Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/584576.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Hand_Kink, Thumb-sucking
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-06 Words: 4745
****** Comfort and Distraction ******
by stmurr
Summary
     Derek scowled and opened his eyes. Stiles was laying on his side,
     thumb stuck in his mouth, suckling quietly, with his fingers curled
     over his nose.
      
     I'm surrounded by children.
Notes
     One day I asked, "Hey, where's Stiles sucking his thumb?" (I mean,
     Stiles + oral fixation = the best thing ever.) After frantic
     searching, I couldn't find an already written story. That was a sad
     day. So, MssDare, in her infinite wisdom (or sadism), told me to
     write it.
     This is the result. I'm sorry.
     The biggest thanks ever to MssDare for pre-reading, Donnersun for the
     beta and paleisnewblack for general awesomeness. Any and all
     remaining mistakes are my own.
     I also need to thank im_not_a_lizard, Fr333bird, ememmyem,
     sabriel017, sapphirescribe, beckybrit1 and FandomHopper for the
     encouragement. Thank you, ladies.
     All recognizable characters and plotlines belong to MTV, Teen Wolf
     and Jeff Davis. (Also, George Lucas Disney.)
     ps- MssDare has a thumb sucking Merlin fic. I'll just leave this
     here. The Ring http://archiveofourown.org/works/460583
Derek rolled on his side and hissed when his hip dug into the floor, the thin
carpet not providing any cushion. Since he couldn't go home thanks to Idiot One
and Idiot Two accusing him of murder, the hard floor was better than sleeping
in the woods. Stiles had been kind enough to offer his room as a safe haven
while his father lead the manhunt but, after three days of ducking in the
closet or hiding behind the bed, Derek was ready to get back to his own space.
The remains of his childhood home weren’t much but it beat teenager stench.
Not for the first time, Derek wished he'd traveled back to Beacon Hills with
Laura instead of wrapping up their lives in New York and following behind a
couple of weeks later. He could have been there, should have been there,
covering her flank as he had the last six years. If he'd gone with her, she'd
still be alive, he’d still have his Alpha, and he wouldn't be subjected to eau
du Stiles. That was in the past now. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
He snorted quietly then flopped over onto his back. His mother had platitudes
for every situation.
"Mmm. Staaaahp."
Derek stilled.
"Staaahp it. S'mine"
"What the hell are you talking about, Stiles?" Derek sat up and groaned when
his back popped.
"S'my Han, Jax. Givit back."
What. The. Fuck. Derek knew Stiles was sleeping, his even breaths and calmer-
than-normal heartbeat proved that. He looked over at the bed to check and saw
Stiles' closed eyes and relaxed face.
He talks in his sleep.
Peachy.
Stiles squirmed in the bed, grumbling about broken dolls and meanies, and the
sheet fell across his face. With one last You're a stupid face, Jax he seemed
to settle in once more.
Derek had just lay back on the floor, hoping for at least a few hours of sleep
when Stiles whined again.
"Are you kidding me?" Derek whipped his head to the side and saw the problem.
Each time Stiles took a breath, the sheet across his face tickled his nose.
"Staaahp," Stiles whined. Just as Derek reached out to pull the sheet down,
Stiles’ flailing hand dislodged the sheet and landed on the pillow next to his
face.
Derek stayed sitting for a few more minutes, just to make sure the floor show
was over, before settling in, hopefully for the last time that night. He'd just
closed his eyes when he heard a soft sucking.
He scowled and opened his eyes. Stiles was laying on his side, thumb stuck in
his mouth, suckling quietly, with his fingers curled over his nose.
I'm surrounded by children.
Derek shifted so his back faced the bed and closed his eyes. Before long, the
rhythmic slurp-swallow-breathe lulled him to a peaceful sleep.
***
"I can't find anything, Derek. I've looked through property records, tax
records, and even the utility records. Nobody’s really moved to Beacon Hills
since the Argents. Wherever the alpha pack is staying, they're either squatting
–which, hello? Werewolves– or they're not in this county."
"There has to be something, Stiles. They have to be in the county, if not the
city itself. What are you missing?" Derek was frustrated. No, Derek was beyond
frustrated. Life had been one shit storm after another since Laura decided to
leave New York. Peter. Kate. The kanima. Gerard. Now, a pack of alphas,
hovering just on the edge of his territory, waiting. Every once in a while
they’d breach the territory line with almost surgical precision before
scurrying back to their den, leaving traps and mayhem in their wake.
