Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1109038.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Derek_Comes_Back, Post_season_3a, Darkness_Around_Stiles's_Heart, Dreams,
      Angry_Stiles, repentant_derek, Confessions, Not_Beta_Read, Use_Your
      Words, First_Kiss, Pining, Trust, Frottage, First_Time, Mutual_Pining,
      Mutual_Masturbation, Sleeping_Together, Insomnia, Dreams_and_Nightmares,
      Podfic_Welcome, Sharing_a_Bed, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional_Hurt/Comfort,
      Stiles_is_Not_a_Virgin, Experienced_Stiles_Stilinski, Sex_Positive,
      Communication, sleeping_disorders, Dirty_Talk
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-30 Completed: 2014-12-03 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 9368
****** Sleep to Dream ******
by MaddietheMuse
Summary
     Derek comes back to Beacon Hills to find Stiles suffering the effects
     of the darkness around his heart.
     Stiles is angry and hurt that Derek left without a word. Will Derek
     be able to regain his trust?
Notes
     I started this fic shortly after 3a finished up. It was only meant to
     be a short little one shot but has snow balled into something more. I
     wasn't going to post any of it until I had the whole thing finished
     because I already have more than enough WIP going, but I wanted to at
     least get the first little bit up before the beginning of 3b.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Derek stopped in the hallway outside the loft with one hand on the door handle.
Someone was on the other side of the door—asleep. He could easily tell that
there wasn't a threat, though he hadn't expected anyone to be there while he
was away. He thought it was likely Isaac or possibly Peter. Not really wanting
to have the conversation about returning to Beacon Hills until he'd had at
least a few hours of sleep, he quietly pulled the door open just far enough to
slip through with his duffel bag and gently closed it again.
Turning into the room, Derek stopped short on the top of the stairs leading
from the door into the main area by his eyes catching on the sleeping figure
lying haphazardly across his bed. It was neither Peter nor Isaac, but someone
he recognised immediately, nonetheless.
"Stiles?" Derek breaths—his voice nowhere near loud enough to wake the
slumbering teen. Setting his bag down at the bottom of the stairs, he silently
crosses the room to stand at the foot of the bed.
Stiles looks as though he fell asleep half way through taking off his shoes and
jacket. He had clearly been sitting on the edge of the bed at one point but had
flopped backward across the width of the queen sized mattress. He had one arm
in his hoodie, which is strewn out beside him like a cape of sorts. Both
arms are thrown over his head, one hand hanging off the far edge of the bed,
his t-shirt hiked up slightly to show a pale band of skin at his waist. One
shoe had been kicked free across the room while the other is still laced to the
foot that's bent, in what looks like, a painful angle against the box spring.
He could easily go and crash on the sofa and let the kid sleep—the dark circles
under his eyes said he desperately needed it—but the curiosity of what Stiles
is doing there in the first place soon gets the better of Derek. Keeping
Stiles' tendency to flail wildly when surprised in mind, Derek gently kneels on
the mattress with one knee pinning the hoodie to the bed and trapping Stiles
arm.
Not wanting to scare him awake, Derek says Stiles' name once and then again a
little louder before resulting to trying to shake him awake.
"Stiles. Come on, wake up," Derek says placing his hand on the boy's ribs and
rocking him lightly back and forth.
Stiles finally responds, bringing his free hand to wipe over his face as he
draws a deep breath through his nose, blinking up at Derek after a moment.
"Derek?"
"Hey," Derek responds quietly, his hand still resting lightly on Stiles' side.
Stiles' face crumples. "No," he huffs, pushing roughly at Derek's shoulder. "Go
away. I don't want to have this dream again."
Derek listens as Stiles' heart rate ratchets up; drawing the scent of sadness
into his lungs from Stiles' skin; watches the colour drain from usually flushed
cheeks. He catches Stiles' hand as he makes to push at his shoulder again,
holding tight to his wrist. "Stiles. Hey, it's okay. You're not dreaming," he
offers with a shake of his head.
"Right. Sure," the younger man scoffs. "You left, remember?" Yanking his wrist
free of Derek's grasp, Stiles brings both hands to cover his face. "Come on,
wake up Stilinski!" he berates himself, scrubbing his hands roughly over his
face and up over his hair.
"Stiles! Look at me," Derek scolds, pulling both hands away and holding them
both in one of his own against Stiles' chest. "You aren't sleeping." Derek's
breath gets caught in his throat as Stiles finally looks him in the face. "I'm
here," he adds, his voice faltering with the intensity of being pinned with
Stiles' hollow gaze. The disbelieving look in Stiles' eyes makes the reality of
the situation crash down on him heavily. Stiles said he didn't want to have
this dream again; his body had gone into full panic mode right after. Derek
couldn't help but wonder how long this had been going on. How long had Stiles
been sleeping at his loft? How often had he dreamed that Derek had come back,
only to find that it wasn't true when he woke up again? And what did it all
mean?
Derek didn't have a lot of time to sort through the flood of questions passing
through his mind however, before Stiles switched modes on him again. That was
something he'd been used to once—Stiles' quick changing moods—but he was out of
practice and found himself flailing mentally to keep up.
''If I have to have this dream, at least stop looking at me like that and get
to the good part," Stiles muttered before leaning up off the mattress and
capturing Derek's mouth with his own. Stiles' actions were bold—his movements
practiced and confident—and took Derek completely by surprise. He'd thought
about kissing Stiles on many occasions, always distracting himself from taking
action, but wasn't prepared for it at that moment and he froze.
Stiles pulled a hand from Derek's grip and raised it to the back of the older
man's neck, urging him forward. He moved one leg to the other side of where
Derek kneeled in front of him on the bed, and shifted forward. "Come on,"
Stiles breathed against Derek's lips and kissed him again.
Derek let himself get lost in the soft movement of Stiles' mouth on his own; in
the burning touch of Stiles' hand as it slid up the back of his neck to curl
into his hair; in the heat of Stiles' body as he pulled him closer. Stiles'
soft moaned "Yeah," as Derek ran his hand up his side and under the hem of his
shirt is what pulled Derek back to reality. "No, no, no," Stiles complained as
Derek pulled away and sat back on his heels again.
