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“Derek….why is your hand on my ass?” Stiles’ eyes widen, trying to swallow down a small whine as he looks around the club.
Derek tends to get a little…possessive over him at times. Not in a romantic way- although Stiles desperately wishes- but in a back-off-this-is-my-human kind of way. Apparently Stiles’ 18 year old hormones, combined with his budding spark, means he’s now some kind of werewolf cock tease. Kind of like a siren, but for werewolves, Deaton had said, and wasn’t that just what Stiles had wanted to hear from his slightly shifty neighbourhood vet.
Yup, apparently Stiles Stilinski actually do got a booty and apparently all the local weres want a piece of it. It’s flattering, most of the time. Until it’s not. Stiles can usually take care of himself, but he can’t go around carrying his trusty bat with him all the time, and he’s still got a lot to learn about protection spells before he can actually do one.
And so, enter Derek, who, for some unknown, slightly painful to Stiles’ long suffering crush on him and his eyebrows reason, is totally cool with playing the part of Stiles’ pretend boyfriend when they go out.
(The fact that Derek even goes out with Stiles at all is baffling in itself, but hey, Stiles isn’t going to question a good thing. If Derek gets something out of watching him get his groove on he ain’t gonna ask no questions.)
Usually, Derek just growls cave man style when Stiles’ hormones - siren song, whatever - starts triggering overzealous reactions in people, sometimes pulling him wonderfully close and scenting him, just a little. (Stiles is super proud of himself for not whimpering during these moments. He deserves medals, or, at the very least, milkshakes. The good cholesterol killing kind he never lets his dad have.) Never though, never has Derek touched his ass.
Stiles isn’t too sure how he feels about it. Should he back up into it? Is Derek trying to initiate something? Shit, maybe he hit his head and he’s dreaming. It wouldn’t be the first time Stiles has dreamt about Derek groping him in public. (Shut up, he has an exhibitionist kink, okay? It’s normal. Erica said so.)
“Shhh, Stiles, just let it happen,” Derek…giggles?
Swinging around, Stiles’ eyes widen even further, a surprised laugh catching in his throat. “Are you…are you drunk?”
Derek never gets drunk. Ever.
“I don’t know,” Derek frowns, eyebrows pulling down adorably. “What is drunk supposed to feel like?” He looks up then, face completely earnest, and Stiles’ heart kind of stops. Not even Scott manages to pull of that puppy level of cute.
Stiles has caught glimpses of Derek’s softer side before. He rarely lets people see it, but it’s there, and Stiles wants nothing more than to find ways to coax it out of him for the rest of his life.
(He’ll admit, he’s in pretty deep.)
“It’s different for everyone,” he finally manages to get out, licking his lips, unable to help it, breath stuttering as he watches Derek track the movement. “How do you, uh, feel?”
“Wrong,” Derek…Derek actually pouts. Oh my god. “I like it when I can touch you, makes me feel safe, and I’m not touching you. So I feel…unsafe.” Derek’s frown deepens, like he’s a little confused by his own words, but then he’s looking at Stiles in that way he sometimes does when he’s struggling with something, like Stiles is the only person in the whole world who understands him. It takes Stiles’ breath away every time, that trust, and even now it takes him a few moments to recollect himself, to focus on what Derek is saying.
“You want to touch me, big guy?” he asks, offering up his hand, pretty sure offering up his butt for Derek to touch again would be a few hundred steps too far and all kinds of wrong. Especially given this is Derek. He keeps everything to himself, which is understandable, Stiles gets that perhaps more than anyone, but sometimes a word or two will slip out here and there when they’re alone together. Words like Kate and ashamed and guilty. “Go ahead. Full consent.”
Derek smiles, eyes lighting up a little, and he lightly touches Stiles’ fingers, tracing over them slowly until he’s holding his whole hand. It’s nothing like holding Scott’s hand when they’re watching a scary movie, or holding Lydia’s when she’s sad or stressed. It’s not even like how Stiles imagined holding someone’s hand would feel like, that someone. It feels like…like…like nothing bad will ever happen again, could ever happen again, and Stiles squeezes back, lacing his fingers through Derek’s properly.
