Work Header

I’m leaving you behind, but it’s not the end.

Work Text:

The moon is bright white, blinding and it makes Derek Hale blink hard as he pushes himself up off the ground once again. He spits blood onto the earth and he feels his jaw attempt to heal itself after absorbing the last strike.

He is on his knees in the dirt, bound at the wrists, which are tied up tight behind his back. The Wolfsbane infused ropes burn deep into his skin and he tries to shift, but the change won’t come. He’s too damaged, in too much pain. He whines.

He sluggishly looks over to his left, blinking blood out of his eyes and he sees Scott face down inside a cage next to him, completely still. Sheriff Stilinski is frantically trying to rouse him, shoving his head into Scott’s shoulder nudging him, though he’s beaten, bleeding and tied up himself.

Derek thinks there is noise. He can see the Sheriffs’ lips moving, but Dereks’ ears are ringing loudly from the force of the last blow and he can’t hear a thing.

He shakes his head back and forth to clear it and regrets it immediately as he feels his stomach lurch.

Derek spares a thought that he’s failed so spectacularly this time, it’s almost funny. If he wasn’t going to die here, now, Stiles would absolutely kill him. He had rushed to face danger, yet again, without waiting for Stiles. He always wanted to protect him, instead of letting Stiles help.

Derek looks up into the face of hell itself, his Alpha red eyes meeting soulless Onyx black ones. He’s feels like he’s looking at certain death.

It looks like a man, just... wrong somehow. It opens it’s mouth and there are rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth, set in a human mouth. Derek shudders and fights the urge to close his eyes when it leans down into him, rancid breath filling his nose.

It shifts and morphs just inches from his face, making him watch as it changes form. It wants him afraid.

Derek howls his rage into the night sky, rage for his tragic life, for all the things he didn’t get to do.

He howls for all the people he didn’t save, for all the people he’s lost. He howls for all the chances at love he’s thrown away. He howls for Stiles.

When he feels the creatures’ claws pierce his chest, he knows it’s the end.

Giving himself over to his Wolf does the trick to soothe him, because all of a sudden he’s not in pain anymore and all he can smell is honey, paper, ink and sugar. A warm purple hue envelops him.

For the first time since he’d walked into this clearing tonight, he can breathe and he feels safe.

Derek let’s the unique scent combination of Stiles wrap around him.

Even if he’s conjuring a fiction of him, it’s still hugely comforting as the creature attempts to literally drag his heart out of his body.

It’s claws wrench out of his chest, as fast as they’d entered.

He smiles, closing his eyes, at peace.

Stiles’ name is on his lips, his smiling face in his mind as Derek sags to the earth, drawing a ragged breath. There are actually worse ways to go.



The plane journey from Washington to California feels like the longest Stiles has ever experienced.

He’s tense and fidgety and the lady sitting next to him, boxing him in actually puts her hand on his bouncing knee at one point.

“Sorry...” he says loudly, chewing his lip anxiously.

She levels him with a glare and gestures toward the aisle seat where a toddler is curled up, sleeping soundly. Stiles peers over her and nods, understanding.

“Sorry, I’m just... sorry.” He replaces her hand with his own and he tries really hard to calm down.
His heart feels like it’s going to burst right out of his chest.

He needs to get back to Beacon Hills. Like yesterday.

He can see Lydia in the row opposite them with a sleep mask on and he wishes they’d managed to get seats together on this flight.

He wonders how she is even asleep right now? Ice Queen.

They’d left Beacon Hills three days ago now and he’d felt uneasy leaving then. It’s a million times worse now he’s got the information he needed. He almost wishes he didn’t know of the danger.

He hates being separated from the pack, from his Dad but for the past month something has been on the edge of destroying his entire life and he didn’t even know it.

It started around a month ago with an odd dream where he woke up sweating and scared. Except that wasn’t really a rarity for him.

He couldn’t even remember what it had been about when he’d finally woke, just had a feeling of wrongness.

