#anyway there is a very cute drawing on seam in there :] also they/them confirmed i think

[the-meme-monarch]

sweet cap’n cakes did not appear in the most recent newsletter. sacrificial spamton

[timeforelfnonsense]

Bound

Dafni x Astartion || Rating: E (very spicy: See Ao3 tags for a run down ) || Ao3 || Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series  

Notes: Sub & dom Astarion all in one fic? Maybe so. Shadowheart's off-handed line about the PC tying her up if she started to turn inspired this filth (I'm sure she'd be loathed to know that). I'm also a fan of the sexy misuse of spells and hadn't written femme dom in a while. It was a perfect storm. Evlish Translations: Qu tel sy- Bindings of the wilds

Astarion watched Dafni’s dainty fingers casually trace an arcane pattern in the empty space before her. 

“Qu tel sy” Her voice wavered a bit in its attempt at sounding commanding. 

Cute.

Tendrils of jasmine vine sprung from the earth below him winding up his biceps binding him at the wrist. He’d heard her make a sharp quip about tying Shadowheart up that afternoon. The comment had worked his way into his mind. He was normally much more interested in taking the lead but the idea of playful, defiant Dafni taking control was rather enticing. A fantasy worth indulging in at least once. 

“Comfy?” She asked, her head tilting to one side. 

“Very.” 

With a nod, she began to leisurely undress herself. His hungry gaze followed her dainty fingers as they came to the tan leather straps that kept her breastplate fastened. She took her time with each buckle admiring the tiny floral etchings as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. Slowly she shrugged herself free. Carefully laying it down beside her long sword and bow. Next, she set herself to the thin metal plates that protected her knees, removing them and adding them to the neat pile. 

“You are taking forever, Daffodil.” He complained.

“I could go slower?” She retorted leaning over as she slid her hands down her thigh to her cave. 

“No. No, take your time I’ll just be making a mental note of what a terrible pricktease you are being.”

Dafni rolled her eyes, tugging off her boots. Her fingers toyed with the laces of her breaches before moving to the pearl buttons at the wrist of her tapered bell sleeve. 

“I’ve been thinking about something you said the other day.” She mused, halting her undressing once more, “Can you really not see your own reflection?” Astarion let out a frustrated breath. He should have expected her to drag it out. The little puck! Really he’d walked right into this. He tried to pull his hands free of their bindings so he could have her and be done with this gods’ damned teasing but she only waved her hand casually, causing the vines to pull him firmly to the ground. “My, my someone is impatient! I believe I asked a question?” 

“I really can’t.” 

“So, you don’t know what you look like?” She inquired. 

“I’m sure right now I look rather annoyed.” He quipped back.

“I’m being serious.” 

Oh no. 

Not the pout! 

Her lower lip jut out ever so slightly. Her eyebrows began to stitch and his heart threatened to melt into a puddle. He was certain she knew he’d cave if she gave him that look. He had been able to resist when they’d first met but lately that quivering lip was a sure-fire path to getting her way.

“Ugh- Alright! I'll indulge you! Little brat...” He said with a stroppy huff, “I have a general idea of how I looked before. Lacking any evidence to the contrary, I just assume I look amazing.” 

“Dear me!” She tuted with a chime of silver-toned laughter, “So cocksure. You satisfied my curiosity-” A coy smile flashed across her face, “For now anyway. I think that deserves a reward.”

She brought her hands behind her neck unbuttoning collar, tugging her blouse over the top of her head. Astarion gave a weak attempt at silencing a low snicker as the fabric got caught on the long line of her ears in her haste. An adorable pink bloomed across the apples of her rounded cheeks. Her fingers returned to the satin ribbon at the front of her pants once more, shimmying her wide, seductive hips as she slipped them off. 

His breath caught in his chest as he drank her in. She was eternal in the warm candlelight. A goddess all his own. Plump curves. Full breasts. Her loose curls cascading down her back like a river of rose petals. Freckles like flecks of gold covering her soft, kissable skin. She looked like a dream, dressed in nothing but her smalls and the crescent pendant that hung from her neck. The cool evening air danced across her bare sink prompting a tiny shiver from Dafni. Her nipples hardened as goosebumps broke out across her exposed skin. 

“You are outstandingly beautiful, to confirm your suspicions.” She hummed straddling his hips. He could feel her warm core against his length through the thin fabric of her panties. He pressed himself against her, rocking slowly against her cotton clad folds. She gave a delighted squeak, wiggling against the solid pressure of his erection. “ I wish I could draw so you could see for yourself. Unfortunately, I’m hopeless with bush and canvas. I am quite good with gab, however. I could paint you a picture with words instead? Would you like that?”  

