Work Header

Lucky That I'm Yours Every Day

Work Text:

Valentine’s Day.

Even the name sounds stupid.

Though Valentine is the sort of sweet, ‘cool’ surname Stiles waxes poetic about sometimes, glowering down at his own surname when they're going through the post together.

Derek’s never put too much thought into his own name; Hale is short and precise and fits on any form. No one ever has trouble spelling it or pronouncing it. The only thing that bothers him is the wince he catches some people give when they say it sometimes. The awkward pause when they stare at him in sympathy or worse, pity. The memories attached to it. He wouldn’t change it for anything though.

But Valentine's Day itself? Derek's not seeing its appeal.

He watches Isaac chew on his bottom lip, staring out of the glass window of the diner they’re sitting in on the second floor of the mall. There are harassed, flustered men rushing round carrying flowers that weigh more than their own heads, balloons floating after them. And there are women everywhere; cooing over shop displays, snapping at faceless voices on cell phones, or even wondering around looking generally depressed. The whole town seems to be wrapped up in some sort of frenzy over a dumb holiday.

Derek doesn’t get it.

You wanna tell someone you love them, you do it every day. You wanna buy them something, you just fucking buy it them. Derek’s aware he’s infamous for the big gestures, the sweeping entrances, the dramatic exits, the slightly angry declarations of feelings in swamps when Stiles is covered in blood and Derek had come so very close to losing him. It took him a long time to get to a place where he could look Stiles in the eye and say I love you. He doesn’t understand why he’s supposed to make a bigger deal of it on the 14th of February alone.

He doesn’t see why he has to go to some sort of extra effort to show Stiles how he feels about him when he tries to show him every day.

He made Stiles coffee just this morning in his favourite mug; bright orange and blue, bought by Danny as a joke for Christmas. Derek doesn’t find it funny. Stiles loves it. Derek is unable to bring himself to accidentally smash it. He took it upstairs and left it on the bedside table to go shower and came back from the bathroom to be pushed up against the wall and be given really fantastic head.

Stiles knows how to say good morning in many different, enjoyable ways.

He doesn’t see how Valentine’s Day can get any better than a normal day with Stiles.

But then Isaac’s been in full blown panic mode for twenty minutes and it’s starting to rub off on Derek. Maybe Stiles is expecting a bouquet of roses. Maybe he wants Derek to pay someone to write shit in the sky for him. Maybe he should look into getting them matching towel sets or something.

Dammit. They already have those. His friends buy them the worst, least funny presents. Scott had them printed with tiny wolves at the bottom and everything. Stiles would probably slay Derek if he even looked like he was considering throwing them out.

He scrunches up his straw wrapper and tosses it at Isaac’s head in an effort to stop him freaking out.

“It’s just one day, Isaac. It’s not like Danny’s going to be a completely different person when he wakes up on the fourteenth; he’s not exactly the demanding, spoilt sort.”

“I’ve never spent Valentine’s Day with anyone before,” Isaac moans, burying his head in his hands.

“But it’s just another day,” Derek says, baffled.

A hand claps down on his shoulder, Stiles sweeping in from outside to kiss his cheek before sliding into the booth next to him.

“Hey sugar.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him and Stiles beams, tugs Derek’s coke towards him and takes a sip. “Just trying something new; I read it in a card earlier, can you imagine? Dear Derek, you are like sugar and spice and all things nice.”


“You like it really; you’ve got that cute pink cheek thing going for you you get when we’re—”

Isaac makes a pained noise and lifts his head up to glare at him. “Please, no details. I hear it enough.”

“You can move out anytime, you know,” Derek huffs.

“No where’s as cheap as your place.”

“I resent the implications of that,” Stiles says, pointing a finger at Isaac. “We are not cheap.”

“And we pay for everything so you don’t have to.”

Isaac looks between them and sighs. “You two are gross and you don’t even realize it.”

“We’re not gross!” Stiles turns to look at Derek, pouting. “Are we?”

“We’re fucking adorable.”

“Damn straight,” Stiles preens for a second and Isaac mumbles about how much he hates them both. Derek tries not to smirk, draping his arm over Stiles’ shoulders and running his knuckles up and down the side of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles shivers against him and Isaac sighs. “Stop it, oh my god, help me or leave, please.”

“Why so blue, chipmunk?” Stiles reaches an arm across the table to ruffle Isaac’s hair and Isaac unconsciously leans into it.

“I’m going to die alone,” he says flatly.

