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Derek and Stiles sleep together for the first time on Stiles’ graduation day.
Stiles may be a little, okay a lot drunk. He’s girl drink drunk. Been hanging out with Allison and Lydia in the kitchen of Lydia’s house and they started off just trying to test out their shooter recipes before the party started and somehow it’s like four in the morning and Stiles thinks they missed the entire party but he doesn’t fucking care because Lydia just told him Jackson cried the first time they had sex. Like he full on cried and Lydia had to pet him and tell him it was okay and Stiles can’t, he fucking can’t oh my god he wishes that dickwad was still in town so he could tell him he knows. Stiles knows! And Lydia, beautiful Lydia with her strawberry blonde hair is staring up and Allison and Stiles with her big, wide green eyes and she’s still talking about Jackson crying and maybe Stiles should feel bad about it because hey, everyone’s got shit or baggage or whatever but then he thinks about what a dick Jackson is and nope! He doesn’t feel bad one bit.
“Oh my god, what’s wrong with you guys? How much did you drink?”
Scott! Stiles loves Scott. Like he fucking loves him. They are brothers from another mother, only they can’t talk about moms because that makes Stiles cry and shut up it’s totally different from Jackson crying. But - Scott! Epic bromance! Epic! Like Stiles would jump in front of a bus for Scott. Like to save his life, not just for no reason because that would be dumb and serve no purpose. But if a bus needed to be jumped in front of for Scott then Stiles would abso-fucking-lutely do it. No questions.
“Oh my god, you are so drunk, have you guys been in here the whole time? What - is this 150 proof??!! Did you guys drink this bottle? Jesus. Allison! Get your hands out of my pants! I gotta get you guys home.”
Suddenly, they are surrounded by werewolves!
And Stiles loves them all. Erica! Isaac! Boyd!
Even Derek! Oh my god! Derek! He of the crazy Bert eyebrows! Like Bert and Ernie? You know like Sesame Street?
“Shut the fuck up, I know who Bert and Ernie are.”
Derek is pushing him out of Lydia’s kitchen and Stiles blows kisses to Allison and Lydia and they are the best bros he’s ever had (other than Scott) and shut up they can be bros even if two of them are girls.
Stiles is for equality!
Plus Lydia and Allison were hugging him and it was all soft and squishy and smelled like strawberries and vanilla and it doesn’t fucking count okay because they’re bros to him but it was so awesome.
But Derek, Derek is built like a fucking brick shit house. A fucking brick shit house. Like a brick shit house that fucks oh my god yes! That is what Derek is built like and he’s all muscles and wow and he just walks around like sex on legs, like sex on legs.
“I will knock you unconscious if you don’t shut up.”
Stiles is in the Camaro and that’s a fun word to say Ca-Mar-Ohhhhhhhhh. That was the best graduation party ever, like EVER and he’s so glad they’re all still alive to see it. Seriously. Because it was touch and go for a while and he wasn’t sure he’d live to see the next day let alone graduate. And have his birthday! He’s eighteen now.
“I know.”
Derek is such a sourwolf, a sourwolf with his pouty face and his brooding… broodiness. But Stiles loves him, man. Like honestly loves him.
“You are so drunk.”
Hey, that’s mean. Stiles isn’t that drunk. Like okay he’s really fucking mellow right now but he could recite the Gettysburg Address if he had to. Four score and seven years ago! Sure, he had a lot to drink and he’s drunk but that doesn't mean he doesn't love Derek. He really does.
Truly.
Even if he carries Stiles up the stairs like a small child or a bride or some shit like that. Thank God his dad had to leave for a conference after the graduation ceremony. Only not thank god because he loves his dad and it’s shitty that he has to work so hard but it would not be cool if he saw how drunk Stiles is.
The room is all swoopy and fun and Derek did him a solid, brining Stiles home, even if he’s being a dick and making Stiles drink three glasses of water and Stiles belly is all sloshy. And you know what else is solid? All of Derek.
“Stiles, you need to go to bed.”
Yes! That’s a fantastic idea. Bed! With Derek! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Derek is all hot and firm and wow that’s just not humanly possible, only he’s not human, he’s a werewolf and Stiles wants to climb him like a tree.
“Get into bed, Stiles.”
Yes! That's what he’s saying! Bed! With Derek.
“I’m not getting into bed with you, you’re drunk.”
Hey! With the name calling again! He’s not that drunk!
Derek’s smile is so pretty. Derek is underwear model pretty. He should be on billboards around the country. He’s tugging off Stiles pants and Stiles can’t be responsible for the party in them because he’s eighteen and Derek is undressing him and even though he’s drunk, he’s not dead. Plus, Derek. With the pretty.
“Shut up, Stiles.”
But it’s not just his face that’s pretty. Derek’s heart is pretty too. Like, Derek tries. He fucking tries, man, even when it’s hard and Stiles knows they’re fucking teenagers and they don’t know shit about shit and they have bad impulse control but Derek fucking tries and hasn’t killed any of them or even maimed them a bit on purpose. Derek’s pretty on the inside too.
“Jesus, Stiles.”
The bed is bouncy and Stiles manages to grab onto Derek and yank him down on top of Stiles and dammmmmm. He’s heavy and hot and wow it’s just all kinds of awesome.
“You’re so drunk.”
Derek’s face is all scratchy but it’s still kind of nice to rub his cheek against it. Stiles doesn’t ever want to let go of Derek, even when Derek tries to pull away and move off the bed, Stiles isn’t letting go of Derek’s shirt. No way. Derek can deal. He is warm and snuggly. Not at all like a big, bad wolf. Derek’s just gonna have to stay because Stiles is comfy and Derek is nice and he smells good like trees and grass and ivory soap. He’s pretty fucking awesome.
***
The second time Stiles and Derek sleep together is when Derek takes Stiles up to meet a pack Derek’s parents used to be friendly with.
With the Alpha pack gone, and his own pack more stable, Derek decided it was time to start refreshing some alliances/friendships his parents had with various packs.
Stiles isn’t sure if Derek asked him to come or told him he was coming. Either way, Stiles tossed his duffle bag into the backseat of the Camaro (Derek wouldn’t even hear of taking Stiles’ jeep) and he spent the four hour drive pepping Derek with questions.
“Why haven’t you talked about them before? How long did your parents know them? So do werewolf alliances have paperwork? Do you spit and shake? Do you have to take some freaky kind of blood oath? Oh my god, is there naked dancing under the moon?”
Derek’s answers were short. They weren’t relevant before, his parents knew them for years, no, no, no and Jesus where do you come up with these things?
When they finally arrive and Stiles is trying to get his legs out of the short car, he finally gets up the gumption to ask the one question that has been burning in his brain since Derek asked him to come.
Why did Derek pick Stiles to come with him?
“You ask the best questions. If there are things the pack wants to know, you’ll know what questions to ask. Plus, the pack listens to you. That makes you my second.”
