Fic: Occam's Razor (10/?)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
Baby bomb or not, Stiles still put together two lunches around noon and drove up to the station to feed his father and Derek, just like he had several days in the past. He needed something to do to keep himself occupied, and he knew his father would fall back on fast food left to his own devices.
Judy at the front desk waved him back when she recognized Stiles, and he walked down to his dad’s office.
He found his father bent over an open file at his desk, rubbing one eyebrow as he studied the case.
“Got time for grilled chicken and broccoli?” Stiles asked, holding up the stack of Tupperware containers.
John looked up and pulled a face at the menu. “Is ‘no’ an acceptable answer?”
“Nope. Where’s Derek?” He set one meal down on his father’s desk, the other still held in hand.
“Just went out on a call, but he shouldn’t be too long. Ms. Abernathy and Mr. Jacobs are having a tiff about the property line again. There was some vandalism of a hedge this time, I hear.”
Stiles turned toward the sheriff’s office door. “Oh god… one day those two are just going to screw each other’s brains out.”
“Well, I wish it would be sooner rather than later. Their aggressive flirting is giving my entire force a headache.” He peeled open the Tupperware lid and looked down mournfully at the healthy fare.
Stiles shut the office door, went to the chair facing his father’s desk, sat down, and leaned forward to tell him, very matter-of-factly, “You asshole.”
“Pardon?” John asked, a piece of broccoli half-way to his mouth.
Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You should have told me about the baby.”
John lowered the broccoli. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh.”
John looked uncomfortable. Good. He deserved it for not telling Stiles he was adopting a baby with Derek Hale. Just what the ever-loving fuck?
“I would have… but honestly, I didn’t know how you would take it.”
Stiles gave him a look that screamed ‘that’s no excuse’.
“So I guess Derek told you.”
“I dragged it out of him, more like. I overheard him talking to Lydia this morning telling her to call off the adoption.”
John paled a little. “You’re not…”
The look on his father’s face tempered Stiles’ anger a little. “I don’t know yet. Derek wants to, but…” Stiles slumped down in the chair, Derek’s lunch perched atop his stomach. “I’ve been trying so hard not to screw up this life, you know? But now there’s a baby to consider, and it changes everything.”
“Yeah, kids will do that.”
Stiles groaned and roughed a hand through his hair. Then he looked thoughtfully at his father. “Was he… was I excited? About the baby?”
John gave him a look. “Are you sure you want to know?”
Stiles nodded.
“Yeah, you were.”
Stiles tried to imagine that. Scarily, it wasn’t hard. “There’s no baby stuff in the house,” he muttered.
“What?” John asked, stabbing a piece of chicken with a fork.
“There’s no baby stuff in the house. If we were… shouldn’t there be stuff? Derek said Mrs. McCall’s giving us a crib, but don’t parents start getting stuff before now when they know there’s a baby on the way?”
“Derek didn’t talk about that?” John asked warily. At Stiles’ head shake, he sighed, “I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you…”
“Dad.”
“Okay, just… Derek said if an expectant mother doesn’t have a pack, it makes the pregnancy high-risk. The stress of being alone… turns out a lot of mothers in that situation miscarry. Derek’s been gun-shy about getting ready. He was worried Annabelle would lose the baby.”
“Oh, god…” Stiles groaned. Maybe this was his life after all, because it sucked. “I can’t let Lydia tell Annabelle we’re backing out of the adoption! She’ll have a miscarriage and that will be on my conscience for the rest of my life!”
John played with a piece of broccoli. “I don’t know what to tell you, kiddo. There’s not an easy answer for this.”
“Actually, there is an easy answer,” Stiles countered bitterly. “If I could remember the last seven years.” All his problems would go away if he could get back those last seven years.
John conceded with a shrug-nod combination. “Or…”
“Or?” Stiles perked up. Because if there was another easy solution to this, he wanted to hear it.
“Maybe you could trust yourself. Trust the guy that got you here.”
Stiles stared, slack-jaw. Was that it? Another Stiles brought him this far, but now it was on him to take care of his family? Stiles could waffle on how his counter-part would feel about Stiles sleeping with his husband, but Stiles was pretty sure Other Stiles would be pissed if he ruined this chance to start a family with Derek.
He needed to think.
“I’m going to take off,” Stiles said, sitting up and putting Derek’s lunch on the corner of the desk. “Make sure he gets this?”
“You bet.”
Stiles started to get up and froze half-way. “And don’t shovel your broccoli into his container the second I turn my back. Eat your vegetables.”
“Where’s the trust?” John asked, feigning insult.
Stiles rolled his eyes, stood, and moved toward the door.
Before he got there, his father called, “Hey, Stiles?”
Stiles turned back to him.
“For what it’s worth, you’d be a good dad.”
That made something in Stiles’ chest ache… but not in a bad way.
****************
The graveyard was probably the most unchanged thing Stiles had encountered so far in this world. The names on the stones were the same as he passed by them, the marble and granite just a little more weathered. The grief a little less fresh.
There was a stately grace to the long-dead. They were the guardians of the lost. Newer plots further out were watched over by those who had been laid to rest years ago.
Stiles used to feel so much agony here. So much fury. Now he felt the ache of missing someone, but mostly he felt love. The love endured longer than the anger.
“Hey, Mom,” Stiles said softly as he tapped the bundle of flowers against his thigh. “I, uh… brought these for you.” He stepped forward to lay the arrangement against the base of the tombstone. He took a moment to brush his fingers over the engraved epitaph.
‘Claudia Stilinski
11/23/1972 - 6/5/2004
Forever Love’
Stiles sat down cross-legged on the grass beside her. “You know, I told Dad once it was pointless to bring you flowers because people just stole them. He said it was the doing it that mattered. I didn’t get it then, but I think I do now. It’s not about flowers. It’s about not forgetting.” Stiles ruffled his hair. “Which is, ironically, kind of my problem right now.”
He sat in silence a moment, looking down at his hands, fingering the wedding band on his left ring finger.
“I thought this was a different world, like a parallel universe, and that somehow I got stuck here. And I couldn’t get comfortable, because sooner or later I’d have to go back. But now… I don’t know. Am I him? I have his scars. I have his tattoo.” Stiles winced and looked up, “Whoops… hope you already knew about that.” He gave a crooked smile, trying to imagine his mother’s look of quiet disapproval. Patient and loving and thinking clearly to herself ‘Stiles, what am I going to do with you?’
Love him. The answer was always love him.
