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“Who do you think did it?!”
Stiles was clutching his bag of Twizzlers and staring at the screen excitedly, his cheeks flushed with anticipation and his legs thumping nervously.
Derek groaned, leaning over to liberate a Twizzler from the crumpled bag and staring at his best friend with extreme prejudice.
“Who do you think ?”
“What? Nah! No way! It’s obviously the guy in the weird hat!”
“Sure. Whatever,” Derek said grumpily, sinking into the couch and crossing his arms over his chest because he knew .
He always did.
Twenty minutes later, Stiles turned to him with an absolutely outraged expression.
“Dude! That made no sense whatsoever! Why would they ... they found a blood-crusted knife in weird-hat-guy’s apartment! Why did it turn out to be the nice werewolf barista instead?”
“Because it’s always the werewolf? Duh?”
Derek stole another of Stiles’ Twizzlers and shoved it into his mouth out of sheer spite, but the candy tasted like ash, his gut churning as he resolutely looked away from the television screen.
Stiles was still gaping at him, his eyes wide and filled with righteous indignation.
“Weird-hat-guy had a knife , Derek! And he totally had beef with that other guy! And he didn’t have an alibi! Alibis are super important, Dad said so! I’m telling you, it makes no sense! Who came up with this?”
“Someone who hates werewolves, probably. Not like that’s anything new,” Derek replied snarkily, swallowing the foul-tasting Twizzler with a grimace, and rubbing a hand across his face.
“I told you. It’s always one of us.”
“But that’s stupid, Derek! You can’t just make me think weird-hat-guy is totally guilty for like an entire movie and then bam, surprise, it was the werewolf all along! It just doesn’t make sense!”
“Yeah. Well. Who needs sense when it’s so much easier to make a werewolf the bad guy. Same shit, different day, am I right?”
Derek tried to grin, but it came out as more of a pained grimace, and Stiles’ eyes widened, the bag of Twizzlers dropping from his hands as his fingers twitched and he looked like he wasn’t quite sure whether to hug Derek or tug at his own hair in frustration.
Eventually, he settled for an awkward shoulder pat, which Derek tolerated for about zero point five seconds before he shrugged and rolled his eyes.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it? Don’t worry about it? How am I supposed to not worry about it when it’s clear to see from Mars that my best friend in the whole world is obviously sad about it?”
Stiles gave Derek a flabbergasted look, and when he removed his hand, Derek very pointedly didn’t think about how his shoulder suddenly felt weirdly cold.
He also very deliberately ignored the weird achy fluttery feeling in his stomach, because weird achy fluttery feelings in one’s stomach were nothing but adult nonsense, and Derek was a well-adjusted eleven-year old who had no patience for adult nonsense whatsoever.
“It’s fine , Stiles. It’s not like I’m not used to it.”
“But it’s not , Derek! Werewolves are awesome ! I mean, sure, some are probably total shitheads, but like ... you’re awesome! Your mom is totally cool, too, and Cora and Laura are ... I mean, they’re kind of scary, to be honest, but they’re also kind of cool? Of course, there’s also your crazy uncle, so I guess some werewolves are maybe a little bit cuckoo, but most of you guys are totally amazing! I swear!”
“Thanks,” Derek said drily, and Stiles huffed, poking his shoulder almost aggressively to make his point.
“I’m serious, Derek! You’re the coolest werewolf ever! You’ve literally been making my boo-boos go away since we were in kindergarten, even though your Mom said you were to tiny to try! You always make sure that no one ends up stuffing me in a toilet, even if I really get on your nerves sometimes! And there’s literally no cooler person ever to play video games with! You’re awesome! You’re not some crazy murderer at all!”
“You sure? Because if you keep poking me, that might just change here in a second,” Derek replied, though he couldn’t help but grin a little when Stiles just rolled his eyes and gave him a fond look.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever Sourwolf.”
Derek groaned, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he gave Stiles a pleading look.
“Will you stop calling me that? I haven’t eaten Sour Patch Kids since first grade!”
Stiles chuckled, shaking his head, and giving Derek’s stomach a playful pat.
“No way! I could be 110 years old, and I’d still remember how you barfed two-family sized bags of Sour Patch Kids all over your Mom’s car after we drove home from Disneyland . Laura’s screeching was hysterical !”
“And isn’t it enough that my sister still claims she came this close to convincing Mom to drop me off at the shelter after that whole disaster? Besides, you dared me to eat that second bag before we went on that roller-coaster, so the whole thing was technically your fault, anyway!”
