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The Jeep was parked somewhere it absolutely was not supposed to be. That, Derek decided, was Stiles’ fault.
Technically, Stiles hadn’t been driving. Technically, Derek had been the one who turned off the road, followed an increasingly questionable dirt trail through the preserve, and finally parked at the top of a hill overlooking Beacon Hills. But Stiles had been distracting him for the better part of twenty minutes, so Derek felt entirely justified in assigning blame. Especially since Stiles was still doing it.
“You know,” Stiles said from where he was sprawled across the hood, hands folded behind his head, “for someone who complains about my Jeep constantly, you seem pretty comfortable using it as outdoor furniture.”
Derek glanced sideways at him. “Your Jeep makes better furniture than transportation.”
Stiles gasped. “Roscoe heard that.”
“Good.”
“He has feelings.”
“It has rust.”
“He has character.”
“It has tetanus.”
Stiles rolled onto his side, staring at him with exaggerated offense. “Why am I dating you?”
Derek finally looked at him. Stiles was wearing one of Derek’s shirts, which was probably part of the problem. It hung loosely around his torso, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, collar stretched enough to expose the curve of his shoulder. His hair was a mess from the wind, cheeks pink from the cool night air, and there was something dangerously pleased lurking behind those doe-brown eyes.
Derek let his gaze travel slowly down Stiles’ body before returning to his face. “You know why.”
Stiles’ mouth opened. Closed, then opened again. “You cannot just—” He pointed accusingly. “That was incredibly pervy eye contact.”
“I looked at you.”
“You undressed me with your eyes.”
“You’re already wearing my clothes.”
“That does not make it less pervy.”
Derek’s mouth twitched. Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you think you’re funny.”
Derek looked back toward Beacon Hills. From up here, the town seemed strangely peaceful. Thousands of lights glittered below them while the sky stretched endlessly overhead, black velvet scattered with stars.
There were no hunters, supernatural disasters emergency pack meetings and no one bleeding. It had taken them an embarrassingly long time to figure out that sometimes they were allowed to have nights like this.
Stiles shifted closer. His knee bumped Derek’s thigh. Then remained there. Derek waited.
Five seconds. Ten.
Stiles’ hand landed casually on Derek’s stomach. Derek looked down at it.
“What?”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
Derek gave him a flat look.
Stiles blinked innocently. “I’m appreciating nature.”
Derek raised a brow, “Nature?”
“Absolutely.” Stiles spread his fingers over Derek’s stomach. “Look at all this wilderness.”
Derek caught his wrist. Stiles grinned. There it was. That expression. The one that meant Stiles had deliberately been trying to provoke him and was delighted to discover it had worked.
“You’re annoying,” Derek murmured.
“And yet.”
“And yet what?”
Stiles leaned closer until his breath brushed Derek’s mouth. “You keep kissing me.”
Derek stared at him and then kissed him. Stiles made a pleased little sound against his lips that immediately went straight through Derek. The kiss started slow, because somehow they always did when they were alone like this. Without monsters chasing them or pack members interrupting them, there was no urgency. Derek could actually take his time.
His hand settled against Stiles’ waist. Stiles’ fingers slid into Derek’s hair. The kiss deepened. Stiles shifted until he was practically draped across Derek, one leg sliding between Derek’s while Derek’s arm tightened around his waist.
Stiles broke away just enough to breathe. “See?”
Derek kissed the corner of his mouth. “See what?”
“You keep kissing me.”
“You keep talking.”
“Maybe kissing me is the only effective method of shutting me up.”
Derek paused.
Stiles’ eyes sparkled. “That sounded dirtier than I intended.”
Derek shook his head, but Stiles caught his face between both hands before he could turn away. “Hey.”
Derek’s gaze softened automatically. Stiles kissed him again, this time gentler. It lasted only a few seconds before Stiles pulled back and looked overhead. “Holy crap.”
Derek followed his gaze. A streak of white crossed the sky. Then another. Stiles sat upright so quickly he nearly headbutted Derek. “Did you see that?”
“Yes.”
“Derek.”
“I saw it.”
“Those were shooting stars.”
“Meteors.”
“Don’t science my romantic moment, Hale.”
“You science everything.”
“Not everything.”
“You explained the chemical composition of lube once.”
“That,” Stiles said carefully, “was relevant information.”
“To absolutely nothing.”
“It became relevant later.”
Derek actually laughed. Stiles stared at him. It was quiet and brief, but unmistakable. “Oh my God.”
Derek’s amusement disappeared instantly.
“You laughed.”
“No.”
“You absolutely laughed.”
“I did not.”
“You did! Holy shit, Derek Hale laughed at my lube joke under a meteor shower. This is officially the greatest night of my life.”
Derek grabbed Stiles by the front of his shirt and pulled him back down. Stiles laughed into the kiss. The sound faded when Derek’s mouth moved from his lips to his jaw, then slowly along the sensitive skin beneath his ear. Stiles’ breath caught. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, that is—”
Derek kissed his neck. Stiles’ fingers tightened in his jacket. “Derek.”