Wow, Stiles is kind of freaked out by that. So much so that he trips getting out of the car, his duffle bag throwing his balance off, and almost face plants into the open door of the Camaro and is only saved from busting his front teeth by Derek grabbing him by the bicep and keeping him upright.
“Um, I just. I mean, I thought Boyd was your second? Or Scott? When we faced off with the Alpha pack you said if anything happened to follow Boyd or Scott.”
“If I ended up dead, there had to be another wolf to lead. That’s different than my second.”
Stiles heart is pounding in his chest and he really fucking wished he asked this question before they were already here and walking up the steps. Derek seems completely unfazed and is already leaning forward and ringing the bell and before Stiles can even say another word, the door is swinging open and a beautiful older woman is smiling at them.
“Derek, it’s good to see you.”
She’s tall and brunette and she’s probably old enough to be Stiles’ mother and Stiles wants to bow down in front of her she’s so gorgeous.
“Madeline,” Derek answers, nodding his head slightly. “This is Stiles.”
Her eyes light up as they look at Stiles, a gorgeous deep, dark brown and Stiles can feel a kind of goofy smile crack across his face.
“I’m pleased you could come, Stiles. It’s so important for an Alpha to have a good Second.”
“Um, thanks,” Stiles manages.
“You must be tired from your drive. If it’s all the same to you, I thought since you were coming in so late that you’d probably just want to head to bed and we can start chatting in the morning. Jack had to go out and pick up Kayla. Jack’s my husband,” she says to Stiles conversationally as he hitches his bag up on his shoulder and follows her up the stairs. He shoots a sideways glance to Derek, who seems completely relaxed and unconcerned. “Kayla’s our human daughter and she was out with some friends tonight and called for a ride.” Madeline sighs. “We have a rule that you can always call for a ride if you don’t have a sober one, no questions asked, but Kayla is pushing it.”
She continues chatting on as she leads them down a hallway and then to a bedroom at the far end of the house.
“I thought you’d be most comfortable here. It’s the same room you and your parents used to stay in when you visited.”
“I remember,” Derek says gruffly. “Thank you, Madeline.”
She smiles kind of sadly at him and Stiles eyes dart back and forth between her and Derek. She kind of looks at Derek the way Scott’s mom sometimes looks at Stiles - like she wants to hug him or kiss him or feed him or something. She finally ends up resting a hand on his shoulder and wishing them a good night.
Stiles freezes when he steps into the room. There’s a single king-sized bed dominating the room and no where else to sleep.
“Um…” Stiles starts.
Derek chucks his bag on the floor. “It’s a pack thing. Most packs like to sleep together when in another pack’s territory. I can sleep on the floor. I don’t mind.”
Stiles tosses his bag on the floor as well. “Dude, don’t be ridiculous. It’s huge.” He launches himself on the bed and then closes his eyes and revels in the bounciness and softness. “Oh my god, this is like those hotel beds that are just...” he groans in pleasure at the feeling and then opens his eyes when he hears a loud ‘thunk’ and Derek curse.
Derek glares at the dresser he must have just kicked like it mortally offended him. Stiles pats the bed next to him. “Come on, get on. Try it.”
“It’s fine. I can take the floor,” Derek repeats, shuffling weirdly from one foot to the other.
Stiles makes a face. “Look at the size of this thing!” he exclaims. “Besides, trust me. Nothing can be worse than the Bed Sharing Event Of Which We Do Not Speak between Scott and I of 2009.” Stiles wiggles a bit on the bed, wishing he hadn’t gotten on the bed fully dressed. It’s going to be hell to get off now and he’s tired.
“What happened?” Derek finally asks.
“Of Which We Do Not Speak,” Stiles repeats. “Trust me on this, you don’t want to know.”
Derek shuffles his feet again and then digs in his duffle bag. “I’m just gonna -” he points to the door and Stiles flaps a hand at him.
The bed is ridiculously comfortable and soft and Stiles is tired out from the drive, which is always a stupid thing, he thinks because all he did was sit there and how can he be tired from it? He’s confused when he jerks awake to feel Derek poking him in the shoulder.
“Stiles, go get ready for bed.”
Stiles grumbles but rolls out of the bed and finds his own bag and toothbrush, stumbles down the hall a bit till he sees the bathroom light that Derek must have left on for him. He doesn’t even look up in the mirror as he brushes his teeth and spits. He shuffles back to the room and sees Derek already under the covers on one side of the bed, curled up a little.
Stiles flicks off the lights and strips down to just a t-shirt and his boxers and climbs into the other side of the bed. It’s weird. The bed is so big it’s not at all like he’s sharing it but he still knows he is. He’s in bed with Derek Hale.
Bizarre.
He’s got about ten minutes to ponder the absurdity that’s his life now before he falls asleep.
He wakes up and all he can process is hot and heavy and whazzuh? He shifts around a bit trying to get a sense of his surroundings and something tightens around him and he stills, trying to figure it out. He blinks a bit and can make out a clock proclaiming it only four in the morning. He blinks a few more times trying to figure out what the fuck is going on, where he is and what all the hot is about.
Jesus fuck, he’s being spooned by Derek Hale.
Spooned. He’s the little spoon. The small spatula, the smaller scoop and Derek... Derek is...
Derek is just all over him. Stiles is a little on his side, a little on his stomach, and Derek is just this solid weight on top of him.
Like a heavy, hot brick.
That smells like… Ivory soap?
It’s almost like Stiles has some kind of flashback then because he gets this distinct memory of being in bed, clutching Derek to himself like a security blanket and proclaiming that Derek smells good and then Derek… Derek… kissed him on the head and told him to go to sleep.
What?
Jesus, did that happen? Stiles knew that Derek brought him home after the grad party but he was really fuzzy on the details other than the three gigantic glasses of water Derek made him drink. And something about Sesame Street. The next thing he knew, he was waking up only slightly hungover and spotting a bottle of Advil on his nightstand and another glass of water.
He hadn’t thought about it since.
But now, with Derek pretty much lying on top of him, smelling like ivory soap, Stiles is having some kind of memory experience or brain surge or something and whoa.
This does not help with the current situation of being underneath Derek, however.
Who honestly, is sleeping like the dead. He thought wolves were supposed to be light sleepers? Ready to defend themselves from predators or some shit. But Derek... Derek is just breathing in and out deeply, almost huffing on his exhales, right into Stiles neck, making slightly damp patch of skin. Stiles left calf is getting a cramp and he shifts again, trying to stretch it out and Derek’s arms tighten around Stiles again and Derek makes a kind of grumbling-huffing sound.
“Shhh,” Stiles says automatically. “It’s fine.”
He doesn’t know why he does it. What he should say is, “Oh ye of two hundred pounds of muscle currently splayed on top of me, roll the fuck over.”
But he doesn’t.
