It had been a somewhat desperate move. He can admit that. Sleeping anywhere Derek had slept was probably asking to get murdered. But Stiles couldn’t stand the look on his dad’s face everytime he had to wake Stiles from one of his screaming nightmares. At first, he just drove around with a halfhearted thought about patrolling for things going bump in the night. After the third time he’d jolted awake while swerving across the yellow line, he decided it probably wasn’t worth it. His dad was going to get suspicious of his gas consumption soon anyway.
So he started looking for somewhere else to stay at night. Scott’s house was out. Mrs. McCall would no doubt rat him out to the Sheriff. It gave him pause when he realized he didn’t really have anyone else to ask. Then he remembered the unoccupied loft in the warehouse district. They hadn’t heard anything from Derek since he skipped town with Cora so it’s not like he ever had to find out. Besides, he’d copied Derek’s key ages ago.
That first night he’d let himself into Derek’s abandoned loft, he was shocked to find the place well stocked. Not only was all the furniture still there, but subsequent snooping revealed sheets, dish detergent, and a wifi connection. Hedging his bets, Stiles tried sleeping on the couch. Derek probably wouldn’t take too kindly to discovering Stiles making himself at home in his bed if he’d just gone out of town for a bit instead of running off to fucking Antarctica like everyone seemed to think he had. Derek’s couch, however, had other plans. Specifically, the broken spring stabbing Stiles in the kidney no matter what position he tried.
Derek’s bed, unlike his couch, was almost heavenly. Stiles couldn’t comprehend how anyone could still be as surly as Derek after sleeping on something that magnificently squishy. He may still wake screaming and unsure of his sanity but at least he’s strangling himself in 1000-thread count egyptian cotton.
Which makes the sinking feeling in his stomach all the worse when Scott texts him.
Dude, Derek’s back.
The stench of fear assaults Derek’s nose when he heaves open the door to his loft. Specifically the stench of Stiles’ fear which is in no way reassuring. Hunting through the apartment he doesn’t find Stiles but he does find a set of sheets in the dryer and a half drunk six pack of craft beer in the fridge. Must be Peter, he thinks with relief. Then again, what the hell had Peter been up to here that the scent of Stiles’ fear was still hanging in the air? He’s too tired to think about it at the moment so he face plants on the couch to avoid having to make the bed. He’ll figure it out in the morning.
Less than three hours later he wakes up with a crick in his neck and an ache in his lower back that seems to actively defy his accelerated healing. He’d forgotten about that damn spring. Rolling off the couch (he definitely doesn’t grunt like the old man Stiles is always accusing him of being), he begins putting his things away. Time to make this place liveable again.
Derek can’t seem to settle. He’s once again without a pack. Worse, though he’ll only admit it in the privacy of his own mind, Cora is alive and safe but not with him. He’s been back almost a week when the restlessness drives him out patrolling through the woods since sleep is proving elusive. Scott warned him that the Nemeton would be attracting some unwanted attention. Something about a darkness living in them now. He figures there can’t be any harm in keeping an eye out.
It’s not quite one in the morning when he hears it. He’s looping back from the creek toward the eastern edge of the preserve when a broken scream cuts through the air.
He sets a quick pace as he moves into the trees careful to stay silent. Every few seconds another shout echoes through the woods sometimes followed by a fearful whimper but nothing like that first scream. He stumbles to a stop when he realizes where the sound is leading him. He can see the burned out shell of his old home in the distance and something horrible twists in Derek’s stomach. He sprints toward the house, abandoning stealth, hoping that, whatever it is, he’s not too late. Kate Argent will be the last person to ever die in that house if he has anything to say about it.
Derek crashes full speed through what’s left of the front door, wood splintering around him as he ducks his head to roll across the floor, ready to fight when he comes up with claws out. He’s tense waiting for the first blow. Then he hears it. That same broken whimpering. It’s coming from a body wedged into the far corner of the living room.
He’d know that scent anywhere. It’s overlaid with the horrible stench of terror he’d noticed at the loft. He lashes out against an invisible attacker, kicking and scratching at nothing. Derek watches in shock as a particularly vicious spams snaps Stiles’ body taught but the sudden bitter smell of blood has Derek lunging forward to slide to his knees in front of him.
