[ derek's hands fit around stiles' so easily. his fingers slide into the gaps between stiles, and they curl and they fit so perfectly, like the negative space between stiles' fingers came from derek's positive. stiles has held his hand before, pressed their palms together and stroked his shoulder and pulled him up from the elevator floor when everyone else left him for dead, but this feels different. it feels important, and it makes stiles feel safe.
derek's palms are warm. hot, almost, and he tries not to think about the phantom heat from the hot wax in his dream, tries not to wonder if that's what it would have felt like if he hadn't listened to derek in mexico. if he had stayed and pressed his hands over derek's wounds instead of braeden, wishing desperately for something. willing derek to be okay, believing he'd be fine, because stiles can work with belief. he's done it before.
but he already knows what it feels like to have derek's blood on his hands. he shoved his fingers into the wound in derek's arm, dug out the bullet with his bare hands, wiped his fingers clean on his shirt, and kept going. it didn't burn like the wax from his dream. it didn't sting with guilt the way the wax had, the way it still does.
there's so much room to argue here that stiles is really the one to blame, and not derek. if stiles hadn't tried to be spiteful, if he hadn't risen to some non-existent challenge just to push back at tate, the crayons wouldn't have even come into play. he could argue that he shouldn't have tried to use someone else - an anonymous benefactor at the time - for his own advantage in something that was, ultimately, very petty and childish. he could argue, but he doesn't want to. he just wants to breathe and he wants to feel assured that derek's okay and he wants to do better. he has to do better than this - nightmares, panic attacks. he has to be better.
stiles' eyes slide closed when derek leans their foreheads together, tilting his head up just slightly to press into it. he can feel derek's breath warm against his chin. he breathes in as derek breathes out and there's something about sharing the same breath that calms stiles, but also lights something up inside of him, makes him desperate to feel derek all over him. to replace the tight itch of anxiety under his skin with the warmth from derek's, to ease away the panic with derek's hands, to replace everything bad with something good.
stiles is reluctant to let go of derek's hands, but he allows him to pull away, his own hands automatically seeking out some other part of derek to hold onto. they press flat against the sides of his rib cage, and when derek draws him in closer, his hands slide around to his back, gliding down to the dip at the bottom of derek's spine. he's okay with letting go of his hands if it means he gets this instead. stiles turns his head just a little, just enough to nudge his nose against derek's before derek tilts his head down.
and then he feels the soft brush of lips against his throat, the gentle scrape of stubble, the warm, barely-there, fleeting touch of a tongue and stiles is suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. he loves derek so much that his chest aches with it. stiles swallows thickly, his throat clicking quietly, and he's nodding against the side of derek's head before derek can even finish asking. he steps back when derek presses forward, not because he wants space, but because there isn't really any left between them and if he didn't move in tandem, he'd fall.
stiles' fingers flex against his lower back. he hums a tiny low note in the back of his throat, expressing his disapproval as derek moves to put a little distance between them and he wonders if derek missed that yes, he wants to move into derek's apartment. he wonders if derek thinks maybe he doesn't want that and that's why he's pulling away, and he gets this slightly panicky look in his eyes and opens his mouth to try to fix it, but derek just keeps talking and everything kind of dies in stiles' throat.
he's overwhelmed again by this need to just - be a part of derek, to be consumed by him, to be so close and connected that even when they're apart they're never actually apart. he loves derek so fucking much and derek doesn't even know it because stiles won't allow himself to tell him for fear of losing him if it's too much or if fate really is as cruel to him as it has always been.
the words spill out of stiles, quiet and messy and a little too fast for his own tongue, so close on derek's words that he only barely misses cutting him off. ]
I hate it. I hate it so much, I hate - I don't need this. I don't need to be here, I don't need to be away from you just hold onto my independence, because you're not— you don't take that away—
[ his hands shake gently against derek's back, so stiles presses them tighter against his spine to make them stop, and he draws in an uneven breath as his eyes dart back and forth between both of derek's like he's looking for — something. the courage, maybe, to just keep going, to say what he feels without fear of getting hurt. ]
I just. I want you just as much as I need you, and I really— I really...
[ stiles doesn't have to tell derek he loves him. not yet, not right now, but maybe it's okay if he just... shows him. stiles' hands move fast, lifting from the small of derek's back and pressing to the sides of his throat, thumbs cradling the swoop of his jaw, long, slender fingers curling over the back of derek's neck. he pulls him in just as much as he tilts himself forward, and he kisses derek.
it's not crushing, it's not bruising, not yet. it's soft and it's gentle and so quietly desperate. it's certain. ]
[ derek's heart breaks. the misery in stiles' voice, the unwavering faith he has in him - it's all so much. stiles hates the down, and derek's always known that about him, but it's something they tend to talk around out of this vague, half-hearted dance they do to maintain independence.
and doing that doesn't make sense anymore? stiles being tucked away down in the filth and the fear doesn't make any fucking sense. they're supposed to get through this hell together - it shouldn't have taken a horrible nightmare or the fear that something happened to put derek in a place where he could just... beg stiles to stay close to him. he should have done this sooner. he should have asked stiles to move in with him so much sooner.
his eyes are closed. he's starting to get angry with himself, so ready to poke at scars and burns to make himself feel worse, something he always does when he feels he deserves it. that's when stiles kisses him.
it's sweet, and it's chaste, and it takes derek's breath away. he knows - he knows what it means. stiles doesn't have to say that he loves him for derek to realize with a hard, crashing punch that all the moments they've been sharing together, all the quiet looks and hesitant touches and all those fucking smiles, have to have been more than just... loneliness, from stiles' part. he cares about derek, just like derek cares about him, and they're not drawn to each other because they're both stuck and gravitating towards familiarity. they care about each other because they care about each other.
derek parts his lips, just a little, and then he pushes forward. he moves fast. he steps forward again, and he pushes stiles along with him, and he keeps walking and forcing stiles backwards until the back of stiles' knees are up against his bed. he deepens the kiss with a grunt, desperate and frenzied, his tongue swiping over stiles' bottom lip before he adds teeth. his hands-- his hands slide back around stiles' body, smoothing down stiles' body, moving fast down his chest and his stomach and going straight for his cock, and for once in his stupid, stupid, anxiety-riddled, overly considerate life, he doesn't even stop to think about what he's doing.
derek's always been quick to second guess himself. always willing to believe that he'd only make things worse, if he asked for what he wanted. right now? right now, there's no fear in him. he trusts stiles to tell him if this is too much, and he trusts stiles to want to be with him as much as derek wants to be with him in turn. he wants to make stiles feel good. he wants to show him that he thinks he might be starting to love him, too.
derek's hand grips stiles' cock through his clothes, squeezing his shaft with barely shaking fingers, and he breaks the kiss with a hard hiss of air through his teeth. surging forward, derek kisses stiles' neck again, but it's harder, more focused than before. he slips his hand beneath stiles' waistband when touching him through his clothes isn't enough, and he curls his fist around his dick, and derek-- derek's hard, the obvious tent in his sweatpants giving it away. he sucks on stiles' neck, right above the bridge that connects him to his shoulder, and he bites down, just a little. trying to leave a mark.
he pushes into stiles, trying to angle him down towards his bed, wanting him to sit, or lay down, or-- or something, anything. it's clumsy and it's frantic, and derek only pulls his hand out of stiles' pants long enough for it to happen, but he needs this to happen. they both need this to happen. ]
Lay-- lay down, let-- fuck, I don't... I don't have anything.
[ "anything". lube, condoms. the things they might need. ]
[ stiles' thumbs trace the edges of derek's jaw up to the hinge, stroking a lazy line just below each ear, and he just - exists in this moment, lets it hang suspended for as long as he can. he pours himself into it, lets go of every moment he's ever spent trying to convince himself that his feelings for derek will never amount to anything, and that it's okay.
but it's not true. it can't be true, and derek may not love him now, but maybe he could, eventually. derek cares about him, and that's an undeniable truth. that's something stiles can hold onto just as carefully and as he's holding onto derek's face, his lips warm and dry and soft, and parting under stiles'.
derek's hands push at him and pull him out of that weird pocket of time. stiles moves easily, letting derek walk him backwards, trusting him not to let him trip and make an idiot out of himself. he stays close, unwilling to let enough space in between them that they're forced to stop kissing, his hands drifting a little clumsily from the sides of derek's throat to his shoulders, his biceps. the back of his knees stop him at the edge of his bed, but momentum carries him backwards, tilts him off balance. he uses derek as an anchor, gripping his arms and using him to press himself up, push himself closer, tilt his chin up just a fraction of an inch so he can chase after the tongue that slides over his lip and the scrape of teeth that goes straight to his dick.
stiles' abdominals tighten reflexively as derek drags his hands over them, and he's only just started to sink his tongue into derek's mouth when there's suddenly a hand gripping at his cock, and the quiet, filthy groan he presses past derek's lips can't be helped. derek breaks away from him to breathe and stiles tilts his head back just to get some cooler air on his too-warm face and into his lungs, his hands moving and touching and pulling anywhere he can get them on derek's skin, hips grinding slowly into the press of derek's palm. ]
God..
[ stiles makes it easier for derek, unintentionally, baring the length of his neck to him just as derek leans back in to put his lips on his throat. stiles' breath shudders out of him, his stomach flexing as derek slides his hand past the elastic of his pants, curls his fist around his cock, bites down into his fucking shoulder, and stiles— he likes it too much. the gentle but concentrated press of teeth, the dull, aching suggestion of a bruise, the sting.
stiles' unoccupied hand flies up, fingers pushing into the short hairs at the back of derek's head and he just holds him there for a beat, keeps him there with a heavy press of his hand for only a moment, until he wants more. he needs more of this, of derek.
the edge of his bed pushes into the bend of his knees as derek urges him down and stiles lets gravity pull him the rest of the way, dragging derek down with him with one hand on the back of his neck. his other hand curls into the front of derek's sweatpants, fingers pulling at the elastic, unsure if he wants to drag him closer or drag them down or both. he misses and brushes a clumsy kiss over the space between derek's lower lip and his chin, then takes both of his hands off of derek and starts to scoot himself backwards the second derek starts to tell him to lay down.
and then he freezes, and it's like he's only just been hit with the reality of what's happening, what's about to happen. he's got his weight balanced between one hand and one elbow, legs stretched out a little in the space he gained when scooting back, cock hard and straining under the thin, blue flannel pajama pants, and he just. looks at derek for a few very long seconds, chest heavily a little, lips red and a little swollen. he feels nervous, suddenly, and anxious and excited, and he focuses on that, the excitement, the anticipation of something he's probably thought about dozens of times before now. he wants derek so fucking badly and derek wants him too and—
stiles nods, a little vaguely at first, and then with more confidence as he wets his lips. his heart rabbits in his chest. ]
Okay. It's okay, I have— hold on, let me just. Two seconds.
[ he scrambles a little awkwardly then, twisting onto his side and stretching half of his body out over the edge of his bed, one hand braced on the floor, the other reaching for the drawer at the bottom of his dresser. he fumbles a little, barely able to reach the handle, but then he's dragging it open and pushing a thicker hoodie aside and it takes less than a few seconds to find what he's looking for.
stiles leaves the drawer open, pulling himself back in and twisting back over. he drops two condoms (just in case something - malfunctions, okay) and a slightly-less-than-half-used bottle of lube on the mattress, and then he wiggles his hands down in the space between himself and derek, and he pushes both of them down the front of his sweatpants and touches his dick as he leans up to kiss him because if he stops to think, there's a very high chance he might psyche himself out. ]
[ stiles bares his neck to derek, and derek honestly doesn't think there could be anything hotter. when he arrived in duplicity, derek made some rash, negative decisions, born from the struggle to keep his feet flat on the ground and his status as alpha secure. he searched for power where he could get it, where he could find it. he struggled to assert himself as dominant while trying not to be seen as a dominant, and here - now -
this is why he did it. this is what he wanted. he didn't want the sorry, empty, vacuous nights with strangers, the bared teeth, the forced anger. he just wanted someone in his arms who trusted him. someone willing to be vulnerable for him, someone he could protect. derek pushes his cock harder into stiles' hand in the last few seconds they share standing upright, nipping lightly at his neck and moving his lips down beneath his throat, lightly pressing his teeth to the line of his collarbone. stiles - always makes him stronger.
they crash into bed, stiles' mattress cheap and uncomfortable and somehow too firm and too soft at the same time. he's still kissing stiles while stiles slaps his hand out towards the dresser, and even though derek was the one who brought up condoms, he's still apparently okay with complaining about stiles wasting time blindly fishing them out. he's covering stiles' neck and throat with soft bites and hard hickeys, gentle kisses and soothing sucks, turning pale skin into a patchwork of pink and mottled red. he's trying to make stiles feel good. loved. that's all derek's wanted to do since coming back from the fort.
protection. fuck, right, okay. he sits up on his knees, and he tears into the wrapper with his teeth, spitting out the frayed shred of plastic he rips off out of the corner of his mouth. he pulls the condom out as fast as he can, like he's physically incapable of waiting for stiles any longer than he already has. that's when stiles slips his hands down the front of derek's sweats, taking hold of his dick with both hands.
derek's breaths start coming more labored. there's sweat on his chest, just a little, which rises and falls in the dark even more now than it did when he'd sprinted across the down and showed up on stiles' doorstep, close to passing out from panic. he gives stiles the kiss he asks for, making it last, and without breaking away, he rolls his sweatpants down past his thighs with his free hand. ]
I need-- I need to...
[ put this on. derek swallows a lump of nerves, touching his hand to stiles' wrist, feather-light, silently asking him to let go. when he does, derek sets the rubber against the tip of his cock, and--
and he grins, totally out of nowhere, and that's not good. he thought of a mean thing to say. he's not going to say it, at first, but as he rolls the condom over the crown of his dick and back down the length of him, he... laughs, breathless and fragile under the stress of his heavy breathing, and he knows for a god damn fact that he's only laughing because he's nervous. but it's not like he can laugh in the middle of this... whirlwind of touching and kissing and extremely heightened emotions without looking like kind of an asshole? so. ssso.
he leans in, takes another kiss from stiles. tries to soften the burn before he does it. ]
Kinda... surprised this fit.
[ you know - because this is stiles' condom, and stiles has a small dick, and derek doesn't. that's the joke. this no fit. get it. do you get it? ha ha.
he's kidding. stiles is fine, stiles' dick is fine, this is fine, everything's - fine, and it's insanely obvious that derek's just trolling him, because when he takes another kiss from stiles, the nervous laughter is more of a snicker. like he's just... happy, to be screwing around with him. open and innocent in a way he's maybe never been, even before the fire.
but he hasn't forgotten why this started, why they both need this. derek kisses stiles on the tip of his nose, lightly, sweetly. he kisses his forehead, and he lingers, because - because he can smell stiles' hair, he can smell his shampoo. derek's shampoo, from when stiles showered at his place, not too long ago. it's nearly faded, but it's there, and derek just... derek just didn't think he'd ever have this. the smell of his shampoo in somebody else's hair.
he sets his hand on stiles' shoulder, and he stands, getting out of bed. he strips, gets naked, leaves his sweats on the floor, and then he's back in bed, leaning over stiles. he slips his hand under stiles' tshirt, and he hesitates, because - he doesn't want to just... make this decision for him, but he wants-- he wants to see him. derek swallows again, another hard lump of emotion, and he digs his knees into the mattress, both of them either side of one of stiles' legs. cautiously, he tugs on the hem of stiles' shirt. ]
[ it probably shouldn't be so attractive to stiles, the way derek tears the foil wrapper open with his teeth. that's a normal thing most people do, something stiles has done himself plenty of times before because it's just - easier, when your hands are a little shaky with adrenaline, and damp with sweat or slick with lube or. whatever else. he's torn open a decent number of condoms with his teeth but not once did he ever think he could look even remotely attractive doing it, which is probably still true, but derek makes it looks so. mmngh. he tears at the packaging quickly and aggressively like its wasting his time, like the condom should be on his dick already jesus christ. it reminds him, rather suddenly, of derek toppling the table in his apartment because it was in the way of him getting his hands, his mouth on stiles as quickly as possible.
stiles doesn't think he's ever been wanted the way derek seems to want him, and it just. it feels so, so good. stiles has never had this before and he doesn't really know what to do with the attention, the burning need for him from someone else, but he knows that he likes it. he knows that he loves it. he's been starved of attention when it counts, and derek is just. he's been giving it to stiles in ways derek might not even realize, and it's dangerous, because it just means it'll be that much easier to hurt stiles. but stiles trusts him not to.
stiles curls one fist around derek's cock, splays the other across his inner thigh as derek leans down to give him the kiss he'd silently been asking for. stiles is nervous. he's so, so nervous and he knows it's pointless to try and hide it because derek's the one who taught him about chemosignals and pheromones, but stiles tries to hide it anyway because he's not just nervous, and he doesn't want to ruin things before they even get off the ground. or - into bed. whatever. he's nervous, but he's also really, really excited and even though his hands still tremble slightly, it has less to do with him being anxious and more to do with the desire for - everything. he wants to do so much, right now, immediately. he feels illuminated. this is happening a lot faster than he ever imagined it would, when he allowed himself to indulge in stupid, late-night fantasies, but it's also not happening fast enough.
he feels a little frantic, but he finds a weird sort of peace in the press of derek's mouth against his, and he leans into it, arches up. he sighs through his nose, a tiny, muted sound riding the tail end of his sigh as he pumps his fist just once, just one slow drag from the crown of derek's cock down to the root. derek inches back enough to say something, and he touches stiles' wrist, and it takes stiles a second to realize that his hands aren't trapped by the awkward stretch of elastic, because derek has pushed his sweatpants down to his thighs and. stiles has never actually had an actual chance to see derek like this. it was dark in the barracks and everything was tight and close and secret.
stiles takes his hands away. uncurls his fingers and lets his other hand slide down the inside of derek's thigh as he lets it fall away, and he watches with mild fascination - jesus, derek has a really, really beautiful dick, and that's not a thought stiles ever imagined would cross his conscious mind, but god damn it is it true - as derek sets the latex, and stiles almost asks if he can do it instead, if he can roll it down because he just wants to get his hands back on derek, but derek is—
derek is grinning. like, it's not just a tiny pull at the corner of his mouth, he's grinning and it's honestly kind of beautiful but it also makes stiles stomach twist with nerves. derek laughs, and stiles' low-buzzing anxiety spikes a little, because he doesn't know what's funny here and if derek is laughing at stiles— stiles can take a lot of ribbing—
derek kisses him again and for whatever reason, it puts stiles at ease and floods him with warm relief and he finds himself smiling a little against derek's mouth, and - oh. oh, that's why derek is laughing. what a fucking dick. what an idiot, stiles hates him. stiles hates him, except he doesn't, at all, and instead of taking offense, he's quick. he pushes forward, and he kisses derek back, and he murmurs against his lips in between pressing kisses to his mouth. ]
I mean [ kiss ] if you're worried they're too big [ kiiiiss ] we can buy a size down [ kiss ] you ass.