Derek hummed against his skin.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
Another kiss. Stiles tipped his head back. “Definitely doing that on purpose.”
Derek smiled against his throat. Stiles felt it. “You smug bastard.”
“You complaining?”
“I was making an observation.”
“Sounded like complaining.”
“Oh, trust me, Sourwolf, there are currently zero complaints being filed.”
Derek lifted his head. Stiles looked thoroughly pleased with himself. The wind moved through the trees around them, carrying the cool scent of pine and damp earth. Above them, another meteor flashed across the darkness.
Stiles watched it disappear. Then his expression changed. Not dramatically. Stiles rarely went completely still, but Derek had learned the difference between his restless energy and the moments when his mind wandered somewhere quieter.
“What?” Derek asked.
Stiles looked at him. “Nothing.”
“Stiles.”
“I was just thinking.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“Wow. Okay. Rude.”
Derek waited. Stiles sighed and looked back toward the sky. “I used to think pleasure had to be…” He gestured vaguely. “Big.”
Derek frowned.
“Not like that.”
Derek’s eyebrow rose.
“Although sometimes like that,” Stiles amended immediately. “Because I'm dating you, and have you seen you?”
“Mischief.”
“Right. Emotional honesty. Continuing.”
Derek’s thumb moved absently against Stiles’ waist. Stiles leaned into him. “I mean, I thought happiness was supposed to be this huge thing. Like you defeat the monster, save everybody, fix everything, and then suddenly everything feels good forever.”
Derek understood that more than he wanted to. Stiles glanced at him. “But I think maybe it’s this.”
“This?”
“Yeah.” Stiles looked around them. “The Jeep. The stars. You insulting the Jeep. Me making inappropriate comments. You pretending you hate them.”
“I don’t pretend.”
“Your heartbeat says otherwise.”
“You can’t hear heartbeats.”
“No, but I know your face.”
Derek stared at him. Stiles smiled. “And your face says you secretly adore every filthy thought that enters my head.”
“That would require me to know every thought that enters your head.”
“Oh, buddy.” Stiles patted his chest. “You wouldn't survive.”
Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles leaned in until their foreheads touched. “This is pleasure,” he whispered. “Being here. With you.”
Something in Derek’s chest tightened. Stiles’ expression immediately turned suspicious. “Don’t you dare get emotional.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re getting emotional.”
“You started it.”
“I am allowed emotional depth. You’re supposed to brood.”
Derek kissed him before he could continue. Stiles melted against him almost instantly. The kiss became warm and lazy, their bodies pressed together beneath an endless sky while the occasional streak of silver burned overhead.
When Derek finally pulled away, Stiles chased his mouth. Derek smiled. Stiles stopped and then his eyes narrowed. “You smiled.”
“No.”
“You did.”
Derek kissed him again.
“Distraction tactics.”
Another kiss.
“Very effective distraction tactics.”
Derek’s mouth brushed his ear. Stiles shivered. “Extremely effective.”
Derek murmured, “Still talking.”
Stiles turned his head, catching Derek’s mouth again. His hands slipped beneath Derek’s jacket, curling against his sides. “Then shut me up.”
Derek growled softly. Stiles’ grin was positively wicked. “There he is.”
Derek kissed him hard enough that Stiles forgot whatever smart-ass comment had been waiting on his tongue.
For approximately twelve seconds. Then Stiles pulled back, breathless and smug. “Just so we're clear, since we ended up making out on the hood of my Jeep beneath a meteor shower, I am absolutely putting that in the relationship scrapbook.”
“We don’t have a relationship scrapbook.”
“We will tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Already mentally designing it.”
“Stiles.”
“First page: Pleasure Under the Stars.”
Derek stared at him. Stiles’ grin widened. “Too much?”
“Yes.”
“Sourwolf Under the Sky?”
“No.”
“Meteor Me, Daddy?”
Derek’s entire face went blank. Stiles immediately lost it. He doubled over laughing, forehead hitting Derek’s shoulder while Derek stared into the distance with the expression of a man reconsidering every decision that had brought him here. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” Stiles wheezed.
Derek wrapped an arm around him anyway. Stiles eventually settled against his chest, still occasionally snickering.
Another streak of light crossed the sky. Then another. Stiles tipped his head back to watch. Derek watched Stiles instead.
Stiles noticed. “You’re missing the sky.”
Derek’s fingers tightened slightly around his waist. “No, I’m not.”
For once, Stiles didn’t make a joke. His expression softened. Then he kissed Derek slowly beneath the falling stars, smiling against his mouth.
And Derek thought that maybe Stiles had been right. Pleasure didn’t have to be something enormous. Sometimes it was a quiet hill above Beacon Hills.
A meteor shower. A terrible Jeep. A warm body tucked against his own.
And the most irritating man Derek had ever met whispering against his lips, “Seriously though. Meteor Me, Daddy is going in the scrapbook.”
Derek groaned. The sky, unfortunately, offered him no escape.