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It’s something Derek gradually notices, over the course of weeks, months, once he and Stiles start dating. It doesn’t hit him all at once, but when he gets there, he wonders how he never noticed before.
It starts out small, as these things tend to do. Stiles concocts some crazy plan to get them out of some crazy trouble. The craziest part is the plan is actually good. After a few moments of silence, where Derek processes the nuances and thinks over every downfall and weakness in the plan (there are startlingly few - Stiles probably already thought of them), Stiles asks hesitantly, “So? What do you think?”
After yet another moment, Derek nods and claps a heavy hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “It’s a solid plan. Good work.”
He almost doesn’t notice the pleased flush that blooms across Stiles’ cheeks as he turns away.
-
The next time, Stiles has cooked pasta for “Mandatory Pack Bonding Night, Yes Scott That Includes You.” Everyone’s gotten a plate already (dinner is some sort of linguine that Stiles had ranted about when he first came in, nattering on about healthy carbs and proteins; Derek had been distracted by his long fingers as Stiles had arranged his ingredients on the counter). Stiles is standing with his hip against the sink, looking lost and a little anxious - nothing so sour as a panic attack, but a fine coat on the back of Derek’s throat that itches to be coughed away. Instead, he takes a bite of pasta - and it’s delicious. With how distracted Stiles gets making a cake, Derek’s stunned it doesn’t taste like charcoal.
So, with all the pack tucked away in the living room, Derek leans on the counter next to Stiles. “It’s good,” he says after a bit, words as stuck in his throat as Stiles’ apprehension.
Apprehension which leaks away as Stiles eyes Derek. “Really?” he asks, cautiously hopeful.
“Yeah,” Derek replies. “I didn’t know you could cook like this.”
And then Stiles launches into an explanation about ADHD and its relationship with cooking and baking, but Derek is already lost in Stiles’ scent, calm and content, and the color of the flush that works its way up Stiles’ neck.
-
After that, Derek takes the time to compliment Stiles often. He likes his pack happy, and if nigh-constant affirmation makes Stiles more satisfied, then Derek is more than willing to take up the mantle. It doesn’t hurt that complimenting Stiles more often leads to complimenting the pack a little more, and Derek becomes a little more comfortable being personable. The majority of his compliments, however, are Stiles-centric.
Stiles does some post-meeting chores around the loft, Derek gives him a shoulder-pat and a “Good work.” Stiles stuns everyone with another delicious dinner, Derek sits close to him on the couch and murmurs that it tastes great. Stiles gives some one on one time to anyone in the pack, Derek ruffles his hair and tells him “Thank you.”
And Derek definitely isn’t doing it for the pretty flush that rises to Stiles’ skin every time. Definitely not.
And maybe, just maybe, one day when he and Stiles are making bad dog jokes, Derek tells him “Good boy,” well…
No one else is there to notice the quiet gasp, or the subtle scent of Stiles’ arousal.
Derek graciously pretends not to notice, and he plans.
-
Derek already has Stiles face down, ass up on the bed, two fingers deep, everything slick and sweaty between them. He presses gentle kisses between Stiles’ shoulder blades as Stiles gasps and writhes beneath him, and as he works in a third finger, he murmurs, “You’re so beautiful like this.”
Stiles’ breath hitches and Derek can smell the fresh wash of precome as it dribbles from the tip of Stiles’ cock. “Wh-What?” he asks unsteadily.
“So beautiful,” Derek repeats, rubbing itchy beard burn across Stiles’ back that he knows Stiles is gonna bitch about in the morning. “Taking my fingers so well, like you were made for me.”
“Derek,” Stiles whispers, voice wrecked, burying his face in the duvet. “I-I don’t - ”
“Shh,” Derek, soothes, working his fingers deeper, spreading them and working him wide. “You’re doing so well for me. Let me take care of you.”
Stiles nearly sobs, overcome. The scents coming off of him - lust, enthusiasm, all wrapped up in a fragile vulnerability - are almost enough to make Derek lose control. “Come for me, Stiles. Stiles, my good boy.”
And with a strangled shout, Stiles does. It shakes him apart until he’s almost crying, and halfway through, Derek replaces his fingers with his cock, and Stiles can only whimper as his orgasm is drawn out that much more.
Derek thrusts slow and deep, holding Stiles tight even when he starts to shake from oversensitivity. “My good boy,” Derek purrs, nibbling his shoulder, his neck. Stiles can only pant in response, spent cock giving a feeble twitch. “You always do so well for me. You always try so hard, do such a good job.” Stiles whimpers, and Derek bites his earlobe gently.
Carefully, so he doesn’t hurt Stiles, Derek sits them both up so Stiles is fully seated on his cock, Derek’s thighs pushing his legs open. He has no leverage like this, and is at mercy to Derek’s grinding hips. “I love seeing you like this,” Derek confesses. “You cry so easily, and it makes your face so flushed, your lips so red.” Stiles gives another stuttering sob as his cock begins to fill again, hanging halfheartedly between his legs, a weak attempt at arousal. Derek looks down over Stiles’ shoulder, fingers tracing Stiles’ nipples as he grinds his cock effortlessly deep into Stiles’ ass.
“Like you’re on display for me, and it only makes me want you more.” He finally closes his hand around Stiles’ dick, and Stiles can only shake and shake.
“Derek,” Stiles gasps, hips twitching as if only he could get the room to maneuver, he’d be grinding mercilessly onto Derek’s lap. “I-I need - ”
“What do you need?” Derek asks softly, feeling his orgasm building in his toes, in the small of his back, his knot aching to form.
“Let me come,” Stiles sobs brokenly, fingers digging into Derek’s thigh.
“Come for me, my good boy, my Stiles.”
Stiles comes with a weak spurt and a shudder so strong, he almost unseats himself from Derek’s lap. Derek thrusts only a couple more times before he comes and his knot forms quickly, sealing them together. Stiles can only yell and shake, writhing against Derek as it rubs relentlessly against his prostate, milking him for every drop he can give.
Gently, so gently, Derek lays them on their sides and holds Stiles close. He remembers the first time they did this - Stiles tried to pull away too quickly. It hadn’t ended well for either of them. Derek gently rubs circles into Stiles’ stomach, rumbling in contentment as the sweat dries on their bodies and Stiles catches his breath. It feels all too soon when Stiles breaks the silence. “What the fuck was that?” He still sounds so breathless, so winded, that Derek can’t quite get a grasp on whether Stiles is pleased.
It takes a moment for Derek to respond. “I...noticed you liked being complimented. And I like complimenting you. So.”
“So? So?” Stiles sounds completely baffled. Derek braces himself for the worst. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life, and all you can say is 'so'?” Derek feels relief crash through him like a tidal wave. If Stiles hadn’t liked it, it would have made being tied together for the next half hour so much worse.
“I’m glad you liked it,” Derek rumbles, rubbing his nose against the side of Stiles’ neck.
“Best sex of my life,” Stiles reiterates, settling down for wolfy cuddles. Derek is kind enough not to point out that it probably isn’t a hard feat to manage.