20132015 we had sex in a broken down car wash. can check off steamy hand prints on a window from the bucket list. FUCK YEAH.
Stiles kept a log of everything. The camp stopped counting days, calendars were useless, phones had no signal, time was measured purely in trips in and out of the gate. Footfall, heads at tables, mouths being fed, those were what mattered to the Sheriff, to everyone in charge. It didn’t make a difference if it was a Tuesday or a Thursday.
But, Stiles needed something to commemorate the day, to have it written down, and Derek found a journal on one of their scouting trips, brought it back and tossed it on the bed.
"To stop you scraping damn notches on the bed post," he’d remarked.
Stiles had laughed, smirked at him even as his eyes were fond and filled with gratitude, “Everyone else thinks they’re for something else.”
"They must think we have a great deal of stamina," Derek had replied, dropping down on the lumpy mattress.
Stiles had hummed, run dirty but gentle fingers through Derek’s hair, “Or, that we’re desperate and frantic at the end of the world.”
"Is that why you kissed me last year, then?"
"Nope, I would have done that eventually; I’ve always been desperate about you, obviously."
"Obviously," Derek had repeated drily, buried his face in Stiles’ thigh, listened to him write something on the first page, his heartbeat fill the room.
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