Kings of the Moonlight

All Your Gold

There was someone that I knew before, a heart from the past I cannot forget. I let her take all my gold and hurt me so bad and now for you, I have nothing left.

-

When Isaac falls asleep this time around, he's sprawled over Derek's lap with his cheeks carefully cushioned on his hands, where they lay softly atop his father's knee, his mouth open in gentle snoring and his lashes fanning out over his face as he dreams.

He'd fallen asleep somewhere between the first and second movie, so Derek and Stiles had decided to let him be, knowing that he needed it especially after the day he'd been through. Instead they had spent the rest of their time in quiet company as they rested after their dinner.

Derek now lays sprawled low on the floor, his shoulders supported by the seat of the couch as he absently strokes Isaac's back, his eyes inevitably drifting from the television screen towards the figure of Stiles.

Stiles, for the most part, remains completely oblivious to Derek's attentions. He's sitting on the other side of the coffee table, his long legs thrown over one side of the armchair and a light frown between his brows as he places continuous concentration in the film in front of him.

There are moments, of course, discreet moments during those few hours where Derek manages to catch Stiles' gaze. They never last for more than a few seconds, accompanied by a small smile in recognition before his attention is inevitably stolen, though the impressions that those quiet, lingering gazes leave are always emphatically electric.

They're like sparks of warm fire, oozing hot and quick down Derek's throat like shots of cold whiskey; burning deep into his chest. It makes him shiver, makes his eyes flutter and his pupils dilate.  

It's only when Stiles sees this particular gaze from Derek, when he sees the sheer intensity of it, that his posture changes. He sits up a little straighter, the muscles of his body tightening up beneath his skin, like silk over water, even as his fingertips curl into the palm of his hand and his mouth falls open in expectation.

Stiles' eyes flicker over to Isaac for a split second, before hopping considerately back up to Derek's face and he cants his head towards the darkened corridor in tentative invitation.

Derek wastes no time in getting up, gently bundling his son to his chest and hushing his sleepy fussing with kisses to the brown curls at his temple, before he carefully makes his way towards Isaac's bedroom.

He leaves Stiles to turn off the television and make the mess they made of the living room somewhat presentable and he walks slowly, padding lightly across the tiles of corridor as he rubs Isaac's back.

His son falls easily back into sleep, snuffling lazily as he shoves his arms into his pyjamas, leaning forward to rest his forehead heavily on Derek's stomach as his father finishes dressing him for bed and in the end, Derek only needs to lightly kiss the palm of Isaac's hand in order to hush the soft protestations tumbling from his son's mouth.

When Isaac is finally, blissfully asleep, Derek finds Stiles in his bedroom. It makes him pause, in light of the feeling of the humble comfort of seeing Stiles in his bedroom, moving with easy familiarity and preparing his bed, for them and only for them.

So Derek stands in the doorway for a long few seconds, leaning against the doorjamb just to watch him.

Stiles is doused gold by the soft, low light of the bedside lamp as he leans over the bed; dark, elongated shadows playing over the curved angles of his face. Derek finds such simple pleasure in his movements, it's so easy for him to lose himself in watching the sinuous muscle of Stiles' forearms shifting beneath his skin as he folds the material over itself.