He’d shaken the feeling off, not brought it up in the pack meeting that week, even though Derek was giving him stink eye and sniffing him. Smelling his unease probably.

Derek had stood in the doorway that night, letting the others go, but blocking him in.

It’s been a long time since he’d been afraid of Derek. Years in fact.

Stiles was a now bonafide FBI agent thank you very much. And Derek... well Derek was something even weirder... Derek was... living a normal life.

Stiles had come back to live in Beacon Hills when he’d graduated the academy, but he worked away when he had to.

When he’d come back this winter, he realised he hadn’t seen Derek in almost a year.

His Dad has sent Derek to fetch him from the plane and Stiles’ jaw had hit the floor when he came around the corner in the airport, clutching his rucksack.

Deputy Derek Hale in full uniform was standing waiting for him, looking surly as ever and his brain was not computing.

Stiles still hadn’t recovered from it if he’s honest. You think you’ve put a silly teenage crush behind you and wham, suddenly it’s in your face, stubblier, grumpier and dressed in your Dad’s clothing.

It was super confusing for him, thank you very much.

So when Derek had refused to let him leave after the meeting, it didn’t bother Stiles as half as much as that realisation had.

“You smell bad,” Derek had growled, folding his arms.

“Well I must say if you’re trying to get into my pants, your charm could use some work,” Stiles had rolled his eyes.

Derek had stalked toward him, backing him up against the wall and leant into him, absurdly close.

Stiles tilted his head without even thinking about it, damn his pack instincts.

He tried to ignore Dereks’ proximity, flinching in the best way when Dereks’ nose brushed the soft skin against his neck. Derek had taken a long breath, pausing before stepping back and putting a few inches between them.

“You smell worried. What happened? Please tell me.” Derek seemed softer than a few moments ago.

Concerned still, demanding still, but almost like an edge had been taken off. Also, a Derek that said please was strange and exciting and it made Stiles weak.

“Nothing really... didn’t sleep much last night. Just a weird dream.” Stiles has shrugged, not wanting to worry him.

“Stiles.” Derek didn’t back up.

“If it happens again, I’ll call Scott ok? It just felt a bit real. Beacon Hills is Beacon Hills you know? I think I’m overthinking it, it was just a bad dream.” Stiles had told him.

“Call me.” Derek said.

“What?” Stiles frowned.

Derek this close was distracting him.

Stiles made himself meet his eyes. Dereks’ eyes were an enigma of grey, green and blue. A storm of emotion, always.

Stiles licked his lips and Derek followed the movement.

He’d looked back into Stiles eyes and repeated.

“You call me if it happens again. Not Scott.” And his eyes had flashed red and Stiles knew it wasn’t a question.

“Yes Alpha,” He’d muttered obtusely, ducking out from under Dereks arm, ignoring the answering growl.

He needed to move because Derek was about to get a nose full of unwanted affections and Stiles wasn’t quite ready to jump off that bridge just yet.

Derek had let him go, glaring after him as he walked to his jeep, standing on his porch.

But then it did happen again and one night, Stiles woke up screaming with the feeling of his chest being ripped open, his room smelling like sulphur and strange glowing symbols on the floor.

He hadn’t had to call Derek. He’d burst through his window before Stiles was on his feet and promptly wolfed out the second he stepped into his bedroom.

He’d growled out a low, dangerous sound unlike any Stiles had heard him make before toward the open window, positioning himself in front of Stiles.

It was a positively feral noise. A primal warning.

Derek had shifted back after a few minutes and sat on Stiles’ bed, breathing hard. He handed him his phone, typing something before handing it over to Stiles, his face set in a grim line.

The display had said “Calling Deaton”.

Stiles put the phone to his ear and Derek didn’t need to say anything for him to start telling Deaton the whole story. By the end of the conversation Deaton had booked him and Lydia a flight to Washington the next afternoon.

“I can’t tell you,” Deaton had said, “I promised your mother when the time came, when it was too dangerous to keep it from you anymore, I’d show you.”

