“Wow,” Stiles says for the third time. “Wow.” Fourth.
Derek shifts, uneasy, arms crossing unconsciously over his chest as the sheer blue panties drag unfamiliar sensations across his junk.
“Look, if you don’t like it just tell me now, and I’ll go change.”
“NO!” Stiles cries out, as if someone is about to run over a puppy. “No, shit, oh my god, don’t change, never change, oh wow, I’m just, and you’re just… wow!”
“I kinda got that part,” Derek snarks, arms slowly uncrossing as the tension and doubt leaves his muscles. “So. You like ‘em?”
“Dude,” Stiles breathes, and Derek can’t help but cringe. He really hates that word, and Stiles knows it.
“No, wait, ignore that. Honey! Sugar pie! Der-bear!”
“Yes, exactly! Me, Stiles, you, Hottie McStudMuffin!”
Derek rolls his eyes, but there’s no doubt now. Stiles is positively reeking with lust, and as soon as Derek moves to do a slow turn, Stiles looks like his knees might give out.
“Jeeeesus, Mary and Joseph,” he whispers as he sees the tease of the heart-shaped cut-out in the back, and Derek makes sure to flex his ass just to hear the wounded noise Stiles makes.
“So. I’ll ask you again. Do. You. Like. Them.” He looks over his shoulder, and Stiles catches his eye, slack-jawed and flushed.
“Yes. Yes, Derek, my love, you nailed it, and you are the best ever, oh my god.”
As a reward for being coherent, Derek eases both thumbs under the wavy waistband and inches them down just a little bit.
“Uhhh, well what?” Stiles asks stupidly, his eyes literally moving with Derek’s fingers.
“Well. It’s your birthday. Aren’t you gonna come over here and open your present?”
Stiles falls flat on his face at the first, frantic step. Derek tries to help him up, but ends up joining him instead, and they’re still there, much later, with dust bunnies in their hair and dopey smiles on their faces.
“Blue is really, really pretty,” Stiles sighs. “Like my Jeep.”
Derek chuckles. “I know.”
“But… you’re way prettier. Just so you know.”
Derek kisses him for that.