“That seems like the sort of negative attitude our Derek would have, rather than you.”

Derek elbows him in the stomach and Stiles squirms away, grinning. “I’m kidding; you’re a ray of sunshine.”

Derek glowers at him and Stiles winks in return before turning back to Isaac. “Ok, seriously, what’s up?”

“What the fuck do you buy somebody for Valentine’s Day?”

Stiles snorts. “And you’re asking us because we seem like the kind of people who have experience in that department?”

“You’ve been together forever,” Isaac moans. “Don’t you, you know, do romantic stuff?”

“Derek sweeps me off my feet all the time,” Stiles says drily. “Literally, sometimes.”

Derek feels smug without wanting to look too closely at why.

“I could carry Danny around all day,” Isaac says thoughtfully.

“Don’t,” Stiles says quickly. “Caveman over the shoulder thing is totally ok for foreplay—”

Isaac flinches and glares at Derek like this is somehow his fault.

“—but don’t carry a grown ass man around all day, dude. It will have negative repercussions on your sex life.” He points at Derek. “Note that down somewhere.”

“Why would I be carrying you around all day in the first place?”

“Because you’re an idiot and you maybe thought Isaac’s idea sounded like a good one? It’s not.”

“I know that,” Derek says prissily. “And I don’t want to carry you around all day; you’re not a fucking damsel in distress.”

“Do you want me to be?” Stiles clutches his hands together, bats his eyelashes. “Derek, you’re so big and strong, you make my knees weak, oh, I do declare.”

Derek yanks hold of his shirt collar, pulls him half onto his lap. “I prefer you exactly the way you are,” he growls, sliding one hand under the table to grab at Stiles’ thigh. “Don’t change.”

“Noted,” Stiles says breathlessly, hands coming up to rest on Derek’s shoulders, leaning forward—

Hey,” Isaac snaps his fingers between the two of them. “Do you two ever remember you’re with other people when you do this?”

“Oh,” Stiles twists without removing his arms and beams at Isaac. “Yeah, totally, I knew you were there, I just—”

“Got carried away?” Derek suggests.

Stiles bursts into laughter and strokes one of his hands through Derek’s hair. “I feel like you wait to be funny for weeks sometimes. Like the joke is bursting out of you but you hold off like, no, Derek, not the time, wait a little longer. Make them really want it.”

“That sounds so dirty,” Isaac groans, picking at his fries. “What did you do last year?”

“Uh, you want a play by play of my whole calendar?”

“No, dick,” Isaac throws a fry at Stiles’ head. “I mean on Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh,” Stiles scrunches up his nose, glances at Derek. “I don’t know. What did we do?”

Derek shrugs. “Think there was a Wendigo in town.”

“Oh yeah. I guess you could say Derek cutting it in half was a nice display of his cutting edge love for me.”

“Such a dork,” Derek grouses, pulling him closer none the less.

“The year before that?” Isaac asks a little desperately.

“Um, oh last year at college so, uh, I guess we were probably arguing about how much time I was spending working because Derek missed his Stiles time—”

“I never said that.”

“—and then having make up sex? I guess? I don't really mark it down in the diary unless it's really good. Like the time in the elevator or when we broke Derek's old bed." Isaac winces and Stiles ignores him, turning to pat Derek's arm. "It’s ok, I missed my Derek time too, boo.”

“I hate you.”

“I know,” Stiles says, face completely serious.

“But before that, you’ve been together for six years,” Isaac runs a panicked hand through his hair. “You must have done something.”

Stiles pushes sugar packets across the table, squirming against Derek’s side. “Uh, maybe when we first started dating?” Stiles squints questioningly at Derek, hand slipping under his tee shirt and grazing against his shoulder and down to trace over his tattoo. “Did we?”

“You once wrote me a note saying get milk.”

“With a heart underneath it, that’s romantic.”

“It was,” Derek says trying not to look too fondly at him.

“You’re no help to me,” Isaac says flatly. “I’ve watched you basically dry hump each other for ten minutes and I’m getting nothing out of it. You two are the worst, the worst.”

“Just buy him a card, write some meaningful shit in it and leave it on the doorstep,” Stiles says with a shrug. “Or buy him a puppy, or some pretty glass like from that place downstairs, or a new pair of trainers with an inscription like may my love help you fly like the wind or—”

“Don’t write that.”

“Shut up, that’s totally romantic. Or a chocolate fondue set or— oh my god, baby!” Derek jerks in surprise and almost falls off the bench.