“STILES!” He grabs hold of one of Stiles’ arms as it shoots past his face, pulling him upright, and shakes him hard. He doesn’t wake but curls in on himself, landing a knee to Derek’s kidney in the process. Derek shifts forward to pin Stiles’ body down before he co-opts Stiles’ patented slap-sharply-until-conscious method.
Stiles jerks awake with a gasp. Derek can feel the tremors that still run through Stiles’ body as he holds him against his chest.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” Derek snaps.
Stiles lets out another whimper and suddenly he’s thrashing again. This time trying to push away and twist out of the fully body grip Derek has on him.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Stiles keeps panting, “I’m leaving. Sorry.” He tries to rock forward to stand.
“Stiles. For the love of god hold still.”
Derek tightens his hold and leans forward until he has Stiles pinned under him.
“Now, take a breath and tell me what the hell’s going on.”
There are a few seconds of silence as Stiles squeezes his eyes open and shut a few times like he’s shaking the dream out of his head. With their faces this close Derek can see the blood he smelled earlier oozing slowly from the corner of Stiles’ mouth. He must have bitten his tongue.
“It’s not important. Thanks for waking me up but, um, you can let me up and I’ll be on my way. And not be...in your house.”
Derek lets Stiles sit up on his own but he doesn’t let go.
“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me why you’re here.”
Stiles turns his head away, refusing to make eye contact.
“Not gonna happen.”
“You’re in my house.”
“No, I’m in what used to be your family’s house. In fact, this place is condemned. So really I’m only trespassing against Beacon County. You don’t really have a say.”
“And the fact that it’s condemned didn’t deter you from sleeping in it?”
Derek sighs again, “Why were you sleeping out here Stiles?”
“You heard why I was sleeping out here,” Stiles snaps eyes finally coming around to look at Derek, “Good talk. Now, let me up so I can go.”
Derek considers him for a minute before answering, “No.”
“No? Seriously? You’re really gonna stay here and sit on me all night?”
“No but I’m also not going to let you go find another burned out building to sleep in.”
Stiles looks away again and Derek watches as his tongue flicks nervously trailing more blood across his lip.
“If I promise to go somewhere...not condemned...will you let me up?” He asks almost hopeful.
“You were sleeping in my apartment before weren’t you?”
“NO!” Derek arches one eyebrow at him. “I...well see…”
Derek hauls both of them up and Stiles yelps as he tries to regain his balance without faceplanting against Derek’s chest.
Derek holds out his hand, “Car keys?”
“Oh hell no.”
“Unlike you, I walked out here. And you are in no shape to either walk or drive. Keys.”
Stiles’ bitchface is fairly spectacular but he eventually digs his keys out of his pocket and slaps them into Derek’s hand.
Stiles stands dumbly in the doorway to Derek’s loft shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He should be more than comfortable here. Has been more than comfortable here after spending most every night of the past month here. But it’s different this time. Derek is here. Derek brought him here. He watches as Derek disappears around the half wall into the kitchen. He reappears a few seconds later with two beers and a bottle opener. He flops down on the couch and pops the top off one setting it on the coffee table. He follows suit with the second and waves it at Stiles.
“You’re...offering me beer? I’m 17.”
“And yet you’ve apparently been living in my loft the entire time I’ve been gone. Pretty sure this is your beer anyway.”
“Not the entire time,” Stiles mutters as he walks over and snatches the beer from Derek before landing on the couch next to him.
They sit there for a few minutes silently drinking before Derek finally says, “I thought it was Peter.”
“Huh?” Stiles jerks his head toward Derek, looking away from where he was intently peeling the label away from the bottle.
“Living here. I thought it was Peter living here.”
Stiles snorts, nearly spitting beer all over the table before managing to ask, “Why did you think it was Peter?”
“For one, this,” Derek wags his bottle of beer, “For two, the white sheets where in the dryer. He thinks my black ones are tacky and has threatened to give them to Goodwill on more than one occasion. All other clues were overrun by the fact that the smell of your fear was all over the place. No one freaks you out quite like Peter.”
“The undead tend to do that.”
“I mean, we did set him on fire...and rip his throat out. You’d think that would be enough. We even-”
“What? We did. Where is he by the way? He disappeared right after you did which just makes him more creepy in my opinion. It’s like knowing there an alligator at the bottom of your pool but you can’t see it.” Stiles shudders dramatically.