Derek’s arms relax and he makes another kind of grousing noise and Stiles, feeling magnanimous pats one of Derek’s hands. Derek smacks his lips a bit and then starts his huffing again.
Stiles manages to get a hand out and flip the covers off them both and blissful, glorious cool air hits his skin and he sighs in relief.
He could wake Derek up. He could get out of bed. But it’s kind of… nice? Nice is a bland sort of word but it fits. It’s hot but Derek’s weight is comforting and Stiles feels… safe?
Fuckit, it’s too early in the morning for any kind of existential crisis. He does his own sort of lip smacking thing and snuggles down into the mattress a bit and goes back to sleep.
When he wakes up the next morning, Derek’s side of the bed is empty. Stiles stares at it a long time.
***
The third time Stiles and Derek share a bed is due to sickness.
Werewolf flu. It’s a thing.
A thing that will apparently pass, according to Deaton, provided that Derek stays in bed, stays hydrated and gets five drops twice daily of a tincture Deaton prepared.
Anyone werewolf (Scott, Boyd, Erica, Isaac, Jackson) or werewolf adjacent (Allison, Lydia - because of their ‘intimate’ relationships with werewolves - and please God let Stiles never see that look on Deaton’s face nor hear him say the word ‘intimate’ again) is forbidden from Derek’s apartment.
Derek is in quarantine.
Stiles is still not 100% sure exactly how he ended up being Florence Nightingale to Derek but he doesn’t mind. Derek’s got three gaming consoles and an Apple TV and there are enough groceries in the place to feed an army.
Or, you know, a pack of wolves.
It’s a pretty easy job for the first two days. Derek scowls. Says he’s fine on his own. Demands Stiles hand over the eye dropper and tincture.
Stiles waits him out and makes him stick his tongue out like a baby bird and then makes ridiculous cooing noises at Derek while he doles out the five drops.
Derek grumbles but takes his medicine and Stiles promises lollipops if Derek continues to be good. Derek scowls more but doesn’t actually say anything so Stiles counts it as a victory.
A victory of what, he’s not sure. Stiles makes chicken noodle soup and then gets brave and tries his hand at a bisque and feels a surge of pride when Derek says it tastes good and asks for a second bowl. Stiles queues up movies on Derek’s laptop (despite the fact that the Apple TV is languishing in the living room alone) and they watch a slew of shows on Netflix while Derek alternatively kicks the covers off and then yanks them back on when he gets cold. It makes him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside when Derek lets Stiles take care of him.
Stiles has been sleeping on Derek’s couch. Derek’s sleep has been that of your regular, average sick person - he tosses and turns. There’s some snuffling and sniffling. Coughing and grumbling. A trip to the bathroom maybe for a glass of water and then bed clothes kicking. Stiles keeps an ear out but it’s been nothing out of the ordinary.
Until Derek takes a turn for the worse. Until now.
Stiles squints in the darkness hearing the sounds of Derek…moving about. Pacing? Yeah, it maybe sounds like pacing. Then drawers are getting opened and closed and at two o’clock in the morning, that’s unusual. But maybe Derek just wanted a change of clothes or something.
“You okay in there?” Stiles calls out and waits for an answer.
More opening and shutting drawers, more shuffling. Stiles kicks back his own covers and nearly trips over the little nest of books, remote controls and soda pop cans he’s got going beside the sofa. He’s just got his legs under him again when the door to Derek’s room opens and Derek comes out looking… just… not right.
“Derek?” Stiles asks.
Derek doesn’t seem to take note of him. His hair is akimbo, sticking up in all different directions, sweat slicked and a little grimy. Derek’s dressed, like dressed to go out, in jeans and a t-shirt and he makes his way to the front door like he means to leave.
“Whoa, whoa!” Stiles exclaims, vaulting over the sofa in a move he really wasn’t sure he could pull off. He gets in front of Derek, hands on Derek’s biceps and Jesus, Derek is on fire.
“Oh my god, is your fever spiking? Dude, you gotta get back into bed.”
“I have to go find Laura.”
Stiles stills, hands clamped on Derek’s biceps. Derek’s looking at him but Stiles thinks Derek isn’t really seeing him.
“I think you need to go back to bed, Derek.”
“No, you don’t understand, I have to go,” Derek says doggedly, although he doesn’t struggle against Stiles’ grip. “I have to go find Laura. I think she’s in trouble.”
Stiles swallows thickly. Oh shit. Stiles has had a high fever himself before, knows the crazy thoughts that sometimes go with it, and in fact recalls how he once spent an entire night telling his dad how he was sure the French were secretly plotting to take over the United States because Mr. Johnson kept making them watch Gerard Depardieu movies in class and that was the first wave.
“Derek, do you know where you are?”
“I have to go,” Derek repeats. “Laura needs me.”
Stiles… doesn’t know what to do. Does he go along with Derek? Try to placate him? He kind of wants to because Sweet Jesus, he doesn’t want to be the one to tell Derek his sister is dead.
“Derek, do you know who I am?” Stiles hedges.
He can see Derek look at him, really look at him. Sees Derek frown a bit, blink a bit. “Stiles,” he finally says, but he sounds unsure.
Stiles smiles. “Yeah. That’s right.”
Derek’s hands come up to grip Stiles arms. “You have to help me find Laura. Please.”
Stiles feels his stomach swan-dive deep and low. He’s not sure how long he just stands there, staring wide-eyed at Derek who is swaying slightly on his feet. He can feel the heat coming off Derek and Stiles really needs to get him back to bed and call Deaton. Stiles chews his bottom lip a bit and swallows dryly.
“I think she’s in really bad trouble,” Derek says and the look on his face. Stiles wants to cry at the look on Derek’s face.
“Derek, I really need you trust me,” Stiles starts, pressing his fingertips into Derek’s biceps. “Do you trust me?”
Derek seems confused for a second and his eyes dart from Stiles to the door behind him like he kind of wants to make a break for it but he finally nods. “Yes.”
“Okay, good! That’s good.” Stiles licks his lips which are kind of dry and cracked. “You’re sick, Derek. You’ve got the flu.”
“No, I don’t get sick. Werewolves don’t get sick.” He shifts a bit in Stiles’ grip, pulling back annoyed.
Stiles scrambles to keep his grip. “Listen to me, you’ve got to trust me, man. You’re sick. It’s the werewolf flu. Deaton, remember Deaton? He said it takes like two weeks to run its course. We’re in your apartment, in Beacon Hills.”
Derek shakes his head. “No, Stiles, I… I don’t have time for this.”
“Please,” Stiles pleads. “I know you’re confused right now and you think… you think you need to go somewhere. Do something.”
“Laura-” Derek begins and Stiles cuts him off.
“But I really need you trust me and believe me. You’re sick. And I need you to stay here.”
Derek’s eyes again dart to the door behind Stiles and shit if he makes a break for it, Stiles can’t stop him. Derek’s stronger and faster. At best, Stiles can give chase but he’d have to call in reinforcements and that means werewolves which means other pack members maybe getting sick.