Stiles laughed, giving Derek’s stomach another pat and shooting him a smile that he clearly thought was remorseful but looked more gleeful than anything else.
“Eh, you’re totally your Mom’s favorite, so it’s much more likely she would have dropped me off at the shelter, because she totally thought I was to blame as well. That’s not the point, though. The point is that you’re the most amazing Sourwolf there is, and someone should really write a movie about werewolves like you for a change!”
He paused consideringly, giving Derek a shit-eating little grin.
“Not about the barfing, obviously. Even if it was really spectacular! But like - everything else!“
“Thanks,“ Derek said grumpily, though he couldn’t quite stay mad because Stiles did have a point.
Even if his poor tummy had hurt far too much at the time to fully appreciate his multi-colored accomplishment.
He sighed, giving Stiles a slightly exasperated but mostly wistful look.
“It‘s not like it’s ever going to happen anyway. I’m pretty sure you’re the only human on the entire planet who thinks werewolves are actually cool,” Derek said quietly, his heart twisting a bit when he wondered if it was actually true.
He didn’t want it to be true, obviously.
Still.
The way people switched to the other side of the street when he went downtown with Mama or the rabbity fast nervous heartbeats when he bought ice-cream with Papa made it altogether quite likely that Stiles’ outlook on werewolves was quite unique in Beacon Hills.
The whole country, probably.
After all, Derek was sure there would have been at least one kind and good werewolf in the movies if more people like Stiles existed.
He wasn’t sad about it, of course.
He was used it to it, after all.
The way that his chest was suddenly feeling a little tight and his eyes were kind of leaky was totally a coincidence.
“Derek?”
Stiles’ voice was hesitant but kind when he carefully slung an arm around Derek’s shoulder, and though they’d determined they were too old for cuddles when they’d been eight, Derek suddenly didn’t mind at all when Stiles’ head slowly lowered onto his shoulder, and he gave his arm a squeeze.
“When I’m all grown up, I’m going to write a movie about how awesome werewolves, are. I promise.”
“I really don’t think it’s that easy,” Derek sniffed, feeling touched and a little weird when Stiles just shrugged and burrowed a little closer against him.
“Eh, how hard could it be. I totally know everything about werewolves because I’m over here like all the time, and I have a bunch of cool ideas, too! I’m sure it’s not that hard to write!”
“Didn’t you get a D in English class last week?” Derek asked, and Stiles scoffed, nudging Derek playfully, and giving him a cheeky grin.
“Yeah, but that was only because I thought the topic we were supposed to write about was boring and figured I’d write about something more interesting instead!”
“I don’t think Mrs. Miller was very interested in your thoughts about why Mario should just give up on Princess Peach, but she did commend you for using perfect grammar, I guess,” Derek allowed, and Stiles laughed, leaning back a little and giving Derek a happy smile.
“See? I’ve totally got what it takes to be an awesome movie writer! Wanna bet?”
“Sure, Stiles,” Derek said, raising an eyebrow in a way he hoped was adequately skeptical.
“Cool! We should totally figure out the stakes, then!” Stiles beamed, completely ignoring Derek’s clearly sarcastic tone, and making a show of exaggeratedly humming in contemplation before his lips cracked into a big grin and he held out his hand.
“How about this! If I write an awesome movie that makes everyone realize how great werewolves are, you totally have to marry me!”
If he hadn’t been a werewolf, Derek was pretty sure he would have either instantaneously combusted or departed from the realm of the living via choking on his spit.
“ Ex-excuse me ?”
“Why not?!” Stiles argued, looking at him rather petulantly and crossing his arms with a stubborn pout.
“If we get married, we can move in together and then we can play video games every day and as long as we want to! Way past our bedtime, too! Plus, we could eat junk food as often as we wanted, and we could totally have an entire room filled with only legos and your baby-sister would never be allowed inside ever, so she’d never destroy any of our awesome castles ever again!”
“She really didn’t mean to, you know,” Derek said, instantly defensive because even though Cora had really sharp teeth, she was also quite cute and snuggly and only annoyed him half of the time, which made her at least twice as awesome as Laura, who obviously annoyed him all the time.
Not that Cora was the main problem in Stiles’ scenario, of course.
“Uhm. Stiles? You do know we’d have to do other stuff if we get married, too. Right?”
“Huh? Like what?” Stiles asked, grabbing his Twizzlers bag again and looking quite adorably ridiculous when he blinked owlishly at Derek with a Twizzler half dangling from his mouth.
