Dances With Wolves
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If someone had told him at the beginning of this month that he’d wake up in bed with Derek Hale on Christmas Day, he would’ve laughed madly into their faces.
Snow is falling when the sun rises.
Stiles can’t remember the last time he saw a sunrise as beautiful as this. He watches as the sun travels higher on the orange sky, above the purple clouds, and warmly lands on his face through the big windows. He’s sitting up in bed, and with the sheets only covering his feet he would’ve been freezing if it wasn’t for the space heater still sleeping next to him.
Derek is scowling in his sleep, and Stiles can’t help but to smile to himself at how silly and adorable it is. He half-expects the guy to start growling and kicking with his feet like a sleeping dog, and Derek would probably call him ridiculous if he ever told him that. Which he might, because he kind of likes when Derek calls him ridiculous, because it sounds like three completely different words.
It takes a while for him to wake up properly, slowly drifting out of sleep and into the world of the living. He rolls onto his back, sighing heavily and stretching. He drags his sleeve across his face before blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Stiles waits patiently, watching him with a soft smile playing on his lips. Once Derek’s gaze focuses on him, his eyes widens.
"You’re up already?" He rumbles, voice thick. Stiles would only find it sweet if it hadn’t been for the unexpected hint of worry in there. Derek pops himself up on his elbows, as if to just get the tiniest bit closer to him. "Did you sleep bad?" He asks. "Did you have another nightmare?"
Suddenly Derek’s worry makes sense, and Stiles feels a warmth clench around his heart by just how Derek cares. He shakes his head, still smiling effortlessly down at him.
"No, I was just watching you," he says, reaching out to trace Derek’s eyebrow with his thumb. "Did you know you wear your grumpy face in your sleep? Did you have a dream? Were you chasing a rabbit?"
Derek huffs, craning his neck to brush Stiles’ finger off his face, but there’s nothing harsh in it.
"Don’t remember," he sighs leaning back to lay down again. One of his hands absently slides up Stiles’ side and settles with his fingers resting in the ups and downs of his ribs. "It’s probably just what my face looks like," he defends.
"I like your face," Stiles says, moving his own hand to Derek’s stomach. He can feel muscles tensing and reacting beneath his fingertips, and it brings back vivid memories from last night that makes him go hot. "Even if I’m becoming greatly familiar with beard-burn."
"I could shave," Derek suggests casually, stroking the skin under his fingers.
"And go back to your teenager-look?" Stiles asks, cocking an eyebrow. "It was cute, but no." He slides his hand all the way up to Derek’s chest, leaning forward, not stopping until his palm is resting over the werewolf’s fast beating heart. "I kind of love your scruff," he smiles, hovering above him.
Derek sucks in a breath, gazing up at him.
"I kind of love you.”
Stiles shouldn’t be surprised, because the look in Derek’s eyes whenever their eyes met over the last few days should’ve been proof enough, but he still stops. He can feel the skip of the heart beneath his hand, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen Derek look so exposed before. Even last night, when he’d been under Stiles without a single layer of clothing to cover him up, he hadn’t looked this vulnerable. But Stiles figures it’s not very strange after all. Derek is not ashamed of his body – he’s got no reason to – and taking his clothes off is most likely not even the slightest challenge to him. But opening up to someone, to actually use words – that’s probably a pretty big deal, considering his past trust issues.
"Yeah?" Stiles can’t help but ask, just wanting to hear it being confirmed again.
"Yeah," Derek says, swallowing, and Stiles watches his Adam’s apple bob. "I think I have for a long time now," he continues, and Stiles holds his breath, not wanting to interrupt. "It just took me a while to figure it out."
A short silence falls between them, but Stiles can bet his pounding heart is rather loud in Derek’s ears.
"Silver Linings Playbook," he mumbles after a while.
Derek frowns, tilting his head to the side on the pillow. “What?”
"You practically quoted ‘Silver Linings Playbook’," Stiles explains with a grin.
"I didn’t know," Derek says lowly, as if that’s a bad thing.
"Hey, no, that’s okay," Stiles hurries to assure, shifting to sit on his knees next to Derek instead. "You should know that quoting good movies when trying to be romantic is not a minus when it comes to me. More like a big plus, actually."
Derek huffs and smiles, sighing softly when reaching up with one hand to slide through Stiles’ hair.
"I wasn’t trying to be romantic," he states. "I was just being honest."
Stiles smiles back, incapable of doing anything else. Derek’s smile is fucking contagious.
"Well, in that case: I hope you’ll keep being honest with me."
"I plan to be," Derek replies.