“Did you know Derek and I are supposed to be adopting a baby soon? A baby that’s… like Derek. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, but it doesn’t really matter. The mom, Annabelle… she’s in a tough spot. She can’t keep the baby. She asked a friend of ours to find it a home where it would be understood. Where it would be loved. So she came to us.”
Stiles picked at a loose thread on a worn section of his jeans.
“I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t know the right thing to do. I feel like I didn’t earn this. Derek or a baby or any of it. This is more than I ever dreamed of having, and I don’t deserve it, but I…” Stiles swallowed, heart thudding hard in his chest as he worked up the courage to say it. He was safe here. His mother wouldn’t judge him.
He could finally say it.
“I want to stay.”
He held his breath, part of him expecting some kind of cosmic fallout the second he uttered the words.
Nothing happened.
His mother listened peacefully. He confessed his heart’s desire, and there were no recriminations. He felt no disappointment. Only forever love.
“Everyone says I’m this Stiles. I hope I am. I want to be. But if I’m not… if I’m not and I stay here, and it means I’ve taken it from some other Stiles who deserves to be here more than I do… will you forgive me?”
There was, of course, no answer. Nothing verbal, in any case. But Stiles felt like he knew what his mother would have said. There was nothing he could do for which his mother would not forgive him. Especially this. He wasn’t asking forgiveness for killing someone (though there was a dark place in his soul where that did fester, a nogitsune-infection in his heart). No. He was asking to be forgiven for allowing himself a shot at his happily ever after.
Surely he wasn’t the villain for wanting that.
He knew his mother wouldn’t see him as the bad guy for wanting it.
“Thanks, Mom,” Stiles said affectionately, reaching out to touch the sun-warmed stone of her name. He felt better.
He stood, brushed off his pants, then he headed back to the car. The Honda that they got because there was plenty of room in the back for a car seat. Stiles took back his earlier slight… he liked this car.
When he got in the driver’s side, he sat in the parked car and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He scrolled through his contact list, selected Scott’s name, and dialed.
McCall picked up on the third ring. “Hi, Stiles. I was going to call you, but we got pretty busy. Not that there’s much to report. Sorry, man, but Kira and I don’t have anything promising yet on your… situation. I’ve been tracking down some of Deaton’s old contacts to see if they might know somebody who knows somebody…”
“Well, that’s actually why I’m calling. Is Kira there?”
“Uh… yeah, sure. She’s just in the bedroom packing. Let me go get her.” Some muffled noises, then Scott came back, “Okay, you’re on speaker.”
“Hi, Stiles,” Kira said. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine. Listen… you know how I asked you guys to try find a way to send me back to my own world or universe or whatever?”
“… yeeeah…” they said in unison, and any other time Stiles might have laughed and taunted them for being so married.
“Right, well, forget all that. I want you to do something else for me instead.”
There was an understandable, uncomfortable pause from their end. “Um…” Scott’s voice, hesitant, “okay… what then?”
“I want back the last seven years.” Stiles tapped his left hand against the steering wheel in a nervous drum solo. His eyes caught on his wedding ring. “I want my memories.”
“Your memories?” Scott stressed. Because that detail was important. Vitally important. They all knew how central it was to the crisis that was Stiles’ life right now.
Stiles took a breath. Moment of truth. Time to own it. “My memories.”
He waited for criticism. He waited for them to rail at him. He kept waiting for someone to tell him ‘how dare you, you have no right’.
“You got it,” Scott said instead, sounding relieved rather than appalled. “We won’t let you down.”
Stiles let out the breath he’d been holding.
“Stiles,” Kira interjected, “can you Skype with us tomorrow evening? We’re leaving for my parents’ in the morning, and I’d like you to talk to my mother, too.”
“Yeah, I can do that.” So they might not have an emissary on speed dial, but two werewolves, a banshee, and a pair of kitsune had to be just as good, right?
He was going to get his life back, no matter what it took.
*********************
Stiles spent hours coming up with a plan. He went over in his head everything he was going to say to Derek when he got home. Granted, a lot of it was Stiles apologizing. He’d put Derek through a lot of unnecessary torment by clinging to his Stiles: Traveler of Parallel Universes! theory. Now that he’d given himself permission to embrace this life, he was going to be good at it, god damnit.
But first he had to patch up his relationship with Derek.
Baking a cake wasn’t exactly original, but it was a start.
Of course, the more time he had to think, the more he started to worry that it might not go well. He hoped it did. He kind of planned for it to. But they hadn’t really been one with the warm-fuzzies that morning. Derek had to have a breaking point, and Stiles had given him plenty of opportunities to hit it.
Wouldn’t that just figure that when Stiles was ready to throw in, Derek got fed up and walked out? No one could say Stiles didn’t deserve that.
So when Derek pulled up to the house at half-past five, Stiles basically had his heart in his throat.
Derek walked in the front door with keys in one hand, two empty Tupperware containers under the other arm, and he paused in the foyer when he saw Stiles standing in the living room waiting for him like it was an intervention.
“Hey,” Stiles said lamely. He twisted his fingers together to try and still the nervous energy twitching through them.
“Um… hey?” Derek blinked at him, puzzled, then he turned his head ever-so-slightly to one side, listening. Stiles imagined a non-werewolf would be able to hear his heartbeat. Derek looked closely at Stiles. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Peachy. Okie dokie.” His heart was about to jump out of his chest and he was jittery like he’d chugged three espressos, but other than that everything was swell.
“If you say so,” Derek said but did not believe. He gave Stiles a look like he was being stranger than usual, then headed into the kitchen.
Stiles shuffled and fidgeted in place for all of five seconds before he followed after him.
Derek put the Tupperware down and wandered over to the cake on the counter. He looked down at the message written in icing. “Sorry I’m an asshole,” he read aloud and looked over at Stiles, torn between being puzzled and laughing at the absurd decoration.
“Better late than never?” Stiles aimed for jocular and missed it by a mile. He cleared his throat, “So here’s the thing… I did some thinking today. A lot of thinking, actually.”
“Yeah?” Derek looked cautiously hopeful. After all, people probably didn’t break bad news with cake.
For all the times Stiles had gone over this in his head, suddenly he couldn’t remember any of the possible ways to start this conversation. He thumped his fist against the countertop, trying to wrack his brain for words. In a flood of inspiration, he snapped his fingers and held a hand out in Derek’s direction. “You know Occam’s razor?” he asked.
Derek quirked an eyebrow. “I’m not an idiot, Stiles.”