His loud, chatty, weirdly pretty looking mouth.
“You know what,” Derek said evasively, his cheeks blushing fiercely red when Stiles just kept blinking at him innocently.
“Nope!” Stiles declared happily, his heartbeat immediately clueing Derek in on the fact that he knew full well what Derek meant and was purposely being a little shit about it.
How his ridiculous best friend thought he’d ever be considered proper marriage material truly was beyond Derek.
“Ugh! Kissing, Stiles! If we got married, we’d have to kiss goodbye and goodnight every day! Every day ! That’s a lot of kissing, honestly.”
“Are you sure it’s just twice a day? Your parents kiss a lot more than that.”
“Yeah, but my parents are gross,” Derek said instantly, quickly looking around the living room to make sure his Momma hadn’t mysteriously appeared out of the blue to put him in time-out for being disrespectful.
Not that Derek got too many time-outs, personally.
He wasn’t Laura, thank you very much.
“Nope. I’m pretty sure you only have to kiss twice a day.”
“I could do that,” Stiles mused, giving Derek a contemplative look that made his tummy instantly flutter with that weird ache again.
Clearly, he’d had too many Twizzlers, or something.
He was so distracted by the weird feeling in his tummy, that Stiles actually managed to take him by surprise when he darted forward like the Flash and pecked two quick but firm kisses on Derek’s cheek.
“See? Totally easy!” Stiles said happily, and though he was still grinning, Derek was relieved to note that Stiles’ cheeks were flushed just as beet red as his own cheeks felt.
“So? Are we going to bet, then? Are you going to marry me if I write a totally awesome movie about a cool werewolf?”
He held out his pinky, looking very serious and also strangely nervous.
Derek swallowed heavily.
“Uhm ... what if I win?” he croaked rather embarrassingly, and Stiles cocked his head, giving him a thoughtful look.
“Do you actually want to win? Because if you do, no one’s going to write an awesome movie about cool werewolves, you know,” Stiles countered and Derek paused, considering that gloomy possibility for a second.
“Not really, I guess. Still. It’s not a proper bet otherwise.”
“That is very true,” Stiles conceded, scrunching his face up in thought before letting out a triumphant sound and grinning brightly.
“If you win, you’ll get to choose which video game we play for forever!”
“Are you sure? Forever is a long time,” Derek said quickly, and Stiles nodded enthusiastically, beaming at Derek and holding out his hand again.
“Totally serious! Do we have a deal?”
Derek looked down at Stiles’ offered pinkie, then cleared his suddenly dry throat and took a deep breath before interlinking his own pinkie with Stiles’.
“Yeah. We have a deal.”
========================
Twenty Years Later
“...and the Oscar for best actress in a supporting role goes to – Erica Reyes!”
“Holy shit!”
Cora jumped up so excitedly she almost upended Derek’s coffee table, but Derek didn’t have the heart to admonish her, not when he himself was grinning so hard he was pretty sure his mouth was going to be sore tomorrow.
“I can’t believe it! Holy shit, I can’t believe it! The first werewolf to ever win an Oscar! Finally !”
Laura was staring at the screen in utter reverence, and Derek would have teased her for the way her eyes were already welling up with tears if he hadn’t already seen her cry during the opening number, the red-carpet interviews, and when he’d come back from the store and forgotten the salty popcorn earlier.
Because he was a good brother not-so-secretly hoping for copious amounts of snuggle sessions once his little soon-to-be—born-niece got bored of messing with her mother’s hormones and decided to wreak havoc outside of the womb, Derek dutifully handed over a tissue and patted Laura’s back gently, all the while keeping his eyes glued on the screen because ...
Well.
He had his reasons.
Luckily for Derek, he didn’t have to wait all too long, as the camera panned from a close-up of Erica Reyes’ beaming face to the excited people surrounding her who’d jumped up and congratulated her.
Derek figured that most people were probably interested in Vernon Boyd, the talented werewolf newcomer who’d first been seen at Erica’s side last September and whom she’d taken as her red-carpet date tonight, thus pretty much confirming the romance that the press had been speculating about for months.
Meanwhile, Derek’s gaze was glued to the amber-eyed guy who’d just jumped up to hug Erica excitedly and who was beaming from ear to ear, his mole-dotted cheeks flushed with exhilaration as the young werewolf actress let go of him to head towards the stage.