Stiles’ heart flutters, and for a second he feels like he’s about to burst with all the emotions inside him. If someone had told him at the beginning of this month that he’d wake up in bed with Derek Hale on Christmas Day, he would’ve laughed madly into their face. It’s a strange and overwhelming feeling: to actually have something you never thought you would.
He can’t say when he first fell in love with Derek, but he knows it happened.
"I love you," he says out loud, and he doesn’t mean to grin like an idiot but he really can’t help it.
Derek laughs, all smooth and happy, and the next second Stiles is being pulled down by the firm hand on the back of his neck and Derek is kissing him. It’s the best kiss Stiles has ever had, including all the ones from last night, because this is so pure and honest. He sighs into it, sending a vibration down Derek’s throat. The werewolf groans in response. It may even be a growl, but Stiles barely bothers with the difference nowadays. Whatever noises Derek makes when they’re kissing: he loves all of them.
Stiles yelps when the room spins, and the next second he’s staring at the ceiling on his back. Derek is on top of him, standing on his knees and elbow on each side of Stiles’ body. He kisses Stiles again, and this time Stiles moans. His body is already hot, burning like a furnace just like every time Derek touches him. When Derek breaks off the kiss to instead drag his nose along his jaw and down to his throat, inhaling deeply, Stiles can’t help but chuckle as he loops both arms around Derek’s neck.
"Does my hoodie still smells like me?"
"No," Derek murmurs against his skin, placing soft kisses over the vein in Stiles’ neck. "You can have it back."
"You could get another one," Stiles offers, breath catching a little at the feel of Derek’s hot and wet tongue on his skin.
"Or I’ll just keep you here," Derek suggests, moving back up to kiss the corner of Stiles’ mouth.
Stiles can feel his face flush, but it’s not by embarrassment as much as sheer joy. He grasps the hair in the back of Derek’s neck to make him groan, and the body above him lowers to press down on him.
"I actually got a present for you," he says before capturing Derek’s mouth in a quick kiss again. "It’s at home though, because I was too busy just bringing myself here last night to remember taking it with me."
Derek chuckles against his lips, pushing his hips down and dragging a moan from both of them.
"What is it?" He asks, practically panting in Stiles’ face.
"Well, I was gonna give your leather jacket back,” Stiles says, equally out of breath. “But then I found something better, and I also kinda wanna keep it because it smells like you.” Derek lifts his head up to frown at him, and Stiles can read the silent remark that he’s not able to pick up on scents. “Like leather,” Stiles clarifies with a light eye roll.
Derek hums, going back to the kissing. He starts to roll his hips, and Stiles gasps into Derek’s open mouth at the sparks shooting up his spine. It hits him just how much they have left to do; even if last night was kind of an all-the-way thing, there’s still so much he wants to do with Derek. Well, everything.
"So what did you find instead?" Derek wonders, moving down to nip at Stiles’ jaw, still with his hips moving.
Stiles doesn’t reply right away, too busy moaning and finding the rhythm to rock his own hips with Derek’s.
"A coffee mug," he pants out. "That says ‘I hope your day is as nice as your butt’."
Derek scoffs and ducks his head down to laugh into the curve of Stiles’ throat. It’s a wonderful sound, and somehow it only makes Stiles’ blood rush south even quicker.
"How did you know? You didn’t see my butt until last night," Derek points out, his hot breath ghosting over Stiles’ pulse.
"Dude," Stiles breathes. "With those jeans, it didn’t exactly leave much to my imagination." Derek huffs, as if that’s a good point, and Stiles is pretty sure he can feel his face heating up a little. "I figured it’d cure your grumpiness in the mornings if you had a coffee mug to smile about," he explains further, pausing to moan when Derek thrusts down to rub their hard groins together. "Also you didn’t really give me much of a Christmas list to go on," he accuses.
At that Derek pulls back his head, stilling his hips for a moment. Stiles groans at the loss of friction, but looks up to meet Derek’s gaze. His pupils are blown, his forehead just starting to get damp with sweat.
"As soon as I got you I forgot about being able to want anything else,” he says, and Stiles’ swallows at the honesty in his voice. Derek bumps their noses together, smiling. “And you’ll be enough reason for me to smile in the morning.”
Stiles is quite certain he’ll never take this for granted; the way the butterflies dance in his stomach when hearing Derek talk as if he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. The best thing that could happen to him. Stiles is used to being rejected; to be the outcast and watch others from afar. Derek makes him feel wanted, desired, and loved in ways he never thought was possible for anyone. Least of all himself.
"You got me," he promises, and it’s barely a whisper. "You got me for as long as you’ll want me."
Derek whimpers, like it’s shaking him to the core, and then he’s claiming Stiles’ lips with his own again.
"Forever," he pants out between kisses. "I’ll want you forever."
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