[ he's only kidding too, and he's oddly quieted when derek kisses the tip of his nose. his face flushes lightly, his neck and his throat rosy with a faint blush, and when he feels the brush of a kiss against his forehead, he's consumed with. something. he's consumed with warmth and affection and love, and his fingers still for a moment against derek's stomach, slowing their drag. his nose burns a little and he closes his eyes and he takes a second, half a second just to breathe.
derek's hand feels heavy on his shoulder as he stands. stiles opens his eyes, and he blinks, and his heart starts to rabbit in his chest again because derek is naked in front of him and stiles is still wearing, like - all of his clothes and that's probably not conducive to this going any further. he inhales, and he scrambles, and he shoves his pajama pants and his boxers down his thighs and he kicks them off, resting back on his elbows when derek leans over him.
he doesn't bother with his shirt. stiles never bothers with his shirt, but derek slides his hand up underneath it and stiles feels this quick little shot of panic dart through him. he doesn't hate his body, he doesn't necessarily think he's unattractive, but he's - self-conscious, and that's not anything new. he's that kid that changes his shirt as quickly as possible in the locker room back at school, layers a t-shirt under his sleeveless jersey, doesn't own a tank-top. he's surrounded by beautiful people with beautiful bodies - scott, liam, malia, derek -, and it's just easier to. not give himself any reason to compare. stiles isn't as scrawny as he used to be. he's made up of corded muscle and pale skin and a solid bone structure, but next to his friends, next to a lot of people, stiles is.
he's that stupid scarecrow derek was joking about a while ago.
stiles only pauses for a second, and he decides to just push forward and keep this moving. derek is straddling one of his thighs and his hand is pulling gently at the bottom of his shirt. stiles breathes out and he leans up and he kisses the side of derek's neck, scrapes his teeth a little on purpose. ]
On, c'mere.
[ he drags his nose along the column of derek's throat, shifting his weight over onto one elbow so he can reach up to hook his other arm over the back of derek's neck, dragging him down as he leans back and stretches out. he swallows, bumping his nose against derek's cheek for a moment as he lines their mouths up, fumbling blindly for the lube he dropped - somewhere. he pats around clumsily, drawing one knee up, and when his fingers thump against the cool plastic of the bottle, he snatches it up. ]
H-hey, so. Listen, you're - [ he bites gently at derek's bottom lip, sighs a little shakily against his mouth. his heart feels like it's in his throat. ] I've never— not like - this, with someone else, and it's. It's not a big deal, I'm not trying to make it a big deal because I really don't care I just want to - do this right, I want to get this right, with you—
[ and he needs to shut the fuck up before he kills the mood entirely. ]
[ a size down, stiles says, and derek's shoulders shake with silent laughter. for all his impatience to get ahead of this and to just fucking have stiles, derek is easily swayed into slowing down by each kiss, each touch, every graze of stiles' hand over his cock or his neck or in the base of his hair. stiles' nose bumps against derek's cheek, and derek laughs again, chasing after him until their lips meet. he's - happy.
and maybe he shouldn't be, after stiles' nightmare. his calf muscles are still sore from how fast he ran to get down here, his lungs still ache if he tries to breathe too deep. when derek touches stiles' stomach and he panics, derek can taste the fear in him, and he freezes in place. just for a second, he's jumping back to the moment he first read stiles' text message and remembered veracity, remembered the taste of blood and gunpowder, and wondered if another kidnapping was happening. he's ready to disengage, if he needs to. ready to give stiles space, if this is too much, or if he's asking for more than stiles is willing to give him.
but everything evens out just as quickly, and derek relaxes. stiles' shirt is staying on, and the panic that ran through him was just - panic. a knee-jerk reaction to derek touching him in a way he might not be ready for. that's okay. derek would prefer stiles' shirt to be gone, but he's not going to force the issue. he does want to see stiles, but - well, he's still seeing stiles. he's seeing stiles when he's comfortable, he's seeing stiles how stiles wants to be seen. that's more than enough for him.
derek slides his hand out from beneath the hem of stiles' shirt and nods, pressing another countless kiss against the corner of stiles' lips, and then another, and another. stiles talks, and derek listens, leaving a trail of kisses down his cheek, over his jawline. he relaxes, even as stiles talks over himself and frets about what's coming. this is - a search for reassurance, maybe, and that's something that derek thinks he can help with.
granted, he's close to just saying stiles, shut up to break stiles out of this feedback loop he seems to be stuck in, where he's worried about what's happening, and then worried about how he's worried about what's happening, and then worried about how he's worried about how he keeps worrying. that's not what derek does, though, because he wants to do this right, too; he listens, and he lets stiles talk himself out, and he lets himself be guided down closer to the bed.
he's doing his best to seem unaffected, by most things. acting like the shiver that ran up his spine when stiles' grazed his teeth over his neck was just - a shiver, nothing more, nothing worth focusing on. staying quiet, keeping his eyes forward, after stiles strips himself of his pants and his boxers, like he doesn't care at all. acting like the fact that he's straddling stiles so closely that his balls are straight up on his fucking leg is just - par for the course. like he's had his balls on his leg a thousand times before. like there's nothing particularly novel about derek's big-ass werewolf balls just resting on stiles' bare-ass thigh. like that's normal.
but he can't hide the way his voice wavers, when he finds it. the excitement in him, the nerves. the way he drops his own eyes, finally, to look at stiles' cock, and the way his mouth goes dry and his lips part and he gets a little speechless at the sight of him. the way it takes a second for him to actually talk, because his brain needs to kickstart into gear again. he takes a breath. ]
This... is a big deal. For me. It's okay, if it's not a big deal for you, but it is for me.
[ and he means that. if stiles just wants this to be physical - fine. if stiles doesn't think sleeping with derek is a "big deal", if this is just supposed to be framed as a way to comfort him after his nightmare, then-- then. fine. if stiles really doesn't care about doing this for the first time, with derek - if this isn't something he wants to attach too much sentimentality to, then - then. then. derek can't do much about that.
and it doesn't matter, anyway. stiles still trusts him, and stiles still wants this, and if that's as far as this is going to go, then that's still a huge fucking honor. derek is used to misinterpreting other people's feelings. he just... won't let himself think about the kiss. about the kisses. about how easily they all keep coming to him, after how hard it was to even kiss him once, back in the barracks.
not a big deal. just sex. derek gets it. that's what this place is. stiles still needs reassurance, and derek still needs to make his feelings clear, in case it's too much for stiles and he wants to back out. ]
I'm going to take care of you. We can stop at any time. I just... [ derek's eyebrows pinch together, and he struggles to word how he's feeling. ] I want to be with you, so you're not - going to fuck this up. You're doing everything right just by being you.
[ and-- and he's going to be normal. he's going to be human. he's going to keep his pulse low, even as it quickens with arousal and anxiety, and he's going to count alpha, beta, omega in his head when he feels something in him howl and bite and scratch to get out. if this is the first time stiles has been with someone like this, derek can't... tarnish that, by being himself. stiles is the only human he's ever met who thinks werewolves are more than just monsters - and derek is terrified of doing something to change his mind.
stiles has the lube, and rather than take it from him, derek has another idea. he brings his hand to his mouth, he collects saliva, and he licks his palm, getting it wet. slowly, derek drops his hand between stiles' legs and tightens his slick, warm hand around his cock, stroking slowly, up and down. he twists his palm over his head, he presses his thumb against the underside of his crown, and the two of them have done this before, but it's so much different, feeling him like this. alone, in a place that isn't exactly theirs, but feels more like a home than the barracks ever could. ]
Stiles... just-- just to be clear? This isn't about - this isn't just physical. For me.
[ he strokes a little faster, and he straddles stiles a little more, putting more weight against his thigh. he's-- impatient. again, his eyebrows knit tightly together, and he tries to work through his feelings. in the end, he's thinking too hard about himself, about this, about stiles, and he can't keep doing that, because it would be so, so easy for him to lose his nerve. he just - looks at stiles, then, softly lit by the apartment, and he hopes he was right about all those little moments. about stiles' kiss meaning so much, about i want you and i need you being-- emotional. he wants so badly for this to be a big deal. ]
[ derek's laugh has got to be one of stiles' most favorite things. even when it's silent, even when it's a feeling more than it's a sound - when it shakes through his shoulders and crinkles the corners of his eyes - making derek laugh is one of his greatest accomplishments. this isn't even the first time stiles has done it, but stiles can remember every single moment he's ever managed to make derek laugh in his presence, and he's going to remember this time, too.
it's a little odd to think that a little over an hour ago, stiles was waking from a nightmare, panicking, and damp with sweat and tense with adrenaline and anxiety and fear. he doesn't really feel any of that anymore, doesn't really know when his nerves stopped feeling so raw and frayed and started feeling electric and alive instead. stiles told derek once that derek makes him feel good, makes him feel safe, and that much is still just as true now as it was then, as it has been for as long as stiles can remember.
derek takes his hand out from under his shirt. stiles has mixed feelings about it, because he doesn't actually mind derek touching his stomach, his chest - he doesn't mind being touched by derek anywhere - so it feels like a little bit of a loss, but at the same time— at the same time, he's so fucking grateful for the absolute respect derek shows him by not trying to push him into taking his shirt off. derek doesn't say anything about it at all. he just kisses stiles, over and over and over and stiles falls a little bit more in love with him.
and then his heart breaks, just a little. this is a big deal for me. it's okay if it's not a big deal for you. stiles should have kept his fucking mouth shut.
it is a big deal. stiles may have said that it isn't a big deal, but it is absolutely a big deal. he's too sentimental about things like sex and intimacy for this not to be a big deal to stiles, but he was so worried about the possibility of derek backing out if he got too weird about it that he tried to play it down, play it cool, and now he just feels - stupid. he feels embarrassed and anxious, because it is a big deal - this moment is so, so important to stiles, and it's important to derek, too, and stiles just made it sound like it's nothing when it's not.
he wants to take it all back. he needs to take it all back, and he needs to make sure it doesn't look like he's just - changing his mind to please derek or to spare his feelings. he needs derek to know that this is important to him, that it means more to stiles than he can properly put into words.
but he can't even find the words. he feels a little breathless and a little panicky that he's not going to be able to make this right. his lips part and his brows knit together and he looks up at derek like he can't fathom how he got this lucky. like he can't possibly imagine how or why derek wants to be with him at all. but he does. derek wants to be with him and he wants stiles for stiles and that's just so fucking sweet that stiles can hardly stand it.
he opens his mouth to tell him everything, but before he can take it all back, before can even begin to fix this - derek licks his palm. derek licks his fucking palm and he reaches down between stiles legs and he takes his cock in his hand and stiles thinks it's probably one of the hottest things he's ever seen. definitely top five sexiest things that has ever been done in his presence. but he's got derek's hand on his dick and it's warm and wet and tight as he drags his fist down the length of him, and stiles brain short-circuits for a handful of seconds.
but derek is saying something. derek is telling him something and stiles doesn't know when he closed his eyes but he opens them now and he tries not to fuck up into derek's fist. he swallows hard and he forces himself to focus on derek's mouth, on the words coming out of them.
fuck. fuck, right, he was going to tell him—
stiles reaches down and puts his hand over derek's to stop him, because he can't think properly when he's this turned on and if he doesn't shut everything own for a second he's not going to be able to get out anything he needs to say. he sets his other hand against derek's thigh, lets it slide up as far as the reach of his arm will allow, and he shakes his head. ]
It is a big deal to me. I said it isn't a big deal, but is it, I just didn't want there to be any pressure and I was scare you might - change your mind or, or back off, if I made it weird by making it this big thing, but I just— it's the first time and it's important and I want it to be with you. I want this, with you.
[ like most of his confessions thus far, it comes out of him in one big rush, right on the edge of being a little frantic. he feels a little breathless, still a little scared that he's not properly communicating to derek how he feels about him, how he feels about this. he takes his hand of of derek's thigh and slides his hand up the center of derek's chest, over his shoulder, around to the back of his neck, and he squeezes just once. for a moment, he's just stuck looking up at derek and not for the first time, stiles is struck with how beautiful he is.
he pulls himself up using the hand at the back of derek's neck, just far enough to brush a feather-light kiss against his lips, lingering close. ]
... It's - more than physical for me too. You're— I just— I really - really like you.
[ when stiles panics, derek knows. the elevated spikes in his system, fuelled by ingrained, biological fight or flight reflexes. derek knew, on one level, that saying this is a big deal after stiles explicitly said that it wasn't might not have been... the best thing to do, but it felt like it would have been worse to lie. to trick stiles into something physical, to say this means one thing when it really means another. that's what kate did to him. in derek's mind, he and her would be the same, if he'd just...
if he'd just acted like this didn't matter.
so he swallows, and he feels a little less crazed by this desperation to feel the tight, warm heat of stiles' body embracing his own. he strokes stiles slower, figures he could at least offer to get him off without fucking him, just so it counts towards his quota without... having to matter. it's then that stiles sets his hand against his wrist, and derek stops moving, figuring that that's the sign to stop. maybe he was pushing his luck, after all.
he's crestfallen, when he looks at stiles, but he doesn't let it show. he thinks he doesn't, at least - but then stiles admits that he lied, admits that he's scared, admits that he wants this to be important and special and meaningful. derek's... suspicious, and maybe that's unfair, but he's always been paranoid, even before... even before. stiles said, right to his face, that this wasn't a big deal. derek wants to believe him, but it just... it feels like he's compensating. trying to make derek feel better.
so derek laughs, and it's forced, not the sweet laughter stiles can tuck away in his memories to warm himself with when he's alone, but the sour, rotten sound of someone who's trying to act like they aren't hurt. it would be selfish, derek thinks, to be hurt. stiles isn't doing anything wrong. he's just being kind. derek could listen to his heartbeat, see if he's telling the truth through the pump of blood beneath his chest - but why would he do that, when he can just hurt himself by assuming the worst? that's what he deserves.
-- and then stiles keeps talking. tells him he really, really likes derek. he leans up, he pulls him into a kiss, ghosting over him with the same feeling and the same determination that derek tried to put in his own. derek wants to trust him. derek wants to believe him. derek wants to stop second-guessing the huge slew of evidence that just keeps telling him, again and again, obviously, concretely telling him, that stiles cares. that stiles wants him. that stiles really, really, likes him.
there's two paths he could take here. he could wall himself off - shut this down, apologize, and leave. or he could... do more.
derek swallows the fire in his throat. he looks into stiles' eyes, searching for something. he looks at his lips, and he thinks of home, and he thinks of the fire, and he thinks of how fucking lonely he was until stiles. he thinks of the guilt he feels, when he thinks of the execution, when he thinks of kate, when he thinks of his mother, his father, his sisters, his uncle. he thinks of how - when he's with stiles - he forgets that guilt, just for a while.
his eyes are stinging. ]
There's something here. You and me.
[ he says it low. quiet. right against stiles' lips. slowly, gingerly, he starts to beat stiles off again, rhythmic and easy. his other hand comes up to his neck, palm splayed over his throat. his hand is trembling, he thinks. maybe that's stiles. it's hard to say. ]
Right? I'm not imagining it. There has to be something. This... this can't just...
[ he's pleading. he's pleading, for stiles to tell him he's right. to validate this. to say that "i really, really like you" means-- more. derek hasn't had a friend for years, he hasn't ever been relied on the way that stiles relies on him, and that should be enough, that should be more than enough, but -
but it isn't. not anymore. not after stiles. he wants more than that. ]
I just-- this can't just be in my head. After Kate, and after-- after Paige, I didn't think... I didn't think I'd ever...
[ does stiles know about paige? he hasn't talked to stiles about paige, but there's two years. two years, where derek could learn to trust him, where derek could talk to him about the people he's hurt, the lives he's ruined. derek moves closer to stiles, pressing their foreheads together again, and his voice is getting a little louder, a little more frantic. the hand on stiles' throat gropes blindly up to his jaw, to his cheek, and just-- touches, hard and fast and clumsy, like he's making sure that stiles is real, and he's here, and he's with him. ]
I thought this was over. For me.
[ and maybe it is. his heart is breaking. this could all be in his head, he doesn't know, this doesn't feel real. "i really, really like you", what does that mean? why does stiles like him? what happened, in those two years? did anything happen in those two years? derek jerks stiles off faster, faster, squeezing tight with a shaky hand, and he kisses stiles like it's the last time he'll ever get the chance. he can't think straight, he's-- panicking, and he keeps thinking of how he felt when stiles sent him that text, he keeps-- he keeps thinking about how fucking easy it would be for stiles to just go. ]
I feel like-- I feel like... if this were real, something would have happened back home. Between us. You have two years on me, and... and if something was going to happen, it should have happened. If this much can change between us in a few months, then... then why...
[ then why didn't it ever change back home? stiles would have told him when he arrived, if it did. if they were ever more than just... antagonistic. they can't spend two years together and... not become something. not if these feelings are real. he doesn't want to ask the question, but - but what if this is just - something that happens, to people who are contracted? what if he's being tricked, like he was with vitd? he doesn't want this to be in his head, he wants-- he wants proof that this is more than just here, more than just this fucking city.
he breathes. he breathes, because it shuts him up, and if he shuts up, he can't keep making this conversation all about him, and his worries, and his anxiety. his lips are sore from kissing stiles, he's a little less hard. his eyes are closed, and he's holding them shut as tight as he can, because he knows that they're red, and he's scared of stiles seeing. he needs to calm down. ]
Sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm... I'm sorry.