"Why are you sleeping here?" Derek asked, taking Stiles' outstretched hands in
his own and resting them on his thighs.
"I told you," Stiles sighed, "it's the only place I can sleep."
Derek's brow furrowed in confusion until he realised that Stiles still thought
he was asleep and dreaming that he was there; that he thought this was a
conversation they had before in his dreams. "Stiles, you aren't dreaming; I'm
really here," he tried again.
"Okay," Stiles agreed with a nod, his voice not even coming close to being
convinced of Derek's assertion.
"How can I convince you?"
Stiles smirked at him and huffed a derisive laugh before shaking his head and
leaning back on his elbows on the bed. "I don't know," he sighed and leaned his
head back to look at the ceiling a moment. "Still be here when I wake up I
guess. You're always gone in the morning. You're like the world's worst one
night stand." A half-smile played on Stiles' mouth quickly before a look of
pain pinched the features of his gaunt face.
Derek nodded immediately "Okay." That was an easy thing to do. He pulled the
cuff of Stiles' hoodie sleeve to finish taking it off and then pulled off his
remaining sneaker by the back of the heel. "Lie down and go back to sleep
then."
"You're not leaving?" Stiles asked, rubbing his fingers over his dark eyelids.
Sleep was quickly dragging him under again.
"I'll be right over there." Derek pointed over his shoulder at the sofa across
the room.
Stiles sat up again, reaching out for Derek's hand. "No. Here. Stay here," he
insisted, pulling Derek forward as he scooted up the mattress toward the
pillows.
"Okay," Derek agreed. "Lay down," he instructed again as he pulled his own
jacket off and tossed it to the floor. He unlaced his shoes and toed them off
and pulled his keys and wallet from his pockets, placing them on the floor next
to his shoes. He then laid down on the edge of the bed and turned on his side
facing Stiles who watched him through barely cracked eyelids.
"I'll be right here in the morning," Derek reassured Stiles.
Stiles reached his hand across the mattress and wove his fingers through
Derek's, pulling their linked hands to his chest. He closed his eyes and was
asleep in less than a minute.
Tired himself from the long hours he'd spent on the road to get back to Beacon
Hills, Derek watches the teen's body relax into a deep sleep. He wondered about
what Stiles had been going through that had resulted in such a severe state of
sleep deprivation—clearly dreams were playing a part in that. He knew the
sacrifice that Stiles had made for his father was going to have repercussions,
but he hadn't expected them to take such a heavy toll on him. He watched
Stiles' chest rise and fall in deep heavy breaths until sleep enveloped him,
too.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Derek laid on his side watching as Stiles slowly began to surface from deep
sleep. Stiles was never quiet, not even while asleep. He took heavy sighing
breaths and made little humming sounds in the back of his throat that Derek
found comforting more than anything. Derek watched, transfixed, as Stiles
slowly rolled over on his back from where he'd been sleeping on his side facing
away from Derek, and raised his long fingers to rub slow paths across his
eyelashes and down over his cheeks. Arching his back and throwing his head
back, Stiles reached his arms into the air in a full body stretch before
falling bonelessly back to the mattress.
After Stiles was still a moment, but well on his way to being fully awake,
Derek spoke. "Hey," he said, his voice crackling with a night's un-use.
Stiles' head whipped to face Derek on the other side of the bed, his whole body
jerking is surprise. "Jesus!" he yelped, his eyes comically large as they took
in the man laying next to him. "Derek?" he gasped before launching himself
across the space between them. Derek sat up into the impromptu hug.
"You're really here?" Stiles asked into Derek's shoulder, his voice filled with
disbelief.
"I told you I would be," Derek reminded, running his hand up Stiles' spine to
cup it around the back of his neck, reveling in the warmth that flooded his
system at the unexpected greeting.
As Stiles pulled away to look Derek in the face, Derek shifted up the mattress
and sat back against the wall, letting his hand slip down to Stiles' elbow, not
wanting to give up the comfort of the touch.
"I thought I was dreaming," Stiles said shaking his head, still studying
Derek's face to make sure he was really there.
"I know; you kept saying so," Derek smirked. He watched as Stiles' eyebrows
lifted toward his messy hair as realisation swept over him.
"I kissed you," be breathed.
Derek nodded.
"And you...you kissed me back?" Stiles asked quietly, his eyes quickly drifting
down to Derek's mouth before looking back to his eyes for confirmation.
Derek nodded again, flexing his fingers where he held Stiles' arm.
Stiles drew his lower lip between his teeth, watching the man across from him
in the bed. Derek could watch Stiles' mind working through the looks on his
face—the realisation, the thought, and the decision playing out instantly one
after the other—and then Stiles was leaning forward kissing him. Stiles was
tentative at first, but his confidence built quickly when Derek seemed to melt
into the kiss.
"Sorry," Stiles murmurs after a moment, pulling away and ducking his head as
his cheeks flamed pink. "Morning mouth has got to be ten times worse for you."
After a few seconds with no response from Derek, he chanced a look back up.
Derek watched him with a strange look.
"Does it look like I mind?" He said with a shrug, without moving. He just
continued to watch Stiles, who squirmed under the attention.
"What?" Stiles asked, feeling antsy under Derek's gaze.
"You've been sleeping here."
It's not a question, but Stiles felt compelled to answer nonetheless. "Yeah,
but not all the time," he started to explain.
"It's fine," Derek rushed to cut Stiles off before he could work himself into a
flurry of explanations and justifications that he didn't need—he didn't want to
analyse it too closely to be honest. The idea of Stiles sleeping in his bed
spread a warm, comforting feeling through him and he didn't want to examine it
at that moment, he just wanted to enjoy it. Instead, he reached out to curl his
hand around Stiles' biceps and lightly pulled him forward. "Come here," he
said, practically breathless, as Stiles shuffled closer.
Derek had so much he wanted to say to Stiles but he couldn't seem to make the
words come out. He wanted to tell him about everything he thought about while
he was away, and how sorry he is for just leaving without saying goodbye, and
that he, Stiles, is the main reason he knew he had to come back in the first
place. He wanted to say thank you to Stiles for not being pissed off at him for
being such a coward. He wanted to ask about Stiles' dreams and see if they line
up with his own. He wants to kiss those plush pink lips again. He knows he must
look like an idiot, but he can't seem to care. He wants...so much, but all he
can do is stare.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Stiles mumbles finally, drawing Derek
back to reality.
