based on this beautiful headcanon by betp
contains emotions and love making
fluffy buttsex if you will
After Stiles hits send on the text, he lays the phone down on the table by the front door, toes carefully out of his sneakers and peels his socks off as he pads quietly over to the couch where Derek is sitting. “See, no shoes to drop,” Stiles laughs softly, sitting down on the seat beside Derek. He wiggles his bare toes and Derek stares at them, looks up at Stiles with a caged, frightened expression on his face that clenches at Stiles’ heart.
“Okay,” Stiles sighs, breath catching in his throat, he’s so not good at this. Scott is good at this. Scott is good at Hallmark levels of sap and Stiles just has words that always sound sarcastic even when he means them, and gestures that feel too big even when he tries so hard.
“Okay,” Stiles says again and he shifts himself towards Derek and snakes a hand out, grabs Derek’s in both of his, rubs his thumb across the back of it.
“I love the look on your face when you first wake up in the morning,” Stiles says, voice coming out scratchy and it cracks at the end but he doesn’t stop even as he feels the light flush building on his cheeks. “It’s this…sort of dopey expression, especially when your hair’s all mussed up one side and there are lines from the pillow indented in your face,” Stiles smirks, “like you have no idea where you are or how you got there. This split second of total bleary confusion.”
“I love when you pretend like you don’t hear me when I come home sometimes and you’re singing in the kitchen cooking dinner cos you know I like to hear it and you’re too shy to do it deliberately,” Stiles pushes on, and he feels Derek’s thumb moving over his own palm now. “And I love that you’re shy,” Stiles adds, smiling down at his lap.
“I love that you act like you and my dad still hate each other even though I know that’s where you always go to watch the game on Mondays when I have the late shift. And that you’ve bullied every restaurant in town to refuse him fried food,” Stiles laughs and he glances up to see the smirk tugging at the reluctant corner of Derek’s mouth.
“I love that you can’t walk past a baby without giving them a goofy face, and I love that they never, not once, not smile back at you.”
“I love that you still try and convince Scott ridiculous werewolf things are true. Like, last month when you told him if his birthday fell on the full moon he’d have a ‘wereknot’ and he was so terrified of getting an erection Allison had to buy him a cock cage.” Derek snorts and Stiles squeezes his hand and laughs, shifts closer to Derek on the couch now, looks up at him, catches his eye.
“I love how much you never stopped trying. Back when everything started. You could have. But you didn’t,” Derek’s eyes dart away.
“I love the way you hold me…after nightmares,” Stiles says, voice betraying him, quivering softly. “And the uh…the way you never have to ask you just, you’re just there. And in the mornings, when I have bad nights you leave those stupid post it notes everywhere.”
“I gave you a papercut with them once,” Derek says and Stiles laughs. “I remember, you left one in my shoe.”
“You should have been wearing socks,” Derek chastises.
“I hate socks.”
“I love that you know,” Stiles laughs and Derek pulls Stiles closer, until his legs are draped across Derek’s lap.
“These are all…they’re nice but they’re…they’re all dumb.”
“Derek,” Stiles hisses, holding hard to his hand now, fisting another in Derek’s shirt, until Derek looks up again. “When have I ever done anything that I didn’t believe in? Anything that I didn’t want to do? You know how shit I am at pretending. You remember how I insulted my boss’s wife at that Christmas party last year because I couldn’t not tell her how fugly her stupid sweaters were that she knitted everyone?” Derek smirks and Stiles tugs him again, smiling. “And I thought I was gonna get fired.”
“But your boss gave you a raise,” Derek finishes and they laugh softly.
“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles sighs. “All this, you bought me a fucking house, you…I love…I love you. All of these dumb things, they’re you. Like the fact that you fight me for the last strip of bacon every single time even though we both know you were gonna let me have it anyway. And you fucking cheat at checkers because chess just stresses you out. You still don’t know how to set up a fucking series record on the DVR even though I’ve showed you like seven hundred times, and I know you steal the neighbor’s paper just because he let his dog piss in the yard that one time.”
