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It had been a while since Stiles raided his father's liquor cabinet. Back when Allison and Scott went through their first break-up, in fact. Getting drunk was Stiles' solution for the immediate sorrow of being dumped but apparently werewolves can't get drunk; at least not on that much alcohol. He ended up drinking most of it by himself and babbling about things that were extremely unhelpful. Luckily, the two lovebirds got back together before he had to play the best friend card again and take Scott clubbing or something else equally as likely to fail in cheering him up. Things stayed pretty busy after that and there was no need to chase the warm feeling that burned in his throat when he sneaked a drink.
Until today. Everything had gone wrong from the moment he had gotten out of bed and stepped on the thumbtack he'd lost last night. All of his shoes mysteriously lost their mates and while he was searching for them, he discovered that his clock was broken and he was an hour late for school. No homework, no lunch, and two pop quizzes later, Stiles was beginning to wonder if there was some deity he pissed off to deserve this. As the cherry on top of the steaming pile of shit that was his life at the moment, on his way to detention he was exposed to the gut wrenching sight of Lydia eating some jock's face to make her ex jealous. Seems like his ten year plan was turning into a never-gonna-happen failure. Like everything else he tried to accomplish by his own merits.
Mr. Stilinski was working late and Allison was on a family trip, making it the perfect time to open that bottle of Jack Daniel's and seek comfort in his wolfy childhood friend. He fired off a text after choking down the first shot. The sheriff had no idea his neglected pantry held half a dozen party glasses Stiles had tucked away for special occasions. As usual, he wanted to gag at the taste but forced himself to swallow. Someone made fun of his sensitive gag reflex once but he was making progress in his effort to tame it.
By the time it was clear that Scott was either ignoring him or a beastie had smashed his phone, Stiles was starting to feel a little buzzed. He was also bored of being home alone. Being the son of the Sheriff, he was no stranger to certain laws. He knew drinking and driving was a terrible idea from all the accident reports that came across his father's desk. But, as long as he wasn't too tipsy, there shouldn't be a problem with driving to Scott's house. Right? He tested himself by walking in a straight line to the front door and stopped outside to try calling Scott one more time before getting into his jeep.
"Be good to me, baby." He rubbed his hands down the steering wheel and grinned when the engine started the first time he turned the key. In mock seriousness, he crossed himself and backed out onto the road. He sang very loud, very off-key songs on the way, completely positive he wasn't inebriated despite the blurriness of the road. The windshield needed to be washed, that's all.
When he arrived at Scott's house, only to find his best friend wasn't home, Stiles actually growled his annoyance. Definitely spending too much time with wolves. He abused the door for a full minute- thank goodness Scott's mom was at work and couldn't see him like this- before groaning, "Dammit, Scott. Where is your furry little ass?"
Back to the jeep and back on the road he went, driving aimlessly. Black pavement disappeared under his tires and became gravel until he found himself out in the woods near the spot they first encountered werewolves and life got all fucked up. It wasn't like high school was simple anyway, but then Derek had to come along, and Peter, and the hunters, and supernatural mutation, making it one hell of a confusing year. When Stiles told Scott they needed more fun in their lives, he wasn't referring to heart pounding chicken games with Death. And not that he wasn't happy for Scott, but if Stiles had the ability to scale a building he wouldn't waste it sneaking into a hunter's house to get lucky. Of course, the list of things he would do to get some was more than a mile long and included several impossible feats; virgins get desperate sometimes.
He left the door of the jeep wide open after he pulled off the road and climbed out. He gripped the keys so tightly they made imprints in his palm and stumbled into the woods, taking a swig of whiskey.
"Scooooooot! Scott, I know you're out here, you mangy excuse for a best friend! It's bro time. I swear I'll kick your ass if you don't get out here!"
As soon as the sun went down it was ten times more difficult to navigate through the thick forest. Not to mention, Stiles was having a hard time getting his feet to move the way they're supposed to; how many feet did he have? All of the trees were starting to look the same, carbon copies of each other, and was that the rock he passed a minute ago? Or was it ten minutes ago? Where was his phone? Oh, he must have forgotten it at home. Damn short term memory and its unreliable track record.
"Scott," He slurred to himself, "I don't even know what, my brain isn't working anymore... You need to come out already, buddy. Before I start quoting sci-fi films."
There was a crack somewhere in the darkness. Stiles stopped and lifted his eyes to find the source. He couldn't see a thing.
