Archive of Our Own

When Stiles Stilinski finishes work for the day and he finally gets home to his apartment, he kicks off his boots and throws his shirt haphazardly near the laundry hamper.

It’s hotter than hell in his building, the landlord being too cheap to fix the AC, despite numerous threats from Stiles. No matter how many times he subtly flashes his badge at the man, his landlord doesn’t seem to get the picture. Either that or he’s just completely unimpressed with Stiles’ credentials.

The New York summer has been almost unbearable; he throws the small window open in his sitting room and he groans deeply when he’s hit with a gust of warm air, circling up from the busy street below.

He spares a glance at his coffee table, filled with a few birthday cards from last week and he throws them in the trash.

His dad’s goes in last. He peeks inside one last time before throwing it away.

Twenty six. I can’t believe it, my boy, all grown up. I love you and miss you. Happy birthday. Love Dad x it says.

Stiles shakes his head and ditches it along with the others.

He goes to his nearly bare fridge and he cracks open a cold beer, pressing the bottle against his neck for a minute. He sits his tired butt down on his ratty sofa and he takes a long swig, sinking back into the lumpy couch cushions.

He contemplates calling Scott to see what he’s up to but he knows Scott’s probably got his hands full with the kids tonight, now that Malia’s gone back to work full time.

Stiles had been gobsmacked when Scott had called him to let him know they were going to be having twins, but hands down, it hadn’t beaten the time when Scott had called him to say Malia had got a job as a gym teacher at Beacon Hills High after Finstock had made Principal.

Stiles doesn’t like to dwell on that thought too much, feeling horror for the kids and Finstock in equal measure; the dude wasn’t bred to teach, that’s for sure.

Stiles would never have pegged Malia for having the patience for teaching. He’d been left eating his words though because she’s been doing it for nearly four years now and according to Scott, she’s on track for vice principal next year. Finstock absolutely adores her iron fisted approach, the sadist.

A pipe clanging and a loud grinding noise from inside the wall brings Stiles’ attention back to his current situation. He looks around in distaste.

He fucking hates this place with a passion.

When he’d taken the job as a Detective in the NYPD two years ago he’d been excited to experience big city life and he’d impulsively moved to Brooklyn. He’d already been bouncing from city to city and precinct to precinct for a few years now, never quite settling.

After everything went down in Beacon Hills with Monroe six years back, Stiles hadn’t quite had it in him to abandon Scott to his mission and head back to Quantico to finish his internship.

It hadn’t felt at all like the right time to let Scott go it alone, so he’d stayed with his best buddy and eventually, after nearly a year of searching, they’d found Monroe.

Stiles and Scott had pretty much hunted her down, literally following a trail of bodies, young supernaturals that she’d deemed unworthy of living. It was a compelling motivation.

Stiles had worried back then that when the time came, when they'd find her, his best friend, his kind, gentle Scott wouldn’t have had the stones to do what they all knew needed to be done.

Turns out, his worries had been irrelevant because when Stiles and Scott had eventually found Monroe standing over the body of her latest victim, Stiles had pulled out his gun without hesitation and put one right between her eyes.

He’d felt very little at the time.

Stiles has killed exactly two people in his life and neither cause him to lose sleep anymore. Donovan’s death had been unavoidable and it had taken him a long time to come to terms with that, but Monroe... he was ashamed to say he actually slept better after that night than he had the entire year previous.

He’d be lying if he said it hadn’t changed him deep inside though.

Weirdly, he hadn’t felt like he could go home to Beacon Hills after he’d killed her. He was worried he’d see the stunned look that Scott had given him when he’d pulled the trigger mirrored in his father’s eyes. Mirrored in the rest of his friend’s.

He was scared they’d think he was different... that they would see he was different.

He just wasn’t sure he could take it.

Someone you love, looking at you like they don’t know who you are anymore isn’t the nicest feeling. It kind of sticks with you.

He’d been just twenty one years old when he’d made the decision not to go back and he’d felt like he had plenty of time to go home when everything had calmed down, when he’d experienced life outside for a bit longer.

So Stiles hadn’t returned to Beacon Hills. He’s not been there in six years now, the time passing both blissfully fast and torturously slow all at once.

He keeps in contact with Scott, but it isn’t quite the same between them. Their friendship, it’s changed in the way that adult friendships ease off, day to day shit like work, kids, relationships taking priority over playing remote COD with your buddy and eating four bags of Cheetos on the regular.

They’re still best buddy’s though, it’s just different. Less intense. Less life or death shit. It’s not necessarily a bad thing.

He sees his dad a few times a year, but his dad always comes to him, wherever he’s currently based.

He even speaks to Parrish occasionally, mainly for the real updates on his dad’s health and eating habits.

And so Stiles works. Hard.

He’d never found it in him to follow up his internship with the FBI. He’s a good Detective though, takes the cases no one else can solve and he’s well respected.

His partner Jimmy is about a hundred and four and due to retire next year. He’s the only one that can tolerate Stiles’ constant chatter and Stiles thinks it might be due to the fact he’s fully deaf in his right ear.

The only thing that Stiles never gets right, no matter where he is, is making any real friends. Everyone at work gives him a wide berth, something about his hyperactive nature not quite fitting with big city life. He’s an outsider.

Truth be told, he’s kind of lonely. When his dad had visited last Christmas, he’d looked around his apartment and just stared at him knowingly. He had even suggested Stiles move back to Beacon Hills, rent a place.

Stiles had chuckled at the time, brushing it off.

What could Beacon Hills offer that here didn’t, apart from his Dad? Nothing but pain and suffering from what he remembers.

Niggling doubts had definitely started to creep in though, now his Pops had planted the seed. The more Scott tells him how things are more settled there, he finds himself wondering if maybe it’s time for a change.

He really does miss his dad.

There’s a loud knocking on the door to Stiles’ apartment.

Stiles gets up, still clutching his beer and he yanks it open.

“Mr. Miller,” Stiles nods amicably, leaning on his doorframe for support.

He leans, mainly because he’s dog-shit tired but partly because the old man on his doorstep has sweat through his thin tank top and he smells like days old fish casserole. The smell is nearly ripe enough to make Stiles keel over, hence the doorframe is propping him up.

“Stilinski,” Mr. Miller huffs, slightly out of breath.

The old man’s potbelly is the reason Stiles recons he doesn’t get all that many door to door visits. Stiles lives on the top floor and the elevator, is of course, long term out of service. This means to visit him, Mr. Miller has to take the stairs.

“What can I do you for?” Stiles asks him.

“You know what Stilinski. Rent time,” Mr. Miller rubs his thumb and forefinger together, wheezing.

“I told you that I’m not paying up until you fix the air con,” Stiles tips his beer at the man.

“And I told you that if you don’t pay up, you’ll be out Stilinski! Just cos you’re a cop, don’t think I won’t boot you out onto the street first chance I get,” Mr. Miller raises his voice and scratches his belly.

Denny from across the hall pokes his head out of the opposite apartment and Stiles is met with a seriously hairy bare chest, long hairy legs in fishnets, gold hot pants, ridiculously high pink heels and a full face of drag make up- sans the wig.

They’ve interrupted Denny getting ready for work.

Stiles peers over Mr. Miller’s shoulder.

“Looking good Denny,” Stiles whistles.

Denny flashes a toothy grin at him and gives him an outrageous wink, all the while pretending to cover over his nipples in fake modesty.

“Thanks Stiles,” Denny waves, then his grin turns sour when he see’s the landlord in the hallway. “Mr. Miller, I wanted to talk to you about the air con, this heat is playing havoc with my make up, it’s too hot to get ready for work.”

Mr. Miller rubs his eyes and he sighs deeply, as if he’s the one that’s long suffering.

“I told you Denny, your lipstick issues aren’t on my priority list right now,” Mr. Miller dismisses him and turns his back.

Stiles grins, because he knows by the hard set of Denny’s face, it’s showtime.

“Now you listen to me you miserable, little, Danny Devito wannabe,” Denny comes out in the hallway and towers over Mr. Miller with his huge platform heels. “I can put up with having to shower the sweat off my body three times a day, lord knows I have enough moisturiser to keep up with that, but I draw the line when my new eyeliner melts. It melted! Do you know how expensive they are?!”

Mr. Miller backs up and Stiles steps back into his own apartment, otherwise he’s going to get an armful of the sweaty old fella and no one wants that. Denny steps menacingly toward Mr. Miller again.

“Ok, Ok! Christ. I’ll look at it, I’ll sort it,” Mr. Miller squeaks.

“Mine too?” Stiles asks cheerily from right behind him, making Mr. Miller jump with a start.

“Fuck. You’re both a pain in the ass do you know that. You’re like the start of a bad joke, a drag queen and a cop walk into an apartment building...” He sneers, walking toward Denny’s apartment, pulling out his phone.

Stiles gives Denny a thumbs up.