While the alphas themselves didn’t kill any humans, their traps were
indiscriminate and had already caused three deaths. According to Chris the
hunters were, unfortunately, beginning to take notice. If the body count rose
too much higher, Beacon Hills would be overrun.
If they could just find where the alphas were hiding, they could take the fight
to them rather than running themselves to the breaking point trying to protect
their borders.
"I'm looking! I'm looking everywhere I know to look!" Stiles flung the mouse in
frustration. "I can't do this with you hovering over my shoulder like some kind
of...wolfy gargoyle. Just...go sit over there," he said, pointing to the only
other chair in the room. "I even got you a new book."
Derek rolled his eyes and stalked over to the chair on the other side of the
room and picked up the book. "You got me a thesaurus?"
Stiles gave him a cheeky grin. "I figured you'd finished the dictionary and
thought you could use some new material."
"You're all heart, Stiles." He flipped the thesaurus open and said, "Huh, would
you look at that. 'Annoy: abrade, agitate, bedevil, beleaguer, exasperate,
harass, irk, madden, needle, perturb, pester, plague, provoke, Stiles.'" Derek
grinned. "It even has your picture."
"Laugh it up, Fuzzball." Stiles had already turned back to his computer trying
to do...whatever he did... Derek wasn't technologically illiterate, but the
things Stiles could do made his head spin.
He sighed and settled in for the long haul. No matter how good Stiles was at
researching, it would still take a while.
At some point in the last six months, Stiles had gone from a pain in the ass
nuisance who’d accused him of murdering his own sister, to a...friend? Maybe?
He’s not even sure how it happened but now, Derek was more comfortable lazing
in Stiles’ room than he was anywhere else.
Derek glanced up at Stiles' annoyed huff, catching him gnawing on his thumbnail
while scrolling through different websites with his other hand and muttering
under his breath. "Where the hell are you?"
Derek snorted and went back to his book. 'Approbation: approval, approvement,
sanction, advocacy, nod of approbation, esteem, estimation.' When he looked up
again, Stiles wasn't chewing on his thumb anymore.
He was sucking it.
Derek stared.
Derek could see Stiles’ tongue moving, stroking his thumb, through his hollowed
cheek. Every so often, Stiles let out a soft, instinctive grunt. His lips were
swollen and red and wet.
It was obscene.
And Stiles had no idea he was doing it.
Grappling for a distraction, Derek turned back to his book. 'Arouse: excite,
entice, electrify, enliven, inflame, rouse, stimulate.' Derek slammed the book
closed. "Call me when you find something. I've gotta- "
And he was out the window and gone.
***
"When did Allison say they'd be back?" Stiles asked from his spot on the floor
in front of the couch. "Not that I'm worried but. Still, it's hunters, ya
know?"
Derek grunted and covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow. "It's too early
for them to be back. The meet was over two hours away and she hasn't even
called to let me know they're on their way."
Derek could feel Stiles' eyes on him but didn't move his arm to check.
"It's like you're a robot," Stiles said in awe. "Allison. Sweet, innocent,
Allison is meeting with some kind of Mega Hunter Council of Death and you're
trying to take a nap. Either you have no human emotions or you're, like, the
Zen master."
"Stiles."
"What?"
"You need to calm down. Allison will let us know what happens."
"Psshh, yeah. If she can." He grumbled before quieting. "But-"
"Stiles!"
"I can't help it! This is Allison! I know she and Scott are off-again in their
weird co-dependent teenaged angst train, but she's, like, his everything. And!
She's a nice person. You know, when she's not trying to kill everybody I lo -
know." Derek peeked out from under his arm to see Stiles blush and sighed
heavily.
"I know you're worried. Hell, I'm worried too, but this is something Allison
and Chris had to do alone. And really, the only reason Chris is even there is
because Allison is so young. The sons are the soldiers, the daughters are the
leaders, right?" Derek waited for Stiles' reluctant nod. "As strange as it
sounds to you, Allison. Sweet, innocent Allison is the only person who could
even try to convince the North American Council of Hunters," Derek paused to
give Stiles a pointed look, "not to send another team to Beacon Hills."
That was the heart of the problem. It's not that Allison was possibly in danger
– although, that's really all Scott cared about – but that Allison changed her
mind about Derek and the Hale pack depending on which way the wind blew. One
day, she was happily ensconced in all things Scott, and the next, every
werewolf on the planet was on her shit list, including Scott.