"You were sleeping in my bed," are the words that Derek finally manages to pull
together, the corner of his mouth hitching up in a tiny ghost of a lopsided
smile.
"Yeah, Dude," Stiles laughs and shakes his head. "We covered that. But, you
know, now that you're back, I obviously won't be, because..."
"Comehere," Derek sighs again. He reaches for Stiles and practically drags him
into his lap by the hips.
"Okay, whoa, that's really not going to help the morning wood situation I've
got going on, at all," Stiles gulps as he's settled astride Derek's thighs.
"Hey," he huffs, looking at Derek directly in front of him. Derek's hands rest
lightly on Stiles' hips where he had manhandled him where he wanted him. He
hesitates a moment before placing his hand on Derek's chest, curling his
fingers lightly into his ribs. "Is this okay?" he asks, breathlessly.
Derek nods, flexing his fingers against the waistband of Stiles' jeans. "I like
how you look in my bed," the confession slips out before Derek can even think
about stopping it.
The smile that Stiles gives him at that is smug.
"Shut up," Derek mutters and hauls Stiles forward into a burning kiss that
wipes the cocky look right from his face.
The kiss is slow, and achingly sweet, with light, lingering touches, supple
plucking lips, and soft hummed sighs. Derek wants to crawl inside Stiles' skin
and live there. Kissing him in real life is so, so much better than his
imagination has ever been able to conjure up. "Jesus," Stiles gasps, pulling
away to draw breath into his starved lungs, resting his forehead against
Derek's, both of them panting for air in the tiny space between them.
Derek trails his fingertip lightly along the sliver of skin exposed on Stiles'
back where his t-shirt has lifted, sending a chill down his spine. It's like
the strike of a match and suddenly they can't be close enough. "Fuck," Stiles
moans and pulls Derek forward with a rough hand on the back of his neck. He
kisses him hungrily, both men revelling in the feeling of the fire burning
between them. Stiles nips Derek's lower lip with his teeth, spurring Derek into
action. Stiles pulls at the hem of Derek's shirt and it's gone before he can
even think to ask if it's okay. Their mouth crashing back together the second
the shirt is over his head.
"Yours, too," Derek pants into Stiles' mouth, raking rough paths over his skin
as he pushes the offending fabric up his back and over his head.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Stiles watches as Derek twitches and shifts in his sleep. He wonders what's
happening in his sleeping mind causing Derek's breath to hitch. Slowly, Derek
starts to drift awake, his breathing becoming more even and shallower. When he
thinks Derek is mostly awake, Stiles speaks.
"I thought I was dreaming."
Derek jumps a little and turns his head toward Stiles even before his eyes are
fully open. "What?"
"You're actually here," Stiles explains with sarcastically raised eyebrows.
Derek pushes himself up onto one elbow facing Stiles. He watches Stiles' tongue
run smoothly over his bottom lip, remembering the taste of it from the dream
he’d just woken from.  He shakes his head to clear the last remaining threads
of the quickly fading dream.
"I never said I wasn't coming back," Derek offers, cringing inwardly at how
weak it sounds even to his own ears.
Stiles' snort of indignant laughter is quickly replaced with an angry stare.
"You didn't say anything, Derek!" Stiles yells and launches himself up from the
mattress. Pacing the floor, he vigorously scrubs his hands through his sleep
tousled hair before rounding on Derek still sitting up in bed. "You just took
off... fuck, Derek, It's not just that you left. After everything...I thought
that we... that you and I...You didn't fucking say anything!" Stiles bent to
pick up his hoodie from beside the bed and stuffed his feet into his shoes
while Derek sat speechless.
Stiles was right; leaving without saying anything was a low thing to do.
Especially considering that there had been something building between them.
Something that Derek was still reluctant to acknowledge even though it had been
a major contributor to his finally returning to Beacon Hills.
"Stiles, I..." he started but couldn't come up with anything to say to try and
make the mess he'd made make sense.
"See you around, Derek," Stiles sighed, making his way to the door. At the top
of the stairs he paused and Derek hoped he'd changed his mind. "or maybe I
won't," he scoffed, stepping forward and pulling the door open enough to slip
out.
The bang of the metal door against brick echoed in Derek's head long after he
could no longer hear Stiles' shoes on the stairs. He deserved every shred of
Stiles' anger. He just hoped that, eventually, he'd be able to regain his trust
and make it up to him. 
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Derek waited until later that afternoon to try to call Stiles, hoping that he
had cooled down and was willing to talk. Stiles didn’t answer.
Stiles didn’t answer the text message that Derek sent two days later, either.
In the meantime, he went to Scott and let him know that he was back in Beacon
Hills and planning to stay. Scott gave him his blessing, going as far as to
offer Derek a part in his pack if he wanted to join, or simple affiliation if
that was all he wanted.
Derek also went to see Deaton and Chris Argent, getting updates on the
increased threats to Beacon Hills from them that were more realistic than the
picture Scott had painted for him. He’d know that things were bad from the
state that Stiles was in, but he never imagined that there was more or less a
constant threat to the safety of the town since the lunar eclipse.
Derek waited after that, knowing that the harder he pushed Stiles, the longer
he would make him wait. He hoped that he would eventually come around and talk
to him, but he didn’t let himself to get his hopes up. He knew that he had hurt
Stiles by leaving—it had hurt him, too—and that everything Stiles had said was
completely true. Hopefully he’d be given the chance to try and make it up to
him.
It was five days before that chance came.
Derek’s phone buzzed across the coffee table as he sat reading on the sofa. He
had nearly given up hope of Stiles reaching out to him, and was surprised to
see his name on the caller ID.
“Hey,” Derek breathed, trying, and failing, to keep the hopeful tone out of his
voice.
“I’m outside,” Stiles said, his tone flat.
Derek stood up from the sofa, crossing to the large windows that looked down on
the street below, where he could see Stiles’ jeep parked at the end of the
block. Stiles sat in the driver’s seat, the engine turned off. “Come up,” Derek
said, pressing his fingers to the glass when he saw Stiles face turning up
toward the window.