Derek arches an eyebrow at him and they sit in silence for a bit longer before Stiles finally says, “Well, this has been lovely catching up. I’m just gonna go home now, yeah?”
“You’ve been drinking.”
Stiles snorts and then looks pointedly at the more than half-full bottle on the table.
“Don’t care. You’re underage and your dad is the sheriff. Not happening.”
“Your couch sucks. I’m pretty sure it has a vendetta against me.”
“Not my problem,” Derek says as he heaves himself off the couch and collects the bottles to take them to the kitchen.
“You also suck,” Stiles calls after him as Derek makes his way up the staircase to his room.
Derek is almost asleep when he realizes he didn’t bother to scrounge up a pillow or a blanket for Stiles. He’d leave him to it but Stiles is right about the couch being supremely uncomfortable. With a sigh, he pushes himself out of bed. He doesn’t bother with the light as he stumbles over to the closet, holding back a curse as he stubs his toe on the closet door. Grabbing what he needs, he jogs down the staircase.
He stops short when he sees Stiles curled up in one corner of the couch, his knees pulled tight against his chest, staring straight ahead. He’s worrying his fingernails with his teeth. Derek can’t see it in the moonlight but he catches a faint scent in the air that tells him Stiles fingertips are probably raw and bleeding.
“Hey, I brought you some sheets and a pil-” Stiles jolts, hand falling to grip the couch, his body jolts forward poised to run. The look on his face reminds Derek of a cornered deer. Derek holds his hands up and takes a step back.
“Woah, hey, it’s just me. I brought you a blanket,” he says waving it like a white flag.
Stiles’ shoulders sag and he drops his head to rest on the back of the couch. “Umm, thanks, I guess, but you didn’t have to get out of bed for that. I probably won’t be going back to sleep anyway.”
“The nightmares that bad?”
“I just...I see things...and sometimes they seem so real. It feels like I’m awake. Like it’s all really happening and I can’t- I hurt people. People I know. And when I wake up I’m never sure if I’m me or if I’m still- It’s just better if I don’t sleep.”
“You need to sleep, Stiles,” He continues before Stiles can argue, “just come upstairs. We can share.”
“What happened to ‘you take the couch’?” Stiles asks as he whips his head around to look at Derek.
Derek scowls and bites out, “Do you want to sleep or not?”
In lieu of answering, Stiles scrambles over the back of the couch and rushes up the stairs, excitement over Derek’s bed apparently curing him of his previous introspection.
Later, Derek lays in the dark looking up at the ceiling listening to the steady inhale and exhale of Stiles’ breath. He waits until he’s sure Stiles is asleep before closing his own eyes. Derek wakes up once when he feels Stiles roll over and suddenly there is an arm across his chest followed by one of Stiles’ legs wedging between his own. Stiles continues wiggling until he’s plastered against Derek’s side with his nose nuzzling against his neck. Derek makes a token effort to dislodge Stiles but his limbs just tighten around Derek’s and he doesn’t have it in him to shakes Stiles awake. After all, Stiles is exhausted and a quiet part of Derek enjoys this sort of close contact. He settles back into the pillows and closes his eyes. If his hand moves to rest over Stiles’ on his chest, nobody has to know.
It’s six a.m. when Derek wakes up again. Stiles is already gone.
Derek tries to keep to himself, though he still patrols at night when he can’t sleep. On more than one occasion he spots Stiles’ Jeep. Parked outside the old train yard, or another warehouse. Once outside an abandoned motel known for it’s hourly clientele and loose drug policy. It makes him uneasy to think of Stiles in there but he doesn’t have any plausible excuse to go drag him out so he just lurks around the area for a few hours, listening.
Then comes the Hantu. They track the thing to an abandoned factory. Derek can say with confidence that Stiles hasn’t slept more than a couple hours worth of catnaps in the three days it takes them to find it because Derek hasn’t slept much more than that either. It comes to an incredibly violent and gooey end around 3am on a Friday morning when Derek and Scott pin the thing and Stiles runs it through with a stray chunk of metal tubing from the factory floor. The Hantu explodes leaving viscous, foul smelling guts on everyone but Lydia who looks far too smug for Derek’s liking. Scott and Lydia pile into Kira’s car leaving Derek to catch a ride with Stiles.