[ it's not the first time stiles has told derek he likes him, but it's the first time he's said it and meant more. it's the first time he's said it to him like this, as close as he's come so far to telling derek how he really, truly feels about him. he really, really does like derek - that's not a lie by any means -, but he also loves him, too. he loves him and he's in love with him and it feels like a kick to the chest when derek laughs like that. stiles will remember this one, too, this fake, hollow, vacant sound.
derek doesn't believe him. he knows derek doesn't believe him because he recognizes that derek's forcing that laugh. he recognizes it, because stiles has plastered on tens if not hundreds of fake smiles and he's forced so many laughs just to hide the fact that he's hurting. and it hurts now too, but stiles doesn't laugh. his throat feels tight and his eyes start to feel a little warm in the corners and he just stares up at derek as derek stares down at him, and he has this look in his eye that's so desperate, so fucking desperate for derek to just - understand. he has to press his teeth together to keep his stupid chin from shaking. he's not going to cry, but he feels like he could.
derek's breath is warm against his mouth and his lips are soft as they brush over his. there's something here. you and me. stiles breath leaves his lungs in one quick exhale. the tightness in his chest loosens because yes. yes, there's something here. there has to be something here. stiles desperately needs there to be something between them. he nods, or he tries to at least, but the movement is minute and he only gets to far as rubbing their noses together before derek's hand starts stroking his cock again and stiles gets - distracted.
there's a lot, here, for him to focus on. stiles toes curl a little. the hand at his throat feels warm and broad and gentle and it makes stiles feel - safe. he doesn't know why, but it does, and his eyes sting a little more. he wants to reassure derek, to grab him and hold him and shake him and tell him that he's not imagining things. that he is right here and he cares about him, he cares about him so, so much, that he loves him—
he mentions kate. he mentions kate, and he mentions - paige, and it feels like someone's dumped icy water into his veins. he freezes, and he tilts his head back so he can look at derek, and he slides his hand from the back of derek's neck to the side of his face, and he just - searches. he looks for something, but he doesn't know what, he just. is derek— does derek think this could ever be anything like what happened to him with kate? it makes stiles feel a little sick to his stomach to think that derek might believe stiles could ever, ever do something like that to him. to anyone.
and paige. the girl derek loved, the girl derek killed, the girl stiles knows derek still blames himself for losing. derek leans in and touches their foreheads together and he holds stiles' face and stiles just wants to — pull him inside of himself, hold him so close and so tight that derek becomes a part of him, something he can always protect. stiles moves his hand from derek's face to the back of derek's wrist, slides his fingers up over his knuckles, lets them fall into the spaces between derek's where they will, both of their hands pressed to his cheek.
derek tells him he though this was over. he thought he couldn't have something like this again, something meaningful, something genuine and real, and stiles' heart breaks for him. derek has been through so fucking much, he's lost so many people and he's going to lose more, and stiles— stiles won't be one of them. even if and when derek decides to leave him in the future, he won't lose stiles, and this is something stiles is sure of because he's already lived it.
the hand circled around his cock picks up speed. stiles' stomach tightens reflexively. he sucks in a shaky breath through his teeth and he feels so suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, pulled apart in too many different directions, and then. and then derek kisses him, and it almost feels like— it almost feels like he's saying goodbye, and stiles breaks a little. he presses up into him desperately, teeth clicking against derek's, and he pushes this quiet, choked little sob of a noise into derek's mouth, tries to bury it there, tries to hide it.
if stiles is about to lose him again, then he doesn't want to know about it before it happens. it doesn't make sense that derek would just - say all of the things he's said, doesn't make any sense at all for him to point out that there's something here between them only for him to say goodbye, but stiles is — he's not this lucky. he's not the guy that good things happen to. he's the guy who watches, alone, as his mother dies in front of him. he's the guy who gets kidnapped and beaten and used as bait for someone who didn't come for him anyway. he's the guy who gives his life to find and protect his father, and has his life taken over in return, the guy who gets possessed, the guy with blood spilled by his hands but not by his decisions.
he's the guy who has to choose between saving his best friend, and saving someone else who could be more than that. he's the guy who has to let someone he loves walk away. not once, but twice, and if he's about to do this a third time, then he's not going to do it without telling derek exactly how he feels about him first.
he moves without thinking. derek tells him he's sorry. stiles takes his face in both hands and he leans up and he presses his mouth to derek's forehead, closes his eyes tight. derek's still stroking him, and it - fuck, it feels really, really good and it makes his brain feel a little fuzzy and his eyes burn even while they're closed but stiles has to do this. ]
Derek, listen to me. A lot happens. So much... happens. To me, and to you, and to us. Not all— not all of it is good, but the one thing that's constant is us. You— Derek, you believe me when other people don't, you believe me over the people— [ you think you love ] — the people you love. You believe in me, and nobody - you're the only person who's ever made me feel like, like— like I'm equal even though I'm only human.
[ stiles has to stop for a second to breathe, has to take a moment to swallow around his heart lodged up into his throat. he opens his eyes, and his hands move again. he grabs at derek's wrist, and he pulls his hand off of his cock, and then he presses both of his hands to derek's shoulders, and he moves him. he pushes with purpose and he sits up and he tilts derek over, pushes him onto his back, and the bed is so small that derek might be a little too close to the edge, but stiles isn't going to let him fall. he crawls up over derek, and it should be - embarrassing that he's straddling him with a knee on either side of derek's hips and his dick hard and heavy against derek's belly, but he doesn't care. he's so keyed up and he's so fucking scared and if this looks like a weak attempt to keep derek from leaving once he gets all of this out, well. maybe that's exactly what it is.
stiles is shaking. he's anxious and he's terrified and he's - determined. he doesn't lean in, doesn't crowd derek or try to pin him down, because he doesn't honestly want to trap derek here if he doesn't want to stay here, despite his lame attempt to use his body as a barrier. he sits back against derek's stomach and his shoulders sag a little, and he keeps his head down and his eyes on derek's chest. his hands settle in the space between the spread of his thighs over derek's torso, fingertips resting lightly against his abs, tapping lightly, nervously, sporadically.
and he talks. he opens his mouth and he lets it all pour out and nothing about it is steady. ]
The summer after I turned seventeen, we spent a lot of time together. It - it doesn't really matter the reason why, but we were always around each other and always listening to each other and we would just - we'd drive for hours and hours and it wasn't. It wasn't supposed to be anything - fun, but I learned a lot about you. And you learned a lot about me, and just - we got close, and I always— I always felt like there was. Something. And I never said anything after that summer.
[ he starts talking a little faster, starts to get ahead of himself, a little frantic, a little desperate. scared. ]
We never got a chance to really talk about it, and then, then everything just got so complicated and I started to think that maybe it was nothing, maybe it wasn't anything and I was just seeing things that weren't actually there so I ignored it and I, I, I let it go because we were still friends but I've been in love with you ever since that summer and the last time I admitted it to myself you just, I thought I wasn't ever going to see you again, and then you just, you just left and it was like you knew and that's why you— and that's okay, it's - seriously, it's okay if you want to go, we don't have to do this, you're not— I'm sorry, I shouldn't even— I should— God, I'm sorry—
[ stiles ducks his head a little more and he lifts one of his hands, dragging the back of it under his nose, and he starts to get up. he braces his hand on derek's stomach and he starts to move because there's no way this is going to work out for him. there's no way he didn't just ruin absolutely everything. ]
[ derek resists. when stiles presses his palms to his cheeks, when stiles pulls derek's hand from his cock, and when stiles pushes him backwards to lay in a bed too small for the both of them, derek resists. not a lot; he still moves willingly, leaning into each touch and letting himself be directed when he needs to be, but his muscles are tense and his eyebrows are pulled taut and his eyes are still clenched shut as tight as they can be through all of it, but it's just... he's just -
he's scared. the noise he makes when stiles adds a little distance between them is barely even there, but every pause and every adjustment makes him feel like he's standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into the dark, not knowing what's waiting down there to cushion his fall or let him die. he doesn't know what stiles wants from him, he doesn't know if he's doing anything wrong, he doesn't know if the desperate crawl of his hands over stiles' face, each hard kiss, each panicked attempt to reassure himself that this is real, and that stiles is real, and that stiles wants him is... okay, he doesn't know if he's okay, he doesn't know if they're okay, he just -
he doesn't know if this is too much. for stiles, more than for himself. he doesn't know if he should be trying hard to keep joking and making this light and making this easy, he doesn't know if he should keep trying to be honest or if he should just shut his mouth and stop making things harder. he's a wreck of emotions and that makes him feel worse, because stiles doesn't need someone like him in his life, always making everything a big deal, always making everything serious and heavy and important. stiles doesn't need to be with someone so broken and so unstable, so incapable of being who they want to be, someone who demands so much.
and then stiles talks, and it's like time stands still.
stiles talks about-- the belief derek has in him, he talks about the respect that derek shows him, he talks about how there's an us. derek listens, and everything hurts, because somewhere in his mind in some distant, locked away corner, he knows full god damn well that if he just listens to stiles, listens to his heartbeat and his chemosignals and the quiver in his voice, if he just breathes him in, he'll know that he doesn't need to be afraid. he'll know that stiles loves him.
it's so hard. it's so, so, so hard. after kate - he just can't. he can't do any of this. not the way that he should. stiles deserves so much more from someone so much better. stiles deserves someone human.
stiles straddles his waist and derek's fully, completely hard again, and he's ashamed of himself, when his dick grinds against soft flesh and his heart catches in his throat, but - stiles is beautiful, and stiles is here, and derek can't help but want him. stiles is light, and he's considerate, and he's giving derek plenty of room to leave, if he wants to, but derek wishes he wouldn't. derek just wants stiles to keep him pinned down, keep him trapped against this bed. when stiles starts talking about-- about summer, he touches derek's abs, and derek breathes in at every touch, reflexive and almost ticklish. sensitive, as always, to everything stiles does.
he listens. he listens, and he watches, and he wants to make eye contact but he can't, because his eyes are still red, and he still needs to keep them hidden. derek listens, and it's hard to unpack how he feels right away. everything stiles tells... none of it really sinks in, despite the cold rush of shock that wraps around his heart when he says the word "love" and the queasy, hopeful swoop in his stomach that comes paired with it. he doesn't know what to do, and he doesn't get the time to figure out what to do, because then stiles is leaving, he's sniffling and he's moving and he's going to disappear, derek's going to lose him-- ]
Stop. Stop.
[ he can't do this. he can't hear the panic in stiles' voice and just lay there, silent, he can't-- he can't. he wants to kiss stiles. he wants to shut stiles up and show him in one swift, romantic gesture that he wants to stay, but that's-- that's not enough, he thinks, that's cheap. he's spent years, hiding how he feels behind silence and action and physicality, and he can't do that, not when stiles is pouring so much on him at once.
panicked, derek puts his hands on stiles' hips, slipping underneath his shirt to get a better hold of him. he holds onto stiles a little too tightly, keeping him against his waist, and he knows that he shouldn't force him to stay, not if he wants to go, but he-- he doesn't want to go, not really, he just thinks that derek doesn't want him to stay. ]
Stop.
[ derek's fingers dig into stiles' sides, leaving streaks of color beneath his fingers. he sits up on the bed, keeping stiles anchored to him, holding him in his lap. he pulls one arm around stiles' waist, the other behind his shoulderblades, and he buries his nose in his neck, breathing hot, shaky breaths against his throat. for a second, derek just - holds him, refusing to let him leave, eyes still shut tight, still completely blind. there's so much he wants to say. so much he wants to apologize for.
he's sorry he hasn't lived through that summer. he's sorry he never pushed stiles to talk about those months where they fell in love - because he knows those feelings couldn't have been one sided - and he's sorry if he never talked about it either. he's sorry he shut down under the weight of a complicated life. it wouldn't be the first time, for him, that he ruined something good by staying quiet and denying himself out of an overwhelming fear of the circumstances he's in. he wants to say sorry, but he doesn't know if he can, because he hasn't lived that life yet and it would all sound so fucking hollow.
derek shakes his head, hunching forward, pulling stiles even closer. he hugs him tight enough to hurt, and he lowers his neck, pressing his forehead against stiles' chest. he needs a few seconds, he needs to just - think. when he finally figures out what he wants to say, he stays where he is, fingertips curled tight against stiles' bare lower back and in the cotton against his shoulderblades. he swallows, and he feels dizzy, but he needs-- he needs to say how he feels. ]
When I'm with you... I feel better. Here, in my head - [ he leans back, and he lets go of stiles' waist, and he finds stiles' wrist. he brings stiles' hand to his temple, he kisses the bottom of his wrist, and he leans against it. ] and here.
[ he moves stiles' hand down to his chest, setting it over his heart. derek swallows, and he lets stiles' arm go. he moves until he's got both arms back around stiles' hips, tight enough to hold him in place, loose enough to let him leave if he needs to, and then... and then he tries to keep his voice soft, but he doesn't think it works. he just sounds scared, and he has to keep clearing his throat while he talks to fix it. ]
I don't know... how to be enough for people. I'm trying? I've been trying, ever since Laura, to be enough for everyone. For you, and for Scott, and for Peter, when he was still alive. I'm trying to be-- better, that's half the reason I-- I killed Peter, but--
[ he can't keep his eyes closed. carefully, and visibly, visibly guiltily, derek opens his eyes. they're blood red, bright and illuminating, and it's-- embarrassing, more than anything. it's a sign that he's losing control of himself, it's a sign that he's weak, it's a reminder that he's inhuman. he'd always been proud of his lycanthropy, but then there was kate, and now there's stiles, and maybe, deep down, stiles resents werewolves, too, even if he thinks otherwise. maybe this is the moment he'll realize that if peter had never bitten scott - if stiles had never gotten caught up in a life like this, forced onto him by monsters - he could have been happier. better. safer. ]
I'm not... good? I know I'm not. And I don't know why I left, back home, but - that has to be a part of it. I had to know there was someone better for you, someone good, and I had to know I would ruin you if I stayed.
[ if he's falling in love with stiles now, after a few short months, then - back home, he must be a fucking wreck, ruined by years. the summer after stiles turned seventeen - they're not far from that, back where derek's from. it feels more and more like-- like feelings like these might just be inevitable. maybe he can trust them. ]
But I don't...
[ he hesitates. he looks at stiles, direct and piercing. still glowing red. his eyelids flutter, and he looks away, still scared that if he stares at stiles for too long, he'll... leave. ]
I don't want to lose anyone else. I don't think I could survive another loss. I don't even know how I've survived until now - there have been so, so many times where I'd wished I hadn't. I can't lose you, and I can't lose my pack, and I can't...
[ derek loosens his arms around stiles' waist. gives him a quiet invitation to leave, if he needs to, while hopefully making it clear that that's the last thing derek wants. he blinks a few times, shakes his head, scrunches his eyes up tight. trying to will them back to hazel. failing. ]
I don't want to go. I don't want you to go. I'll be better. I'll-- be enough, so I won't-- so I won't have to go, this time.
[ it doesn't actually hit stiles that he's just confessed that he's in love with derek until he's already climbing off of him. it doesn't even register that he's even said the word "love" until he's already tilting and shifting and lifting his weight with his knees so he can get up off of derek and - put on his fucking pants and handle this with as much dignity and maturity as possible. he knows he's said a lot, he understands that he's probably said too much and that he's made things weird and that if he had just - shut up and let things progress and not worried about whether or not derek was going to think he was being too sentimental over a first experience, they wouldn't be here. stiles wouldn't be painfully embarrassed and humiliated and struck with something that feels a little too close to heartbreak.
he only gets as far as bracing his hand against derek's torso and tightening the muscles in his thighs in preparation to move when everything that just spilled out of him catches up to him. i've been in love with you ever since that summer. stiles chest aches so bad and so suddenly that his shoulders hunch and his head drops a little with the intensity of it. this is not how he planned to tell derek - about his feelings, about anything really, if he ever even managed to get around to telling him at all.
this is what he'd been scared of. he'd been so afraid of admitting how he feels because the last time he was forced to face and accept his long-buried feelings for derek, derek had left. it's irrational to associate one thing to the other, and somewhere in the corner of his mind stiles understands that, but it just - it sucked, a lot, to have to stand there while derek was dying and accept that he was going to lose him, only to find him alert and alive and as beautiful as ever and - leaving. no warning, no explanation, no goodbye. and now it's happening again—
except stiles is the one that's trying to leave. stiles is the one trying to distance himself even though the last thing he wants right now, the very last thing he wants is to separate himself from derek, but at least this way— at least this way derek won't have to reject him so directly and it won't wound stiles as deeply as it should, if he just takes this into his own hands.
derek's hands are on his hips before stiles can do anything more than press his hand to derek's abs and brace himself to lift his weight up. he tells him to stop, holds him firmly in place with warm hands and a solid grip and before stiles can say anything at all, before he can start to stumble through another apology for having screwed all of this up, derek sits up. derek sits up and he puts his arms around stiles and he buries his face against stiles throat, and he holds on so tight that it hurts, and stiles starts wonder if maybe this is savable.
when derek pulls him in impossibly closer, when he takes his nose away from the side of his neck and lowers his head to press his forehead against' stiles chest, stiles puts his arms around him. he folds both of them over his shoulders and he tilts his own head down and he presses his nose into his hair and he holds on tight. his heart is beating a heavy rhythm against his chest, quick with anxiety and fear and love, and he just closes his eyes and breathes.
derek doesn't say anything at first, and that's okay. stiles doesn't say anything either, doesn't try to fill the silence with awkward, fumbling nonsense like he typically would. if and when he's ready to say something, it has to be important. it has to be meaningful and it has to serve a purpose, and he can't screw that up. when derek finally starts to speak, stiles opens his eyes just slightly. he keeps his nose buried in derek's hair, mouth resting lightly against the crown of his head, and he listens. he unwinds one of his arms and he settles his hand on the back of derek's neck, and he pays attention.
stiles eases his hold on derek just enough to let him lean back, but he's unwilling to let him go entirely, leaving his hand cupped over his nape and his other arm extended over his shoulder, arm straight and wrist loose. he lets derek take his wrist, lets him move his hand from the back of his neck to the side of his head, and when he kisses the inside of stiles' wrist, stiles' heart skips. his smooths his thumb across derek's temple, and when derek moves his hand again, when he sets it over his heart and lets go, stiles doesn't take his hand away.