It had been almost eight years since he’d last seen Stiles in person, their solemn promise to never fall out of touch after graduation soon falling victim to the reality of studying on different sides of the country.
Following their last hug that had maybe been a bit longer than usual and had left Stiles with a sad smile and Derek with a churning feeling in his stomach that had felt a lot like cowardice, Derek had boarded a plane to New York City and Stiles had driven his rusty old jeep down to UCLA.
Though Derek had absolutely intended to visit home as often as possible, he’d soon gotten caught up in the whirlwind that was New York City, living life to the fullest and making some really crappy dating choices that had kept him rather preoccupied until almost his Junior Year.
By the time he’d gotten his head out of his ass and realized just how much he missed hanging out with Stiles, word on the streets of Beacon Hills had been that he’d dropped out of college after selling the rights to his first screenplay to a studio.
When Derek had finally come back to California for good, Stiles had already been far too busy developing his first television series to even consider coming home for Christmas.
In the years that had passed since, life had irrevocably driven them down very different paths.
Stiles’ first movie had been his breakthrough and his career hadn’t just taken off but soared sky-high, leading him towards the glitz and glamour of Hollywood and giving him a life filled with luxuries, parties, and encounters with the rich, beautiful, and famous.
Derek, meanwhile, had helped out in his father’s construction business for a year before finally accepting that there really weren’t all that many opportunities to put a history degree to good use in Beacon Hills and had decided to take over when Toby Higgins had retired his post as a ranger in the preserves.
Stiles lived in a mansion and led a lavish life filled with parties and rubbing shoulders with the elites of Hollywood.
Derek lived in a small cabin, preferred the solitude of the woods to the blinking lights of the city, and gave copious amounts of belly rubs to his beloved Australian Sheppard Lab Smokey.
Their lives were rather incompatible indeed.
Still.
Derek had, of course, followed Stiles’ career studiously for years, watching every single one of his movies and never missing an episode of his television series, all while taking bitter note of every hot guy or gal hanging off his arm.
Not that Derek could have blamed them, honestly.
Stiles was, after all, smart and rather goodlooking, not to mention passionate and deeply committed to changing the world one thought-provoking movie at a time.
Also, he was apparently quite loaded these days.
He was the full package, essentially.
Not that Derek had ever given his actual package any thought.
Much.
Then again, it didn’t really matter.
What mattered most to Derek was that Stiles had single-handedly changed the way werewolves were portrayed on screen over the past five years.
It mattered that he’d stuck to his goal even though Derek knew for a fact that he must have encountered a hell of a lot of pushback along the way.
What mattered to Derek was that his young cousins hopped around the living room in excitement every time a new episode of Stiles’ sitcom about an adorable werewolf family and their wolfy shenanigans came on.
What mattered was that his little niece would have werewolf superhero action figures to play with.
Stiles had taken his privilege and used it to push the doors wide open, and now his productions were giving werewolf actors and creators an actual fighting shot at breaking into the business.
Actors like Erica Reyes, for example, who had not only taken the opportunity but carpe diemed the shit out of it.
When Stiles had first started talking about making movies one day, Derek had dismissed him, not so much because he hadn’t believed in Stiles‘ creativity, but because he‘d been convinced that the people who ran Hollywood would never let it happen.
Times were changing, though.
Slowly, frustratingly, and with a heck of a lot of challenges thrown their way.
Still.
Times were changing, and Stiles had become an integral part of a wheel that, once let loose, was not going stop rolling anytime soon.
He was amazing.
Clearly, the academy thought so, too.
“And the oscar for best original screenplay goes to - Stiles Stilinski!“
Laura and Cora were cheering at the television again, but Derek could barely hear them over the rushing of his own blood, his chest bursting with excitement as he watched Stiles blink dumbfoundedly for a split second, only for his lips to break into a big grin as the realization truly sank in.
It was a grin that Derek had ardently missed, and he couldn’t have been more excited to see its triumphant return at the edge of his dear friend’s greatest success.
His heart still pounding in his chest, Derek watched Stiles walk towards the stage, his once gangly stride now steady and secure even as he picked up speed and hopped up the last steps like he’d once hopped along the muddy paths in the preserves alongside Derek during the full moon.
“I … wow. Just - wow!”
For a moment, Stiles just stared at the crowd, his Oscar clutched in his hand and his beautiful eyes blinking rapidly, as though he couldn’t quite believe he wasn’t actually dreaming.
Then, he straightened, and the overwhelmed look gave way to a proud, excited, and fierce expression that made something in Derek’s stomach tug.