When they pull up in front of the loft, it sort of slips out.
“You still haven’t been sleeping have you?”
Stiles knuckles turn white against the steering wheel. “What makes you say that?”
“Your Jeep. I saw it outside the motel on 6th? Not to mention you swerved four times on the way here.”
Stiles just stares straight ahead. Silent. His foot tapping against the floor.
“Where are you sleeping tonight?”
The face Stiles makes is one Derek’s never seen before. His brows furrow and he purses his lips. Face almost settling into a scowl. It quickly turns into a shit eating grin though.
“Why? Are you inviting me up?” He waggles his eyebrows lasciviously.
“Yes,” Derek answers just to see what kind of reaction he’ll get.
Stiles sputters for a few seconds before he finally gives up and slumps in his seat as he turns the engine off.
“Fine. But I’m not sleeping on the couch. We’re sharing your bed again,” he thinks about it for a moment, “I’ll let you cuddle the fuck out of me in exchange.”
Derek freezes at that. Had they still been tangled up when Stiles woke last time? Had Derek started to return it in his sleep or was Stiles just trying to cover for the fact that he was embarrassed? He realizes he’s been quiet too long though as Stiles’ eyebrows start to inch up. He manages to roll his eyes and snap, “Whatever.”
Stiles pats him on the shoulder and says “Don’t worry Derek, I’ll still respect you in the morning. Well, as much as I usually do anyway.” Then he’s out of the car and bounding toward the stairs.
Derek takes a deep breath and follows him inside.
It happens more and more after that night. In the beginning, Stiles just shows up at odd hours of the night and sneaks into Derek’s bed. After all, what’s the point of a key if he’s not going to use it? Then he starts picking up groceries on his way over because ‘that’s what good houseguests do, Derek.’ Derek thinks he deserves a medal for not pointing out that houseguests also usually wait for an invitation. By the time he catches Stiles tidying his living room at 2 AM, Stiles has been sleeping at his place most nights for almost a month.
Derek wakes up with his heart racing. He’s not sure exactly what woke him and when he slides a hand over and realizes Stiles’ side of the bed is empty it doesn’t help. A crash sounds from the first floor. Derek bolts down the stairs without a second thought. He skids to a stop at the edge of the room.
“Derek? You ok dude?” Stiles is sprawled over couch with his head is hanging off near the arm so that he’s peering at Derek upside down. He looks fucking ridiculous but Derek suddenly feels like he can breathe again.
“Yeah. I just..you weren’t there and then I thought…”
Another crash rumbles out of the tv speakers and Derek can’t help his twitch.
“Oh crap, sorry. I didn’t think I had it up that loud.”
Derek watches as Stiles pats around the couch looking for the remote.
“No it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I don’t think I was sleeping that well anyway.”
He wanders over and hoists Stiles up by a shoulder to fish the remote out from under his back then collapses on the opposite corner of the couch. Stiles considers his seating options before sprawling over Derek’s lap with his feet hanging over the arm of the couch. First he’s on his side. Then he flops to his back. Derek takes a rather sharp elbow to ribs when Stiles rolls to his stomach (‘Sorry dude!). The squirming continues until Derek pokes him in the ribs but Stiles just digs in chin into Derek’s thigh in retaliation.
“Stiles!” Derek hisses, “Stop. Moving.”
“I’m trying to get comfortable. Anyway, you’re the one who stole my spot.” Stiles wiggles up the couch, only stopping when Derek palms his head to keep it from digging into his groin. A particularly loud explosion pulls Stiles attention back to the screen. “Oh man! This is the best part of the whole movie.” He turns to lay on his side, his cheek resting on Derek’s thigh.
It’s minutes later, when a contented sigh slips from Stiles throat, that Derek realizes he’s massaging his fingers through Stiles’ hair. The short strands tickle his palm as his fingertips rub in tiny circles against Stiles’ scalp. He should probably stop. This probably isn’t something friends do. Even if those friends have been sharing a bed most nights for almost a month. Even if those friends sometimes wake up cocooned in blankets with their legs tangled together, faces close enough to count each individual freckle. Friends. That’s what they are. Just friends.
