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MovieKidd826 posted 3 new videos that week and Derek had missed every single one of them. He didn’t really use the computer much, especially not to watch videos of talking dogs and cats playing the keyboard; that was more Stiles’ thing.

Aside from updating his iPod with new music, he barely touched the laptop. He used to email back and fourth with his sister, (usually snarky, passive-aggressive comments on her inability to clean out his hairbrush after stealing it for a week. Sure, they lived together but they were odd like that and Derek just knew Laura spent entire night shifts coming up with a witty reply.) Now of course he doesn’t send her emails. He just reads them when he wants to feel close to her.

He used to listen to the last voicemail she’d left before setting off to Beacon Hills – she’s nagging him about forgetting to buy milk again, telling him to buy some more before she comes back – but it deleted itself 30 days after he saved it and he couldn’t get it back.

Anyway, the point was Derek only checked his laptop twice a week on the off chance that MovieKidd had uploaded a new song – and naturally, the one time he uploaded three different tracks in one week Derek had been incapacitated for 6 days by a horde of Goblins (please, don’t even ask. If it sounds ridiculous now, it only gets worse. Just know that wolfsbane-laced rope and angry Goblins don’t bode well for an Alpha taken by surprise on his 5AM jog.)

It was actually Scott who had introduced him to MovieKidd’s work. Not intentionally, no matter how far he and Scott had progressed friendship-wise, they were never going to get to a ‘you should check out this cool music, bro. It’s totally awesome’ level. Mostly because Scott’s usual taste in music was predominantly Flo Rida and Eminem, but also because Derekliked to keep his musical-tendencies to himself. It was nice to have something of his own that couldn’t be physically burned to the ground or killed.

Derek discovered MovieKidd’s music entirely by accident. Peter was hogging the Mac back in the apartment and Derek’s phone was being uncooperative as usual so he texted Scott, letting him know he was going to use his laptop to research the Wendigo problem they had been having. 3 minutes later Scott replied saying that he and Allison were shopping for baby clothes but Derek was welcome to drop by whilst they were out.

10 minutes later found Derek in Scott’s room listening to one of the best singers he’d ever heard.

A tab had been left open in the browser and Derek had been intrigued enough to investigate further. MovieKidd826. Why he called himself MovieKidd when he was clearly a singer still baffled Derek now. In retrospect he kind of appreciated the unassuming nature, just like the music he made. Definitely not some arrogant 15 year old trying to get famous through YouTube.

And holy hell, something about that voice undid Derek. The delivery was so raw and broken in all the right places; it was stilted, incomplete and it seemed to sit under his skin in a way that wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable. It was haunting and chilling, and so very fragile. It felt like someone had discovered a hidden part of Derek and gave it a voice.

Then he listened to the lyrics and wondered how anyone could know himself that well. So he jotted the URL on a sticky note before he got on with researching the Wendigo. When he got home a few hours later, he promptly ripped the three songs from his channel into his iTunes library and plugged in his iPod.

By the end of the week Alpha Shallows was the most played song on his iPod, Milk Thistle was 4th and Electric was 7th.

Derek hadn’t really considered himself fanatical about any musician before, but even he could admit that something about MovieKidd’s songs that stuck his core in a way that no other musician or band ever had before. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

Then two weeks later he heard You Are Your Mother’s Child and Derek knew he was in trouble. It was a Thursday afternoon, and he was royally pissed off at Stiles – he would ring every Wednesday night at 7PM. The whole pack knew about it. Wednesday evenings were ‘Stiles and Derek time’. Stiles moved to the Big Apple when he’d been accepted into NYU – he still came home in the holidays, but Stiles was pack and Derek missed him.

Just about everyone felt it, but Derek felt it the most (or at least, that’s how it felt). So when Stiles just didn’t call, and refused to answer any texts or calls, Derek was justifiably angry. Soon enough anger ebbed into worry – Stiles wasn’t hurt, not physically at least, but what if he was lost or unconscious or both and Derek couldn’t feel it?

Derek didn't sleep that night, not even after Stiles texted him at 4AM with a short, im ok. call u later

That being said, Stiles did not call later, or even that day. All the while, Derek waited around for a call that he would not receive and, becoming increasingly frustrated, ended up on Peter’s laptop where he discovered that MovieKidd had actually updated. So he watched the video, (there wasn’t any actual footage - just a picture of a lily.) The guitar began its simple, light chord progression and Derek realised this song was different.

Then he started singing and… something hit him in a wave of nostalgia.