But there it was again; a distinctive snapping of twigs. Something was moving through the underbrush towards him.
"I swear if that's some freaky ass werewolf- I say ass too much- I'm gonna go berserk and turn Jedi on you. Or ninja. A combination, actually. "
Alcohol turned out to be a great source of strength and Stiles didn't flinch at all as a pair of eyes starting glowing behind the veil of night. But strength was apparently synonymous with stupidity as Stiles spread his arms wide and said, "Come at me."
In a stroke of luck, it was Scott who stepped out and gave him a long stare. "Stiles? Are you drunk?"
"I don't know, haven't checked."
"What are you doing here?"
"Looking for my best friend. You wouldn't happen to have seen him, would you? He's about this tall with brown hair and a tendency to tune out the most brilliant person in his life when things matter."
"Why the hell are you drunk? Did you drive here?"
"No, I grew wings and flew."
The young werewolf sighed and held out his hand. "Give me your keys, I can't believe you did something that stupid!"
"No, I am the only one who gets behind that wheel. I- where'd my keys go?" Scott watched with a disapproving frown while the unsteady brunet searched through his pockets. "Who stole my jeep? Sh- It's a piece of crap, why would anyone wanna steal it? I need that priceless hunk of junk." The search turned up nothing and Stiles looked up at Scott with big eyes. "Somebody took them."
"Come on, let's go see if you left them in the ignition."
"I didn't, they were right in my hand!"
Scott grabbed the bottle from Stiles' lips and said, "You've had more than enough. Why are you even drinking?"
"Bored. Boy's night."
"Okay, well it's time to take boy's night to bed." There was an awkward silence and Scott rolled his eyes, elaborating, "Not us in your bed. You. You need to sleep this off and wallow in regret tomorrow."
"Sounds like a plan, mah man. ...A very, very bad plan with absolutely no potential for fun."
"Stiles, I told you I was going to start training today."
"...Oh, yeah."
"Your dad's going to notice this time, how much have you had-"
Scott's scolding was interrupted by his rather annoying, generic ringtone. He wasted no time in answering as soon as he saw Allison's name on the screen.
"Hello? ...Yeah, where are you? ...I thought you weren't getting back for a few days. ...Calm down, it's okay. I'll be right there!"
He ended the call and met Stiles' humorless stare. "It's Allison, she needs my help. There's something stalking her family."
"Can't they take care of themselves? I mean killing puppies can't be the only thing they're good at."
"I have to go."
"Fine! Let's go rescue the damsel in distress before another prince charming shows up, because hell knows you have to run to her side every time she gets a boo-boo."
"You'll slow me down like this, I can't take you with me."
Stiles gave a very good impression of an owl when he blinked. "You... You're leaving me here? In the woods? What if some hungry wolf shows up and wants a taste of human flesh? I'm a yummy little treat just waiting to be eaten!"
Scott bit his lip and looked around. Finally he said, "I think I have an idea." He grabbed Stiles' arm to keep him from stumbling too much and led him through the treacherous woods.
...
The Hale house stood out against the dark outline of trees and grey backdrop of sky; as intimidating and haunted as it ever looked. There were no lights on and anyone who didn't know its history would think it was abandoned. But the individual who resided there didn't need much light as his alpha eyes were accustomed to nighttime conditions.
As per usual, Derek had been in a chair watching the shadows grow all evening, plagued by his own demons. He was on edge constantly and the sound of a loud thump on his front porch had him crossing the room in seconds. Every muscle was tensed and he could hear the steady heartbeat outside proving that someone was there. Likely, an intruder who sought to do him harm. Well, they better have brought their A-game because he was in no mood to be messed with.
The heartbeat was oddly familiar but Derek couldn't quite place it. He was as silent as a ghost approaching the front door, prepared for someone to burst through it, trying to catch him by surprise. He turned the handle and jerked open the door, eyes flashing red.
The boy that had been propped up against it fell onto the floor and stared up from between Derek's boots. "Heyyy, Sourwolf! What are you doing up there?"
Derek's slanted brows narrowed further. "The better question is what are you doing here?" His nose wrinkled and he sniffed. There was no mistaking that scent. "You've been drinking."
He meant it as an accusation but Stiles chirped, "Yep! Almost a whole bottle. You want some?" There was barely any liquid sloshing around in the bottle when he offered, grinning like an idiot. "It might help get rid of that resting bitch face thing you've got going on."
