Someone on the Sterek Tumblr tag suggested a fanfic about Stiles' moles. Seeing as I am practically a walking boner, I obliged.

Disclaimer: I WISH

"What?"

"Nothing."

"…WHAT?"

"Nothing! Jeezus."

It was another one of those nights. You know the type. Another one of those nights where Stiles wandered into his room with a barrel of cheese puffs and went cross-eyed with surprise at the shadow looming by his window. Another one of those nights where Derek shook him like a boyishly handsome ragdoll until he agreed to do some research on nargles or pixies or whatever he asked for. Another one of those nights where he just knew he was going to fail the chemistry test the next day. All because of Derek "I will Gnaw on your Spinal Column" Hale.

Said grumpy predator is currently lounging on Stile's bed, watching him with a sort of half-interest as he taps meaningfully at his computer, and is getting increasingly annoyed with the quick sidelong looks Stiles is frowningly casting at him.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, what?" The last word comes out a burly growl that Stiles feels more than he hears, obviously meant to scare him into submission. Which it doesn't. Because seriously? When your life becomes a series of appallingly misguided decisions concerning psychologically damaged magical beings, you begin to develop a little friendly mettle. Which Stiles had. So, no, Derek grousing in an admittedly more murderous fashion than most humans were used do did not have him writhing on the ground, begging for mercy, or to at least be buried with both of his nads still intact.

Although it probably would've if he was less turned on.

Stiles sighs and opens his mouth to reply, but suddenly he feels two wolfy eyes begin to burn holes between his shoulder blades. "If you say 'nothing' on more time, I am going to tear off your arm, and beat you with it."

"Yeah, ok Mr. Dismemberment. It's just," Stiles gestures in a vague and slightly manic flail, "you're on my bed." The human rolls his eyes as Derek's eyebrows rise. "In your shoes. Which, gross, man. You've probably been victoriously stomping through mud and leaves and the entrails of your enemies all day. No one wants that on their sheets."

Stiles' frown deepens as Derek tucks his legs up on Stiles' pillow in reply.

"Gee, thanks." he mutters, then swivels back to the computer for more researching and doing general wolf pack dogsbody things (no pun intended).

…And feels Derek's freaking corporeal brooding gaze follow him. Which he endures for all of ten seconds. Thank you, ADD.

"…What?"

"Nothing."

Stiles swivels violently. "You have got to be shitting me! Can you just shut up and mope or something so I can finish this and catch, what, three hours of sleep before I yield my supple body to the cruel teeth of high school society please? Can that be a thing you do tonight?" Now it is Derek's turn to roll freakishly inhuman eyes.

"You have something on your face."

"I-I what?" Stiles reaches up and scrubs inelegantly at his cheeks and forehead, searching for cheese dust or glue or whatever he usually manages to somehow get on his face. And his elbows. He's always been a messy sort of person.

"Here." Derek points to his own cheek, and Stiles mirrors him, feeling for chocolate or toothpaste.

"Look if you're making me poke myself in the face for fun, you can just fall out that window and look for lucky charms yourself." Stiles says, sick of this weird Simon Says exercise.

"Go look." Because Stiles can hear the edge of a threat on Derek's voice, he humors him and waddles indignantly to the small mirror on the inside of his closet. And sees nothing.

"That, right there." Derek is suddenly a furnace behind him, leaning in, pointing at the birthmark on his left cheek. Stiles casts him the best you-little-whore look he can muster.

"Yeah, see, that thing on my face? Is my face."

And then Stiles hears a chuckle behind him.

"Yeah, I know." Derek's teeth are sharp when he smiles, "You're practically a mole constellation."

Stiles half-glares at him, but there's mirth instead of malice in his eyes. "Are you trying to be funny, wolf boy? Because you're not. Also, beauty marks. Not moles."

Stiles is about to sidestep the megalith of 90% muscle mass to go back to his computer but holy shit Derek is crowding him against the closet door and he's pressing a white-hot thumb to Stiles' beauty mark and ohmygodwhy.

Derek can scent no fear in Stiles, just anxiety, as he rubs the pad of his thumb over the little brown dot. He marvels at it, trying to take his mind off the fact that Stiles is a hot commodity underneath him, tense, his muscles tight. He feels his own breaths grow long, his heartbeat go heavy and loud. He doesn't know how much longer he can put this off. God knows he practically had to sit on the floor to keep from rolling in Stiles' bed, covering himself in Stiles scent and Stiles' bed with his own.

A cool hand encircles his arm.

"Derek." At first he hears it as a command, a warning, but realizes it's a sigh. With so much effort it's embarrassing he drags his eyes to meet Stiles' brown ones. His name was a question, Derek realizes. As reality comes back to him he begins to pull away. "Hey, hey, hey wait a sec." Stiles' hand is tight now around his arm and that is all the encouragement Derek needs.

He presses closer into Stiles' space, running his thumb over to Stiles' lips and pulling the bottom one down with the tip of his finger, exposing teeth. And then they're kissing and Derek's hand is a hot brand on Stiles' arm and Stiles' hand is pulling at his hair, pulling him down, pulling him closer and god.

Derek's mouth is on his neck and Stiles chuckles when he feels teeth graze his skin. Maybe it was more of a chortle. OK, it was a giggle, but Derek doesn't really seem to care as he licks a hot stripe over his adam's apple. "Told you you liked me." Stiles crows, and feels a replying growl that's more like an aggressive purr against his clavicle. "You're not the only irresistible one here." Derek's hands slide down to his lower ribcage as he traces Stiles' jaw with his nose.

"You think I'm irresistible?" He murmurs, and it's a wicked sound.

"No." Stiles denies, and suddenly Derek's mouth is devouring his and he can't think straight because who could with Derek "Lots of Tongue" Hale planting one on them? No one, that's who. Derek pulls away in favor of biting Stiles' bottom lip and raises his eyebrow questioningly. "Yes." Stiles admits in a breath, and suddenly Derek is all teeth and tongue and goddammit Stiles can't even see straight he's so far gone.

"Me too." Derek offers, a long time later, when he's climbing out onto the Stilinksi house roof. Stiles gives him a look from his place by the window, where his fingers curl over the top of the sill.

"Well, I also find you devastatingly attractive, so try parroting that heartfelt line." Derek just smiles a pointy smile as he stands, ready to jump.

"See you tomorrow?" he asks, voice gravelly from all the tonsil hockey.

"Maybe." Stiles replies, sassy to the last.

And then Derek is in front of him, hand clutching the back of his neck, dragging him close. Stiles thinks he is going in for a kiss, but instead he feels Derek lick his birthmark with teasing tongue.

"I always loved this mole." He whispers, warm breath coaxing gooseflesh down Stiles' spine. Before Stiles can protest, or maybe drag him back for more, Derek slips out into the night.

At odds, Stiles licks his lips. "Beauty mark!" he calls, and swears he hears a laugh.