siriusstuff

Still half-asleep Derek watched Stiles wield a slippery butter knife to lay three pats artfully atop a stack of pancakes. Over them he poured maple syrup till it dribbled down the sides. No less than six strips of bacon finished the presentation.

Derek wondered what inspired his boyfriend to such attentive plating when Stiles usually scarfed down food with no regard for culinary artistry, like a famished raccoon.

When the bountiful plate was set before him Derek’s surprised expression was answered by Stiles’s flashy smile.

“After what you accomplished last night,” Stiles grinned, not innocently, “you deserve a sweet reward.

Beacon Hills hadn’t had an earthquake since before he was born but Stiles felt the earth move after his dad said, “Son, let me introduce you to Deputy Hale.”

All he’d wanted was to bring his dad lunch, not discover his life’s new purpose, suddenly becoming how to date the jewel-eyed, black-haired new deputy.

“Son?” The Sheriff’s voice failed to pierce Stile’s reverie.

“Stiles.”

“What? Yeah! Hi… Deputy Hale. I’m…”

Sheriff John watched his son lapse into staring again. Not only that, his deputy was blushing as he stared at Stiles.

John sighed, very grateful he was already sitting down.

“We need a bigger bathtub,” Stiles grumbled, voice sleepy. “Let’s move some place that’s got one.”

Derek couldn’t imagine why.

The water was still tingly warm, the bubbles still plentiful, but Stiles felt confined, his drowsy brain fantasizing what else they could do in a tub, like he’d seen in porn.

That’s why.

“This is fine,” Derek muttered, hugging Stiles more snugly. Contact, skin to skin, being all he needed, nothing else mattered.

“But we could do stuff.”

“We’re doing stuff.”

“I mean, besides soak.”

“You can barely keep awake.”

“Mm,” was all Stiles managed to reply, promptly dozing off.

Stiles would be the first to admit that Derek was the more romantic one.

Of course Stiles loved Derek but sometimes Derek left a voicemail just saying, “I love you, Stiles.” Sometimes Derek left the apartment for this or that ordinary reason and returned with a long-stem rose for Stiles, or his favorite ice cream. Wherever they sat together Derek held Stiles’s hand.

Thinking of these things one night as his mind rambled its way to sleep, Stiles snuggled closer to Derek and whispered into his ear, softly as he could, “You make me feel like the luckiest person alive.”

And Derek’s mom! He’d let her down badly, staying out all night, on a school night! She’d ground him forever.

But Derek liked Stiles. Stiles was funny, always surprising him. He’d never met anyone like Stiles.

They hadn’t even done anything but snuggle and giggle all night, the best sleep-over of Derek’s life.

“Mr. Stilinski,” Derek started to explain. “I mean… Sheriff.” He paused.

Stiles’s dad smiled again, said, “Call me John,” and Derek instantly forgot everything he was just about to say.

Derek smeared sun block across Stiles’s shoulders. He looked like the dutiful, devoted husband though secretly he relished the feeling of Stiles’s muscles rippling beneath his palms.

“Look at this. My dad posted a pic of him and Melissa on Facebook. I only had to show him how a hundred times,” Stiles rambled. “He says hi.”

Derek half listened, moving his hand down Stiles’s back, his fingers slipping under the waist of Stile’s swim trunks.

“Hey! I’m sure public butt-caressing clashes with Honolulu decency laws!” Stiles scolded. “But if you want to go back to our room…”

Derek definitely did.

“And they were roommates,” Stiles read. “One was a big guy with bulging muscles, evocative eyebrows and a firm, hemispherical, inviting posterior-”

“Stiles.”

“-the other one-”

“Stiles!”

“What.”

“What are you doing?”

“Reading you a story, a touching story about self-discovery and budding romance, with passion, some angst, inversion of societal norms-”

“You're not reading. ‘Evocative eyebrows?’ You're making it up.”