"That wouldn't even wet my tongue."
"Yeahhh, a lot of it spilled when Scott was dragging me here."
The alpha's large arms folded across his chest as he growled, "Scott... Is there a reason he dumped you on my doorstep or can I throw you back outside?"
"No. Because one, it's cold out there. Two, someone stole my jeep. And four, Ally-bear has Scott on a two inch leash so you are my new sidekick."
Derek scowled down at Stiles' pouting face bathed in the rays of the half moon. He nudged the teen's shoulder with his boot, earning a whine of protest. "Get out."
"You know," The answer was slurred, "I would, but there's a lapse of communication between me and my legs right now."
That triggered more nudging and Stiles grabbed Derek's pant leg with his free hand. "Stoooop... Let a man... lay on a... dirty floor if he wants."
There was a deep sigh and two large hands lifted Stiles like a ragdoll and hoisted him over the werewolf's shoulder.
"Easy, big guy," Stiles gulped, "I'm feelin' kinda seasick."
"Puke on me and you're dead."
"Gotcha."
It could just as easily have been a trip out the door, but the teen found himself being laid down on a couch. He scrambled to sit up but Derek pushed him back with a fierce snarl. "If you have to be here then go to sleep and stay quiet."
"I don't usually give speeches when I'm passed out so those pretty much go hand in hand."
"Shut up."
Sarcasm was thick in Stiles' voice when he mumbled, "You are one charming bastard, ya know that?"
The black haired werewolf smirked and did the unexpected. He raised Stiles' legs and plopped down on the couch, letting them rest in his lap. "Just go to sleep." He said, directing his focus to the opposite wall.
"Not that I don't love a good foot massage but what are you doing?"
"I can't have you stumbling around in the dark and accidently impaling yourself on something. America's Most Wanted is not a list I want my name on more than once."
There was an actual giggle that preceded the most unintentional innuendo of the teen's life. "The only thing here to impale myself on is you." Embarrassment tinted the human's scent as soon as the words left his mouth. "That... uh, wasn't what I... I'm so drunk. Just disregard anything I say, okay?"
"I usually do."
Stiles pursed his lips and glared, a whole new peeve resurfacing. "Why does everyone think it's okay to act like I never have a valid point? I will have you know I've saved your fur countless times. You're welcome, by the way. I'll assume the 'thank you' notes got lost in the mail."
He didn't think there would be an answer but after a minute of heavy silence he heard, "On occasion, you have managed to get a few things right."
"You're welcome."
"..."
"And why is it so dark in here? Did they cut off the electricity because of the fire or what?" He felt the werewolf turn to stone and immediately filled with regret. "I'm sorry, that was stupid. It looks nice with the lights off... N-not that it's a bad place, or even messy at all... Maybe the floors could be swept but it's fine. I'm sure the holes in the wall help with ventilation or something, right?"
"Stiles..."
"I know, I know. Sleep, quiet. Mind if I finish this off first?" He raised the bottle to his mouth, intending to drain it dry, but the container was snatched out of his hands.
"No, you're too young to be drinking anyway. Wait a couple of years until you know what real pain is like and then you can drown your sorrows." Derek set the bottle down firmly on the table to his right, acting as a barrier. He ignored Stiles' drunken complaints until one particular tangent caught his attention.
"It's the only way for me be reckless without putting lives in danger. Well, too much danger. It was supposed to be a boy's night but Scott left me in the dust while he went to save Allison."
"Allison is in trouble?"
"Yeah, stalker stuff. Nothing important- Don't you go running off, too!"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Like, I wouldn't exactly call us pals but you are the closest thing I have to a second-best friend."
Green eyes flashed to him. "Never say that again."
"Hey, if I had an Allison- well, not Allison but my own version of her in an entirely different form with a less complicated family history- then I wouldn't even be here. I would be with her getting all hot and sweaty. I mean is it too much to wish someone found me attractive?"
"I imagine a lot of people find you attractive."
Stiles shifted so he could study the other man's profile. "Gee, don't go getting all gooey on me, I'll have to start calling you Sweetwolf."
"Only if you want things broken."
"Therrrre we go... But I'm serious, I need a girlfriend so I don't have to watch Allison ride Scott off into the sunset with a litter of pups."
"That doesn't sound too bad."
