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The instant Stiles cracks open an eye, he knows something’s different. In the second instant, he sighs because he knows exactly what’s different.
The first time it’d happened, Scott and Kira had been around and they’d freaked the fuck out. Retrospectively speaking, it was quite understandable seeing as how one minute Stiles was softly snoring on the couch and the next minute, he was curled up in a small, red fluff ball buried under his clothes. They’d rushed over to Deaton who’d reassured them that these were merely the effects of Scott biting the Nogitsune.
“We were in two separate bodies,” Stiles had stated, squinting at the vet. He’d turned back to his human self on the way to Deaton’s office. Luckily, Scott and Kira had the foresight to bring his clothes with them.
“That may be so but there were still traces of the Nogitsune in you. There still are, I’m sure,” Deaton had replied easily. Stiles looked down at the implications but didn’t refute him. “Of course, combined with the fact that you were already suffering from the sacrifice you’d made for the Nemeton and the fact that you’re a spark - well, the magic in you was bound to respond to Scott’s bite.”
“So is he like a werefox or something now?” Derek asked, eyes flitting over to where Stiles sat, fidgeting with his fingers.
“Kind of. It’s a little complicated because the only reason he’s affected by the bite has more to do with the magic related to him being a spark than to the actual bite. It may or may not wear off eventually. True werefoxes would not be able to permanently reverse themselves but Stiles may. I can’t really say for sure. But if it does happen, it will happen without you even knowing,” Deaton remarks.
They’d left with more questions than answers.
Stiles snuffles further into the blanket, rubbing his snout into the soft blanket that was half draped over and half under him. Though he knows he went to sleep on the couch, he can’t help but marvel at the scent embedded deep within it. He takes a deep lungful of the smell, snuggling even closer into the cushion, and something in his heart settles at the familiarity of it all.
Much like wolves, foxes rely heavily on scents and scent-marking so it’s not a surprise to him at how calm he feels every time he takes over this particular couch. It reminds him of the days he’s spent walking through the Preserve, days where the warm post-rainfall scent in the forest is at its strongest, marked by the dewiness of the leaves and dampened tree bark, days where the quietness of nature and seeming stillness of time was exactly how Stiles liked it. Ironic as it may for Stiles to covet the silence, it’s something he’s come to have a need for after the Nogitsune.
Of course, that’s the reasoning Stiles will stick to if pressed about why he loves the couch so much - not the fact that this couch is actually in Derek’s apartment and it’s the only area in the entire apartment - aside from Derek’s bed - where his scent is strongest. These days, much like Stiles, Derek spends a lot of time running around the Preserve in his full-wolf shift.
When they’d gotten back from Mexico and Derek was just learning to control his full shift with Stiles’s help, he’d disappear into the Preserve for hours on end at a time without notifying the pack. Those early days were the most difficult for Stiles seeing as how Derek had a tendency to just up and leave and Stiles would never admit it to anyone but those initial off-the-grid moments were scariest for him. Somewhere between helping Derek slowly master his full shift and healing from the aftermath of Allison’s death, Stiles had begun to use their time together almost as an anchor. If Derek left—well, he doesn’t want to think of what that might mean for him.
He’s almost dosing off once more when he feels gentle fingers carding through his reddish-brown fur, from just behind his ears to his tail. Stiles purrs, happily inhaling the aroma of petrichor wafting from the warm body that just sat down by his head. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that it’s Derek, having come back from another one of his runs. Instead he snuffles in closer to the meat of Derek’s thigh, purring louder as Derek continues to run his fingers through his fur. Derek huffs softly, amused at Stiles’s antics.
“Feel pretty loved there, don’t you?” Derek murmurs.
Stiles peeks up at Derek through a single open eye, noting how refreshed Derek seems. At one time, his eyes had been laden with dark circles from barely getting any sleep and the constant looming threat of death over him so much so that he’d just exude this sense of utter misery and hopelessness.
Lately though, Derek looked content. He felt happy and smelt like it too, all warm and soft and open. Open for Stiles to slip right in and make his home within Derek’s heart. It’s almost an unspoken thing, whatever it is between him and Derek. The whole pack knows it, his dad knows it, hell even Melissa gives them knowing looks every time they walk in together to their weekly McCall-Stilinski dinners. And if Stiles is being honest, it works for them. Derek’s never been a big fan of broadcasting his feelings and innermost thoughts, being a man of action instead and Stiles like that about him. He likes that he’s one of the rare few who can seemingly decode the subtext of even the simplest actions by Derek; he likes that Derek’s allowed him to do so in the first place.