“I would like to thank the academy…”
As much as Derek wanted to focus on names that didn’t mean anything to him, he couldn’t quite concentrate on what Stiles was actually saying, not when he was so busy drinking in the joy in Stiles’ eyes and the determination in his voice.
Stiles clearly knew how important this was.
Not just for his career, but also for Derek.
Well.
People like Derek.
Wolves.
“… there’s one more person I’d like to thank tonight. The man who is responsible for all of this, technically speaking.”
On the screen, Stiles paused for a split second, his throat bobbing as he swallowed and suddenly looked nervous for the first time that evening.
Without really knowing why, Derek held his breath.
“Twenty years ago, I made a bet, or rather a deal with a very special wolf. It was a deal that I’ve dedicated my career to uphold and that I intend to honor now and forevermore. Every inspiration I’ve ever had has been due to him. Everything I’ve ever written has been for him.”
He paused briefly, his lips stretching into a mischievous smile and his gaze focusing on the camera as though he could see directly into Derek’s soul.
“As far as the bet is concerned, though, I’d say I won fair and square. I know it’s been a really long time, but if you’re still interested in holding up your end of the bargain, then so am I.”
He winked, his nervous smile turning warm and hopeful as he cleared his throat.
“Come Friday at the golden hour, I’ll be where the eagle took flight. See you there - Sourwolf.”
For a moment, Derek couldn’t quite breathe, his mouth dropping open and his eyes widening as he stared at the screen uncomprehendingly.
Then, two rather not so delicate sets of fingers dug into his arms and brought him right out of his stupor.
“Der! Oh my god!”
“Holy shit, did he mean you?!”
“What was the wager, Der?!”
“Did he really mean you?”
“You’re still interested, right? Whatever it was, you’re still interested, right?!”
His sisters were staring at him with wide eyes and equally stunned but excited smiles, both of them gripping his arms so tightly as though they could barely stop themselves from shaking him in their excitement.
Then again, Derek could barely stop himself from shaking in excitement, too.
It was stupid, probably.
No matter how close they’d been as children and whatever kind of feelings Derek might have had at some point or another, the fact of the matter remained that they hadn’t really spoken in eight years.
He shouldn’t have been interested, probably, not after they had so clearly proven that life without the other was altogether quite possible.
Possible, yes.
Happy?
Maybe.
Living without the constant underlying feeling that something was missing?
No.
No matter how hard Derek has been trying to pretend otherwise.
So yes.
He was definitely still interested.
If he was truly honest with himself, he’d never truly stopped being interested.
He just hadn’t thought that Stiles could possibly feel the same.
It was - exhilarating.
Nerve wrecking.
Frightening.
And Derek had no idea what to do with it all.
========================
To say that Derek was nervous when he approached the old oak nestled in the deep of the preserves would have been the understatement of the millennium.
Despite being able to pretty much think of nothing else for the better part of the week, he still didn’t quite know what to hope for.
Truthfully, a part of him was even certain that there was no way Stiles would show up at their favorite childhood spot, named after the one rather memorable time when they’d witnessed a massive eagle land right in front of them and giving them an unimpressed look before it had soared right back into the sky.
Stiles was definitely there, though, his rabbity fast, nervous heartbeat reaching Derek’s ears just as his warm, familiar scent reached Derek’s nose.
It had been years since Derek had last scented Stiles.
Yet, he would have recognized the familiar combination of amber, cinnamon, and petrichor anywhere.
When he stepped into the small clearing, Stiles was sitting on a blanket right beneath the oak, his fingers drumming nervously on his shins and his gaze darting back and forth, only to let out a soft gasp when his eyes met Derek’s.
He looked - good.
Different.
His hair was longer, his shoulders broader, and there was an air of confidence surrounding him now that Derek had barely ever caught a glimpse of when they had been in high school.
He was still Stiles, though, and when he hesitantly held up his arms, Derek pretty much flew the rest of the way.
Stiles let out a breathless laugh when their chest smacked together, his fingers digging into Derek’s shoulders and his whole body relaxing against him.
Derek would have laughed, too, had he not been too busy shoving his nose into the crook of his best friend’s neck, scenting him and welcoming him back into the pack.
In theory, Stiles had ever only been pack-adjacent.
In practice, Derek hadn’t known how big a tear Stiles’ absence had torn into the precious and intricate nest of pack bonds inside Derek’s heart until the tear had finally been mended.