The lyrics were tinged with something that sounded a little bit like longing and regret, but also affection. Derek couldn’t help but think about his mother; back when he was 5, when her mocha curls tucked behind her ears and brushed her chin, long before she grew it out. The way Laura’s lips pursed when she was trying to hide her amusement when she teased him. The shape of his cousin-cum-brother’s eyes, crinkled and frowned – because Thomas Hale will always be a moody fourteen year old in Derek’s mind.

He knew this song was different because he felt the heat of tears threatening to build when MovieKidd sings ‘you are your mother’s child’ like it’s something ought to be proud of. The hesitation and the waver, that’s what get’s him when he says ‘Someday you’ll be grown, then you’ll be on your own’. It was something so reassuring yet pained that Derek felt like he’d eavesdropped on something sacred and precious, something he understood but didn’t really comprehend.

That was 7 months ago. The Wendigo was long gone, and baby Erica was just coming up to 3 months old. MovieKidd had uploaded 7 more songs since. All of them were good, some of them great – but none could quite get into his headspace like that.

Derek followed him almost religiously. As of last week, MovieKidd had 11 uploads, 68, 250 subscribers and over 2, 448, 989 views on Lenders in the Temple alone. Now there are suddenly 14 videos and Derek’s irrationally pissed off that he missed them.

“If you glare any harder at the screen it’s going to self combust out of sheer pressure,” Peter drawls from his lounging position on the couch. He’s flipping through channels lazily; something about that unnerves Derek. A bored Peter Hale is a dangerous Peter Hale.

Three songs – A Case of You, California, and I’m Getting Ready. “Never seems to work on you, so we’ll be fine.” Derek jams the lead into his iPod with much more force than necessary.

Peter grins, “Touchy, touchy. What’s gotten you so upset?”

Derek doesn’t reply, but also doesn’t hesitate to flip him off over the screen. Peter snaps his jaw in mock aggression (that really isn’t that much faked, but there’s definitely mirth in Peter’s eyes so it’s okay. At least, that’s what Derek tells himself.) The Mac is freezing up again, which means it’ll be a good half an hour before iTunes will even pretend to play nice with him.

Derek is seriously considering getting up and going for a run when his phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Peter’s fingers twitch. He glances over to Derek who eyes him wearily and moves to pick it up. You wouldn’t dare, Derek glares. Peter raises a brow, Challenge accepted. His hand darts out as Derek vaults over him to snatch up the phone. Peter smirks in satisfaction as his hands reach their destination and he picks up his cup of coffee. “Something you don’t want me to see, dear?” He asks cordially into his mug.

hope u know that i saved you as derk on my phone. got a nice ring 2 it, don’t u think?

“Ahhhh, Stiles. How is my favourite hyperactive, motor-mouthed monkey?”

Derek rolls his eyes and shoots back a reply. “That could have been anybody. The rest of the pack do willingly communicate with me, you know.”

Go away, Stiles.

Peter laughs, “Of course they do. However, your heartbeat dances like that for only one person.” Derek’s ears heat up in response and Peter ruffles his hair with a pseudo-sympathetic, “Ah, young love. If this one burns down the house I’m taking it personally. ”

Derek glowers. Red bleeds into his vision as his phone buzzes again. “Don’t push me,” he warns around fangs but Peter just shrugs and sits back into the couch.

“Derek, that’s what I do. It’s what I live for. Aren’t you going to answer your lover boy? I bet he paces by the phone until you respond.”

i already am away, derk. NYU. dont u remember? so where’ve u been all wk? u didn’t reply 4 like a 6 days.

Derek frowns and unhappily complies with his uncle’s suggestion. “He’s not my lover boy.”

Why, did you miss me?

Peter’s smile is predatory; like he’d been waiting for the conversation to turn the way he wanted it. “But don’t you wish he was, Derek? Don’t you wish you’d just taken what you wanted before he ran off to New York?”

Derek grimaces and ducks into the kitchenette. “No, Peter. I don’t. Stiles is in New York. He deserves to have a normal college experience without having werewolves plastered all over it.” Although yes, the thought of Stiles with anybody else sets him on edge – not that Derek has any right to feel that way. He never even attempted to let Stiles know how he felt, even though he knew Stiles felt exactly the same way, because he was too god-damn chicken.

