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Waffles and coffee

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Stiles Stilinski really likes kissing.

So much so, that when Derek steps in front of him and surges into his personal space, he doesn’t hesitate to meet Derek’s mouth with his own, despite having never considered kissing Derek at any point before this moment.

Stiles can’t remember what he’d been talking about, just that he’d been in the middle of relaying some amusing anecdote from his day while sitting on the counter in Derek’s kitchen while Derek did something to do with making dinner—don’t ask Stiles what, he clearly hasn’t been paying close enough attention. Whatever it was doesn’t seem remotely important though, as Derek curls the fingers of his left hand over Stiles’ jaw and behind his ear, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

Stiles makes a mental note to reprimand himself later for not thinking about kissing Derek, because he’s apparently been missing out. Big time! He shouldn’t really be surprised that Derek kisses with the same seemingly effortlessness and intensity he does everything he puts his mind to. Except of course when he’s not fully in control, but that hasn’t been an issue in a long time.


“Wait, wait, wait,” Stiles pulls only far enough away from Derek’s mouth to mutter the few breathless words. He’s got one hand bunched in the front of Derek’s shirt and the other holding fast around his beautifully defined biceps ensuring, if only on principle, that Derek doesn’t drift too far away. Because, yes, Stiles really likes kissing, and it tunes out kissing Derek is now high on the list of people he’d like to kiss. “You haven’t been drugged, have you?” Stiles asks in barely more than a whisper.

“No?” Derek replies, and Stiles knows the little glimpse of confusion that passes over Derek’s face despite having his eyes still closed. When did he become just so familiar with everything Derek did?

Stiles can feel Derek’s eyebrows dip together slightly where their foreheads rest together as they breath in each others space, but he needs to be sure. “Are you under some sort of spell, or charm?” he continues.

“No,” Derek answers again. He inches ever so slightly closer, and runs his hand further up Stile’s thigh where he’d been flexing his fingertips into the denim cover muscles.

“Possessed?” Stiles voice hitches slightly asking about that possibility, even though it’s been years since his own possession.

“No,” Derek breathes, shaking his head gently.

The seconds tick on as they breathe in the impossibly small space between them and Stiles tries to wrangle the many thoughts racing around in his mind with the new information regarding kissing and being kissed by one Derek Hale.

“So, you’ve just kissed me on your own free will, then?” Stiles should hate how breathless a stupid (fucking amazing!) kiss has made him sound in such a short amount of time.

“Yes,” Derek agrees. Stiles can hear the hint of a smile in his voice.

“Completely of sound mind and,” Stiles squeezes his fingers around the tight muscle in Derek’s shoulder, “uh, body?”

“Completely,” Derek agrees with more amusement colouring his voice around the single word.

“Right,” Stiles says, drawing his hand up along Derek’s shoulder to the back of his neck. “Carry on then,” he nods and guides Derek back in for another kiss.

How did Stiles never consider this? It seems like a gross error in judgement, and yet, he can’t seem to turn his damn brain off and just go with the unbelievably pleasant turn of events.

“Shit, Derek, wait,” Stiles gasps and rests his forehead on Derek’s shoulder. He tucks his foot behind Derek’s thigh, holding him close as he pulls away slightly. Neither of them seem very interested in personal space at the moment, though. “This could totally fuck everything up,” he explains his latest interruption, shaking his head against Derek’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it could,” Derek agrees. Stiles should really start to worry why Derek is being so dang agreeable suddenly.

Stiles sits up to look Derek in the eye. “You’ve already thought about how badly this could turn out?” he asks disbelievingly.

“Yes.” Derek sounds fond and exasperated, which is a truly endearing combination that just makes Stiles want to ignore the little voice of warning in his mind and kiss Derek all over again.

“And you decided it was worth the risk?” Stiles asks.

“Mmmhmm,” Derek nods, his thumb brushing light archs arcoss the top of Stiles thigh.

“Seriously? The single word responses aren’t doing a lot to convince me you’re not under some fucked up something or other, man. Use your words, Derek.” Stiles directs, and gives Derek's arm a little shake for emphasis.