“Mavis... it’s me... yeah... out of the delivery from last week... yeah that’s the one... get Trent to come install two of the new AC units in apartment number’s 19 and 20. Assholes won’t pay their rent until I sort the AC,” Mr. Miller proceeds to talk about them as if they aren’t there.

Stiles rolls his eyes at Denny and he tries not to think of who that movement reminds him off.

Six years, it seems, isn’t enough to forget some things. Or some people.

Mr. Miller hangs up the phone.

“Satisfied?” Mr. Miller grumps at them.

He holds his palm out flat.

Stiles goes back into his apartment to fetch his wallet and he pays him the money he drew out of the atm on the way home. Denny disappears too and comes back with wads of cash, all in small notes.

Mr. Miller looks at the money with distaste, as if he’s imagining exactly how Denny got his rent money this month.

“You’re $40 short Denny,” Mr. Miller accuses.

Denny actually flushes.

“I’ll bring it over tonight when I’m done at the bar,” Denny says, voice low as if he’s embarrassed that Stiles can hear.

“Nope, that’s after midnight. You do that and that’s officially three late strikes and you’re gone Denny,” Mr. Miller looks positively gleeful.

Stiles produces $40 from his wallet and shoves it into Mr. Miller’s hands and makes a shooing motion.

Denny looks at him gratefully as they both watch the older man retreat toward the stairwell.

“What a gremlin,” Stiles fake whispers, loud enough that Mr. Miller turns around and glares at them both.

Stiles sticks his tongue out at him.

Denny chuckles coming to stand next to him.

“Thanks Stiles. I’ll pop it through your door when I’m done tonight,” Denny tells him.

“No rush, I know you’re good for it Denny,” Stiles tells him, about to go back into his apartment.

“Hey... Stiles... look. You’ve been here nearly as long as I have now, how come I don’t see you bringing any girls back? Or boys?” Denny asks curiously, trying to look over his shoulder, as if Stiles’ sparse apartment will have the answers.

“Would you bring anyone back to this shithole?” Stiles chuckles, leaning against the doorframe again.

“Well sugar, that’s true... but seriously... don’t you get lonely? You know what they say, all work and no play and all that jazz?” Denny says softly.

Stiles feels his face drop before he can catch himself.

“Sorry... look. I didn’t mean to pry but why don’t you come down to the bar with me tonight? I’ll slip you a few cocktails on the house as a thank you for the rent thing. You might meet someone,” Denny asks and it’s by far not the first time he’s offered that to Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t know if it’s the heat making him crazy, all his earlier thoughts of home or simply the fact that he’s just finished his only beer but for the first time, he’s tempted. He doesn’t have work tomorrow either.

“I don’t have anything to wear...” He protests weakly but Denny senses blood, because that is the closest to ‘not a no’ Stiles has ever come.

The glint in Denny’s eyes makes him twitch.

“It’s a drag bar sweetie, just put a tight t-shirt on and I’ll throw some glitter all over you and we’ll be good to go. See you in an hour?” And Denny struts off before he can say no.

———————

They get to the bar that Denny works at around ten. The glowing lights are welcoming and it says “Jiggy Wiggy’s” in a neon sign above the entrance. Stiles quite likes it, it reminds him a little of Jungle from the outside.

They walk right past the queue and Stiles feels just a little bit special when Denny links arms with him and the doorman just waves them both in.

Denny drags him through the crowds of people, pecks him on the cheek, sits him at a table near the stage after grabbing a reserved sign off it and then he promptly disappears. The place is jammed packed by eleven.

There’s various acts coming on the stage, comedians, drag artists, even a guy with a pet lizard that kept screaming in fright whenever the thing moved in his hands.

Stiles doesn’t think that one was meant to be so funny, but Stiles’ sides are hurting from laughing. Thanks to Denny, he’s four cocktails deep and everything’s got a fuzzy pleasant edge to it.

It’s been a long time since he’s gone out and had some fun. Two twenty something guy’s in suits had asked to join him as there were no free tables and they make chit chat between the acts.

Stiles isn’t all that interested though and the conversation fizzles out naturally.

He knows exactly what the problem is.

No stubble, no leather jacket and they don’t seem to be complete assholes. Plus, their eyebrows are really well groomed, possibly even to the point where they get them done at a salon and that’s Stiles’ biggest no-go.

Who’d have thought he’d be an eyebrow man.

Denny gives him a little thumbs up when he sees him next and drops him off a tequila shot. Stiles knocks it back with a wince.

Stiles tears his eyes away from the latest act, a person in a morph suit doing the entire routine to thriller and it shouldn’t be entertaining at all, but by god it is.

Denny sneaks up on him again around twelve, checking the suits aren’t giving him any trouble. So far they’d been perfect gentlemen but they do keep eyeing Stiles like they want to strike up a conversation.

He keeps his back to them.

“Sweetie, I’ve got to go on my break, then I’m going to get ready to do my act, I’m up next,” Denny shouts to be heard over the music.

Stiles isn’t sure how much more ready Denny can be, but he assumes Denny means going from his waitress attire to his stage attire.

Denny plonks a drink down in front of him, a glass of champagne with a little shot glass chaser.

“Ok, at least let me pay for this one,” Stiles takes his wallet out and Denny grabs his arm.

“Actually, that one’s compliments of the barmaid that just started shift. She said to tell you glitter suits you,” Denny winks and disappears again.

Stiles blushes and he picks up the shot glass, eyes scanning the bar, intending to hold up the shot in thanks.

His eyes rake over the form making drinks, back to him, long, straight dark hair and slim figure moving in time to the music.

Stiles is slammed with a feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong when he runs his eyes over her body, his heart pounding with alarm. He’s hit with an absolute surety that he knows this person, recognition catching up slowly.

He frowns as she turns around. When her eyes catch his he’s met with a familiar feral grin. He drops the shot glass in his lap.

“Shit, fuck,” Stiles jumps up, swatting at his crotch, the suits grabbing some napkins for him.

Of all the bars, in all the fucking cities.

Cora freaking Hale.

—————

3am see’s Stiles sitting propped at the bar, just intoxicated enough and thus brave enough to actually start a conversation with Cora.

Stiles’ hands hurt from all the clapping he did during Denny’s set. The guy was good. He even roasted the suits a little, to the point where they’d moved tables.

The last act has just come and gone and Cora’s wiping the surfaces down, serving the odd bottle of water to lingering patrons.

She puts an espresso in front of Stiles and he feels a whole lot perkier when he drinks it.

“So, you never came back to Beacon Hills,” Stiles comes straight out with it.

Cora laughs and Stiles winces because it’s like looking at the female version of the exact person he’s trying not to think about.

“Nope. I might one day but it just wasn’t for me. Sounds like I got out at the right time from what Derek told me,” Cora shrugs.

“Yeah... shit got crazy. Scott tells me it’s a lot calmer there now. I couldn’t go back either, not back then. Not after I’d been away for so long. It was weird, like we went through so much when we there and as soon as we left... well, it just felt so small after everything that happened. Suffocating almost,” Stiles offers, nodding to himself.

Cora nods back as if she gets it. Stiles supposes she does.

Losing almost your entire family can probably really turn you off a place.

“Do you keep in contact with anyone from home?” Cora asks, picking up her cloth again.

“Danny sends pictures from France occasionally... I still can’t get my head around the fact that he and Isaac live together, I didn’t see that one coming. Lydia too, but she’s not in Beacon Hills either at the moment. She’s teaching at MIT now. Scott and Malia call every week. They’ve got twin girls now, they’re nearly four and they’re absolute terrors. Cute mind. Scott cries quite a bit if I’m honest,” Stiles laughs.

Cora chuckles and Stiles is struck by how it lights her up.

“When you laugh, you look really young you know. You never looked like you do now. Relaxed. It suits you,” Stiles says and he’ll blame the alcohol if she tries to punch him.

She smiles at him softly.

“I’m the same age as you dorkus,” Cora throws the towel at him.

“Yes, but I’m just saying, you look younger, happier. It’s good. You and De... you deserve to be happy,” Stiles coughs to cover his almost slip.

Cora cocks her head at him as if trying to figure something out.

“I am happy. I’m a twenty six year old barmaid in a job I can leave at the door, I have a nice apartment, which is paid for, I’ve got a hot boyfriend. I actually walk dogs in the day, for fun... I’m really happy actually... are you?” Cora asks pointing at him, eyes narrowed.

Stiles gulps and motions for another espresso.

“Hit me again,” he groans.

“Don’t avoid the question. And don’t lie. I’ll know,” Cora makes him the coffee regardless.

“No. Not really. I’m not happy. I work constantly and I do like it but... lately, I don’t know. I come home to an empty apartment, I eat, sleep, gym, work and then I do it all over again. I just thought... I don’t know. I thought I’d have it all figured out by now. That the job would be enough. But I miss my dad. I kind of want to see Scott’s kids grow up. I want to meet someone,” Stiles sighs, clutching his tiny cup.