when i'm with you, i feel better. here in my head, and here. in my heart. stiles swallows and he tries to breathe around the tightness in his chest, pressing his hand a little more firmly against derek's chest. he wants to feel his heartbeat. he wants to be able to hear it the way derek hears everyone else's. even when derek puts his arms back around him, stiles keeps his hand flush over his heart.
stiles feels... oddly calm. where before he was panicked and scared and uncertain, he feels grounded and only a little bit fluttery. he doesn't have to to be a werewolf to sense the anxiety rolling off of derek in waves, he doesn't have to smell the fear to know that it's there, and maybe that's the reason for his sudden placidity. the counter-balance.
it's hard, though, to maintain that quiet tranquility when derek continues. stiles' heart clenches faintly in his chest with his confession, and he almost interrupts, almost cuts derek off to insist that he is good enough but he catches himself. stiles knows derek well enough now to understand that talking about his feelings and his self-proclaimed weaknesses isn't something that comes easy for him, so stiles lets him talk even though he wants nothing more than to disagree with him and make him understand that he's wrong.
derek opens his eyes, finally, but he doesn't look at stiles. stiles wishes he would, but he doesn't force him to. he's struck by the guilt that shapes derek's features, wants to kiss his eyebrow and his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. instead, he takes his hand off of derek's chest and he rests his palm gently against the side of derek's face. he smooths the pad of his thumb underneath derek's left eye, from the side of his nose outward the way one might if they were wiping away a stray tear or an eyelash.
stiles has to bite back the urge to argue again. he breathes in and he breathes out and he cards his fingers through derek's hair and he shakes his head subtly in place of interrupting him. derek is a good person. even at sixteen, stiles was already, slowly starting to realize that derek wasn't the terrible person he mistook him for. at eighteen, stiles knows derek better than he knows almost anyone else, and he'd defend derek's character until the end of days if he had to. derek is a good person. stiles is determined, now, help him see that it's true.
when derek finally, finally looks at him, stiles offers him the tiniest of smiles. it's faint, and it's soft and it's reassuring. he's not bothered by derek's eyes. it doesn't matter to him if they're red or if they're hazel, because derek is still derek no matter his eye color. he smiles, but derek looks away, and stiles still doesn't make him look at him. not yet.
he's reminded, painfully, of how much derek doesn't know. how much he'll never be ready for, how much stiles is going to have to tell him. derek deserves to know about erica and boyd and isaac. he deserves to know about peter and cora and kate. stiles isn't going to fail this time like he did with allison, he isn't going to let the fear of being hated keep him from giving derek a chance to change his future as stiles knows it.
but right now is not the time for it, not when derek is vulnerable and afraid of the very things that are slate to happen to him. derek loosens his arms around stiles, but stiles just tightens his hold on derek. he flexes his fingers in derek's hair, fingertips dragging against his scalp, and he hooks his other arm behind derek's neck, holding him close. he leans in, gentle tracing the tip of his nose up derek's cheek so he can brush a feather-light kiss over an eyelid. ]
Derek, look at me...
[ he asks him quietly, and he waits, and when derek finally opens his eyes again, stiles offers him another smile, faint enough that it only barely pulls at the corners of his mouth. he dips his head a little to better look into them. after blue, red is one of his favorite colors. ]
You are enough. You're enough, and you're good — you're such a good person, Derek, and I'm sorry it took me as long as it did to see that when I was younger. You try so hard and you do so much and I know it's - hard for you to trust yourself, but that's. It's not your fault. You're not responsible for the things other people have done to you or - or what they've made you believe.
[ stiles swallows. his heart is as steady as it could possibly be. he breathes in, then exhales slowly, and he looks down for a second, lets his gaze linger on derek's mouth for a second or two before he tilts in to kiss him. it's chase and it's sweet and stiles drags his teeth over his own bottom lip. ]
But if you can't trust yourself... you can still trust me. I'm... I'm not going anywhere. You won't lose me. Two years of - crazy supernatural bullshit trying to kick my ass and I'm still here. You couldn't lose me if you tried.
[ he laughs a little, quiet and under his breath, and then has to take a breath and swallow to work up some courage. ]
I'm glad you've survived, Derek. I'm glad I know you, I'm glad we're - friends. And this isn't— it isn't how I wanted to tell you, but it's not any less true this way. ... I do love you. And I don't need you to, to say it back. All right? It's okay. I swear it's okay, and if it's weird— if it's weird, we can just - pretend I never said anything and I'll be okay. But I just. I think you deserve to know that.
[ there's too much emotion between them, heightened and hard for derek to read. the semi-soft thrums of deadening arousal, the panic that could belong to stiles just as easily as it could to him, the anguish, the fear, the love, the grief that comes from a love going unreturned. derek's head is spinning and it's not easing his heartbeat enough, not making the spark in his eyes die out, not making the brownish-black tips of his claws retreat back into his body. he never gets like this. he shouldn't get like this. he's an alpha, he's a born wolf, he's never so vulnerable and so quick to lose control. he's supposed to be more human. he has to be more human.
stiles tells him to look at him. derek resists, at first, a jarring yank of his neck that pulls his head away from the feather-light kiss of stiles' lips against his eyelid. he keeps his eyes scrunched tight, a dog that's been hit too many times to let humans hand-feed them. he keeps his eyes shut tight, but he doesn't let go of stiles, either, tightening his arm around his waist again, reflexively refusing to lose him, and stiles just... waits. he waits, and when he opens his eyes, stiles is just smiling, soft and faint and calm. derek's eyelids flutter, wanting to close. they don't.
he's teary. the red makes the gloss on his eyes more obvious, the sheen on his waterline lit up with the glow of them. he blinks a few times, tries to feel better, but it doesn't go away, and he takes a few breaths to stay steady. derek focuses on stiles, keeping his eyes open, and he listens. he listens to stiles lie. he listens to stiles pretend that he's a good person, he listens to him fake an apology, he listens to him bring up the things that other people have done as if everything that happened wasn't his fault. he could have saved laura. he could have saved peter. he could have saved so many people who he just let die, instead. ]
I...
[ he trusts stiles. he trusts the beat of stiles' heart, the steady rhythm and the way it jumps and spikes like he's in love and he's emotional and he cares, rather than jumps and spikes because he's a liar. he lays everything on the line, tells derek how he feels, both about him and about them, and derek's not as teary, not so much, not by the end. he's just... he's focused, and he's struggling. "i don't need you to say it back". derek's going to say it back. derek has to say it back.
after all, he loves stiles. of course he is. of course he's in love with stiles. his heart wouldn't break so cleanly in half every time stiles smiled at him if he wasn't in love with him. he wouldn't have kissed him in the barracks, sweaty and scared and safe, if he wasn't in love with him. he wouldn't have knocked over chess tables and gotten angry at elevators and found a reason to live and fight after being stripped of his pack if he wasn't in love with stiles. derek hale is in love with stiles stilinski.
he can pad it out all he like. justify it, explain away his feelings, try to make them smaller. he can say that he's only falling in love with him, as if pretending he's ever been slow to fall in love with someone will be enough to make this feel less heavy. he can say that he's just confused, under the weight of duplicity and the terror of fort harmony, and he can say that after six years of death and grief and loss, he's desperate for affection from whoever's brave enough to share it with him. he can say a lot of things.
but he's in love with stiles. he knows he's in love with stiles.
but.
but he told paige that he loved her, and then she died, skin ripped like paper and covered in foul, diseased blood. she was beautiful and she was kind and she had brown hair and moles, she was sarcastic and funny and intelligent and overlooked. she was warm and nobody knew it, she was attentive and paid attention and nobody knew it, and she was a single human life that was reduced to a carcass of gored meat and emptied flesh. she was brought to a halt by a sickening crunch that derek can still feel in his stomach whenever he hears a sound like breaking bone. she was ruined because of him.
he told kate that he loved her, smoothed back her hair behind her ear, smiled up at her from beneath the pinning weight of her body as she did things to him that were supposed to feel better than they did. she called him handsome, kissed his nose, and she thanked him after they fucked, once, and derek thought she was trying to make his heart skip a beat, trying to tell him she was grateful for their time together, but then he was covered in ash and the cloying, saccharine smell of whatever chemical was used to melt his family was stinging the back of his throat no matter how many times he made himself throw up in the sheriff's bathroom after meeting that sad little kid who lost his mom, and he realized she was thanking him for telling her where he lived. thanking him, so he would always remember he gave her what she needed to kill.
if he tells stiles that he loves him - ]
I don't want you to take it back. I don't want to pretend like you didn't say it.
[ he can't ruin this, too. he can't taste any more bad tastes, hear any more bad sounds. derek's a fucking curse, and he's risking hurting stiles just by being here, just by promising to change. refusing to let stiles go could be what triggers another sour flood of black fluid, or the searing sting of burning skin. telling stiles he loves him is out of the question.
but he can't... lose him. he won't survive another loss. is he selfish enough to let stiles burn, all for the chance of maybe not being alone anymore? how cruel, stiles is, to pin derek between telling him he loves him and letting him die, or telling him he doesn't and ruining what they've started to have. derek looks at stiles, panic a lump in his throat, and all he wants to do is fucking kiss him. ]
And I don't want... to be "friends". I don't want to just be "friends".
[ derek pitches forward, holding stiles close to his lap, and he lowers him back against the bed, pinning him down. he's firm, this time, because he knows that stiles doesn't want to leave, and he knows that he doesn't want to leave, and he just-- they both want to move forward. they both want to be something other than "friends". derek just has to figure out how to make it happen. ]
I...
[ derek sets his hand against stiles' shirt, balling the fabric of it in his fist and holding on tight, grabbing it the way he'd grab someone's shirt when he wants to punch them in the face and knock out their teeth. his hand shakes, but he keeps stiles pinned down, and he drops his other hand down to stiles' cock, slipping past it.
his fingers are still slick with his spit, and derek pushes stiles into the bed as he searchingly touches his middle finger to stiles' hole. he looks at stiles, waiting to be told this is too much, waiting to be told this isn't what stiles wants, waiting to be told that he's ruined this. carefully, he inches his finger forward, stretching the ring of muscle around the very tip of it and slipping inside to the first knuckle. ]
I want there to be an us. Not... "friends".
[ he holds his hand steady, and he leans down, hovering his lips half an inch from stiles'. he wants to be kissed like that again. the teeth on his lips, the love, the emotion. how can he ask stiles to kiss him when he doesn't even have the guts to take the lead and tell him how he feels? this is just like the barracks again - hands roaming over stiles' body, taking what they want to, while his head feels too fucked up by webbed cotton and stale panic and fresh anxiety to say what he needs to say. ]
[ for a second, stiles thinks derek is going to say it back. stiles told him he didn't expect him to return his feelings, and he meant that, but derek says i and stiles heart jumps, and he's stupid enough to allow himself to get his hopes up a little bit, in that quick span of five or so seconds of pregnant silence. his breath catches a little as he inhales, but he doesn't hold it.
and derek doesn't say it back — but that's okay. it's okay. even if stiles' chest aches for a moment with mild disappointment, it's okay. because derek doesn't want him to take it back and he doesn't want to just be friends and maybe that's enough for stiles. maybe this is more than he deserves.
stiles startles a little when derek suddenly pitches forward, his hands gripping over his shoulder blades as he's tilted back. he can't help the quick spike of anxiety that jolts through him, convinced for a moment that derek is just - dumping him out of his lap so he can get up or so he can leave, even though they literally just talked about neither one of them wanting to go, but anxiety quickly turns into arousal as derek grips the front of his shirt, pinning him down with a heavy fist to his chest. desire pulses through him put of nowhere, buzzing through his nerves and warming his skin and quickly filling his partially softened cock.
he makes room between his thighs for derek without being asked. stiles tilts his knees apart, and it's a little slutty, with his feet pressed flat against the mattress and his knees drawn up into low peaks and his thighs spread, shirt drawn up a little past his stomach with derek holding onto a fistful of it the way he is. he doesn't care, probably doesn't even know what he looks like. he just wants derek closer. he wants him so much closer.
stiles draws in a deep breath, and as he stares up at derek, he very deliberately tilts his chin up, lifts it just an inch, maybe two, baring a little more of his throat to him. he knows exactly what he's doing, keeps his eyes on derek's even as he tilts his head back, looks at him through the splay of his lashes, over the subtle shape of his cheekbones.
the press of derek's finger makes stiles' body jerk slightly, but he quickly relaxes, an anticipatory shiver racing up his spine. he breathes out a shuddery breath, and he takes one hand away from derek's shoulder to splay it across the thin blanket stretched underneath him, loosely curling his fingers in the threadbare fabric. he snakes his other hand down into the space between them and grips his cock, slowly dragging his fist up from the root up to the tip, and when dereks finger presses in, there's only minimal discomfort.
stiles keeps pumping himself lazily, eyes still half lidded as he watches derek. he nods before derek can even finish - yes, yes, stiles wants that, he wants there to be an us, he wants its so fucking badly. he wants to kiss derek so fucking badly, he wants derek to fuck him so fucking badly. he wants derek, however derek will allow stiles to have him.
stiles cranes his head up, closes up that half an inch of space but another half so there's barely any space left. he curls his other hand around derek's wrist and he squeezes around the bone, but he doesn't try to take his hand away. he likes being pinned down like this. ]
Yeah, yeah, yes, I want it. I want that too. [ he's close, so he's quiet, murmurs the words like they're something kept secret, meant only for derek. stiles stretches his neck so he can kiss him, pushes up against his fist just so he can reach, so he can kiss derek with an open mouth, pulling gently at his lower lip with his teeth only to sooth the scrape with smaller, feathery kisses ] We can be an us, we can be whatever - we can be whatever you want.
[ there's an atmosphere in stiles' room that derek feels with his gut. it's this isolated, slightly drunk happiness, where his body feels warm and his heart feels full and it's easy to forget the lack of privacy afforded to those who live in the down. every time derek's with stiles like this, he always ends up feeling like he's carved out a private, perfect bubble, still in stasis, where nothing can go wrong. this is something he's thought again and again and again, but it's as true now as it ever was: stiles makes him feel safe.
they kiss, and - and stiles has to know what he's doing to him. he bares his throat, and derek doesn't react, not verbally, but his expression darkens with lust, and when he pulls back, his eyes lower to the flushed curves of his neck, the pristine skin he's yet to mark with soft bites and swipes of his tongue. he leans in, sets his lips against the dip in stiles' throat above his collarbone, and he sighs against his skin as he kisses him again.
we can be whatever you want. all that anxiety derek was feeling, the worry that he wasn't going to be enough - it melts and dissolves, completely powerless in the atmosphere of stiles' room and the future stiles is offering him. the potential to really be something special. derek kisses up stiles' throat, over his jaw, up to his lips. ]
Good.
[ he's - reinvigorated. stiles wants him. stiles wants him, not as just some-- cheap fuck in the back of his car, not as some limited, physical expression of comfort who only serves to chase away some of the pain of duplicity. stiles wants to be something, whatever derek wants, and derek doesn't know what he wants, yet, not exactly, but he knows he wants this to be real.
derek presses his finger tighter against stiles' hole, adding the tiniest modicum of pressure to the touch. he sinks in further, stretches him a little more, giving stiles time to breathe and adjust as he's guided into gently, easily yielding for him. he scrapes the very edge of his teeth along stiles' throat, moving downwards, sinking blunt, human jaws around the bridge leading to stiles' shoulder, and he exhales through his nose.
he bites. not hard - at least, not as hard as it would be, if he weren't in control of himself. it's dulled and human but still hurts enough to leave a mark, just on the patch of skin derek can reach before stiles' collar. steadily, derek starts to fuck stiles with his finger, drawing out to the tip as he sucks the impression his teeth left at the edge of stiles' neck. he moves forward, pressing in, keeping stiles tilted down on the bed, held in place.
and he bites a little harder, though still not hard enough to bruise. it's this sharp, singing pain that derek quickly soothes with dragging laps of his tongue. he sucks, turning the skin beneath his teeth a soft and rosy pink, and he fingers stiles a little deeper, feeling almost dizzy from the tight, welcoming heat of him. derek closes his eyes and lets himself just - lose himself, for a second, in the tight grip stiles has on his wrist, in the rhythmic squeak of the messy, dishevelled bed, and in the light of the man he loves. ]
Stiles.
[ he inches forward, sinking his finger down to the second knuckle. he's deep enough in stiles to curl his finger and brush against his prostate, relentlessly trying to pull a reaction from him, to-- to overwhelm him with nerves and sensitivity. he's aggressive and consuming and going too fast, he gets that, but it feels like every second he spends disconnected from stiles is frantic, wasted time. how has he spent so long with stiles without - doing this? having him. fucking him. taking him. his stiles. his very good boy. ]
[ derek's breath is warm against his throat and his lips are soft and stiles should probably be more fearful about baring his throat to a predator - but if there's anything he knows like the back of his hand, if there's anything he's researched backwards and forwards to the best of his ability, it's werewolves. the hierarchy, general behavior and customs, displays of aggression and submission and respect. recognition of power and authority.
he knows what he's doing by baring his throat, even if he's never really had to do it before. even if he's never truly felt the desire to submit like this until now, until derek. stiles sighs, closing his eyes and exhaling a slow, fluttery breath as derek presses a line of kisses up the column of his throat, kisses his mouth, too. he says good, and stiles swallows and he nods because it is good. this is good and whatever derek wants, stiles will make that good, too, if it's the last thing he ever does.
by now, derek's gentle ministrations to stiles' throat has coaxed stiles into relaxing so much that he almost feels a little boneless, loose and easy and warm and safe and wanting, and there's little to no resistance or squirming from him when derek works his finger deeper. his body doesn't instinctively try to fight the intrusion, but he's still a little tight and the stretch is still slightly uncomfortable, if only because he isn't accustomed yet. stiles breathes in through his nose, impulsively drawing his knees in a bit closer to either side of derek between his legs, but he forces himself to relax as he exhales, easing the way with a couple of lazy, uncoordinated strokes of his dick as he spreads his thighs again.
the scrape of derek's teeth against his throat is a welcome distraction, but it's the fit of derek's jaws over the dip between his neck and his shoulder that has his heart beat jumping and his hand stuttering over his dick. it's not panic that floods through him, and it's not fear, either, but something stiles can't quite describe - something like absolute, unquestionable trust, and adrenaline, and the indescribable thrill of something else stiles couldn't put a name to if he tried.
derek bites down. derek bites down, presses the flat edges of his human teeth into soft flesh and tight muscle and it's not hard, but stiles feels the dull, hot pressure behind it and it does more for him that he expects it to. he clenches his teeth lightly, closes his eyes, and when he breathes out, there's a soft, unsteady moan that hovers just under his breath. his fist tightens up around his cock, fingers curled just below the head and his wrist flexing with short little pulses.
stiles' fingers grip a little harder at derek's wrist, not to push him off or get him to ease up, but almost as if to anchor himself instead, to stay connected with him at as many points as possible. derek starts to move his hand, starts to fuck him with his finger, fits his teeth back into the impressions they left before - and he bites again, but this time it's harder, and it hurts, and stiles... doesn't hate it. he shivers and he clenches his teeth and he closes his eyes a little tighter and he - likes it. his voice is a little gravely, a little thin, breathy, similar to a whine but not quite there. ]
God...