Isaac snorts. “I know what Stiles wants for Valentine’s Day.”

Stiles doesn’t hear them, pressed up against the glass, waving his hands at the baby in a pram on the other side of the glass.

The baby beams toothlessly back at Stiles, clapping its hands and Stiles laughs, delighted.

Derek huffs a laugh, tries not to picture Stiles wiggling his fingers at their own kid. Fails. And hooks an arm over Stiles' shoulder, leans in to mutter in his ear. “Isaac still lives with us and you just finished college. Next year maybe.”

“Fine,” Stiles huffs. "We'd have cute kids though. So long as they don't get your eyebrows." Derek raises one of his perfectly normal eyebrows at him and Stiles smirks, sticks his tongue between his teeth. Derek wants a bunch of kids that look exactly like him; moles and big, excited brown eyes. He can deal with them not having his genes. He likes the idea of mini Stilinskis.

"We would," he says quietly. "Regardless of eyebrows."

Stiles runs a hand across Derek's jaw, his very own, just for Derek smile on his face, and then turns back to Isaac, narrowing his eyes at him. “Why can’t you just move out now?”


“What? It can be his Valentine’s Day gift for us! Wouldn’t you like to be able to have sex without someone complaining about the noise level? Just once?

Derek looks almost swayed then blinks and shakes his head. “Stop it; this isn’t the task for the day.”

“That is true,” they both turn to face Isaac. “We need to find Isaac the perfect gift to get him laid this February.”

“I already got laid; I want to keep getting laid. I bet Danny has the best present and I’m just the loser who doesn’t know how to buy presents stuck with his horrible, awful friends who keep staring at each other and aren’t even listening.”

Stiles and Derek both blink and then turn their heads to blink guiltily at Isaac.

“Alright,” Stiles clambers over Derek’s lap and grabs at Isaac’s arm. “Let’s go. Let’s shop till we drop and all that jazz.”

“I hate shopping,” Isaac mumbles.


Isaac looks like he’s drowning by the time they leave the mall. Stiles is still listing songs Isaac could add to a mixed tape—yes, people still have those, Derek, besides it’s the gesture—and then claps his hands together, suddenly looking excited. “Oh my god, write him a song!”

“I,” Isaac’s face crumples. “I can’t sing.”

“He wouldn’t care,” Stiles dismisses loftily. “He’d just be totally in awe of you holding a guitar with your nice hands and your cheekbones and your—”

Derek clears his throat and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Oh, yeah, sure, secretly all this time I’ve been lusting after Isaac.”

Derek glares at him, feeling more disgruntled than he should and Stiles slips his hand into Derek's. “I was just complimenting him, oh my god, you want compliments too?”

“Please don’t,” Isaac cries. “I don’t need to hear you give him any more praise than you already do.”

Stiles’ face goes red and Derek smirks.

“You need to move out,” Stiles complains. “Soon.”

“Maybe you should be less vocal,” Isaac snipes as they clamber into the car.

“Maybe you should shut your face.”

“Maybe you should—”

“Enough,” Derek sighs, resisting the urge to bash his head against the steering wheel. “Nobody is moving out under duress and nobody is getting any less vocal.”

Stiles makes a self-satisfied noise and preens. Isaac sulks. Derek wonders if they’ve totally forgotten they’re twenty four years old.

“Just buy him flowers,” Stiles says eventually.

Isaac rests his head against the car window and sighs. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“It fucking well is,” Stiles declares. “Anything is enough, ok? The fact that you want to be with him and he wants to be with you and that you even say it out loud in the first place is enough, jesus.”

Derek lets go of the gear stick and winds his hand into Stiles’ because fuck, Stiles totally gets him. And it still catches him by surprise sometimes; makes his breath stall and his chest compress and his heart do stupid things.

“Scott’s booked Allison a day in a hot air balloon.”

“Think of the health risks man. Plus Scott’s face with all that high wind exposure,” Stiles scrunches up his nose. “Not attractive.”

“Erica’s taking Boyd to that jazz club down town.”

“Jazz sucks.”

“Jackson’s got Lydia a signed print out of Non Cooperative Games!”

“Ok, that one is cool I admit.”

“You want complicated math articles signed by an old man for Valentine’s Day?” Derek asks.

Stiles snorts. “Nah, just get a tattoo that says Stiles with a heart around it on your arm and we’ll be gravy.”

“I am not tattooing a fake name on my arm.”

