"Stiles, stop it." Derek’s trying to keep a straight face as Stiles stands above him on the bed, but he knows he’s losing the battle. Stiles is balancing on wobbly legs, aiming the camera down at Derek. It’s really fucking cute; Stiles clad only in boxers, his skin warm and slightly flushed.
"Nope," Stiles grins at him, face half hidden by the camera. "Do you know how long it took Lydia to sort out this lens?" Holding the camera away, Stiles sinks to his knees and places a hand on Derek’s bare stomach. "I want all the photos of you." Rubbing against the skin, Stiles raises the camera again. "Photos of you first thing in the morning, photos of you all sleepy late at night, when you snuffle into the pillow and frown if I’m not there with you.
Derek sighs, throwing his arms over his head and smiling softly at Stiles. “You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly.
"You knew that before we started this."
Putting the camera on the bedside table, Stiles crawls on top of Derek, holding Derek’s wrists loosely and leaning down over him. Raising an eyebrow at him, Derek waits for Stiles to make the first move, watching Stiles’ pupils dilate as he inches closer. Stiles’ mouth grazes against his, tongue swiping over Derek’s bottom lip, and then the floodgates open and Stiles is all around him.
It’s sensory overload, Stiles kissing him soft and slow, teasing and taking advantage of Derek’s pliant state. Derek doesn’t even notice when Stiles lets go of Derek’s wrist and fumbles for the camera.
Some of the photos are blurred and off centre; a haze of flushed skin and messy hair, but they’re the best things Derek has ever seen. Tangible, gorgeous evidence of them, of their relationship. Derek’s always had photos of Stiles, but he’s never had photos like this, of him looking happy and relaxed, of he and Stiles looking soft and in love.
If this is the end result, he guesses he can put up with Stiles’ new obsession.