“I only did that once,” Derek argues.
“And I love how you pretend to be rabid when your toothpaste gets too foamy,” Stiles smirks and Derek huffs, “that first time?” He asks and Stiles wrinkles his nose.
“No, that first time was awful,” Stiles admits and Derek starts laughing now, real, until he’s clutching at his stomach, “shut up! Okay, I changed my mind it’s not fucking cute it was fucking traumatizing.”
“You actually thought,” Derek snorts, “for like a good minute that I was rabid Stiles.”
“Dude! You just came at me with your stupid wolf face, stop laughing!” Stiles says, but he doesn’t mean it, doesn’t ever want to see it fade from his face, at his expense or not.
“You climbed up on the counter!”
“You went for the refrigerator!” Derek laughs.
“I fucking told you I had a can of mountain ash up there!” Stiles climbs into his lap then, smirking, pinching at Derek’s nipples as Derek swats his hands away. He laughs, abs tensing and relaxing beneath him, jostling Stiles slightly with it, shoulders shaking. Stiles waits, for Derek to get his breath back, strokes the hair away from his temple, runs his hands along his facial hair. Derek stares up at him, smirk not fully faded from his face as he settles back.
“And I love when you fuck me, right here in the living room, when we get home late, and we’re too fucking lazy to make it to the bedroom.” He rests his forehead softly against Derek’s, raises a palm to his hot cheek, blushing furiously beneath his hand.
“I love that you made me get over my hangs up about rimming cos…let’s face it your tongue and my ass are soul mates.” Derek laughs softly, lets his hands drift to Stiles’ waist, just beneath the edge of his t-shirt. He helps Stiles strip slowly, shirts and belts pulled free, jeans pushed down and out of the way until there’s nothing between them but heated skin and each other.
Stiles keeps eye contact as he lets Derek prep him, fingers coated thick with the emergency lube stashed in the side table. Then he rides Derek slow, fingers clutching at his shoulders as he pulls off and sits back down at an agonizing pace, mouth parted. “I love when you make me leave the lights on. When you watch me like I’m the only fucking thing that matters.”
“You are,” Derek says, pupils blown, voice choking on a soft moan, eyes earnest and almost pleading.
“I love that you make me feel like that all the time, Derek,” Stiles sighs, rolling his hips, letting his cock drag against Derek’s stomach.
“I love that you have a favorite mug,” Stiles gasps, “how much you hate it when I—fuck— move it.”
“That you give me that fucking look when I don’t use a fucking coaster,” Stiles laughs and Derek buries his face against Stiles’ chest, kisses him.
“Love when you complain about me borrowing your clothes, even though I know you put them away in my drawers on purpose,” Stiles accuses, and Derek grins up at him now, snakes a hand between them to wrap around Stiles’ flushed and hard cock, jerking him in a lazy, loose fist.
“How you much you hate smooth peanut butter because you think it’s boring,” Stiles says and can’t hold back the burst of ridiculous laughter when he remembers the first time Derek admitted this.
“I like texture,” Derek says, grunting.
“How you never make fun of me for coming to get you to kill spiders. Even if you do that jackass thing where you pretend to come at me with it,” Stiles tells him and Derek laughs.
“How you’re totally afraid of, oh God,” Stiles cries out, “thunder.”
“I am not,” Derek complains, but Stiles can’t argue, Derek’s hips quickening their pace, Stiles’ own rhythm going harsh and sporadic as they both get close, desperate inability to focus on anything that isn’t Derek’s cock slipping in and out of him, thighs slapping against his ass and hands moving on his dick.
“Fuck, I just love you, okay?” Stiles gets out, before he’s coming, staring at Derek, wide eyed and silent. Derek comes shortly after, pulls Stiles in for a bruising kiss that lasts for ages, Derek slipping out of Stiles wetly, come leaking against them both.
“I love you too,” Derek tells him, and Stiles clutches at Derek’s face as he rolls them, spreads Stiles out on the couch beneath him. “I know,” Stiles says, like he can’t believe it, “and that’s my favorite.”