He never thought he'd say it but Chris turned out to be the easiest Argent to
handle. Or at least the most honorable and sane.
As long as the Council listened to Chris, even though his daughter was
technically the leader of the Argent Hunters, the Argents would stay in Beacon
Hills to police the werewolf population. If they didn't, his pack had to be
prepared for anything.
So, yeah. Derek was nervous.
He was just quieter about it than Stiles.
"But, what if she–"
"Stiles, stop. It is what it is and if she can't convince them then we'll have
to be prepared for whatever happens. Until then, you need to relax." Derek
sprawled out on the couch again.
Stiles released a shaky breath. "Relax, yeah. Ok. I mean, it's not like a swarm
of trigger happy hunters are gonna descend on my hometown looking to kill my
friends. Sure. This is me, toooootally relaxed."
Derek rolled over on his side and cupped the back of Stiles' head. "Just. Try."
Stiles glanced at him from the corner of his eye and grinned. "Do or do not,
there is no try."
Derek snorted and gently shoved his head before covering his eyes once again.
"Put on a movie, Yoda. Nothing too thought provoking. I think the hamster in
your brain is tired."
He heard Stiles moving around looking at the movies. "Hamster, my ass. My brain
is at least a cheetah. Not that I have an animal brain but – Hey! When did you
get Aliens vs. Predators! Dude! This is the best Alien-slash-Predator movie
ever!"
Stiles set up the movie and sat back in his pillow-blanket-fort-nest in front
of Derek's couch, eyes already glued on the screen.
Derek, having seen the movie almost as many times as Stiles, let the opening
ice exploration scene lull him into a light doze.
Sometime later, a massive explosion jerked him out of sleep. His first instinct
was to protect his pack but before he was fully conscious, his nose told him he
and Stiles were still alone. Now he was awake and too wired to try sleeping
again. He took a deep breath and glanced around his living room, just as a
precaution, to confirm what his nose had already told him.
When he glanced over at Stiles, he froze.
Stiles was wrapped in his blankets, cuddled against the couch, staring at the
movie with his thumb. In. His. Mouth.
Holy God. From that angle, Derek could see everything. He could see Stiles'
long fingers curled over his nose. He could see Stiles' tongue peek out from
between his swollen lips every few seconds. He could see Stiles' throat moving
up and down, swallowing all the excess spit from sucking his thumb. He could
see everything and he was enthralled.
Stiles laughed at something on the movie. Or he tried to but his thumb was in
the way. Shame and embarrassment flooded Derek's nose as Stiles ripped his hand
away from his mouth, going as far as to sit on it, trying to pretend it never
happened.
Out of the corner of his eye Derek could see Stiles look over at him, as if to
gauge whether or not he'd seen Stiles sucking his thumb but Derek kept his eyes
resolutely on the television. The stench of shame only grew stronger and Stiles
started moving like he was about to leave so Derek did the only thing he could
think of.
He stroked the side of Stiles' neck, and his thumb brushed over Stiles’ flushed
cheek. He was content to sit like that, just offering a small comfort but his
hand had a mind of its own and began stroking the front of Stiles' neck, thumb
rubbing his red, spit-slicked lips.
Stiles sat, completely frozen, staring blindly at the movie, until Derek's
thumb pushed passed his lips to rest on his tongue. Stiles startled like a deer
but after a quick peek at Derek's profile, he started to tentatively,
hesitantly, suckle.
Derek had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning. It took every
ounce of his not-inconsiderable self-control to lay quietly while Stiles'
tongue stroked and massaged his thumb. His fingers rested against Stiles' neck
and the palm of his hand curled around his chin, feeling each subtle movement
of his jaw.
Derek was lost in the scorching heat, in the absolute vacuum pressure, in the
way Stiles' tongue teased and curled. He couldn't help picturing those lips,
those fucking red lips, wrapped around his cock; that tongue running along the
vein underneath, then teasing the head. He pictured Stiles straddling him,
sucking him down, down, down, trying to swallow him whole. He pictured
everything.
Somewhere in his hazy mind, he knew that wasn't what this was about. This was
supposed to be about comfort, about showing Stiles he didn't have to hide or be
ashamed of his quirks. With a great deal of effort, he stopped focusing on how
Stiles' mouth made him feel and started focusing on Stiles.