Stiles never made a move either so Derek figured they were both as pathetic as each other. It’s different now though, Derek thinks, because Stiles is living in New York and he’s at college. He’s happier there, that much is obvious through the skype sessions – so much lighter, more comfortable in his skin. He’s living a new life and, even if he isn’t in a relationship (and who knows if he is – Derek would never ask), that new life doesn’t involve Derek.

”That is the most self-indulgent lie I’ve ever heard you tell yourself, my darling nephew,” Peter says as he follows him into the kitchen. “Besides, people rarely get what they deserve.” His smile is jagged when he says, “I died twice – I’d say I got more than my just deserts.”

It’s a painful reminder that Peter is fundamentally broken. Even the flickers of his past uncle, the mischievous one with a smile full of secrets, can’t hide that this man is a man of vengeance and anguish. Derek pours himself a glass of orange juice and evades confrontation by gulping half of it down in one go.

“He was going to go anyway. I wasn’t going to stop him,” Derek admits quietly, “and if I was going to physically lose him when he moved away I wasn’t going to lose him permanently by fucking up whatever relationship we might have had.” The phone buzzes impatiently in his pocket. Peter stares at him in assessment.

Then he rolls his eyes, turning back toward the living room. “You are the dullest one yet, Derek. Even your father wasn’t this constipated emotionally.” The phone vibrates again. “I’d reply if I were you, it sounds like he actually wants to partake conversation with you which is more than I can say for myself.”

Derek frowns through the wall at where he presumes Peter is going to continue to lounge. The door slams and Derek realises that Peter is actually giving him some privacy.

on the contrary, assclown my wk was super productive w/o ur presence. i just wondered if those gobblins got the better of u.
also ur use of perfect grammar is noted. ur a clever cookie, good 4 u.

Derek smirks, and tries to find a way to phrase the Goblin Situation without sounding like a complete fool. Not much comes to mind – there were whips involved and it wasn’t pretty (in the most embarrassing way conceivable.) Thank the lord Deaton knew the leader well enough to convince them to let him out of the ropes and to move upstate into neutral territory.

I’m not trying to sound clever, Stiles. I’m trying to not sound like a 15 year old Hus Lyk 2 Kewl 4 Skool. Lmaoroflcopterbrbomgstfulol!!! ;)

that's disturbing. im sorry k? dont do tht again plz

The goblins were more problematic than anticipated.

That sounded okay. Diplomatic at best. A least it wasn’t incriminating–

AHAHAHAH

Maybe not. On the plus, there weren’t any goblin-bondage insinuations. Well, not until they saw each other face-to-face and Stiles weaselled the horrifying ordeal out of him in the most painful way possible. Before he can attempt to defend himself Stiles spitfires three more texts.

u totally had ur ass handed to you by a bunch of goblins, didn’t u?
thats hilarious. im gonna see if scott has pictures.
o hey! im comin home next wknd 4 a few wks. i handed in early. i want a bbq.

Derek smirks rests against the counter and welcomes the change in conversation. Though something nags in the back of his mind about the flashing of more than one camera whilst he was in wolfsbane-induced delirium. Jackson found it more amusing than he should have when Derek tried to physically get into the couch to listen to it’s stories. When he came to, his head and shoulders were wedged between the cushions, ass in the air, arms useless by his sides. In his defence, that particular couch would have had amazing tales to tell after everything it had been through, alpha pack and all. He just hoped Scott hadn’t thought to take pictures too.

Well damn, let me pull out the good china.

fu. no one likes u becuz u smell like mouldy cheese. its ma burfday i can do what I want.

Stiles, you can’t keep insisting on belated birthday get togethers. Your birthday was 7 months ago.

And wasn’t that just a punch to the gut. Stiles Stilinski, that gawky kid that he used to push around and slam into walls; that same kid who left Beacon Hills two years ago and still came back, was the only person Derek knew who was both constant and yet changed. Derek thought he would have stopped feeling this way by now – not the heavy, blindsided confusion of a crush, but the slow build of deep affection and trust (something that Derek has never really dealt with before.) His emotions are as strong and as liberating as ever. Derek never has been good at letting things go.

but we r still havin a bbq, right?

Derek sighs.

We’re still having a BBQ. He confirms.

Of course Stiles managed to break his leg when left unattended for a total of 7 minutes. Thank the lord he’d handed in hiss essays early or he’d be in serious shit right now.

Derek’s unimpressed face is like a fine wine, it improves with age. “How?” he mutters as soon as Stiles clunks awkwardly into the car with his peg leg.