When he handed Derek back his phone, positively freaked out, Derek had stood up and Stiles’ heart had started hammering in his chest.

Derek had just cocked his head to the side and reached a hand out as if to comfort him, as if to draw him in, hesitating at the last second. Instead he took his hand back, kicked his boots off and got into Stiles’ bed.

Stiles got the message loud and clear. He wasn’t leaving him.


When Stiles and Lydia finally got back from the airport and fetched his faithful Jeep, Stiles discovered the renovated Hale house empty.

He absolutely knew in his very bones that Derek was in trouble. His Dads’ cruiser was parked outside on the gravel and Scott’s bike was in the back of it. Stiles could pretty much assume they were all together.

Deaton had revealed so much when he and Lydia had arrived. Turns out Stiles wasn’t the trouble magnet he usually was. The horror stalking his dreams was just using him as a way to get to Dereks’ power. It was barely even about him, yet he would be the one to end it.

The only reason he’d realised it was happening was because his magic, dormant as it usually was, had tried to fight it.

If he had been fully human, Deaton said the Demon would have probably taken him over and used his bond to destroy Derek.

The Demon was known to Deaton and he’d recognised it for what it was when Stiles had explained. It had destroyed packs larger than Dereks and he’d understood what was at stake when Stiles had explained on the phone.

It wanted Dereks’ power and it was going to take it, but the pack was stronger now. The Demon had sensed something sleeping in Stiles, something he and the pack was unaware of. It sensed his power and sought to take him over, to use it against Derek. To hurt him.

Through his greatest weakness, Deaton said. But the thing hadn’t realised that Stiles was strong. Even dormant, his power was ancient, given to him by generations of dominant magic. So he’d fought it unconsciously and that’s why he’d had the dreams, a way of fighting against it.

Stiles hadn’t really understood why it chose him until Deaton had given him a strange drink and put him into a deep, unveiling sleep.

He’d awoken to Lydia’s worried face, stroking his hair and everything had looked tinged purple. Deaton had given him a mirror and he’d blinked, eyes switching from whisky gold to purple.

He’d felt energy crackle through his hands and lightening ran up and down his arms.

Lydia, to her credit had looked awed, not scared, her beautiful face lit up purple by his glow, in that tiny veterinary office.

Stiles was jerked from his thoughts, back to the present, back to the Hale house, by a distant, chilling howl ringing out through the woods.

His body lit up and he jumped from Dereks’ porch and started running, Lydia on his heels.

The howl called to him, a part of him deep inside and ignited his spark and he ran faster than he’d ever been able to before.

When he reached the clearing, he saw makeshift cages and symbols burning in the dirt.

His Dad was bound and screaming toward Derek, who was on his knees, howling to the sky and Stiles’ heart stopped when he saw the Demon place it’s claws in Dereks’ chest.

What happened next was a beautiful dance and Stiles felt time slow. He let his energy fling from his hands and it enveloped the woods around them in a lilac glow.

Everything including the Demon slowed down, everything apart from Stiles.

Stiles dances up to the Demon, calm and deadly and it’s frozen. Everything is silent.

He lets his energy wrap around Derek, smoothing a piece of hair out of his eyes, smiling softly. In that moment, he knows that Derek and him are inevitable. He feels like he’s been blind for so long.

It’s like all roads so far, have been leading to them crashing together, a wolf and his spark, a darkness meeting light.

He turns and looks at the creature with it’s claws in Dereks chest.

That is not acceptable. For the first time tonight, Stiles’ own fury slips through his new found calm and he grabs the Demons’ wrist, yanking it from Dereks’ chest.

He breaks the time lapse, not able to hold on any longer and pushes all his energy into flinging the Demon away from Derek, standing between them.

He hears Derek hit the ground behind him, but he can’t go to him, not while the threat is still here.

