I hope you don’t mind that I ficced all over your art. O.O
"Are you fucking kidding me right now Derek?” Stiles yells, voice reaching the point where it starts to go pitchy. The tension is high and thick and buzzing in the air, accumulated from the past half hour of fighting with only their words for weapons.
Which between them is much sharper than tooth or claw anyway.
"There was something off about him,” Derek tells him resolutely, arms crossed firmly over his chest. He’s a bit louder than usual, but he’s nowhere near as animated in his anger as Stiles. Not that that’s a difficult feat. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Stiles lets out a wordless little screech, so frustrated that he’s having trouble forming actual syllables instead of angry, animal sounds. “Dude, I want you to apologize! He was the first fucking normal person I’ve met since I was sixteen years old! And you just—you pissed all over it!”
"You want normal Stiles? The door is right fucking there," Derek replies, jaw clenched and hand gesturing to the loft’s exit. "No one is forcing you to be here. No one has ever forced you to be here.”
Stiles goes still at the words. His whole body seems to relax, even the little tick in his jaw. He stares hard at Derek’s face, eyes flicking from left to right as he examines him. Picks him apart. Takes him in.
A humorless laugh falls from his slack mouth. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he says finally, turning with a shake of his head and slamming the door behind him.
Derek feels the fight leave his body in a rush, like a dam finally crumbling under the weight of rough and angry waters. He scrubs a hand down his face.
He hadn’t meant to ruin Stiles’ date. He’s just so…stupidly in love with the kid. And the jealousy went howling viciously through his veins and clouded his head like thick, hot smoke and he’d just—
The pitter-patter of gentle rain against his window suddenly becomes a roar as the sky cracks open and pours down on the city.
And Stiles doesn’t have his Jeep with him.
Derek follows the path the boy took out of the building, takes the steps two at a time to gain a little time, plunges into the cold rain like ripping off a band aid. A little ways in front of him, Stiles’ red over shirt, obscured a little by the downpour, is trudging forward.
"Stiles!" Derek yells over water pelting the pavement with a sound like displaced static. "Stiles!"
"What?!" Stiles snaps, body whipping around to face him. "What do want Derek?!"
They’re standing so much closer than they had been, emotions crackling like electricity between them. “I don’t—”
"I can’t keep doing this,” Stiles cuts him off, motioning wildly to the space between them.
"What’s ‘this’?" he asks, voice soft and even against Stiles’ rough and warbling.
"This thing where I’m…completely in love with you and you refuse to let me move on!”
Derek’s caught a little breathless, eyes focusing on the slick pink of Stiles’s lips, on the droplets that pool in his philtrum, collecting in the bow of his upper lip.
"You want to move on?"
"Of course I do Derek! This unrequited thing is bullshit!”
"I love you too."
"It’s not cute! It hurts and it just keeps hurting no matter how m—"
But Derek drinks the rest of his words right out of Stiles’ mouth, lips colliding with his and arms snaking around his waist like he’s trying to meld them into one being.
Stiles tries to finish his sentence at first, words muffled and unintelligible, before his body catches up with Derek’s. He pulls back just enough to get his arms up and around Derek’s neck, suddenly returning the kiss with hard ferocity. Devouring it. Swallowing it down. His body is cold and wet but Derek’s mouths is hot, and his hand is curled in the fabric at Derek’s shoulder, and the werewolf’s tongue is fucking Stiles’ mouth, and his hand comes up from the boys back to cradle the base of his skull, and it’s…it’s not perfect.
But somehow it is.
Between kisses, Stiles tells Derek, “I don’t want normal.”
And Derek replies, “I don’t want anybody but you.”