He’d be lying if he claimed to have never been curious about his own appearance. He had a few memories of his mortal countenance. But like the majority of his past time and torment had left them hazy and abstract. He’d definitely had a little more color in life. He could recall being fair but not quite so cadaverously pale. His eyes would have been the most severe change, save the fangs. He’d seen the same haunting scarlet in the irises of every vampiric creature he’d met. He flitted through his thoughts trying to recall their previous color. Knowing Dafni she’d eventually ask him, if not now later on one of her whimsical larks. He was somewhat sure they had been green? Her offer seemed more and more appealing as his mind shifted through faint, crumbing memories. It would be fascinating to hear what parts of him she’d taken particular notice of. Moreover, Dafni had the remarkable ability to see the absolute best in everything. His appearance would likely be much the same and what man wouldn’t want the object of his desire to spoil him with compliments? 

“Go on.” He affirmed with another eager roll of his hips against the growing wetness between her legs.

“Very well. You have a strong, angular jaw and perfect cheekbones. You have a little birthmark riiiiiight- Here!” Dafni explained, noting the spot on his cheek with a peck, “You have the most heartbreakingly handsome grin I’ve ever seen. Your nose is very straight. I can tell you weren’t in many bar fights!” She giggled, tapping the tip of his nose with her index finger. Astarion scrunched his nose in response prompting another musical laugh from Dafni. Followed by a long, slow kiss to his lips. He slid the edge of his tongue along the seam of her lips. A dissatisfied curse escaped him as she pulled back. Dafni only continued to beam with bemusement at his wanting.  She brought a hand to a stray lock of hair that had fallen into his face. She wound the curl around her fingertip before sliding her fingers through his hair. Tugging softly at the root as she pushed it back. “Your hair is the color of moonlight. Your eyes are my favorite, though. So striking… The color of fine claret. Expressive too! If I want to know your mood I can always see it in your eyes. Or by the tips of your ears. They go pink when you are flustered. It’s faint but I’ve spent enough time admiring you to notice.” She nibbled his ear to emphasize her point, drawing a quiet whimper from Astarion. She kissed her way back down his body pausing on the hollow of his neck and collar bones. “You’ve always reminded me of the statues of the first elves we had in Peleira. Awe-inspiring figures cut from marble and alabaster. Trim and regal just like you.” She slid off his hips, kidding each rib on the right side of his body before settling between his thighs. Her soft hand wrapping around his member. A needy growl fell from his lips as she began her lazy pumping. She let out a playful chime of laughter before running her tongue along the underside of his shaft. “And of course your cock is absolutely glorious! So long with a slight curve that hits all my secret places. While I’m not the inexperienced maiden you hilariously mistook me for but, you do make me feel as if I were. You make sex feel new and exciting, Astarion. You make my life exciting all around. Normally my fancies come and go with haste, but I can’t imagine myself ever growing bored with you. I’ve never had a lover hold my attention as you do.”

Her adoring plaudits were overwhelming. Each comment was painfully sincere. Her free hand drifted between her own legs. The licentious mewls she made as her fingers toyed with herself made him even harder. His mind was swimming with desire. He wanted nothing more than to plunge into her snug, wet sheath. She must have seen the hunger in his expression. His body went taut as he felt her soft lips around him. Gods he wanted to touch her! To sink his fingers into her soft curls while she worshiped his cock. His hips bucked against her mouth as instinct took over. The sweet vibration of her giggle sending a shiver down his spine. He almost didn’t notice the feeling of more plant life ensnaring him, ankle to the shin. He could feel himself swiftly approaching the brink as she teases his tip.

“Daffodil…” His voice came out in a strained whisper, “You’ll need to stop soon. I’d still like to have you in other ways.” With a hum of understanding, she removed him from her mouth with a soft pop. Her thumbs hooked the edges of her underwear removing it in one quick movement. His wrist strained against his bindings as he attempted to reach for her hips. “Wait a moment. I want to taste you first.”

“You want me to unbind you?” She asked.

“I didn’t say that.” He chuckled a playful half-smile on his lips.

“Oh.”

Dafni’s belly flipped when she heard his request. The embers of confidence smothered by her own insecurities. She’d had her fair share of lovers between her thighs but she’d never like...That. Astarion was so lithe. She didn’t want to smother him! 

