Title: If You Ever
Rating: PG
Pairing: Stiles/Derek
Words: 573
Warnings: dead animal
Summary: Derek gives Stiles a gift.
Notes: Based on this gifset: teamsciles at tumblr /post/51634455456

x

There is a knock at the door, but Stiles ignores it. The person knocks again and Stiles groans, closes his laptop, and runs downstairs to answer it. He yanks open the front door and experiences the biggest surprise of his life.

First, Derek. Derek is there. Derek is using the front door instead of sneaking in through the window, uninvited and creeping.

Second, the deer. There is a dead deer on the porch, it's neck bloody with open wounds that are—oh god, they're still trickling blood. It's a testament to what his life has become that Stiles' only feels mild repulsion and doesn't even feel the need to vomit.

He looks up at Derek, too stunned to say anything at all, but Derek will not meet his eyes. Stiles waits, but Derek looks anywhere but at him, so finally Stiles speaks. "Dude, why the hell did you bring me a deer?"

Derek stays silent for a while and Stiles is thinking that he might just go back inside and play the latest Arkham game and let Derek deal with the corpse of Bambi's mom—no, dad. That's a male deer. Oh god, Stiles is looking at a deer's dick, what in the hell is his life.

"To…to show you I can fend for you," Derek says, eyes downcast, feet shuffling.

Stiles so cannot deal with this right now. "This is some weird ass werewolf ritual, isn't it?"

"It's not—it's not a ritual," Derek says, suddenly alert and looking directly at Stiles. If he didn't know better, he'd think Derek was blushing. "I'm just…I'm showing you that I can…fend…for us…if you ever became my…"

"What? Became your what?"

Derek mumbles something unintelligible. Stiles rubs a hand over his face, sighs loudly, and says, "What the hell are you saying, dude? I can't understand your werewolfy muttering."

Derek just continues muttering and looks away from Stiles. "Seriously, dude? I know you're bad with words and all—and I mean bad, really bad—"

"In case you became my mate," Derek says, speaking clearly.

It takes Stiles a moment before he processes the words and stops the babble that is tumbling out of his mouth. He smiles slowly, widely, and he feels his face heating up, but he barrels on. "Can we remove the 'if'?"

Derek's mouth falls open, his eyes wide with surprise. "Really?"

Stiles laughs and decides to simply it. He grips the front of Derek's shirt and pulls him in for a kiss—too hard, sloppy, their teeth crash together and it is too wet, but Stiles doesn't really mind, if he's being honest.

What he does mind is when Derek pulls him into his chest and Stiles trips over the buck's corpse. He pulls away, horror-stricken, and then he does feel the urge to vomit, barely keeping it down.

"How about you move the dead animal off my father's porch and then we go inside?" Stiles suggests.

Derek smiles, hefts the deer on one shoulder, and carries it into the backyard, Stiles following behind. "You know," Derek says, "we should really hang it and bleed it before it spoils."

"That is disgusting."

"Venison is delicious, Stiles," Derek counters with a look so serious, Stiles can't help but laugh.

"Fine, hang the damn deer. Then come inside and ravage me." Stiles turns away, waving a hand behind him, but his steps stutter at what Derek says next.

"I think I will."