“No, no, I know… but I think I am. Because that Other Time-Travelling Stiles from the Fourth Dimension idea was…” Stiles made a ‘ka-pew ka-pew’ noise and flashed his hands around his head simulating explosions. “I wouldn’t let go of the most unlikely scenario of all the possible scenarios. Why, even? Like you said. I have the scars. And I have the tattoo. That doesn’t make sense. So many things were wrong with Quantum Leap, if you think too hard about the science.”
“Stiles… you’re off track. Could you bring it back to center for me?”
“Right, yeah, sorry.” He took a breath and looked down at his hands pressed flat against the counter. He tallied up ten fingers. He counted his breaths. Numbered his heartbeats. It settled him just enough that he didn’t feel like he was seconds away from flying off the edge of the earth.
He looked up at Derek again. “I talked to Scott and Kira today. I told them I want my memories back.”
Derek inhaled sharply.
“I’m tired of acting like I don’t want this,” Stiles said in a garbled rush, “because I want this life, it’s mine, and that’s okay, right? I can want this?” He looked desperately toward Derek, hoping the answer was yes.
“Stiles…” Derek started to take a step toward him, then ground to a halt and stepped back. His expression darkened in an instant. “Is this… are you just saying that because of the baby?”
Stiles held Derek’s gaze and did not so much as blink. “Listen to my heart. I love you.” He waited a beat. “Am I lying?”
Derek’s breath escaped him in a shaky rush. He started to smile and gave a faint shake of his head.
Okay, one down, one to go. “Do you love me?”
Derek’s eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m not asking if you love the Stiles who went on that road trip with you, or the Stiles you married, or the Stiles who bought this house with you.” He still didn’t have those memories. Yet. Until he did, he couldn’t completely be that same Stiles. All he had to offer was himself, Stiles, as he was. “I mean me Stiles, right here, right now. Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
Not even a hint of hesitation. Just yes. Like it was that simple. Because for Derek, it was. It always had been. Stiles was his mate. He was wired into Derek’s werewolf psychology. Cozy between the amygdala and hippocampus. Permanent.
“Oh, thank god,” Stiles slumped against the counter, surprised at how wobbly he felt in the knees. Part of him had been afraid he’d done too much damage. That his marriage was beyond repair because he’d been an idiot and afraid to let himself be happy.
It was an overwhelming feeling, like a kissing-cousin of a panic attack, to know that he hadn’t. He still had a husband. He could live happily ever after.
Wow.
Stiles startled when a hand landed softly on his back. He stood upright and found himself looking right at Derek. Derek was up in his space, closely studying the details of Stiles’ face… as if he’d been away for a long time.
Stiles’ heart skipped a beat and his eyes skittered down to Derek’s mouth, so tantalizingly close. He half-blinked slowly.
Derek curled his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, swooped in, and kissed him.
He landed with closed lips. Stiles opened his mouth and darted his tongue out to lick the seam of Derek’s lips.
It was like unleashing a wild animal. Derek crowded closer, backing Stiles up roughly against the kitchen counter and trapping him with the press of his body. Derek’s kiss turned heated in a split-second. Stiles made a strangled noise and wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders to draw him closer. He matched Derek’s hungry kisses, clutching at his neck and back when he couldn’t stop his hands from wanting to touch all of him at once. Derek growled and fisted at Stiles’ shirt like he was a second away from tearing it apart.
Stiles didn’t know it could be so good. He pried his mouth free of Derek’s so he could breathe. Head canted back so he could suck in oxygen. Derek seized the chance to tuck his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck and scent him. He pawed at Stiles’ sides, growing frustrated with the shirt.
Stiles tried to reach down and tug it off, but Derek’s hands were in the way and he wouldn’t move. Instead, Derek nipped at Stiles’ neck (and whoa, who knew biting was going to be one of his kinks?), then he gathered the hem of Stiles’ shirt in both hands and leaned back only long enough strip Stiles of his shirt.
Stiles was fumbling at Derek’s buttons, determined to exact a little tit for tat. He wanted skin, damnit.
When Stiles’ hand bumped against Derek’s service weapon, the werewolf drew back quickly, grabbing the wrist of the offending hand on reflex. “Wait… bedroom.”
Stiles nodded, dazed and in a lust-haze, and made a beeline. Derek, still holding on to Stiles’ wrist, was hauled along.
In their room, Derek properly put away his gun and kicked off his shoes before he turned back to face Stiles. He let out an “oomph!” when Stiles practically crashed into him, yanking at buttons impatiently. Derek grinned and started to help, the two of them making more of a mess of Derek’s work shirt than they were efficiently removing it, but there was something satisfying about buttons landing on the floor with a ricocheting clink-clink.
Finally, Derek was bare-chested. Stiles plastered his hands to abs… oh yeah, just as ripped to the touch as he’d fantasized they would be. He wanted to do a more thorough investigation, but Derek was pushing at him, forcing Stiles to take a step back. Another. Another. He gave Stiles a push.
Stiles squawked and landed on his back on the bed, looking up at Derek as the werewolf was staring down at him. He was magnificent. Chest bellowing with his excited breath, nostrils flared to catch Stiles’ scent, his eyes flecked with slivers of blue.
Yes, please. All of that. Now.
Stiles sat up on the edge of the bed and started on Derek’s belt. He made fast work of Derek’s fly. He pulled down Derek’s pants and underwear and just… stared. Agog. It wasn’t a word to be used lightly, because used too often it became silly, but seeing Derek’s dick in an aroused state for the first time called for it. Agog.
Half-hard and heavy between Derek’s muscular legs. Hardening more for Stiles. Ooooh man. Stiles-approved.
Derek shucked out of his clothes and crowded Stiles backward on the mattress until Derek could climb in bed. Before Stiles had time to process what was happening, he was flat on his back with Derek on hands and knees over him. His eyes were full-blown blue, burning ice and fire through Stiles, seeing more than Stiles could ever dream.
Derek snarled in annoyance and grabbed the waistline of Stiles’ sleep pants and Stiles lifted his hips so Derek could banish the last scrap of clothing from their bed. Derek flung them across the room then dove back to bury his face against Stiles’ neck. He scented first, then he was kissing. Then he was sucking and nipping.
“God…” Stiles groaned, tangling his fingers in Derek’s hair. One of Derek’s hand was on Stiles’ chest, sliding over his nipple then curling down against his ribcage. The other hand supported Derek’s weight above his partner.