Stiles perks up from where he’s been messing with Derek’s knuckles, running his fingers in-between the dents of their joined hands. “Oh, so if I told you my real name—”

“Are you going to?”


“Then don’t even bother asking.”

“I got your name tattooed on me. On my lower back right above my ass, says property of.”

What?!” Isaac yells from the back as Derek lets go of his hand and swerves into the sidewalk.

Stiles smirks. “Just fucking with you.”

Derek’s hands clench against the steering wheel. “That’s not funny.”

“It was a little funny.”

“I—just, leave your ass exactly as it is, please, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m going to die,” Isaac groans. “All I wanted was advice on what to buy for Valentine’s Day I knew I should have fucking asked Allison.”

“Dude, I gave you the best advice I can. Just give him something thoughtful and you’re set. He likes you, ok? loves you for who you are and why wouldn’t he? You’re a good man, you’re loyal and you’re honest and sensitive. He digs that. Some people do I guess, I wouldn’t know personally.” Derek jabs his finger into Stiles’ thigh and he squawks, grinning and shifting his legs as far away from him as possible. “Kidding. But seriously, something from the heart is best.”

Isaac stares at the back of Stiles’ head rest for a moment and then rubs a hand across his face. “Sometimes you’re nice, and it’s confusing.”

Stiles twists to grin at him. “You love me, assface, I’m a delight. Now shut the fuck up so we can listen to Badly Drawn Boy without you crying in the background.”

“We are not listening to that man and his dumb lyrics that make no sense,” Derek says firmly.


“I mean it. If you put any of his cds back in this car I will never blow you again.”

Isaac jumps out of the car.

Stiles gives him a lecture when he meets them at home about drawing attention to himself for being an unnecessary drama queen.

Isaac slams his bedroom door, yelling that he learnt from the best.

“What is with this day and getting everybody’s panties in a twist, man?” Stiles complains as he puts away the last of the dishes.

Derek shrugs, winds an arm around his waist, kissing his shoulder. “Fuck if I know.”

“Do you want presents for Valentine’s Day?”

Derek scoffs. “Not really, no.”

“You want a card?” Stiles turns in his arms, winds his own around Derek’s neck. “Want me to write poems about your eyes?”

“You’re not the poetic type.”

“Derek, your eyes sparkle like—”

“I swear to god, Stiles.”

“I’m just checking, jeez.” Stiles exhales, frowning. “Are we weird? Like should we want to do this stuff?”

Derek shrugs again. “I don’t care if we’re weird. I’m happy. Do you want me to write it on a card?”

“No,” Stiles says softly, smiling at him. “You can get it tattooed on your ass if you like, though.”


“Just a suggestion; it’d look cute,” Stiles slides his hands down Derek’s back to grab at his ass and Derek jerks against him.

“I’m not getting that tattoo.”

“’Kay,” Stiles murmurs, leaning forward to mouth against Derek’s neck, hands sliding inside his jeans.



“Do you remember the last time we did this in the kitchen?”

Stiles sighs and tips his head back. Derek wants to lean forward and lick a stripe from his collarbone to his jawline. But he remembers Isaac and Boyd coming home to play COD and finding them naked on the kitchen floor and Isaac had not been happy.

Boyd hadn’t really seemed bothered. Had grabbed the OJ from the fridge and left the room without a word.

“I’m not having sex with you in here.”

Stiles grinds up against him and Derek steps away. It’s an effort. Naked Stiles, handsy Stiles, drunk Stiles, teasing Stiles, sleepy Stiles, any kind of Stiles is hard for Derek to say no to. But he really doesn’t need Isaac lecturing them on hygiene ever again.

“Fine,” Stiles huffs. He leaps up and wraps his legs around Derek’s waist. “Take me to bed, Hale. If some people don’t like walking in on us having sex they should totally knock first though.”

“We don’t have a kitchen door,” Derek huffs, inclining his head at the open brick leading into the living room.

“It’s the principle!” Stiles scowls as Derek drops down onto the bed with him. “Are you on my side in this or what?”

“I’m always on your side.”

“You are not, mister, you are very decidedly often not on my side.”

“I’m on your side when it counts,” Derek says, looking at him seriously. “You know that, right?”

