It should be noted that Stiles kneels to help Derek with his boots, and that his fingers are deft and quick on the laces, easing them open wide and then gently tugging the boots off Derek’s feet without jarring his shoulder, that his shoulders are broad and graze the insides of Derek’s knees as he kneels between them, his head bent, lashes dark on his cheeks.
That Derek struggles his trousers off in the water closet, wincing, bracing his hip against the cold stone wall and trying not to move his arm, listening to Stiles moving around in the other room, the rattle of the poker, the sound of sheets rustling on the bed.
That Stiles’ knuckles brush against Derek’s ribs, his waist, as he gets Derek settled and draws up the bedclothes, an incidental touch that makes a hot electric thrill run through Derek and he shivers.
“Sorry,” Stiles says. “Too cold?”
“A little,” Derek says, and when Stiles gets an extra blanket from the oak chest against the wall, the back of his neck is red.
Safe Harbor: annotation
Published
Zynn's Exodus 