“You can say no, darling.” He reassured, “However if you are worried about hurting me, don’t be.”

Nibbling her lower lip as a hot flush broke out across her naked body. “How did you know?” 

“You have the same needlessly embarrassed look on your face as you did when I picked you up in the forest.” He sighed, continuing, “It's fairly common anxiety as well. I promise I’ll be perfectly fine. Besides if you accidentally suffocate me you’ll have to go fetch an emergency revivify scroll from Shadowheart and the thought of her reaction when you told her how I died is positively delightful!” 

Dafni tried to hold in her laughter but it came out in a snort, “You are awful! What if she wanted to see your body?”

“Gods, I hope she would! Can you imagine her shock? Finding me all tressed up in jasmine after meeting my untimely end betwixt your gorgeous thighs!” He stated with a mirthful grin, “This all hypothetical of course. I fully expect you’ll be the only one to experience a little death from sitting on my face.”

Dafni felt her nerves steadying with his gentle taunting. She couldn’t decide if she was touched or mortified that he’d taken note of her insecurities. She’d never voiced them but he had been perspective enough to notice the little changes in her demeanor. He had a knack for catching on to the little things other people tried to hide. Part of the ‘wiles’ that had kept him alive for the past few centuries. She supposed his perceptiveness was the flip side of his secretary. Both had been informed by a difficult life.

She brushed her lips against his. Their foreheads pressed against one another. “Alright.”

Dafni steeled herself as she settled her thighs on either side of him. Ever so slowly she lowered herself towards his smirking mouth. 

Oh wow.

All the worry slipped away with the first pass of his cool tongue along her slit. A lewd gasp broke free from her as he sealed his lips over her clit. Sucking and teasing her to delirium. Her hips grew a will of their own rocking forward, chasing the electrifying sensation. Her squirming only seemed to embolden him. His attention shifted to the mouth of her arousal. His tongue eagerly exploring her dripping center. Her confidence returning with each dizzying lick. She thought she’d feel ridiculous perched on top of him. The sight of Astarion happily ravaging her with his mouth left her feeling empowered and needy.

“Gods that’s good!” She whimpered rutting against him, “I-Wow… I kind of want to keep you here a forever.” She tugged at the roots of his soft curls pulling him deeper into her arousal. Promoting a delighted purr from Astarion as he continued to lap away at her quim. “Keep going! I’m so close...Ah! Astarion! Please! More!” A few more skillful sweeps of his tongue and the hot coil of building pleasure snapped loose. She hadn’t meant for the lamentation that followed to come out at such a high volume. She normally tried to be courteous of their friends. It was close quarters and they would likely not enjoy her keening half as much as Astarion did. She bit down her lip quieting another cry as the tempest of exaltation mixed with the sharp sensation of his teeth on her inner thigh. After a few swallows, he brushed his lips over the wound in a chaste kiss. She climbed down from her seat, flopping down on his cool chest. Her breath coming out in ragged heaves. “That was life-changing.”

She glanced up finding him staring with even more hunger than usual. His chin shimmering with slick. Lips stained red by her blood and his eyes alight with impatient longing.

“Years of practice.” He stated with a wicked grin, “Now if you’d be kind enough to free me, Daffodil? If I don’t have my way with you this instant, I might be driven mad.” 

She nodded climbing off his chest to receive one of his daggers from his things. She carefully cut away the blossoms and vines that held him prone. As soon as the blade cleared the twist of greenery, he pounced, laying her out on her stomach.  Dafni let out a peal of amusement, propping herself up slightly on her elbows. Astarion ran his finger along her slit, causing her to shiver. A dark, desirous sound rumbled in his chest as he sunk two fingers into her, “Still a little sensitive, are we? There is still nectar dripping from your flower down the back of your legs. I knew you’d enjoy your little ride. I certainly did. You’re so beautiful when you come undone. Squirming and squealing. Though, I wonder what the others will say now that they’ve heard you screaming my name like a trollop?” He let out a moan as Dafni clenched around his pumping fingers, “Should we see if I can get you to do it again?” 

Dafni cried out as he impaled her with one urgent push. His hips met her’s with a smack before he withdrew almost completely. She whined at the emptiness, relief washing over her as he resheathed himself with another unyielding shove. It seemed being unable to touch her had inspired a carnal frustration he was desperate to satisfy. He gathered her loose hair up in one hand, yanking her back as he continued to pound into her. He hissed as Dafni brought her thighs closer together, savoring the hardness of his length inside her. 