He sees Lydia run to his Father and Scott, who’s now awake, untying them, after breaking the door on the cage with a well placed scream of energy. Scott is staring at him like he’s never seen him before. Stiles drags his eyes back to the horror in front of him.

The Demon cries out, denied and furious.

It’s face morphs until it forms a black tongue and lips, grotesque against its pale figures.

“You,” it hisses, “you left him here.”

“Yes. But I came back,” Stiles says, nodding, setting his stance wide.

“You left, Protector,” It licks its lips, “powerful Boy, I will take you after the Alpha.”

Stiles feels his rage surface again and his eyes glow purple and the Demon recoils.

“Not just a Protector,” It hisses, voice trying to turn Stiles’ blood cold, but he’s warmer than he’s ever been, “What are you Boy?” It shrieks.

“I’m your worst fucking nightmare,” Stiles says, feeling his energy build again at the threat against Derek.

He’s not giving him up.

When lightening runs up and down his arms, crackling audibly, he sees the Demon look afraid for the first time.

“NO!” It screams, running toward them, sensing defeat, “He is mine!”

At that, Stiles let’s his Mothers, his Grandmothers, his Great Grandfathers’ blood light him from his very core and he feels the bond to Derek and his pack strengthen him further.

He blinks once, waving his hand toward the rushing Demon and it turns to ash in front of his eyes, blowing away in the wind. He thinks it’s all a bit anti-climatic.

He collapses at Dereks’ unconscious side, empty, spent.

He reaches his hand out to touch him, drags himself up so that their foreheads are touching.

He pushes the last tiny bit of energy he can muster, dragging it from depths into healing Derek and the last thing he remembers before his world goes black is whispering,

“He’s wrong. You’re mine.”


When Stiles wakes, it’s very slowly. He’s comfortable, warm and he feels safe. He’s in his bed, alone.

He blinks moonlight from his eyes and stretches, bones cracking. He feels positively awesome.

He comes around sluggishly, enjoying the warmth. The events of what must be yesterday judging by his digital clock, rush back to meet him when he sees his Dad sleeping in a chair next to him, complete with a black eye.

He jumps up.

“Dad! Holy shit,” he says, voice groggy from sleep.

“Wassat,” his Dad jerks awake and winces, obviously hurt.

Stiles reaches out to touch him, to heal him, instinct taking over.

His Dad grabs his wrist.

“Don’t you dare,” He says.

Stiles takes his hand back surprised.

“You almost died. Deaton said he told you, it wasn’t safe to use it for long. He said he told you to build the energy up slowly every time you release it,” His Dad is on the verge of crying and it breaks him.

Stiles has only seen his Dad cry once, other than this. It was at his Moms’ funeral.

“I could have lost you too,” his Dad chokes and grabs him into a crushing hug.

Stiles hugs him tightly for minutes, or it could be an hour, he’s not really sure.

When his Dad finally pulls back, he looks a little more like himself.

Stiles still has a feeling that he has somewhere to be. It’s like a physical tug, persistent in his tummy.

“Dad... where is he?”

It’s a testament to his Dads’ investigative skills that he doesn’t even ask who he means.


When Derek hears the jeep pulling up his driveway, he gets out of bed feeling nervous all of a sudden.

He’s been lying there for hours, itching to go to Stiles’ side but Scott... well he’d put paid to that without even realising.

When he’d awoke in the early hours of this morning, Scott had been in his house. Derek had woke up wolfed out, his last memory of the Demon, then Stiles. He thought he’d died.

Scott had filled him in, not leaving anything out, including the part where Stiles had nearly died to heal him.

Derek knows he needs to stay away from him, for his own good. He knows with absolute certainty he’d never forgive himself if Stiles died for him. Everything he loves gets taken from him.

Derek walks to his kitchen and gets himself a glass of water, back to the door.

Derek can feel him.

Even now, whatever Stiles did, it linked them together. It feels permanent.

Stiles doesn’t knock, he just walks in like he’s done a thousand times, like he owns the place and sits on Dereks’ kitchen stool.