“No. Will you come down?”
Derek turned toward the door before the request was out of Stiles’ mouth. “I’ll
be right there.”
By the time he got downstairs and out the front door of the building, Stiles
was leaning against the driver’s side door of the Jeep, staring down at his
shoes. Derek noticed how fatigue weighed heavy around the teen’s frame; his
shoulders curled forward, his limbs hanging loose. It was easy to see Stiles’
exhaustion before he raised his face to look at Derek as he approached. The
dark circles that had been under Stiles’ eyes when Derek had seen him earlier
in the week seemed to be worse, looking almost like bruises.
“Walk with me?” Stiles asked, pushing off the door with his shoulders and
shoving his hands roughly into his pockets. Derek nodded, watching a moment as
Stiles turned toward the end of the block and started walking before falling
into step at his side.
They walked along in silence. Derek wanted to explain to Stiles why he had had
to leave, apologize again for doing so without a word, but he couldn't find the
words to make it make sense. After a couple of blocks, Stiles walked through
the gate of a playground and crossed to sit on one of the swings. Derek
followed.
“Where’s Cora?” Stiles finally asked, not looking up from where he toed at the
loose dirt in the groove made under the swing set by years of children’s
scuffing feet.
 “Uh…she’s back in Colorado,” Derek paused a moment before answering, thankful
that Stiles had finally broken the silence. “Cortez.”
Stiles nodded, kicked at the dirt again and raised his eyes to meet Derek’s
finally. “That’s where she was…before?”
“Yeah,” Derek confirmed with a nod. “There’s a small pack there, that were
allies with ours. They took her in…after,” he explained, trailing off under
Stiles’ intense gaze.
“Is that where you were all this time?”
Derek fought the shiver that threatened to run though him at Stiles’ venomous
tone. “No,” he shook his head and parted his lips before breaking eye contact.
“Only for the last couple of weeks.”
“Then where?” Stiles spat.
Derek collapsed in the swing next to Stiles’, swaying back and forth lightly.
“Nowhere, really. We were on the road a lot—just driving,” he explained.
“Where?” Stiles demanded.
“Um? The desert. Through Nevada; mostly Utah and Arizona. New Mexico a bit
before I took her home.” Derek felt pinned under Stiles’ watch but couldn’t
bring himself to look up. “Saw the sights. I took some pictures,” he offered.
“She didn’t want you to stay there with her?” Stiles’ accusatory question
finally made Derek meet his eye.
“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t know. She didn’t ask, and I didn’t offer.”
Stiles scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking away from Derek again.
“Look, Stiles, I fucked up, I know that. I shouldn’t have just taken off like
that without saying anything, but I can’t go back and change that,” Derek
sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Well, welcome back.”
Derek cringed at Stiles sarcasm, and followed as he stood and walked back
across the playground and out the gate. “Stiles…”
“No, Derek! Look, things have been really shitty around here and you just left
us here without even thinking twice about what was going to happen now that the
Nematon is active, so forgive me if I don’t send out the welcome wagon, okay.”
They were nearly back to Stiles’ jeep by the time his rant wound down. He
turned to face Derek and leaned back against the bumper. “It will be good to
have another person around who knows what’s going down, I guess.”
"You're shivering," Derek said, reaching his hand out but stopping short of
touching Stiles’ arm.
"I don't feel cold," Stiles replied with a shrug, his teeth chattering.
"When was the last time you slept, Stiles?" Derek asked, worry getting the
better of him.
"I'm fine," Stiles sighed, shaking his head. It seemed to Derek that he was
trying to convince himself of that just as much as he was Derek.
Stopping him with a hand on his shoulder, Derek studied his face before
insisting,  "You're not fine.  I've never seen you further from fine to be
honest. You need to sleep."
"Yeah, I'll try," Stiles said shrugging Derek's hand off and walking toward the
driver's side door of the jeep.
"You shouldn't be driving right now,"
"Well I'm not going to walk 6 miles, Derek," Stiles spat.
Stopping Stiles again with a firm hand on his elbow, Derek waited until Stiles
had turned back to face him before speaking.  "Come upstairs," he paused at the
shocked look Stiles gave him.  "You said you can sleep here," he explained. 
"You need to sleep.  I can go, you can have the loft as long as you need it. 
Stiles, you can't go on like this. Please, go upstairs; sleep," Derek finished
earnestly.
With a heavy sigh, Stiles nodded.  He pocketed his keys again and stepped
toward the door of the building. 
Chapter End Notes
     I originally had Cora going back to South America, but decided on
     Colorado because I have such a lovely experience there this fall. I
     just felt like Cora had been further away than Colorodo though. I
     might switch it back. Maybe.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Falling into step behind Stiles again, Derek held the door open to let him pass
through. Stiles didn’t look back at all, and Derek couldn’t pick up anything
from him but utter exhaustion as he slowly trudged up the stairs to Derek’s
loft.
“I’ll just grab my keys and wallet and I’ll get out of here,” Derek said as
they walked into the apartment.
“Whatever,” Stiles mumbled as he walked down the stairs and started stripping
off his hoodie. “You don’t need to leave,” weariness made Stiles voice soft and
quiet.
Pausing in the doorway to the kitchen, Derek turned to look at the younger man.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m going to crash, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Stiles
flopped across the couch, limbs loose and heavy, and Derek had to force himself
to look away.
“Take the bed, Stiles,” Derek insisted.
“Too late,” followed by a soft chuckle was the last thing Stiles said before
his breathing slowed down and he fell asleep a few minutes later. Derek watched
from the kitchen doorway for longer than should have been comfortable. He
contemplated gathering his keys and wallet and leaving anyway, rather than
torturing himself with worry over Stiles while he slept, but knew that he would
worry regardless if he were in the same room or not.  Derek knew there wasn’t
much hope in him getting to sleep with Stiles there, so he eventually crossed
the loft and picked Stiles up to move him to the bed.
Stiles stirred as Derek lifted him and rested his head heavily on Derek’s
shoulder, despite his protesting “put me down,” and calling Derek a show off. 