“Tell me again, tart.” He demanded wrenching her back to look at him, “Tell me how I make you feel like a vestal maid with my ‘glorious cock’.” 

“For you, I am reduced to a lusty, untouched damsel.” She confirmed pushing her backside against him.

“Indeed you are.” He released his grip on her curls, bringing his hands to rest on the swell of her hip tugging her even closer.

He growled his approval before sinking his teeth into the warm hollow of her throat. With each sip, she felt his heart fall into step with her own. It was a strange sort of intimacy that felt a bit metaphorical. Cold, wicked, Astarion’s undead heart lurching to life. Beating in perfect time with her own as she coursed through him. Dafni knew it was a silly, romantic notion but that could hardly be helped. Especially when he was ravaging her with such vigor. Her second climax flourished as he pressed himself against her just so. She convulses under him, tears streaming down her cheeks. Astarion tore himself away from her neck, incarnadine eyes burning ravenous with a mix of thirst and fearsome wanton need. 

He shouldn’t have bitten her again. It was a rash, risky choice, especially when he was already frenzied with lust. That first taste from her thigh had been the most exquisite yet. The sweetness of her blood mingling with the earthy tang of her slick had been transcendent. The soft, sunny, joy he’d experienced when feeding on her in the past had been replaced with a blinding exaltation that had nearly finished him off untouched. If the first bite had been transcendent the second had felt like finding himself in Arvandor itself. It took no small amount of will power to chase off his instinct to drink her dry.

As he beheld her writhing, buxom form an admission rushed out of him, “I never want anyone else to touch you again.”

Never?

Oh, gods, that was a fool thing to say! 

“I’m spoiled for all others.” She assured, “No one else could please me as you do.”

Her words ignited something base in him, pushing him to the edge. With a final crude thrust, he found his rapture, flooding her snug, soaking, heat with his release. All the while his thoughts rang loud with one word.

Mine.

 He lingered behind her for a while, his chest heaving and heart racing. He knew he must be a flustered mess and he didn’t really want her to see him like that. He’d already shown her too much. He squeezed his eyes shut. Composing himself before laying out beside Dafni.

 When his eyes fluttered back open he took stock of the scene before him. Dafni’s expression was somewhere between dazed and ecstatic. The wound on her neck was still dripping red. The one on her thigh had closed, turning a deep purple. His seed seeped from her entrance. His chest went tight, his cheeks a deep red. She was well and truly debauched.  

“Daffodil?” He said softly as he placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, “Are you ok, dear?” 

She blinked a few times before nodding, “I’m ok! Just a little woozy and overwhelmed, maybe? Kind of floaty.”

“Completely fair. That was...A lot. I might have gotten a bit carried away. Apologies.” He brushed the loose hair from her shoulder to get a better look at the puncture on her neck, “If you feel faint, you should eat something. Tell me what you’d like and I’ll fetch it from the camp’s stores?”

“Some water would be nice and maybe an orange? I think we have some left from the druids.” Dafni turned to her side, cozying up beside him. She looked up at him through curling pink lashes. Her mossy brown eyes expressing an uncharacteristic shyness. “After I have my snack, could maybe I stay with you again tonight? You can say no! I won’t be offended. I understand that you like your space and I don't want to be clingy! I-I’m just feeling a little vulnerable after all that and I don’t think I could handle a walk of shame right now…” 

It always stung to hear that she expected him to throw her out as soon as the deed was done. He supposed she had every right to after his attempt to leave her alone in the woods that first night. It should have been clear to her he enjoyed her company by now. Hadn’t she noticed all of the parts of himself he’d conceded to her? He’d told her about Cazador- Not everything but more than he thought he’d be willing to share with another person. He let her linger in his personal space and hold his hand almost constantly. He watched out for her when she was too blinded by her own generosity to do it herself. He had even admitted how important her well being had become to his own! And still, she assumed he’d toss her out into the night. 

“Of course you can stay,” He scowled tuting his disapproval as he spoke, “I just assumed you would start staying with me after I invited you to the other night. Apparently, I should have been more clear. Unless I tell you otherwise, you are always welcome to stay with me, Daffodil. So please stop acting as if I’m some cold-hearted dastard? It’s offensive and it bruises my ego.” 

“You mean it?” She chirped a blinding grin across her winsome features, “I can stay here whenever?”

