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Kissing had always been a mythical thing to Stiles, something that people wrote whole love songs about, devoted sonnets to and remembered for the rest of their lives. He had been worried a lot more about his first kiss than getting laid, even though he played up the sexual frustration in company, especially Scott's. He figured guys like Jackson would see it as one more weirdness and he didn't want this to be the target of a bully, but more than that he didn't want to face Scott's puppy dog expression – no pun intended.
His first turned out to be nothing like he imagined.
Stiles was drunk. Not drunk enough to black out any time soon, but drunk enough to think that draping himself all over Derek was a good idea. It was their 'fuck yeah, we've survived' party and Derek had taken the brunt of the damage this time, still looking ill at ease in his skin, with dark circles under his eyes and a tell-tale slump to his shoulders. He moved like he was sore from a full-body workout.
Flush with the thrill of victory and brave from the beer he'd consumed all night, Stiles attached himself to Derek. With his inhibitions lowered and everything pleasantly fuzzy, he could admit that he'd been scared of losing their alpha. Not just because Derek was a good guy and they needed him, but Stiles actually liked his company.
Laughing, Stiles took Derek's face in his hands and squished his cheeks. “I'm glad you're not dead.”
Derek glowered at him. Stiles hadn't known a guy could glower with his face all mushed. “Stop that,” Derek said, but it came out a bit mushed as well.
Heh. Stiles grinned, feeling warm and happy and safe like he hadn't for a while. “Did you know you have the most gorgeous eyes? And, like, everything else obviously, but your eyes. They change color.”
Said eyes flashed red, but Derek wasn't doing anything to extract himself from the situation, which Stiles took as enthusiastic consent in Derek-speak. Stiles leaned close and pressed their mouths together, moving his lips, poking his tongue out a little like he had always imagined since watching French Kiss during a rom-com marathon when he was twelve. It was probably the desperate licking that got Derek to sigh and take charge of the kiss, showing Stiles how it was really done before it all turned into unintentional puppy play.
It wasn't a revelation and there weren't any fireworks. But it was easy and natural and perfect. When the kiss wound down into little nips and nuzzling, Stiles felt a little dizzy, but he figured that was probably from the alcohol. The weird warmth in his cheeks and the way he couldn't stop smiling, though, that was all for Derek.
+
Their second kiss followed a deeply embarrassing morning after and a month of pretending that nothing had ever happened.
A witch in her twenties, crazed around the eyes but clearly in control of her power, had come to Beacon Hills to do whatever crazy witches did. Mostly it felt like a supernatural prank war or a college hazing, except then one of the kids she was courting for her coven ended up pretty gruesomely dead and then none of it was funny anymore.
“I could crush you where you stand, you little maggots,” she said as she faced down Stiles, Scott, Derek and Isaac in her lair, which turned out to be a nice suburban home that looked lived in, loved. Stiles had the terrible suspicion that the previous owners were not just on vacation.
“You can't do anything to us. Your power is manipulation, nothing more, and you can't get in our heads.” Scott sounded very sure of it, which was good, because Stiles couldn't have pulled off the lie. Her power didn't affect werewolves and Stiles had proven to be capable of getting out of her mind traps before doing something he would have regretted for the rest of his life, but that didn't mean she couldn't use him against his friends. He'd only come because he was also the only one who could kill her.
“We know your weakness,” Isaac said, taunting her to get her attention, like they'd agreed. Unfortunately, the witch knew her own weakness very well and her head snapped to Stiles.
“Oh,” she said, quietly, almost as if she was in awe. “You clever boy. You clever, stupid boy. Did you not think that I was prepared for you? Did you not think I had a backup plan for this?”
She snapped her fingers and suddenly Stiles flushed with heat and a familiar but uncontrollable desire to do something, anything. He twitched and fought it down, gritting his teeth. His fists were clenched at his sides and he knew he was vibrating with muscles yearning for movement.
“I can't make these idiots do anything,” she said, amusement in her voice. “But they can't touch me. Not like you could, if you wanted to.” Stiles heard her words, but they would barely compute. He noticed a flicker in the light bulb above them, the hum of electricity from the TV on standby, Derek's breathing that might as well have been a serious of huffy growls. “You don't want to touch me, do you? There's someone else you want to touch, I can feel it right under your skin.”
Stiles did want. Oh so very much. And right this moment he couldn't remember why he normally didn't, why he spent all those nights alone thinking of what ifs. He swiveled around to face Derek who looked... odd. Not scared, exactly, or angry, or disgusted, nothing that basic. The emotions on his face were complicated and didn't do a damn thing to stop Stiles from taking what he wanted. He knew that later he'd feel terrible about this, but he just leaned in and pressed their mouths together, moaning when Derek let him in.
“It's okay,” Derek whispered into his mouth. “I'm not saying no.” And he wasn't saying no, was saying yes enthusiastically with his hands and his lips and the sound of his voice a surprisingly low rumble. Stiles shivered with the knowledge that Derek would do this for him and the realization dulled the roar of the magic in his veins.
He dragged himself away, breaking the witch's hold. He glanced at Scott and Isaac, but they were both busy throwing themselves against the magical barrier surrounding her, yelping when the light burned their skin where it touched. Stiles grinned.
“Hey, baba-yaga wannabe, how about you pick on someone your own size?”
+
After the witch everything went to shit. So much so that it was nearly impossible to catch a breath, never mind enough privacy to talk about feelings and kisses and what it all meant. Stiles freaked out a little when he was alone while trying to catch some much needed rest, but mostly he could convince himself that Derek hadn't been opposed to any of the lip-locking action. Once this supernatural crisis was over, he'd probably even consider what to do about it.
Except then the pack was planning and arguing and launching a suicidal attack to take out the threat and Stiles found himself in the woods at Derek's side, waiting for the signal to storm into a monster enclave run by fairies with nothing but his belief and a magical pocket knife.
“So, there is a good chance we're all going to die tonight,” Stiles started.
Derek sighed, rolling his eyes. “No one is dying.”
“I know, I know. I'm supposed to be all rahhh! Positive thinking! But there is a chance-” Derek glared. “A miniscule chance! That we won't make it out alive.”
“What's your point?” Derek sounded agitated, but not in a rage-y way. More like he was a little bit afraid.
Stiles shrugged. “It's just, if I'm going to die, it would be nice if I got to kiss you just once.”
“But we-”
“No,” Stiles interrupted, holding up his index finger. “What I mean is sober and in full control of my actions. I know we should talk about it, but there just wasn't any time, and now it's almost too late-”
It was Derek's turn to interrupt, wordless but insistent. His hands cupped Stiles' face as he pressed close.
+
Stiles stopped counting, after a while.