Derek looks back at Stiles, conflicted and just so… young and unsure.
“Please, Derek. Trust me.”
The back of Derek’s throat makes a high-pitched whining noise and then Stiles feels some of the tension seep out of Derek’s body and Stiles can turn him a bit back toward the bedroom.
“That’s it, back to bed for all sick little wolves,” Stiles murmurs. As he walks, Derek looks back over his shoulder at the door.
“You’re sure?” he asks. “Because I just… I think…”
“I’m sure. Derek, I wouldn’t lie to you. You know that, right?”
Derek lets Stiles lead him back to bed and Stiles doesn’t even bother getting Derek to take his jeans off, just puts him back into bed as is.
“God, you’re not even wearing shoes. Where did you think you were going without shoes?” Stiles mutters, pulling the covers up over Derek.
Derek pushes at them, kicking them back down. “No, I don’t like them,” he says petulantly even as he shivers a bit with his fever. “They smell weird.”
“They probably smell like sick werewolf is what they smell like,” Stiles says, sending Deaton a text asking him to come by in the morning. “Don’t move,” he commands, going back out into the living room and grabbing his blanket off the couch. Derek is half off the bed again even though Stiles has been gone all of five seconds. He freezes at the sight of Stiles coming back into the room and relaxes back into the bed. Stiles spreads the blanket out over top of him and Derek clutches it close and sniffs it.
“Okay?” Stiles asks and Derek nods. He looks so miserable. “What woke you up? Do you know?”
Derek falls back against the pillow and curls up, facing away from Stiles, a fine tremor wracking his body. He mumbles something that Stiles doesn’t hear.
“What?” Stiles asks, putting one knee on the bed.
“I had a bad dream,” Derek answers, curling in on himself smaller, trying to get warm. “Laura was… she was… yelling at me and then she was getting farther away and I didn’t want her to go.”
Stiles feels like he got kicked in the chest. Derek coils in a bit more, like a caterpillar twisting into a small ball.
“’s cold. Why’s it so cold?” Derek slurs.
Without thinking, Stiles grabs the edge of one of Derek’s blankets and climbs into bed and curls around Derek, tugging the second blanket up over them both.
“Better?” he asks quietly in Derek’s ear.
Derek’s already asleep.
***
Stiles doesn’t like to think about the fourth time he and Derek sleep together.
He wakes up with a jolt and pushes himself up a bit in bed, not sure what the hell woke him up. A glance at the clock tells him it’s 3:47 in the morning and damn, that means it’s time for all good little Stiles’ to be in bed.
He flops over and fuck he loves it when you’re tired and falling asleep and you know you have a few more hours it’s the best feeling in the world and then he hears it.
The door.
He feels his heart double thump out of time because no, he couldn’t have heard the door. The door at 4 am means nothing but bad news and Stiles’ life lately has been all about good news and there’s no way he heard -
Oh fuck, there it is again.
It’s like being trapped in some kind of nightmare. He’s been having this nightmare, daymare, awful, awful worry since he figured out what his dad did for a living. He slowly pushes himself out of bed and stumbles out of his room, not bothering with any lights. He feels sick and as he makes his way downstairs he tells himself that it will just be Scott or something (at four in the morning, without texting first) or maybe Derek (who always comes in the window ever after three years) or it’s a jogger who tripped and fell (at four in the morning) who needs to use a phone.
He’s at the door, stuck standing in front of it, hand hovering in the air. As long as he doesn’t open it, then whatever is on the other side can’t happen. He’s mistaken. He’s not seeing the distinctive shape of two people standing on the porch, one of them in the unmistakeable silhouette of a officer of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department hat. If he doesn’t open the door, then he can stay here, frozen in time, stopped at this moment.
There’s another knocking sound again and he flinches when he hears, “Stiles? Stiles, it’s Deputy Mike, can you open up, son?” The window in the living room is open and through it, Stiles can hear Deputy Mike start talking. “His jeep is here but maybe he’s not at home.”
Stiles wonders how long that window has been open. He really should have checked before he went to bed. It’s not safe to sleep without it locked.
“We could try his phone.”
That’s Deputy Marla Finn. Stiles isn’t on as casual a name basis with her. She’s always ma’am or Deputy Finn.
“I don’t want to give him this news on the phone. If he’s not here, we’ll have to track him down somehow.”
Jesus he thinks he really might be sick. It’s like he’s seeing himself from far away; sees his hand reach out for the door, sees his hand unlock the bolt, sees the bones of his wrist as they rotate and he turns the handle-
Deputy Mike Hannigan (who Stiles has called just Deputy Mike since Stiles was twelve) and Deputy Finn (who honestly scares Stiles a little because she’s gorgeous and he’s seen her take down a drunk and disorderly that outweighed her by seventy pounds and not one piece of hair escaped her super tight ponytail) are both staring at him and he wonders what he looks like, standing there in ratty flannel bottoms and a threadbare t-shirt and his hair all sleep mussed. Deputy Mike looks tired and Stiles can’t figure out if he looks sad or traumatized or if he’s about to say that Stiles’ dad is dead.
Stiles’ dad dies a thousand different ways in the ten seconds it takes Deputy Mike to speak. He gets shot in the head and dies instantly. Shot in the leg and bleeds out. Gut shot and waits for the paramedics for an hour before dying on the way to the hospital. A perp slashes at him with a knife and severs the carotid artery spraying blood all over an alley. A perp stabs him in the chest and perforates his lung. A drunken idiot lands a lucky punch and knocks him against the cruiser and he dies. He gets slashed by a rogue omega that they didn't’ even know was in town and despite the fact that his dad knows about werewolves, he doesn’t get a chance to use his wolfsbane bullets. He has a heart attack and god dammit Stiles knew, he knew his dad was cheating on his diet and not taking all his meds.
“Hey Stiles,” Deputy Mike says with a smile and Stiles is just waiting, waiting for the words to come out of his mouth. I’m sorry, Stiles, but there was an incident and your dad, well, he didn’t make it.
“My dad?” he manages.
“He’s in the hospital. He was… well… there was an accident on the highway, during a chase.”
Stiles is confused. He didn’t even think about a car accident.
“But… how’s… I mean, he’s…” he can’t put enough words together to form a sentence. He feels cold and a little sweaty. “A car accident?”
Deputy Mike nods. “Yeah. High speed chase and the road-” He shakes his head. “Well, it doesn't really matter.”
Stiles wants to shout at him that no, it does! It does matter but he finds himself nodding along.
“But your dad, he was awake and lucid before they took him to the hospital and he asked us, well anyone from the station really, to swing by and get you.”
Stiles is halfway out the door before he registers Deputy Finn’s hand on his chest. “Stiles, why don’t you go get some shoes on and maybe grab your phone and your wallet or anything else you want. Mike and I will wait here for you. It’s okay.”