Stiles wasn’t getting to do nearly enough touching. He let loose his grip on Derek’s hair with one hand and snaked it down between their bodies, blindly searching for Derek’s erection.
He barely got to touch it, a tease really, before Derek swatted his hand away. “Hey,” Stiles started to protest, but it turned into a moan when Derek moved down to scrape his teeth over Stiles’ collar bone and chest. His back arched into the contact, shivering when Derek’s breath ghosted over his other nipple.
How many horny teenage fantasies had he had about this man doing this stuff to him? How many shameful-but-oh-so-intense jerk off sessions had he rubbed out thinking about Derek Hale? All taunt muscle and superhuman strength and badassery. An embarrassing number. Because Stiles was a dorky teen with a crush on an adult man way out of his league.
Except he wasn’t. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and this was his husband.
“Oo.. oooh…!” Stiles trembled and clenched his eyes hard, fighting his body’s urge to come right then. Not yet, damnit! Not before he’d even got to fucking touch. Stiles panted and struggled to keep it together.
Derek stopped and looked up at him. He knew Stiles’ sounds. He backed off and watched. Stiles grabbed at the pillow at either side of his head to ride it out. They both waited to see if Stiles was about to blow.
It was a near thing, a fucking miracle, but he didn’t. If Derek hadn’t moved off when he did, Stiles would be covered in spunk. The sudden loss of Derek’s touch let Stiles pull back from the edge, but not by fucking much. Stiles opened his eyes and looked down at Derek, crouched like a feral creature near his hip. He licked his lips. “Uh… not going to last long here, Derek,” he said shakily.
“Then let’s stop wasting time,” Derek answered, voice gruff and malted sex, and crawled up between Stiles’ legs. Stiles shifted, bending his legs and parting his knees to frame Derek’s hips as he sank his body down. Stiles propped himself up on one elbow, reached for Derek, and hauled him into a kiss as Derek rocked their bodies together, skin and friction and heat and glory exploding in Stiles’ brain. He could do this every second of every day for the rest of his fucking life.
Derek closed his hand over Stiles’ thigh… then traced pale skin down between his legs, snaked fingers down to the cleft of Stiles’ ass…
And found Stiles open and slick.
Derek jerked back, eyes wide. “Did you…” he looked toward the nightstand, where the lube was missing. Derek craned further to look toward the bathroom, where the container sat open on the sink. Derek jerked his eyes back to Stiles. “You prepped yourself?”
It had been one hell of a presumption on his part, and Stiles had felt ridiculous at first when he started doing it. But he’d been ‘questioning’ for a while. He’d seen gay porn. He knew anal didn’t just happen without work. And Stiles didn’t remember doing this before; he didn’t want to do it badly. He didn’t want to feel so virginal (because he sure as hell hadn’t done this with Malia). He was a grown, married man, god damnit. So he’d eased himself open in private, at his own pace, without the pressure of Derek waiting for him to be ready.
But if any of this had gone differently, Stiles would have felt like an idiot for what he’d been doing in the bathroom before Derek got home.
He could feel himself blushing under Derek’s scrutiny.
His efforts and planning were rewarded when Derek smiled and leaned in to kiss him. It brought their bodies into too much contact, and Stiles whined, “If you don’t get in me now, I’m going to come without you.”
Derek growled, then he was manhandling Stiles until he was at the perfect spot, the just-right angle, and pushing into him.
It was exquisite overload. Every brain cell Stiles had was going haywire. Stiles’ arms and legs scrambled for purchase for a mindless moment, just an autonomic flail, before he relaxed into Derek’s hold and trusted him. He knew how to do this. Derek sank into him, sheathed himself completely inside Stiles at the end of a long exhale. Derek tucked his face into Stiles’ neck while Stiles experimented with his positioning, suddenly feeling like he was all limb with knees and elbows he didn’t know what to do with. He wrapped his legs around Derek and Derek pressed in deeper, harder, at the changed cant of Stiles’ pelvis, and Stiles’ eyes rolled back. Oh yeah, this.
“Move,” Stiles pleaded, rocking against Derek to goad him. He was going to come, and he wanted more before he did.
Derek growled softly against Stiles’ throat and obeyed, pulling back and thrusting forward. Stiles whimpered and grabbed at Derek’s waist. Shit, this was so good. He was made for this.
He felt his orgasm building low in his belly, curling hot and explosive at the base of his spine, crackling in his veins like liquid lightning.
Too soon. Not enough.
“Derek…” Stiles rasped, taking one hand and clutching at the back of Derek’s neck to pull their faces close. He made a sound, meant to tell Derek to wait, to make it less so he could hold on longer, so he could just… just…
Derek rocked forward, closed his teeth on the juncture where Stiles’ neck met his shoulder, and bit him.
Stiles gave a garbled shout and came hard, arching and painting their bellies in stripes of white. Derek let loose a pleased, beastly sound against Stiles’ skin that vibrated through his entire body and he shuddered, spurting another string of come on Derek’s stomach. For the first time in his life, Stiles really understood the meaning of ecstasy. It was coming on Derek Hale with the man’s teeth in his flesh.
Derek unlocked his teeth from Stiles’ neck and immediately kissed the spot where he had broken skin. “Mine,” Derek rumbled in Stiles’ ear.
Stiles gulped for breath, body going supple in Derek’s arms. “Yours.”
The pace of Derek’s hips picked up then. Stiles tried to be exactly where Derek wanted him, tried to give him the best angle to go deeper, and he gazed up in wonder when he could see it. He could see Derek about to climax. He could see his body tensing, the rhythm of his hips faltering, his eyes so fucking luminous.
Right when he was on the edge, Stiles threw an arm around Derek’s neck to draw him closer, latched his teeth onto the sweaty sweep of Derek’s throat, and bit down.
Derek exploded. He snapped his hips into Stiles as he came. He shook and made a half-wild sound as he rode out the orgasm, anchored between Stiles’ legs and Stiles’ teeth.
When Derek went lax and eased down to rest his weight atop Stiles, Stiles released the bite and softly kissed the broken skin - already healing - left behind. “Mine,” he whispered.
Derek grumbled something that sounded like a muffled “yours” and wrapped his arms around Stiles in the fiercest snuggle known to man or werewolf.
The question, Stiles decided, was why the fuck he’d waited so long to do that?
Next
A/N: *hides under the blankets* man, I hate writing smut. I suck at it (no pun intended). But when the story calls for smut, what are you going to do? I tell you what you do… you write it and hide under the covers.