Derek turns to look at him and he’s mesmerised. He’s always wanted Stiles but he’d found excuses easily.

He’s too young, he’s not a wolf, he’s got his whole life ahead of him. He’s too good for Derek to break him, like he does with everything good in his life.

But when he meets Stiles’ eyes, he knows he’s in huge trouble. Because for once, it’s not just him wanting Stiles, pining in private, wanting in secret.

He can see Stiles knows, by the heat in his eyes.

Neither of them say anything, waiting.

Stiles breaks first, no surprise, as patience isn’t his strong suit,

He approaches Derek cautiously, nervously but not scared.

Derek leans back into the sink as if to keep as much distance between them as possible. Stiles crowds him and his Wolf itches to meet the challenge, but he grits his teeth.

The smell of honey, paper, ink and sugar is back, except this time, there’s something else. Derek can’t fight it, especially when Stiles, ever observant Stiles tilts his head in a blatant invitation to scent him.

Derek buries his face against his neck and draws in a choked breath.

Stiles smells like all those things but mixed in, not just on the surface, like he’s made of it, he smells like Dereks’ family. Like everything Dereks’ ever wanted.

Any doubts about where this train ride is headed go out the window and Derek groans pulling him to him and bites him on the neck, hard enough that Stiles jerks in surprise, but not hard enough to break skin.

Stiles whines, wolf like and Derek licks him from neck, to ear before pulling back slightly. He feels drunk, he wants to bury himself in that scent.

That’s when he see’s Stiles’ eyes are blazing purple and he feels a current buzzing under his skin and it makes him itch, makes the wolf want to test him, to play with him.

“Stiles...” he breathes, voice low, rubbing his body along the length of him, “What are you?”

Stiles grunts when Derek presses his thigh into the gap between his legs.

“Can we talk later?” Stiles groans like he’s killing him.

“No. I need to know,” Derek pulls back slightly, panting, putting a few inches between them.

He needs to know that Stiles will be able to survive him, his chaotic life,

Stiles looks like his new favourite toy has been taken away. Then his eyes flick back and forth between gold and purple and he takes Dereks’ face in his hands.

They’re almost the same height now, when did that happen? Derek wonders.

“How about I show you...” Stiles whispers before placing his lips softly against Dereks.

Derek feels the energy pour from Stiles into him and with it, he gets a slide show of memories and feelings from Stiles’ point of view.

He sees Stiles as a baby, Deaton with a beautiful lady who must have been Stiles mom. He sees Deaton surpressing Stiles’ powers, dimming his spark to protect him.

He sees Deaton agreeing to give him a chance at a normal life, unless he ever finds out he’s in danger.

It flicks back and forth over a timeline of Stiles’ life.

He sees the moment Stiles and Scott met him in the woods when they were 16 and he feels Stiles’ lust and fear.

He sees the day Stiles’ Mom died and how he had poured all his Dads’ whisky down the drain a week later, scared he was going to leave him too.

He feels every event, every emotion Stiles has felt over the past 20 years and then Stiles really shows him the point to it all.

Stiles shows him what Deaton revealed to him. He shows him that Stiles will always be drawn to the Wolves as they are to him, because his magic originated as a protector of packs.

It’s something Dereks’ only heard of in tales from his childhood, a spark that could give to and draw power from Wolves.

Stiles shows him how Deaton lifted the block he’d placed on him as a baby because the time had come where Stiles’ uncanny ability to seek out trouble had finally meant either he or Derek would die.

Then, as if at the end of a movie, Stiles shows him the scene from the clearing from the night before.

He feels the rage Stiles had felt when he thought Derek would be taken from him and he feels the power Stiles had gathered from himself and the pack.

He feels the love Stiles gave him, when he healed him, not caring that it might kill him.

Stiles breaks their lips apart and Derek realises his face is wet where tears had involuntarily started running down his face.

They’re both panting hard.