He looks dumbly down at his bare feet on the porch and thinks, no, no it’s not okay but he manages to nod and it’s all kind of a blur but he finds himself back outside with sneakers on and his wallet and his phone.
“We have time for you to put some jeans on or something, Stiles.”
“I just wanna go,” Stiles says, lips feeling numb and thick.
“Okay then. Let’s get in the car.”
The ride to the hospital is a blur of lights and pavement and at this time of night… morning, Stiles guesses, it doesn’t take long at all. Deputy Finn parks the car in one of the spots that states it’s reserved for doctors and Stiles wonders who would even ticket her if they had a mind to.
The smell of the hospital is always cloying. Thick and heavy and it always feels like it gets stuck in his soft pallet. Mike kind of steers Stiles to a chair and pushes him gently down on it while saying something about trying to go in the back and see if they can get Stiles back to see his dad.
Stiles is alone in the front waiting room. He fumbles for a second with his phone and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s dialed and is listening to it ring in his ear.
“‘lo. What? God, what time is it?”
Derek’s voice is gravelly and low on the phone. Clearly the voice of someone who’s just been woken from a deep sleep and Stiles is frozen, unable to say anything. His throat is tight, painful and if he says something, if even one word manages to make its way out, then maybe the whole thing will collapse and he’ll start crying and he can’t cry because he doesn’t even know anything yet.
“Hello?”
Stiles wants to say something, he does. He just can’t. He hears a rustling sound over the line, like Derek is shifting or moving.
“Stiles? You’re on caller ID. You better not have rolled over on your phone and dialed me in your sleep. It’s four in the fucking morning.”
The nurse behind the desk is calling out for a patient, that they’re ready to set his arm now and some guy cradling his arm wearily gets up and settles himself back down in the wheelchair she has for him.
“You sound like you’re at the hospital? Are you okay? What’s going on? Stiles?”
“My dad -” is all Stiles manages for the second time. He swallows hard and clenches his fist. “Can you come?”
“I’m on my way. What happened? Who’s with you? Is Scott there?”
Stiles manages a big breath in that threatens to come back out like a sob. “Scott’s visiting Allison at school. There’s nobody here but me. There were some deputies but they - in the back and I think they’re going to get me if I can go but I don’t… there was a car accident? But I don’t… I don’t know.”
“Okay. I’m coming.”
Those words make something unclench in Stiles and he manages another big breath, focusing on taking the air deep into his lungs and forcing it out slowly. He isn’t going to panic. Deputy Mike is going to come back out and tell him what is going on and Derek will show up and his dad is going to be okay.
“Okay,” he says quietly into the phone. “Okay.”
“Stiles,” Derek says, his voice sounding urgent. “Just… it really is going to be okay.”
His throat feels thick again and he nods, forgetting that Derek can’t see him. “Yeah. I’m gonna… There’s a vending machine and I’m gonna get some water or something.”
“I’m on my way.”
Stiles doesn’t have pockets for his phone or his wallet and he kind of ends up juggling them as he gets a bottle of water from the machine. He can feel the eyes of a few people on him and he wonders if they recognize him as the Sheriff’s son or if he’s just some kid in pajamas and sneakers at the hospital at four in the morning. He makes it through half the bottle of water, anxiously looking up at the doors through which the deputies disappeared and have not yet returned.
“Stiles?”
He looks up and sees Melissa McCall coming through the sliding doors of the hospital, her hair in a messy ponytail, her scrubs all wrinkled. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so disarrayed.
“Mrs. McCall? Are you working now?”
She comes and sits next to him in an empty chair. “Derek called me. He said your dad’s here? Do you know anything yet?”
Stiles shakes his head dumbly and gestures to the closed double doors. “Some deputies brought me but they haven’t come back out yet.”
She pats his hand and then gives it a squeeze, nodding. “It can be tough for them to get information, even with the uniform. I’m going to go find out what’s going on and I’ll be back here in about ten minutes. Okay?”
She’s so…He wants to cry again. She gave him a time and told him what she was going to do and she sounds so calm. All he can do is nod at her and she’s hugging him and she smells like Scott’s house and safety and reminds him of sleepovers and making hot cocoa for him and Scott. She breezes through the double doors with the confidence of someone who works at the hospital, not even really slowing her gait for them to swing all the way open.
He watches her through the little window in the doors till he can’t see her anymore.
Stiles is so focused on watching for her to come back that he misses Derek arriving and only knows he’s there when he sits down next to Stiles.
“Hey, I called Melissa,” Derek says with no preamble. “Is she here yet?”
Stiles turns and sees Derek sitting next to him, hair all mussed up, face sleep-pale and chin covered in scruff. He nods dumbly.
“She said she’s gonna find out what’s going on and tell me. Nobody’s told me anything.” Not that he’s been trolling the information desk or wandering around asking, thinks Stiles, it’s just… he doesn’t know what to do. He feels like all his life he’s been waiting for this moment and now that it’s here he realizes he really was never prepared for it at all.
Derek threads his fingers through Stiles’ and rests both their hands on Stiles’ thigh. Stiles stares down at their entwined hands and then squeezes his fingers around Derek’s. Derek’s hand feels solid and warm in his own - real and tangible; gravity tethering Stiles to the earth.
“Can you hear my dad?” asks Stiles hesitantly. At Derek’s confused frown, Stiles continues, “I mean, his heartbeat? Can you hear his heart? Like maybe if you could hear it you could…” he trails off not sure what he’s hoping Derek would be able to distinguish but the deputies didn’t come back and Melissa hasn’t come back and he just feels like he doesn’t know anything and sitting here waiting he just… he just needs to know something.
Derek pauses and seems to hesitate and Stiles feels his heartbeat ratchet up, afraid of what Derek is going to say.
“I can’t… I can’t hear him,” Derek finally says and Stiles feels sick. Derek’s fingers immediately tighten against Stiles’. “I don’t… I mean I can’t normally pick him out.”
“But you hear mine all the time,” Stiles says. “Like that time with the alphas, you were able to find me and then when I’m lying or whatever you always know ‘cause you can hear it.”
Derek hedges a bit and looks away, licking his lips a bit. “That’s… it’s… different. I can just… I can hear you. I know yours.”
Stiles feels like there’s something he’s missing in that statement. Something about the way Derek is not looking at him, staring down at their hands. Stiles looks down again at where their hands are resting on his thigh and he thinks -
The double doors open and Stiles stands as soon as he sees Melissa and she looks… relieved. She’s smiling and Stiles feels like his legs are tingling and that his knees might give out. His hand tightens around Derek’s - fingers in a would-be bruising grip if not for Derek’s werewolf strength.
“Your dad is going to be fine. It was a car accident which I think the deputies told you?” she asks, grabbing Stiles’ other hand while she speaks. Derek’s got a hand on Stiles neck and between the two of them, he feels safe and anchored.
