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The breeze is insistent as it pushes Derek backwards with its force, but he is nothing if not determined: Stiles had said, "Catch me if you can, Alpha," and he is going to catch his mate, whatever it takes. Even if he's sure Stiles is using magic to make him stumble and delay.
He grins, feral, when he hears Stiles curse, low, "Not sunflowers!" followed by a sneeze. Stiles is allergic to them.
The heavy breeze freezes as Stiles loses concentration on controlling it, and Derek takes the chance and pounces.
"I win," he declares, Stiles, sweetly pilant, under him.
The scent of arousal coming from Stiles that follows is spectacular, and he inhales greedily. He'll never get enough of it. Of how much Stiles wants him. Of the fact that he's responsible for making Stiles feel good, that he's allowed.
"Hey, big guy," Stiles says around a grin, "Guess you found me."
"I'll always find you,"
"Even without the sunflowers?" Stiles smirks, and Derek kisses it away promptly. He kisses down and down, until Stiles is moaning beneath his shifting weight, keeps kissing until he reaches Stiles' pant's zipper.
He pulls it down and wraps his mouth around Stiles.