Devil of Wolves (Sterek)

Chapter 18 (Stars Will Fall)

Me trying to find the courage to post this chapter: today's the day! I'm gonna do it!

And boom! Here's the steamy/fluffy/domestic-ness you've been waiting for (maybe). It's basically just word vomit about Stiles and Derek not being able to keep their hands off one another.

Funny enough, this chapter was ironically THE MOST challenging for me to write out of all of them yet. I almost kneeled over. I put this one off for so long because...well, I've been writing angst forever and everything here just feels so out of character for both them and me. Nobody gets a day of happiness in this story (certainly not on my watch!)

Alas, I'm just so unused to writing 'nice' moments and giving these guys a break, it has truly been my greatest weakness yet.
Absolutely sickening ♡'･ᴗ･'♡

Enjoy!

^^^

"If you learn how to make one other person happy, truly happy in their soul, you will find that your own pursuit of happiness is over. For the state of happiness and loving others are reflections of the same emotional gold."

^^^

Stiles wonders if this is all a dream, tucked away in a dark room as the sun rises, he can't help but think it might be. Maybe this is some divine punishment that he has yet to fathom and the rug is about to get pulled out from under his feet. It wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen to him, even if it is deserved.

Breathing as quietly as possible, staring as if this were all a mirage, it's a moment that makes him want to count his fingers. Except, that would require him to look away and he isn't doing that anytime soon, this all might disappear if he does. His heart aches at the thought.

Please let this be real.

The room is dim, a sliver of sunlight peeks beyond the window, just barely there, yet it's enough to feed the tranquil environment and give him a moment to just watch.

Stiles peers across the warm covers resting over his shoulders. A large gray duvet, that smells like gentle fabric softener and something entirely Derek, blankets him with its warmth. He wants to drown in that scent, cover his mouth and nose with it until it swarms him entirely, a beautiful way to go. Yet, something else entraps his focus over the mound covering his body.

A hand is wrapped around his waist, anchoring him to the mattress, it scorches his skin.

Stiles feels starstruck. A stuttering breath escapes past his lips.

The spot where Derek's hand meets the delicate portion of his bony hip is like a brand. A claim being staked against his skin, pulling him in tighter, ever closer, until his lungs fold and his heart pounds mercilessly.

They're so close, Stiles can hardly remember how to breathe. His brain and thoughts have abandoned their functions, instead, they focus on Derek's intoxicating smell and remind him that they are so close they could sink into each other's skin and become one. The sweet smell of pine and cinnamon invades his senses and heats up the fresh summer morning.

He smells terribly good, the warmth radiating from his body wraps Stiles in a pleasant hug and it shouldn't feel so nice, but it is, and his lips seem so soft that brown eyes can't seem to detach from them.

The crazy thing is, the thing he can't fathom or wrap his head around, is the fact that Stiles knows what those lips feel like.

All his pining and curiosities were answered in one heated moment last night.