“Oh...” Derek says to him, not able to put it into words what he wants to tell him, that they belong to each other.

That this will be forever for them both,

“I know,” Stiles nods frantically, “Der, I know, I know.”

And Derek grabs him and it’s like a damn has burst.

Stiles climbs him, Derek supporting him, digging his hands into his cheeks while holding him.

Stiles kisses him frantically and when Derek licks into his open mouth and fucks him with his tongue, the sound Stiles makes drags his wolf from him. He shakes his head until this shift subsides and he’s got his human face on again.

Derek jerks back a little, surprised. He’s had a handle on the change since he was a child.

Stiles laughs, throwing his head back and it’s glorious sounding to Dereks’ ears.

He grins at Stiles, happier than he can ever remember and walks him to his bedroom, kissing him and touching him the whole way.

He doesn’t put him down when they get there but he presses him into his bedroom wall, pulling Stiles’ T shirt-up and off him.

Dereks’ shirt goes the same way and he feels the heat in Stiles’ hands as he explores his hard, naked chest.

“Der you’re so perfect,” he groans, “you’re killing me. Take your jeans off, I want to see your dick.”

Derek laughs again. It seems finding out he’s able to manipulate ancient magic hasn’t changed Stiles all that much.

Derek lets him slide down the wall and unbuckles his own jeans, holding Stiles in place with one hand. He flips him around so Stiles is pressed against the wall and he drags Stiles’ jeans and boxers down a little, so that they’re tucked under his perfect ass cheeks.

Stiles is supporting himself on his hands, trying to push back into Derek.

Derek growls his approval and quickly divests himself of his jeans and kicks them away.

He rubs his bare, thick, leaking dick against Stiles ass crack, staring at his pre-come leaving wet streaks on his creamy skin.

Stiles moans like he’s dying, his scent Intensifying and Derek drops to his knees. He pulls Stiles cheeks apart and buries his face in Stiles, licking desperately against his tight, pink hole.

“Christ,” Stiles grunts and Derek hears a crackle and notices a hole in his wall, where Stiles’ hands were braced.

It urges him on until he’s slowly finger fucking him, three fingers deep, just spit and his tongue easing the way.

He can smell when Stiles is right on the edge and he reaches around him and jerks his long dick just once, holding Stiles up when he comes hard.

He feels Stiles orgasm rip through him and he clenches tight around Dereks fingers.

The smell of him coming makes Derek frantic and he brings his hand, with Stiles’ come still on it, around to push his come back inside him.

Derek drags Stiles’ boxers and jeans down and fully off his legs with his spare hand.

“Lube?” Derek growls around slightly too sharp teeth, pressing himself against Stiles’ back.

“Der, please,” he cries out at the sensation of Dereks dick pressing against him, “I need you inside me. I want to feel you come in me. I’m wet, you’ve been so good. Own me. I’m yours. You’re mine. Do it,” Stiles rambles.

All Dereks’ reserve is gone. He spits liberally on his hand, for extra good measure, slicks his aching dick once and holds Stiles wide open as he pushes against him.

He edges in slowly, inch by inch, unwilling to hurt him despite Stiles’ demands.

Stiles breathes slowly, adjusting, until Derek is flush against him.

He’s impossibly tight, clutching Dereks’ dick like a vice and Derek has to fight not to come.

Stiles pushes back into him roughly, demanding and Derek begins to ease out, fucking him shallowly until Stiles is hard again.

It’s not long before it’s not enough and Derek pulls out and pushes Stiles on his back onto the edge of the bed.

He can see him like this and it’s better and worse all at once. Derek really might come immediately, Stiles looks incredible.

His lips are red and bitten. He’s got a flush crawling over his lean, tight body and his eyes are glowing purple again. Best of all, the faint outline of Dereks teeth are imprinted into the skin on his neck.

He hooks Stiles’ legs over his arms and pushes back into him, the new angle driving impossibly deep in him.

Derek sets a punishing pace this time, the head of his dick dragging on Stiles hole on every stroke and he fucks him deep and fast.