He groaned, “Yes. I know you don’t like trancing alone and I like having you around. It makes sense for us to share quarters. If I need space I’m sure you’ll know. Now I’m going to get your food and water before you swoon from bloodloss or over-excursion.” 

[librationss]

melt

( also found on ao3 under the same title by librations. i’d link it but lmao tumblr & external links )

Looking back, it’s really not all that surprising that they’ve ended up here. In some ways, nothing’s really changed. His dad still thinks he can get away with sneaking burgers in the middle of his overnight shifts, the supernatural continue to find themselves drawn in by an old tree stump somewhere in the middle of the woods, and the Jeep still breaks down at least twice a month while Stiles single-handedly boosts duct tape sales because there’s just too much sentimental value in the car for him to let it go, at least not yet.

Some things are different, though. Different, but not necessarily new, at least not anymore. Derek’s hand on his thigh is one of those things, warm and solid as he absently drags the side of his thumb along the outer seam of Stiles’ khakis while Stiles draws lazy, shapeless patterns over the back of his wrist with his fingertip, his other hand hanging out of the passenger window and surfing on the wind as he chatters away. There’s a ring on his finger, now, narrow and silver and it’s been there long enough that the skin underneath is smooth, and paler than the rest of him.

“I can’t believe you called a tow truck,” Stiles huffs, gently pinching the skin over Derek’s wrist as he lolls his head to the side to look at him, his mouth set in a sharp line and his jaw tight. It’s warm out, and he shed his flannel hours ago, probably, after spending some time under the hood of the Jeep. His arms are a little pink, and there’s a dark smear of engine grease at the base of his throat, half-hidden by the collar of his t-shirt. He smells like sweat and motor oil and off-brand Dr. Pepper from the vending machine at the garage, and he smells like fondness, too, despite the furrow of his brow and the set of his jaw. He’s not mad, but Derek humors him anyway and sighs heavily through his nose.

“What part of ‘hey, Derek, I’ve totally got this under control, I just need you to bring me some more tape’ sounded like ‘please call someone to come and haul my—’,” Stiles slaps his hand down over the back of Derek’s where it’s spread across his thigh and sits up in his seat, twisting to lean over the middle console and slightly into Derek’s space, dipping his head and craning his neck to look at something. He’s straining against his seat belt. “Derek, stop.”

Derek’s mouth pinches. He lifts his chin slightly to avoid a collision with the top of Stiles’ head, tapping the brakes a little. His fingers flex around Stiles’ thigh. “What.”

“Has that always–? Dude, did you not see that?”

“I’m driving.”

“Okay, is that supposed to mean anything, because you still have eyes . How did you not—,”

“I’m looking at the road, Stiles, not at, at—,” he lifts his thumb off of Stiles’ leg in a useless gesture.

“Ice cream,” Stiles says, sliding back to his side of the car.

“Not at… what.” Derek taps the brakes a little more, takes his eyes off of the road for a second to look at Stiles. He furrows his brow, blinks at him like he’s said something crazy. Stiles is used to it. He is unfazed, and he ignores him, and he twists in his seat to look over his headrest out the back window. Derek taps two of his fingers against Stiles’ thigh to draw his attention and reel him back in. “Stiles.”

Stiles only glances at him briefly, and then he laughs, a little breathless. “Dude, turn around, we have to go. The building’s in the shape of an ice cream cone. There’s a cherry on top, did you see—? Come on.”

Derek says nothing. Stiles also says nothing, which any other time would be concerning, but right now it just means he’s staring at the side of Derek’s face with his lips pressed together and his brows raised as if to say, huh, big guy? whadya say? Derek doesn’t have to look at him to know this. He can practically feel it, that intense stare burning into his cheek.

Derek doesn’t have to look at him, but he looks at him anyway, casually glancing up into the rearview mirror as he turns his head. His hand slides down the left side of the wheel, pinky and ring finger extended. Stiles’ gaze shifts to follow his hand for a second, and then it flickers back to Derek, who has already looked away from him again.

The car is near-silent. Stiles sucks in a deep breath through his nose like the anticipation is killing him. Derek tilts his head a little to the left, shifts his eyes sideways, then back.

He taps the turn signal.

“Yes!” Stiles crows, throwing a fist up in victory, but his judgement is a little poor and his excitement is too great and he accidentally punches the ceiling. Two of his knuckles pop. He shakes out his hand, squints an eye shut, winces. “Ow, shit.”

Derek takes his hand off Stiles’ thigh and flicks the side of his neck, huffing a quiet laugh under his breath.

