matter – Stiles saw it, and that was something he can’t forget. Even if Derek decides to brood for the rest of his life like the vampires in young adult romances, Stiles will be happy having seen him smile just the once.
“What can I say? I aim to disappoint,” Derek says.
“Clearly,” Stiles says with a little nod.
Derek throws the stuffed wolf at him, and Stiles barely manages to catch it before it hits him in the face. He looks up as Derek rounds the bed, making his way towards the window – which is in fact, open, for the record. Stiles is going to start forwarding the air conditioning bill to Derek.
“Wait, where are you going?” Stiles asks.
“What? You want me to stay?” Derek asks him.
“Uh… yeah.”
“Go to sleep, Stiles. It’s a school night.”
“And you’re a jerk.”
Derek shrugs. Actually shrugs. Like this whole thing means nothing to him. Like he does this sort of thing all the time – sneaks into boys’ bedrooms, gives them the best kiss of their lives, no big deal. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. He says, “Maybe I’ll be back later.”
“Later when?” Stiles asks.
“It’ll be a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
Derek looks at him, his eyebrows raising. He seems torn between being amused and annoyed, like Stiles is testing his patience. But then Derek’s mouth twitches again. “Looks like you’ll have to learn to start liking them.”
And without another word, he’s gone.
Stiles gets up to shut the window – his dad would have a cow if he knew it’d been opened at all while the air was on – and then he just stands there, staring out into the night. If his lips didn’t still tingle from where Derek’s had been, he’d definitely think he was dreaming.
He returns to his bed, getting back under the sheet, and he places the stuffed wolf back on his bedside table. He gazes at it for a long moment before he turns out the light, at the cartoony blue eyes and the bushy black tail.
And for the first time since he bought it, Stiles isn’t ashamed of the damned thing.