“You can’t meet someone here?” Cora asks, cocking her eyebrows at him.

Stupid Hale trait.

“I can... I mean, I have, but not... they’re not what... I don’t know Cora. What do you want me to say? I don’t want to fuck around anymore. I want a home, a family...” Stiles meets her eyes.

Saying it out loud makes it feel like he can breathe easier for some reason. He lets out a whoosh of air he didn’t know he’d been holding and his chest feels suddenly lighter than it’s done in years.

“So change it,” Cora grins, as if it’s that easy.

Maybe it is.

“But not until next week, because next Friday is club night and Denny told me he saw you dancing on the fire escape once and you weren’t all that bad,” Cora laughs, leaning over to punch him in the shoulder.

Stiles doesn’t imagine it when she drags her hand down his arm before letting him go, scenting him. He’s forgotten what it’s like being around the wolves. He doesn’t remember Cora ever being so blatant about it though.

She has the decency to look a little embarrassed.

“We’ll see,” Stiles smiles at her and grabs her arm in return.

He stands up as Denny approaches them, barefaced, coat slung over his shoulder.

“Ready to rock and roll?” Denny asks him.

Stiles is secretly glad of Denny’s timing because he’s got it on the tip of his tongue to ask Cora where Derek’s settled, how he’s doing. He’s loathe to admit his long buried feelings about the stubbly, broody sourwolf are probably part of the reason he’s never really settled with anyone.

It’s hard to move on when you’ve been hopelessly in love with someone else for eight years. He hasn’t even spoken to him in six of those, he knows he’s absolutely pathetic.

He’s probably better off not knowing where Derek is, otherwise he might start obsessing. He already knows that Derek didn’t stay in Beacon Hills. His dad told him he’d left shortly after Scott returned, from when they’d found Monroe.

And that had been that. No more contact.

They hadn’t exactly been close to begin with, but Stiles had felt gutted when he’d gone to message Derek to tell him he wasn’t coming home, only to be met with an automatic, ‘this number is no longer in use’ message in return. He’d given up after trying to call him and getting the same message.

If Derek hadn’t bothered to send him his new number, then he obviously wasn’t bothered about keeping in touch. It had stung but Stiles had tried his best to move on.

“Yep, lets blow this joint,” Stiles says with fake cheer. “It was actually really good to see you Cora.”

“Night Denny. Good to see you too Stilinski,” Cora calls, waving them out. “I’ll see you next Friday Stiles.”

It’s very much not a question.

—————

The next week in work is potentially one of longest of Stiles’ career. To say he’s busy is an understatement, the heat somehow bringing the crazies out to play, even more so than usual.

By the Friday, he’s more than ready for another cocktail fuelled evening, possibly even a little dancing. He’s surprised himself at how much he’s looking forward to it. Look at him, getting a life and all.

He checks his watch, noticing the sun going down gradually. 7pm. Two hours to go before he clocks off.

The Captain has sent them all out to work the streets around the precinct, a little bit of overtime. It’s just to keep a police presence as the street crime’s been a little off the wall the past few weeks, especially in this particular district.

Jimmy’s strolling slowly at his side, too hot in his suit as usual.

“Take the jacket off Jimmy,” Stiles tells him.

“I absolutely won’t. I have an image to uphold,” Jimmy pants.

“Brilliant. Well I’m not giving you mouth to mouth if you pass out,” Stiles tells him.

“You wish Stilinski,” Jimmy says laughing.

Stiles can see a small gathering on the next corner, outside a few office buildings. It’s light enough that Stiles can make out three people standing really close together and his spidey sense tingles.

He heads that way, Jimmy in tow.

As he gets closer, Stiles hears a commotion between the group, a young kid, arguing with two older guys and Stiles quickens his pace when he sees some shoving start.

He catches the end of the conversation, the fact he’s dressed quite plainly allowing him to get closer unnoticed.

“I told you, I’m not selling anymore, I haven’t got shit for you to buy... fuck, I don’t do that no more, not since Mom left. I’ve got to look out for my sister, I’m all she’s got. I can’t do that from prison yo,” the kid says and he sounds distressed. Stiles can see he must be no more than eighteen and that’s pushing it.

One of the guys, Suit no.1 Stiles names him, grabs the kid by his hoody and yanks him closer. By grabbing the kid, the guy drops his briefcase, contents spilling on the ground and it seems to only enrage him further as Suit no.2 picks up his things for him.

Stiles is shocked to recognise the other two guys. They’re the two that were at the bar the other night.

“What’s going on fellas? Small world right!” Stiles grips the kid by the shoulder but addresses the other’s. Suit no.1 lets the kid go and the kid sinks into Stiles’ side.

Recognition dawns on their faces and their posture goes from tense to chilled out in a split second.

“Hey you’re the guy from the bar the other night,” Suit no.1 says to him.

Stiles is sure they introduced themselves the other night, but he can’t for the life of him remember their names.

“Yep. What’s going on here?” Stiles asks again, Jimmy sidling up to him.

“What, are you a cop?” Suit no.2 accuses, as if Stiles should have told him that or something.

“Yep,” Stiles says cheerily, pointing at where his T-shirt meets his jeans to flash his badge, “fancy seeing you guys here.”

“Oh. Well. Nothing’s going on,” Suit no.1 tells them.

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me,” Jimmy says loudly, “you dropped this out of your briefcase.”

Stiles looks down to where Jimmy’s picking up a small packet filled with white powder up off the floor using his pen.

“Oh shit,” the kid says.

Suit no.1 laughs nervously.

“Well that’s clearly not mine,” Suit no.1 says.

“Well, if that’s the case I’m sure you both won’t mind coming down to the station and giving a few fingerprints. Clearing this up,” Stiles says, eyebrows raised.

“It’s his. It’s the kids. His name’s Brendan Davies, look him up, he’s probably got priors. He was just trying to sell us drugs,” Suit no.2 says, eyes wild, pointing.

The kid presses harder into Stiles as if he can protect him. Stiles looks down at him. He’s a thin little thing, all nervous energy. Reminds Stiles a little bit of himself at that age.

“I swear it isn’t mine mister. I used to do that shit but I don’t no more... I haven’t for a whole year,” the kid says and Stiles nods. He doesn’t have to be a werewolf to know the kid’s telling the truth.

“Go,” Stiles says to the kid.

And he runs off.

“Now, you two are gonna come with me and Jimmy and we can get this cleared up. You’re ruining my evening you know guys, I got places to be,” Stiles gestures to the two men and they look positively homicidal.

The preppy banker types are the worst for casual drug use and they’re Stiles’ worst to deal with because they usually have an entitled attitude to match their suits.

They’ve asked for their lawyers seven times by the time they reach the station.

Stiles and Jimmy both know they aren’t able to book either of them, not being able to prove which one had the drugs initially and it’s a small amount, personal use but Stiles uses it to give them both a heavy caution, hoping it will be enough to make them think twice about their habit.

When Stiles finally gets home it’s 9:30pm and he’s running extremely late. He’d looked the kid up because he’d remembered the name the suits had said and he’d stopped by the address on his file.

It had stuck with him what the kid had said about his sister and Stiles had taken them a bag of groceries, hoping like hell he wouldn’t have to call child protective services.

Turns out, his worries were unfounded as they live with the kid’s aunt. She takes care of the baby sister. Stiles had played with the baby for a bit while Brendan and his aunt put the shopping away, thanking him profusely the entire time.

Brendan shyly shook his hand and waved him out when Stiles pressed a card with his and Jimmy’s numbers into his palm.

“Seriously though. Anything you need kid. You’re doing a great job looking after them,” Stiles had clapped him on the shoulder and left.

He can’t save everyone, but he does try to help if he can.

He’d knocked Denny’s door to tell him to go on without him and he jumps in the shower, pleased to see the new air con unit is installed and working.

He hasn’t done his laundry yet this week, usually choosing to do it on his day off which would fall tomorrow, but he finds an old pair of black jeans in the back of his drawer. He hasn’t worn them in about five years and he prays they still fit.

They’re a little snug because his shape has changed but they look good on him, showing off his new training routine. He’s even got abs now, for the first time in his life.

He throws on a red t shirt, praying his deodorant works well enough in the heat and finishes by running his hands through his dark brown wet hair, letting it dry naturally, floppy. It’s soft, not too long and when he looks in the mirror he’s pleased.

He toes on his good boots and locks up the apartment.

He notices something taped to his door and god bless Denny, it’s a chapstick, a sparkly headband with a unicorn horn attached to it and a pot of glitter.

The note says, “Red cherry chapstick, a unicorn headband because why not?! And the glitter because everyone’s more fabulous with glitter.”

Stiles doesn’t know what the hell to do with the glitter. Denny had just sprinkled him with it last time, so he leaves it there.