Stiles whines softly when Derek takes his hand away and gets up. His ears flick to the side and he yips, watching Derek as he walks over to the kitchen. He can hear the sound of running water, Derek rummaging through the cupboards for the personalized ‘O Alpha, My Alpha’ glass Stiles had gotten for him as a prank birthday gift. Derek walks back and Stiles can’t help but praise the soul that invented sweatpants because Derek in sweatpants is a beautiful thing - a beautiful magical, mouth-drying, brain short-circuiting, heartbeat thumping rapidly thing that did wonders to Stiles regardless of the form he was in. Seriously, Stiles thinks, as he takes in the sight of that soft material clinging to Derek in just the right places, showing off just the right assets, bless the soul who invented sweatpants. His brain slowly whirrs online when he hears Derek snort as he reclaims his seat.
“You’re so hormonal,” Derek says fondly. Stiles wiggles into Derek’s lap, planting his two front paws on Derek’s shoulders.
Stiles burrows his snout into the nape of Derek’s neck and bathes in the delicious scent, nuzzling into him. He can feel Derek smile into his fur, nuzzling right back as he wraps one arm around Stiles while the other scratches Stiles behind his ears. He pulls back just enough to lap gently at Derek’s jaw and then going back to nuzzling Derek until he’s satisfied enough with the combined scent of him and Derek. Derek laughs, knowing exactly what Stiles is doing.
“You know, I seem to remember being judged when I scent-marked you after the first few times I shifted,” he reminds Stiles, who merely yips happily.
It’s true but in Stiles’s defence, that was way before this whole magical fox-shift thing started to happen so it was weird. Stiles will admit that the urge to scent-mark those he loves made a lot more sense when he was fully shifted into a fox. The first time he’d rubbed all over Derek, he’d been so embarrassed by his behaviour that he’d immediately begun to read up on what the hell had happened.
Of course, rubbing himself all over Derek’s body was after urinating all along the perimeter of the building Derek’s apartment was in. It had taken Scott all of ten seconds to figure out exactly what Stiles had done and why and he’d taken to laughing outrageously (and quite obnoxiously, Stiles should add) for a good hour while Derek and Stiles awkwardly avoided even looking at each other.
Stiles pulls away again, this time content in just looking at Derek and memorizing every detail of the face before him. He yips again and Derek smiles at him, eyes open and beautifully blissful. It’s funny because he knows everything Derek has to offer physically - a body built like a Greek god, an ass that just doesn’t quit, face framed with just the perfect amount of stubble, eyes that permanently channel the colors of the entire fucking galaxy - but more than anything, it’s his smile that really does it for Stiles.
When Derek had first given Stiles a smile, it was the softest, most shy smile Stiles had ever seen and Derek hadn’t even looked at him. He’d just looked to the ground, giving the smallest of smiles to Stiles, his entire face just painfully shy that Stiles just wanted to wrap himself around Derek and never let go. He’d never known it was possible for him to fall in love with someone’s smile (aside from his mom’s of course) but then Derek looked up at him and Stiles knew that he was trying. He was trying to be happy, trying to let someone in, trying to make an effort for himself. It was, and still is, one of the most beautiful things about Derek.
He doesn’t know when he’ll shift back to his human self but he doesn’t let that stop him from expressing his feelings. Stiles can’t talk but he and Derek both know the scent he’s practically broadcasting all around them right now - a scent of happiness, of belonging, of warmth - a scent of love. It’s the first time either of them have openly (ironically enough) addressed this thing between them, the first time that Stiles has actually meant it.
It takes a moment for Derek’s surprised face to turn into something else and Stiles can feel his heart jack-hammering in his chest. He’s glad, he thinks for a second, that he’s in his fox form because if Derek turns away from this, from them, Stiles can just run away into the Preserve and live the rest of his life as a fox. But Derek only tightens the arm he’d wrapped around Stiles and places a gentle kiss just over Stiles’s nose.
“Me too,” Derek murmurs softly and Stiles has never felt happier.