Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/14013129. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Category: M/M Fandom: Teen_Wolf_(TV) Relationship: Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski Character: Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale Additional Tags: Emotional_Hurt/Comfort, Love_Confessions, Sex Series: Part 3 of Break_my_arms_around_the_one_I_love Stats: Published: 2018-03-18 Words: 2443 ****** Lucky Charms ****** by readtolive Summary Stiles leaves his boyfriend and he blames Derek. Derek comes to San Francisco to comfort him. Notes This isn't a separate story. You won't be able to understand without reading the first two parts.       Three days later, Stiles breaks up with Sam. He helps him move back to his old roommate’s apartment, subdued and apologetic. Sam takes it much better than him. When they bring Sam’s bags up, he smiles and kisses Stiles on the cheek. “Don’t be a stranger.” Stiles nods, looking at his feet. He feels like shit.   A week after that, he's parked outside Target, but he can’t bring himself to start the car. He pulls out his phone and types a message. I broke up with my boyfriend. When his phone rings, Stiles is so startled he almost drops it. This is the first time it’s happened. Derek never calls him. Never. His palm is so sweaty that he barely manages to press the green button. When Derek just breathes into his phone, Stiles finally loses his shit. “You better say something, Derek, or – or, I swear,” he pants, his eyes burning. “I’m sorry,” Derek almost shouts in his effort to nip Stiles’ panic in the bud. “I’m sorry, okay? Stiles, calm down, I can hear your heartbeat. Where are you?” “I’m in my car, I –“ “You better not be driving and talking on your phone.” “No, no, I’m parked.” Silence. “Won’t you ask me what happened? Don’t you have anything to say?” Stiles almost breaks down. “I’m really sorry,” Derek offers quietly. “I don’t know what else to say. It’s not really my business…” “Not your business? Not your business?” Stiles squeals. “It’s fucking your fault, you, you oblivious, unthinking, ungrateful –“ “Stiles,” Derek interrupts him. “I don’t know what I did. I didn’t do anything. How can it be my fault?” But Stiles simply ignores him. He bulldozes right over his words. “—with your questions and, and with your… everything, and all the things you said, and things you didn’t say, and the things you asked him, like, like you had any right…” Stiles’ cheeks are wet. His nose is running, snot dribbling over his lips. It’s disgusting. He tries to find a tissue, poking blindly through the glove compartment. “Stay where you are.” “What?” “Don’t drive now. Stay where you are. I’m coming there.” When Stiles calms down enough to focus, he can hear the sharp buzzing of the Camaro. “Are you – are you in your car? Where are you going? Are you driving and using your phone, you hypocrite?” “I am. I can do it. I’m coming to you.” “But, it’s more than two hours…” “I’ll be there in an hour. Just… stay there.” Stiles can hear the powerful engine of Derek’s car and he knows that Derek’s breaking every possible traffic law under the sun right now. He flops back in his seat, leaning his head back, drying tracks of his tears pulling at his skin. “My dad’s gonna kill you. I’m gonna kill you.” Derek huffs. “Your dad loves me.” Stiles smiles wetly. It’s true, he really does. During Stiles’ absence, Derek’s been there for John constantly, fixing the house when needed, watching his diet, helping with the police work… They’ve become friends. “Are you still crying?” Derek asks. “No,” Stiles replies nasally, his nose stuffy. “I’m still miserable, though.” “Why did you do it then? Why… did you break up, if it makes you so sad?” Stiles huffs, and it pushes some of the gross content in his nostrils out. He straightens in panic, grabbing for another tissue. Jesus. He’s pathetic. “I think he’s finally realized… what you are. To me.” Derek doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even have to. Stiles knows all his thoughts. It’s a good thing Stiles can talk enough for the both of them. “And he can’t compete with that, you know? I mean, we were great. We never fought, we were so compatible, everything was just so… easy. But then he had to watch me fall apart just because of some silly question that you asked him… I couldn’t leave the bed for two days straight, Derek. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And I couldn’t even explain it to him… or to myself,” Stiles rambles. “It just wasn’t fair to him.” Derek is quiet for a while. Stiles knows that he is parsing through his words. “What am I to you?” Derek asks. “You know.” “No, tell me. Before… you told me that you kept imagining… fantasizing. Tell me about that.” Such an easy question. Stiles closes his eyes. Thankfully, the dusk outside has turned into a pretty solid darkness, the moon and the stars barely visible from the looming buildings around. The light in Stiles’ car is off and he feels cocooned inside. He lets himself float in his thoughts. “You’re neither a man, nor a wolf…," he murmurs raspily. "You’re this monument, or every painting or bas-relief of ancient deities, Roman, Greek, or plain unknown, captured in perfection… I see you as a black stone sculpture which lives from sunshine, warm and smooth to the touch; I can look at you and admire you in all your beauty; I can sit at your feet and hug your legs and feel safe… I can touch your face and you wouldn’t mind.“ “Jesus, Stiles. You make it sound like I’m not alive, like I’m something to worship. Neither is true.” “Shut up,” Stiles cuts him off. “Let me fantasize.” Stiles can hear Derek shifting gears through the phone, the distant buzzing lulling him into a wakeful dream. “You can’t speak. But, I can feel the power of your words, even though you’re silent… I see them in your face, on your lips, in your eyes… We talk like that. So… I can admire you and love you, but I can’t have you. I can’t own you. You’re something that I can never have. No one can have you. Not even me, even though I know what you feel… for me.” “You do?” Derek’s voice is so quiet that it doesn’t snap Stiles out of his reverie. He feels humbled. He understands Stiles’ fantasy now -- what’s behind it, at least. Stiles starts crying again. “Yeah. I know, Derek. I’ve always known. I’d known it before we slept together, and I knew it when I decided that we shouldn’t be together, and I knew it during all these years that we spent apart.” Derek’s shocked silence radiates from Stiles’ phone. “What I don’t know,” Stiles ploughs on, his voice getting angrier by the second, “is why you never did anything about it, or did the wrong things. I maybe feel like I can’t have you, for whatever stupid reason, but you could have had me, and you wouldn’t.” “That’s… that’s not true. There were reasons…,” Derek says, sounding alarmed. “What, Derek? What? Your reasons are stupid, let me tell you. Plain stupid,” Stiles sniffles. “I don’t want to hear them, you hear. What, because I was sixteen, or seventeen, and then I was eighteen and you finally decide to fuck me just because some current monster plaguing our town had a thing for virgins… What is that, Derek, huh? How stupid is that. And then nothing, nothing, you let me go to college and move out of Beacon Hills without a word… and be with other people, and, and then you take care of my dad and vow to celibacy or some shit, and the pack hates me like it was all my fault, like I did something wrong, and that’s just horrible, Derek. Horrible.” Derek’s breaths are loud over the phone. He’s upset. “That’s not fair, that’s not how it happened. I’ve always put you first, thought about what was best for you. Everything I did was for you. And the pack doesn’t hate you, why are you saying that…” “Shut up. Shut up. I’m so mad at you,” Stiles sobs. “I’m so mad. I’m gonna kill you when you get here.” “Please, don’t cry. Please, I can’t stand it.” Stiles touches his puffy face and wipes the tears away, but the fresh ones keep spilling over his lashes. “I can’t, they keep coming.” “Stiles… I’m not how you see me. I don’t know why you see me like that. You can have me, you always could. I just… don’t know how to be yours. How to love you. If you could tell me… I would do it. I will listen to you, from now on. I… want to be what you want. I’m terrified that I’ll do something wrong and you’ll disappear again.” “Me, too.” “Will you tell me then, how to love you?” Stiles nods, forgetting that Derek can’t see him. “I can try, but, I don’t know, Derek, I don’t know either. What are we gonna do? We’re so screwed,” Stiles says, shaking. Someone opens his door then and suddenly he is enveloped in a bear hug. “Oh my god. Derek,” Stiles sobs into his neck, his cries muffled against Derek’s skin. He’s trembling, clutching desperately around Derek’s shoulders. Derek is warm and huge, like he’s gotten bigger since they last hugged. Stiles hangs onto him like a sleepy child. Derek carries him to the Camaro. “I’ll come back for your car tomorrow.” He puts Stiles down into the passenger seat and does his seatbelt for him. They drive to Stiles’ apartment in silence and plop on the sofa in a flurry of limbs – Stiles, that is. He isn’t sure Derek is capable of doing anything inelegantly. They hold hands, fingers interwoven, gripping firmly. Then Derek asks him the same question from five years ago. “Can I kiss you now?” “Oh my god,” Stiles starts laughing. “Can you believe it? I have to say no, again. I have to wash my face first, I’m