Stiles stares up at him, eyes wide and fond, hands stroking up Derek’s arms unconsciously. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

“And I love you,” Derek adds, feeling suddenly like it’s important for him to say. For it to be known, even though he knows Stiles knows. Knows it like he knows he’ll wake up tomorrow and Stiles will be there, half curled into Derek like the ocean of bed behind him isn’t good enough and he needs a personal Derek mattress; like he knows Isaac won’t move out until he’s ready and Stiles is ok with that—however much he bitches—because Stiles gets it. And Derek’s fucking lucky to be with someone who gets pack mentality.

He really fucking lucked out with Stiles.

“Yeah you did,” Stiles says sleepily and Derek starts and realizes he said that last part out loud. “’S’cool, I won’t tell anyone you have the sweetest pillow talk.”

“I don’t care who you tell.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a badass who could wear a pink leotard and nobody would dare mock you for fear of having their head ripped off, well done.”

He rolls his eyes, leans down to kiss Stiles and then slides off him to get the light.

“Woah, hey, I thought we were doing things here.”

Derek slips back on top of him, twining their hands together and pushing them up above the pillows. “We were.”

“Oh, good,” Stiles grins. “Happy Thursday to me.”

“Happy Thursday?”

“Yeah, ‘s’gonna be a thing for us. Happy Everyday.”

“You can’t think we’re going to manage that,” Derek says, smiling despite himself and tugging off Stiles' pants.

“Hey, I’m an optimist.”

“We live in a town filled with supernatural creatures, get chased by things that want to rip us apart regularly and Scott—”

“What did I say about Scott talk when we’re screwing around?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “It was just in passing.”

“Still,” Stiles pulls a face. “I don’t wanna talk about my best friend when we’re going to have sex, ever.”

“Fine by me,” Derek breathes against his neck, revelling in the slow roll of his hips against Stiles’.

“Look at you all secretly jealous,” Stiles teases. “I could talk about Isaac if you like? Is that better?”

Derek bites at his jaw, just enough to sting and Stiles laughs, pulls away even as his hands grip tighter at Derek’s back.

“You know you’re my favourite really,” he says breathlessly as Derek pushes his legs apart. “Nobody else, oh—does things to me like you do.”

“They better not,” Derek says crossly. “I’d be fucking concerned if they were.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Nope,” Derek winds a hand around Stiles’ dick, hears him inhale sharply. “Explain it to me.”

“I can’t—right now, later.”


“Fuck, alright, you know you’re the only person I’ve ever loved, bastard. Only person I’ve ever wanted to do this with all the fucking time, shit, when you look at me I just, oh, Derek, you want me to talk or come?”

Derek grins, slides his hand lower. “I think you can manage both.”

“I am a famous multi-tasker.”

“Mmm,” Derek trails his fingers along Stiles’ inner thigh, traces patterns into his skin, enjoying the way Stiles shivers against him.


“Yes, Stiles?”

“Stop teasing me and fuck me already.”

“No more talking about anyone else,” he says firmly.

Stiles digs his fingers into Derek’s hair, pulls him close. “You’re the only person I want to have stupid, argumentative, perfect sex with ever again, alright? Better?”


“And you—?”

“Have been having sex with Boyd for years.”

Stiles rakes a hand down his back. “Fucker.”

“Now you know how it feels.”

“Yeah but I like it when you get all possessive he-man, nobody touches what’s mine on me. Gets you all riled up.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

“I know, but you’re the one who decided you wanted to keep me.”

“And I’m going to.”

“Congrats, we’re officially that couple who don’t swing or have three-ways, we don’t share, we’re all set for domesticated, routine sex for life. Can we get to it now?”

Derek sighs like it’s a hardship, slides down the bed.

Stiles says his name repeatedly. Derek is a little smug about it.

He's allowed to be, shut up.


When Derek pads out into the kitchen in the morning Isaac is sitting at the table, pen in hand, glaring at a blank sheet of paper.

“What’re you doing?” Derek nods at the sheet as he grabs two mugs from the cupboard, bangs on the kettle.

“Making a list of all the things I could do with Danny on Valentine’s Day.”

Derek takes in the one sentence at the top, have sex, which is crossed out and snorts. “Good start.”

“Shut up, man, not all of us got it right first time and found the only other person in the world who doesn’t give a shit about this stuff.”

“It wasn’t the first time,” Derek says softly, sitting beside him. “That was, not what Stiles and I have. And it took a really long time to get it right this time. I,” he ducks his head, scratches at his chin and wishes he knew how to explain why he and Stiles work.

To someone who doesn’t know them it makes no sense.

To everyone that does, Stiles and Derek were the last ones to realize it made total sense.

