Derek is used to Stiles snapping away on his camera throughout their days. Whether its recording pack gatherings in shots of wide grins and blurred images of the betas running between the trees, or the aftermath of a party with their house filled with sleeping pack members and a mountain of haphazardly stacked dishes in the kitchen. But his favourite photos are the ones that he has a folder of on his phone, and a collection of Polaroid’s that he keeps in a box in his bedside table to look at when Stiles isn’t around. Not because he is ashamed of them - Stiles gave them to him - but because he only needs them when Stiles isn’t there in person for him to look at. His touchstone, his linchpin, his anchor.
These are the special pictures Stiles takes just for Derek, and leaves in the most random and innocuous of places. (Derek finds them in his wallet, in his coat pocket, tucked in with his shaving things in the bathroom cabinet. He gets sent them when he is out for a run or grabbing groceries, or on a vacation to see Cora.)
He’s currently looking at a shot of Stiles drinking his customary morning tea, on their bed if the faux fur blanket is anything to go by, and he stops perusing the bananas in the grocery store to just stare for a moment. Even now he gets caught short by how lucky he feels, that this man has become a part of his life and that he knows how even at this stage Derek needs to see him so much. Needs to know he is alive and well and still wants to be with Derek, is still going to be there when he gets home from running errands. Derek knows that most people would be tired of him and his baggage by now. But Stiles knows, Stiles adapts. And Stiles loves him enough not just to stay, but also to show Derek every day that he will always be there, to be the base that Derek needs to touch. And so he finds these photographs get sent to him, or left for him to find, whenever he needs them (before he realises he needs them) and he just feels so damn lucky.
Derek has finally allowed himself to be persuaded (no, he’s not a prude thank you very much Erica its just weird for him okay?) to take a picture of himself to send to Stiles while he is away at a convention. It feels so strange to be putting his body on display again; he’s done it before, but never like this. Never to be sent to the person he loves and wants always. He’s come to terms with Stiles loving him, and loving his body, and this is the first time Derek is deliberately recording his body for Stiles. His face isn’t even in the frame of the photo. He’s absolutely not ready for a dick-pic (honestly Erica!) but he does slip his boxers down a little, giving Stiles a sneak peak.
He can feel his ears burning and can imagine the blush that’s currently high on his cheeks as he leans his phone against their bookshelves and sets the timer. As it counts down from 3 he quickly steps back and twists his body, trying to catch the light the way Stiles always seems to see him in when he takes a picture of him. The picture is taken before he’s even fully in place and his left hand looks really big but he sends it quickly before he chickens out. He knows Stile’s doesn’t need an anchor like he does, but he knows how important it is for Stile’s to see Derek and to know he’s real - even now, years later, Derek still sometimes wakes to Stiles tapping his fingers on their bedspread, counting. And Derek wants Stiles to know he can count on Derek.
And yes, he’s also sort of looking forward to the prospect of seeing how Stiles responds - he’s been away a full 24 hours now and Derek misses his touch already.
Derek’s face is flaming again, as soon as he had sent that picture to Stiles he had been clutching his phone waiting for a response and Stiles had not disappointed. He had immediately called Derek and proceeded to tell him in no uncertain terms what he wanted to do with him when he got home. He had been packing the car up when he’d received the picture message and he told Derek he’d had to hurry into the car before someone thought he was one of those people who got boners over a particularly sleek bonnet. (Yes they had pulled the Camaro out of the garage because Stiles loved that car and wanted to be the coolest geek at the convention. God Derek loved that maniac.)
Derek had been aimlessly tidying the living room and kitchen since their phone conversation, pretending to be efficient when really he was just killing time before Stiles got home and he could grab him and pull him to bed. Just as he was finally admitting defeat and about to lose himself to some quality crap TV, his phone vibrated on the coffee table. It was a message from Stiles;
: don’t worry i pulled over mr officer :
Immediately following the text was a photo message, clearly a selfie just taken in the car with Stiles in his current favourite tee and his pants pulled down low enough they weren’t in shot. All of that faded out of Derek’s awareness though because front and centre, firmly cradled by Stiles’ perfect hand was his perfect, perfect dick. Even through the cotton of Stiles’ underwear Derek could see the thick outline and the ridged head of his cock and suddenly his mouth was watering. He had been on edge all day since taking his own photo, and this had him going from low key horny to full blown arousal in no time. He pressed the heel of his hand against his cock as it hardened in his sweatpants and eyed the clock, wondering how long it would be before Stiles got home and he could manhandle him from the door to the sofa and recreate that shot. This time, with Derek between his legs and getting to swallow him down.