“There was some kind of car chase on the highway,” Melissa continues. “I didn’t get all the details but suffice to say, it ended in an accident. Your dad got pretty banged up but he’s okay. There was a head wound which they had to clean up and assess and he’s got a few cracked ribs and a broken arm. They’re going to keep him at least for 24 hours and then based on how he does, they’ll probably release him and he can rest at home.”
Oh thank fuck. Stiles feels a little giddy and nervous with the information, all the adrenaline in his system pooling about with no where to go. “Can I - can I see him?”
Melissa nods. “You bet. He’s just finishing up getting his arm cast now.”
Stiles turns and looks at Derek, kind of gaping and not knowing what to say.
“I’ll say here with your stuff, you go see your dad,” Derek says, jerking his head toward Stiles’ phone and wallet lying out in the open on a chair. Melissa tugs on Stiles hand a bit, pulling him toward the double doors and Stiles wants to see his dad, he does but he doesn’t know if he’s quite ready to let go of Derek’s hand yet. Stiles’ arm stretches out as he reluctantly lets go of Derek’s hand, following Melissa through the heavy set doors.
“It’s a full wrist to shoulder cast but that’s totally normal for this kind of break. I can tell you more about it later if you like. He’s also got his ribs taped. He’s on some pain meds but not a lot because of his head injury. He’s got twelve stitches and it’ll look worse than it is.”
Melissa, Stiles realizes, is prepping him for seeing his dad. The hallway is long and completely unremarkable and he’s not sure he’s going to remember how to find his way out or even how to come back if he leaves and then returns. Melissa says a few quick words to some nurses and doctors they pass on the way and then finally, they’re at a single white door, and she stops. There’s a small whiteboard plaque to the side of the door, split in half by a black line. The top half is bare and on the bottom half it says, ‘Stilinski’ in sharp lettering.
Melissa opens the door and is pushing through and all Stiles can do is stand frozen, staring at the partial figure he can see on the bed. He thinks they must have the wrong room because the person on the bed looks to small to be his dad and then he hears Melissa say, “John? Stiles is here,” and the figure on the bed shifts and holy shit that is his dad and he’s a horrible kid for not recognizing him.
His dad immediately focuses on him when he comes in. “Are you in your pajamas? Where’s your coat?” The bed is angled up and his dad is almost sitting upright. The cast on his arm looks sharp and stark - all white and pristine. He’s got a bandage on his head and it looks huge. Some of his hair must have been shaved by the way the gauze is positioned and Stiles can’t breathe and he feels like he needs to run away but he can’t move. There’s not enough air in the room and Stiles wants to go but he can’t leave his dad here, in the hospital, in that bed, looking smaller than Stiles has ever seen him.
“Hey kiddo, hey. Come on over here. It’s okay, I’m okay. It was just an accident. I’m fine. It’s okay.”
“Stiles? You’re okay, it’s okay.” Melissa is petting him on the head and he looks down and sees his own hand clutching her arm and he feels bad because he’s probably hurting her but she’s not saying anything about it.
“Why don’t you come sit next to me for a bit?” his dad says and he tries to push himself over on the bed a bit and he winces and takes in a sharp, pained breath. It galvanizes Stiles into action and he takes those final steps to his dad’s bed.
“Don’t… you don’t have to move. I’m okay,” he says and feels foolish and selfish. His dad’s the one in the hospital - he shouldn’t be making Stiles feel better.
His dad reaches out with his good hand (and Stiles realizes his dad broke his right arm which is going to suck because he’s right handed) and rubs Stiles’ forearm, up and down, like he used to do when Stiles would have a panic attack.
“Yeah? You want some water or something?” his dad asks, nodding toward the nightstand where he’s got a styrofoam cup sitting.
Stiles shakes his head. “I’m okay. You’re the one in the hospital.”
His dad looks a little rueful. “Yeah. Sorry about that, kiddo.”
“It’s not your fault,” Stiles says automatically.
His dad pats Stiles’ arm again. “I know you worry. They’re probably going to keep me here for the rest of today and maybe till tomorrow. I hate bringing you down here in the middle of the night but I didn’t want to take the chance you’d hear about it through the grapevine or that I might doze off and then I wouldn’t come home from my shift-” he trails off and Stiles has to swallow a few times to keep himself from crying. “But I’m okay and it’s all just… paperwork and monitoring now.”
“Do you need anything?” Stiles asks. “I can get you another blanket or some more water or I can just sit here and keep you company-”
“Stiles,” his dad interrupts. “I want you to go home.”
“Dad, I just got here. I’m okay, I want to stay.”
“I knew you’d want to see for yourself that I was okay, so I asked the deputies to bring you here but there’s nothing more to do. I’m going to get some sleep, get woken up a couple hundred times by nurses busting in here like a herd of elephants-”
“We have good reasons for doing that, you know,” Melissa interrupts good-naturedly. “We’re not doing it for kicks.”
His dad gives her a look that clearly says he’s not buying what she’s selling. “Go home, Stiles.”
“Dad-”
“Stiles. I will rest a lot better knowing you’re at home.”
It’s a pretty effective tactic. Stiles wants to stay here and keep an eye on his dad, but he doesn't want his dad to worry about him either.
“I can sleep in one of the chairs. I’ve done it before.”
The look on his dad’s face when he says that makes Stiles want to go back in time and snatch the words back out of the air. They both knew he’s referring to when his mom was in the hospital and the long days and longer nights spent at her bedside.
“I’m not infirm. You’d just be watching me sleep. I’ll call you when I get released and you can come by and pick me up, how about that?”
He wants to protest. He wants to plant his feet and not move but his dad looks so… tired. Stiles just wants to give him whatever he wants. He swallows hard and nods.
“Yeah. Yeah okay.”
“I can call one of the deputies to give you a ride home.”
He shakes his head. “Um, Derek’s here so he can give me a ride home.”
“You called Derek?” his dad asks, a knowing look on his face.
“He’s the one that called me in,” Melissa offers and Stiles’ dad makes a kind of ‘hmmm’ sound.
“Well, I’m sure Derek’ll drive you home.”
Melissa is tugging at his arm and Stiles takes two steps following her before moving back to the bed and falling over his dad, trying to hug him without hurting him. He manages to get one arm around his dad’s good side and lightly pats the cast with his other hand.
“I’m okay, Stiles,” his dad says in his ear. “I’m okay.”
“‘kay,” Stiles manages and then breaks away before he makes an ass out of himself and starts sobbing like a child. “I’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow and I’ll make lasagna and I won’t even hide spaghetti squash in it this time.”
His dad smiles and Stiles feels about a million times lighter. “I actually don’t mind the squash but if you take out the zucchini, you got yourself a deal.”
Stiles nods, willing to give his dad anything he asks for at this point. They chat for a few more minutes but Stiles can see the fatigue creeping into the corners of his dad’s eyes. He doesn’t want to go, feels strange and guilty about leaving, but he manages to take a few steps away from the bed finally and Melissa offers to lead him back out.
