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When it's just me and you

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Stiles’ laugh echoes through the empty house as he pushes open the door. His hair is wild and the spray of blood across his face doesn't make him look any better, but that doesn't keep Derek and him from riding on the high of being alive. Even though Stiles isn't wearing his own blood doesn't mean he walked away from the fight unscathed. His feet ached with every step, bones groaning with the weight of his body, and he could barely turn his head without being reminded of the quick jerk his neck gave when his shirt was grabbed from behind. It doesn't matter. He was walking through his front door when, for a good couple of hours, he thought he never would again.
“And the Sourwolf gets to brood for another day yet again, rejoice!” Stiles spins on the spot and throws his arms up in victory with a big grin. It fades quickly enough when his shoulders hurt in protest and he lets out a groan, face turned toward the heavens. “Oh god. I never want to participate in something like this with you ever again. I don't think my body will ever be the same.”

“Stop being dramatic, you barely did anything. That's my blood you're covered in.” Derek huffs, stepping forward and dragging the boy's arms down. Stiles gives an indignant squawk and leans into Derek's space.

“Excuse me! Who was playing bait to save your furry ass from being ripped apart?” When Derek ony rolls his eyes, Stiles’ earlier grin returns. “That's what I thought.” He nods, satisfied, and makes his way upstairs, companion following closely. Once in the bathroom Stiles grabs a washcloth, wetting it before he turns to Derek.
Only recently have they gotten to the point where they can be in the same room without someone ending up thrown against something.This time last week, Derek would've been asleep in that old, charred house before he even knew if Stiles was alive. He’ll count that as humongous progress. Progress to what? He's not sure, but it's progress to something nonetheless. And Derek has consistently shown to be a stubborn asshole, not unlike himself, so. Derek may have shoved him into walls, made demands, and frequently left him out of things, but if the small percentage of what Stiles knows of the man's past is true, it could be a lot worse. He’ll say it right here, Derek Hale, after the probable abuse of Kate Argent and the massacre of his entire family, deserves nice things. And if having even one friend helps, then he’ll be glad to fill that role. Only Stiles himself knows how much having Scott kept him from going off the rails.
With great reluctance he drops the washcloth into Derek's hand and gets a second one. He wants to sit him down, run the cloth over Derek's eyes and get him to relax for the first time in what was probably years. He wants to wipe away the blood caked in the corners of his mouth and layered along his neck. Maybe he even wants him to fall asleep while Stiles did it, an inadvertent show of trust, but that couldn't happen. That couldn't happen because Derek has already moved on to rubbing at his cheeks and just because Derek doesn't slam him against walls anymore doesn't mean he wants stiles’ hands all over him when he’s perfectly capable of doing it himself.
“Dude! I think I have some down my back! How do you even bleed this much? You could donate to a whole hospital's worth of people with this. Wait! Even more importantly, how do I have this much on me in the first place? We weren’t near each other the whole night!” Stiles drags his shirt over his head, throws it into the hallway, and tries to get a look turned backward to the mirror. Blood ran between his shoulder blades and down until it puddled and dried at the hem of his pants.
“Did you know-” “Don't call me dude.” Derek mock growls, which isn't it great he can say that? Well, he would have said that was great until Derek starts turning him around roughly and bending him slightly over the counter.
“Woah! Hey, I thought we were passed this?!” Derek takes the washcloth stiles just dragged out and starts patting his back. Stiles looks into the mirror he's now directly facing and freezes. It's not like he could move anyway. Derek's eyebrows are furrowed per usual, but instead of sharp and disapproving they're furrowed in concentration. His mouth is closed tightly and his hands work with a new ferver. Stiles' heart skips a beat and suddenly he's nervous.