[ he really, really likes it, and that's somewhat unexpected considering that, in his experience, sex and pain have never really had any positive associations for him. but this is good. maybe there are limits they just haven't hit yet, but right now, this is really good.
stiles skin flushes with heat, eyes blinking open halfway because he wants to see derek, wants to look at him but he can't because derek's face is still pressed in close to his throat, hot, wet tongue licking and soothing the sharp imprint of his teeth. stiles is left staring up at the ceiling instead, feet pressed flat to the mattress and hips rolling in tiny little circles, trying to meet the steady thrust of derek's finger, seeking more.
derek says his name. stiles takes his hand off of his dick, not because he's close, because he isn't, not yet, but because he's aware enough to know that that could change very quickly, and he's nowhere near ready for this to be over when it's only just begun. he hums a soft, low note in acknowledgement, but it just sounds like another soft moan. stiles reaches backwards with his free hand, extending his arm up over his head like he's about to reach for a pillow that he doesn't actually have, but he never makes it that far.
stiles' fingers grip at the thin bed sheet, grabbing a fistful of it by his head with his elbow bent sharply as derek strokes his finger over his prostate. his eyes fly open the rest of the way and his mouth opens and his toes curl. he doesn't make a sound at first, but his body tenses up and he digs his heels into the bed, and then the breath comes rushing out of him and derek says his name again, and this time he does whine, soft and thin and completely unintentional. his nerves feel like they're buzzing, intense but quickly fading.
stiles pants, mildly overwhelmed and surprised and horny as fuck. he lets go of the sheet, his other hand still circled around derek's wrist, holding it so tightly that his knuckles are white and his fingers feel a bit numb, and he clumsily fits his hand over the back of derek's neck, stumbling through his words. ]
I need, I want— I need - more than this.
[ he needs more than just derek's finger, for one, even if knows somewhere in the corner of his mind that he probably shouldn't rush through prepping. but he also needs for this to be more than just sex - which they've already established that it is, that it will be, that they're more than just friends, but stiles still says it anyway, even if he doesn't clarify out loud what it is he needs from derek. ]
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derek's palms are warm. hot, almost, and he tries not to think about the phantom heat from the hot wax in his dream, tries not to wonder if that's what it would have felt like if he hadn't listened to derek in mexico. if he had stayed and pressed his hands over derek's wounds instead of braeden, wishing desperately for something. willing derek to be okay, believing he'd be fine, because stiles can work with belief. he's done it before.
but he already knows what it feels like to have derek's blood on his hands. he shoved his fingers into the wound in derek's arm, dug out the bullet with his bare hands, wiped his fingers clean on his shirt, and kept going. it didn't burn like the wax from his dream. it didn't sting with guilt the way the wax had, the way it still does.
there's so much room to argue here that stiles is really the one to blame, and not derek. if stiles hadn't tried to be spiteful, if he hadn't risen to some non-existent challenge just to push back at tate, the crayons wouldn't have even come into play. he could argue that he shouldn't have tried to use someone else - an anonymous benefactor at the time - for his own advantage in something that was, ultimately, very petty and childish. he could argue, but he doesn't want to. he just wants to breathe and he wants to feel assured that derek's okay and he wants to do better. he has to do better than this - nightmares, panic attacks. he has to be better.
stiles' eyes slide closed when derek leans their foreheads together, tilting his head up just slightly to press into it. he can feel derek's breath warm against his chin. he breathes in as derek breathes out and there's something about sharing the same breath that calms stiles, but also lights something up inside of him, makes him desperate to feel derek all over him. to replace the tight itch of anxiety under his skin with the warmth from derek's, to ease away the panic with derek's hands, to replace everything bad with something good.
stiles is reluctant to let go of derek's hands, but he allows him to pull away, his own hands automatically seeking out some other part of derek to hold onto. they press flat against the sides of his rib cage, and when derek draws him in closer, his hands slide around to his back, gliding down to the dip at the bottom of derek's spine. he's okay with letting go of his hands if it means he gets this instead. stiles turns his head just a little, just enough to nudge his nose against derek's before derek tilts his head down.
and then he feels the soft brush of lips against his throat, the gentle scrape of stubble, the warm, barely-there, fleeting touch of a tongue and stiles is suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. he loves derek so much that his chest aches with it. stiles swallows thickly, his throat clicking quietly, and he's nodding against the side of derek's head before derek can even finish asking. he steps back when derek presses forward, not because he wants space, but because there isn't really any left between them and if he didn't move in tandem, he'd fall.
stiles' fingers flex against his lower back. he hums a tiny low note in the back of his throat, expressing his disapproval as derek moves to put a little distance between them and he wonders if derek missed that yes, he wants to move into derek's apartment. he wonders if derek thinks maybe he doesn't want that and that's why he's pulling away, and he gets this slightly panicky look in his eyes and opens his mouth to try to fix it, but derek just keeps talking and everything kind of dies in stiles' throat.
he's overwhelmed again by this need to just - be a part of derek, to be consumed by him, to be so close and connected that even when they're apart they're never actually apart. he loves derek so fucking much and derek doesn't even know it because stiles won't allow himself to tell him for fear of losing him if it's too much or if fate really is as cruel to him as it has always been.
the words spill out of stiles, quiet and messy and a little too fast for his own tongue, so close on derek's words that he only barely misses cutting him off. ]
I hate it. I hate it so much, I hate - I don't need this. I don't need to be here, I don't need to be away from you just hold onto my independence, because you're not— you don't take that away—
[ his hands shake gently against derek's back, so stiles presses them tighter against his spine to make them stop, and he draws in an uneven breath as his eyes dart back and forth between both of derek's like he's looking for — something. the courage, maybe, to just keep going, to say what he feels without fear of getting hurt. ]
I just. I want you just as much as I need you, and I really— I really...
[ stiles doesn't have to tell derek he loves him. not yet, not right now, but maybe it's okay if he just... shows him. stiles' hands move fast, lifting from the small of derek's back and pressing to the sides of his throat, thumbs cradling the swoop of his jaw, long, slender fingers curling over the back of derek's neck. he pulls him in just as much as he tilts himself forward, and he kisses derek.
it's not crushing, it's not bruising, not yet. it's soft and it's gentle and so quietly desperate. it's certain. ]
no subject
and doing that doesn't make sense anymore? stiles being tucked away down in the filth and the fear doesn't make any fucking sense. they're supposed to get through this hell together - it shouldn't have taken a horrible nightmare or the fear that something happened to put derek in a place where he could just... beg stiles to stay close to him. he should have done this sooner. he should have asked stiles to move in with him so much sooner.
his eyes are closed. he's starting to get angry with himself, so ready to poke at scars and burns to make himself feel worse, something he always does when he feels he deserves it. that's when stiles kisses him.
it's sweet, and it's chaste, and it takes derek's breath away. he knows - he knows what it means. stiles doesn't have to say that he loves him for derek to realize with a hard, crashing punch that all the moments they've been sharing together, all the quiet looks and hesitant touches and all those fucking smiles, have to have been more than just... loneliness, from stiles' part. he cares about derek, just like derek cares about him, and they're not drawn to each other because they're both stuck and gravitating towards familiarity. they care about each other because they care about each other.
derek parts his lips, just a little, and then he pushes forward. he moves fast. he steps forward again, and he pushes stiles along with him, and he keeps walking and forcing stiles backwards until the back of stiles' knees are up against his bed. he deepens the kiss with a grunt, desperate and frenzied, his tongue swiping over stiles' bottom lip before he adds teeth. his hands-- his hands slide back around stiles' body, smoothing down stiles' body, moving fast down his chest and his stomach and going straight for his cock, and for once in his stupid, stupid, anxiety-riddled, overly considerate life, he doesn't even stop to think about what he's doing.
derek's always been quick to second guess himself. always willing to believe that he'd only make things worse, if he asked for what he wanted. right now? right now, there's no fear in him. he trusts stiles to tell him if this is too much, and he trusts stiles to want to be with him as much as derek wants to be with him in turn. he wants to make stiles feel good. he wants to show him that he thinks he might be starting to love him, too.
derek's hand grips stiles' cock through his clothes, squeezing his shaft with barely shaking fingers, and he breaks the kiss with a hard hiss of air through his teeth. surging forward, derek kisses stiles' neck again, but it's harder, more focused than before. he slips his hand beneath stiles' waistband when touching him through his clothes isn't enough, and he curls his fist around his dick, and derek-- derek's hard, the obvious tent in his sweatpants giving it away. he sucks on stiles' neck, right above the bridge that connects him to his shoulder, and he bites down, just a little. trying to leave a mark.
he pushes into stiles, trying to angle him down towards his bed, wanting him to sit, or lay down, or-- or something, anything. it's clumsy and it's frantic, and derek only pulls his hand out of stiles' pants long enough for it to happen, but he needs this to happen. they both need this to happen. ]
Lay-- lay down, let-- fuck, I don't... I don't have anything.
[ "anything". lube, condoms. the things they might need. ]
no subject
but it's not true. it can't be true, and derek may not love him now, but maybe he could, eventually. derek cares about him, and that's an undeniable truth. that's something stiles can hold onto just as carefully and as he's holding onto derek's face, his lips warm and dry and soft, and parting under stiles'.
derek's hands push at him and pull him out of that weird pocket of time. stiles moves easily, letting derek walk him backwards, trusting him not to let him trip and make an idiot out of himself. he stays close, unwilling to let enough space in between them that they're forced to stop kissing, his hands drifting a little clumsily from the sides of derek's throat to his shoulders, his biceps. the back of his knees stop him at the edge of his bed, but momentum carries him backwards, tilts him off balance. he uses derek as an anchor, gripping his arms and using him to press himself up, push himself closer, tilt his chin up just a fraction of an inch so he can chase after the tongue that slides over his lip and the scrape of teeth that goes straight to his dick.
stiles' abdominals tighten reflexively as derek drags his hands over them, and he's only just started to sink his tongue into derek's mouth when there's suddenly a hand gripping at his cock, and the quiet, filthy groan he presses past derek's lips can't be helped. derek breaks away from him to breathe and stiles tilts his head back just to get some cooler air on his too-warm face and into his lungs, his hands moving and touching and pulling anywhere he can get them on derek's skin, hips grinding slowly into the press of derek's palm. ]
God..
[ stiles makes it easier for derek, unintentionally, baring the length of his neck to him just as derek leans back in to put his lips on his throat. stiles' breath shudders out of him, his stomach flexing as derek slides his hand past the elastic of his pants, curls his fist around his cock, bites down into his fucking shoulder, and stiles— he likes it too much. the gentle but concentrated press of teeth, the dull, aching suggestion of a bruise, the sting.
stiles' unoccupied hand flies up, fingers pushing into the short hairs at the back of derek's head and he just holds him there for a beat, keeps him there with a heavy press of his hand for only a moment, until he wants more. he needs more of this, of derek.
the edge of his bed pushes into the bend of his knees as derek urges him down and stiles lets gravity pull him the rest of the way, dragging derek down with him with one hand on the back of his neck. his other hand curls into the front of derek's sweatpants, fingers pulling at the elastic, unsure if he wants to drag him closer or drag them down or both. he misses and brushes a clumsy kiss over the space between derek's lower lip and his chin, then takes both of his hands off of derek and starts to scoot himself backwards the second derek starts to tell him to lay down.
and then he freezes, and it's like he's only just been hit with the reality of what's happening, what's about to happen. he's got his weight balanced between one hand and one elbow, legs stretched out a little in the space he gained when scooting back, cock hard and straining under the thin, blue flannel pajama pants, and he just. looks at derek for a few very long seconds, chest heavily a little, lips red and a little swollen. he feels nervous, suddenly, and anxious and excited, and he focuses on that, the excitement, the anticipation of something he's probably thought about dozens of times before now. he wants derek so fucking badly and derek wants him too and—
stiles nods, a little vaguely at first, and then with more confidence as he wets his lips. his heart rabbits in his chest. ]
Okay. It's okay, I have— hold on, let me just. Two seconds.
[ he scrambles a little awkwardly then, twisting onto his side and stretching half of his body out over the edge of his bed, one hand braced on the floor, the other reaching for the drawer at the bottom of his dresser. he fumbles a little, barely able to reach the handle, but then he's dragging it open and pushing a thicker hoodie aside and it takes less than a few seconds to find what he's looking for.
stiles leaves the drawer open, pulling himself back in and twisting back over. he drops two condoms (just in case something - malfunctions, okay) and a slightly-less-than-half-used bottle of lube on the mattress, and then he wiggles his hands down in the space between himself and derek, and he pushes both of them down the front of his sweatpants and touches his dick as he leans up to kiss him because if he stops to think, there's a very high chance he might psyche himself out. ]
no subject
this is why he did it. this is what he wanted. he didn't want the sorry, empty, vacuous nights with strangers, the bared teeth, the forced anger. he just wanted someone in his arms who trusted him. someone willing to be vulnerable for him, someone he could protect. derek pushes his cock harder into stiles' hand in the last few seconds they share standing upright, nipping lightly at his neck and moving his lips down beneath his throat, lightly pressing his teeth to the line of his collarbone. stiles - always makes him stronger.
they crash into bed, stiles' mattress cheap and uncomfortable and somehow too firm and too soft at the same time. he's still kissing stiles while stiles slaps his hand out towards the dresser, and even though derek was the one who brought up condoms, he's still apparently okay with complaining about stiles wasting time blindly fishing them out. he's covering stiles' neck and throat with soft bites and hard hickeys, gentle kisses and soothing sucks, turning pale skin into a patchwork of pink and mottled red. he's trying to make stiles feel good. loved. that's all derek's wanted to do since coming back from the fort.
protection. fuck, right, okay. he sits up on his knees, and he tears into the wrapper with his teeth, spitting out the frayed shred of plastic he rips off out of the corner of his mouth. he pulls the condom out as fast as he can, like he's physically incapable of waiting for stiles any longer than he already has. that's when stiles slips his hands down the front of derek's sweats, taking hold of his dick with both hands.
derek's breaths start coming more labored. there's sweat on his chest, just a little, which rises and falls in the dark even more now than it did when he'd sprinted across the down and showed up on stiles' doorstep, close to passing out from panic. he gives stiles the kiss he asks for, making it last, and without breaking away, he rolls his sweatpants down past his thighs with his free hand. ]
I need-- I need to...
[ put this on. derek swallows a lump of nerves, touching his hand to stiles' wrist, feather-light, silently asking him to let go. when he does, derek sets the rubber against the tip of his cock, and--
and he grins, totally out of nowhere, and that's not good. he thought of a mean thing to say. he's not going to say it, at first, but as he rolls the condom over the crown of his dick and back down the length of him, he... laughs, breathless and fragile under the stress of his heavy breathing, and he knows for a god damn fact that he's only laughing because he's nervous. but it's not like he can laugh in the middle of this... whirlwind of touching and kissing and extremely heightened emotions without looking like kind of an asshole? so. ssso.
he leans in, takes another kiss from stiles. tries to soften the burn before he does it. ]
Kinda... surprised this fit.
[ you know - because this is stiles' condom, and stiles has a small dick, and derek doesn't. that's the joke. this no fit. get it. do you get it? ha ha.
he's kidding. stiles is fine, stiles' dick is fine, this is fine, everything's - fine, and it's insanely obvious that derek's just trolling him, because when he takes another kiss from stiles, the nervous laughter is more of a snicker. like he's just... happy, to be screwing around with him. open and innocent in a way he's maybe never been, even before the fire.
but he hasn't forgotten why this started, why they both need this. derek kisses stiles on the tip of his nose, lightly, sweetly. he kisses his forehead, and he lingers, because - because he can smell stiles' hair, he can smell his shampoo. derek's shampoo, from when stiles showered at his place, not too long ago. it's nearly faded, but it's there, and derek just... derek just didn't think he'd ever have this. the smell of his shampoo in somebody else's hair.
he sets his hand on stiles' shoulder, and he stands, getting out of bed. he strips, gets naked, leaves his sweats on the floor, and then he's back in bed, leaning over stiles. he slips his hand under stiles' tshirt, and he hesitates, because - he doesn't want to just... make this decision for him, but he wants-- he wants to see him. derek swallows again, another hard lump of emotion, and he digs his knees into the mattress, both of them either side of one of stiles' legs. cautiously, he tugs on the hem of stiles' shirt. ]
On or off?
no subject
stiles doesn't think he's ever been wanted the way derek seems to want him, and it just. it feels so, so good. stiles has never had this before and he doesn't really know what to do with the attention, the burning need for him from someone else, but he knows that he likes it. he knows that he loves it. he's been starved of attention when it counts, and derek is just. he's been giving it to stiles in ways derek might not even realize, and it's dangerous, because it just means it'll be that much easier to hurt stiles. but stiles trusts him not to.
stiles curls one fist around derek's cock, splays the other across his inner thigh as derek leans down to give him the kiss he'd silently been asking for. stiles is nervous. he's so, so nervous and he knows it's pointless to try and hide it because derek's the one who taught him about chemosignals and pheromones, but stiles tries to hide it anyway because he's not just nervous, and he doesn't want to ruin things before they even get off the ground. or - into bed. whatever. he's nervous, but he's also really, really excited and even though his hands still tremble slightly, it has less to do with him being anxious and more to do with the desire for - everything. he wants to do so much, right now, immediately. he feels illuminated. this is happening a lot faster than he ever imagined it would, when he allowed himself to indulge in stupid, late-night fantasies, but it's also not happening fast enough.
he feels a little frantic, but he finds a weird sort of peace in the press of derek's mouth against his, and he leans into it, arches up. he sighs through his nose, a tiny, muted sound riding the tail end of his sigh as he pumps his fist just once, just one slow drag from the crown of derek's cock down to the root. derek inches back enough to say something, and he touches stiles' wrist, and it takes stiles a second to realize that his hands aren't trapped by the awkward stretch of elastic, because derek has pushed his sweatpants down to his thighs and. stiles has never actually had an actual chance to see derek like this. it was dark in the barracks and everything was tight and close and secret.
stiles takes his hands away. uncurls his fingers and lets his other hand slide down the inside of derek's thigh as he lets it fall away, and he watches with mild fascination - jesus, derek has a really, really beautiful dick, and that's not a thought stiles ever imagined would cross his conscious mind, but god damn it is it true - as derek sets the latex, and stiles almost asks if he can do it instead, if he can roll it down because he just wants to get his hands back on derek, but derek is—
derek is grinning. like, it's not just a tiny pull at the corner of his mouth, he's grinning and it's honestly kind of beautiful but it also makes stiles stomach twist with nerves. derek laughs, and stiles' low-buzzing anxiety spikes a little, because he doesn't know what's funny here and if derek is laughing at stiles— stiles can take a lot of ribbing—
derek kisses him again and for whatever reason, it puts stiles at ease and floods him with warm relief and he finds himself smiling a little against derek's mouth, and - oh. oh, that's why derek is laughing. what a fucking dick. what an idiot, stiles hates him. stiles hates him, except he doesn't, at all, and instead of taking offense, he's quick. he pushes forward, and he kisses derek back, and he murmurs against his lips in between pressing kisses to his mouth. ]
I mean [ kiss ] if you're worried they're too big [ kiiiiss ] we can buy a size down [ kiss ] you ass.
