Derek looks up from the stove when the door opens, gives the sauce a quick stir, sets it to simmer and walks into the living room expecting to welcome his boyfriend back home from his first day of work.
"Alright, go ahead and laugh," Stiles says, standing awkwardly in the living room.
"I'm not going to laugh," Derek says, a smile starting on the edge of his lips.
Stiles actually looks adorable, even though he's covered in paint; there's a splotch of purple in his hair, still wetly dripping down the side of Stiles' face, a smear of pink across his face, blue all over his shirt, and there are even two grubby orange handprints right across his chest.
"It looks like you had a great day," Derek says.
Stiles grins now, teeth white against the pink paint all over his face. "Yeah, it was good, aside from the paint war during arts and crafts. They're a bunch of little monsters, but I think I can handle it." He sniffs the air. "Did you make spaghetti?"
"Yep," Derek says. "Why don't you go get cleaned up, it'll all be ready in a bit."
"A five year old got to second base with me," Stiles says woefully.
Derek laughs and smacks him playfully on the butt. "Don't drip paint on the new carpet, and I'll go to second base with you. Maybe third, who knows?" he teases.
Stiles rolls his eyes and reaches out for Derek, who lets himself get tugged into a tight embrace, wet paint smearing onto his own clothes. Stiles gives him a sloppy, messy kiss, pink paint getting everywhere. "Promise?" Stiles asks back.