“You’re too bloody stubborn sometimes,” Derek muttered as he bent to lay Stiles
on the mattress. He stood and walked back to the couch, picking his book up
from the floor where Stiles had pushed it out of his way, and froze before
turning to sit as Stiles burrowed into the comforter. If Derek  didn’t have
enhanced hearing he would have missed Stiles mumble “I’m glad you’re back,”
into the pillow.
**
Derek did manage to drift off at some point during the night despite Stiles’
very actively sleeping a few yards away. He woke to pale sunlight filtering
into the loft with his head resting on the back of the couch and his book
resting open on his chest. His attention immediately focusing on the bed across
the room, where Stiles laid across the mattress, his arms and legs sprawled to
take up as much of the bed as possible. Stiles had evidently gotten too warm in
the night; his jeans, socks and over shirt joining the hoodie and shoes
discarded on the floor.
Derek forced himself to get up and move rather than dwell on the fact that
Stiles lay, in nothing more than his underwear and a t-shirt, in his bed. The
thought stirring thoughts that he’d fought to control for longer than he cared
to admit,
He  was only in the kitchen long enough for the coffee pot to finish brewing
before he heard Stiles stir in the next room. He pulled another cup from the
cupboard as he listened to the telltale sigh and moan that he knew would be
accompanied by a stretch. He shut down the memory of Stiles’ stretch from the
dream he had had the night he’d returned and they had woken up in the same bed.
He poured the coffee and added enough milk to Stiles’ cup to make it the colour
of cardboard, before picking up the mugs and heading back into the living area
of the loft.
Stiles was sitting up in the bed, his back against the wall when Derek walked
back in. He passed the mattress and silently held out the cup.
“Thanks,” Stiles muttered after taking a sip.
Derek nodded and retreated to the safety of the couch.
They sat in their own corners of the living room, intentionally not looking at
each other, silently drinking their coffee. The tension in the air was
different than it had been the night before; still thick and anxious, but
Stiles felt sad, almost defeated, to Derek rather than angry.
Finally, after what seemed a long time, Stiles shifted in the bed, pulling
Derek’s focus on him.
"Can I come over there?" Stiles asked quietly without looking up from the
coffee cup clutched in his hands.
Derek's breath caught in his throat.  He couldn't believe he'd heard those
words. His lungs burning made him realize that he'd been holding his breath. 
Stiles turned to face him finally as he gasped.
Derek nodded and sat forward on the couch. "Yeah. Yes," he agreed, his eyebrows
raised and his head nodding a few times.
Dropping his eyes from Derek's, Stiles placed his coffee cup on the floor next
to the mattress and flipped the covers back. Derek watched as he swung his legs
off the bed, stood up and walked slowly across the hardwood with nearly silent
barefooted steps. Derek wanted Stiles to look at him, needed it, but he didn't
raise his eyes the whole way across the open space of the loft. Stiles stopped
a few feet in front of where Derek sat on the couch, and took a deep breath
before finally lifting his head to look Derek in the eye.
"I'm too fucking tired to stay pissed off at you," Stiles began with a tiny
shake off his head. Derek waited and watched as the younger man stood
impossibly still in front of him.  "But I'm not done being hurt and angry," he
finished with a heavy sigh.
Derek leaned forward and placed his own cup on the floor in front of the couch,
never taking his eyes from Stiles. "Be mad at me later?" he suggested 
tentatively.
Stiles nodded and stepped forward at the same time that Derek reached out to
him, taking his hand and drawing him close as he shifted forward on the couch.
With smooth fluid motions that surprised Derek, Stiles placed himself astride
his lap, perching on his thighs and resting a hand lightly on his shoulder for
balance. After studying each other a moment, Stiles folded himself forward and
buried his face in Derek's neck as he wrapped his long arms around broad
shoulders in a tight hug.
Derek gripped the back of Stiles' neck, twisting his fingers into too-long
hair, holding the younger man's head on his shoulder, reveling in the touch
he'd been longing for. He turned his own head until his nose pressed against
the curve of Stiles' jaw and breathed deep, filling his lungs with his distinct
scent.
"I fucking missed you." Stiles' murmured confession was like a brand on Derek's
flesh as cool lips brush against the burning skin of his throat. He never
wanted to let Stiles go now that he finally had him in his arms, but Stiles
slowly drew himself back, sitting as far back as he could while remaining in
Derek's lap.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
They stared at one another. Derek watched intently as Stiles drew wavering
breaths through slightly parted lips. Stiles looked for answers to unasked
questions in Derek's eyes and got none, as usual. After a while—it could have
been a few minutes or it could have been an hour, neither was sure of how the
time was slipping past them—Derek slowly raised his hand to cup Stiles' cheek
and run his thumb over the sharp edge of his cheek bone. He sat forward,
searched Stiles' eyes for permission or protest. Getting neither, he looked at
Stiles' still parted mouth, making his intentions clear before leaning closer
still. He could hear Stiles' heartbeat pick up in his chest; could feel it
under his fingertips resting lightly under his jaw.
Stiles turned his head just before Derek's lips touched his. "Don't," he
breathed. He closed his eyes tight and rested his cheek into the warmth where
Derek's lips pressed against his skin.
"Why not?" Derek asked, pulling back to search Stiles' face.
"I…" Stiles paused to gasp in air to quench is body that screamed in need. "I
want this too much," his words tumbled almost silently into the sliver of space
between them. "I won't be able to take it when you leave."
"Stiles, I'm not leaving," Derek said, feeling Stiles' words clenching his
heart like a tight band around his chest. "Really," he nodded, running his
thumb over Stiles' cheek again.
Stiles surged forward, pressing his mouth to Derek's. It wasn't more than a dry
warm mashing of lips but both men sighed at the contact.
"Fuck," Stiles whispered into Derek's mouth, the single word sounding more like
a sob than he was strictly comfortable with. He didn't have long to think about
it, before Derek was reeling him in and capturing his lips again. The second
kiss was softer and teasing. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist,
pulling him forward in his lap, as Stiles tangled his fingers into Derek's
messy dark hair.
"Is this okay?" Derek asked, needing Stiles' verbal reassurance despite being
able to hear his pulse and smell his desire.