He’s mesmerised by Stiles dick, bouncing between them and he can’t wait to get his mouth on it.

He feels around Stiles’ hole, where it’s stretched from his dick fucking in and out and he pushes the tip of his finger in, feeling him protest.

Stiles throws his head back against the bed and he comes hard, white strands hitting Derek in the chin.

Stiles grabs him, pulling him down to kiss him and that, combined with Stiles grabbing Dereks’ cheeks hard, fingers digging in and spreading him while he fucks into him, is what finishes him off.

Derek comes with a grunt, pressing deep inside of him, emptying into his perfect heat.

Derek pulls them up his bed and pulls a cover over them. Stiles is on his stomach and Derek slings an arm and a leg over him, pulling him in close.

Derek makes no move to clean up. They’re a mess and he feels more sated than he ever has.

He can’t help but touch Stiles’ hole one more time, feeling his come start to leak out of him and he pushes it back in.

“I knew you’d be like this,” Stiles mumbles sleepily but he sounds overjoyed, not mad.

Derek grins into his shoulder.

After a few minutes, Stiles rolls onto his back to kiss him softly, pulling Derek slightly on top of him. Derek strokes him gently, down his sides and he’s mesmerised when Stiles giggles.

For him.

Stiles encourages him to sit up a little, until he’s sitting on his chest. He keeps manoeuvring him until Dereks soft dick is in Stiles face, Dereks thighs bracketing his head.

Stiles takes him into his mouth and licks and sucks him until he gets hard again. Stiles doesn’t stop until his eyes are watering and he’s making little choking sounds, throat swallowing around Dereks dick.

Dereks trying not to push, but he’s fucking back and forth into his throat gently. It’s amazing.

“Stiles, fuck. I’m going to come again,” Derek grunts out, grabbing hold of the bed frame and bending it in half immediately.

Stiles pulls back and pushes him down his body until Derek can feel Stiles cock nudging against his balls.

His pupils are absolutely blown when Derek looks down at him.

“Can I?” Stiles asks, and it’s desperate, wanting, despite the fact that he’s come twice already.

His skin crackles with warm energy and it goes straight to Dereks dick, making it throb,

Stiles presses his dick against Dereks’ dry hole again and Derek arches, bracing his hands against the bed frame.

“Fuck yes, anything,” he tells Stiles and he means it.

This time, Stiles finds the lube in Dereks’ bedside drawer because Derek doesn’t have to tell him he’s never done this before. Stiles knows he would never have trusted anyone like this before.

Stiles fingers him open slowly from underneath him, until Derek is pushing back onto his hand, fucking himself against him.

Stiles times the minute he pushes inside him, with a wet stroke of Dereks dick and Derek swears he sees stars.

He doesn't wait for Stiles this time, revelling in the new sensation and he takes what he wants.

Stiles is mesmerised by Derek riding him and he doesn’t stop speaking. He tells him he’s beautiful, amazing, his.

This time when Derek comes it’s intense and quiet, without a hand on his dick. He’s never come untouched before.

He’s made a mess of Stiles’ happy trail and stomach and god, if he doesn’t look edible underneath him.

Stiles still fucks him deep, not stopping, a few more strokes, feet braced on the bed.

Stiles watches him with pride and something like fierce claiming and Derek feels Stiles’ hot come fill him as he groans his release, fingers digging into Dereks’ thighs.

They collapse, wound together and Derek licks him clean, giving in to his Wolf.

What he doesn’t expect is Stiles to do it back. It’s the hottest and most intimate thing Dereks ever experienced.

Derek spares a thought that he’d been ready to die happy with just Stiles’ name on his tongue only yesterday.

He feels a strange feeling as he drifts into sleep, lulled by Stiles’ sleepy snuffles.

He is going to get to live his life, with Stiles by his side. He’s going to be happy again.

It feels like a beginning.

For the first time in his life, because of Stiles, he feels hope.