gross, all dried up tears and snot and saliva and –“ But Derek pulls him in his lap and kisses him stupid. And Stiles kisses him back, he does; he grabs at his face, Derek’s stubble helping with the grip. He’s not letting go. When he resurfaces for air, he just wants to hug Derek. He rests his face against Derek’s shoulder, and clamps his arms around his neck. “What now?” he whispers. Derek keeps stroking his back. “I don’t know. Whatever you want. You said you wanted to kill me. You can get right onto that now.” Stiles chuckles, giddy and elated. “How long can you stay?” Derek snorts. “I’m not leaving you.” “How do you mean?” Stiles is puzzled. They don’t even live in the same city. “Exactly like I said. I’m not leaving you, ever again. You wanna stay here, I’m staying here too. If you want to move back to Beacon Hills, then we’re doing that.” “You would move to San Francisco for me?” Stiles squeaks. “Yep.” “Where would you live?” “Right here with you.” “I didn’t even invite you.” “Invite me then.” “What if I snore?” “You don’t.” “What if my feet smell?” “I’ll bathe you.” “What if I leave dirty socks everywhere?” “I’ll make you pick them up.” “What if I use up all hot water?” “I’ll shower with cold.” Stiles bites his lips. “I have a job here.” “I know. Like I said, we can stay. Or you can get a job in Beacon Hills. I—I always thought that you perhaps left because of me. That you would maybe like to come back.” “I did. I do,” Stiles holds his breath. “Let’s not do stupid shit anymore.” He feels more than sees Derek nodding in agreement against his hair.   They shower together and go to bed later, exhausted and frayed at the edges. Stiles thinks they’re too tired to have sex, but it turns out they aren’t. They snuggle against each other for snuggling purposes only, but not five minutes later, hard dicks happen and they are left with no choice. They can’t help it. Stiles is a little nervous since he hasn’t bottomed in a while, but it turns out that he’s got nothing to worry about. Derek is gentle but confident, and Stiles almost mewls with desire. He’s never forgotten how it felt to orgasm around Derek’s massive dick that first time, or at least that’s what he thought – when it happens now, Stiles’ eyes turn in their sockets, his toes cramp and he’s pretty sure that he’s torn off bits of skin and flesh from Derek’s shoulders. Their second time turns out even greater than the first. Derek comes not half a minute later, shaking, and then he just stays there, his face cradled into Stiles’ neck, lips tickling his lobule, buried inside him with barely any softer dick. Stiles pats him gently, squeezing his thighs against Derek’s waist. “Everything all right?” “Ngnhnnh.” “You can… dismount now.” “No.” “Oookay.” Stiles wiggles his butt experimentally to check for soreness, but it feels great. “Let’s play ‘I spy’ then.” Derek just ignores this brilliant idea and shifts his hips again, moves them in these infinitesimal thrusts that do interesting things to Stiles’ erogenous regions, stoking them back to life. Stiles doesn’t even realize he is being fucked again for real until Derek peels himself off his stomach only to grab Stiles’ legs under the knees and thrust so hard that Stiles’ head bangs against the headboard. “How – bang – is – bang – this – bang – even – bang – po – bang - ssible…“ Derek cushions his head with his hands and shuts him up with his mouth.   ---   Everything is new. Stiles doesn’t know where to look in the morning, flailing around the apartment like a deranged chicken, every once in a while looking curiously at Derek, like he’s shocked he’s still there. He touches him every time he passes him, a small, lingering caress that doesn’t go any further. It’s a good thing Derek finds it amusing. They don’t have all the answers in the morning. Stiles decides to go quit his job five times and then changes his mind as many times. Derek is relaxed and zen about everything, like they have nothing to worry about. Apparently, other than securing Stiles, he hasn’t. They sit for breakfast in Stiles’ kitchen, but it turns out Stiles doesn’t have any breakfast food other than Lucky Charms. Derek pours them both a bowl. He spills a few charms on the counter and starts playing with them. Stiles can’t help mocking him for this atypical behavior. “Are you five now, Derek?” But Derek just smiles widely at him, and – it’s a blinding smile. The sun spills in from the eastern window, reflecting against his teeth and eyes. Stiles blinks. “Stiles, I love you.” When Stiles’ vision clears, there’s a Lucky Charms shaped heart on the counter next to Derek’s hand. "I Lucky Charms you, too," Stiles says, and kisses the sunshine off Derek's lips.             the end Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!