“Ow, shit ,” Stiles repeats, shoving hard at Derek’s shoulder.

“Stiles, I’m driving,” Derek argues sharply, but the slight lift at the corner of his mouth betrays him and Stiles just makes a shitty face at him and slouches down into his seat a little as they wait for the light to change.

“... What if it’s not an actual ice cream place?”

Derek reaches for the controls on the dash, turning the A/C down a notch now that Stiles isn’t quite so sweaty and gross. “What,” he says flatly, and then, “what else would it be?”

Stiles shrugs his shoulders up to his ears, sits up a little, rests his elbow on the middle console so he can prop his chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts his head so he can look at Derek, then drops his hand so he can tap his fingers against Derek’s leg. It’s annoying. Derek grabs his hand and pushes his fingers into his palm and spreads them until they fall into the spaces between Stiles’, and then moves both of their hands back to Stiles’ thigh.

Stiles hums. “I dunno. I mean, it’s probably, they probably— it’s weird? Like the building is an ice cream cone, and that’s freaking great, but it’s weird that they sell ice cream cones out of an even bigger ice cream cone. I mean, it’s like the building is giving birth—,”

“Stiles.”

“—like here, take my children, enjoy—”

“Stiles.”

Stiles pauses, his mouth still open slightly. He closes it, wets his lips. “Yes.”

“Do you want to go or not?” The light turns green, Derek takes his foot off the brake. Stiles looks at him as if he’s an idiot, another thing Derek does not have to actually see to confirm.

“What? Yes. Obviously.” The car behind them honks, impatient, and Stiles twists around in his seat to look out of the back window again, his tone a little sharp. “Hey.”

Smoothing his thumb against the side of Stiles’ hand, Derek swings the car around and shifts over into the far lane, swinging into the parking lot and easing into a spot at the very back of the lot, away from the other cars. Stiles doesn’t complain, shaking his hand free of Derek’s and practically falling out of the car before Derek can even cut the engine. He circles around the front of the car to meet up with Derek at his door, absently knocking his fist against the front grill on the way.

He smells happy. Derek is pleased, and as he pushes his door closed, he reaches out with his other hand, letting it settle in the dip where Stiles’ neck swoops into his shoulder. He guides him away from the car, swiping the pad of his thumb through the smear of motor oil on his throat, and then gives him a gentle shove, sending him stumbling forward a few steps.

“Go. You’re not eating it in the car.”

Stiles turns sharply on the ball of his foot, oddly graceful in the way he continues walking, only backwards this time. Derek locks the car and absently tugs his sunglasses free from the collar of his own shirt, raising his brows at Stiles’ protest as he follows after him.

“What? It’s like, eight hundred degrees outside, Derek. Come on .”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Derek slides his sunglasses onto his face at an unusually slow pace. Stiles kind of wants to strangle him for too many reasons. He also wants to kiss him, but he would have to backtrack a couple steps to do that and there is ice cream on the line here, so he settles for flaring his nostrils, ignoring the sheen of sweat that’s already starting to form at the nape of his neck.

“Exactly,” Derek says. “So it’ll melt, and you’ll get it everywhere if you eat it in the car.

“But there’s air conditioning in the car.”

“Well, yeah. Because my car isn’t held together with duct tape.”

“Okay, you know what.”

Stiles stops, finally, huffing in a breath through his nose. Derek, however, does not stop, and lightly shoulder-checks Stiles as he passes, brows lifting above the frame of his sunglasses. It’s almost affectionate, how gentle it is.  “What?”

Stiles wrinkles his nose up and makes a soft, frustrated sound in the back of his throat because Derek is being cute and Derek probably doesn’t even realize. Or maybe he does, and maybe that’s why it frustrates Stiles.

He blinks. Turns around, jogs a couple steps to catch up to his husband. “Hold on. You said ‘you’, as in ‘me’, as in singular person-that-is-not-you getting ice cream.”

“I know,” Derek says blandly, “I was there when I said it.”

“Are you really not going to get something from the, from the,” he gestures widely with one hand, indicating the giant, ice-cream shaped building. He doesn’t even know what this place is called. “From the ice cream mansion?”

Stiles hops the curb up onto the sidewalk and steps into the line leading up the small window. He turns around, putting his back to the building so he can look at Derek, waiting for his answer. Derek steps in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his chin down slightly so he can look at Stiles over the edge of his sunglasses.

“Have you ever seen a mansion?”

“Yes.”

“In real life.”

