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It had been a particularly gruelling hunt - the beacon of Beacon Hills pulling in a fucking dragon of all things. Derek winced as he stretched, picking up his shirt and shoving his arms into it. Deaton had done a decent job of cleaning the rather large flesh wound across his shoulder; it would heal but dragon bites were definitely on the slow end of the spectrum. It was going to take a while.
Scott and Stiles were still hanging around, talking about the plethora of supernatural creatures that had descended on Beacon Hills over the last few years. It was starting to slow but they knew it would never end. Not really. Deaton listened quietly as he packed away his equipment.
Derek wrapped his thumbs around the neck of his t-shirt, pausing to take a breath before he tugged it on over his head.
"Why is my name tattooed on your chest?" Stiles asked, frowning at him and the name stamped over the top of his heart. Mieczysław Stilinski
Derek scoffed. "It's not a tattoo and it's not your name."
Stiles blinked and folded his arms, his eyebrows raising a little. "Uh, it is my name. And if its not a tattoo, what is it?"
Derek shook his head and finished pulling his t-shirt on. "Its a werewolf thing. And it's not your name. Your name is Stiles. S.T.I.L.E.S. Stiles." He said it slowly, like he was talking to a toddler. He felt like he was talking to a toddler.
"It is my name," Stiles huffed. "You think I don't know what my own name is?"
Derek grumbled irritably and shot him the most condescending, derisive look he could muster. "Stiles, I can't even pronounce this," he said, pointing at where it was covered up. "It's not your name."
"Neither can I, but its still my name!" Stiles cried.
"You expect me to believe you have a first name you can't pronounce?" Derek said, raising a single eyebrow at him.
Stiles took a measured, infuriated breath, his hand closing into a fist as he pressed it impatiently to his forehead. "Yes. The closest I ever got was Mischief, which is what my mom used to called me because I couldn't pronounce my own name."
"That's adorably fitting," Derek said, his lips twitching despite himself.
Stiles' jaw ticked. "Why is it tattooed on your chest?"
A ripple of unease trickled over Derek and the small amount of amusement he'd been feeling died almost instantly. He suddenly realised how still Deaton had become, a hand on Scott's shoulder, as though to stop him from intervening.
"Derek...?"
"I told you, its a werewolf thing," Derek said, shrugging. He wanted the conversation over already. He didn't want to do this now.
"A werewolf thing?" Stiles repeated, sounding as convinced as Derek did half a minute ago when Stiles told him he had a first name he'd never learnt to pronounce.
Derek nodded, swallowing the urge to clear his throat. He didn't do nervous or anxious or vulnerable. He folded his arms and glared at Stiles instead, pushing his expression into dark and dangerous. Brooding, he heard his sister's voice say. He didn't brood. That was ridiculous. He just didn't do stupid conversations that he never, ever, wanted to have. Jesus Christ, it was fucking Stiles. This couldn't be happening.
"What kind of werewolf thing includes getting a tattoo of a random name on your chest?" Stiles asked, raising both his eyebrows.
"Its not a tattoo and it's not a random name," Derek bit out, unable to help himself.
"Oh my God! How the fuck is it not random?" Stiles snapped, clearly losing the very little patience he so often ever had and stepping closer to Derek. "It's my name, asshole! Even if you didn't recognise the first bit, the second bit says Stalinski!"
"Yeah, I know! And I would have asked you or your dad about it some other time, when we weren't fighting fucking dragons every other week!" Derek argued. "I assumed it was some far off distant cousin or some shit!"
Stiles looked so confused that Derek had to fight the overwhelming urge to kiss the expression right off his face. A rush of affection hit him square in the chest, right over his heart, right where the name that both was and wasn't Stiles' sat. The sort of rush that Derek had just started to realise he'd been ignoring for a while now. The sort of rush he got whenever Stiles did or said anything so Stiles.
"Why would you have to ask about a name tattooed on you?" Stiles said, frowning at him. "Did you lose a bet or something?"
Derek snorted, a frustrated smile forcing its way onto his face. "It's not a tattoo. And no. The universe just has a fucking terrible sense of humour."
"What?"
"Stiles, how much research did you actually do on werewolves?" Derek said, his eyes locked on Stiles' as he waited for the guy to catch up.
"A lot, why?" Stiles said, still frowning at Derek but in that way that told him the gears in his head were beginning to whirl.
"Think about it," Derek said. "If it doesn't come to you, do more." He patted Stiles on the shoulder and smirked at him before starting to walk away.
It took him a minute, but Stiles exploded before Derek could reach the door. "Are you shitting me? You've got to be shitting me!" Stiles cried, launching forward and blocking Derek's exit. "You can't just allude to something as stupid and ridiculous and...and...ridiculous as soulmates and then just fucking leave!"
"Soulmates?!" Scott whisper-hissed from somewhere else in the room, the two of them having almost forgotten they weren't the only ones there.
"Move," Derek said, all amusement gone from his face. He just wanted out. And he hated how Stiles that was - to figure it out so fast and then refuse to freak out about it alone. He hated that he actually didn't hate it, which was kind of the problem.