“And? Because it's not one of your snooty Western canonical slash patriarchal-?”

“Stiles!”

“What?”

“If you want to make something…” Derek's evocative eyebrows waggled.

Quickly putting aside his phone, “And they lived happily and sexily ever after!” Stiles finished.

“I think we’ve found why everyone around here says this property is cursed,” Derek announced as he unearthed a sword, rusted and dirty after its long burial.

Stiles sprinkled a little gold dust where the sword had been. “The land will heal now.” Was he imagining blades of fresh grass already sprouting?

Patches of buttercups blossomed all around Stiles’s jeep when they returned to the vehicle to stow the evil object in a charmed box.

A bluebird flew onto Derek’s shoulder.

From its beak Stiles took the wildflower it carried, weaving the stem into Derek’s hair and then kissing him.

On mornings like these the first thought in Derek’s head was what had he done to deserve this.

Stiles, already out of bed, stood at the window looking out on a foggy, sunless morning. Turning around to see Derek watching him, his expression brightened instantly.

“Derek! We’ve got the day off and it’s a beautiful one! Let’s spend it doing fun stuff!”

Finger-guns blazing, onto the bed he dove, snuggling against his husband.

“And why don’t we start it off with a shower together, hmm?”

Whatever Derek had done to deserve this, he was glad about it, glad beyond words.

(1)

From the Heart

From their heart-shaped tub, Stiles watched his naked husband stalk around dimming lights, the perfect way to spend their honeymoon.

No. Wait. Not perfect.

“D’erk,” Stiles slurred. “Ya need t’ get in. Think I’m stuck in a ventricle.”

Hopping gracefully into the tub, “How much champagne have you drunk?” Derek asked.

“Lots. Kiss me now.”

Derek kissed him. “You taste like Veuve Clicquot.”

Stiles sighed. “You’re so smart. Married you ‘cause you’re so smart, ya know.”

“I know.”

After another kiss, “An’ ‘cause you got a great ass and bomb dick.”

“I know, Stiles. You said that in your vows.”

 Knot Likely

Pressing himself against Derek’s chest, Stiles felt sweat between them, and something like a baseball in his rectum.

(Being the analytical type, he liked precise comparisons.)

After his third orgasm he also felt a bit detached, mentally at least, from the proceedings.

Derek, non-verbal, managed only grunts, exhalations both sudden and slow.

Stiles reached behind, nesting his fingers in Derek’s sweaty hair.

“So if I conjure up a knot on my dick, then I can knot you?” he asked.

A deep, drawn out, “Mmmm,” meant Derek had either climaxed again or else he was agreeing.

Stiles decided Derek was agreeing.

(3)

Hide and Giggle

Derek wishes Stiles would just believe him when he says things instead of making Derek show him. He told Stiles that he can find him wherever he’s hiding, because Derek’s a werewolf.

They’re playing hide-n-seek again because Stiles doesn’t believe him (not in the mean way doesn’t believe him, though.)

Stiles giggles every time he’s hiding and Derek finds him that way. But Stiles wants Derek to find him when he doesn’t giggle and Derek doesn’t think that can happen, ever.

Stiles’s scent is everywhere now. It’s making Derek feel funny in his tummy.

Then he hears Stiles giggle again.

(4)

P T Yay

“Your son’s holding my daughter’s hand,” the very attractive stranger informed Stiles.

“He said she thinks Bumblebee’s the best movie ever too. They’ve bonded over it.”

Still looking seriously parental the guy offered his hand. “Derek Hale.”

“Stiles Stilinski.”

“Truth is, I’m her uncle.”

“Hmm. Truth is, I’m divorced.”

“Hmm.”

“You think a PTA Founders Day party’s the appropriate setting for a meet-cute?”

“I think my sister will kill me if I pick up a guy while playing my daddy role.”

Stiles grinned. “’Daddy role’ suits you.”

“Would you like my number?”

“I think I’ve got your number, but, yes.”