Derek’s where they left him, in the waiting area, sitting in the hard backed chairs. He shoots up like a bolt when he sees Stiles and Melissa and Stiles manages to smile.
“He’s…” his throat locks up all of a sudden and he can’t say it. He’s just so fucking relieved.
“He’s okay,” Melissa says, patting Stiles on the arm while he gets his throat back under control. “Derek, can you take Stiles home? He’s going to come back later and get his dad once he gets released.
Derek nods and his hand sort of hovers around Stiles for a moment before finally tugging oddly at the hem of Stiles’ sleep shirt. In another impromptu hug, Stiles lurches forward and hugs Melissa. She rubs his back and says some nonsensical calming words in his ear and then Stiles breaks free and follows Derek out of the hospital.
“He’s okay. I mean, he says he’s okay and Melissa said he was doing okay,” Stiles babbles as they make their way to the visitor parking. “I’m going to go grocery shopping and then do some cleaning and cooking and he’ll probably come home tonight or maybe tomorrow. I don’t know if we’ll have to adjust anything in the house because he’s got a full arm cast but maybe I can look online or something.”
Derek makes some non-verbal agreement noises now and then, driving the Camaro smoothly through the streets of Beacon Hills. It’s still early out and the traffic is non-existent. Stiles continues to natter away as they drive about lasagna and spaghetti squash and how you can hide all kinds of vegetables in stuff and about how when you buy V-8 you gotta make sure you’re getting the low sodium one and there’s just so much salt in everything these days.
As they pull up to the house he blurts, “Oh shit. My phone and wallet.”
“I have them,” Derek answers, handing them over. They’re warm from being in Derek’s pockets and Stiles turns them over in his hands. He doesn’t think he’s going to be able to go back to sleep and the house feels ominous and… looming as he looks up at it through the windshield of Derek’s car. “You want to come in for some coffee and some eggs?” he asks, knowing his voice sounds all kinds of hopeful and maybe a little desperate.
Derek nods slowly. “Sure. Eggs sound good.”
Stiles makes a pot of coffee and half a carton of scrambled eggs, adding in some low-fat cottage cheese and some pre-chopped peppers from the fridge. The quiet of the house is oppressive and Stiles takes their plates out into the tv room, flicking it onto the weather channel just to have something in the background. They eat on the couch and he shovels his food in without really registering it, jerking awake when Derek takes the empty plate away from him, not realizing he was dozing off.
“You should go back to bed. Get some sleep.”
Stiles nods and when Derek starts to stand, Stiles’ hand darts out and snatches his wrist, clutching at it.
“I thought… when I saw Deputy Mike at the door… and he said he didn’t want me to hear over the phone and I thought… ever since I was little I’ve been afraid and it was like it was all happening and I didn’t know what to do.”
Derek slowly, carefully, eases himself back agains the couch and Stiles unthinkingly sags against him, curling his feet up and pressing himself into Derek’s heat. He feels Derek’s arm come around him and settle, tugging him a little closer and Stiles sighs.
“Thanks for coming. And for calling Melissa. I didn’t even think… but it was really good to have here there and she got in to see my dad,” Stiles murmurs, feeling his eyelids get heavy. Derek’s so warm. Derek still smells like Ivory soap. His mom used to use it to and it makes him feel… just happy and safe. He kind of wants to ask Derek about it but he just feels so tired suddenly and the couch is comfy and he’s moving up and down a little bit as Derek’s breathes and it’s very calming.
“You’re welcome,” he hears Derek say. He thinks one more time about asking Derek about his soap but then he’s asleep.
***
The fifth time Stiles sleeps with Derek, Stiles means it.
Pack night at Derek’s house can mean movie night, pot luck dinner or that one terrible time Derek used it as a shameless ploy to get them all there so they could paint the newly constructed Hale house.
Never let it be said that Derek wasn’t above trickery to get cheap labor. Even though he was a rich son of a bitch. He spouted off something about bonding and working together for a common goal and Stiles is pretty sure Derek was just quoting the book Stiles’ spied tucked between couch cushions once - Effective Leadership: Learning to Lead with Love.
If he hadn’t been so goddamn proud of that sourwolf, Stiles would’ve teased him about it. Instead he just tucked it further in so no one else could find it and maybe make fun of Derek for it. It’s been a rough four years since Derek first became Alpha, but he came out the other side an Alpha the pack is all fond of and respects.
Tonight is Stiles’ favorite kind of pack night: game night.
Lydia and Stiles are too good at Trivial Pursuit (all editions, thank you very much!) so it was banned. The werewolves are too good at Twister so it was banned. Boyd always fucking wins Monopoly and ends up with a gagillion houses and condos on ALL the properties and Stiles swears he’s going to prove fraud and note-lifting from the bank, he just doesn’t know how so it was tossed out. No one likes Sorry! except for Isaac.
But they all like Pictionary.
Everyone’s equally bad at drawing so it kind of evens out the field. There’s the usual fight over what constitutes drawing versus what constitutes charades (which is fucking cheating Scott, yes it is!) but by the end of the evening they’re usually crying with laughter because someone drew something that looks totally naughty or someone didn’t know what the hell something was and drew something completely inappropriate or someone did know what something was that they really shouldn’t have (and Stiles will never forget the time Derek drew paisley so fucking well that Lydia got it in ten seconds).
It’s Derek’s turn again for drawing and he looks at the little prompt card and his eyebrows come together in a ‘v’ and then he turns to the whiteboard they bough special for Pictionary nights and he starts drawing, tongue poking out in between his lips and he looks so serious and cute.
Jesus, Stiles loves him.
Oh fuck.
He hears the words in his head over again. He loves Derek. He loves Derek. Not the way he loves Scott. Not the way he loves Lydia. Not the way he loves each and every member of the pack.
He’s in love with Derek. His heart stutters a bit and Derek’s head whips around to look at him, eyes concerned and holy shit, that’s right. Derek can hear his heartbeat. All the time.
It’s like all these memories and clues come crashing in on him. Derek kissing him on the side of head. Derek snuggling him in bed. Derek listening to Stiles when he was sick - trusting Stiles. Derek coming to hospital when he called, staying with him when he was scared for his dad. There’s a thousand other moments over the years and Jesus, Stiles is supposed to be fucking smart and he’s the dumbest fucker on the planet.
Because he thinks that Derek might be in love with him too.
“Stiles? Are you okay?” Derek asks, taking a step toward him.
Stiles nods slowly and swallows, realizes the whole pack is looking at him. “Yeah. I uh… wow. Just…” he makes a carry on motion with his hand. “Keep going. Drawing your… dairy farm or whatever.”
“Oh my god, those are cows?” blurts Isaac and the tension in the room bleeds out through laughter as Derek scowls at his drawings and Allison clips Stiles on the back of the head for ruining the round and guessing Derek’s prompt.
