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"We could just get werewolf-married," Stiles suggests. He's smirking, but he isn't joking. His tone suggests levity, but Stiles means what he's saying, he's dead serious about his own willingness to bond himself to Derek.
Derek cups Stiles' face in his hands, and Stiles… stills. He settles, inch by prickly inch of him, into Derek's touch. The last trivial bit of tension left in him is cast out with a sigh when Derek kisses him once on the lips, and of course he wants to marry Stiles, what else would he want with Stiles? What else, when he can't imagine his life without Stiles, when if he looks back at his life, the brightest parts are the parts with Stiles in them?
He thinks back right now, and thinks of Stiles, Stiles losing a thumb war with Erica, Stiles crawling under the Camaro to get the keys he dropped. Stiles on the phone with Derek, voice like butter and flannel, chuckling and bemused. Stiles eating cookie dough out of a ceramic bowl with a wooden spoon, Stiles chewing mindlessly on his straw.
Stiles across a sticky table from Derek at a Red Robin, laughing so hard he flops forward and his eyes well up. It's early evening and they have some kind of weird, metal spire with a stack of onion rings on it, and Stiles refuses to eat them without ranch, and he just about choked to death on some breading when Derek said the thing that made Stiles laugh, and Derek will forget what he said to make Stiles laugh because there isn't any room for remembering that after he takes in the red blooming in Stiles' face and his hands clutching at his head and his face-splitting smile and the smell of his sheer delight and the way Derek can hear his own heart skip a beat.
Stiles with a serene half-smile on his face, nodding with satisfaction, as Derek vulnerably confides childhood memories in him. Derek tells him his father taught him to swim and Stiles says his mother taught him and they both agree they have bittersweet memories with swimming, but Derek probably wins because that's how he met Kate Argent, and Stiles concurs and sighs, "Most things from childhood don't survive getting tainted by the shittiness of the future, huh."
Stiles, vibrating and livid, while he puts ice on his hand after punching Jackson in the jaw for verbally attacking Derek. Derek's never in his life, never ever, had anyone hit anyone in his honour before. Never. He'd always imagined that if it ever happened, he'd be pissed off, rendered helpless, but instead he just feels touched and liked, and he sits near Stiles and blinks appreciation at him—not that Stiles notices because he's still grumbling about how big of a dick Jackson is.
Stiles on Skype, eyes hooded and fluttering, lips plump and parted, topless, jeans open, fingers long and capable and wrapping around his dick while Derek watches. His face goes impossibly scarlet and he's breathing heavily, and Derek would touch himself as well if he weren't so transfixed. "God, Derek," Stiles says, shaking his head like he just can't, "I really wish you were in me right now."
Stiles catching Derek looking at him in the dark movie theater and smirking, unabashed.
Stiles on the phone in the Jeep, talking in an authoritative voice, determined to help. Everyone leaves Derek, everyone, and even though he and Stiles don't like each other, Stiles stays. He stays, and he never stops staying, even though they don't like each other, there is one thing that Derek can trust in and it's that Stiles will always stay.
Stiles, very drunk, being shown a photo of Derek at age fifteen and smiling ruefully. He sways on his feet, reaches out and touches an unbearably tender index finger to the picture. "Baby Der, some shit's about to go down for you," he says, sounding wretchedly sad.
Stiles on his hands and knees under Derek, the only time he really has any trouble speaking. (He can beg, though. And say Derek's name.)
Stiles, unaware Derek is watching, getting hit on by a beautiful and witty young woman across the room from Derek, and turning her down politely and immediately. (Stiles getting hit on by his drunk friend Danny later that evening, and slipping away unnoticed to be with Derek.)
Stiles, eyes closed, lax in his childhood bed in the night, stirring slightly and then mumbling, "Der. You're late." Derek crawls under the blankets with him, insinuating himself against Stiles' chest, and Stiles sighs contentedly. "Tell me later?" he says, and Derek nods, and Stiles drops off to sleep like a hypnotist snapped their fingers.
Stiles dancing to No Diggity in his seat at Burger King, Scott stealing his fries. He's wearing a cardboard crown with pink and purple gems printed on it, and a little girl points at him and giggles, and he salutes her without stopping his jam. Boyd is mortified.
Stiles clutching Derek to his chest in the middle of a pool, heart hammering next to Derek's head. Stiles always stays.
Stiles, having been magically forced into a female body, somewhat meekly fondling his own newfound breasts and saying, "I still miss my dick." ("Oh, this is better," he whimpers when he brings Derek's hands to his chest, up under the t-shirt that is now hilariously too big.)
Stiles straddling Derek in the driver's seat of the Camaro, putting his mouth to Derek's neck and biting.
Stiles, wide-eyed and impressed in spite of himself, watching the effect of silver on Derek.