“Stiles, you’re the most observant person I have ever known, how is it even remotely possible you didn’t see this coming?” Derek sighes and tries to pull away, but Stiles holds him fast with a hand on the neck. “You’re here more often then you’re not. You’re usually the first person I talk to in the morning and always the last person at night.” He was shocked that Stiles hadn’t called him on his behaviour before now, but had never fathomed it was because he didn’t know how he felt.

“Okay, that’s more words than I was expecting,” Stiles smirkes. “So, you’re saying you’ve thought about how fucked up things could get if this goes badly, and you’re willing to risk it anyway?” Stiles paraphrases.

“Yeah, something like that,” Derek nodded. “If you want to go overthink it, that’s fine, I just couldn’t not kiss you just then,” Derek sighs.

As explanations went, this one was lacking, but Derek had given Stiles an out, and Stiles realized with sudden clarity that he didn’t want that chance to back away.

“No, that’s good enough for me," Stiles agrees decisively, and adds, in a decidedly breathier tone, “come here.”

“You’re such a liar,” Derek says with a chuckle and slides his hands up Stiles thighs and pulls him to the edge of the counter with a firm grip on his hips. Stiles gasps against Derek’s smile and kisses him again, winding his arms further around Derek’s neck and pressing their chests tight together.

The kissing takes on a different atmosphere now that they are touching practically everywhere. The air between them feels like it’s buzzing and Stiles doesn’t dare address the riotous butterflies rapidly multiplying in his gut.

Derek has worked his finger tips under the hem of Stiles’ shirt and the feather-light stokes against the skin over his hip are making the hairs on Stiles arms stand up from the follicle.

Without warning, Derek, grips the back of Stiles’ hair and tilts his head back far enough to drop his mouth to the pale stretch of Stiles' throat, forcing another gasp through his kiss swollen lips. Stiles reaches down and hauls Derek the remaining inches forward with a firm hand on his ass, bringing their bodies flush together. Derek grunts into Stiles’ neck and the sentiment is matched by Stiles’ breathy “fuck” as the realization hits them at the same time that they’re both mostly hard already.

“Uh, bedroom?” Stiles, proposes, pulling Derek even further into his non-existent personal space.

"What happened to your rule?" Derek mumbles into the skin of Stiles' throat.

Stiles' responding "Rule?" is more moan than question.

Derek pulls away to look Stiles in the face, his eyes searching between Stiles'. "You don’t fuck on the first date if you want there to be a second. Or so you've always said in the past," he reminds.

Stiles is shaking his head and furrowing his brow long before Derek is finished speaking. "This wasn’t a date?! Past Stiles has no rules for situations like this."

Derek pauses. "I made you dinner," he states simply.

"You always make me dinner!" Stiles flails but quickly returns his hands to holding Derek from escaping. "If that’s what signifies a date, then this is nowhere near our first. I just wasn’t smart enough to catch on. Come on, take me to bed before my brain catches up to what’s going on here and I start freaking out." He scoots closer to the edge of the counter, intent on hopping down but is held in place by Derek's unweilding grip on his hips.

"Are you freaking out?" Derek asks, his concern clearly mapped out by his unnaturally expressive eyebrows.

"No," Stiles says eagerly shaking his head. "Not yet."

Derek simply watches as Stiles catches up to what he already knows to be certain.

"Maybe?" Stiles admits after a moment. Derek only raises a questioning eyebrow in response.

"Fuck, yes, I’m fucking freaking out." Stiles' whole body slumps in defeat. "You dropped a bomb on me out of nowhere. A sexy as fuck bomb that kisses me like no one ever has but, yeah," He sighs, as Derek takes a step back from where he'd been pinning him in place on the counter. "I’m totally wigging."

Stiles leans back and rests his head against the door of the upper cabinet behind him, sighing heavily.

The kitchen is silent for a few moments as Derek listens to Stiles' racing pulse. "Okay," he says finally, forcing himself into action. Gently nudging Stiles' knee aside, he pulls open a lower drawer and takes out a glass storage container and matching lid from the neatly stacked piles and begins scooping rice from the pot on the stove into it.

Stiles watches quietly as Derek tops the rice with a generous portion of chicken stirfry. "What are you doing?" he asks as Derek snaps the lid in place.

"Packaging your dinner so you can take it with you," Derek explains, holding the glass box out to Stiles.

Stiles doesn't take it right away. "Where am I going?" he asks instead.