He does however pop the headband on and run the chapstick over his lips. He smacks them together and hopes he will do.

When he gets to the club he’s about to queue with everyone else, when the doorman spots him and calls him over.

“Hey you... yeah the unicorn... come here. Denny said to let you straight in,” The guy yells, ignoring the grumbling line, “shut up you lot, he’s performing and he’s banging the barmaid too, up your game if you want free entry.”

“Hi,” Stiles waves flushing, thinking its a good thing he actually wore the headband because that’s how the doorman recognised him, “I’m not performing and I am so not banging the barmaid, she would probably kick both you and me in the balls if she heard you say that.”

But he gets in quick, so all is well. Cora’s not on duty yet, not that Stiles can see.

There’s no tables tonight, just a few stools at the bar, most of which seem to be taken.

Instead there’s a large dance floor, the performers dancing in various cages and on the stage, moving to the throbbing club music. It’s a very different vibe to the previous Friday but no less exciting.

Stiles spots Denny and he pecks him on the cheek and brings him through to a vip area, lifting a barrier and Stiles gets a seat at a smaller bar, though it’s still absolutely rammed.

Denny signals the bartender to bring him some drinks and Stiles throws back a couple of shots before settling on a beer.

He feels more relaxed than he’s done all week.

He’s smiling and nodding along to the music when he sees them come in. Denny brings them through the barrier and Stiles’ stomach sinks.

It’s Suit no.1 and Suit no.2. Fuck his actual life.

Denny doesn’t know any better so he places them near Stiles and carries on working his tables, giving Stiles a squeeze as he goes past.

Stiles gets up when he catches the suit’s eye’s and they’re glaring holes into him. He thinks maybe it’s time to join the more mainstream crowd.

He’d come out tonight forget about work.

He gets up, motions to Denny that he’s going to get some fresh air. Denny shows him to a side door down a staff corridor and it leads into a quiet alley adjacent to the street. Denny pins the door with a stray brick so Stiles can get back in when he’s good and ready.

It’s quiet out there and Stiles leans back against the cool brick wall, closing his eyes. He’d done the shots a little quickly and it’s been a long day. A long week actually.

He tries to remember if he’s eaten today and he recalls raiding Jimmy’s stash of jerky out of his desk drawer. Filling, it was not.

His stomach lurches as if it knows he’s thinking about food.

Stiles looks up when he hears the door creak open again, the noise from the club momentarily seeping into the alley.

“I’m coming Den, don’t worry... although you might have to sneak me some snacks, I’m starving,” Stiles pushes off the wall but he frowns when he sees the two men in suits coming through the door.

Suit no.1 picks the brick up, letting the door slam shut.

“Oh great. I guess happy hour’s over and we’re onto the ‘asshole special’ portion of the evening,” Stiles sighs, flexing his fingers. He’s got a feeling he knows how this is going to go.

His hand goes to his hip automatically when he realises, of course, he’s off duty and he isn’t carrying his gun.

“You’re not a very nice person you know. We’ve been nothing but nice to you,” Suit no.2 grins at him.

They both space out a bit putting Stiles between them. Stiles has to move his head back and forth to keep eyes on them both and boy is he regretting those tequila shots right now, his vision lurching.

Suit no.2 throws the first punch, but Stiles, inebriated or not, is faster. He ducks him and grabs the guy around the middle, shunting him back into the wall.

Stiles lets him go and moves, just as Suit no.1 makes a grab for him and Stiles notices with dismay, he’s still holding onto the damn brick.

It’s going to be that kind of fight then.

Stiles knows he’s going to have to end it quickly or he could be in trouble here.

Stiles punches Suit no.1 hard in the jaw, putting his weight into it and he goes down just as Suit no.2 gets to his feet.

Suit no.2 charges him and Stiles is caught by surprise at how fast he is, going down under his weight.

Suit no.2 punches him hard in the stomach and Stiles grunts, using his weight to buck him off.

Suit no.1 is stumbling to his feet behind them.

Suit no.2 grabs him by the collar and yanks Stiles upward and pins him back against the wall.

He can see Suit no.1 pick up his damn brick again and advance on them.

“Fuck,” Stiles bites out, still winded.

“Yep. Fuck. You’re going to wish you’d put that pretty mouth to better use than trying to arrest us,” Suit no.2 tells him, rancid breath hot in his ear.

Stiles knees him in the balls but Suit no.1 just takes his place.

He’s still gripping the brick in one hand.

“You’re going to bash my head in, in an alley? I’m a Detective. You’re going to be in so much more trouble than a personal drug use warning boys. You sure you want to do this?” Stiles tries to get in another punch, but he’s still wobbly.

Suit no.2 grins at him pinning his left arm, Suit no.1 sneers and grabs his right, digging his bony fingers in painfully.

Stiles knows he’s fucked.

Suit no.1 raises the brick.

“You’re going to be hunted down if you do this dickheads...” Stiles isn’t proud of how shaky his voice sounds.

He’s survived the Nogisune, the Kanima, the Ghost riders and now he’s going to be taken out by two frat boys with a brick.

“Yeah?” Suit no.1 laughs and the sound makes Stiles shiver, “I’m so fucking scared.”

“You should be,” growls a dangerously low voice from right behind them all; it’s pure fury.

It’s comical at how quick the suit’s heads whip around, having not heard the interlopers approach.

Stiles almost pisses himself in terror until he realises just who that voice belongs to.

Out of the shadows steps Derek Hale and Stiles could just kiss him... you know... in relief.

What ensues feels just like old times. Except Derek gets beat up less.

Derek breaks Suit no.1s arm, the one he’s got Stiles pinned with, by yanking it and crushing it with his bare fist. It doesn’t sound at all clean and Stiles doesn’t even wince when the guy screams.

Stiles uses the distraction to punch Suit no.2 again and this time he connects with his nose. It makes a beautiful crunch as it breaks and the guy screams, dropping to his knees.

Stiles manages to use his cell to call for some back up while Derek growls the two guys into a corner of the alley. They don’t even try to run, just sit there whimpering in the face of a wolfed out Derek.

Derek goes to disappear when the cop cars start to pull up, yanking the door to the club back open, breaking the lock and Stiles shoots him a look to let him know this isn’t over.

Derek just raises his eyebrows at him and places the brick back in the door, wedging it open for him.

Stiles grins at him and he’s sure he sees the corners of Derek’s mouth tug up in an almost smile.

Denny makes his way out a few minutes later screaming profanities at everyone, until Stiles ushers him back inside to calm down.

When they finally get ready to take the two guys away, Stiles manages to get away with telling his colleagues that he will give them a statement in the morning.

Currently the two suits have been found with cocaine in their pockets and they’re ranting about a werewolf beating them up, so Stiles is pretty satisfied they’re going to be able to play off Derek’s involvement as the two hallucinating.

The suits are going to have to be treated in hospital for a few hours first anyway before being taken back to the station. If Stiles can just time it right in the morning, he’ll get there when the officers bring them back in.

He lets one of the EMTs put a batman sticker on his knuckles and they give him some fluid through an IV.

He’s going to have to remember that one for hangovers because all of a sudden he feels as good as new.

He pulls his chapstick back out of his pocket, applies liberally and straightens his unicorn headband.

He waves off the last of the cop cars with the ambulance and he heads back inside the club.

—————

He expects to have to hunt for Derek but he’s waiting in the corridor, just inside the door.

“Dude!” Stiles exclaims.

Derek rolls his eyes at him and folds him straight into a hug.

It should be weird. He doesn’t think Derek’s ever hugged him, save for the time he carried him out of that building on the botched FBI op way back when but this... this is different. This isn’t a manly man pat style hug.

Derek puts his full body into it, wrapping around Stiles and burying his head into his shoulder.

Stiles melts into it.

He presses back, carding his hands into Derek’s hair, stroking him and maybe he’s taking liberties but it feels fucking amazing.

Derek’s about the same height as him but he’s still definitely broader. Stiles can feel just how in shape he still is, pressed so close to him and a deep, long buried want, claws itself to the surface of Stiles’ skin.

He feels like he’s on fire.

Derek pulls back slowly and he looks as dazed as Stiles feels. He runs his broad hand over Stiles neck and arm before stepping back fully.

Stiles just stands there, completely dumbstruck.

“What?” Derek chuckles.

“You... you cuddled me!” Stiles exclaims.

Derek’s laugh is foreign to his ears. It used to be such a rare thing but it looks like it comes easily to him now. He’s got little laugh lines around his eyes and the way they crinkle makes Stiles want to touch them.

“I missed you,” Derek shrugs, like it’s a totally normal thing to say.

“Oh. My. God.” Stiles says.

“What.” Derek starts getting huffy and there’s the Derek that Stiles remembers.

“Nothing! No, nothing just... you! Here! With the cuddling. And feelings. And looking like...” Stiles waves his hands up and down Derek’s body as if he can’t find the actual words.