Baby bomb or not, Stiles still put together two lunches around noon and drove up to the station to feed his father and Derek, just like he had several days in the past. He needed something to do to keep himself occupied, and he knew his father would fall back on fast food left to his own devices.
Judy at the front desk waved him back when she recognized Stiles, and he walked down to his dad’s office.
He found his father bent over an open file at his desk, rubbing one eyebrow as he studied the case.
“Got time for grilled chicken and broccoli?” Stiles asked, holding up the stack of Tupperware containers.
John looked up and pulled a face at the menu. “Is ‘no’ an acceptable answer?”
“Nope. Where’s Derek?” He set one meal down on his father’s desk, the other still held in hand.
“Just went out on a call, but he shouldn’t be too long. Ms. Abernathy and Mr. Jacobs are having a tiff about the property line again. There was some vandalism of a hedge this time, I hear.”
Stiles turned toward the sheriff’s office door. “Oh god… one day those two are just going to screw each other’s brains out.”
“Well, I wish it would be sooner rather than later. Their aggressive flirting is giving my entire force a headache.” He peeled open the Tupperware lid and looked down mournfully at the healthy fare.
Stiles shut the office door, went to the chair facing his father’s desk, sat down, and leaned forward to tell him, very matter-of-factly, “You asshole.”
“Pardon?” John asked, a piece of broccoli half-way to his mouth.
Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You should have told me about the baby.”
John lowered the broccoli. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh.”
John looked uncomfortable. Good. He deserved it for not telling Stiles he was adopting a baby with Derek Hale. Just what the ever-loving fuck?
“I would have… but honestly, I didn’t know how you would take it.”
Stiles gave him a look that screamed ‘that’s no excuse’.
“So I guess Derek told you.”
“I dragged it out of him, more like. I overheard him talking to Lydia this morning telling her to call off the adoption.”
John paled a little. “You’re not…”
The look on his father’s face tempered Stiles’ anger a little. “I don’t know yet. Derek wants to, but…” Stiles slumped down in the chair, Derek’s lunch perched atop his stomach. “I’ve been trying so hard not to screw up this life, you know? But now there’s a baby to consider, and it changes everything.”
“Yeah, kids will do that.”
Stiles groaned and roughed a hand through his hair. Then he looked thoughtfully at his father. “Was he… was I excited? About the baby?”
John gave him a look. “Are you sure you want to know?”
Stiles nodded.
“Yeah, you were.”
Stiles tried to imagine that. Scarily, it wasn’t hard. “There’s no baby stuff in the house,” he muttered.
“What?” John asked, stabbing a piece of chicken with a fork.
“There’s no baby stuff in the house. If we were… shouldn’t there be stuff? Derek said Mrs. McCall’s giving us a crib, but don’t parents start getting stuff before now when they know there’s a baby on the way?”
“Derek didn’t talk about that?” John asked warily. At Stiles’ head shake, he sighed, “I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you…”
“Dad.”
“Okay, just… Derek said if an expectant mother doesn’t have a pack, it makes the pregnancy high-risk. The stress of being alone… turns out a lot of mothers in that situation miscarry. Derek’s been gun-shy about getting ready. He was worried Annabelle would lose the baby.”
“Oh, god…” Stiles groaned. Maybe this was his life after all, because it sucked. “I can’t let Lydia tell Annabelle we’re backing out of the adoption! She’ll have a miscarriage and that will be on my conscience for the rest of my life!”
John played with a piece of broccoli. “I don’t know what to tell you, kiddo. There’s not an easy answer for this.”
“Actually, there is an easy answer,” Stiles countered bitterly. “If I could remember the last seven years.” All his problems would go away if he could get back those last seven years.
John conceded with a shrug-nod combination. “Or…”
“Or?” Stiles perked up. Because if there was another easy solution to this, he wanted to hear it.
“Maybe you could trust yourself. Trust the guy that got you here.”
Stiles stared, slack-jaw. Was that it? Another Stiles brought him this far, but now it was on him to take care of his family? Stiles could waffle on how his counter-part would feel about Stiles sleeping with his husband, but Stiles was pretty sure Other Stiles would be pissed if he ruined this chance to start a family with Derek.
He needed to think.
“I’m going to take off,” Stiles said, sitting up and putting Derek’s lunch on the corner of the desk. “Make sure he gets this?”
“You bet.”
Stiles started to get up and froze half-way. “And don’t shovel your broccoli into his container the second I turn my back. Eat your vegetables.”
“Where’s the trust?” John asked, feigning insult.
Stiles rolled his eyes, stood, and moved toward the door.
Before he got there, his father called, “Hey, Stiles?”
Stiles turned back to him.
“For what it’s worth, you’d be a good dad.”
That made something in Stiles’ chest ache… but not in a bad way.
****************
The graveyard was probably the most unchanged thing Stiles had encountered so far in this world. The names on the stones were the same as he passed by them, the marble and granite just a little more weathered. The grief a little less fresh.
There was a stately grace to the long-dead. They were the guardians of the lost. Newer plots further out were watched over by those who had been laid to rest years ago.
Stiles used to feel so much agony here. So much fury. Now he felt the ache of missing someone, but mostly he felt love. The love endured longer than the anger.
“Hey, Mom,” Stiles said softly as he tapped the bundle of flowers against his thigh. “I, uh… brought these for you.” He stepped forward to lay the arrangement against the base of the tombstone. He took a moment to brush his fingers over the engraved epitaph.
‘Claudia Stilinski
11/23/1972 - 6/5/2004
Forever Love’
Stiles sat down cross-legged on the grass beside her. “You know, I told Dad once it was pointless to bring you flowers because people just stole them. He said it was the doing it that mattered. I didn’t get it then, but I think I do now. It’s not about flowers. It’s about not forgetting.” Stiles ruffled his hair. “Which is, ironically, kind of my problem right now.”
He sat in silence a moment, looking down at his hands, fingering the wedding band on his left ring finger.
“I thought this was a different world, like a parallel universe, and that somehow I got stuck here. And I couldn’t get comfortable, because sooner or later I’d have to go back. But now… I don’t know. Am I him? I have his scars. I have his tattoo.” Stiles winced and looked up, “Whoops… hope you already knew about that.” He gave a crooked smile, trying to imagine his mother’s look of quiet disapproval. Patient and loving and thinking clearly to herself ‘Stiles, what am I going to do with you?’
Love him. The answer was always love him.