The soft huff of laughter that precedes Derek's explaination surprises Stiles. "Probably for a drive first," Derek begins as Stiles finally accepts the offered to-go dinner. "You'll get angry at me, and then with yourself. You'll probably make a pro/con list and you'll think about calling Scott, but you won't," Derek explains calmly, as he leans against the counter opposite where Stiles is still perched.

"I hate that you know me that well," Stiles sighs.

"No, you don't," Derek replies confidently.

Stiles smiles, "you're right, I don't."

Another quiet moment passes between them.

"I hope when you're done thinking about this," Derek notions between them as he speaks, "from every possible view, you'll come back so we can talk about it." Stiles nods as Derek adds, "No matter how long that takes."

Stiles huffs a frustrated sigh, scrubbing his hand roughly through his hair before hopping down off the counter. "Yeah, okay," he agrees picking up the food container. "I'll talk to you later," he says raising the fork he's taken from the drying rack by the sink in a makeshift salute as he heads for the door.



Derek had hoped that Stiles would have been back later that evening but he hadn't returned even after Derek stayed up long past the time he'd usually be in bed. It isn't until Derek had been laying in bed reading for over an hour and had decided to call it quits on waiting up for Stiles and go to sleep that he hears the loft door slide open. He knows it's Stiles but is mostly asleep so doesn't get up to meet him. Derek just assumes Stiles will crash on the couch like usual and goes back to sleep. He's stired awake again as Stiles sits down on the bed next to him and murmurs a quiet "go back to sleep" before lying down and snuggling into the pillow only mere inches from Derek's own. It's only moments before Stiles typically kinetic body has relaxed into sleep, but Derek can only stare bewildered at him.



Stiles wakes with a start in the morning, sitting upright in the bed with the blankets pooling around his hips. He looks around the room briefly before remembering where he is, then turns abruptly to find the bed next to him empty. He speaks before considering that Derek may not even be home. "Dammit, Derek! This is not how this was supposed to go!" Stiles bellows and then flops back to the matresss dramatically.

Stiles' arm is flung over his eyes by the time Derek comes to stand in the bedroom doorway. "Not how what was supposed to go?" he asks quietly, not able to keep the gnawing worry he'd been feeling since Stiles left the night before from tinting his voice.

"You were supposed to still be in bed so I could watch you wake up," Stiles explained frustratedly, waving his hand at the empty side of the bed for emphasis without looking in Derek's direction at all.

Derek crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the door frame. "Oh?" he asks with a smirk, annoyed with himself for being just so easily amused by everything Stiles.

"Yeah. And then we'd talk and laugh about how stupid I am, and then maybe make out a little. You know? Stupid gross romantic shit!" Stiles huffs and sits up again, finally looking over to where Derek is watching him. "But you had to fuck it up by getting out of bed without waking me and... You've totally been moping all morning haven't you?" Stiles changes subjects without warning.

The smile drops from Derek's face and he mutters a quiet protest as Stiles flings the covers back and gets out of bed.

"You so were! You were probably sitting at the table drinking coffee fretting about what me being in bed with you even means. Weren't you?" Stiles punctuates his question by poking Derek in the chest as he stops in front of him. Derek just harumphs in response.

"It means that it was stupid o'clock when I finally realized I'm a fucking idiot. You were right," Stiles shrugs, "about everything. I absolutely missed every sign you threw at me. I didn't see it because it felt so normal." Stiles takes a step closer as Derek lets his arms drop to his sides. He continues with a sigh, "but it is all completely crystal clear now, and I'm in. I'm totally in." He shrugs again, and gestures to the bed. "And all of that would have been so much better if you were still in bed instead of worrying in the kitchen," he finished with an exaggerated pout.

Derek rests a hand on Stiles hip after he's sure he won't catch a flailing hand to the face and draws Stiles' attention back to him. "Do you want me get back in bed and pretend to be asleep?"

"No," Stiles chuckles and just looks at Derek for a drawn out moment. "I want waffles, and a cup of that coffee you already made." Stiles steps even closer, "and then I want you back in bed, but not asleep; pretend or otherwise." Stiles shakes his head a presses a gentle kiss to Derek's smiling lips, and drags him by the hand to the kitchen.