Stiles crosses his arms and lifts his chin up, floundering silently for a second. “...No,” he huffs, dropping his arms. “But that’s not— we’re talking about your lack of ambition to have fun. An ice cream place pops up, like, over night—”

“We just don’t drive down this way that often—,”

“—and you’re trying to tell me you don’t want ice cream from an ice cream?”

Derek rolls his eyes and reaches out with one hand, pressing his fingertips to Stiles’ abdomen and pushing gently so Stiles takes a step back, filling the gap behind him as the rest of the line moves forward. He pinches at the front of his shirt to stop him from running into the person behind him, then lets his hand fall away.

“Yes, Stiles, that is what I’m telling you.”

Stiles looks thoughtful for a moment. “Okay,” he says, at last, sliding his hands into his pockets. He smiles a little, sways in towards Derek like he’s about to tell him a secret. “You can just have a bite of mine, if you change your mind. One bite. That’s it. I won’t let you suffer because you make dumb choices sometimes, but I won’t reward you, either.”

Derek laughs under his breath. He reaches out with both hands, takes Stiles by the shoulders, and turns him around to face the menu posted on the side of the building so he won’t be left scrambling to make a decision once they finally make it up to the window to order. He drags his thumbs from the base of Stiles’ skull, all the way down his neck to the middle of his shoulders, and then lifts his hands off, seemingly unbothered by the sweat slicking Stiles’ skin. “You should probably pick a flavor instead of lecturing me.”

Stiles is quiet for a few very long seconds, and then he says, “Derek,” and then, “dude,” and, then, as he reaches back blindly, hand flailing a little until he makes contact with Derek’s elbow, he says “There are way too many choices. Do you see how many - things? How does anyone even decide?”

Derek nudges Stiles’ lower back to get him to move forward another step as the line progresses. “You’ve got about two minutes to make up your mind.”

“That’s— it’s going to take me two minutes just to read the entire menu,” Stiles hisses.

“You don’t need to read the entire menu. Start from the top, and when you see something you think you might want, stop reading.”

Stiles laughs. “It’s like you don’t even know me at all.”

“Or,” Derek counters, his voice low. “I know you better than almost anyone, and I know if you read the entire menu, we’ll be here for an hour before you pick something.”

Stiles opens his mouth to argue, and then closes it with a quiet click. Derek… isn’t exactly wrong. It’s not that Stiles is indecisive, because he can make decisions when it’s important, when it matters, when he’s on a time constraint, but this is none of the above, and Stiles just wants… all of it, probably. Every flavor, every topping, stomach ache be damned. So maybe it is that he’s a little bit indecisive. He hums, tilts his head a little like he’s conceding the point. “Fair,” he says, and then after a beat, “Okay.”

And then he turns around, and Derek just stares at him for a moment. His brows lift when Stiles doesn’t say anything. “Did you turn around so—,”

“So I’m not tempted to read the rest of it, yes.”

Derek actually laughs, then, quiet but bright. Stiles slaps the back of his hand against Derek’s shoulder, but he grins, too.

“Shut up.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah? And you still put a ring on it, so what does that say about you?” Stiles squints and lifts one of his hands, holding it over his brows to shade his eyes, his lips pressed together into a thin line.

Derek takes his sunglasses off and offers them wordlessly. Stiles takes them with a fleeting, barely-there smile. “That my past traumas have left me incapable of making rational decisions.”

“I hate you.”

Derek laughs again and spins Stiles back around by his hips, shoving him forward toward the window. “Sure you do. Order your ice cream,” he says, and then steps to the side out of line to wait, absently checking his phone to make sure the garage hasn’t called about Stiles’ Jeep. There are no notifications for any missed calls, but there is a text from Isaac, and a reminder from some kind of anxiety-slash-mood-tracking app Stiles installed on his phone literal years ago, because he said it kind of helped and maybe Derek should give it a try, too. How are you feeling? , it asks, and Derek stares at it for a couple seconds. Half of the time he ignores it and swipes it away, but this time he looks up at Stiles, still stood at the window and leaning in a little like he’s trying to catch the cool breeze of air conditioning blowing from the inside.

Derek looks back down, taps the notification with his thumb to open up the app, and then taps in a few key words. Happy is what he types first, followed by content, followed by settled. He saves it, then closes the app, and by the time he looks up, Stiles is standing in front of him with a cake cone in his hand, licking a thick stripe around the base of what looks to be a twist of strawberry and vanilla soft-serve. Stiles closes his eyes, tilts his head back a little like he’s silently thanking God for the… Ice Cream Mansion, or whatever it’s called.