“Fuck! I missed you!”
I was right here, Derek wanted to say, but he stopped himself, knowing full well that he, too, could have gotten into his car at any point during the past eight years.
“I missed you, too,” he chose to say instead, and Stiles exhaled heavily, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder for a brief, precious moment before pulling back and giving Derek an appraising, albeit slightly nervous look.
“So. You came,” he said softly, and Derek nodded, not quite sure what else to say and trusting Stiles to fill the silence with a joke, just like he’d always done.
To his eternal delight and remorse, Stiles did not disappoint.
“In the garage, I assume? Unless you’ve changed your habits, of course,” his best friend added, and Derek snorted, the tension seeping out of him as he rolled his eyes and gave Stiles a fondly exasperated look.
“It was nearly the full moon and it was one time, Stiles! One! You can’t seriously still be hung up on that!” Derek defended his teenage-self’s ill-advised masturbatory choices, his cheeks coloring a little when Stiles grinned and gave him a teasing look.
“I had to fix up Roscoe with a sticky screwdriver, Derek! You bet I’m still hung up on it!” he decided, chuckling softly and shaking his head with a fond smile.
“Actually, I’m still hung up on you, period. Given that you’re actually here right now, I’m hoping the feeling is mutual?”
The teasing was gone from his voice, his expression once again a little hesitant and a lot hopeful.
“It is,” Derek confirmed, smiling just as hesitantly and feeling his chest fill with warmth when the nervousness in Stiles’ scent gave way to something bright and hopeful.
“That - that’s great. Really great, actually. Amazingly great, to be honest. Should I stop saying great already?”
“Don’t look at me, you’re the academy award winning wordsmith,” Derek said, sounding only a little bit shaky as he reached for Stiles’ hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“About the precise terms of the bet, though…”
He paused, not quite sure how to communicate that he really, really wanted this but that he also wasn’t quite ready to pretend that his feelings - even as strong as they were - could compensate for eight years of almost complete radio-silence.
Again, Stiles knew exactly what to say.
“Let me guess - you’re not quite ready to pick up where we left off and carry me over the threshold just yet?” Stiles asked softly, squeezing right back, and looking at Derek with an achingly tender yet also gently teasing smile.
“Not quite, I’m afraid,” Derek replied, cocking his head, and giving Stiles a gentle smile of his own.
“I would, however, be open to a date.”
“How convenient that I brought a picnick blanket, then,” Stiles grinned, waving his arm over the blanket lying behind him and clearing his throat a little nervously.
Derek did a double take.
“Is that - did you actually bring a charcuterie board?”
Stiles beamed, looking mightily pleased with himself.
“You do realize that I follow your Instagram, don’t you? Granted, I would have appreciated more abs content, but I’ll settle for bi-annual pics of your gorgeous puppy or your impressive charcuterie board assembling skills.”
“Laura made me get that stupid account,” Derek muttered, though he couldn’t help feeling touched that Stiles had made an effort to keep up with his - admittedly - subpar social media presence.
Stiles chuckled, patting the blanket and giving Derek a little wink.
“I wanted to bring you flowers, too, but Dad thought I was getting ahead of myself.”
“You really aren’t, actually,” Derek said quietly, sitting down on the blanket and staring at the spread containing practically all of his favorites with a rather embarrassing lump in his throat.
“This - this is perfect.”
“I mean, not quite,” Stiles said, sounding just as choked up and clearing his throat once more before turning around and searching the ground with a thoughtful hum.
When he turned back to Derek, he held out a tiny daisy, and Derek’s breath hitched when he reached towards him and very gently tucked the flower behind his ear.
“There. Now you’re a flower-wolf instead of a sourwolf,” Stiles said, giving him an almost shy smile.
“Yeah. Now it’s perfect.”
“Actually? Not quite,” Derek said quietly, his heart pounding as he took a deep breath and then leaned forward, reaching for Stiles’ face and gently cupping his cheeks as he pressed two soft, feathery-light kisses right above each brow.
When he pulled back, Stiles was giving him a rather wobbly smile.
“Married people kiss twice a day,” he whispered, and Derek nodded, feeling a little sheepish and a lot in love as he gently caressed Stiles’ cheeks.
“You said you could do that, didn’t you?” he asked softly, holding his breath when the awed expression in Stiles’ eyes changed to a challenging glint that was equal parts hunger and adoration.
When his lips met Derek’s in a searing kiss, Derek realized that Stiles could do a lot more than that.