Derek’s pupils darken and Stiles can’t help but gulp when Derek takes a step toward him.

Stiles tries not to whimper as Derek gets closer. Stiles had forgotten just how intense space invader Derek could be.

If Derek was boner inducing when Stiles knew him before, equal parts terrifying and sexy, back at the age of twenty four, well... it’s not a patch on what thirty year old Derek’s got going for him.

Derek’s still got a stupid leather jacket and his black hair is slightly longer than Stiles remembers. The stubble is longer too, not quite a beard but still neatly shaped in a way that makes his cheekbones stand out.

And the eyes, shit, the eyes. He’s staring at Stiles with this stormy mix of grey, blue and about a thousand other colours thrown in and Stiles couldn’t break eye contact if he wanted to.

Derek fucking Hale, ladies and gentlemen.

“Looking like what Stiles?” Derek’s voice is dangerously low again and this time it goes straight to Stiles’ dick.

Derek rakes his eyes over him and Stiles has never felt so exposed in his life, his body’s literally thrumming with energy.

Derek sniffs the air and nods again as if seemingly coming to a conclusion.

“Do you want to go get a burger?” Derek says, sparing him.

“Fuck yes,” it’s the easiest reply of Stiles’ life.

—————

They head to a little diner that Stiles knows does the best burgers in town. Derek ducks his head and smiles at him when Stiles orders a large curly fries on the side, as if they’re sharing a private joke.

When their food comes, Stiles expects to have to carry the conversation himself, like back in the day, but he’s pleasantly surprised.

Derek talks nearly as much as he does, pausing around mouthfuls of his burger to tell Stiles all about what he’s been doing the past few years.

“So yeah. I guess you wouldn’t have thought I’d want to be anywhere near fire, but I suppose the thought of helping people get out of it appealed to me. I’ve been down at Station 18 in Boston FD for about four years now. It’s good work,” Derek steals one of Stiles fries.

Stiles stares at him, mouth agape.

Derek chuckles.

“Does that really surprise you all that much?” Derek says nudging him with his foot.

“Yes! Well no... I guess, not your reasons for doing it but, dude! You’re a firefighter! I’m trying to picture it. Not in a sexy way, except you know... oh my god...” Stiles buries his head in his hands, ignoring Derek’s chuckle.

“You’ve been living so close like the whole time I’ve been here!” Stiles’ brain just isn’t able to process everything tonight, it’s an evening of revelations.

“Yep. It’s a shame, if I’d had a way to contact you, we could have hung out. I know it’s not on the doorstep, but I’d have made the trip... to see you.” Derek tells him and for the first time that evening, there’s a hint of unhappiness in his tone.

“Hey, you can talk, Mr. ‘This number is no longer in use,” Stiles jokes, trying to diffuse the tension.

“What? I’ve had the same number for about five years. Scott has it. Your Dad has it. You could have called if you wanted to,” Derek puts down his fork and his eyebrows pull together.

Stiles doesn’t want to be the reason for putting that look on Derek’s face but he certainly isn’t going to take this shit either.

“Well right back atcha dude. I’m not the only one that didn’t call. I kind of thought you’d send me your new number if you wanted to keep in touch. I left it up to you,” Stiles angrily shoves another handful of fries in his mouth, glaring at Derek.

Derek looks away first, staring at his plate.

“I thought you didn’t want to see me. When Scott came back to Beacon Hills without you, he said you’d wanted a clean break. Something about too many bad memories. When you didn’t call, not even to say goodbye, I assumed that ‘bad memories’ just included me,” Derek says quietly and Stiles’ heart clenches painfully in his chest.

“Fuck no. I tried... in the beginning. I did try. I rang and text you but it said your number was no longer in use and when I asked my Dad about it a week later, he just said you’d left and hadn’t left a number at the time so... to be honest, I kind of thought you were doing us a favour by coming back in the first place, it sounded like you couldn’t wait to get out of there,” Stiles offers.

Derek looks at him like he’s seeing him for the first time and he’s trying to process lots of things at once.

“I broke my phone,” Derek says, biting his lip. Stiles tries not to stare.

“Huh?” Stiles replies.

“I broke my phone... when... er... when you didn’t call after Scott came back. I gave it a week, telling myself you’d never just leave without saying goodbye, not after what we’d been through but you didn’t call... and I may, or may not, have thrown my phone into the lake by the preserve in a fit of anger,” Derek says around gritted teeth.

“Well that doesn’t sound like you at all... What the hell Derek. I was setting up in a strange place, you could have given me two weeks! God you’re so infuriating,” Stiles says pointing his fork at him, but it’s actually such a good feeling to know that Derek hadn’t just tried to cut him out entirely.

“So you were going to say goodbye?” Derek asks.

“Yeah man. Christ, of course I was. To be honest, I didn’t want it to be goodbye at all. I just wanted away from Beacon Hills, not away from you,” and it’s the truest thing Stiles had ever said.

He knows Derek’s probably listening to his heartbeat to see if he’s telling the truth.

“Oh...” Derek’s doing that grin. The one he did for the first time in front of Stiles, when he was flirting with the Deputy manning the front desk at the Sheriff’s station. The one that Stiles always prayed would one day be directed at him.

“Yeah oh! You’re such a dork... so am I actually... are you saying we could have been friends, hanging out this whole time?” Stiles laughs.

“Yeah... well... we’ve wasted a lot of time I guess. When Cora called me...” and Derek clamps his mouth shut as if he’s said too much.

“When Cora called you what?” Stiles asks, slurping his milkshake.

“Nothing. When Cora called me a jerk for not coming to see her more,” Derek tries.

“Nuh uh. I don’t have to be a werewolf to know when you’re lying Derek Hale. Your eyebrow’s give you away, they’re shifty as hell. And I’m very fluent in Hale eyebrow speak. Tell the truth,” Stiles points his straw at him and Derek tries to grab it, fidgeting in his side of the booth.

“Ok. When Cora called me and she told me you’d walked into the bar where she works last week... well I’d been planning to visit her anyway. She told me you’d be coming back the Friday after, tonight, so I thought maybe I’d time it to come say Hi to you. I’d been waiting in there since about seven hoping you’d show actually. And when you didn’t arrive with the guy who lives near you, Denny is it? I thought you weren’t coming. And I’m going to just level with you, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so disappointed in my whole life...” Derek’s eyes are burning into him.

“Wow...” Stiles breathes, not even sure where to begin.

“Then I caught scent of you... I’d know it anywhere. I wasn’t sure I’d recognise it after all this time, but there it was, same as always. I followed it to that alley,” Derek shrugs.

“Lucky for me,” Stiles says, running his hands over his face.

“I’m sorry if that’s a lot but... I did really miss you Stiles,” Derek says, steering the conversation back to more neutral territory, breaking the tension.

When they’ve long finished their food and catch up on each other’s lives a little more, Derek checks his watch.

“I better go meet Cora, she’s just getting off shift. It’s nearly 4am, felt like we’ve only been here twenty minutes,” Derek gets up and offers him a hand out of the booth.

“I’ll come with, I can walk Denny back too,” Stiles offers.

Derek nods taking his phone out and shooting off a quick text.

“I’ve told Cora that they should both wait for us,” Derek nods.

They walk outside and when the fresh air hits them, Stiles wobbles a bit, drink no longer effecting him, but the fight might be finally catching up to him. He’s exhausted all of a sudden.

It’s been a rollercoaster of an evening.

Derek puts a hand around his waist to support him and when Stiles looks at him, their faces are inches apart.

Derek’s eyes drop to his Stiles’ lips and Stiles can’t stop the involuntary urge to run his tongue over them.

They still taste like cherry chapstick, but also of strawberry milkshake.

Derek drags his eyes back to his and he looks guilty, as if he’d been doing something wrong.

Stiles tries to telepathically send the message that he wants Derek to kiss him senseless.

Derek clears his throat.

“Come on... lets get you back, you look like you’re dead on your feet. I overheard you saying you had to go into work in the morning to give your statement and you know that’s only like five hours away. If you’re lucky, you could get a quick nap in,” Derek tugs to start them moving but he doesn’t remove his strong arm from around Stiles’ waist.

Stiles likes it more than he should and he nestles into Derek’s shoulder, revelling in the soft pleased huff that Derek makes as he settles into him.

When they approach Jiggy Wiggy’s, the bar’s already shut and locked up.

Denny’s outside looking worried. He relaxes when he sees Stiles and Derek. Cora on the other hand, her eyes light up like diamonds when she sees Stiles cuddled under Derek’s arm.

“Not a word Cora. He’s dead on his feet,” Derek tells her.

“But Der, you’re both so cute, just one picture. The Sheriff follows me on Instagram, this is priceless,” Cora says taking out her phone.

Derek swats at her until she puts it away and Stiles stores the fact that his Dad, somehow, is now on Instagram; that’s a conversation to have at a later date.

