Work Text:
Derek knew about the tattoos.
It would be hard for him not to, given that they sat prominently on Stiles’ right shoulder blade and with Derek becoming very well acquainted with Stiles’ body since they started their relationship two years ago. At first it had bothered him, seeing the list of names that preceded him, everyone who had become a part of Stiles before he built up the courage to take their place. As the months ensued, however, Derek became strangely comforted by the names, all evenly spaced and struck through, demonstrating that while they had all been with Stiles first, hopefully Derek would be the one that lasts.
This peace of mind was dashed the day Stiles came back from Berkeley, energized and smelling faintly of ink and blood, the same scent Derek had come to identify with Stiles’ harebrained schemes; some of his tattoos, like the beautiful and delicate flowers that adorned his left bicep for his mother, suited him and remained treasured to this day. Others, like the wolf paw he had gotten on his hip one drunken night with Scott as an inside reference to the pack, but had ended up looking so sloppy that he had needed it touched up in the harsh light of day, not so much. Not to mention the day he decided to surprise Derek with a temporary tattoo of a Sour Patch Kid to represent Derek, and he had been so gob smacked that Derek hadn’t even realized that he couldn’t smell the telltale sign of its permanence until Stiles broke down laughing in the middle of the loft. Derek still scowled whenever he thought about it, although the subsequent session in the shower to scrub off all reminders of the Sour Patch Kid's presence never failed to make his ears turn slightly pink.
The scent intrigued Derek as it greeted him alongside Stiles generally brash entrance into the loft, tripping over shoes that remain in their rightful place, but which Stiles never failed to run across anyway. He shook his head fondly, turning back to the spaghetti he was busy stirring when Stiles keyed in. A rumble of contentment went through him unbidden as he listened to the sounds of Stiles making his way to the kitchen, dropping his textbooks and laptop onto the currently unoccupied sofa. As he added the final touches to the food, he felt Stiles brushed his face along Derek’s neck, arms encircling him. He turned, careful not to touch the still hot burner, and began his journey of cataloging Stiles since he saw him two nights ago. He had showered recently, evidence found in his hair that always managed to tickle his nose and led to a soft huff of laughter to escape Stiles. Continuing on, Derek could smell who Stiles had come in contact with recently, Lydia from their shared apartment at Berkeley and Scott no doubt when he dropped by the Sheriff and Melissa’s shared house. A third, unidentifiable scent clung to him, but nothing that worried Derek too much; being at college meant that Stiles came into contact with a fair amount of strangers, and with a potentially new tattoo its source could be the tattoo artist. The fact that he always smelled so strongly of Derek no matter how many days it had been since they had seen each other definitely helped in putting Derek at ease.
He sighed, happy that it was Friday and Stiles would be able to stay for the weekend. It didn’t matter that Stiles would be graduating in a short matter of months, it didn’t matter that they had already determined without speaking that Stiles would be taking his rightful place in Derek’s loft once he had his degree, allowing him to come back to the pack that missed him and Lydia so much while they are away. Derek secretly had a countdown of the days on his phone, though Stiles’ notorious habit for being nosy may have led to him finding it, explaining the knowing smirks he would shoot Derek’s way whenever Derek casually mentioned graduation. It didn’t matter; Derek was happy to announce to the world that he wanted Stiles with him all of the time, would proclaim it in front of the whole town if it would mean that Stiles would continue looking at him with the same expression he got on his face every Friday he came back to the loft to find Derek cooking him dinner, silently providing for him in every way he could.
They pull apart, the rumble from their twin stomachs signaling that it was time to eat. As they each grabbed a plate and one at a time got their share of food, the sound of their quiet movements pervaded the space and casted a quiet hum over everything. This space was theirs, and nothing could harm it in that moment.
Sitting down, Derek broke the silence to ask about Stiles’ day.
“Good. I got an A on that paper that was kicking my ass last week and my professors seem pleased with the progress I’ve made on my thesis,” Stiles spoke around his food, unwilling to stop eating for one second to get his words out. He swallowed and continued on. “Plus, Lydia decided that our apartment needed some cleaning, so she hired a few people to come over and do it because she is too busy running circles around everyone in the Chem department. Not that I’m complaining, they found my copy of Assassin’s Creed that I was sure Scott took with him last time he was over.”