"Not even close," Stiles replied and dipped in to kiss Derek again, pulling at
his lower lip with his own. Derek pressed one palm flat against the small of
Stiles' back and tangled the other in his hair, holding him there.
"Do you want to stop?" Derek checked again, knowing before Stiles answered what
the reply would be.
"No."  Stile whispered, shaking his head lightly, and brushed his lips against
Derek’s.
They settled into slow, lazy kisses; exploring each other's mouths with curious
lips and inquisitive tongues. They shared breath in barely there space, before
eager mouths found each other again. Hands wandered, drifting over safe and
comfortable areas before growing slowly bolder and dipping under hem lines to
trail along bare skin, drawing hums and gasps; stirring the intensity. Their
kisses became sloppy and hungry; teeth nipping lips on both parts, fighting for
the lead, pulling needy sounds from each other.
Stiles pulled Derek's head back with a handful of hair and trailed his nose
along the column of his neck, drawing a deep hum from within Derek's chest.
"Fuck, Stiles," he purred. "Can we move?" Derek pleaded as Stiles traced the
same path with the tip of his tongue; his grip on Stiles' hips tightening,
trying to pull him closer still.
"Yeah," Stiles breathed the rush of air chilling the wet trail on Derek's neck
and causing a shiver to crawl up his spine.
Moving with such fluidity it could only be only possible to the supernatural,
Derek shifted his hands from Stiles' hips to cup under his thighs, easily
standing from the couch while holding Stiles up, swallowing the soft gasp that
escaped Stiles' parted lips. He walked smoothly across the floor back to the
bed without breaking the kiss. Placing one knee on the mattress Derek gently
placed Stiles in the middle of the bed while pushing the crumpled bedding
aside.
Stiles arched up as Derek covered his body with his own. "Are you going to fuck
me?" Stiles gasped as Derek trailed his mouth along the curve of his neck.
"Is that what you want?" Derek practically purred into the flushed skin along
Stiles' collar bone, as he pulled the neck of his t-shirt aside. He could feel
the younger man's nod and the vibrations of a quiet moan under his lips.
"I want anything you're willing to give me." Stiles clutched at Derek's
shoulders as he dragged his lips along the tendon in his neck, ending just
under his ear.
"Don't do that?" Derek chastised before pulling Stiles' ear lobe between his
teeth and lightly nipping, drawing a whine from Stiles' throat.
"Do what?" Stiles gasped.
Derek gripped Stiles' jaw and pulled back to search the younger man's eyes.
"Don't pull that self-deprecating act with me," he explained seriously, waiting
a moment for Stiles' reaction before adding "I'm willing to give you whatever
you want; everything. But you need to tell me, Stiles. I don't know what you
want unless you tell me, and I need to be sure. I need to know that you want
this…that I’m not…”
“What? That you’re not taking advantage of me?” Stiles asked, a bitter edge
sneaking into his voice. “I’m not some blushing virgin that needs protecting,
okay, Derek?”  Stiles paused to take a deep, steadying breath, not wanting his
anger to ruin whatever moment they seemed to finally be having.
Stiles’ words hit Derek hard. He’d been surprised by Stiles confidence the
night he’d returned and they had kissed, but he had told himself—had hoped—that
it was due to Stiles’ dreams, and not the reality that he had dreaded. That
Stiles wasn’t a virgin anymore; that he hadn’t waited for Derek. “I’m not your
first,” Derek sighed, the words slipping out before he had a chance to bite
down on them,
“No,” Stiles admitted quietly, although Derek was sure he knew that he wasn’t
intended to hear his realization. Derek felt Stiles swallow from where he had
pressed his face into the curve of his neck; could scent an edge of anxiety on
Stiles' skin. He felt Stiles’ finger brush through his hair, tentatively,
before settling on the back of his neck, almost like Stiles was holding him
there. “He wasn’t you,” Stiles confessed, his voice wavering and heart
pounding. “You were gone and I wanted to feel like somebody wanted me, but he
wasn’t right, Derek.  None of them were.”
Stiles’ fingers flexed into the skin on Derek’s neck, sending a shiver down his
spine. Derek ached with the knowledge Stiles’ confession brought. He wished
with every fiber of his being that he could go back and change things; to make
it so he'd never hurt Stiles so badly.
"Please don't make my virginity more important than it was, Derek. I didn't
lose anything by sleeping around, okay?" Stiles cupped his hand under Derek's
jaw and pulled him back far enough to look him in the eye. "I gained instead. I
learned what I really wanted all along is you, even though I didn't know if I'd
ever see you again. But, you're here now." Derek gasped as Stiles dragged his
thumb over his lower lip. "Fuck, Derek, I want you in every way possible. So,
when I say I want whatever you're willing to give me, it's not self-
deprecating, it's the truth. If this is all you can give me, I'll take it. If
you want more, I want more, too." Stiles paused a moment to search Derek's eyes
and catch his breath. Licking his lips slowly, he continued, "If you want me
writhing naked under you and dripping with sweat as you fuck me until I scream,
I am right there with you. I want you, whatever that looks like. You don't need
to worry about taking advantage, or whatever you've filled your head with.
You've got blanket permission for anything and everything you want." Stiles
fell silent, still studying Derek's face for reaction to his confession.
"Are you done?" Derek asked after a few moments filled only with the sound of
their heavy breathing, the corner of his mouth hitching in the slight
impression of a smirk.
Stiles nodded. "Yeah."
"I still need to ask; to make sure."
"I know," Stiles nodded again. It only made sense, given his history, that
Derek would need to check in and reassure himself that he wasn't pushing Stiles
into something he didn't want or wasn't ready for. Stiles could live with that.
"Good," Derek sighed, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When he reopened
them and looked at Stiles, his gaze was filled with heat and promise, and
Stiles, shuddered. "I want you naked," Derek breathed against Stiles' throat,
running his hand up his side under his shirt. "Can we start there?"
"Are you going to be naked, too?" Stiles could feel Derek's smile and huffed
laugh against his neck.
"Yeah, I want to feel your skin on mine," Derek explained needlessly, as he
pulled himself away from Stiles and sat up.
"Okay then, let's start there," Stiles agreed with a grin, sitting up
and pulling his shirt over his head.