“It shouldn’t be this hard for you,” he says finally. “When you’re with someone you give a shit about it’s not all about the sex—”

Isaac snorts. “So not true. You guys have more sex than all the people I have ever known. Combined.”

“—what I mean is,” Derek continues primly, because Isaac can shut the hell up; he and Stiles have really good sex, that’s not a problem in his book. “It’s not about showing it off or, making it into a game, or trivialising it. It’s proving you’re in it for the long term, that you can take the bad stuff, that you love the bad stuff even when you hate the bad stuff. Just say you’re gonna notice it in the first place.”

Isaac narrows his eyes at him. “Did you practise that?”

Derek shoves him off his chair. “Fuck you,” he says without heat. “See if I help you on his birthday.”

Isaac pales. “Shit!”

“Isaac, for fuck’s sake, I meant it about the hard part. If you’re thinking too hard about it, it’s not right in the first place.”

“Who are you and why are you sprouting logic so early in the morning?” Stiles demands as he strolls into the kitchen, runs a hand along Derek’s shoulder before opening the fridge and grabbing the milk. “Where’s the real Derek, hmm?”

“I’m not talking to either of you ever again,” Derek huffs, slapping Stiles’ hand away from where he was about to drink the milk straight from the carton.


“You want the real Derek? Real Derek says use a glass.”

“Real Derek is a priss.”

“Real Derek hates you.”

“Real Derek is seriously hot all angry and frowny right now.”

Derek crowds him against the counter and kisses him.

Isaac sighs and sticks a spoonful of cereal in his mouth moodily, complaining about their inability to keep away from each other's faces for more than five minutes at a time.

When Derek turns to scowl at him Isaac pouts. He looks sixteen again. Derek drags Stiles back to the table and they both sit and stare at Isaac.

He drops his spoon with a clatter. “What?”

“You like Danny, right?”


“Like how much?”

“You want a graph?”

“No, smartass, I mean,” Stiles waves a hand around. “You wanna put a ring on it? He your one and only?”

“Fuck, no, we are not you two.”

“Jealous,” Stiles scoffs. Derek snorts, glancing through the mail Isaac brought in earlier.

“No, shut up, just, I don’t know!”

“Well narrow it down, dude. You wanna shack up with him and have kids with incredible cheekbones and dimples or are you sort of still in the dating for fun stage?”

“I don’t know,” Isaac squirms on his seat. “Somewhere in the middle?

 “Ok, well how bad would you feel if he broke up with you?”

Isaac looks like Stiles has punched him. “Why? Did he say something?”

“Nope,” Stiles picks up his coffee and waves it at him. “But there’s how you feel about him.”

“I hate it when you ninja emote me like that,” Isaac says crossly.

Stiles grins over his mug. “It’s how you learn.”

“Thank you, Yoda,” Isaac mutters. “Could you both at least stop looking so smug?”

“We weren’t doing anything!” Stiles protests, wrapping his feet around Derek’s under the table and jiggling them around excitedly.

Derek traps them and holds him still. “Just go buy him a nice card before I brain you with that spoon.”

“Fine,” Isaac stands and throws on his jacket. “Thanks,” he says with more sincerity as he claps Derek on the shoulder and digs a finger into Stiles’ neck just to make him squawk indignantly. “You guys are sometimes the best.”

Sometimes? We’re simply the best twenty four seven, yo. Like Tina Turner eat your heart out kind of best,” Stiles yells after him.

Derek shakes his head, grinning. “Really? Tina Turner?”

“I like Let’s Stay Together,” Stiles says loftily, grabbing Derek’s hand and pulling him towards the shower. “It has a nice sentiment about it.”

“You can sing it to me in the shower if you like.”

“You should be so lucky to have me serenade you.”


“Holy fuck, what are you wearing?”

Derek jumps from where he’s been twisting his tie in the mirror and briefly rests his head against the closet door.

“Stiles, you’re not supposed to be home yet.”

“Yeah, I finished early for the day,” Stiles says faintly, eyes fixed on where Derek’s fingers are still knotting his tie.

“I’m up here.”

Stiles’ gaze snaps up to his face and he glares. “You—why are you dressed like that? Do you have a date I don’t know about?”

Derek stares at him. “And you say you’re not paranoid.”

“I’ve got three options to go with here, someone died and you’re going to a funeral without me, you’re asking my dad for my hand in marriage—don’t, I’ll kill you, I am no man’s property. When you propose, if you propose—"

"When," Derek cuts in firmly.