“Uhmuhgod.”

“Good?”

“Mm.”

“C’mon.” Derek tilts his head a little, indicating a direction, and then starts to move back toward the parking lot. Stiles follows without question, so captivated by his sweet treat that he nearly trips down off the curb. It takes him a few seconds to realize that they’re going back to the car already. He grins, absently licking the corner of his mouth, a little bounce in his step.

“Yes, I knew you’d have mercy—,”

“You’re not eating it in the car. I already said.”

“Damn it, Derek. This is— it’s melting faster than I can eat it, dude. The A/C would at least slow it down.”

Derek turns once he reaches the car, leaning against the driver side passenger door, arms over his chest and his shoes pressed flat against the tarmac, feet slightly parted. “You know that’s not how that works, right?”

“Can you just,” Stiles huffs, coming to stand in front of Derek, his ice cream melting in pale streaks over his knuckles and down the inside of his wrist, but he doesn’t seem to know what he wants Derek to just. Derek reaches out silently and carefully takes the cone out of Stiles’ hand, somehow managing not to get anything on him like some kind of ice-cream-in-an-inferno expert.

Or some kind of secret porn star, maybe, Stiles thinks, because Derek just licks around the base of the cone and cleans everything up for him like it’s nothing. Stiles decides he can’t watch, because it’ll make his dick hard and if Derek is concerned about ice cream in the car, then they definitely aren’t gonna fuck in it, even though they’ve fucked in the Jeep about a thousand times now and it’s fine.

Instead, he looks at his messy hand and his lack of a napkin and considers walking back across the parking lot to get one, but that’s too far and it’s too hot, so he just licks a stripe up the inside of his wrist and across his knuckles and calls it a job sort-of-well-done. When he looks up again, Derek is holding the ice cream cone off to the side, and he’s watching him, kind of similar to the way a predator would watch its prey, only Stiles doesn’t feel threatened.

“Come on, man,” he says, kind of whiny, “I’m really trying not to pop a boner right now and you’re making it really hard.”

Derek snorts quietly and clears his throat, adjusting his footing a little.

“Oh, shut up, that was - unintentional.”

“Uh huh.” He holds the cone out toward Stiles. There is significantly less ice cream. Mostly, it’s just whatever’s actually left inside of the cone. “Do you want this back, or?”

“Duh, yes, the cone is like, the best part.”

“So just order a cone next time.”

“Give me that.” Stiles huffs and steps into Derek’s space, fumbling his ice cream out of his hand. Derek lets the same hand drop to Stiles’ hip now that he’s close enough and squeezes, tugging gently so that Stiles falls in a little closer. He’s not usually one for a whole lot of PDA, but sometimes he makes exceptions, and they’re partially blocked by the car, anyway, so he pulls Stiles in by the hem of his shirt and presses a light kiss to his throat, murmuring quietly into his warm skin.

“Hurry up and finish that already so I can fuck you in the car.”

Stiles crams the rest of the cone into his mouth so fast he nearly chokes, his cheek bulging and his eyes wide and bright and beautiful. Derek hums pleasantly, the corner of his mouth curling with a tiny smile, and when Stiles grabs at the front of his shirt to drag him out of the way so he can wrench open the back door, Derek lets him.

Stiles stands aside and makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, chewing quickly, his neck a little flushed . “C’mon, less’go. A/C on, pants off, dick—,”

“Please shut up.”

“—out.”

Derek sighs, but he ducks his head and climbs in, twisting around to stretch out across the back seat, his back propped against the opposite door, his knees parted so one foot rests up on the leather, and the other sits against the floor mat. Stiles climbs in after him, a mess of limbs, and manages to get the door shut and locked behind him, hovering over Derek with one hand braced on the center console up front, and the other on the back of the back seat.

“Hey,” he says, and he sounds a little stupid, a little excited because they’ve never fucked in Derek’s car before. For no real reason, either - it’s just never happened, which is stupid, because Stiles has only been back here for all of fifteen seconds and it’s already way more comfortable than the Jeep has ever been. “Your pants are still on. And the A/C is not.”

Stiles smells like sweat and motor oil and vanilla and a little bit like fresh-cut grass, and dirt after it rains. Derek grabs at the front of Stiles’ t-shirt again and leans up to press his face into the side of Stiles’ neck, breathing in slow and deep.

Stiles kind of melts into him after that, and forgets all about the air conditioning.