[ 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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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.
no subject
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.