“We’ll walk you both home,” Derek offers.

“Hey tall dark and handsome, no thanks, it’s ok, I’ve called us an Uber,” Denny winks, taking Stiles from Derek and supporting him.

Stiles sleepily opens his eyes and Derek looks positively murderous, best glare directed right at Denny.

Stiles can’t help the bubble of exhausted laughter that springs out of him. They all stare at him like he’s grown two heads.

Stiles makes grabby motions at Derek until Denny rolls his eyes and hands him back.

“You hussy,” Denny whispers.

This time, Stiles curls into Derek, wrapping his arms around him, hugging him tight like earlier.

Derek gives a pleased rumble and rubs his cheek back and forth against Stiles’.

“I’ve seen animal planet episodes more erotic than this. Stiles the Uber’s here. Cora, see you tomorrow sugar,” and then Denny’s shoving Stiles in the cab.

Derek offers a little wave and mouths ‘back pocket’ at him.

Stiles frowns and instantly falls asleep in the cab but not before straightening his unicorn headband.

It’s only when Denny’s literally thrown him onto his bed and left him to his own devices that he remembers and fumbles to reach the back pocket of his jeans.

A wrinkled piece of paper’s in there with a phone number on and a little drawing of a moon.

Derek wouldn’t have had time to do that outside the club, so he must have had it waiting.

It’s with that thought that Stiles passes out, fully clothed, clutching the slip of paper to his chest with a mega watt grin on his face.

——————

Stiles manages to drag his ass to work for 9am and he gives his statement against the two Suits. They’re awfully quiet in the holding station and Stiles deliberately walks past the cells and he flips them the bird before leaving for home again.

He grabs a bacon and egg bagel from the deli and he washes it down with a coffee while walking back.

He’s back in his apartment by noon and he pulls out his phone, intending to enter Derek’s number into it before he loses it. He looks for the piece of paper and almost has a heart attack when he can’t find it. He yanks his sheets off his bed and it’s not in there.

He’s on the verge of a panic attack when his phone beeps from where he’s set it down on his bedside table.

He has a new text and it’s from an unknown number.

“Hey. Hope you got home ok. I hope this isn’t super stalkery but I know what you’re like and you’ve probably lost my number... or not remembered that I told you it was in your back pocket. Anyway, I didn’t want to leave it to chance this time, so Cora gave me Denny’s number and Denny gave me yours. I’m taking you to dinner tonight. D x” and Stiles punches the air and whoops, jumping up and down.

He’s met with immediate pounding back from downstairs. Louis has got the broom out again.

Stiles stomps on the floor once more for good measure and then he throws himself into bed to reply.

The message doesn’t have a question in it, typical bossy Derek.

Stiles types a reply anyway.

“Obviously the answer to that is hell yes. It’s so super stalkery but that’s ok, I know you and I like that about you. It’s a positive trait, especially when used to take the Stiles out to dinner. I’ll assume you know where I live. Shall we say 8pm. I need more sleep! S x” and he presses send before he can think better of it.

“I know where you live. Don’t refer to yourself as ‘The Stiles’. It’s off putting. D x” he gets in reply and he feels giddy with excitement.

“Lies. Fair warning, I can eat my body weight in pasta if you’re taking me somewhere nice... S x” Stiles sends and throws his phone down trying not to stare at it, willing it to beep.

The reply comes quite fast.

“I know. I remember. I know you too. I’m not taking you somewhere nice, I’m taking you somewhere good. I’ve kicked Cora out and I’m going to cook for you at her apartment. I’ll still pick you up. Now go to sleep. You’ll need your energy later. D x” he reads.

And isn’t that even better, good food, where he doesn’t have to dress up like a dogs dinner. His dick gives an interested twitch at the energy comment and he glares at it, as if he can will it into submission.

After ten minutes of tossing and turning he realises he’s too excited to go to sleep, so he decides to give Scott a call. Listening to him drone on about how stressful life is now is sure to send Stiles off into a slumber, stat.

He grabs his laptop and he loads up Skype, grabbing a bag of Cheetos to snack on from his bedside table.

Scott’s face comes into view and he looks like he’s about to murder someone, even his eyes are glowing red.

“Stiles. Thank god. I need to pee so badly, can you just occupy these two for five minutes. Malia’s gone grocery shopping. He sees Scott fumble off camera and then two adorable faces come into view, plonked side by side on Scott’s desk chair.

A much too close, gappy toothed grin fills the screen while the twins get settled and Scott instructs them to not grab the computer and sit still and by some miracle they do. Until Scott’s out of sight and earshot.

“Unca Stiles!” Two identical brown curly mops screech at the same time.

“Heyyyy double trouble. What have you been up to today?” Stiles grins at them.

They look exactly like Scott, not a trace of Malia to be seen in them.

One twin shoves the other off the chair and instead of screaming, the second twin pulls herself back up, using her sisters hair as some sort of rope and only then do they settle down, eyes flashing blue at the screen.

Well... not a trace of Malia on the surface anyway...

“Unca Stiles, guess what? I saw a squirrel and I catched it and gobbled it up,” little Ali says.

“Daddy was so mad but Mommy said it was fine and then they had a... arger... argermomemt. Yeah an arger-moment,” Eve says, nodding at her twin.

Bless Scott and Malia’s hearts, they’d named the girls after Malia’s sister Evelyn and of course, Alison.

“Mommy said Daddy had to take care of us for a while acos Mommy needed to go away for some Mommy time,” Ali says knowingly.

“Yeah, but she’ll come back... my hope she gets us some pop tarts,” Eve says thoughtfully.

“I’m sure she will sweetpea,” Stiles smiles at them nodding.

“Unca Stiles, Evey wants to know if you’ll come and take us to the movies. Daddy says we’re too young but Lucy at daycare has been and she called us babies acos we haven’t never gone,” Ali tells him.

“My never said that. My never want to ask Unca Stiles that, you said you wanted him to take us!” Eve says, shoving her sister.

And then chaos ensues while Stiles tries and fails to maintain order.

Scott comes back and with a growl he grips them both by the backs of their sweet little knitted cardigans and he disappears for a minute.

Stiles hears a slam and Scott flumps down in the chair seconds later.

“Right dude... enough about my fresh hell what’s going down with you?” Scott asks.

“What did you do with them?” Stiles asks.

“Locked them out in the garden. They’ll be fine, there’s no sun today and they’ve already eaten all the wildlife within a ten mile radius,” Scott sighs.

Stiles chuckles.

“You better let them in before Malia comes home or she’ll have your balls,” Stiles warns.

“Ah, she’s already got them, what else can she do,” Scott laughs and instantly he brightens. “Forgot to tell you man... I’m going to ask her to marry me next weekend. Your dad is going to baby sit for me. The woman’s insane but god, I love her.”

“Dude! That’s huge! I’m so happy for you,” Stiles whoops.

“I was wondering... I know you haven’t been back for a while but... would you be my best man?” Scott asks quietly, as if he’s expecting Stiles to say no.

Maybe a year ago he would have.

“Fuck yes! Oh my god. Yes, just tell me when. Wait... she has to say yes first!” Stiles tells him.

Stiles hears a door slam and Scott makes exaggerated slashing motions across his own throat.

“Say yes to what?” Malia calls and Stiles can hear her dumping shopping bags and he hears the girls screeching as she lets them back in to play.

Her face comes into frame.

“Scott and I are going to have an online Pokemon battle tomorrow,” Stiles thinks quick.

Malia rolls her eyes at them and wrinkles her nose.

“What are you wearing for your date tonight?” Malia announces, bulldozer blunt as usual.

Scott stares at her and then back at Stiles like he’s missed something major.

“I... I don’t have a...” Stiles starts.

“Cora text me. She also sent me a picture of you cuddled up under Derek’s arm last night. Suits you both,” Malia drops that little bomb and walks off.

Scott looks at him like he’s an alien. Stiles waits.

“Derek...Derek... Hale?! You’ve got a date with Derek Hale?” Scott shrieks, setting the girls off once again, who now start chanting Derek Hale repetitively.

It’s a little off putting to say the least, it sounds like some sort of Derek Hale worshipping cult in the background.

Stiles doesn’t know who he’s kidding, he’d probably join straight up if that was actually a thing.

“Scott, you’re breaking up... I have to go...” Stiles tries, shaking his laptop back and forth.

“Oh no, no you don’t...” Scott’s frowning face up close is the last thing Stiles sees as he hangs up.

He gets into bed with a groan. He was right.

That tuckered him right out.

—————

He wakes to his alarm beeping inconsiderately at 7pm and he showers.

His dick is unrelentingly solid, he can’t stop thinking about Derek. He jerks himself sloppily under the fresh spray, gripping himself hard. He wants this to be quick and dirty, just to take the edge off so he pictures fucking Derek’s perfect mouth, Derek on his knees in his Firefighter gear.

