[sorry for dodgy shading and dodginess all together. This is for a dear friend of mine, superheroesontrampolines ]
It didn’t matter what happened before or what was going to happen after. None of that mattered.
Every night, he’d pretend to be asleep to give Derek that moment to himself. Derek would push his body past exhaustion, almost seeming to be afraid that what he had, what they had, would disappear if he woke up. But Stiles wasn’t going anywhere. So no matter how many times, no matter if it needed to happen more then once that night, Stiles would give Derek this.
He would lay there eyes closed, arms curled under the pillow, his face looking the other way with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips and he would focus on that hand moving along his back. Those fingers that mapped out his moles hypnotically, skin barely brushing against skin.
Sometimes, Stiles swore he could feel Derek smile as a finger went from one mole to the next. Other times, he wondered if Derek questioned his choice in their relationship. But no matter what was going through that head of his, Derek would have this.
It was easy to tell when Stiles was asleep and when he was just pretending. Every night, Derek listened - to the steady breath, to the tongue licking across that bottom lip he enjoyed nibbling on. To that steady heartbeat that always drew him in.
Derek needed this. He needed the reassurance that Stiles was here. That humanity was a great weakness against the world they fought against to protect their town. Sometimes, he had to be careful. Stiles pale skin would be littered with bruises and cuts and the smell of pain would punch him in the gut because once again, Stiles had been caught up in this, had done something reckless in order to protect the pack.
But that was Stiles and Derek loved him for that. So every night before he allowed sleep to take over, he would stay up, with Stiles pretending to be asleep, and allow his hand to roam the bare skin before him. Stiles was littered with moles and they fascinated him. Each led to another in some sort of pattern or picture that only Stiles could possibly know and each night, Derek would spend countless minutes tracing them out.