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The One With the Nursery

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Stiles starfished out on the couch. “It’s so hot.”

Derek grabbed his foot and shook it. “The A/C guy’s coming tomorrow. Come on, we need to finish painting the guest room.”

“Do we really need to, Derek?” Stiles kicked at him ineffectually. “I mean, will we cease living if we don’t paint, and instead just lay on the couch for hours with fans blowing directly on us?”

Derek rolled his eyes and chucked a paintbrush at Stiles, who flailed and yelped. “The room is currently half electric orange. We need to finish painting.”

“Electric orange is awesome,” Stiles said, but he sat up. “It’ll be the brightest nursery on the block.”

“And the kids will never sleep,” Derek said. “Orange isn’t soothing.”

“Orange is perfectly soothing. So is blue.” Stiles wiggled his eyebrows. “They’re even more soothing together.” 

“Stiles, for the fifth time, we’re not painting the nursery Mets colors.”

Stiles jabbed the paintbrush at him. “I’m going to turn them into baseball fans no matter what you do.”

“You have my permission to buy them tiny bats and gloves for their first birthdays,” Derek said dryly. “Now come on, we need to get this finished.”

Derek started up the stairs, but Stiles caught his wrist before he could get far. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

Derek frowned. “About what?”

“About,” Stiles gestured between them, “us. Becoming parents. Being responsible for shaping little minds and raising them to be semi-productive members of society. Being responsible for keeping them safe.”

His heartbeat tripped all over the place, belying his otherwise calm voice. Derek leaned over and kissed Stiles’s sweaty forehead. “The only thing I’ve ever been more sure about is you.”

Stiles looped his arms around Derek’s neck. “You’re such a romantic fucker. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Derek kissed him again, this time on the lips. “You’re going to have to stop swearing so much when there are kids around, you know.”

“Hey, any kid of mine is going to have a solid and well-rounded vocabulary.”

Derek sighed. “The PTA is going to love you.”