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t-g-i-sterek:

“Can I-” Stiles starts. “It’s just- I don’t-” He makes an exasperated sound.

“Stiles.” Derek carefully closes his hands around Stiles’ where he’s scrunching up his jeans nervously.

“Can I touch you?” he blurts. “It’s just, I wanna know what you look like.” A warm smile spreads across Derek’s face, and he slowly pulls Stiles’ hands to cup his cheek.

Stiles visibly relaxes, closing his eyes in concentration as he settles. His hands begin to wander across his features, fingers moving across every bump and surface.

He smiles when he runs his thumb along Derek’s eyebrows, most likely thinking of some sort of comment about how thick they are.

“Like what you feel?” he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. Stiles snorts.

“Stop moving, you’re messing it up.”

Derek immediately settles. Messing this up is the last thing he wants to do.

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