Slowly, the shame and embarrassment was replaced by the sweeter scent of
contentment and an almost spicy scent Derek usually associated with lust. Just
as Stiles was beginning to relax and settle back against the couch, Derek's
phone rang.
Chris.
The meeting didn't go as planned, then.
***
After months of fear and weeks of negotiation, the Hale pack, with the help of
Chris Argent, finally came to an agreement with the North American Council of
Hunters.
With Kate and Gerard abandoning their Code and Victoria's suicide, the Argent
family's reputation had taken a beating. The Council originally used Allison's
inexperience against her and sent an older, larger group of Hunters to control
the werewolves in Beacon Hills while she was made to stay for more training.
Chris, having already established a base of operations in Beacon Hills, was
able to return but his hands were tied.
The new Hunters didn't see a peaceful, quiet pack. They looked at the deaths,
starting with Peter, then the kanima and finally the alpha pack. In a little
more than a year, the quiet little town of Beacon Hills had become a
slaughterhouse.
It didn't matter that Peter was avenging his family's death and was ultimately
killed. It didn't matter that Jackson had no memory of being a kanima and had
been at the mercy of two separate psychotic masters, one of whom was one of
their own Hunters. It didn't matter that the alpha pack had been decimated and
the remaining members run out of town. All that mattered was the body count.
And if those bodies hadn't been killed by Derek's pack, well, that didn't
matter either.
The pack had been running for months, trying not to engage or retaliate, just
to survive. There were traps in the woods. Their cars were rigged with the same
aerosol wolfsbane Victoria used on Scott. Pack members were followed and
harassed. It had gotten so bad at one point that Derek actually put moving the
pack from Beacon Hills to a vote. No one voted in favor of leaving but the
point is, he asked.
But when the hunters went after the humans, the pack stopped running.
Lydia was run off the road. She wasn't driving fast and she wasn't hit hard but
her car was knocked into a ditch. She called the police to report the hit and
run and escaped with a nasty bruise from her seatbelt and brush burns from the
airbag. She was shaken but couldn't tell if the unfamiliar car was driven by
the new Hunters or if the accident had really been an accident.
They got Danny coming home from a date. Since he was on the fringes of the
pack, he knew about the Hunters but no one, including Danny himself, really
thought he'd be in any danger. He'd met the guy at the grocery store of all
places, and they struck up a conversation over bok choy. By the time they'd
made it to dairy, Greg asked him to dinner.
Dinner had gone well and Danny felt his love life was finally picking up
(dating wasn't easy when your best friend turned into a raging douchemonster
with the guys you dated. It got even harder once Jax was turned into a
werewolf) until he made it three blocks from the restaurant and ran into a
group of Hunters, with Greg standing at the front.
Danny ended up in the hospital.
The police said it was a hate crime.
The pack said it was war.
By the time Stiles was taken, the pack was slavering mad.
(He said later that his abduction was clichéd and so overdone it was laughable,
having already been abducted by Peter then Gerard, then the alpha pack.)
It was staged as a home invasion, set in the fifteen minutes between Isaac
leaving and the Sheriff getting home and based on the evidence, Stiles put up a
hell of a fight. The kitchen was completely trashed, chopped vegetables and
thawed chicken scattered across the counter and floor. One of the kitchen
chairs was smashed and the table was split down the middle. There were blood
spatters on the floor and walls but a quick sniff told Derek it belonged to
Stiles' attackers. Mostly.
The pack, and even Chris, was out for blood.
They'd followed proper protocol with Chris and Alan acting as intermediaries
between the pack and the Council. They'd been doing everything to avoid the
Hunters and show they were respectful, law abiding citizens. They'd backed down
from confrontations and chose to walk away when threatened.
The Hale pack was playing by the rules the Council set but the Hunters
disregarded their own Code.
Oddly enough, it was the Sheriff who demanded they follow proper protocol.
While he and the Department investigated the kidnapping, Derek, Chris and Alan
went to the Council headquarters in Oregon armed with evidence of the Hunters'
abuse of power.
Their stance was clear: release Stiles and leave the Hunters to face all
charges or face all-out war. The pack may have been young but the Hale name
still carried weight in the werewolf community, allied packs would not be hard
to find.
After a week of stalling, the Council made an anonymous call to the Sheriff's
department and Stiles was found, bloodied and bruised, chained in a storeroom
of an abandoned building.
Once Stiles was released from the hospital, Derek took to sitting on his roof
at night to keep watch.