It takes less time for him to come than he’s ever going to admit to anyone and he shoots so hard he has to brace one hand on the tiles, biting out Derek’s name as he covers his hand in come.

He feels blissfully relaxed when he gets out of the shower and he tries to decide what to wear.

He has to shove Denny out of the apartment because he comes to check if Stiles is alright but when he realises Derek’s picking him up, Denny keeps trying to “help”.

Before Denny can get out the glitter, Stiles shoo’s him back toward his own apartment.

Stiles’ jeans from last night are completely ruined so he settles for some blue jeans, sneakers and a plain black t shirt that he knows clings to his biceps.

He looks in the mirror and he’s satisfied. He slicks on the cherry chapstick for good measure just as the door goes.

He yanks it open and he’s sure his jaw drops to the floor.

Stiles had been half drunk, half off his head with exhaustion last night and he hadn’t been able to fully appreciate Derek in all his glory.

Derek’s standing there in some ridiculously tight Levi’s and a tight white t shirt. Stiles drags his gaze over him, helpless.

He’s so fucking hot it should be illegal. Maybe Stiles should arrest him. Stiles shakes his head to try to get thoughts of handcuffs out of it.

Derek doesn’t even flinch, he just cocks an eyebrow at him.

“You look... you look really good Hale,” Stiles blurts.

Derek’s eyes darken and he takes a step toward him.

“You look pretty good yourself Stilinski,” Derek’s voice is doing that stupid thing again where it’s all gravelly and hotwired straight to Stiles’ dick.

Stiles offers praise for his forethought to jerk off before Derek arrived because otherwise, he might be worrying right now about coming in his pants, just from someone glaring at you and talking all low.

Stiles gulps, pulse racing ridiculously.

“I’d invite you in but you might catch something,” Stiles waves a hand around behind him.

Derek peeks over his shoulder.

“It’s not that bad,” Derek offers.

“It ain’t great.” Stiles laughs. “It’s falling apart. And it constantly smells like Pretzels because of the street carts below.”

Derek leans over, right into his space and he takes a long inhale and his eyes flash red, then flicker back to normal.

“All I can smell is you,” Derek says thoughtfully.

Stiles gulps.

“Why don’t you move if you don’t like it here?” Derek asks.

“I might... It does kind of suck. It was close to work and the rent was controlled so... I mainly stay for Denny, even though he’s a really nosey neighbour,” Stiles says loudly and he hears a squeak from behind the door opposite, from where Denny was spying on them.

Derek chuckles.

“Lets go then,” Derek says.

Derek offers to get them an Uber but the night is light and they decide to walk to Cora’s apartment. It’s only around twenty minutes away and Stiles can’t believe how close he’d been to her this entire time and not known.

When Derek lets them into Cora’s building, Stiles is awestruck.

Derek leads them through a very modern lobby and into an elevator. Stiles can’t stop his nervous chatter the entire way but the way Derek keeps sneaking glances over at him, Stiles is thinking maybe he doesn’t mind.

When they get to the actual apartment, Cora’s still there.

She walks past them as they come in and she gives Stiles’ arm a little squeeze.

“Der, I’m going to meet Bobby from work. I won’t be back tonight just to let you know,” Cora winks ludicrously at Stiles.

“Ok, have fun,” Derek says and makes his way to what Stiles imagines is the kitchen.

He grabs Cora before she can make her escape, head cocked for when Derek starts clanging some pans about.

“You,” Stiles whispers furiously, “you told Malia that this was a date.”

Cora grins maniacally.

“Isn’t it?” She says around fangs.

“What! Well, I don’t know... I’d like it to be, fuck would I like it to be but this is Derek so it’s probably not a date, he’s probably just catching up, I don’t know!” Stiles hisses.

Cora looks positively gleeful.

“You’re an idiot. When I spoke to him and very casually mentioned I’d bumped into you, he booked two weeks leave from work and he was on my doorstep the very next day. He kept sniffing my arm, the one where we’d touched, even though I’d had a shower since... you’re an absolute idiot if you think this isn’t a date, my brother’s wanted to bang you since you were in High School, he was just too emotionally constipated to do anything about it...” Cora pats him and promptly leaves him standing there stunned in the hallway.

Stiles shakes it off and he goes into the kitchen where Derek’s finishing doing something to a slow cooker and he helps himself, pouring some water from a jug.

“Is that Chilli?” Stiles asks, trying to see around Derek. He feels his arm brush Derek’s when he leans in and he feels Derek still.

Derek turns quickly and Stiles finds himself boxed into the counter in seconds, Derek’s hands on the surface, not quite touching him, either side of his hips.

Derek leans in and he rubs his face in the side of Stiles’ neck and drags his nose up Stiles’ jugular.

Stiles shivers. Ok, so this is very much a date.

“Is this ok?” Derek growls.

“Cora said you wanted to bang me all the way back when I was in high school,” Stiles chokes out, because he’s clearly against getting laid sometime this century.

Derek pulls back, eyes wide and he laughs, loud and free.

Stiles is fascinated.

“She’s not wrong... but you were young. In love with Lydia. Still healing from the Nogitsune...” Derek offers softly.

“I was never in love with Lydia, I thought I was. Also, those are some major excuses, what about when the FBI botch job happened and you had to carry me out of the building? We were both back home in Beacon Hills then. I wasn’t so young, I was twenty...” Stiles just can’t wrap his head around it.

Derek’s started drawing slow circles on Stiles’ hips with his thumbs and it’s very distracting.

“I was going to... when you came back from the Monroe escapade. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to, but I was going to try. I couldn’t stand it anymore, you not knowing how I felt. I remember Parrish asking me if he knew if you were single or not when we were waiting for you to come back and I nearly ripped his face off,” Derek says, looking down at the floor.

Stiles grips his chin and forces him to look at him.

“Fuck... Derek... I’m so sorry. If I’d had any idea, you have to know...” Stiles starts.

“Hey no. Look it’s ok. I know you didn’t know. It’s fine. I wasn’t a great person back then, I can understand why you wouldn’t have even looked twice at me,” Derek shrugs and Stiles can’t stand the miscommunication between them a second longer.

They’ve wasted a ridiculous amount of time.

“Stop. Fuck. Stop. You’re unbelievable. Derek, we argued every time we came in contact back then. Every time I saw you, you’d do something to make my blood boil. You were infuriating. Your taste in girlfriends nearly got us killed more times than I could count... and the pressing into lockers and general GBH in my general direction introduced me to the fear boner... but I loved that about you. I... I loved you. I knew I did the night we spent trying to get into the Sheriffs station. When you flirted with the deputy on the desk. Your smile, I knew it was fake but shit... I didn’t think you even knew I existed outside of saving your ass,” Stiles breathes and Derek’s pressed impossibly closer.

He whines.

“Knew you existed... Stiles, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Still can’t. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since you kept me afloat in the pool, when the Kanima attacked us... you were wearing that ridiculous red tracksuit and you had really short hair. Do you remember?” Derek asks him, smiling, giving Stiles’ now longer hair a little tug.

Stiles can’t help but grin back.

“Well, if we’re confessing, that night I went home and jerked it three times because I couldn’t stop thinking about how your abs felt when I was trying to keep us afloat,” Stiles’ eyes darken mischievously.

“Oh my god, you’re not even lying. I was paralysed from the neck down in eight feet of water!” Derek buries his head again, chuffing out soft breaths against Stiles’ skin.

“Well you might have been but I certainly wasn’t, you felt so fucking good Der. Still do,” Stiles punctuates his words by trailing his hand at the hem of Derek’s t-shirt and tugging it up slightly, knuckles grazing his bare skin.

Derek’s stomach contracts under his touch and he grunts into Stiles’ neck and he stills.

“You’re going to have to stop touching me if you want to eat before I fuck you senseless,” Derek growls.

Stiles whimpers and yanks Derek’s shirt higher, making a fist and gripping the material.

He whispers straight in Derek’s ear.

“I had a bagel earlier. And some Cheetos,” Stiles groans.

Derek’s laughter shakes both their bodies.

“I’m sorry, was that meant to be sexy?” Derek asks.

Stiles rolls his hips against Derek’s, letting him feel how hard he is and he’s rewarded by a feral snarl from Derek, his own hard dick pressing back.

“Yep, my bad. Carry on, it’s working,” Derek says and finally, he grips Stiles by the chin and kisses him.

Stiles doesn’t know what he’s expecting. He’s imagined this a million different ways over the years but somehow, he hadn’t imagined what it would feel like kissing Derek, knowing that the guy was as equally into him.

It’s overwhelming. Stiles opens up to him and Derek licks into his mouth with a moan, kissing him deep and hard.

When Derek breaks off, he doesn’t go far, instead, he licks and bites at Stiles’ neck.

“Is this too fast?” Derek says against his skin.

Stiles tilts back giving him all the access he wants and when Derek yanks the collar of his T-shirt aside to get better access, Stiles whimpers in approval.