”It’s a long story,” Stiles starts to say, but tapers off when he realises it really isn’t. There were maybe 3 minutes of trying to decide which brand of All-bran he was going to force upon his father (and as a result he failed to notice the fucking swimming pool of water in the middle of the isle), about 4 seconds of his father barking out his name like he’d just found out that Stiles had replaced his stash potato chips with carrots, one slightly-too-quick turn and then he was on the floor with his leg underneath him at a very unhealthy looking angle.

So yeah, 3 minutes of All-bran, 4 seconds of surprise and about 3 weeks of agony and/or humiliation to follow.

Stiles told him as much, who subsequently acted like Stiles breaking his leg was such a personal inconvenience. Derek’s put upon sigh is birdsong to Stiles’ ears when he says, “Really Stiles? Really?”

“Hey! It’s my body and I’ll break it if I want to.” Though of course if he’d had the chance he would have probably opted for not snapping his leg in two, because having a broken leg wasn’t really part of the plan.

Coming back had been a pretty big deal for Stiles. He’d been building up the courage these past few months to get Derek to pull his head out of his ass and actually admit that he kinda-sorta-definitely had a thing for Stiles. And that was okay; encouraged, in fact. Because Stiles has had a literal and metaphorical boner for Derek since the age of 16. Stiles figures once Derek admits it, he’s one step closer to accepting it, and accepting it is one step closer to getting in his god-damned pants.

That was going to happen later – the whole getting acquainted with what was under Derek’s underwear thing. First he was going to have the most amazingly eventful and mind-blowing Christmas ever experienced, including the birth of baby Jesus himself.

It seems like he’s already living up to that expectation with the leg snapping, barbeque throwing routine he’s got going on. What? December is prime-time barbeque weather. Stiles totally suggested it as a legitimate request. He was definitely not grasping at straws to keep the conversation going (…he didn’t really expect Derek to actually agree, okay? That’s just how his life hates him.)

The journey to the grocery store is short and relatively still, aside from the hum of the engine and the radio buzzing softly. Stiles still feels exhausted from the flight over so he’s grateful for the quiet – he’d spent a majority of the night in ER so sleep hadn’t exactly been restful. He begins to dose off just as they pull into the parking lot. Groggily Stiles makes to clamber out of the car, mindful of his cast, but Derek lays his hand over Stiles elbow and shakes his head.

“Stay in the car, Stiles,” he says. Stiles doesn’t know if he wants to argue or not yet. “I’ll be faster without you,” Derek points out and adds cheekily, “besides we wouldn’t want you to break the other leg, would we now?”

Stiles puffs out his cheeks in what he hopes is read as semi-aggressive and mutters, “Yeah yeah, jackass. Get me some red bull while you’re at it.” Derek gives him a look that tells Stiles he won’t be receiving any caffeinated beverages if Derek can help it. Maybe Stiles can convince him to drop into Starbucks on the way back to the apartment.

”You look like you could use a nap. Sleep.”

Stiles snorts, “Sleep is for suckers. I’d much rather nosey around your glove compartment. Who knows what I’ll find.” He rubs his hands together and cackles to himself. Derek remains indifferent.

”You do that. I’ll be 15 minutes. Try not to injure yourself further.”

Stiles sticks his tongue out as Derek gets out. He waits until Derek is at least 10 meters away before blasting the radio up as loud as he thinks is inappropriate. Derek stiffens and throws a bitchy look over his shoulder. Stiles smiles sweetly and waves. He snickers and turns it back down when Derek rolls his eyes and shrugs at the lady who’s giving him a particularly frosty ‘control-your-child’ look.

Stiles does actually think about having a wee snooze, but then the glimmer of metal catches his eye in the pocket-space of the Driver’s seat door. Derek’s iPod. He reaches over agonisingly slowly due to his limited movement. His fingers brush the edge and he ends up pulling it over to him via the headphone chord.

”Alright, baby. Let’s see what embarrassing 90’s pop Derek’s got hidden.”

Derek does not disappoint – there are no less than 3 Spice Girls songs, and once of them isn’t even a single. It’s clearly from an album (maybe it’s Derek’s favourite song?) There are more than enough Brittney Spears songs to give Stiles a permanent migraine… and what’s this? Oh, that’s okay. Its just 4 Cher albums. Damn, Stiles was looking for something embarrassing. That’s not going to be exploitable in the least.