“Did you know Derek and I are supposed to be adopting a baby soon? A baby that’s… like Derek. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, but it doesn’t really matter. The mom, Annabelle… she’s in a tough spot. She can’t keep the baby. She asked a friend of ours to find it a home where it would be understood. Where it would be loved. So she came to us.”
Stiles picked at a loose thread on a worn section of his jeans.
“I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t know the right thing to do. I feel like I didn’t earn this. Derek or a baby or any of it. This is more than I ever dreamed of having, and I don’t deserve it, but I…” Stiles swallowed, heart thudding hard in his chest as he worked up the courage to say it. He was safe here. His mother wouldn’t judge him.
He could finally say it.
“I want to stay.”
He held his breath, part of him expecting some kind of cosmic fallout the second he uttered the words.
Nothing happened.
His mother listened peacefully. He confessed his heart’s desire, and there were no recriminations. He felt no disappointment. Only forever love.
“Everyone says I’m this Stiles. I hope I am. I want to be. But if I’m not… if I’m not and I stay here, and it means I’ve taken it from some other Stiles who deserves to be here more than I do… will you forgive me?”
There was, of course, no answer. Nothing verbal, in any case. But Stiles felt like he knew what his mother would have said. There was nothing he could do for which his mother would not forgive him. Especially this. He wasn’t asking forgiveness for killing someone (though there was a dark place in his soul where that did fester, a nogitsune-infection in his heart). No. He was asking to be forgiven for allowing himself a shot at his happily ever after.
Surely he wasn’t the villain for wanting that.
He knew his mother wouldn’t see him as the bad guy for wanting it.
“Thanks, Mom,” Stiles said affectionately, reaching out to touch the sun-warmed stone of her name. He felt better.
He stood, brushed off his pants, then he headed back to the car. The Honda that they got because there was plenty of room in the back for a car seat. Stiles took back his earlier slight… he liked this car.
When he got in the driver’s side, he sat in the parked car and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He scrolled through his contact list, selected Scott’s name, and dialed.
McCall picked up on the third ring. “Hi, Stiles. I was going to call you, but we got pretty busy. Not that there’s much to report. Sorry, man, but Kira and I don’t have anything promising yet on your… situation. I’ve been tracking down some of Deaton’s old contacts to see if they might know somebody who knows somebody…”
“Well, that’s actually why I’m calling. Is Kira there?”
“Uh… yeah, sure. She’s just in the bedroom packing. Let me go get her.” Some muffled noises, then Scott came back, “Okay, you’re on speaker.”
“Hi, Stiles,” Kira said. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine. Listen… you know how I asked you guys to try find a way to send me back to my own world or universe or whatever?”
“… yeeeah…” they said in unison, and any other time Stiles might have laughed and taunted them for being so married.
“Right, well, forget all that. I want you to do something else for me instead.”
There was an understandable, uncomfortable pause from their end. “Um…” Scott’s voice, hesitant, “okay… what then?”
“I want back the last seven years.” Stiles tapped his left hand against the steering wheel in a nervous drum solo. His eyes caught on his wedding ring. “I want my memories.”
“Your memories?” Scott stressed. Because that detail was important. Vitally important. They all knew how central it was to the crisis that was Stiles’ life right now.
Stiles took a breath. Moment of truth. Time to own it. “My memories.”
He waited for criticism. He waited for them to rail at him. He kept waiting for someone to tell him ‘how dare you, you have no right’.
“You got it,” Scott said instead, sounding relieved rather than appalled. “We won’t let you down.”
Stiles let out the breath he’d been holding.
“Stiles,” Kira interjected, “can you Skype with us tomorrow evening? We’re leaving for my parents’ in the morning, and I’d like you to talk to my mother, too.”
“Yeah, I can do that.” So they might not have an emissary on speed dial, but two werewolves, a banshee, and a pair of kitsune had to be just as good, right?
He was going to get his life back, no matter what it took.
*********************
Stiles spent hours coming up with a plan. He went over in his head everything he was going to say to Derek when he got home. Granted, a lot of it was Stiles apologizing. He’d put Derek through a lot of unnecessary torment by clinging to his Stiles: Traveler of Parallel Universes! theory. Now that he’d given himself permission to embrace this life, he was going to be good at it, god damnit.
But first he had to patch up his relationship with Derek.
Baking a cake wasn’t exactly original, but it was a start.
Of course, the more time he had to think, the more he started to worry that it might not go well. He hoped it did. He kind of planned for it to. But they hadn’t really been one with the warm-fuzzies that morning. Derek had to have a breaking point, and Stiles had given him plenty of opportunities to hit it.
Wouldn’t that just figure that when Stiles was ready to throw in, Derek got fed up and walked out? No one could say Stiles didn’t deserve that.
So when Derek pulled up to the house at half-past five, Stiles basically had his heart in his throat.
Derek walked in the front door with keys in one hand, two empty Tupperware containers under the other arm, and he paused in the foyer when he saw Stiles standing in the living room waiting for him like it was an intervention.
“Hey,” Stiles said lamely. He twisted his fingers together to try and still the nervous energy twitching through them.
“Um… hey?” Derek blinked at him, puzzled, then he turned his head ever-so-slightly to one side, listening. Stiles imagined a non-werewolf would be able to hear his heartbeat. Derek looked closely at Stiles. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Peachy. Okie dokie.” His heart was about to jump out of his chest and he was jittery like he’d chugged three espressos, but other than that everything was swell.
“If you say so,” Derek said but did not believe. He gave Stiles a look like he was being stranger than usual, then headed into the kitchen.
Stiles shuffled and fidgeted in place for all of five seconds before he followed after him.
Derek put the Tupperware down and wandered over to the cake on the counter. He looked down at the message written in icing. “Sorry I’m an asshole,” he read aloud and looked over at Stiles, torn between being puzzled and laughing at the absurd decoration.
“Better late than never?” Stiles aimed for jocular and missed it by a mile. He cleared his throat, “So here’s the thing… I did some thinking today. A lot of thinking, actually.”
“Yeah?” Derek looked cautiously hopeful. After all, people probably didn’t break bad news with cake.
For all the times Stiles had gone over this in his head, suddenly he couldn’t remember any of the possible ways to start this conversation. He thumped his fist against the countertop, trying to wrack his brain for words. In a flood of inspiration, he snapped his fingers and held a hand out in Derek’s direction. “You know Occam’s razor?” he asked.
Derek quirked an eyebrow. “I’m not an idiot, Stiles.”