It’s really hard to sit still for the rest of the evening, especially when Derek keeps shooting him concerned looks. It fills like forever until the pack declares another successful game night over and people start drifting toward the door, with Stiles hanging back, trying to be casual and nonchalant.
Derek turns and looks at him, arms crossed. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong? You’re about as subtle as a brick through a window.”
“I’m in love with you,” Stiles blurts.
Derek’s eyebrows go sky high and he blinks and Stiles is already stepping forward into his space.
He’s nervous, wiping his damp palms on his jeans. “And I think?” he licks his lips. “I think that you’re in love with me too.”
Derek freezes, preternaturally still and Stiles inches closer until he’s flush with Derek’s body. He raises his hands, moving them to cup Derek’s face and Derek tries to flinch back.
“Stiles-”
Stiles lurches forward and presses his lips to Derek’s, cutting him off. Derek hesitates for a moment and then kisses Stiles back like their lives depend on it, like this is the only chance their ever going to get, his lips and tongue attacking Stiles and Stiles feels weak in the knees.
They kiss and kiss and kiss - tongues and teeth, spit and stubble - and Stiles finally has to pull back to catch his breath, leaning his forehead against Derek’s while they both huff and pant slightly in his hallway.
“You’re such an asshole. You were never going to say anything, were you?” Stiles asks.
“I - you didn’t seem - I didn’t think -”
Stiles kisses him quick and hard once and then again. He pulls back to look Derek in the eye and feels like a sap when he thinks it’s like looking at him for the first time again. Derek’s the one that leans in for a kiss this time, walking Stiles backward toward the sofa. Stiles hits it and purposefully unbalances himself over the back of it, tumbling down and yanking Derek on top of him. His head almost gets cracked on the less-cushioned arm but Derek snaps his hand out and catches it before it does.
“You’ve the self preservation of a lemming,” Derek mutters against his lips and Stiles smiles.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me get hurt.”
The shuffle and shift until Stiles is stretched out on the extra long sofa, Derek settled in the cradle of Stiles’ hips. He pushes his hands under Derek’s shirt, feeling the hot, taut skin, wrapping his hands around Derek’s ribs and squeezing slightly. It’s like being sixteen again - he’s so excited and giddy - rocking against Derek, feeling him rock back, feeling both their dicks getting hard. They’re necking like teenagers - split slick kisses and lips smacking slightly. Derek's fingers snake under Stiles shirt and Stiles squirms and laughs when they trail over his ribs.
“Stop, I’m ticklish,” he gasps and Derek smirks and runs his fingers over the same spot again and Stiles lets out the most unmanly giggle ever known and then guffaws at himself. Derek buries his head in Stiles neck and Stiles can feel the puffs of air against his skin as he laughs.
“So sexy, right?” says Stiles and Derek huffs in laughter again until Stiles takes Derek’s ear lobe between his teeth, bites down and pulls making Derek groan and push his hips down against Stiles hard. Stiles cants his hips up, hands slipping down over Derek’s ass and grabbing. Derek noses against Stiles jaw and then kisses him again, deep and filthy, his hand pushing between the couch cushions and Stiles’ ass, pulling Stiles closer. They grind against each other, laughter forgotten and Stiles feels dangerously close to coming in his pants like a teenager. He breathes out Derek’s name, rocking his hips up harder, faster, needing more. Derek’s teeth are on his neck, gnawing at the thin skin and then tonguing over it. He wraps one of his legs around Derek’s waist, trying to get closer, pull him in harder and Derek’s teeth snap against his neck and he moans Stiles’ name and that’s it, Stiles is coming hard, gasping and bucking up, pants getting wet and hot.
“Fuck,” he exclaims, not believing he just came in his pants from a little sofa action. Derek licks at his neck and Stiles’ hips twitch up again. Derek keeps rocking against him, breathing hard and gasping a bit. “Yeah, come on,” Stiles urges him, working a hand into the back of Derek’s jeans, under his briefs and grabbing the flesh of his ass. Derek’s lips are on his again, soft and framed in stubble and Stiles kisses him for all he’s worth, slipping a finger into the crack of Derek’s ass and rubbing a hard, tight circle in the crease. Derek curses and his breath hitches and his hips jerk erratically as he throws his head back and comes and he’s so fucking beautiful that Stiles just has to tell him. He says the words over and over again, kissing his jaw, his neck and then finally his lips as Derek catches his breath and settles back against Stiles, pressing him down into the cushions. He runs his hands over Derek, petting him lightly, pushing fingers through Derek's soft, thick hair.
Stiles’ brain, however, is never quiet for long and as he dips his nose into Derek’s neck and breathes deep he blurts out, “Why do you always smell like ivory soap?”
Derek sighs, buries his face against Stiles’ throat and then squirms a bit and mumbles something that Stiles can’t hear.
“What?” Stiles asks, nudging Derek with his shoulder.
Derek lifts his head and looks at Stiles grudgingly. “My skin is sensitive.”
There’s a beat where Stiles just stares at him incredulously and then he busts out laughing, jiggling Derek who’s still lying on top of him. “Are you fucking serious? But you’re… and I’ve seen… Dude. I’ve seen you rip throats out in battle. I’ve seen you get shot and heal and you’re telling me you have sensitive skin?” He starts laughing again and Derek makes a move to pull away but Stiles wraps his legs and arms around him holding him close. “No, no,” he manages, “I’m sorry. I’ll never fucking tell anyone, I swear I just…” He presses his nose against Derek’s neck again, calming his laughter down, feeling Derek tense and stiff in his arms. He kisses Derek’s neck, mouthing softly at the skin and some of the tension leaks out of Derek’s body.
Stiles swats him on the ass. “We better go get cleaned up. Can’t have your delicate skin sitting in wet clothes.”
“I swear to god, Stiles…” Derek groans, pulling away from Stiles.
“Let’s go to bed,” Stiles interrupts. Once they’re standing and Derek makes a move to start heading upstairs, Stiles jumps on him, piggyback style, hooking his legs around Derek’s waist. Derek immediately grabs at him and doesn't complain as he trudges up the stairs carrying Stiles who takes the opportunity to nibble at Derek’s ear. Once in Derek’s bedroom, they strip - Stiles making a face as he peels off his wet underwear. He feels a little shy which is ridiculous, and when Derek tosses him a clean pair of boxers, he takes it with a little smile before crawling onto Derek’s bed and getting under the covers.
The bed dips as Derek gets in and Stiles wastes no time launching himself against Derek, wiggle, shifting and shimmying until he’s in the perfect spot. Derek’s on his back and Stiles is sprawled across him, one leg tucked between Derek’s, arm over Derek’s chest and face smashed into Derek's shoulder. Derek’s hand rubs up and down Stiles back, fingers ghosting along his vertebrae. He exhales against Stiles head - warm and a little damp - and Stiles makes a low contended sound, already falling asleep.