“And I’m sure that you decided to play it until sunrise in celebration?” Derek couldn't help but butt in, watching as Stiles rose to deny it but ultimately shot him a narrowed glare to confirm his suspicions. Their back and forth only seemed to grow the longer they were together, something Derek was thankful for; without their banter, his day would feel a little bit emptier.
“You know, you should be nicer to me. I went out of my way to do something for you this week and I won’t even let you see it with an attitude like that, Sour Patch.” The name never failed to make Derek scowl in memory which Stiles knew, resulting in him bursting out in laughter, a sound that left Derek slightly breathless in wonder but eventually joining in. He pushed away from the table, the two of them having finished eating, and carried both of their plates to the sink. Before he could even turn on the faucet, however, Stiles came closer.
“Come on, Derek. Follow me and I’ll show you your present.” A mischievous smile crossed his face, and Derek was unable to do anything but listen, allowing Stiles to take him by the hand to the bed. There, he gently prodded Derek onto the sheets and promptly stripped him of his shirt. Minutes passed as his hands relearned Derek’s chest, with him nosing his way along Derek’s throat and leaving soft bites along the juncture between shoulder and neck. As Derek could feel his arousal slowly wash over him, Stiles rose up and took his shirt off. Just peeking over his shoulder, a wrap descended the same shoulder blade that held the names of Stiles’ past lovers, and Derek stopped cold.
Stiles turned his back toward Derek, unaware of the growing dread enveloping him as he wondered who Stiles possibly could have added. Was this his way of telling Derek that they were over? Had he been cheating? Was he leaving Derek for someone else? He wanted nothing more than to hide his face in his hands, but before he could so much as blink, the tattoos appeared in front of him. There, sitting below the names of Stiles previous relationships, in clear print that has not been faded by time or obscured by a line, rested his own name. He didn't know what to feel, what it meant, and he waited without breathing for Stiles to say something, anything.
“I know that you must have questioned why I got this tattoo in the first place,” Stiles started, perplexing Derek with the direction he was taking, but he remained silent, allowing Stiles to continue.
“I got the first one of Heather’s name one night when I was with Scott, and the only reason neither of us thought better of it was because we had pilfered alcohol and used fake IDs Danny gave us to go out. Stupid ideas all around, but my and Heather’s relationship was reaching the end of its course and I hoped that this would convince her that we belonged together. Turns out, drunken tattoos do not make good love confessions, and she had already moved on to someone else. So, I looked online for something to cover it up with, and just decided to get it crossed out because nothing else seemed to fit. After Tom, I got the idea to make it a list, feeling like it was the best way to commemorate my relationships while giving myself a tangible way to let them go.”
“And then you stopped me one day, looking so nervous I thought you might start shaking, and everything between us just fell into place. I’ve never been happier with anyone than I have with you, and I want you to know that Derek. You’re it, and I wanted you to see it every time we are together, I want you to see your name below all of the others and know that you are the one I won’t cross out, you’re the one who is going to last.” Here, Stiles turned, gently laying his hand across Derek’s cheekbone and waited for a reaction.
Derek released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a shuttering exhale that gave him the time to reach forward and pull Stiles toward him, lips meeting in a heated kiss that allowed him to pour every emotion he felt in the moment, in this lifetime, into Stiles. They pull apart in what felt like no time and an eternity later, breathless and lips kiss bitten, and Stiles eyes sparkled with a fondness and love he knew no one else had been witness to.
The smile widened as he gazed at Derek, and he could tell he would’t like what came out next when Stiles gout that expression on his face.
“If I knew you would react like this, I would have made the Sour Patch Kid permanent.” Stiles howled his laughter as Derek pushed him aside, stalking into the kitchen to find a pen. As he returned, Stiles was too preoccupied in trying to find his breath while still laughing to notice what Derek was doing. It was only when Derek replaced the wrap and leaned back from Stiles shoulder, smirk in place as he capped the pen that Stiles noticed that something had happened.
“What did you do?” he asked, eyes shifting between the pen and Derek.
“Well, with an attitude like that, I figured I might as well cross my name out.” Derek backed away, trying and failing to stifle his amusement as Stiles’ eyes bugged out and he leapt from the bed, racing at Derek until he grabbed ahold of his hand and tugged him toward the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” Derek asked, and was met with an eye roll and a quickened pace.
“What is it look like I am doing? I am leading you to the bathroom so you can remove your stupid line and you can make it up to me for joking about my romantic gesture.” Derek liked to think that he hid his besotted face from Stiles, but he would be okay if he hadn’t. After all, they were each other's last.