So what if he now keeps his fridge stocked with that god awful orange soda Stiles likes to drink? So what if three weeks ago he put an extra toothbrush next to the sink? So what if whenever they cook dinner together he spends entire minutes staring at Stiles hands as he chops vegetables? So what if on the nights Stiles doesn’t come over, Derek doesn’t fall asleep until the small hours of the morning and wakes up reaching out to the other side of the bed?
Stiles pushes his head back into Derek’s hand drawing his attention again. His fingers pause for a moment but Stiles pushes back again. Derek should stop.
But he doesn’t.
A week later, Stiles wakes up just as the sun starts to peek through the windows. He’s quite literally on top of Derek, their bodies rocking slightly every time one of them breathes. Stiles wants nothing more than to snuggle back down into Derek and wallow in the warm, human scent of them trapped in their cocoon of blankets. Hell, he never wants to leave.
Staying here with Derek. With Derek. He’d never given it much thought before but he basically lives here now as it is. Most days if he’s not at school or spending time with his dad, he’s with Derek. It’s been weeks since he even questioned waking up next to Derek. In Derek’s bed. More than once he thinks Scott has tried to ask him if they’re dating. They’re not. Well, they haven’t talked about it, anyway. But...maybe the could. He likes Derek. He’s never more calm than he is with Derek. He feels safe. Content. And Derek always knows how to get him out of his own head. Derek clearly likes him too, right? Normal people don’t just curl up in bed together like this. Normal people don’t keep their kitchen stocked with the favored drinks of their casual acquaintances. Normal people don’t do...whatever it is they’re doing.
Stiles is still staring intently at Derek’s face, thoughts bouncing aimlessly through his head, when Derek slowly blinks awake.
“Okay?” Derek asks, voice rough. One hand slides up Stiles’ back until coming to rest on his spine, his thumb rubbing in gentle circles. ‘Just friends’ definitely don’t do that.
“Yup. But I’ve been thinking.”
Derek groans and Stiles pokes him in the ribs. Derek grins and grasps Stiles fingers and, woah, Stiles is an idiot. How has he never connected the swooping feeling in his stomach every time Derek smiles to maybe slightly less than platonic feelings?
“Alright, alright. What have you been thinking?” Derek says while twining their fingers together in a more comfortable grip.
Stiles stares at their hands and takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking that, um, maybe we could do better than ‘okay.’”
The hand on Stiles back stops it’s motion and falls to the bed while Derek quickly disentangles the other from Stiles’ tightening grip. Stiles wants to reach out and smooth the deep crease forming between Derek’s furrowed brows. Instead he babbles on while rolling to straddle Derek’s hips
“Whoa, don’t look like that just...umm. Look, I’m gonna try something. Maybe don’t punch me?” Derek is still frozen in place so Stiles grips his face in two hands forcing Derek to look him in the eye, “Okay?”
Stiles lowers his face slowly, watching Derek’s eyes track him. He can feel Derek’s jaw clench under his hands and gently rubs his thumb across Derek’s cheek to try to soothe him. Derek stubble rasps against his palms. Stiles thinks that that’s probably going to feel really good against his skin. Despite the short distance it still feels like it takes Stiles an eternity to get there but finally his lips meet Derek’s. The slight bow of Derek’s upper lip fitting between Stiles’ own just so. The kiss is gentle. No more than a press of lips at first. Then one of Derek’s hands comes to rest on Stiles thigh. The other snaking up Stiles spine to grip the nape of his neck, holding him in place. Emboldened, Stiles traces the seam of Derek’s lips with his tongue. When Derek lips part slightly Stiles can’t help but moan and sink down against Derek, chest to chest.
A shudder passes through Stiles and suddenly everything is sharper, faster, hotter. He feels Derek’s fingernails dig into the back of his neck and thigh as he rolls Stiles onto his back barely breaking the kiss. Derek hands slide up to fist in the sheets on either side of Stiles head as he pushes in farther. He tugs at Stiles’ bottom lip until he opens up then sweeps his tongue inside. With a frustrated grunt, Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s back and pulls until he can feel Derek pressed flush against him. Derek’s skin against his sends sparks through Stiles body. The rough bristle of Derek’s beard against his face leaves him sensitized to every drag of Derek’s tongue as he trails open-mouthed kisses from his lips to his collarbone and back again. Derek scrapes his teeth over Stiles jaw and Stiles throws his head back exposing the long, pale column of his neck. Derek growls, actually growls, before latching down just where Stiles shoulder begins to curve into his neck. Hysterical thoughts of hickeys and explaining bruises the shape of bite marks to his father flit through Stiles’ mind and he almost laughs.