“Oh-ok, cool.” He can work with this. Maybe. If he doesn't do something embarrassing first. It's nice, after a full night of running and shouting, for someone else to finally help with the consequences. The cloth is soft and with every flake washed away he relaxes a little bit more. He's never been with Derek in silence. It's nicer than expected. It's not tense or awkward, but comfortable and almost warm. Which, that's kind of weird, but your best friend turning into a werewolf and then teaming up with a creepy guy from the woods pretty easily takes away from what weird used to mean. So, if this is the type of weird that's going to be thrown at him, he won't complain.
He can feel waves of heat radiating off the body behind him. The hand Derek isn't using has come to rest on his waist and he wants to fall back. Today has definitely brought up some feelings he never thought he would have. The slow and deep touches all along his back combined with being bent over is not helping to keep those feelings in check-- if the twitch in his pants is anything to go by, that is. Derek stiffens for a second before continuing and Stiles almost has a panic attack thinking he can read minds until he realizes how utterly ridiculous that is. There's no way he knows what he's thinking or feeling for that matter. Right?
When there’s no more blood on his back Derek flips him around and gets to work on his chest. It’s weird. Having someone look at him like he’s not just skin and bone. Derek's eyes roam over the faint muscle he’s built up from a couple of years of lacrosse and running for his life, most recently. He might be imagining it, but he’d like to think the man's hands are gliding slower. Gently roaming so he has an excuse to look his fill. It’s a bit like cherishing. It seems too soon for any cherishing to be going on.
He can’t possibly be making up the vibes he’s getting from this right now. Some weird, weird emotionally mature vibes. Maybe he should take that leap? It’s not like Derek would be able to blame him, considering. What the hell, I’ve been spending my free time running from werewolves, this is hardly scary. He thinks to himself before he rushes forward and captures Derek's mouth with his own. It’s horrible. He’s never kissed anyone prior. Unless you count Scott, but that’s unfair. Who doesn’t kiss their best friend at the ripe age of eleven for “practice”.
There’s more teeth than lips and it hurts from how hard he threw himself forward. Now that he’s actually thinking about it, maybe this was a bad idea. He’s kissing a man at least five years older with shit tons more experience while also going off of cues subtler than the difference between wine and mahogany. As he’s about to pull away, Derek cups his jaw and stills him completely.
They stay like that, their mouths touching but nothing more. Then the stiffness rolls out of their bodies in waves and stiles exhales slow and content. This is so much better. It doesn't last long though, because Derek is pulling away and stiles whines.
“No! Less moving and more kissing Stiles please! We sh-“ Derek's crying and looking down, hands frozen by Stiles’ hips.

“Woah, hey! What’s wrong? I’m so sorry I should’ve asked first!” But Derek doesn’t react and stiles can feel panic rising in his chest. He reaches out for his shoulder but quickly takes it back when Derek flinches and croaks out.

“Sorry.” It’s small and weak and Stiles’ heart breaks on the spot.

“Um no, why are you sorry? Don’t say that, you did nothing wrong! I’m the weirdo over here going around kissing unwilling participants.” What happened in his life that led him to comforting a crying wolf man in his bathroom covered in blood, he will never know. But this is definitely part of a bigger problem that he’s not seeing, the crying man, not the life choices. Ok, it could be both, but that’s not the point.

“I’m not unwilling. I just don’t have what you’re looking for.” Dereks closing in on himself now, stiles can see it. He’s pulled up to his fullest height and his eyes are steely and cold. This is so not going the way he’d planned.

“Dude! I’m not looking for anything. I saw you lookin at me, thought about how much I like you and went for it. There were no thoughts in that process whatsoever.” His hearts pounding and he’s praying to whatever gods out there that he doesn’t fuck this up.

“Oh. Then why did you come on so strong?” And he’s soft again. His shoulders drooped and face sheepish.

“I've never kissed anyone, man! I’m a teenager! I’ve never heard of a peck. All I know is-“ he stops, thinking carefully.” Nope, never mind. I’m definitely not gonna give you ammunition from my lack of experience.” Dereks smiling a small smile now. Stiles thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“We can go slow, if at all, ok?” He mumbles, finally walking forward and wrapping his arms around his waist, head on his shoulder. Derek nods minutely afore doing the same around Stiles' neck. They break apart and make their way to Stile's bed. Stiles flops down and pats the spot beside him with a large grin. Derek stops for a moment then shakes his head and joins him.
“Do you think we could wait till you're eighteen before we do- anything big?” Derek asks sheepishly, looking away.

“Cool with me dude. That's only a year and a half away.” Stiles shrugs.

“Oh, trust me. You're going to hate me for it halfway through.” And he was going to reply with something snarky, trust him, he was! But now doesn't seem like the time and Derek definitely needs someone to reinforce his self image after all this time alone and hurting.

So he goes with, “I don't think I could hate you for anything.” It's not lines of love poems or a sickly warm serenade, but it's good for now. It's good for them right now. Derek almost whimpers when he finally makes eye contact. He doesn't though and to keep it that way he shoves his face in the boy's neck. They lay there like that for a while. Breathing in each other and the stale smell of any leftover blood. Feeling each other's sticky, achy skin. Stiles is going to regret this tomorrow when he has to clean his sheets, but he'd do that everyday for this.
“Oh and one thing stiles?” He hums. “Don’t call me dude.” And as they dissolve into manly giggles Stiles knows one thing. They’ll be okay.