Stiles sneaking into the train car in the middle of the night and waking Derek up by tentatively falling to his knees beside him. "I was lonely," Stiles says dully, like he's not just sad, he's irritated that he's sad, and Derek blinks at him, eyes burning and drowsy, and says, "You don't have to be," and pulls back the blankets, and Stiles pushes into Derek's arms and they lay there, half asleep, for hours.
Stiles pausing in his conversation with Lydia to say, "Hey, Derek. You look good." Conversation with Lydia. Lydia Martin.
Stiles getting stitches on his forehead, gripping Derek's hand, but looking completely unaffected.
Stiles laughing hysterically at five in the morning, and it's ten more minutes before he can stop long enough to explain why.
Post-coital Stiles, lying in bed with Derek, staring idly at the ceiling, and then asking offhandedly, "Why aren't we cuddling right now?"
Stiles, flat on the bed, clawing at Derek's hips and keening while Derek fucks himself on Stiles' dick.
Stiles, smiling tranquilly in the mall, while Scott giggles and swaps out hats on Stiles' head.
Stiles genuinely confused that not everyone is attracted to Lydia and Derek.
Stiles tentatively sniffing a large container of flour, and then abruptly sneezing directly into it. (Stiles, later that evening, still cleaning the kitchen.)
Stiles under a street lamp, snowflakes sticking to his lashes, telling Derek confidentially that he likes feeling Derek's come leaking out of him.
Stiles on a bright July afternoon, next to Derek in the pool, seeing Jackson standing at the edge, grabbing Derek and laughing.
Stiles beaming when Scott says unapologetically, "I used to wish I was into dudes so me and Stiles could date."
Stiles on the floor of the police station beside Derek, calmly talking him through their mutual paralysis, his heart thudding soothingly away.
Stiles in Derek's lap next to the fireplace, whispering such devastatingly sweet things that Derek blushes just remembering them.
Stiles' angry stare that is so intense you can feel what he isn't saying.
Stiles' self-satisfied grin when he says something witty.
Stiles' owlish curiosity about other people's sex lives.
Stiles' fingernails raking down Derek's back as he takes it hard against the shower wall.
Stiles' long-suffering protection of his Jeep.
Stiles on the phone with his dad (they each get at least ten years younger every time this happens).
Stiles taking a sip of cold, stale coffee and then spitting it back into the cup.
Stiles on his bed, surrounded by police reports and fat tomes, pinching his lower lip and frowning.
Stiles holding a baby and looking hilariously, adorably terrified.
Stiles falling off a skateboard and swearing.
Stiles sassing Derek in an empty parking lot, and Derek is at a loss for anything to say, he's so tired and on edge and frustrated that all he can think to say is "Shut up" and he has a bad feeling, a terrible feeling, something awful bad is about to happen, but all there is is Stiles and Scott, Scott snapping at Derek and worried about his boss and Stiles smiling and rising up on his toes and decisively not being afraid of Derek.
Stiles, irritated, shooing Erica and Lydia into chairs, announcing that no one is allowed on his bed but Derek. (Stiles, much, much later, curling up in the blankets and telling Derek to "come to bed.")
Stiles standing next to Derek, arms crossed, while Derek expels all his building frustrations by lecturing Jackson. Stiles, nodding vehemently and saying "Yep" whenever Derek says something particularly rude or condescending. Stiles threatening Jackson on Derek's behalf when Jackson gets pissed off. Derek stares at Stiles balefully when Jackson leaves without a fight and Stiles brings the back of his hand against Derek's shoulder and quips, "We told him!"
Stiles flinging his arms around Derek's neck and kissing him on the mouth in the middle of Allison's birthday party (as a reward, he explained later, for flatly telling Chris Argent that he was in love with Stiles—which Derek doesn't think he deserves a reward for because he only said it to get Chris to stop telling him he can't date Allison).
Stiles valiantly wiping tears off his cheeks and explaining in a choked voice, "He scratched my jeep."
Stiles in his lacrosse uniform, illuminated by the setting sun, cheeks ruddy and breath clouding in the air, beaming at Derek like he's the best thing he's seen all day.
Stiles staring shrewdly at Derek in a police car, puzzling over Derek like Derek puzzles over Stiles.
Stiles half-smiling at Derek and plucking a fallen leaf out of his hair.
Stiles pressed against his own bedroom door, threatening Derek.
Stiles hitting a hunter full-force in the head with a baseball bat because they were coming at Derek.
Stiles climbing into his Jeep and watching, eyes narrowed, as Derek offers Allison Argent a ride home from a party.
Stiles telling an involved story about Isaac and Lydia and Jolly Ranchers, and gesturing wildly with his hands, and calling Derek 'baby' offhand without even pausing to think about it.
Stiles peering wide-eyed at Derek in the woods, recognising him immediately.
"You want to," Stiles says softly, and it isn't a question. Stiles is the master of surety, these days. He always knows which way's up, even if he isn't quite facing that way right then.
Derek thinks, more than anything. Derek says, "Yeah."