[ he's only kidding too, and he's oddly quieted when derek kisses the tip of his nose. his face flushes lightly, his neck and his throat rosy with a faint blush, and when he feels the brush of a kiss against his forehead, he's consumed with. something. he's consumed with warmth and affection and love, and his fingers still for a moment against derek's stomach, slowing their drag. his nose burns a little and he closes his eyes and he takes a second, half a second just to breathe.
derek's hand feels heavy on his shoulder as he stands. stiles opens his eyes, and he blinks, and his heart starts to rabbit in his chest again because derek is naked in front of him and stiles is still wearing, like - all of his clothes and that's probably not conducive to this going any further. he inhales, and he scrambles, and he shoves his pajama pants and his boxers down his thighs and he kicks them off, resting back on his elbows when derek leans over him.
he doesn't bother with his shirt. stiles never bothers with his shirt, but derek slides his hand up underneath it and stiles feels this quick little shot of panic dart through him. he doesn't hate his body, he doesn't necessarily think he's unattractive, but he's - self-conscious, and that's not anything new. he's that kid that changes his shirt as quickly as possible in the locker room back at school, layers a t-shirt under his sleeveless jersey, doesn't own a tank-top. he's surrounded by beautiful people with beautiful bodies - scott, liam, malia, derek -, and it's just easier to. not give himself any reason to compare. stiles isn't as scrawny as he used to be. he's made up of corded muscle and pale skin and a solid bone structure, but next to his friends, next to a lot of people, stiles is.
he's that stupid scarecrow derek was joking about a while ago.
stiles only pauses for a second, and he decides to just push forward and keep this moving. derek is straddling one of his thighs and his hand is pulling gently at the bottom of his shirt. stiles breathes out and he leans up and he kisses the side of derek's neck, scrapes his teeth a little on purpose. ]
On, c'mere.
[ he drags his nose along the column of derek's throat, shifting his weight over onto one elbow so he can reach up to hook his other arm over the back of derek's neck, dragging him down as he leans back and stretches out. he swallows, bumping his nose against derek's cheek for a moment as he lines their mouths up, fumbling blindly for the lube he dropped - somewhere. he pats around clumsily, drawing one knee up, and when his fingers thump against the cool plastic of the bottle, he snatches it up. ]
H-hey, so. Listen, you're - [ he bites gently at derek's bottom lip, sighs a little shakily against his mouth. his heart feels like it's in his throat. ] I've never— not like - this, with someone else, and it's. It's not a big deal, I'm not trying to make it a big deal because I really don't care I just want to - do this right, I want to get this right, with you—
[ and he needs to shut the fuck up before he kills the mood entirely. ]
no subject
and maybe he shouldn't be, after stiles' nightmare. his calf muscles are still sore from how fast he ran to get down here, his lungs still ache if he tries to breathe too deep. when derek touches stiles' stomach and he panics, derek can taste the fear in him, and he freezes in place. just for a second, he's jumping back to the moment he first read stiles' text message and remembered veracity, remembered the taste of blood and gunpowder, and wondered if another kidnapping was happening. he's ready to disengage, if he needs to. ready to give stiles space, if this is too much, or if he's asking for more than stiles is willing to give him.
but everything evens out just as quickly, and derek relaxes. stiles' shirt is staying on, and the panic that ran through him was just - panic. a knee-jerk reaction to derek touching him in a way he might not be ready for. that's okay. derek would prefer stiles' shirt to be gone, but he's not going to force the issue. he does want to see stiles, but - well, he's still seeing stiles. he's seeing stiles when he's comfortable, he's seeing stiles how stiles wants to be seen. that's more than enough for him.
derek slides his hand out from beneath the hem of stiles' shirt and nods, pressing another countless kiss against the corner of stiles' lips, and then another, and another. stiles talks, and derek listens, leaving a trail of kisses down his cheek, over his jawline. he relaxes, even as stiles talks over himself and frets about what's coming. this is - a search for reassurance, maybe, and that's something that derek thinks he can help with.
granted, he's close to just saying stiles, shut up to break stiles out of this feedback loop he seems to be stuck in, where he's worried about what's happening, and then worried about how he's worried about what's happening, and then worried about how he's worried about how he keeps worrying. that's not what derek does, though, because he wants to do this right, too; he listens, and he lets stiles talk himself out, and he lets himself be guided down closer to the bed.
he's doing his best to seem unaffected, by most things. acting like the shiver that ran up his spine when stiles' grazed his teeth over his neck was just - a shiver, nothing more, nothing worth focusing on. staying quiet, keeping his eyes forward, after stiles strips himself of his pants and his boxers, like he doesn't care at all. acting like the fact that he's straddling stiles so closely that his balls are straight up on his fucking leg is just - par for the course. like he's had his balls on his leg a thousand times before. like there's nothing particularly novel about derek's big-ass werewolf balls just resting on stiles' bare-ass thigh. like that's normal.
but he can't hide the way his voice wavers, when he finds it. the excitement in him, the nerves. the way he drops his own eyes, finally, to look at stiles' cock, and the way his mouth goes dry and his lips part and he gets a little speechless at the sight of him. the way it takes a second for him to actually talk, because his brain needs to kickstart into gear again. he takes a breath. ]
This... is a big deal. For me. It's okay, if it's not a big deal for you, but it is for me.
[ and he means that. if stiles just wants this to be physical - fine. if stiles doesn't think sleeping with derek is a "big deal", if this is just supposed to be framed as a way to comfort him after his nightmare, then-- then. fine. if stiles really doesn't care about doing this for the first time, with derek - if this isn't something he wants to attach too much sentimentality to, then - then. then. derek can't do much about that.
and it doesn't matter, anyway. stiles still trusts him, and stiles still wants this, and if that's as far as this is going to go, then that's still a huge fucking honor. derek is used to misinterpreting other people's feelings. he just... won't let himself think about the kiss. about the kisses. about how easily they all keep coming to him, after how hard it was to even kiss him once, back in the barracks.
not a big deal. just sex. derek gets it. that's what this place is. stiles still needs reassurance, and derek still needs to make his feelings clear, in case it's too much for stiles and he wants to back out. ]
I'm going to take care of you. We can stop at any time. I just... [ derek's eyebrows pinch together, and he struggles to word how he's feeling. ] I want to be with you, so you're not - going to fuck this up. You're doing everything right just by being you.
[ and-- and he's going to be normal. he's going to be human. he's going to keep his pulse low, even as it quickens with arousal and anxiety, and he's going to count alpha, beta, omega in his head when he feels something in him howl and bite and scratch to get out. if this is the first time stiles has been with someone like this, derek can't... tarnish that, by being himself. stiles is the only human he's ever met who thinks werewolves are more than just monsters - and derek is terrified of doing something to change his mind.
stiles has the lube, and rather than take it from him, derek has another idea. he brings his hand to his mouth, he collects saliva, and he licks his palm, getting it wet. slowly, derek drops his hand between stiles' legs and tightens his slick, warm hand around his cock, stroking slowly, up and down. he twists his palm over his head, he presses his thumb against the underside of his crown, and the two of them have done this before, but it's so much different, feeling him like this. alone, in a place that isn't exactly theirs, but feels more like a home than the barracks ever could. ]
Stiles... just-- just to be clear? This isn't about - this isn't just physical. For me.
[ he strokes a little faster, and he straddles stiles a little more, putting more weight against his thigh. he's-- impatient. again, his eyebrows knit tightly together, and he tries to work through his feelings. in the end, he's thinking too hard about himself, about this, about stiles, and he can't keep doing that, because it would be so, so easy for him to lose his nerve. he just - looks at stiles, then, softly lit by the apartment, and he hopes he was right about all those little moments. about stiles' kiss meaning so much, about i want you and i need you being-- emotional. he wants so badly for this to be a big deal. ]
no subject
it's a little odd to think that a little over an hour ago, stiles was waking from a nightmare, panicking, and damp with sweat and tense with adrenaline and anxiety and fear. he doesn't really feel any of that anymore, doesn't really know when his nerves stopped feeling so raw and frayed and started feeling electric and alive instead. stiles told derek once that derek makes him feel good, makes him feel safe, and that much is still just as true now as it was then, as it has been for as long as stiles can remember.
derek takes his hand out from under his shirt. stiles has mixed feelings about it, because he doesn't actually mind derek touching his stomach, his chest - he doesn't mind being touched by derek anywhere - so it feels like a little bit of a loss, but at the same time— at the same time, he's so fucking grateful for the absolute respect derek shows him by not trying to push him into taking his shirt off. derek doesn't say anything about it at all. he just kisses stiles, over and over and over and stiles falls a little bit more in love with him.
and then his heart breaks, just a little. this is a big deal for me. it's okay if it's not a big deal for you. stiles should have kept his fucking mouth shut.
it is a big deal. stiles may have said that it isn't a big deal, but it is absolutely a big deal. he's too sentimental about things like sex and intimacy for this not to be a big deal to stiles, but he was so worried about the possibility of derek backing out if he got too weird about it that he tried to play it down, play it cool, and now he just feels - stupid. he feels embarrassed and anxious, because it is a big deal - this moment is so, so important to stiles, and it's important to derek, too, and stiles just made it sound like it's nothing when it's not.
he wants to take it all back. he needs to take it all back, and he needs to make sure it doesn't look like he's just - changing his mind to please derek or to spare his feelings. he needs derek to know that this is important to him, that it means more to stiles than he can properly put into words.
but he can't even find the words. he feels a little breathless and a little panicky that he's not going to be able to make this right. his lips part and his brows knit together and he looks up at derek like he can't fathom how he got this lucky. like he can't possibly imagine how or why derek wants to be with him at all. but he does. derek wants to be with him and he wants stiles for stiles and that's just so fucking sweet that stiles can hardly stand it.
he opens his mouth to tell him everything, but before he can take it all back, before can even begin to fix this - derek licks his palm. derek licks his fucking palm and he reaches down between stiles legs and he takes his cock in his hand and stiles thinks it's probably one of the hottest things he's ever seen. definitely top five sexiest things that has ever been done in his presence. but he's got derek's hand on his dick and it's warm and wet and tight as he drags his fist down the length of him, and stiles brain short-circuits for a handful of seconds.
but derek is saying something. derek is telling him something and stiles doesn't know when he closed his eyes but he opens them now and he tries not to fuck up into derek's fist. he swallows hard and he forces himself to focus on derek's mouth, on the words coming out of them.
fuck. fuck, right, he was going to tell him—
stiles reaches down and puts his hand over derek's to stop him, because he can't think properly when he's this turned on and if he doesn't shut everything own for a second he's not going to be able to get out anything he needs to say. he sets his other hand against derek's thigh, lets it slide up as far as the reach of his arm will allow, and he shakes his head. ]
It is a big deal to me. I said it isn't a big deal, but is it, I just didn't want there to be any pressure and I was scare you might - change your mind or, or back off, if I made it weird by making it this big thing, but I just— it's the first time and it's important and I want it to be with you. I want this, with you.
[ like most of his confessions thus far, it comes out of him in one big rush, right on the edge of being a little frantic. he feels a little breathless, still a little scared that he's not properly communicating to derek how he feels about him, how he feels about this. he takes his hand of of derek's thigh and slides his hand up the center of derek's chest, over his shoulder, around to the back of his neck, and he squeezes just once. for a moment, he's just stuck looking up at derek and not for the first time, stiles is struck with how beautiful he is.
he pulls himself up using the hand at the back of derek's neck, just far enough to brush a feather-light kiss against his lips, lingering close. ]
... It's - more than physical for me too. You're— I just— I really - really like you.
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if he'd just acted like this didn't matter.
so he swallows, and he feels a little less crazed by this desperation to feel the tight, warm heat of stiles' body embracing his own. he strokes stiles slower, figures he could at least offer to get him off without fucking him, just so it counts towards his quota without... having to matter. it's then that stiles sets his hand against his wrist, and derek stops moving, figuring that that's the sign to stop. maybe he was pushing his luck, after all.
he's crestfallen, when he looks at stiles, but he doesn't let it show. he thinks he doesn't, at least - but then stiles admits that he lied, admits that he's scared, admits that he wants this to be important and special and meaningful. derek's... suspicious, and maybe that's unfair, but he's always been paranoid, even before... even before. stiles said, right to his face, that this wasn't a big deal. derek wants to believe him, but it just... it feels like he's compensating. trying to make derek feel better.
so derek laughs, and it's forced, not the sweet laughter stiles can tuck away in his memories to warm himself with when he's alone, but the sour, rotten sound of someone who's trying to act like they aren't hurt. it would be selfish, derek thinks, to be hurt. stiles isn't doing anything wrong. he's just being kind. derek could listen to his heartbeat, see if he's telling the truth through the pump of blood beneath his chest - but why would he do that, when he can just hurt himself by assuming the worst? that's what he deserves.
-- and then stiles keeps talking. tells him he really, really likes derek. he leans up, he pulls him into a kiss, ghosting over him with the same feeling and the same determination that derek tried to put in his own. derek wants to trust him. derek wants to believe him. derek wants to stop second-guessing the huge slew of evidence that just keeps telling him, again and again, obviously, concretely telling him, that stiles cares. that stiles wants him. that stiles really, really, likes him.
there's two paths he could take here. he could wall himself off - shut this down, apologize, and leave. or he could... do more.
derek swallows the fire in his throat. he looks into stiles' eyes, searching for something. he looks at his lips, and he thinks of home, and he thinks of the fire, and he thinks of how fucking lonely he was until stiles. he thinks of the guilt he feels, when he thinks of the execution, when he thinks of kate, when he thinks of his mother, his father, his sisters, his uncle. he thinks of how - when he's with stiles - he forgets that guilt, just for a while.
his eyes are stinging. ]
There's something here. You and me.
[ he says it low. quiet. right against stiles' lips. slowly, gingerly, he starts to beat stiles off again, rhythmic and easy. his other hand comes up to his neck, palm splayed over his throat. his hand is trembling, he thinks. maybe that's stiles. it's hard to say. ]
Right? I'm not imagining it. There has to be something. This... this can't just...
[ he's pleading. he's pleading, for stiles to tell him he's right. to validate this. to say that "i really, really like you" means-- more. derek hasn't had a friend for years, he hasn't ever been relied on the way that stiles relies on him, and that should be enough, that should be more than enough, but -
but it isn't. not anymore. not after stiles. he wants more than that. ]
I just-- this can't just be in my head. After Kate, and after-- after Paige, I didn't think... I didn't think I'd ever...
[ does stiles know about paige? he hasn't talked to stiles about paige, but there's two years. two years, where derek could learn to trust him, where derek could talk to him about the people he's hurt, the lives he's ruined. derek moves closer to stiles, pressing their foreheads together again, and his voice is getting a little louder, a little more frantic. the hand on stiles' throat gropes blindly up to his jaw, to his cheek, and just-- touches, hard and fast and clumsy, like he's making sure that stiles is real, and he's here, and he's with him. ]
I thought this was over. For me.
[ and maybe it is. his heart is breaking. this could all be in his head, he doesn't know, this doesn't feel real. "i really, really like you", what does that mean? why does stiles like him? what happened, in those two years? did anything happen in those two years? derek jerks stiles off faster, faster, squeezing tight with a shaky hand, and he kisses stiles like it's the last time he'll ever get the chance. he can't think straight, he's-- panicking, and he keeps thinking of how he felt when stiles sent him that text, he keeps-- he keeps thinking about how fucking easy it would be for stiles to just go. ]
I feel like-- I feel like... if this were real, something would have happened back home. Between us. You have two years on me, and... and if something was going to happen, it should have happened. If this much can change between us in a few months, then... then why...
[ then why didn't it ever change back home? stiles would have told him when he arrived, if it did. if they were ever more than just... antagonistic. they can't spend two years together and... not become something. not if these feelings are real. he doesn't want to ask the question, but - but what if this is just - something that happens, to people who are contracted? what if he's being tricked, like he was with vitd? he doesn't want this to be in his head, he wants-- he wants proof that this is more than just here, more than just this fucking city.
he breathes. he breathes, because it shuts him up, and if he shuts up, he can't keep making this conversation all about him, and his worries, and his anxiety. his lips are sore from kissing stiles, he's a little less hard. his eyes are closed, and he's holding them shut as tight as he can, because he knows that they're red, and he's scared of stiles seeing. he needs to calm down. ]
Sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm... I'm sorry.