But then Derek starts to lave at the mark with is tongue and Stiles mind goes blissfully blank. His grip on Derek’s hair tightens. He wraps his legs around Derek’s waist pressing his rapidly hardening cock against Derek’s...oh. Oooh. Derek is hard too. And big. And Stiles wants his hands on him. Now. He pulls Derek’s face back up and smashes their lips together with little finesse but Derek doesn’t seem to mind if the guttural moan he lets go is anything to go by. His hands trail down Derek’s back until he reaches the waistband of his underwear and slips his fingertips inside to rest just above the curve of his ass. Stiles rocks his hips upward slightly creating a delicious frisson of friction even with layers of clothing still between them. Derek rolls his own hips in answer and they settle into a steady rhythm. This is going to be quick. He can already feel the tingle starting at the base of his spine. He tells himself to focus and drags one hand down Derek’s stomach and starts to ease Derek’s underwear down his body. Derek grunts low in his throat and grabs Stiles by the wrist, stopping his progress. He’s not kissing Stiles anymore either. Stiles whines and tries to catch Derek’s lips again. He tries to free his arm to no avail. Derek just drops forward to rest his forehead against Stiles’. Eyes closed. Mouth open. Stiles can feel damp, uneven puffs of air glide over his skin with every jerky breath Derek takes. His shoulders heave as he tries to get himself under control. Stiles watches a single droplet of sweat makes it’s way from Derek’s hairline down his neck before stopping in the divet of his collarbone.
“Uh...Derek?” Stiles ventures.
The silence is too much and maybe he did something wrong. Maybe Derek doesn’t want this and Stiles just caught him off guard by ambushing him when he was barely awake. Jesus, Derek hasn’t even had coffee yet.
He gives Derek’s shoulder one stilted pat before thinking that it probably isn’t that comforting and letting his hand fall to the sheets beside him. The silence stretches for a few more minutes before Derek lifts his head and searches Stiles face, like he’ll find the answer to some question Stiles doesn’t know.
“Dude, you’re kind of freaking me out he--”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Derek interjects.
“Um, yes? I like being here. It’s the only place I can sleep without the nightmares.”
Derek sighs and rolls off Stiles to sit at the edge of the bed. He looks over his shoulder as Stiles pushes himself up on his elbows.
“You don’t have to do- You can stay here no matter what. We don’t have to- I don’t expect that from you.” He turns away again and stares at his hands dangling between his knees.
Stiles just looks at him for a moment. The dejected slump of his shoulders. The way his hands fist against the mattress. The tense play of muscle under his skin. He looks like he’s ready for the worst and he’ll just take it. Like he deserves it. Stiles has screwed this up pretty royally if Derek thinks he’s trying to…to offer up payment for Derek’s bed.
He slides up behind Derek, his legs on either side of him. His arms snake around Derek’s torso and he hugs him close, back to front, his cheek resting against Derek’s shoulder.
“Derek, do you know how long I went without sleep before you came back? Weeks. I’d get maybe two hours before I woke up screaming with my dad trying to wrestle me out of a nightmare. He always looked so scared. I hated putting that look on his face.”
Stiles doesn’t look but he can feel Derek straighten and lift his head. He rests a hand on top of Stiles’ on his stomach.
“That’s why I started sleeping here. I’d still get the nightmares but at least I wasn’t bothering anyone. Then you came back and it got better. Not right away. Not all the way. But it did. It’s so much better when you’re here. I feel...safe. You just...you get it. And that’s huge. I don’t want you to think I kissed you because I’m grateful. I am, but I want you because I like you,” he finishes and presses a soft kiss to Derek’s shoulder blade.
“You really mean that?”
Stiles hooks his chin over Derek’s shoulder. “No. I said it so I could take the most awkward walk of shame ever. Of course, I mean it, Derek.”
They sit there for a few moments more before Derek stands. Stiles thinks he's going to tell him to leave. Or at least go sleep on the couch. But then Derek pushes him back into the mattress and crawls up his body pressing soft kisses along his torso and over his collar bone before pressing his face into Stiles' neck. No, Stiles definitely isn't going anywhere.