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A pretty typical day for Stiles involved a slew of morning classes, lunch at the apartment he shares with Derek (sometimes he’s home, sometimes at one of his jobs), back to classes, work at the library, and then home again.
Except one day, a busted sewage line in one of the main buildings on campus effectively cleared his afternoon, so he was able to take a nice long lunch, do a bit of studying, and for once, he was around when the mailman came.
Derek was home as well, chest deep into the refrigerator looking for lunch. He was sweaty and a bit greasy from a morning at the mechanic’s, which Stiles thought was hot as hell and was planning on saying as much when the doorbell rang.
Stiles sighed, a bit put out, but put his pen down beside his books and went to the door. He looked out the peep hole and, oh… the mailman. He swung the door open.
“Yeah?”
The portly, middle-aged man smiled, “Hi there. I just wanted to deliver these in person. Your mailbox lock seems to be busted. You might want to talk to management about that.”
Stiles took the envelopes from him and nodded in thanks, “Yeah, we’ll definitely do that, thanks.” He closed the door, eyes on the letters in his hands.
“Aw, man... Bill, junk, bi-- what are you doing?”
Stiles looked up to see Derek standing in the hallway, almost defensive in his stance. His chest was puffed out slightly and Stiles thought for a moment he saw red bleeding into the Alpha’s irises.
“Wha- are you okay? What’s wrong? Is there another werewolf around? Are we in danger? Were’s the wolfsbane?” Stiles promptly went into Danger Mode, which for him meant scrambling around the room, babbling.
There was a tense moment, but Derek finally deflated, eyes still on the door, and shook his head.
“No. It’s fine.”
Stiles sighed and threw himself on the couch. “Alright, good, the-- wait, then why were you so worked up?”
Derek stalked back into the kitchen and stuck his face in the fridge, “It was nothing. Drop it.”
“Were you…” Stiles’ face lit up, stretching into a wide grin of realization, “Wait, were you threatened by the mailman?”
If Stiles knew Derek any less he wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the very subtle blush creeping up his neck.
“No, I wasn’t. Let it go.”
“Oh, my GOD, you totally were! You’re like a little puppy, going berserk when the mailman shows up!” Stiles shot up so that he was bouncing on his knees, hands gripping the back of the couch. “Are you afraid he’s going to hurt your human? Try to take your territory?”
“Stiles, stop it.”
“Do I need to get you a shock collar in case you try to bite him, or will a spritz of water be enough? Please don’t pee on our front door.”
“Stiles.”
Stiles could tell he was on shaky ground, based on the tone of voice Derek was using, but his questionable-at-best self-preservation instinct hadn’t quite kicked in yet and he was on a roll.
“Maybe I should get you a mailman chew toy to take your frustration out on so-- Okay!”
The smaller boy suddenly found himself pressed against the nearest wall in a very familiar fashion. Derek had braced his forearm against Stiles’ chest and leaned in, his face a hair’s breadth away from Stiles’ own.
“Stop. With the dog jokes,” his voice came out as a low growl, but not one that signaled immanent danger to Stiles’ person.
“If you insist,” Stiles breathed shakily, “I was out of material anyway.”
There was a pause and Stiles tracked Derek’s eyes as they fell to his open mouth.
“You know,” he ventured, “there’s more than one way to shut me up.”
“I know,” Derek rumbled and promptly sealed his lips over Stiles’.
It was one of the most blissfully aggressive kisses Stiles had ever experienced and he sometimes wondered if his self-preservation left him in the hopes of eliciting this exact reaction. Probably, he decided as he arched into Derek’s body. And he was sort of okay with that.
He pulled away, allowing Derek to nip at his exposed neck.
“Don’t worry Sourwolf, I don’t let the mailman do this.”
Derek may have bitten just a bit harder, but Stiles really didn’t mind.