Ten days after Stiles was found, Derek got to his house and found Stiles'
window open and Stiles laying in bed, reading a book and sucking his thumb.
Derek's thumb tingled with the memory of those lips wrapped around him and he
couldn't stop himself from slipping in the room and moving quietly to sit on
the edge of Stiles' bed.
"I don't. I never know." Stiles huffed in frustration as he sat up and wrapped
his arms around his bent knees. "I don't realize I'm doing it," he said, waving
his spit-slick thumb to emphasize his point. "Sometimes. Sometimes, I just need
to. It's weird. Mom told me I never sucked my thumb, never even took a
pacifier, until I got to elementary school."
"It's not wei– Well, maybe it's a little weird but it's nothing to be ashamed
of."
Stiles snorted. "You have such a way with words. Thanks for that."
Derek cupped the back of Stiles' head and leaned forward to rest his forehead
on his. "You have no idea what seeing you do that does to me."
Stiles inhaled sharply and jerked forward to press his lips on Derek's.
It was fleeting, barely a kiss but it opened the floodgates. In the blink of an
eye, Derek had Stiles pinned diagonally across the bed. One hand gripped the
front of Stiles' shirt, the other cradled the back of his neck, thumb tracing
the edge of his lips.
He nosed Stiles' cheek then, gently, leaned to press his lips to his, again and
again and again. He felt Stiles rest his hands tentatively on his shoulders and
he whimpered - whimpered - when he felt them slide down his back at the same
time Stiles licked his bottom lip. Derek nipped Stiles’ tongue and followed it
back into Stiles' mouth.
Derek started mapping the inside of Stiles' mouth, licking his teeth and
tongue. Tasting while Stiles laid passively, stroking Derek's back and
shoulders. He moved his lips, his tongue, to Stiles' jaw, nibbling softly, then
down his neck, chasing his jugular with his tongue.
Stiles gripped his shoulders and moaned quietly; tilting his head back to
expose his neck fully and that brought Derek back to himself. He raised his
head, kissed his lips chastely and pulled back to look in Stiles' heavy lidded
eyes.
"What is it you want?" Derek didn't recognize his own voice.
Stiles blinked. "...what?"
Derek nuzzled behind his ear and whispered, "What do you want?"
"You." The word was ripped out of his mouth, low and guttural and perfect.
Derek kissed him, long and filthy and deep, tongue chasing the rest of his
words back into his mouth. They lay there, kissing, for several long minutes
when Stiles stilled. Just as Derek started to pull away, he felt the hesitant
suction.
On his tongue.
It wasn’t the same, of course, his tongue didn’t reach as far into Stiles’
mouth as his thumb, but the intent was there.
Derek froze, eyes wide. Every tentative suckle, every sound - every wet, filthy
grunt - went straight to his cock. As Stiles’ confidence grew and the suction
tighter, harder, wetter, Derek’s control snapped. He clawed - with human nails,
thank God - at Stiles’ thigh, rolling them on their sides as he humped against
his hip.
When Stiles’ hand slid from his back, Derek growled, shoving his face, his
mouth, closer until he felt Stiles’ hand worming between their bodies to cup
his dick. Derek lurched back, gasping for breath. His hands scrabbled along
Stiles’ waist, catching the bottom of his tee shirt, and ripped it over his
head.
Stiles let out a pained grunt when his shirt scraped on his healing bruises and
Derek jerked away, horrified that he’d forgotten about the injuries. Stiles
followed, catching his mouth even as he tried to put space between them.
“Stiles, wait,” Derek said gruffly while he gently pushed him back.
“S’fine, Derek. S’ok, really,” Stiles slurred, reaching. “Doesn’t hurt,
promise. C’mere.”
“I’m not saying we’re gonna stop, Stiles, but. Just wait. Just wait a second.”
He carefully pressed Stiles down on the bed and stroked him gently.
Stiles whined impatiently but laid back, moving restlessly while Derek stroked
his stomach.
Stiles’ red lips. His long neck. His sleekly muscular chest. He didn’t know
where to start first. Eventually, Derek moved carefully to straddle Stiles’
thighs, the need to feel those lips on his again outweighing any other thought.
Before he could lean down to catch his lips again, he felt Stiles’ hands
tugging on his shirt. “S’not fair. You too, Derek. Off.”