Stiles flushes pink, eyes going warm and fond. "—You're still not asking him first. Or you’re going on a date.”

“I am,” Derek says rolling his eyes and throwing Stiles’ blazer at his face. “With you.”

Stiles splutters in surprise. “But Valentine’s Day is like, three days away.”

“I know. I didn’t book dinner for Valentine’s Day; I just booked it for today a month ago.”

“Why today?”

“Because,” Derek feels his face heat up and curses himself. “You said you wanted to try that new place down town and I just thought we could go seeing as we're both free tonight.”

Stiles arms drop and he clutches at the blazer limply. “You’re doing something nice, just because?”

“I am capable of that, you know.”

“I fucking know you are. I’m just—” Stiles launches himself over their bed and leaps at Derek. “You’re so sexy when you’re flustered and in a suit, I don’t know what to do first.”

“Get dressed for dinner.”

“But I wanna—” Stiles goes to bend his knees and Derek catches him, reluctantly.


“Fine, but we’re totally using this later,” Stiles says, flicking Derek’s tie in his face. “So sexy,” he yells again as he heads into the bathroom.

Derek’s too distracted by Stiles stripping off his sweater to think of a reply.

He heads out of the bedroom, messing with his jacket to where Isaac, Scott and Boyd are holed up on the couch.

Scott makes a noise of surprise. “You going to a costume party?”

Derek grabs the nearest piece of fruit from the bowl and lobs it at his head. Scott catches it easily, grinning. “You look like James Bond.”

“Then I guess that makes me cooler than you will ever be,” Derek retorts childishly. Sometimes he can’t help it. They bring it out in him. It’s not his fault.

“I have never seen someone so angrily wear a suit before,” Boyd says mildly.

Derek scowls at him. “I’d like to see you pull this off.”

“Dude, I would wipe the floor with you if I were wearing a tux.”

“You are pretty hot,” Isaac says agreeably to Boyd, Boyd nods in agreement.

“I am.”

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why are you all here?”

“We’re making something for Danny,” Scott says excitedly. “Look!” He picks up a large piece of cream card with a photograph of Isaac and Danny in the middle of it. Isaac’s looking off to the side, smiling and Danny’s grinning into Isaac’s hair. Around the outside there’s other photographs and memorabilia clearly from their time together. Derek stares at it incredulously.

“You three made this.”



Yes.” Scott’s beaming at him like he knows Derek’s having an aneurism; torn between his desire to say something derisive and how much he knows it’ll upset Isaac.


“You guys did craft stuff without me?!” Stiles stops beside Derek and Derek’s, yeah, Derek’s regretting that he made dinner plans as he looks him up and down.

“Oh my god,” Scott cries, pulling his jumper up over his nose. “Go to dinner, please, go, now.”

“What?” Stiles pats himself down, hands dragging across his chest. Derek takes in the crisp white of his shirt and the stark contrast of the black, fitted blazer, the way he smells like their shower gel and underneath that just, everything Stiles and Derek’s leaning forward without thought—

A glitter pen hits him on the side of the head.

Stiles has to drag him from the apartment to prevent him exacting revenge on Scott.


The thing is, they never really did the whole dating thing. They were two people who seemingly had nothing in common, were continuously thrown together, discovered they maybe did have some things in common, became friends, became a lot more than that, angsted over it and then had a lot of sex to make up for time wasted.

Then they were together.

Stiles went to college and Derek came to visit. They went out, parties, clubs, football games, the movies, shit he supposes other couples do but, he wasn’t trying to ‘woo’ Stiles by then. He wasn’t trying to prove anything.

Stiles already knew who Derek was and what he wanted. They didn’t need small talk over linen cloth tables where the chances of Stiles knocking over something expensive were high. They didn’t need stilted moments at front doors or panics over how long to wait till they sent the next text. Stiles would text Derek saying things like my back itches from standing beside him.

Derek would text back so scratch it.

And it would go on. They would be talking about one thing and texting about another. It drives Isaac crazy.

They were already touchy feely; Derek didn’t find he needed an excuse to kiss Stiles. He didn’t have to sweat over whether or not he should grab his hand, he just did.

It was ironically simple in comparison to his hellishly complicated past relationships.

Ironic because Stiles is the most complicated person Derek has ever met.