Stiles snickers again and stuffs the headphones into his ears. He looks round for some songs that might actually be tolerable and he’s surprised to find more than a few. He’s got a few classics on there – a bit of Elvis Costello (only one song, but who cares? It’s I want you. It’s the song that sends chills down Stiles when he listens to it.) There are a few poppy-acoustic singers like Jason Mraz and Ed Sheeran that Stiles could easily fall into for a few minutes until Derek get’s back.

Stiles wants Derek to discover him on his iPod for full embarrassment to commence. He knows Derek is a little twitchy about his music taste (when it comes to his serious tastes. Stiles hopes Spice Girls and Cher aren’t included in that category.) Besides, Derek knows Stiles wouldn’t judge him on his music tastes, so a little ribbing wouldn’t be too out of order, right?

Stiles bums around for a few minutes before he gets tired of Mraz’s I’m so chill number and goes to look for a playlist that he might like. He see’s the playlist ‘bathtime’ and immediately burst into bellowing laughter. The idea of Derek with the bubble bath, the candles, and the soft music is priceless. Stiles plays the playlist without even checking to see what songs are in there. He kinda wants to know what Derek listens to when he’s having he deep reflective moments in the tub.

When Stiles hears his own voice played back to him he jumps to life and bashes his leg under the dashboard.

“Fuck!” He hisses and the iPod drops to floor. He scrambles to pick it up, gets his hand caught in the space between the passenger seat and the handbrake twice and is fishing it out with a pen when Derek opens the driver’s door.

“I’ve got some of those awful rainbow-acid marsh mellows that you’re always raving about – and no, we’re not stopping by Starbucks. It’s marsh mellows or nothing,” He says as he drops the bags into the backseat. He looks over his shoulder to where Stiles has plastered himself to the door, iPod dangling from the lid of the sharpie he’s holding. “What are you doing?”

Stiles’ neck and chest flush. His eyes dart to at least 7 different points on Derek’s face before they settle on his collarbone. “I, uh, dropped your iPod.” He stammers out a little too quickly. Derek frowns and sits properly in his seat, still looking at Stiles.

“Well you're not lying,” Derek says. Stiles deflates into his seat like a balloon running out of air, “but you’re not telling the truth either.” Stiles laughs loudly and gives him a wobbly smile.

Derek is still looking at him as if he can make Stiles talk out of sheer pressure which really isn’t turning out to be a bad tactic. “It’s all part of my charm?” Stiles offers with a shrug. “Your Cher collection is fabulous, by the way.”

Derek scowls and starts the car with a muttered Whatever. Stiles sinks into the back of the seat as much as he can. He looks down to his lap and sees that his own music is still playing back to him. Derek must be able to hear it, but he doesn’t seem to be making any sort of-

“Turn it off if you're not going to listen to it,” Derek snaps.

Holy shit; he doesn’t know. How the hell does Derek Hale not know that his bath time playlist has – oh my fucking god - all 14 songs that Stiles Stilinski, one of his closest friends and unrequited love interest, had both written and performed with him in mind? Stiles pauses the song and tries to find some sort of balance in his now completely trashed train of thought.

How is this even his life right now? His voice surely isn’t that different when he’s singing. Or maybe Derek is playing dumb. Though that isn’t like Derek, he hates manipulation of any sort. Stiles, however, Stiles is more than willing to manipulate the situation until he has some sort of clue as to what the hell is happening.

“I didn’t know you liked MovieKidd826,” Stiles starts conversationally. Derek’s hands grip the steering wheel tighter. Stiles raises an eyebrow and continues, “Chill dude, I just didn’t know you liked that kind of music.”

Derek shifts, glancing a Stiles through the corner of his eye, “Most of his stuff is in my most played music actually,” he says inelegantly. Stiles’ mind is blown, in fact, he’s pretty sure it’s splattered across the window beside him. Derek Hale listens to his music more than anyone else’s. What the shit?

“He’s okay, I guess,” Stiles’ hears himself say, but he honestly can’t tell if he has actual control over his voice at this point in time. Give him some credit; he’s in shock here. “What’s your favourite song?”

“There aren’t any I don’t like really,” Derek admits, his thumbs dragging the steering wheel as he waits for the traffic lights to change. He looks over to Stiles, “but definitely You Are Your Mother’s Child. Do you know that one? I’ve followed his stuff pretty much from that point on,” Derek tells him with slight more ease than before.

Stiles feels like the air has been sucked out of his lungs. The one song – the one that he wrote for himself. That was the song Derek chose. Oh god. Stiles feels the car shrink around him. His throat begins to close. Shitfuckshit. He can’t breathe. “Pull over,” he demands, though it feels far off and distant.