“Feels good,” Derek whispers, almost shy, and something in the air changes. Stiles smiles at him encouragingly, wondering if this is the only way Derek feels he can ask for contact, with alcohol. It makes him sad, more than sad, but again he gets it. He gets being scared to ask for touch. It took him three years to ask his dad for a simple hug after his mom died.
He still struggles with that now.
“Yeah?” he asks, not entirely sure what else to say. Derek’s drunk, he could say anything and it probably wouldn’t matter, but it’s that thought alone which forces Stiles to make sure he doesn’t fuck this up, even a little. Sometimes he thinks Derek maybe…the way he looks at him sometimes makes him think…hope…but they’ve got a long way to go before either of them can think about that, if it’s even something Derek wants.
Please want.
Derek nods and steps further into Stiles’ space, smiling back as he reaches for Stiles’ other hand and brings it up to his face, slowly turning it to kiss the palm.
“You make me feel good,” he whispers. “You make me happy.”
“I do?”
Derek nods, biting his lip. “I never expected to be happy again. I didn’t want to be, but…but you make me think about it.”
“About being happy?”
Derek’s eyes are beautiful when he looks at him, serious, searching. “I think about that cereal you like and your favourite movies. I think about you on my couch, spouting theories about evil ladybirds and…in my bed. It’s scary to think about you there, but it feels good too. I don’t feel…bad….thinking about it.”
Stiles knows, even drunk, it takes a lot for Derek to say those words and he focuses on keeping his voice steady as he closes the rest of the space between them. He can’t hear the music now, or the conversations taking place around him. He can only hear Derek. He can only feel and see Derek. It’s like a movie and he laughs at himself, wondering when he became a walking cliché, a perfectly sentimental fool.
He has a feeling it has nothing to do with the romantic comedies Lydia and Kira make him watch and everything to do with Derek’s bunny teeth and how delicately he eats his pizza crusts when he thinks no-one’s looking.
“You should never have to feel bad,” he says, not wanting to let go of Derek’s hands, brushing his nose with his own instead. “I like it when you smile.”
Derek blushes a little, looking away. “I like it when you smile too.”
Oh god, Stiles is going to die. He’d be embarrassed if Derek was sober, clear headed enough to listen to how hard and pathetically his heart is pounding, but when Derek looks back at him, Stiles knows he knows anyway.
“Let’s get you home, sourwolf,” he grins, tugging Derek towards the entrance. “Get you into those fuzzy slippers Erica bought you for Christmas.”
Derek blushes again but he nods, happily following Stiles out to the Jeep, letting himself be led, face falling a little when Stiles lets go of him to walk round to his side of the vehicle. It does funny things to Stiles’ head, that look, and he kisses Derek on the forehead as an apology when he climbs in, buckling him into the passenger seat because reasons, but also safety.
“Thank you,” Derek says, cautiously taking Stiles’ hand again, looking sheepish about it, but Stiles quickly puts an end to that, sweeping his thumb across Derek’s knuckles as he tries to kick the Jeep into gear.
It takes seven times, but Stiles can’t even bring himself to care he’s probably going to have to plaster the engine with a fresh roll of duck-tape in the morning, because Derek is looking at him like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world and it kind of hurts. No-one has ever looked at him like that, except his mom before…everything.
“Stiles?” Derek asks, moving a little closer as he finally gets the Jeep moving.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“I’m still…I’m still going to feel the same way tomorrow, so just…just….” He frowns and there’s that look again. It says, help.
“Don’t leave you alone?” Stiles whispers, nervous in case he’s misunderstanding.
Derek nods, swallowing. “Yeah, if that’s something you…yeah.”
Stiles shakes his head, certain Derek must be able to smell how happy he is. His happiness must be stinking out the whole car. “That’s a dangerous thing to ask, you know. I might move in. You might never get rid of me.”
“I think that’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Derek smiles and, yeah, Stiles thinks, that’s a chance he’s willing to take too.