They talk about the Sheriff and his new lady friend over dinner. Stiles doesn’t take out any waiter’s eyes, or spill his water. Derek doesn’t growl at anyone for staring at them too long and he has his steak medium-rare. They talk about going to Europe; Barcelona’s a yes, Derek is iffy about Paris, Stiles wants go to London so he can meet a real life Queen’s Guard.

He wants to see if the guard or Derek would crack first when standing next to one another.

Derek doesn’t care where they go really; he’s the total cliché in that he’d probably go just about anywhere with Stiles.

Except Iceland.

Derek likes the sun. He likes Stiles in stupid, plastic sunglasses, beaming up at him from the sand, nose burned pink and skin warm to the touch. 


He walks into the living room on Valentine’s Day to find Danny and Isaac, covered in glitter and rolling around on the living room floor.

He walks out again and calls Stiles.

Stiles laughs down the phone because he’s a bastard.

Isaac hides from him for the rest of the morning.

They avoid eye contact over lunch and Danny tries to cover the silence, eventually giving up muttering about how much he wishes Stiles was with them to talk shit about why Pluto isn’t a planet anymore or why nobody should ever try and cover Bonnie Raitt songs.

“So,” Derek interrupts, steepling his fingers together and staring at them both. “Who’s gonna tidy up the living room?”

“We uh—we both will,” Danny says, tugging at his tee shirt nervously. Glitter showers all over the kitchen table. Derek resists the urge to laugh. Isaac looks like he wants to die.

“I’ll just—go get started,” Danny says hurriedly, racing from the room.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Isaac snaps. “I get it, ok? No more comments about how annoying it is walking in on the two of you. Even though it is annoying. And blinding.”

“I resent that.”

“I hate it when you fuck with me,” Isaac sighs and then rests his chin on his hand. “He liked the present though. You guys were right, simple was best.”

“I didn’t exactly mean glitter when I suggested it.”

“Glitter was Scott’s idea.”

“Of course it was.”

Derek pulls papers out of his pocket. “I got these out this morning.”

Isaac glances at the top line and then frowns up at him. “Derek—”

“I bought a house,” Derek interrupts. “With doors and everything. You can have a room, or you can keep this place and ask Danny to move in with you.”

Isaac chokes on air.

“Or, we can rent this place out for a bit, it turned out ok in the end,” Derek says, considering the high beams and the neatly painted walls, the photos on the bookcase, Stiles’ sneakers and Derek’s boots by the door. “I reckon people would like it. You can have it when you're ready, though.”


“So,” Derek shrugs. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“You’re not supposed to say that to me.”

“I can say it to whoever the fuck I want,” Derek says crossly. “It’s just a stupid day.”

“Stiles is never going to forgive you for giving him the world’s biggest, most romantic present on Valentine’s Day. Like ever.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’ll just give him the paper work tomorrow instead.”

“You can’t lie to him to save your life anymore.”

“I’m sure I’ll cope.”

He doesn’t. He lasts all of five seconds. Stiles comes home and drops a box on the table saying hello and Derek blurts it out. He doesn’t handle pressure at all well when he doesn’t have to.

Stiles sits down on the chair next to him heavily. Shoves the box at him. “Well, I made you this at that place I suggested to Isaac at the weekend so, we’re even.”

Inside there’s a glass heart. It has faint gold piping trailing over it and at the bottom on the right there’s an –S.

“’S’mine,” Stiles says simply, kicking his leg under the table. "For you. To keep."

“Yeah,” Derek replies faintly. It's pretty much the most important thing he's ever been given.

“So, we did the whole romance thing on Valentine’s Day after all,” Stiles mutters, scrubbing a hand across his face. “What the fuck is wrong with us—”

Derek yanks him out of his chair, kissing him fervently.

Nothing. Nothing is wrong with us.”

“Ok, ok," Stiles says fondly, scraping a hand through Derek's hair. "I love you," he sighs contentedly. "Very much, a whole lot in fact."

Derek crooks a smile at him. "You too."

"We're awful and disgusting and totally cliché, though."

Derek shrugs. “Don't care. 'S’friday now anyway.”

Stiles pulls back, smiling widely. “So, you could say it’s Happy Friday to us.”

“I could,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. “I’d just rather take you to bed.”

Isaac sighs from the couch. “Still no door for the kitchen.”

“Shut up, Isaac, I’ll buy you all the fucking doors you want in the new place,” Stiles yells from over Derek’s shoulder.

Valentine's Day is totally overrated, christening every room in their new house all through March? way better.