Derek laughed a little but pulled his shirt over his head and threw it on the
floor. Stiles’ snaked his hands up Derek’s chest, threaded his fingers through
his hair and pulled him roughly down to his lips.
Derek moaned quietly but let Stiles take over the kiss. When Stiles ventured
his tongue into his mouth he stroked it with his own. When Stiles retreated,
Derek nipped and licked his lips before licking down his jaw again.
“So, is this gonna be a thing?” Stiles panted, “Cuz I think I’d really like
this to be a thing.”
Derek nuzzled under his jaw and bit softly. “Shut up, Stiles.”
Stiles made a strangled noise and choked out, “Right. Shutting uhhhhhhhp.
Fuuuuuck, do that again.”
Derek hid his smile where Stiles’ neck met his shoulders then bit softly at the
sensitive skin again. “Like that?"
“Yes. Jesus, Derek. Yes.” Stiles’ hands grabbed his waist then slid to his
hips. “Please. Just, do that. Fuck.” He tried lifting his hips to rub against
Derek’s but the angle was wrong.
“Derek,” he whined, “please!”
Derek reached between them to pop the buttons on Stiles’ jeans but paused
before pulling the zip. “Are you sure, Stiles?”
To his relief, Stiles didn’t answer him immediately but appeared to really
think about it.
“I don’t,” he stuttered and Derek’s heart sank.
Stiles heaved a breath and gasped out, “I don’t think I’m ready for you to fuck
me. I. I want to feel you though. I want to feel you.”
Derek kissed him desperately and yanked the zip down at the same time. The
grunt Stiles made the first time Derek’s hand wrapped around his cock is
something he wanted to remember forever.
Stiles squirmed until his pants slid below his hips before Derek got with the
program and climbed off him to pull them all the way off. “Jesus, Stiles,” he
said quietly, running his hands up Stiles’ legs to where his dick stood, hard
and slightly curved, his flushed head dribbling. “Jesusfuck.”
Derek changed his mind. The sound Stiles made the first time he licked his dick
was what he wanted to remember forever.
He took his time, careful to lick every inch, every vein, then carefully
nibbled the bottom of the flared head before he wrapped his lips around him and
sucked him down. When Derek had taken him as far as he could comfortably go,
inspiration struck. He backed off just a tiny bit, flooded his mouth with spit
and started to suckle.
Stiles wailed.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Derek. Deeeerrrrreeeeek. I’m. I - I’m gonna come.” Stiles
shoved Derek’s shoulders. He didn’t want to move but Stiles was getting
frantic. “I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come. Shit. Shitpleasepleaseplease.”
Derek wrapped his hand around Stiles and, regretfully, pulled off.
Stiles came.
All over Derek’s face.
Derek shoved his hand against his zipper, pressing it against his cock, trying
to hold off his orgasm. He licked Stiles’ warm cum from his lips and couldn't
hold back anymore. A shiver tripped down his spine and he came, gasping.
Stiles stared at him, wide-eyed and shivering. “That is the most amazing thing
that has ever happened. Ever. In the history of the world.” He realized what he
said and blushed. “Erm. Let me - let me go get a, uh, washcloth. For your
face.”
Derek snorted, grabbed Stiles’ shirt to wipe his face then manhandled Stiles
onto his side and wrapped his body around him.
“I would tell you that was my favorite shirt that you just wiped my cum on but
I really don’t fucking care,” Stiles said sleepily. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Don’t you want me to, uh. Help?”
“It’s fine, Stiles.”
“But -”
“Don’t worry about it. I, uh, already...”
Stiles blinked. “That’s...kinda awesome.”
Derek laughed softly and squeezed Stiles closer, more relaxed than he’d been in
months. He inhaled deeply, his scent mixed with Stiles’ and sex was seeping
into everything in Stiles’ room. Anyone coming in his room would know
immediately what happened. Derek smiled.
“Yes.”
Stiles turned his head and blinked up at Derek. “What?”
“Yes, it’s a thing. I want it to be a thing, too.”
“Oh.” He turned his head and buried his face in the mattress but Derek saw the
side of his face pull into a smile. “Sounds good,” he said into the mattress.
Derek rubbed Stiles’ chest idly, lost in thought, when he heard his breathing
change. He peeked over Stiles’ shoulder to see his eyes closed, face relaxed
and thumb brushing against his lips.
He kissed him right behind his ear, just below his hairline, and whispered, “I
love you.”
Stiles hummed contentedly around his thumb.
“I know.”
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