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Mark My Skin (No Don't)

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When Derek lurches towards him eyes glazed a bottle of wolfsbane infused tequila in one and a sharpie in the other, Stiles knows what’s coming

It has been 6 years since Lydia and he got tired of always being the ones making stupid decisions (can anyone say Pin The Tail On The Undead Uncle?) and finally figured out how to get werewolves drunk. Ever since then Derek always has the same reaction.

Armed with a sharpie Derek Hale’s favourite drunk game was Connect The Moles and over the last 6 years Stiles had awoken hung-over with a variety of wonky drawings on his person.

At the pack’s high school graduation Stiles ended up sporting an owl on his back with the words “Hoot Hoot Stiles is Cute”.

They hadn’t even been dating yet for god sake.

At Lydia and Allison’s one-year anniversary, Derek drew a wolf on his collarbone, complete with red eyes.

At one Thanksgiving his lower back was graced with the world's world imitation of the Last Super, in which Jesus frankly looked more like Mr Potato Man.

Last Christmas came Derek’s new favourite drawing, Alfred, a creature born of Stiles’ cheek moles that seemed to be half Loch Ness Monster, half Lapras.

Stiles has tried in the past to stop this habit but unfortunately his lives in a pack of traitorous traitors. He’s put all the sharpies, and the pens for good measure, in the house in a mountain ash cupboard – Danny gave into Derek’s begging and got them for him.

He tried throwing them all out in anticipation of a pack gathering – Scott just brought over a Jumbo Extra Colours set.

He tried just staying away from Derek the entire night if he had been drinking but Derek… could be very persuasive… ok maybe that one was on him not the pack.

This time Stiles is having none of it.

“Derek, no,” he slurs at the Alpha. Alright he may be a little drunk himself, at least he doesn’t go around drawing on people!

Derek grins and steps forward.

“Derek,” Stiles warns again. “Don’t you dare.”

Another step.

“I am giving the best man speech tomorrow and I will not do it with Alfred on my face.”

Derek uncaps the sharpie with his teeth.

“Scott and Isaac will kill you if you ruin their wedding, Derek. And then Scott will be the Alpha. Do you want that Derek? Do you?”

Derek doesn’t even take his eyes off Stiles, or more specifically his cheek, as he places his spiked tequila on the ground and grins.

Stiles doesn’t even get a chance to try and run before his huge lump of a drunk ass boyfriend is tackling him to the ground. He’s wrestled enough werewolves in his time to know he’s not going to escape Derek’s grip but he tries anyway.

Vaguely in the background, over the Taylor Swift Isaac insisted on playing, he can hear Boyd and Cora laughing.

Instead of helping him.

Those bastards.

Finally Derek has him pined and is happily humming, his tongue stuck out the side of his mouth as he carefully drags the marker from one point to the other.

“I hate you,” Stiles huffs, as his left cheek is squashed into the floorboards.

“No you don’t,” Derek swear-to-god giggles. Stiles kind of misses the days when Derek was perpetually grumping and didn’t even smiles. Well… no he doesn’t.

But he isn’t going to tell Derek that so instead he sulks as Derek carries on with his "masterpiece".

The next day as he makes his beautiful, hilarious, heartbreaking, epic best man speech for Scott, Alfred is grinning smugly from his cheek.

Derek is cut off from tequila for a year.

Asshole.