seriously though, i’d give parts of my soul for Stiles and Derek to accidentally kiss and then be like ho shit, i don’t know where that came from I mean— we’re not—
AND THEN THEY SAY SCREW IT AND MAKE OUT FOR TEN HOURS OK YES.
"What…" In a stupor, Stiles reaches up and drags the back of his hand over his lips. They’re still wet.
"I don’t." Derek takes a step back, and slowly disengages his fingers from Stiles’ hair. "I honestly. Um."
“What,” Stiles says again, because it bears repeating.
"Well, I don’t—you jumped at me!”
"You looked at my mouth, though!”
"So what!" Derek clenches his fists. "I look at your mouth all the time!"
"Not that—I don’t mean—" Derek takes a long, heavy breath. "We’re both very tired right now."
"Yes, completely fried." Stiles’ eyes slip down to Derek’s chest, because it’s heaving shallowly. Stiles has never seen it do that before. He can’t look away from the rapid rise-and-fall of Derek’s collarbones.
"Everyone has strange impulses when they’re…"
"Exactly!" Stiles says, pointing at him. "Exactly. Like being drunk!"
"Or drugged," Derek agrees, nodding. He looks wild-eyed and cornered, and is he sweating a bit at his temples?
"Like having a head injury?" Stiles suggests, reaching out to cup Derek’s jaw and brush his thumb against his sideburns, just to check.
"Or like being really fucking attracted to you,” Derek sighs, frustrated.
"Yeah, or like that," Stiles agrees with an angry eye-roll, and Derek groans and pulls him back in by his hoodie strings.