“No, no, I know… but I think I am. Because that Other Time-Travelling Stiles from the Fourth Dimension idea was…” Stiles made a ‘ka-pew ka-pew’ noise and flashed his hands around his head simulating explosions. “I wouldn’t let go of the most unlikely scenario of all the possible scenarios. Why, even? Like you said. I have the scars. And I have the tattoo. That doesn’t make sense. So many things were wrong with Quantum Leap, if you think too hard about the science.”
“Stiles… you’re off track. Could you bring it back to center for me?”
“Right, yeah, sorry.” He took a breath and looked down at his hands pressed flat against the counter. He tallied up ten fingers. He counted his breaths. Numbered his heartbeats. It settled him just enough that he didn’t feel like he was seconds away from flying off the edge of the earth.
He looked up at Derek again. “I talked to Scott and Kira today. I told them I want my memories back.”
Derek inhaled sharply.
“I’m tired of acting like I don’t want this,” Stiles said in a garbled rush, “because I want this life, it’s mine, and that’s okay, right? I can want this?” He looked desperately toward Derek, hoping the answer was yes.
“Stiles…” Derek started to take a step toward him, then ground to a halt and stepped back. His expression darkened in an instant. “Is this… are you just saying that because of the baby?”
Stiles held Derek’s gaze and did not so much as blink. “Listen to my heart. I love you.” He waited a beat. “Am I lying?”
Derek’s breath escaped him in a shaky rush. He started to smile and gave a faint shake of his head.
Okay, one down, one to go. “Do you love me?”
Derek’s eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m not asking if you love the Stiles who went on that road trip with you, or the Stiles you married, or the Stiles who bought this house with you.” He still didn’t have those memories. Yet. Until he did, he couldn’t completely be that same Stiles. All he had to offer was himself, Stiles, as he was. “I mean me Stiles, right here, right now. Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
Not even a hint of hesitation. Just yes. Like it was that simple. Because for Derek, it was. It always had been. Stiles was his mate. He was wired into Derek’s werewolf psychology. Cozy between the amygdala and hippocampus. Permanent.
“Oh, thank god,” Stiles slumped against the counter, surprised at how wobbly he felt in the knees. Part of him had been afraid he’d done too much damage. That his marriage was beyond repair because he’d been an idiot and afraid to let himself be happy.
It was an overwhelming feeling, like a kissing-cousin of a panic attack, to know that he hadn’t. He still had a husband. He could live happily ever after.
Wow.
Stiles startled when a hand landed softly on his back. He stood upright and found himself looking right at Derek. Derek was up in his space, closely studying the details of Stiles’ face… as if he’d been away for a long time.
Stiles’ heart skipped a beat and his eyes skittered down to Derek’s mouth, so tantalizingly close. He half-blinked slowly.
Derek curled his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, swooped in, and kissed him.
He landed with closed lips. Stiles opened his mouth and darted his tongue out to lick the seam of Derek’s lips.
It was like unleashing a wild animal. Derek crowded closer, backing Stiles up roughly against the kitchen counter and trapping him with the press of his body. Derek’s kiss turned heated in a split-second. Stiles made a strangled noise and wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders to draw him closer. He matched Derek’s hungry kisses, clutching at his neck and back when he couldn’t stop his hands from wanting to touch all of him at once. Derek growled and fisted at Stiles’ shirt like he was a second away from tearing it apart.
Stiles didn’t know it could be so good. He pried his mouth free of Derek’s so he could breathe. Head canted back so he could suck in oxygen. Derek seized the chance to tuck his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck and scent him. He pawed at Stiles’ sides, growing frustrated with the shirt.
Stiles tried to reach down and tug it off, but Derek’s hands were in the way and he wouldn’t move. Instead, Derek nipped at Stiles’ neck (and whoa, who knew biting was going to be one of his kinks?), then he gathered the hem of Stiles’ shirt in both hands and leaned back only long enough strip Stiles of his shirt.
Stiles was fumbling at Derek’s buttons, determined to exact a little tit for tat. He wanted skin, damnit.
When Stiles’ hand bumped against Derek’s service weapon, the werewolf drew back quickly, grabbing the wrist of the offending hand on reflex. “Wait… bedroom.”
Stiles nodded, dazed and in a lust-haze, and made a beeline. Derek, still holding on to Stiles’ wrist, was hauled along.
In their room, Derek properly put away his gun and kicked off his shoes before he turned back to face Stiles. He let out an “oomph!” when Stiles practically crashed into him, yanking at buttons impatiently. Derek grinned and started to help, the two of them making more of a mess of Derek’s work shirt than they were efficiently removing it, but there was something satisfying about buttons landing on the floor with a ricocheting clink-clink.
Finally, Derek was bare-chested. Stiles plastered his hands to abs… oh yeah, just as ripped to the touch as he’d fantasized they would be. He wanted to do a more thorough investigation, but Derek was pushing at him, forcing Stiles to take a step back. Another. Another. He gave Stiles a push.
Stiles squawked and landed on his back on the bed, looking up at Derek as the werewolf was staring down at him. He was magnificent. Chest bellowing with his excited breath, nostrils flared to catch Stiles’ scent, his eyes flecked with slivers of blue.
Yes, please. All of that. Now.
Stiles sat up on the edge of the bed and started on Derek’s belt. He made fast work of Derek’s fly. He pulled down Derek’s pants and underwear and just… stared. Agog. It wasn’t a word to be used lightly, because used too often it became silly, but seeing Derek’s dick in an aroused state for the first time called for it. Agog.
Half-hard and heavy between Derek’s muscular legs. Hardening more for Stiles. Ooooh man. Stiles-approved.
Derek shucked out of his clothes and crowded Stiles backward on the mattress until Derek could climb in bed. Before Stiles had time to process what was happening, he was flat on his back with Derek on hands and knees over him. His eyes were full-blown blue, burning ice and fire through Stiles, seeing more than Stiles could ever dream.
Derek snarled in annoyance and grabbed the waistline of Stiles’ sleep pants and Stiles lifted his hips so Derek could banish the last scrap of clothing from their bed. Derek flung them across the room then dove back to bury his face against Stiles’ neck. He scented first, then he was kissing. Then he was sucking and nipping.
“God…” Stiles groaned, tangling his fingers in Derek’s hair. One of Derek’s hand was on Stiles’ chest, sliding over his nipple then curling down against his ribcage. The other hand supported Derek’s weight above his partner.