Stiles ignored Scott's minor interruption and just stood there, glaring at him.
Derek blinked and then decided to double down on his own stormy expression as he stared Stiles down.
"Oh, yeah, that's super helpful," Stiles snapped, gesturing to all of Derek as he stood with his arms folded and a less than sympathetic expression on his face. "Refuse to talk. Refuse to do anything but stand there all brooding and-"
"I do not brood." Derek's glared deepened.
Stiles let out a sarcastic laugh. "No. Of course not. You're all sunshine and rainbows!" he said, gesturing to all of him again. "Just an open book, you are. Fucking hell man, you're the dictionary definition of brooding. But then again, I might be the dictionary definition of fucking insane. Because it's looking a lot like Derek Hale is my soulmate - or at least I'm his soulmate - and how does that work exactly? Oh yeah, Mr I-do-not-brood, I'm definitely getting an answer out of you, like, any time soon! Fucking soulmates! That's just...I don't even know how to...what the fuck?! Fucking terrible sense of humour?! Why does it make so much sense?! What. The. Fuck?! Derek?! I remember reading about soulmates but I never thought...aren't they like really fucking rare and-"
"Jesus Christ Stiles, how do I get you take a fucking breath?" Derek asked exasperatedly.
Stiles shrugged. "Lydia kissed me once and that seemed to work."
A very intense and very visceral wave of possessiveness swept through Derek and he couldn't stop himself from grabbing hold of Stiles and growling at him, the sound thick with anger, irritation and an overwhelming sense of jealously.
"It won't happen again...?" Stiles said, blinking up at him and waiting to see if that was the right thing to say.
Derek just nodded, regarding him the same way he would a bomb that he wasn't sure he'd successfully dearmed.
Stiles nodded back and then cleared his throat, and Derek knew that he was intentionally about to say something that was going to piss him off. "I mean, its nicer than whatever this is though..."
Derek growled and then groaned and then slammed his lips against Stiles', his hands unfurling from his t-shirt and sliding up around his neck, pulling him closer. Stiles' hands came to rest on Derek's wrists as he kissed him back and Derek could feel the smirk winding its way onto Stiles' lips. He pulled back to look at him.
"What?" Derek said, staring flatly at him.
Stiles was not doing a good job of controlling his amusement. "Nothing."
"No, seriously, what?" Derek huffed, glaring at him.
"I just...I'm shocked that I'm the one with all the power in this relationship, that's all," he said, shrugging and looking way too smug for Derek's liking.
"You do not have all the power," Derek said. "Since when do you have all the power? And since when is this a relationship?"
"Since you have a jealous streak a mile wide," Stiles said. "And we're soulmates. Or at least, I'm your soulmate. Ergo, relationship. It's a given, big guy. You're stuck with me."
"I do not have a jealous streak. I don't get jealous. I'm not, nor have I ever been, jealous," Derek said, glaring at him some more. "And its not a relationship until we decide to date and shit. And I don't want to date you, soulmate or not."
Stiles laughed. "That's so a lie. I don't even have to be a werewolf to know that's a lie. You wouldn't last two seconds watching me date someone else-"
"You're not dating anyone else," Derek snapped, that possessive streak flaring up in him again. He took a breath and closed his eyes, irritated that he'd taken the bait so quickly and yet unable to do anything else.
"Well, I'm not dying a monk," Stiles said, folding his arms and shooting him a tight lipped smile.
"You're not dating anyone else," Derek reiterated.
"No, I'm dating you," Stiles said, gesturing impatiently to him.
"No, you're not-"
"Then I'm free to date whoever I want."
"No, you're not."
"See? Jealous," Stiles said, staring at him.
"It's not jealous, moron," Derek growled. "It's...I'm..." He huffed a sigh. "It's possessiveness. I'm possessive. I'm not jealous."
Stiles eyes widened slightly but he dropped his folded arms and stared chewing on his lip. "Okay. Well...that works too."
"What?" Derek said, frowning at him now.
"I said, that works too," Stiles said.
"Works in what way?" Derek said, feeling more thrown by the second.
"Oh Jesus fucking Christ, you're impossible." Stiles flung his hands up and then just stepped forward into Derek's space, looped his arms around his neck and kissed him again.
"What are you doing?" Derek mumbled against his lips, unable to do anything but kiss him back.
"Just shut up and kiss me," Stiles muttered, stealing another quick one.
"We're not dating though," Derek said, still adamant that he had some control.
"Yeah, okay, fine, whatever," Stiles huffed, continuing to kiss him as he talked. "We'll not-date for the rest of our fucking lives. Happy?"
Derek hummed his approval through his next kiss, wrapping his arms around Stiles' waist and choosing to ignore the persistent, nagging feeling, that Stiles really did have all the power.
Scott turned to Deaton. "Derek has a soulmate and its Stiles?"
Deaton shook his head, a small smile on his face. "They've been bickering like an old married couple since they met and you're telling me you're surprised?"
Scott huffed a laugh and tipped his head. Deaton was right. It really shouldn't have been that much of a shock.