Stiles was honestly 100% going to be the fucking death of him.
First it was the unnatural obsession with things in his mouth, which already sounded like a cosmic “fuck you” from the universe, considering how horribly underaged Stiles was, and then there was the way his scent would almost automatically go spicy with arousal whenever Derek walked into room, as if Derek wasn’t already fighting the urge to just push him up against a wall and bite, mark him so that no one else would touch what was hi—
“Are you purring?” Stiles sounded amused, and Derek snapped his eyes open, flushing hard. He didn’t even realize that they’d fallen shut.
“No,” he said, squeezing them shut again when Stiles hummed noncommittally, dropping his hand back into Derek’s hair and scratching lightly on Derek’s scalp. “I’m not purring, I’m just, oh.”
Stiles chuckled, and Derek heard him shake his head. “Sure you’re not.”
Derek wasn’t, not really.
He was just trying really hard not to flip Stiles onto his back and rip his clothes off right then and there, because Stiles seemed to have figured out his kryptonite.
“You look happy,” Stiles mumbled shyly, and Derek froze for a split-second, which was apparently enough for Stiles to stop and remove his hand from Derek’s hair, and Derek just barely held back a whine. “I’m sorry if that was, uh, invasive, or creepy or stuff I just—”
“No, it’s… I am, happier, that is,” Derek admitted, his heart clenching at the way Stiles’ face softened.
Stiles cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing. “That’s… I’m glad,” he said softly, absently leaning into Derek’s space, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly when Derek slid his fingers through the soft hairs on the nape of Stiles’ neck and pulled him down closer. “I, uh, woah, hi.”