Even through the haze enveloping his mind, Stiles could hear the soft inflection of Derek's tone. So he wanted the whole package deal like everyone else; a mate, offspring; maybe not in the most traditional sense but it was nice to know that side of him existed. Still, it was all kinds of odd to picture anyone jumping this terminally angry statue. Not that Derek wasn't one miraculously sculpted, sex infused mountain of a man whose physique made his personality issues shrink in comparison. If Stiles were a chick he'd definitely give him the up-down look. Ah, what the hell, he was secure enough to admit his gaze lingered in certain places a bit too long. The guy was undeniably hot. And cool. Like an Icy Hot patch.
"You know you're hot and cool like an Icy Hot patch?"
"Stop talking, you smell like a frat party."
"But that attitude right there, that's why you're a lone wolf. Maybe we should both check out the want ads. Wanted: Boyfriend, likes to watch cheesy RomComs and have his ears scratched. Loves long walks in the park and catching Frisbees in his teeth."
Derek's hand tightened on the arm of the couch. In a clipped voice, he said, "I'm alone because I choose to be."
"Riiiiight. Unless Deaton and his scissors went on a little trip downtown, you're still full of all kinds of impulses. Animalistic urges that need to be satisfied by more than a hot shower and a dirty mag." Stiles frowned. "Wait, the pages would get all wet..."
"For your information, Stiles, I am not a horny teenager. I find release whenever I want between the legs of any woman I desire."
"Confident, aren't we? Do these women take cash or do you sail by on savage looks alone?"
The human flinched under the heat of Derek's crimson eyes, catching sight of fang in the dim light. "There are plenty of women out there just waiting to be fucked. They don't want money, just a nice thick cock."
Wide brown eyes flicked to the floor and back again. The odor of excitement and arousal danced in the air and Derek couldn't decide whether Stiles' blush was caused by the innocence of youth or the influence of liquor. He listened to the rapid pace of the boy's heart and felt his wolf flicker to life with interest. Messing with Stiles was always fun but this was a new level of amusement.
"So, uh, do get bigger when you wolf out or...?"
"What, you want me to tell you all the filthy details of my sexual encounters so you can incorporate them into your fantasies? It's too much for your little virgin mind to handle."
"Not that living vicariously through you promises much of anything other than moping around in the dark, but I can handle a hell of a lot more than you think."
"Are you sure? You want me to tell you how many times I can do it without stopping? Name all the positions you never knew existed? Tell you how desperately they all scream my name when I fuck them into orgasmic oblivion?"
When did this become about Derek's sexual prowess? Though, judging by the quickened breaths and dilated pupils, it was having a surprising effect.
The teen gulped and choked out, "That sounds like a lot of communication... I wouldn't want you to strain something."
Derek's hands found their way to Stiles' legs. "Then why don't I show you?" His fingers swept over the wrinkled jeans, up to where all the blood in the human's body was rushing. He moved slowly over the kid's shin, taking his time as his caress traveled upward.
"Uh! You don't have to." Stiles squeaked as his knee was prodded and the warm hands traveled further up his thigh. He was squirming by the time the bold fingers started to enter private territory.
Derek stopped a few inches short of the growing hard-on and his lips quirked up in a teasing manner. "You really do need a girlfriend." His touch vanished, leaving Stiles feeling cold from the loss of contact.
Instantly indignant, Stiles said, "Come on, man. That's not cool! Are you really going to leave me like this?"
A charcoal brow lifted. "What do you want me to do about it? You're the untouched virgin letting himself get hard over a few stories."
"You didn't even tell the stories!"
"So, it's for me then." It was meant to be a joke but the ensuing stuttering and avoidance of eye contact was very hard to play off.
Derek's trademark frown was replaced with a wicked smile that did things to the butterflies in Stiles' belly. Yet, while that was sexy, what the werewolf did next made his heart skip an audible beat, earning an even wider grin. Derek moved Stiles' legs from his lap and crawled between them, planting himself on all fours over the boy. His predatory gaze zeroed in on Stiles' nervous habit of lip licking and only heightened the sudden strain between them. Their breaths mixed in the same close space and several seconds ticked by in maddening, impatient silence.
