cackles.

stiles has to pick his way through plywood, 2 by 4s, nails, and various other testaments to derek’s remodeling before he even gets to the porch. skipping the second step, he walks into the house without even knocking, opening his mouth to call out to the werewolf but finds himself staring at the ceiling dazedly. “wha-?”

derek is crowding him into the newly done wood floors, nosing along his neck, and stiles is pretty sure he’s got a concussion. “dude!”

stiles lifts an eyebrow when the older male pulls back, pupils blown wide, and swallows heavily, “oh.”

“yeah, oh,” derek replies, voice rough as he leans back down, this time mouthing along stiles’s jaw. “did you just get out of the shower?”

“huh? oh, yeah, totally, after lacrosse practice,” and he definitely doesn’t squeak when he’s suddenly off the floor, hanging on to derek for dear life as the older male walks further into the house.