#ninakask

Derek just slowly turned to look at him, Stiles beaming at him like ten thousand fucking suns, and then slowly faced forward again because no. No, this wasn’t nice. This was ridiculous. And embarrassing. And a waste of money, actually.

How had Stiles talked him into this again?

Right. In the guise of “we need to relax, Derek!”

After the most recent big bad, Stiles had adamantly insisted that he and Derek needed to go relax, and apparently relaxing in Stiles’ book was booking a spa day. They were literally the only men in the entire damn place, and way too many women had been checking him out on his way from one room to another.

It made him uncomfortable. No one should be looking at him in that way except for Stiles. Who had been looking at him in that way, but that was hardly the point. The point was, other people had been looking at him in that way, and it made him uncomfortable.

But, Stiles was happy, and that was the important thing. They’d gone off to do all the usual spa things, none of which Derek understood. At one point they were in a mud bath.

A literal mud bath.

He’d turned to Stiles while they were lying side by side and had said, “If you wanted me to cover you in mud, I could’ve just thrown you into the dirt back at the Preserve.”

Stiles had just beamed at him and settled back comfortably.

Derek was positive there were places this mud was going that he was never going to be able to clean.

The massage had been—all right. Not great, not appreciated because he wasn’t fond of other people touching him when he didn’t know them, but it had been all right. Tolerable. Some muscles had loosened up, he supposed.

And his skin felt weirdly smooth. He didn’t know that he liked that, because Stiles always commented on how much he loved his rough beard so he assumed Stiles liked his rough skin. But well, something to worry about later. And it wasn’t like their lives weren’t going to bring forth more situations where Derek’s skin would harden up again.

He wouldn’t stay baby smooth forever, thank God.

They were now in the last phase before ‘release.’

‘Freedom,’ more like.

This was probably the most embarrassing by far, though, because they were currently sitting in comfy, plush leather seats, and they each had a woman across from them filing their nails.

Derek had vehemently argued the manicure, because it was ridiculous and pointless for him since he was a fucking Werewolf, and claws just grew at the flick of his wrist, but no. It was part of the package, and Stiles insisted they had to finish it off with the manicure.

So, here Derek was, sitting in the plush leather chair, watching some poor likely underpaid woman file his nails.

Manicures were ridiculous. Why pay someone to cut your nails when you could do that yourself? Derek had nail clippers, he cut his own damn nails when he deemed it necessary. He saw no point in having someone else do this for him when he was perfectly capable of doing it himself.

Thankfully, they were almost done. Almost done with this ridiculous day, and while he was glad Stiles looked so happy, he also was never doing this again. He was going to find that code-word Stiles used on him and he was going to ensure that he stopped it from escaping his boyfriend’s mouth the second it sounded like he was trying to talk him into something unpleasant.

The woman across from him had just put his hand down in the basin, and he was positive she was done, but she pulled out a small bottle of clear nail polish and Derek instantly retreated his hands when she reached for his left one, getting water on his bathrobe.

Yes, he was in a fucking bathrobe.

“I don’t need that,” he informed her.

“It’s nail strengthener,” she explained calmly, having already dealt with his sour expressions and clipped tone for the past few minutes.

“I don’t need that,” he said again.

“Scared of a little nail polish?” Stiles teased from beside him.

Derek turned to glare at him and saw that he already had one hand part of the way done, not a care in the world that the polish was being applied.

“My nails are fine,” he said curtly. Which was true, because his nails turned into claws and he could disembowel Stiles with ease if he wanted to.

Which he didn’t normally, but it was tempting right now with the smirk on his boyfriend’s face.

“Come on, Derek. It’s part of the experience. Don’t be such a sourwolf.”

“Stop calling me that,” Derek replied grumpily. “And no.”

“Come on, Derek.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Stiles sighed and held up his index finger of his free hand. The woman across from him pulled back and Stiles leaned over closer, lips brushing Derek’s ear when he spoke and voice lowering. Stiles knew Derek could hear him without being this close, so he was obviously just trying to get a rise out of him.

It was working, the fucking asshole.

“It’s part of the experience, Derek,” Stiles breathed hotly against his ear. “If you behave, and stop being such a downer, I’ll blow you on our way home. Might even get you to lose control of the car, I’ll suck you so good.”

Derek’s expression didn’t change, but he felt himself stirring downstairs.

Stiles did not like giving blowjobs. It was something Derek had learned early on in their relationship. He loved sex, and he loved receiving blowjobs, but he did not like giving them. Stiles reserved offering blowjobs for special occasions. Like birthdays, and holidays, and holy-shit-you-almost-died days.

Derek turned to Stiles when his boyfriend pulled away. Stiles wasn’t looking at him, but he had a smarmy little smirk on his face when he put his hands back down for the woman across from him to continue with the coat of polish.

He wasn’t going to let Stiles win. Not like this. It was too easy. He would know he could manipulate him! Derek was not going to put fucking nail polish on, no matter what Stiles said!

Derek slammed one hand down on the table, making the lady across from him jump.

“Just put the damn polish on.”

Fucking Stiles. He was going to be the death of him.

On second thought, Derek is glad that they don't know--though he has a sneaking suspicion that Lydia is onto him.

It's better if they don't know that he doesn't run away from his grief but that he runs towards him.

That when he shifts, suddenly Stiles is there, smiling at him even though his body doesn't stop the rays of light.

That in limbo, Stiles chooses to stay behind for them, to watch over them all because that's what he does and he doesn't know how to move forward without making sure that they're over him "checking out early", or so he says.

Because even dead, Stiles is just as chatty as he was alive.

And Derek knows that maybe it's not healthy for him to stay in his wolf-body for too long, that it's not good for him to keep this illusion that Stiles is still around, that it could drive him insane.

But that's the thing, and even though he can't speak, he tries to explain to Stiles just that.

He's already going insane.

With all the loss Derek has gone through already, Stiles' premature death--not even a Supernatural one, who would have bet on that--seems to have been the final drop that tipped him over.

And being human and walking in a world where Stiles isn't flailing and smiling and being too smart for his own good? Derek doesn't want to live in such a world.

Such a world is tasteless and dull, whereas the world where Stiles keeps moving around (even if it's through walls) is bright and the only thing that makes sense.

So Derek forgets what it's like to stand on two feet, what it feels to wear clothes, to use his hands, to speak, and he settles in the forest, where he can tentatively wrap his warmer, furry body around Stiles and feel his ectoplasmic hand touch him.

Stiles protests, at first, telling him that he has to keep on going, that he has to live, if only to honor his memory, but a low whine from Derek had shut him up pretty quickly.

A part of Derek's mind supplies an image of living and breathing Stiles shutting up because of a very human whining, and Stiles watches fondly as Derek, in all his wolfy glory, rolls on the forest's floor, body shaking with lupine laughter.

"You're ridiculous," he comments, and his words feel like a caress on Derek's muzzle. "A puppy, through and through."

Derek stops laughing and looks at him, his tail wagging in the light layer of snow that is starting to cover the forest, muting everything else.