Stiles was the first to move, driven by his desire to feel those lips on his own and Derek met him halfway, with all the force of his pent-up passion. Ever since they met, those damned lips had been taunting him; forming words meant to slide under his skin and eat away at him in the dead of night when there was nothing to distract his mind from smartass remarks and ways he should have shut them up. Now, he nipped at the tender flesh of Stiles' bottom lip and licked into his mouth, tasting the smooth burn of whiskey and heat of adolescent lust. His forearms lined up on either side of the boy's head and his chest met every rise and fall of breath with equally desperate purchase for air. When their lips finally broke apart, mere inches between them, he stared down into those doe eyes and lost any fleeting sense of regret in their encouraging gleam.
Stiles shifted to get more comfortable and ignored the raise of a charcoal brow from his agressor. If Derek thought kissing him would make him run for the hills, he was sorely mistaken. In fact, the werewolf had supplied the answers several questions that had been tormenting Stiles for a while; like what his scruff would feel like scraping Stiles' chin, how soft his lips were, what he tasted like. But the teenager was overflowing with curiousity and in his current uninhibited state there was no reason to waste this chance.
Stiles took two greedy handfuls of Derek's grey cotton tee and said, "Take your shirt off."
His request was met with a rumbling sigh but Derek helped remove his top, pulling it out of Stiles' grip and throwing it to the floor like it had done him a personal injustice. He remained motionless while an impressed gaze swept shamelessly over his unfair abundance of tight, mouth watering muscles. Derek's body was the stuff of wet dreams, truly befitting a supernatural being. There wasn't a single twitch as Stiles' fingertips floated across the ridges of Derek's abs. The werewolf's form was solid, too proud to flinch from such a timid appraisal.
Slowly, Stiles' exploration grew bolder and soon both palms were pressed, fingers spread wide, to the other's hot skin. There was barely any hair on his chest, which was odd considering his particular gene pool, and through the shadowy, moonlit veil Stiles' attention was drawn to the erotic dark trail that disappeared under the low waist of Derek's jeans. Stiles wanted to follow that path. With his tongue. Feeling that it was unfair to be the only one whose heart rate was betraying his excitement, Stiles slid his hand over Derek's left pectoral and hoped for a small miracle. He knew the soft gasp gave him away even as it covered the skip in his pulse. Derek's heart was pounding hard and that felt like the best compliment Stiles had ever been given.
Realizing what he was doing, Derek jerked Stiles' hand away and pinned it to the couch almost painfully, lunging forward to kiss him again. The boy's free hand conveyed its praises as it sailed across one bulging bicep and over a shoulder blade, urging Derek to close the remaining distance between their bodies. Which, infuriatingly, he did not. It was like kissing a statue. A hot, melt-your-resistance-like-butter statue that nipped at Stiles' bottom lip in a way that made heat rush to his groin. The boy sought out the location of the tattoo he caught a glimpse of once; an intricate, swirling pattern that symbolized a meaningful aspect of of wolf culture. He didn't know anyone else with a tattoo well enough to ask to touch it and until now he never would've thought Derek would let him get close enough to either. Stiles traced the dancing muscles and was disappointed to learn that there was no tangible difference in the inked skin. He couldn't tell without looking whether he was touching it or not. But he did feel other things. Long, thin scar lines scattered across the broad expanse of Derek's back. Stiles didn't want to consider the many causes, but he did notice the brunet tense up as he followed one down to the dip of his lower back.
The werewolf's tongue plunged into Stiles' mouth, demanding all of his attention and flicked across the roof of his mouth. Stiles made a small noise and tried to remember anything he'd ever heard or read about kissing. But there was only one thought his brain could form and that was more. Please, more. More heat, more contact, and more wolfish initiative. His lips surrendered themselves with desperation and every stroke of Derek's tongue sparked many ideas that had Stiles' fragrant arousal growing, Derek's hand released Stiles' wrist, as the other was holding him up, and found new purchase on the boy's aching erection. Stiles arched up involuntarily and moaned, an echoing growl spilling over Derek's lips against his.
Then, the werewolf's hand vanished, to the disappointment of Stiles' cock. After a few seconds, he broke the kiss, dark head falling to the teenager's shoulder with a heavy thump.
"D-Derek?" Stiles' hand hovered over the mussed black hair in uncertainty. "You okay, buddy? ...If you just died I'm gonna be really pissed."
There was a muffled groan and Stiles would have let out a relieved sigh if he hadn't been so hot and bothered. Derek said something that was lost in the striped fabric and Stiles squinted at him in confusion. "What?"