Chapter End Notes
     This could be the end of this story...
     It is all I have written at this point, which is so much more than I
     set out to write when the idea came to me. There could be more. I
     could go into details...
***** Chapter 7 *****
Derek watched the muscles below the smooth pale surface of Stiles' abdomen flex
as he sat up, tucked his elbow into the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over
his head. His mouth went suddenly dry, seeing the lean, toned body Stiles
typically hid under his loose clothes for the first time. He knew on some level
that Stiles wasn't still the skinny kid he had been when they'd first met.
Knowing it and seeing it were different though, and Derek felt frozen in place
by Stiles' smooth movements and lithe body.
Stiles paused a moment after emerging from the t-shirt, and scanned Derek's
face as the werewolf watched him. "You still with me?" he asked with a smirk as
he tossed the shirt off the side of the bed.
"Yeah," Derek breathed. He reached out to drift his hand over Stiles' side
slowly, feeling the rhythm of ribs under his finger tips. Stiles flinched at
the first touch and a short burst of laughter puffed from his lips.
Ticklish,Derek thought, making a note of it and increasing the pressure of his
exploring fingers.
Stiles leaned forward, capturing Derek's mouth with his own and reached out to
gently pull at the hem of Derek's henley. "Yours, too," he panted into Derek's
mouth, raking rough paths over his skin as he pushed the offending fabric up
his back and over Derek's head. He slid his hands down Derek's back as soon as
he's thrown the shirt to the floor, dragging lines into his shoulder with those
long strong fingers Derek had so long admired.
Derek was struck with the similarity that moment shared with the dream he had
had the first morning they'd woken up together. The reality of feeling Stiles'
skin under his hands was so much more than his imagination had ever come up
with. The soft warmth flooding over Derek as he ran his hand over Stiles' skin
due only in part to the boy's body heat.
"Come here," Derek practically whined, sliding his hands behind Stiles' knees
and pulling him closer. Stiles hooked his legs over Derek's hips as Derek
gathered him in close.
"Hey," Stiles sighed as Derek wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed his
warm hand flat against his back; pulled him in and gently kissed the grin from
his mouth. Feeling like he was melting into Derek's touch, Stiles leaned
forward, pressing against Derek's chest and reveling in the skin to skin
contact.
Despite the declarations they had just shared, both seemed reluctant to fully
touch and explore the other's body. Instead, leaving their light touches to
trail across shoulders and along backbones. They shared sweet, lazy kisses.
Neither pushed for dominance as they had earlier, content instead to simply
enjoy the feeling of finally being where they wanted. There was no rush until
Stiles traced his fingers lightly up the length of Derek's throat.
Stiles was suddenly flat on his back, pinned to the mattress as Derek dragged a
sharp breath through his clenched teeth. Derek loomed over Stiles', eyes
flickering wildly.
"Your neck, huh?" Stiles mused, basking a moment in this new found information,
before he deliberately hooked his thumb under Derek's jaw with his fingers
resting against the side of his neck, and tilted Derek's head back, exposing
his throat. A filthy sounding moan slipped from Derek's mouth, encouraging
Stiles. He leaned off the bed and pulled Derek forward at the same time, until
he could drag his tongue, flat and wet, up the expanse of Derek's exposed neck
from his collar bone, over his Adam's apple and up to the point of his chin.
"Fuck, Stiles," Derek growled as a shudder shook down his spine.
The sound of Derek's wrecked voice seemed to have a direct line to Stiles'
dick. He arched his hips off the bed, pressing them firmly into Derek, who
gripped his waist hard enough that there would surely be bruises left on his
pale skin. Tentative touches turned frantic; hands anxiously grabbing flesh,
nails raking across sensitive skin.
"Can I?" Derek gasped as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Stiles'
underwear, picking up Stiles' affirmation before the "God, please," could even
form on his lips. Derek dragged the underwear down Stiles' legs, sitting up as
he went. He pushed his own jeans and underwear down and tossed them toward the
end of the bed after Stiles' boxers.
Derek sat on his heels watching Stiles. He took in the long line of Stiles'
body where he had propped himself up with one elbow tucked behind him, having
instinctively followed Derek as he sat up. Derek watched in awe as Stiles ran a
hand—long thin fingers pressing into skin—down his chest and over the trail of
dark hair that marked his lower belly. Derek followed the line to where it
mingled with a thatch of pubic hair at the base of Stiles' cock which stood
proud and flushed.
"You're fucking beautiful," Derek murmured, lost in his own thoughts as he
contemplated the man spread out in front of him. He watched as a wash of colour
bloomed up Stiles' neck and across his cheeks at his adulation.
With a snorted laugh of embarrassment, Stiles reached his hand out to Derek and
said, "Shut up and get back here." Derek sat another moment, just admiring, the
spans of pale skin interrupted only by a smattering of moles, wisps of dark
hair and punctuated with red marks made by Derek's own hands. "Derek." The
second prompt of just his name drew Derek from his reverie, and he crawled
forward again, spreading his body atop Stiles'.
Stiles raised his knees along Derek’s hips allowing him to settle in the cradle
in his legs, causing them both to moan as their bare cocks slid against one
another.
"I feel like I should probably warn you that I haven't gotten off in, like, a
while, so the potential for things to get messy in a hurry is pretty high,"
Stiles panted as Derek worked a path of nips down his neck.
Working his way lower, Derek licked and kissed along Stiles’ collarbone and
down his chest. “I’m right there with you,” he huffed before lightly pressing
his teeth into the soft peak of Stiles’ nipple.
“Oh God,” Stiles cried, gripping Derek’s shoulders tight. He threw his head
back and arched his back, rubbing his hips along Derek’s creating a sinful drag
between them. “Ugh, I’ve got to get my hands on you.” Stiles hooked his arm
across Derek’s shoulders and used his bent legs to roll them over—Derek letting
him. He pulled back to sit straddled over Derek’s hips. Licking a wide, wet
stripe on his palm, Stiles aligned both of their erections and slid his long
fingers down the length slowly. They moved against each other, finding a rhythm
quickly.