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derek doesn't believe him. he knows derek doesn't believe him because he recognizes that derek's forcing that laugh. he recognizes it, because stiles has plastered on tens if not hundreds of fake smiles and he's forced so many laughs just to hide the fact that he's hurting. and it hurts now too, but stiles doesn't laugh. his throat feels tight and his eyes start to feel a little warm in the corners and he just stares up at derek as derek stares down at him, and he has this look in his eye that's so desperate, so fucking desperate for derek to just - understand. he has to press his teeth together to keep his stupid chin from shaking. he's not going to cry, but he feels like he could.
derek's breath is warm against his mouth and his lips are soft as they brush over his. there's something here. you and me. stiles breath leaves his lungs in one quick exhale. the tightness in his chest loosens because yes. yes, there's something here. there has to be something here. stiles desperately needs there to be something between them. he nods, or he tries to at least, but the movement is minute and he only gets to far as rubbing their noses together before derek's hand starts stroking his cock again and stiles gets - distracted.
there's a lot, here, for him to focus on. stiles toes curl a little. the hand at his throat feels warm and broad and gentle and it makes stiles feel - safe. he doesn't know why, but it does, and his eyes sting a little more. he wants to reassure derek, to grab him and hold him and shake him and tell him that he's not imagining things. that he is right here and he cares about him, he cares about him so, so much, that he loves him—
he mentions kate. he mentions kate, and he mentions - paige, and it feels like someone's dumped icy water into his veins. he freezes, and he tilts his head back so he can look at derek, and he slides his hand from the back of derek's neck to the side of his face, and he just - searches. he looks for something, but he doesn't know what, he just. is derek— does derek think this could ever be anything like what happened to him with kate? it makes stiles feel a little sick to his stomach to think that derek might believe stiles could ever, ever do something like that to him. to anyone.
and paige. the girl derek loved, the girl derek killed, the girl stiles knows derek still blames himself for losing. derek leans in and touches their foreheads together and he holds stiles' face and stiles just wants to — pull him inside of himself, hold him so close and so tight that derek becomes a part of him, something he can always protect. stiles moves his hand from derek's face to the back of derek's wrist, slides his fingers up over his knuckles, lets them fall into the spaces between derek's where they will, both of their hands pressed to his cheek.
derek tells him he though this was over. he thought he couldn't have something like this again, something meaningful, something genuine and real, and stiles' heart breaks for him. derek has been through so fucking much, he's lost so many people and he's going to lose more, and stiles— stiles won't be one of them. even if and when derek decides to leave him in the future, he won't lose stiles, and this is something stiles is sure of because he's already lived it.
the hand circled around his cock picks up speed. stiles' stomach tightens reflexively. he sucks in a shaky breath through his teeth and he feels so suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, pulled apart in too many different directions, and then. and then derek kisses him, and it almost feels like— it almost feels like he's saying goodbye, and stiles breaks a little. he presses up into him desperately, teeth clicking against derek's, and he pushes this quiet, choked little sob of a noise into derek's mouth, tries to bury it there, tries to hide it.
if stiles is about to lose him again, then he doesn't want to know about it before it happens. it doesn't make sense that derek would just - say all of the things he's said, doesn't make any sense at all for him to point out that there's something here between them only for him to say goodbye, but stiles is — he's not this lucky. he's not the guy that good things happen to. he's the guy who watches, alone, as his mother dies in front of him. he's the guy who gets kidnapped and beaten and used as bait for someone who didn't come for him anyway. he's the guy who gives his life to find and protect his father, and has his life taken over in return, the guy who gets possessed, the guy with blood spilled by his hands but not by his decisions.
he's the guy who has to choose between saving his best friend, and saving someone else who could be more than that. he's the guy who has to let someone he loves walk away. not once, but twice, and if he's about to do this a third time, then he's not going to do it without telling derek exactly how he feels about him first.
he moves without thinking. derek tells him he's sorry. stiles takes his face in both hands and he leans up and he presses his mouth to derek's forehead, closes his eyes tight. derek's still stroking him, and it - fuck, it feels really, really good and it makes his brain feel a little fuzzy and his eyes burn even while they're closed but stiles has to do this. ]
Derek, listen to me. A lot happens. So much... happens. To me, and to you, and to us. Not all— not all of it is good, but the one thing that's constant is us. You— Derek, you believe me when other people don't, you believe me over the people— [ you think you love ] — the people you love. You believe in me, and nobody - you're the only person who's ever made me feel like, like— like I'm equal even though I'm only human.
[ stiles has to stop for a second to breathe, has to take a moment to swallow around his heart lodged up into his throat. he opens his eyes, and his hands move again. he grabs at derek's wrist, and he pulls his hand off of his cock, and then he presses both of his hands to derek's shoulders, and he moves him. he pushes with purpose and he sits up and he tilts derek over, pushes him onto his back, and the bed is so small that derek might be a little too close to the edge, but stiles isn't going to let him fall. he crawls up over derek, and it should be - embarrassing that he's straddling him with a knee on either side of derek's hips and his dick hard and heavy against derek's belly, but he doesn't care. he's so keyed up and he's so fucking scared and if this looks like a weak attempt to keep derek from leaving once he gets all of this out, well. maybe that's exactly what it is.
stiles is shaking. he's anxious and he's terrified and he's - determined. he doesn't lean in, doesn't crowd derek or try to pin him down, because he doesn't honestly want to trap derek here if he doesn't want to stay here, despite his lame attempt to use his body as a barrier. he sits back against derek's stomach and his shoulders sag a little, and he keeps his head down and his eyes on derek's chest. his hands settle in the space between the spread of his thighs over derek's torso, fingertips resting lightly against his abs, tapping lightly, nervously, sporadically.
and he talks. he opens his mouth and he lets it all pour out and nothing about it is steady. ]
The summer after I turned seventeen, we spent a lot of time together. It - it doesn't really matter the reason why, but we were always around each other and always listening to each other and we would just - we'd drive for hours and hours and it wasn't. It wasn't supposed to be anything - fun, but I learned a lot about you. And you learned a lot about me, and just - we got close, and I always— I always felt like there was. Something. And I never said anything after that summer.
[ he starts talking a little faster, starts to get ahead of himself, a little frantic, a little desperate. scared. ]
We never got a chance to really talk about it, and then, then everything just got so complicated and I started to think that maybe it was nothing, maybe it wasn't anything and I was just seeing things that weren't actually there so I ignored it and I, I, I let it go because we were still friends but I've been in love with you ever since that summer and the last time I admitted it to myself you just, I thought I wasn't ever going to see you again, and then you just, you just left and it was like you knew and that's why you— and that's okay, it's - seriously, it's okay if you want to go, we don't have to do this, you're not— I'm sorry, I shouldn't even— I should— God, I'm sorry—
[ stiles ducks his head a little more and he lifts one of his hands, dragging the back of it under his nose, and he starts to get up. he braces his hand on derek's stomach and he starts to move because there's no way this is going to work out for him. there's no way he didn't just ruin absolutely everything. ]
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he's scared. the noise he makes when stiles adds a little distance between them is barely even there, but every pause and every adjustment makes him feel like he's standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into the dark, not knowing what's waiting down there to cushion his fall or let him die. he doesn't know what stiles wants from him, he doesn't know if he's doing anything wrong, he doesn't know if the desperate crawl of his hands over stiles' face, each hard kiss, each panicked attempt to reassure himself that this is real, and that stiles is real, and that stiles wants him is... okay, he doesn't know if he's okay, he doesn't know if they're okay, he just -
he doesn't know if this is too much. for stiles, more than for himself. he doesn't know if he should be trying hard to keep joking and making this light and making this easy, he doesn't know if he should keep trying to be honest or if he should just shut his mouth and stop making things harder. he's a wreck of emotions and that makes him feel worse, because stiles doesn't need someone like him in his life, always making everything a big deal, always making everything serious and heavy and important. stiles doesn't need to be with someone so broken and so unstable, so incapable of being who they want to be, someone who demands so much.
and then stiles talks, and it's like time stands still.
stiles talks about-- the belief derek has in him, he talks about the respect that derek shows him, he talks about how there's an us. derek listens, and everything hurts, because somewhere in his mind in some distant, locked away corner, he knows full god damn well that if he just listens to stiles, listens to his heartbeat and his chemosignals and the quiver in his voice, if he just breathes him in, he'll know that he doesn't need to be afraid. he'll know that stiles loves him.
it's so hard. it's so, so, so hard. after kate - he just can't. he can't do any of this. not the way that he should. stiles deserves so much more from someone so much better. stiles deserves someone human.
stiles straddles his waist and derek's fully, completely hard again, and he's ashamed of himself, when his dick grinds against soft flesh and his heart catches in his throat, but - stiles is beautiful, and stiles is here, and derek can't help but want him. stiles is light, and he's considerate, and he's giving derek plenty of room to leave, if he wants to, but derek wishes he wouldn't. derek just wants stiles to keep him pinned down, keep him trapped against this bed. when stiles starts talking about-- about summer, he touches derek's abs, and derek breathes in at every touch, reflexive and almost ticklish. sensitive, as always, to everything stiles does.
he listens. he listens, and he watches, and he wants to make eye contact but he can't, because his eyes are still red, and he still needs to keep them hidden. derek listens, and it's hard to unpack how he feels right away. everything stiles tells... none of it really sinks in, despite the cold rush of shock that wraps around his heart when he says the word "love" and the queasy, hopeful swoop in his stomach that comes paired with it. he doesn't know what to do, and he doesn't get the time to figure out what to do, because then stiles is leaving, he's sniffling and he's moving and he's going to disappear, derek's going to lose him-- ]
Stop. Stop.
[ he can't do this. he can't hear the panic in stiles' voice and just lay there, silent, he can't-- he can't. he wants to kiss stiles. he wants to shut stiles up and show him in one swift, romantic gesture that he wants to stay, but that's-- that's not enough, he thinks, that's cheap. he's spent years, hiding how he feels behind silence and action and physicality, and he can't do that, not when stiles is pouring so much on him at once.
panicked, derek puts his hands on stiles' hips, slipping underneath his shirt to get a better hold of him. he holds onto stiles a little too tightly, keeping him against his waist, and he knows that he shouldn't force him to stay, not if he wants to go, but he-- he doesn't want to go, not really, he just thinks that derek doesn't want him to stay. ]
Stop.
[ derek's fingers dig into stiles' sides, leaving streaks of color beneath his fingers. he sits up on the bed, keeping stiles anchored to him, holding him in his lap. he pulls one arm around stiles' waist, the other behind his shoulderblades, and he buries his nose in his neck, breathing hot, shaky breaths against his throat. for a second, derek just - holds him, refusing to let him leave, eyes still shut tight, still completely blind. there's so much he wants to say. so much he wants to apologize for.
he's sorry he hasn't lived through that summer. he's sorry he never pushed stiles to talk about those months where they fell in love - because he knows those feelings couldn't have been one sided - and he's sorry if he never talked about it either. he's sorry he shut down under the weight of a complicated life. it wouldn't be the first time, for him, that he ruined something good by staying quiet and denying himself out of an overwhelming fear of the circumstances he's in. he wants to say sorry, but he doesn't know if he can, because he hasn't lived that life yet and it would all sound so fucking hollow.
derek shakes his head, hunching forward, pulling stiles even closer. he hugs him tight enough to hurt, and he lowers his neck, pressing his forehead against stiles' chest. he needs a few seconds, he needs to just - think. when he finally figures out what he wants to say, he stays where he is, fingertips curled tight against stiles' bare lower back and in the cotton against his shoulderblades. he swallows, and he feels dizzy, but he needs-- he needs to say how he feels. ]
When I'm with you... I feel better. Here, in my head - [ he leans back, and he lets go of stiles' waist, and he finds stiles' wrist. he brings stiles' hand to his temple, he kisses the bottom of his wrist, and he leans against it. ] and here.
[ he moves stiles' hand down to his chest, setting it over his heart. derek swallows, and he lets stiles' arm go. he moves until he's got both arms back around stiles' hips, tight enough to hold him in place, loose enough to let him leave if he needs to, and then... and then he tries to keep his voice soft, but he doesn't think it works. he just sounds scared, and he has to keep clearing his throat while he talks to fix it. ]
I don't know... how to be enough for people. I'm trying? I've been trying, ever since Laura, to be enough for everyone. For you, and for Scott, and for Peter, when he was still alive. I'm trying to be-- better, that's half the reason I-- I killed Peter, but--
[ he can't keep his eyes closed. carefully, and visibly, visibly guiltily, derek opens his eyes. they're blood red, bright and illuminating, and it's-- embarrassing, more than anything. it's a sign that he's losing control of himself, it's a sign that he's weak, it's a reminder that he's inhuman. he'd always been proud of his lycanthropy, but then there was kate, and now there's stiles, and maybe, deep down, stiles resents werewolves, too, even if he thinks otherwise. maybe this is the moment he'll realize that if peter had never bitten scott - if stiles had never gotten caught up in a life like this, forced onto him by monsters - he could have been happier. better. safer. ]
I'm not... good? I know I'm not. And I don't know why I left, back home, but - that has to be a part of it. I had to know there was someone better for you, someone good, and I had to know I would ruin you if I stayed.
[ if he's falling in love with stiles now, after a few short months, then - back home, he must be a fucking wreck, ruined by years. the summer after stiles turned seventeen - they're not far from that, back where derek's from. it feels more and more like-- like feelings like these might just be inevitable. maybe he can trust them. ]
But I don't...
[ he hesitates. he looks at stiles, direct and piercing. still glowing red. his eyelids flutter, and he looks away, still scared that if he stares at stiles for too long, he'll... leave. ]
I don't want to lose anyone else. I don't think I could survive another loss. I don't even know how I've survived until now - there have been so, so many times where I'd wished I hadn't. I can't lose you, and I can't lose my pack, and I can't...
[ derek loosens his arms around stiles' waist. gives him a quiet invitation to leave, if he needs to, while hopefully making it clear that that's the last thing derek wants. he blinks a few times, shakes his head, scrunches his eyes up tight. trying to will them back to hazel. failing. ]
I don't want to go. I don't want you to go. I'll be better. I'll-- be enough, so I won't-- so I won't have to go, this time.
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he only gets as far as bracing his hand against derek's torso and tightening the muscles in his thighs in preparation to move when everything that just spilled out of him catches up to him. i've been in love with you ever since that summer. stiles chest aches so bad and so suddenly that his shoulders hunch and his head drops a little with the intensity of it. this is not how he planned to tell derek - about his feelings, about anything really, if he ever even managed to get around to telling him at all.
this is what he'd been scared of. he'd been so afraid of admitting how he feels because the last time he was forced to face and accept his long-buried feelings for derek, derek had left. it's irrational to associate one thing to the other, and somewhere in the corner of his mind stiles understands that, but it just - it sucked, a lot, to have to stand there while derek was dying and accept that he was going to lose him, only to find him alert and alive and as beautiful as ever and - leaving. no warning, no explanation, no goodbye. and now it's happening again—
except stiles is the one that's trying to leave. stiles is the one trying to distance himself even though the last thing he wants right now, the very last thing he wants is to separate himself from derek, but at least this way— at least this way derek won't have to reject him so directly and it won't wound stiles as deeply as it should, if he just takes this into his own hands.
derek's hands are on his hips before stiles can do anything more than press his hand to derek's abs and brace himself to lift his weight up. he tells him to stop, holds him firmly in place with warm hands and a solid grip and before stiles can say anything at all, before he can start to stumble through another apology for having screwed all of this up, derek sits up. derek sits up and he puts his arms around stiles and he buries his face against stiles throat, and he holds on so tight that it hurts, and stiles starts wonder if maybe this is savable.
when derek pulls him in impossibly closer, when he takes his nose away from the side of his neck and lowers his head to press his forehead against' stiles chest, stiles puts his arms around him. he folds both of them over his shoulders and he tilts his own head down and he presses his nose into his hair and he holds on tight. his heart is beating a heavy rhythm against his chest, quick with anxiety and fear and love, and he just closes his eyes and breathes.
derek doesn't say anything at first, and that's okay. stiles doesn't say anything either, doesn't try to fill the silence with awkward, fumbling nonsense like he typically would. if and when he's ready to say something, it has to be important. it has to be meaningful and it has to serve a purpose, and he can't screw that up. when derek finally starts to speak, stiles opens his eyes just slightly. he keeps his nose buried in derek's hair, mouth resting lightly against the crown of his head, and he listens. he unwinds one of his arms and he settles his hand on the back of derek's neck, and he pays attention.
stiles eases his hold on derek just enough to let him lean back, but he's unwilling to let him go entirely, leaving his hand cupped over his nape and his other arm extended over his shoulder, arm straight and wrist loose. he lets derek take his wrist, lets him move his hand from the back of his neck to the side of his head, and when he kisses the inside of stiles' wrist, stiles' heart skips. his smooths his thumb across derek's temple, and when derek moves his hand again, when he sets it over his heart and lets go, stiles doesn't take his hand away.
when i'm with you, i feel better. here in my head, and here. in my heart. stiles swallows and he tries to breathe around the tightness in his chest, pressing his hand a little more firmly against derek's chest. he wants to feel his heartbeat. he wants to be able to hear it the way derek hears everyone else's. even when derek puts his arms back around him, stiles keeps his hand flush over his heart.
stiles feels... oddly calm. where before he was panicked and scared and uncertain, he feels grounded and only a little bit fluttery. he doesn't have to to be a werewolf to sense the anxiety rolling off of derek in waves, he doesn't have to smell the fear to know that it's there, and maybe that's the reason for his sudden placidity. the counter-balance.
it's hard, though, to maintain that quiet tranquility when derek continues. stiles' heart clenches faintly in his chest with his confession, and he almost interrupts, almost cuts derek off to insist that he is good enough but he catches himself. stiles knows derek well enough now to understand that talking about his feelings and his self-proclaimed weaknesses isn't something that comes easy for him, so stiles lets him talk even though he wants nothing more than to disagree with him and make him understand that he's wrong.
derek opens his eyes, finally, but he doesn't look at stiles. stiles wishes he would, but he doesn't force him to. he's struck by the guilt that shapes derek's features, wants to kiss his eyebrow and his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. instead, he takes his hand off of derek's chest and he rests his palm gently against the side of derek's face. he smooths the pad of his thumb underneath derek's left eye, from the side of his nose outward the way one might if they were wiping away a stray tear or an eyelash.
stiles has to bite back the urge to argue again. he breathes in and he breathes out and he cards his fingers through derek's hair and he shakes his head subtly in place of interrupting him. derek is a good person. even at sixteen, stiles was already, slowly starting to realize that derek wasn't the terrible person he mistook him for. at eighteen, stiles knows derek better than he knows almost anyone else, and he'd defend derek's character until the end of days if he had to. derek is a good person. stiles is determined, now, help him see that it's true.
when derek finally, finally looks at him, stiles offers him the tiniest of smiles. it's faint, and it's soft and it's reassuring. he's not bothered by derek's eyes. it doesn't matter to him if they're red or if they're hazel, because derek is still derek no matter his eye color. he smiles, but derek looks away, and stiles still doesn't make him look at him. not yet.
he's reminded, painfully, of how much derek doesn't know. how much he'll never be ready for, how much stiles is going to have to tell him. derek deserves to know about erica and boyd and isaac. he deserves to know about peter and cora and kate. stiles isn't going to fail this time like he did with allison, he isn't going to let the fear of being hated keep him from giving derek a chance to change his future as stiles knows it.
but right now is not the time for it, not when derek is vulnerable and afraid of the very things that are slate to happen to him. derek loosens his arms around stiles, but stiles just tightens his hold on derek. he flexes his fingers in derek's hair, fingertips dragging against his scalp, and he hooks his other arm behind derek's neck, holding him close. he leans in, gentle tracing the tip of his nose up derek's cheek so he can brush a feather-light kiss over an eyelid. ]
Derek, look at me...