Stiles wasn’t getting to do nearly enough touching. He let loose his grip on Derek’s hair with one hand and snaked it down between their bodies, blindly searching for Derek’s erection.
He barely got to touch it, a tease really, before Derek swatted his hand away. “Hey,” Stiles started to protest, but it turned into a moan when Derek moved down to scrape his teeth over Stiles’ collar bone and chest. His back arched into the contact, shivering when Derek’s breath ghosted over his other nipple.
How many horny teenage fantasies had he had about this man doing this stuff to him? How many shameful-but-oh-so-intense jerk off sessions had he rubbed out thinking about Derek Hale? All taunt muscle and superhuman strength and badassery. An embarrassing number. Because Stiles was a dorky teen with a crush on an adult man way out of his league.
Except he wasn’t. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and this was his husband.
“Oo.. oooh…!” Stiles trembled and clenched his eyes hard, fighting his body’s urge to come right then. Not yet, damnit! Not before he’d even got to fucking touch. Stiles panted and struggled to keep it together.
Derek stopped and looked up at him. He knew Stiles’ sounds. He backed off and watched. Stiles grabbed at the pillow at either side of his head to ride it out. They both waited to see if Stiles was about to blow.
It was a near thing, a fucking miracle, but he didn’t. If Derek hadn’t moved off when he did, Stiles would be covered in spunk. The sudden loss of Derek’s touch let Stiles pull back from the edge, but not by fucking much. Stiles opened his eyes and looked down at Derek, crouched like a feral creature near his hip. He licked his lips. “Uh… not going to last long here, Derek,” he said shakily.
“Then let’s stop wasting time,” Derek answered, voice gruff and malted sex, and crawled up between Stiles’ legs. Stiles shifted, bending his legs and parting his knees to frame Derek’s hips as he sank his body down. Stiles propped himself up on one elbow, reached for Derek, and hauled him into a kiss as Derek rocked their bodies together, skin and friction and heat and glory exploding in Stiles’ brain. He could do this every second of every day for the rest of his fucking life.
Derek closed his hand over Stiles’ thigh… then traced pale skin down between his legs, snaked fingers down to the cleft of Stiles’ ass…
And found Stiles open and slick.
Derek jerked back, eyes wide. “Did you…” he looked toward the nightstand, where the lube was missing. Derek craned further to look toward the bathroom, where the container sat open on the sink. Derek jerked his eyes back to Stiles. “You prepped yourself?”
It had been one hell of a presumption on his part, and Stiles had felt ridiculous at first when he started doing it. But he’d been ‘questioning’ for a while. He’d seen gay porn. He knew anal didn’t just happen without work. And Stiles didn’t remember doing this before; he didn’t want to do it badly. He didn’t want to feel so virginal (because he sure as hell hadn’t done this with Malia). He was a grown, married man, god damnit. So he’d eased himself open in private, at his own pace, without the pressure of Derek waiting for him to be ready.
But if any of this had gone differently, Stiles would have felt like an idiot for what he’d been doing in the bathroom before Derek got home.
He could feel himself blushing under Derek’s scrutiny.
His efforts and planning were rewarded when Derek smiled and leaned in to kiss him. It brought their bodies into too much contact, and Stiles whined, “If you don’t get in me now, I’m going to come without you.”
Derek growled, then he was manhandling Stiles until he was at the perfect spot, the just-right angle, and pushing into him.
It was exquisite overload. Every brain cell Stiles had was going haywire. Stiles’ arms and legs scrambled for purchase for a mindless moment, just an autonomic flail, before he relaxed into Derek’s hold and trusted him. He knew how to do this. Derek sank into him, sheathed himself completely inside Stiles at the end of a long exhale. Derek tucked his face into Stiles’ neck while Stiles experimented with his positioning, suddenly feeling like he was all limb with knees and elbows he didn’t know what to do with. He wrapped his legs around Derek and Derek pressed in deeper, harder, at the changed cant of Stiles’ pelvis, and Stiles’ eyes rolled back. Oh yeah, this.
“Move,” Stiles pleaded, rocking against Derek to goad him. He was going to come, and he wanted more before he did.
Derek growled softly against Stiles’ throat and obeyed, pulling back and thrusting forward. Stiles whimpered and grabbed at Derek’s waist. Shit, this was so good. He was made for this.
He felt his orgasm building low in his belly, curling hot and explosive at the base of his spine, crackling in his veins like liquid lightning.
Too soon. Not enough.
“Derek…” Stiles rasped, taking one hand and clutching at the back of Derek’s neck to pull their faces close. He made a sound, meant to tell Derek to wait, to make it less so he could hold on longer, so he could just… just…
Derek rocked forward, closed his teeth on the juncture where Stiles’ neck met his shoulder, and bit him.
Stiles gave a garbled shout and came hard, arching and painting their bellies in stripes of white. Derek let loose a pleased, beastly sound against Stiles’ skin that vibrated through his entire body and he shuddered, spurting another string of come on Derek’s stomach. For the first time in his life, Stiles really understood the meaning of ecstasy. It was coming on Derek Hale with the man’s teeth in his flesh.
Derek unlocked his teeth from Stiles’ neck and immediately kissed the spot where he had broken skin. “Mine,” Derek rumbled in Stiles’ ear.
Stiles gulped for breath, body going supple in Derek’s arms. “Yours.”
The pace of Derek’s hips picked up then. Stiles tried to be exactly where Derek wanted him, tried to give him the best angle to go deeper, and he gazed up in wonder when he could see it. He could see Derek about to climax. He could see his body tensing, the rhythm of his hips faltering, his eyes so fucking luminous.
Right when he was on the edge, Stiles threw an arm around Derek’s neck to draw him closer, latched his teeth onto the sweaty sweep of Derek’s throat, and bit down.
Derek exploded. He snapped his hips into Stiles as he came. He shook and made a half-wild sound as he rode out the orgasm, anchored between Stiles’ legs and Stiles’ teeth.
When Derek went lax and eased down to rest his weight atop Stiles, Stiles released the bite and softly kissed the broken skin - already healing - left behind. “Mine,” he whispered.
Derek grumbled something that sounded like a muffled “yours” and wrapped his arms around Stiles in the fiercest snuggle known to man or werewolf.
The question, Stiles decided, was why the fuck he’d waited so long to do that?
Next
A/N: *hides under the blankets* man, I hate writing smut. I suck at it (no pun intended). But when the story calls for smut, what are you going to do? I tell you what you do… you write it and hide under the covers.