Fuck his fucking life right now. Stiles barely registers how much time has passed before Derek pulls over. As soon as they do stop, Stiles stumbles out of the car and hobble-runs to the grass bank, where he sits and plants his head between his knees. A panic attack. Perfect. Just what he wanted.

There are footsteps treading through gravel to meet him. He doesn’t see Derek’s confused and worried expression, but he does feel the hand gently touching his shoulder. “Stiles?” Derek asks tentatively. “What’s wrong?” Stiles can’t say anything yet, so he doesn’t. He just tries to calm down and begins to count to 100.

Derek sits next to him the whole time. Stiles gets to 78 before he’s got a hold of himself and by 82 he’s turning on Derek with more energy than he really shoud.

“Are you serious?” Stiles asks incredulously. Derek flinches back, bewilderment written all over his face. “I mean, are you seriously telling me you didn’t pick up on this even though you’ve been listening to ALL of my songs?”

“What? But –”

“Oh for the love of God, Derek. The first song was called Alpha Shallows. Leaders in The Temple had three allusions to wolves. Three! California talks about missing a certain someone in California when traveling to Europe – which I did last semester – I called you like every other day when I was there. Are you seriously telling me you thought there was another wolf-loving, Californian, undergrad student traveling around Europe metaphorically singing about his feelings for a different Alpha!?”

Stiles’ chest heaves as he fights for his breath again. Derek is useless beside him.

“You’re MovieKidd,” Derek realises. His face twists with confusion, “I’m the Alpha?”

“Yes Derek, you’re the fucking Alpha! You spent at least 15 months telling anybody who would listen, didn’t you?” Stiles flails his arms out inarticulately before he slumps into a sort of mind-numbed induced slouch.

It’s quiet between them, and the lull gives Stiles time to realise exactly how much better he could have handled the situation. Derek is silent as the night, but he’s also not getting the hell out of dodge so Stiles presumes he’s still processing. He looks like his world has just been missile bombed. Try being the one who actually put his heart out on the line, Stiles thinks bitterly. He just hopes admitting this wasn’t a terrible mistake.

But then Derek’s fingers are tilting his jaw and he’s pressing his lips against his. Stiles sort of short-circuits, and yes, okay, this is great. Derek Hale is kissing him. Stiles is all sorts of down for that. Derek tries to pull back, say some soppy, romantic crap maybe – Stiles will never know, because he wraps his arms around his neck like a (very sexy) octopus and pulls Derek in for round 2.

There’s no chastity in this kiss. It’s sloppy and enthusiastic, and Stiles is moaning in Derek’s mouth whilst pulling him down over him fully. His hands all over his back, and just for the record, Derek Hale can do amazing things with his mouth.

Derek pulls away reluctantly, “We need to stop,” He says regretfully, “As much as I don't want to. I can see where you’re going with this and I’m not having sex in a field.”

“You’re a werewolf,” Stiles argues, “I thought this would be right up your street. Kinky outdoor sex – I’m surprised you haven’t mounted me already.” Stiles laughs at the half grimacing, half interested expression loitering on Derek’s face and reaches up to play with the hem on Derek’s t-shirt.

“We have your birthday barbeque to get to.” Derek reminds him, “Though I do remember you saying birthday sex being the best kind of sex last year. I’m not sure if this counts.”

Stiles grins goofily. Holy mother freaking Christ, this is really happening. He’s kissed, oh god, he’s dating Derek Hale. “I swear to god, if I wake up in ER I’m going to be pissed.”

Derek smiles back and it’s just as stupidly dopey as his own. ”Love is touching souls, surely you touched mine” He sings slightly off-key and a little bit out of time but Stiles beams and pulls him back down for another kiss.

”Just one more…”

Stiles’ latest song is probably his best one so far. Derek likes it, not because of that haunted atmosphere that Stiles is so good at cultivating, but because it’s warm and earnest like the rest of his personality. It makes of him think of lazy days, and unhurried kisses on the patio.

His newest song is called Lovesong.

Derek loves it because if was a gift – a Christmas present, technically. Apparently Stiles had wrote it last year, but with breaking his leg and seducing Derek completely, it slipped his mind to upload it until 3 months later. It’s probably for the best, because if Stiles were in beacon Hills, and not finishing his studies in New York, Derek doesn’t think he would have let Stiles go back at all.

The video description is as elusive as ever. It simply reads,

merry xmas. u love it really.
ps. I no about the goblins. nice ass ;)