Don't Close Your Eyes

Derek slides open the loft door after unhooking the latch and for some reason, isn't surprised when he finds Stiles at his door, his clothes clinging fervishly to his pale flushed skin as the rain water continues to drip off of Stiles and into a puddle on the hardwood floor of Derek's loft. His eyebrow arches and lets his eyes run over Stiles appearance before giving the younger male a disapproving look.

"What happened to your umbrella?" he finally asks, and the worry can be found with the creases that show up in between his eyes and then are gone the next when Stiles holds up his arms. Derek can hear the loud thrumming of not one, but two hearts other than his own and he lets out a sigh when he can hear a purring sound that does not come from Stiles' mouth.

"No, you're not bringing that little shit in here," Derek says and he almost points his finger at the small animal hidden in Stiles arms. "I should've known something happened when all that yowling stopped," he groans and retreats back into the kitchen when Stiles throws off his wet sneakers into the corner on a rug where Derek's old trainers are and slides the loft door shut behind him.

Derek makes sure that the chicken isn't burning in the oven and then steals a bite, chewing quickly before making sure that the timer was set. He usually could smell when the food was at its peak but when Stiles was over to stay, Derek had unfortunately made a habit of forgetting things and unavoidably letting Stiles hold his attention.

"Stiles, we're not keeping that thing!" Derek yells and Stiles covers the little kitten's ears with his hands gently, even though Derek is no longer in the living room of the loft. Derek stands at the island in the centre of the kitchen and can hear the soft cooing from Stiles. He recognizes the sounds Stiles is making because they're the same sounds that he makes when Derek is smearing his skin all over Stiles to the sound of some underrated indie band, hopelessly losing himself in the spaces between the sheets of Derek's bed where Stiles was.

Hearing Stiles make the sound again, whispering to the small kitten, the sounds throaty but soft and coming from the back of Stiles throat, Derek has to stand and shift awkwardly in his pants, his fingers scratching at his hips. Derek knew Stiles was only trying to play with the kitten but Derek couldn't really choose what his sensitive ears picked up, they just did and he had no control over how his body reacted to whatever he heard. Werewolf problems.

"It's dirty," Derek finally says, stepping into the living room where Stiles had already made himself comfortable. He's not lying - the kitten's fur is darkened by dirt and sleet that's fallen outside.

"I know, but he was too cute to ignore," Stiles said casually before fiddling something out of his back pocket and flashing them at Derek before slipping them on the little kitten's face. The glasses weren't perscription, but just for fashion and Stiles had worn them a couple times, just when he wanted to annoy Derek who didn't understand the fashion or when he felt like it would go well with one of the many plaid shirts that flooded his closet.

"Cora's not here?" Stiles asks, his lips twitching as he watches the older male cross his arms, not being appeased by the kitten's new fashion statement.

Derek shakes his head in reply to Stiles.

"She's at Peter's. God knows for what those two little shits are doing," Derek mutters.

If he hadn't had Cora hanging off of him since his return from the dead, he would've been just a bit jealous that Cora was at Peter's instead of say doing some sibling bonding with Derek but then again Stiles and Derek always had... a different kind of bonding, you could say. Plus, Cora had been hounding on him for details on his relationship with the younger male and he was now a bit thankful that he'd been left a little bit breathing space by Cora to have some time with Stiles. When Stiles coos at the kitten in his hands and gives Derek a look after the small animal purrs and remains quiet, not once clawing at Stiles or doing anything of the like.

"If I know you, you'll be even more trouble than it is," Derek announces as Stiles continues to give him his best pleading look.

Derek couldn't be blamed - he knew that Stiles would eventually be here every waking second and force Derek to baby the little animal, probably whining that the litter box needed to be fixed or that the kitten needed more toys. Hell, Stiles would probably coddle the thing until Derek had to watch Stiles spend every second over the thing since it wasn't like Stiles could take the pet home; Sheriff Stilinski was allergic to cats and only really liked the K9 units at the police station at Beacon Hills.

"She," Stiles corrects and juts out his lower lip, twiddling his thumbs in front of Derek who stands there, now crossing his arms.

The older male smiles for a second in a familiar smirk that has Stiles blushing from his ears down to the tops of his shoulder and shakes his head. He was not going to let the kid bring in an animal to lounge around the house - he already had Isaac popping in and making faces at Cora and Peter coming in to steal the coffee maker, he didn't need a small little kitten that would probably leave it's diarrhea under his bed or something.

"If this is because you don't want some puss-" Stiles says, running a hand through his damp hair before moving to take off his soaked shirt.

"Stop right there," Derek says and Stiles can see the way Derek looks at him, the way he sees Stiles and then Stiles manages to put on a smug little grin. Derek rolls his eyes and his arms fall down to his sides as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table, resting on the other side of the couch although with Derek's massive thighs, there was not much space in between Stiles and Derek on the smaller piece of furniture in the living room.

"Just a week," Derek says and his body ridges as he feels clipped claws tug on the back of his shirt. The kitten has now made its way from Stiles over to Derek. "And not definitely if he's going to be using me as a scratching post the whole time," he growls and pulls his shoulder away, forcing the kitten to leap on Derek's back since he's moved away and out of reach from the little kitten.

Stiles grins and almost slides his way over to Derek, not caring that he's gotten the arm of the couch wet or that Derek can probably see his nipples hardening under his practically see-through shirt due to the howling rain storms outside. He presses his already wet lips against the stubble resting calmly on Derek's chin and brushes it upwards until his lips catch against the corner of Derek's lips. Stiles smirks softly when Derek's composure slackens and then all Stiles can feel is soft fur between them. The kitten had crept up between them, probably vying for attention after being forgotten momentarily.

Derek visibly sighs although Stiles cannot hear the sound and then forest green eyes are flashing at Stiles underneath the thick, short, coal-colored lashes that coordinate the sound of his beating heart. Before Stiles knows it a couch pillow smacks his cheek and Derek is holding the kitten that's now licking his cheek. Stiles can't help but lick his own lips, even after having the pillow collide with his face - who could expect that Derek would look so irresistible holding a kitten that looked like a small caterpillar compared to the largeness of Derek's upper body? God that's sexy Stiles thought, biting on his lower lip.

"Go take a shower before you catch a cold idiot," Derek barks and the corners of his lips are now twisting upwards, practically hearing the gears turning in Stiles head combined with now the pungent scent of attraction coming from the freckled and hopelessly soaked boy.

"All right, all right," Stiles says and then mutters something under his breathe, which he's sure Derek will hear as he's stretching and undressing on his way to Derek's bathroom, "Sour wolf."

Another couch pillow hits Stiles right on his left butt cheek before Stiles lets out a small yelp at the contact and starts undressing on his way to the bathroom, shivering as he runs to the bathroom to get under some warm water. Derek shakes his head, picking up the wet clothes Stiles had left and finding that the kitten was still holding on to him, nestled into his neck and holding onto his shirt with its claws as if it was a reluctant child holding on to a father who was not willing to give a piggy-back ride. Derek made a face and he sniffs before jumping up from the sofa, throwing the soaked clothes in the corner with the Stiles wet shoes.

"Shit! The goddamn chicken," Derek grumbles before running over to the oven, not bothering to move the kitten as it made Derek's lush hair it's resting spot.