The man angled so he could speak more clearly, except he wasn't talking to Stiles but to himself. "Why am I doing this?"
"Because I'm sexy and defenseless?"
Apparently, it was the wrong time to make a joke. Derek groaned again, a low throaty sound, and with some effort pushed himself back into a sitting position. He stared down at Stiles with confliction, dark green eyes gleaming in the dark.
The boy was splayed carelessly across the sofa, one hand dangling off the side of the couch and the other laying beside his eager face, brown eyes steady with blown pupils. His legs were open, as Derek was kneeling between them, and the bottom of his shirt had ridden up to expose an enticing amount of midriff. He gazed curiously up at Derek who took his time engraining this image to memory.
Insecurity played across Stiles' features the longer he was under scrutiny and eventually he looked away. "Finally come to your senses?"
"What do you mean?"
Stiles faked a laugh. "I'm not exactly a member of Swimsuit Monthly. You're probably used to doing this with women a lot hotter than me. Who are, um, women."
Derek brushed his thumb absently across a beauty mark and said, "I believe I made my interest clear."
Squirming beneath him, Stiles asked, "So, are you going to kiss me again or what?"
"Do you want me to?"
"I'm practically begging here."
"You told me to disregard everything you say."
"Disregard that, too."
The brunet slowly brought their faces together and raised his hand to cup Stiles' jaw when he tried to move. He guided their lips together in soft motions and a brief flick of tongue and pulled back with lust in his eyes. "I'm not going to have my way with you, Stiles, as tempting as it is." At the wounded look the boy gave him, Derek said, "At least not until you're able to give lucid consent."
The reply was an outburst. "I'm consenting! How is the overwhelming scent of desperation not making that obvious?"
"If you're still up for this in a couple of days, come back and we'll see what happens."
"A couple of days?"
"By that time you won't be battling a hangover and can enjoy some hot sex. If it isn't just the alcohol talking."
Reaching around to cup the back of Derek's thighs, Stiles met his surprise with determination. "Oh, I'm coming back all right. And I'll be holding you to that offer."
A hungry grin teased the corners of the werewolf's lips. Something about the way he slowly traced Stiles' jawline to his chin and down the middle of his throat left Stiles feeling like he was going to be taken apart at such a rate he would lose his mind before they ever got to the fucking. Derek was going to take him out of his body, strip him down to the barest state, and put him back together only after driving him crazy with endless pleasure.
Derek leaned forward and nosed around the human's neck, pressing silent promises to his flushed skin.
Fingers tangling in the obsidian locks, Stiles breathed, "You're not making this any easier."
There was a bite followed by a husky sigh. "I know."
The kisses gradually tapered off until Derek's mouth was faint heat and he took the time to breathe Stiles in before letting him go. The tempered pace gave Stiles enough time to calm down and Derek atoned for the loss of attention by settling on his side behind him. He held him close in a warm embrace, comforting and easing him into a state of relaxation while rubbing his thumb in hypnotic circles over the boy's fair skin.
"I hope you know this is a very disappointing albeit mildly appreciated turn of events," He mumbled.
Derek shushed him and it didn't take long for Stiles to start dozing off. He was utterly at peace in the other man's arms and the exhaustion of the day weighed over him, filling him up with a desire to let go and allow his mind to wander into absent bliss.
"Stiles."
The sleepy boy turned his face, not engaging in the struggle to open his eyes. "Hm?" Derek's fingers stroked his head in a way that was so relaxing Stiles understood why cats went boneless after being petted for a while.
"The next time you have a bad day," The man said gruffly, "Don't turn to a bottle."
Like that, he could feel the tension creeping back in the form of irritation. Just when the boy was going to open his mouth and shoot back some defensive retort, Derek went on in a softer tone, soothing Stiles' hackles.
"Come to me."
The werewolf continued to trace the short strands of brown that were starting to grow out, maintaining a slow and gentle pace. As much as Stiles wished he would, Derek didn't pull him closer but let him lay there, safe and unpressured. Stiles understood in the quiet inflection of that request all the things that were not being said at that moment and smiled to himself at the unexpected tenderness.
With a stab of delight, Stiles snuggled closer and said, "I bet you'd be a sappy drunk."
"Two of us would be too many."
"It'd be perfect." He gave a happy sigh and dozed off, missing the rare upward lift of Derek's lips as he silently agreed.