[ he asks him quietly, and he waits, and when derek finally opens his eyes again, stiles offers him another smile, faint enough that it only barely pulls at the corners of his mouth. he dips his head a little to better look into them. after blue, red is one of his favorite colors. ]
You are enough. You're enough, and you're good — you're such a good person, Derek, and I'm sorry it took me as long as it did to see that when I was younger. You try so hard and you do so much and I know it's - hard for you to trust yourself, but that's. It's not your fault. You're not responsible for the things other people have done to you or - or what they've made you believe.
[ stiles swallows. his heart is as steady as it could possibly be. he breathes in, then exhales slowly, and he looks down for a second, lets his gaze linger on derek's mouth for a second or two before he tilts in to kiss him. it's chase and it's sweet and stiles drags his teeth over his own bottom lip. ]
But if you can't trust yourself... you can still trust me. I'm... I'm not going anywhere. You won't lose me. Two years of - crazy supernatural bullshit trying to kick my ass and I'm still here. You couldn't lose me if you tried.
[ he laughs a little, quiet and under his breath, and then has to take a breath and swallow to work up some courage. ]
I'm glad you've survived, Derek. I'm glad I know you, I'm glad we're - friends. And this isn't— it isn't how I wanted to tell you, but it's not any less true this way. ... I do love you. And I don't need you to, to say it back. All right? It's okay. I swear it's okay, and if it's weird— if it's weird, we can just - pretend I never said anything and I'll be okay. But I just. I think you deserve to know that.
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stiles tells him to look at him. derek resists, at first, a jarring yank of his neck that pulls his head away from the feather-light kiss of stiles' lips against his eyelid. he keeps his eyes scrunched tight, a dog that's been hit too many times to let humans hand-feed them. he keeps his eyes shut tight, but he doesn't let go of stiles, either, tightening his arm around his waist again, reflexively refusing to lose him, and stiles just... waits. he waits, and when he opens his eyes, stiles is just smiling, soft and faint and calm. derek's eyelids flutter, wanting to close. they don't.
he's teary. the red makes the gloss on his eyes more obvious, the sheen on his waterline lit up with the glow of them. he blinks a few times, tries to feel better, but it doesn't go away, and he takes a few breaths to stay steady. derek focuses on stiles, keeping his eyes open, and he listens. he listens to stiles lie. he listens to stiles pretend that he's a good person, he listens to him fake an apology, he listens to him bring up the things that other people have done as if everything that happened wasn't his fault. he could have saved laura. he could have saved peter. he could have saved so many people who he just let die, instead. ]
I...
[ he trusts stiles. he trusts the beat of stiles' heart, the steady rhythm and the way it jumps and spikes like he's in love and he's emotional and he cares, rather than jumps and spikes because he's a liar. he lays everything on the line, tells derek how he feels, both about him and about them, and derek's not as teary, not so much, not by the end. he's just... he's focused, and he's struggling. "i don't need you to say it back". derek's going to say it back. derek has to say it back.
after all, he loves stiles. of course he is. of course he's in love with stiles. his heart wouldn't break so cleanly in half every time stiles smiled at him if he wasn't in love with him. he wouldn't have kissed him in the barracks, sweaty and scared and safe, if he wasn't in love with him. he wouldn't have knocked over chess tables and gotten angry at elevators and found a reason to live and fight after being stripped of his pack if he wasn't in love with stiles. derek hale is in love with stiles stilinski.
he can pad it out all he like. justify it, explain away his feelings, try to make them smaller. he can say that he's only falling in love with him, as if pretending he's ever been slow to fall in love with someone will be enough to make this feel less heavy. he can say that he's just confused, under the weight of duplicity and the terror of fort harmony, and he can say that after six years of death and grief and loss, he's desperate for affection from whoever's brave enough to share it with him. he can say a lot of things.
but he's in love with stiles. he knows he's in love with stiles.
but.
but he told paige that he loved her, and then she died, skin ripped like paper and covered in foul, diseased blood. she was beautiful and she was kind and she had brown hair and moles, she was sarcastic and funny and intelligent and overlooked. she was warm and nobody knew it, she was attentive and paid attention and nobody knew it, and she was a single human life that was reduced to a carcass of gored meat and emptied flesh. she was brought to a halt by a sickening crunch that derek can still feel in his stomach whenever he hears a sound like breaking bone. she was ruined because of him.
he told kate that he loved her, smoothed back her hair behind her ear, smiled up at her from beneath the pinning weight of her body as she did things to him that were supposed to feel better than they did. she called him handsome, kissed his nose, and she thanked him after they fucked, once, and derek thought she was trying to make his heart skip a beat, trying to tell him she was grateful for their time together, but then he was covered in ash and the cloying, saccharine smell of whatever chemical was used to melt his family was stinging the back of his throat no matter how many times he made himself throw up in the sheriff's bathroom after meeting that sad little kid who lost his mom, and he realized she was thanking him for telling her where he lived. thanking him, so he would always remember he gave her what she needed to kill.
if he tells stiles that he loves him - ]
I don't want you to take it back. I don't want to pretend like you didn't say it.
[ he can't ruin this, too. he can't taste any more bad tastes, hear any more bad sounds. derek's a fucking curse, and he's risking hurting stiles just by being here, just by promising to change. refusing to let stiles go could be what triggers another sour flood of black fluid, or the searing sting of burning skin. telling stiles he loves him is out of the question.
but he can't... lose him. he won't survive another loss. is he selfish enough to let stiles burn, all for the chance of maybe not being alone anymore? how cruel, stiles is, to pin derek between telling him he loves him and letting him die, or telling him he doesn't and ruining what they've started to have. derek looks at stiles, panic a lump in his throat, and all he wants to do is fucking kiss him. ]
And I don't want... to be "friends". I don't want to just be "friends".
[ derek pitches forward, holding stiles close to his lap, and he lowers him back against the bed, pinning him down. he's firm, this time, because he knows that stiles doesn't want to leave, and he knows that he doesn't want to leave, and he just-- they both want to move forward. they both want to be something other than "friends". derek just has to figure out how to make it happen. ]
I...
[ derek sets his hand against stiles' shirt, balling the fabric of it in his fist and holding on tight, grabbing it the way he'd grab someone's shirt when he wants to punch them in the face and knock out their teeth. his hand shakes, but he keeps stiles pinned down, and he drops his other hand down to stiles' cock, slipping past it.
his fingers are still slick with his spit, and derek pushes stiles into the bed as he searchingly touches his middle finger to stiles' hole. he looks at stiles, waiting to be told this is too much, waiting to be told this isn't what stiles wants, waiting to be told that he's ruined this. carefully, he inches his finger forward, stretching the ring of muscle around the very tip of it and slipping inside to the first knuckle. ]
I want there to be an us. Not... "friends".
[ he holds his hand steady, and he leans down, hovering his lips half an inch from stiles'. he wants to be kissed like that again. the teeth on his lips, the love, the emotion. how can he ask stiles to kiss him when he doesn't even have the guts to take the lead and tell him how he feels? this is just like the barracks again - hands roaming over stiles' body, taking what they want to, while his head feels too fucked up by webbed cotton and stale panic and fresh anxiety to say what he needs to say. ]
Please.
no subject
and derek doesn't say it back — but that's okay. it's okay. even if stiles' chest aches for a moment with mild disappointment, it's okay. because derek doesn't want him to take it back and he doesn't want to just be friends and maybe that's enough for stiles. maybe this is more than he deserves.
stiles startles a little when derek suddenly pitches forward, his hands gripping over his shoulder blades as he's tilted back. he can't help the quick spike of anxiety that jolts through him, convinced for a moment that derek is just - dumping him out of his lap so he can get up or so he can leave, even though they literally just talked about neither one of them wanting to go, but anxiety quickly turns into arousal as derek grips the front of his shirt, pinning him down with a heavy fist to his chest. desire pulses through him put of nowhere, buzzing through his nerves and warming his skin and quickly filling his partially softened cock.
he makes room between his thighs for derek without being asked. stiles tilts his knees apart, and it's a little slutty, with his feet pressed flat against the mattress and his knees drawn up into low peaks and his thighs spread, shirt drawn up a little past his stomach with derek holding onto a fistful of it the way he is. he doesn't care, probably doesn't even know what he looks like. he just wants derek closer. he wants him so much closer.
stiles draws in a deep breath, and as he stares up at derek, he very deliberately tilts his chin up, lifts it just an inch, maybe two, baring a little more of his throat to him. he knows exactly what he's doing, keeps his eyes on derek's even as he tilts his head back, looks at him through the splay of his lashes, over the subtle shape of his cheekbones.
the press of derek's finger makes stiles' body jerk slightly, but he quickly relaxes, an anticipatory shiver racing up his spine. he breathes out a shuddery breath, and he takes one hand away from derek's shoulder to splay it across the thin blanket stretched underneath him, loosely curling his fingers in the threadbare fabric. he snakes his other hand down into the space between them and grips his cock, slowly dragging his fist up from the root up to the tip, and when dereks finger presses in, there's only minimal discomfort.
stiles keeps pumping himself lazily, eyes still half lidded as he watches derek. he nods before derek can even finish - yes, yes, stiles wants that, he wants there to be an us, he wants its so fucking badly. he wants to kiss derek so fucking badly, he wants derek to fuck him so fucking badly. he wants derek, however derek will allow stiles to have him.
stiles cranes his head up, closes up that half an inch of space but another half so there's barely any space left. he curls his other hand around derek's wrist and he squeezes around the bone, but he doesn't try to take his hand away. he likes being pinned down like this. ]
Yeah, yeah, yes, I want it. I want that too. [ he's close, so he's quiet, murmurs the words like they're something kept secret, meant only for derek. stiles stretches his neck so he can kiss him, pushes up against his fist just so he can reach, so he can kiss derek with an open mouth, pulling gently at his lower lip with his teeth only to sooth the scrape with smaller, feathery kisses ] We can be an us, we can be whatever - we can be whatever you want.
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they kiss, and - and stiles has to know what he's doing to him. he bares his throat, and derek doesn't react, not verbally, but his expression darkens with lust, and when he pulls back, his eyes lower to the flushed curves of his neck, the pristine skin he's yet to mark with soft bites and swipes of his tongue. he leans in, sets his lips against the dip in stiles' throat above his collarbone, and he sighs against his skin as he kisses him again.
we can be whatever you want. all that anxiety derek was feeling, the worry that he wasn't going to be enough - it melts and dissolves, completely powerless in the atmosphere of stiles' room and the future stiles is offering him. the potential to really be something special. derek kisses up stiles' throat, over his jaw, up to his lips. ]
Good.
[ he's - reinvigorated. stiles wants him. stiles wants him, not as just some-- cheap fuck in the back of his car, not as some limited, physical expression of comfort who only serves to chase away some of the pain of duplicity. stiles wants to be something, whatever derek wants, and derek doesn't know what he wants, yet, not exactly, but he knows he wants this to be real.
derek presses his finger tighter against stiles' hole, adding the tiniest modicum of pressure to the touch. he sinks in further, stretches him a little more, giving stiles time to breathe and adjust as he's guided into gently, easily yielding for him. he scrapes the very edge of his teeth along stiles' throat, moving downwards, sinking blunt, human jaws around the bridge leading to stiles' shoulder, and he exhales through his nose.
he bites. not hard - at least, not as hard as it would be, if he weren't in control of himself. it's dulled and human but still hurts enough to leave a mark, just on the patch of skin derek can reach before stiles' collar. steadily, derek starts to fuck stiles with his finger, drawing out to the tip as he sucks the impression his teeth left at the edge of stiles' neck. he moves forward, pressing in, keeping stiles tilted down on the bed, held in place.
and he bites a little harder, though still not hard enough to bruise. it's this sharp, singing pain that derek quickly soothes with dragging laps of his tongue. he sucks, turning the skin beneath his teeth a soft and rosy pink, and he fingers stiles a little deeper, feeling almost dizzy from the tight, welcoming heat of him. derek closes his eyes and lets himself just - lose himself, for a second, in the tight grip stiles has on his wrist, in the rhythmic squeak of the messy, dishevelled bed, and in the light of the man he loves. ]
Stiles.
[ he inches forward, sinking his finger down to the second knuckle. he's deep enough in stiles to curl his finger and brush against his prostate, relentlessly trying to pull a reaction from him, to-- to overwhelm him with nerves and sensitivity. he's aggressive and consuming and going too fast, he gets that, but it feels like every second he spends disconnected from stiles is frantic, wasted time. how has he spent so long with stiles without - doing this? having him. fucking him. taking him. his stiles. his very good boy. ]
Stiles.
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he knows what he's doing by baring his throat, even if he's never really had to do it before. even if he's never truly felt the desire to submit like this until now, until derek. stiles sighs, closing his eyes and exhaling a slow, fluttery breath as derek presses a line of kisses up the column of his throat, kisses his mouth, too. he says good, and stiles swallows and he nods because it is good. this is good and whatever derek wants, stiles will make that good, too, if it's the last thing he ever does.
by now, derek's gentle ministrations to stiles' throat has coaxed stiles into relaxing so much that he almost feels a little boneless, loose and easy and warm and safe and wanting, and there's little to no resistance or squirming from him when derek works his finger deeper. his body doesn't instinctively try to fight the intrusion, but he's still a little tight and the stretch is still slightly uncomfortable, if only because he isn't accustomed yet. stiles breathes in through his nose, impulsively drawing his knees in a bit closer to either side of derek between his legs, but he forces himself to relax as he exhales, easing the way with a couple of lazy, uncoordinated strokes of his dick as he spreads his thighs again.
the scrape of derek's teeth against his throat is a welcome distraction, but it's the fit of derek's jaws over the dip between his neck and his shoulder that has his heart beat jumping and his hand stuttering over his dick. it's not panic that floods through him, and it's not fear, either, but something stiles can't quite describe - something like absolute, unquestionable trust, and adrenaline, and the indescribable thrill of something else stiles couldn't put a name to if he tried.
derek bites down. derek bites down, presses the flat edges of his human teeth into soft flesh and tight muscle and it's not hard, but stiles feels the dull, hot pressure behind it and it does more for him that he expects it to. he clenches his teeth lightly, closes his eyes, and when he breathes out, there's a soft, unsteady moan that hovers just under his breath. his fist tightens up around his cock, fingers curled just below the head and his wrist flexing with short little pulses.
stiles' fingers grip a little harder at derek's wrist, not to push him off or get him to ease up, but almost as if to anchor himself instead, to stay connected with him at as many points as possible. derek starts to move his hand, starts to fuck him with his finger, fits his teeth back into the impressions they left before - and he bites again, but this time it's harder, and it hurts, and stiles... doesn't hate it. he shivers and he clenches his teeth and he closes his eyes a little tighter and he - likes it. his voice is a little gravely, a little thin, breathy, similar to a whine but not quite there. ]
God...
[ he really, really likes it, and that's somewhat unexpected considering that, in his experience, sex and pain have never really had any positive associations for him. but this is good. maybe there are limits they just haven't hit yet, but right now, this is really good.
stiles skin flushes with heat, eyes blinking open halfway because he wants to see derek, wants to look at him but he can't because derek's face is still pressed in close to his throat, hot, wet tongue licking and soothing the sharp imprint of his teeth. stiles is left staring up at the ceiling instead, feet pressed flat to the mattress and hips rolling in tiny little circles, trying to meet the steady thrust of derek's finger, seeking more.
derek says his name. stiles takes his hand off of his dick, not because he's close, because he isn't, not yet, but because he's aware enough to know that that could change very quickly, and he's nowhere near ready for this to be over when it's only just begun. he hums a soft, low note in acknowledgement, but it just sounds like another soft moan. stiles reaches backwards with his free hand, extending his arm up over his head like he's about to reach for a pillow that he doesn't actually have, but he never makes it that far.
stiles' fingers grip at the thin bed sheet, grabbing a fistful of it by his head with his elbow bent sharply as derek strokes his finger over his prostate. his eyes fly open the rest of the way and his mouth opens and his toes curl. he doesn't make a sound at first, but his body tenses up and he digs his heels into the bed, and then the breath comes rushing out of him and derek says his name again, and this time he does whine, soft and thin and completely unintentional. his nerves feel like they're buzzing, intense but quickly fading.
stiles pants, mildly overwhelmed and surprised and horny as fuck. he lets go of the sheet, his other hand still circled around derek's wrist, holding it so tightly that his knuckles are white and his fingers feel a bit numb, and he clumsily fits his hand over the back of derek's neck, stumbling through his words. ]
I need, I want— I need - more than this.
[ he needs more than just derek's finger, for one, even if knows somewhere in the corner of his mind that he probably shouldn't rush through prepping. but he also needs for this to be more than just sex - which they've already established that it is, that it will be, that they're more than just friends, but stiles still says it anyway, even if he doesn't clarify out loud what it is he needs from derek. ]
Please.