Stiles let his eyes roam, taking in every one of Derek’s reactions; how the
muscles in his stomach tensed and loosened as he pumped his hips; how his
fingers flexed in sharp points of pressure against the muscles of Stiles’
thighs, how his eyes fluttered closed when Stiles gently pulled his foreskin
back and let a finger rub under the ridge as he jacked them off.
As Stiles’ rhythm faltered, Derek opened his eyes and looked up at him. “I’m
close,” Stiles panted, his voice completely wrecked.
Derek leaned off the bed a little and hauled Stiles forward with a firm hand on
the back of his neck and hungrily kissed him. “Come on,” he prompted, “Come for
me.” He wrapped his hand around Stiles’ and kept the rhythm steady. The sloppy
kiss turned into nothing more than panting into each other’s mouths. Stiles
tensed as his orgasm washed over him silently.
After a few minutes as a boneless heap collapsed on Derek’s chest, Stiles
pushed himself back to sitting up and began jacking Derek’s cock in earnest.
His moment of silence fleeting, he began to spout murmured words of
encouragement. “Do you have any idea what you look like right now, Derek? I’ve
imagined what it would be like if I could ever get my hands on you, but this,
you, fuck... I want to see what you look like when you just give in.” He leaned
forward and rested his free hand on the mattress next to Derek’s shoulder,
watching his face intently as he continued to pump Derek’s leaking cock. “Let
go for me, Baby,” Stiles whispered, sending Derek tumbling over the edge. “Just
like that; Jesus, look at you,” he praised as he slowed his strokes. “Perfect,”
he sighed before collapsing next to Derek.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“I lied,” Stiles said, walking back across the loft with a wet washcloth in
hand and a towel over his shoulder. “Okay, not lied exactly. I totally want
whatever you want, but I really, seriously hope that you want to do that again.
Soon.” He knelt on the bed where Derek still laid with their combined come
spread across his stomach and chest. “And next time I really hope you want to
fuck me, because that?! That was seriously fucking mind blowing and I’m just
going to put it out there that I’m more convinced than ever that your beautiful
dick belongs up my ass."
"Christ, Stiles. Your mouth," Derek marveled at the dirty words spilling from
Stiles’ kiss swollen lips.
"Or my mouth," Stiles added with a leer as he finished wiping the warm cloth
over Derek's abs.
"Jesus, shut that filthy mind of yours off for one second and get up here.”
Derek curled his hand around Stiles’ elbow, hauling him forward. He wound his
arms around Stiles’ shoulders as Stiles laughed against his scruffy cheek as
Stiles tossed the wet cloth to the side and settled himself, half sprawled over
Derek’s chest.
“Seriously though, that was better than I dreamed it would be,” Stiles murmured
after a few minutes.
“Yeah, you mentioned something about a dream,” Derek said, tilting his head so
he could smirk at Stiles where he rested on his shoulder, earning nothing but a
face splitting grin in response. He tilted Stiles’ face up to meet his and
kissed his still smiling mouth. Stiles leaned into the kiss as it turned slow
and tender in contrast to the intensity they had shared earlier. After several
minutes of making out, Stiles settled his chin on his folded arms across
Derek’s chest. 
“Are you going to school today?” Derek asked, running his hand through Stiles’
hair.
Stiles scoffed, and leaned into Derek’s hand like a cat. “Oh, fuck no. You got
anywhere you need to be?”
Derek shook his head with a scrunch of his nose and gave a little shrug of his
shoulders, jostling Stiles slightly.
“Good.  I don’t feel like moving.” Stiles sighed as Derek trailed his hand
lightly down his shoulders and down his spine to rest on the small of his back.
“I feel like I could sleep some more, actually,” he said, turning his head and
resting his cheek Derek’s chest.
“Go for it.” Derek rubbed light patterns over Stiles’ skin with his finger
tips.
“You’re just going to lay here and let me drool all over you?” Stiles joked,
snuggling deeper into Derek’s embrace.
Derek had so much he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Stiles that he would
gladly lay there and hold him while he slept if it meant the smell of fatigue
on his skin and the bags under his eyes would go away. He wanted to tell him
that there was nowhere else he’d rather be, but knew that was coming on just a
tad on the too strong, creepy side. He wanted Stiles to know he’d be there to
fight off whatever nightmares had been plaguing Stiles and keeping him from
sleeping; he wanted to know what they were in the first place. “You still look
tired,” is what he eventually said in a soft voice.
Stiles nodded.
After a few minutes of quiet, Derek broke through his internal rant of all the
things he wanted to tell Stiles and just started talking. “You know, Stiles,
you can sleep here anytime you need to. I don’t know why you’re able to sleep
here, and I don’t need to know, not if you don’t want me to. But it doesn’t
matter what happens between us, if you need to come here to sleep, you can. If
you want me to go so you can sleep for a while, I will, or I’ll stay if you
want me to, just…”
“Derek?” Stiles interrupted Derek’s verbal diarrhea.
“Yeah?” Derek cringed internally as his voice cracked with the breathy reply.
“I can’t sleep with you yakking in my ear,” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s chest.
“Sorry. You sleep, I’ll get up?” Derek leaned up onto his elbow, ready to get
out of bed, but Stiles refused to remove himself from his perch on Derek’s
chest.
“No, you’re comfy,” Stiles whined, clinging to Derek.
“Okay, let me get my book and I’ll come right back, then.” 
Stiles rolled onto his back and propped himself on his elbows to watch as Derek
walked across the loft naked to retrieve his book from the coffee table in
front of the sofa. He had a lopsided grin on his face when Derek turned around
to walk back to the bed.  “What?” Derek asked, crawling back under the bed
sheet.
“Your ass should come with a warning label,” Stiles chuckled as he sprawled
across Derek’s chest again. Derek laughed and pulled the sheet up around his
shoulder. “I’m going to sleep for a while and then we’re going to get waffles,
okay?” Stiles murmured, already drifting.
"Whatever you want." Derek murmured into Stiles' hair, opening his book and
settling into the pillow. It didn't even surprise him that he meant just that.
 
Chapter End Notes
     Well, I think that's the end of this one. I said what I set out to,
     which was way more that I intended to when I started this thing so
     many moons ago. This is officially my first finished multi-chap fix.
     Yay me! Thanks to anyone who stuck with me through the long break.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!