“No, god no. I feel like this has been coming for eight fucking years, not fast enough,” Stiles breathes.

Stiles gets a hand in Derek’s hair and tugs, earning him a growl and a flash of red eyes, so he bites Derek’s lip for good measure and palms his dick in apology.

Derek snarls as he changes and he takes a step back, shaking his head back and forth, face returning to human. He holds a hand out to stop Stiles advancing.

“Wait... just... fuck... give me a minute to get under control. Sorry,” Derek grits out.

“What? No! You don’t have to be in control. I know you won’t hurt me, I don’t care if you’re furry Derek or regular Derek, it’s all the same to me. Fuck, please come here, I want you. Never hide from me. Never. I want to suck you. Let me suck your dick,” Stiles licks his lips.

Derek wolfs out again.

“Fuck... this has never happened to me before. I’ve always had control of the change. Always. It’s you. You make me crazy. You smell so good. It makes me want to rub myself all over you, until you smell like me. Just like me. I’ll be honest, I’m having a hard time remembering how I controlled myself back when I knew you before,” Derek growls and he boxes Stiles in again.

Stiles turns them around so Derek’s backed up against the counter and he runs a tongue over Derek’s fangs. He drops to his knees and he wastes no time burying his head in Derek’s jean clad crotch and inhaling him.

Stiles nuzzles along the line of Derek’s dick and he feels huge and hard. Stiles wants him in his mouth so bad.

He makes short work of Derek’s belt buckle, yanking it through his jean loops. Derek pulls up his own t-shirt, exposing the dark hair on his stomach, leading right down to his dick and his hands come into Stiles’ hair, holding him gently.

Stiles looks at him as he drags down his zipper and he pulls down Derek’s jeans, taking his boxers along with them. Stiles doesn’t stop until they’re trapped at Derek’s ankles.

He stares hungrily at Derek’s cock. It’s long and wide and he’s uncut, short and neat dark hair at the thick base. Stiles grips it and he lets out a whimper when he can’t close his fingers together around it.

Derek shudders and Stiles looks up at him from under dark lashes.

“You’re so big... I’ve never wanted something inside me so badly,” Stiles tells him in awe, pumping him once and exposing his flushed tip.

Derek’s whole body bucks and he moans loudly. He’s not wolfed out but his eyes are red.

“Fuck. Stiles. Please. Please,” Derek begs and that’s what does it for Stiles.

Stiles tastes him like he’s a delicacy at first, using the flat of his tongue to lick him from root to tip and when Derek’s dick pulses a fat bead of pre-come, Stiles sucks on the head.

Derek’s hands twitch as if he wants to make him take more, so Stiles takes pity and licks him down.

Stiles blows him messily, desperate himself. Stiles works him relentlessly with just his mouth, sucking for all he’s worth and he has an insane second to appreciate the chapstick because Derek’s just gliding between his smooth lips.

Stiles lets his mouth get as wet as possible and he takes Derek’s dick as far as he can, eyes burning as he struggles for breath, nose buried in the skin at the base of Derek’s dick.

Derek growls and bucks into him and he has no option but to swallow around him, or he’s going to choke.

Derek pulls off panting like he’s run a marathon.

“Fuck, sorry. Your mouth is everything I thought,” Derek says, voice full of wonder and he runs his thumb over Stiles’ lower lip, dragging down.

Stiles glares up at him and bites his thumb.

“Don’t stop. I like it. It trust you. Fuck my mouth Der. This is me, giving you express permission to hold me and...” Stiles voice sounds wrecked but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Derek snarls and feeds him his dick.

This time he cups one large hand around the back of Stiles’ head, one on his cheek and he tilts him back. He thrusts in and out of his mouth so fast, Stiles’ eyes are watering and he can feel spit dribbling out of the corners of his mouth.

He palms his own dick, coming in his pants the second he makes contact and Derek’s eyes flash and he draws in a deep ragged breath, scenting the air.

Derek shoves his forefinger into Stiles’ mouth alongside his cock, buries himself to the hilt and Stiles feels his throat protest around him as Derek’s hips thrust, pushing him impossibly deeper.

Stiles feels it when Derek comes, dick pulsing hot come down his throat and Stiles just takes it all. Derek makes a sound like he’s dying, a snarling, guttural grunt and he pulls out, wiping his cock on Stiles’ mouth for good measure. Stiles can taste his come and he licks his lips as Derek yanks him to his feet.

Derek kisses him and he grips Stiles by the thighs, picking him up. Derek looks at him and Stiles squirms under the scrutiny.

“What? Stop looking at me!” Stiles laughs low.

“No. You’re so beautiful,” Derek says earnestly and he begins to walk toward the bedroom, frowning when he realises he’s trapped, his jeans are still around his ankles.

“Fuck,” he says frowning, as Stiles laughs.

He puts Stiles down, yanking up his jeans as if they’ve personally offended him.

Stiles takes Derek’s face in both his hands and he kisses him again, tongue pressing into his until Derek’s grabbing to pick him up again, massaging his fingers into Stiles’ thighs ready to grip him.

“Der... before we do this. Or more of this. I just wanted to let you know...” Stiles begins.

“Mmm, yeah... let me know what?” Derek says distractedly, pulling up Stiles’ T shirt and spreading his hands around his ribs, thumbs searching and finding Stiles’ nipples.

“Oh fuck, keep doing that. Let you know, that this... it isn’t just tonight for me, I hope you know that. I don’t know how I’ll let go after this. Wanting you for so long was one thing. Having you and letting you walk away... I’m just letting you know, I won’t be able to... so please let me know now if that’s going to be a problem...” Stiles knows he sounds pathetic.

Derek’s stopped his ministrations and he’s looking at him grumpily. Stiles runs his thumbs over Derek’s eyebrows.

“I love you,” Derek shrugs simply, like it’s the easiest thing ever to say, “I’ve no idea how you don’t know that... but I’m going to make sure there’s not a doubt in your mind by the end of tonight.”

Stiles grins ridiculously.

“You’re serious?” Stiles asks.

“As serious as a dread doctor,” Derek quips.

“You’re not funny,” Stiles accuses.

“I think I am...” Derek says and Stiles steps back out of reach again, earning him a playful growl.

“I am serious though. I know I’ve only really been back around you since yesterday, but it keeps bouncing around in my head. I know it’s crazy. I do love you... I think I pretty much always have...” Derek licks his lips, blush colouring his cheeks.

“I think you’re just saying that because I swallowed your come and choked on your dick,” Stiles laughs, putting the counter between him and Derek.

Derek looks at him like he’s going to pounce and it makes Stiles’ blood sing.

“You’re so annoying,” Derek growls, advancing.

“I love you too though. Obviously.” Stiles grins, heart hammering.

Derek shifts and lunges for him at the same time.

Stiles shrieks and makes a break for it down the hallway.

Derek catches him by an open doorway and pins him to the wall with his body. Stiles has to brace his head on his arms or he’s going to fall face first into it. Derek bites him lightly on the shoulder, murmuring.

Derek pulls him into the bedroom, nudging him onto the bed and Stiles goes willingly. Stiles watches as Derek strips off his t-shirt, then his jeans, kicking off his boots and he just stands there, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Stiles watches and drags his eyes over him, taking in his firm stomach, strong thighs, dark hair running the length of his body. His dick stands up proud against his body and Stiles manages to compose a poem about it in the time that it takes Derek to get undressed.

Derek doesn’t move, he just lets Stiles look, comfortable.

Derek looks dangerous and powerful, especially when he growls impatiently at him and it’s all the more erotic because Stiles knows he’d never hurt him. Not ever.

“Take your clothes off, or I’m going to destroy them...” Derek grumps, fingers flexing.

“Maybe I want you to... maybe I want to wear your things,” Stiles flips over onto his stomach and wrestles his jeans down, toeing his sneakers off and kicking them out of bed. Stiles throws his t-shirt at Derek and he catches it and unabashedly brings it to his face and he inhales deeply.

It’s one of the sexiest things Stiles has possibly ever seen. Ever.

Stiles presses his face into the mattress when he feels Derek get on the bed behind him.

He’s not expecting it when Derek yanks him to the edge, legs now on the floor. Derek bends him over the bed.

Stiles peers over his shoulder and Derek’s kneeling, eyes on his ass and Stiles literally can’t wait for what he’s hoping is going to happen next.

Derek takes each of his cheeks in a large hand and he spreads him, fingers digging into the muscle and Stiles lets out a guttural groan as he feels the air on him, exposed.

“Oh hell yes,” Stiles breathes, wriggling to ease the pressure on his trapped dick.

Derek snarls and licks him from balls to hole and Stiles nearly swallows his tongue. It’s warm, wet and Derek’s beard is causing all sorts of sensations on his soft skin.

Derek licks him again, pausing to suck on his balls, like he can’t decide just where he wants to start.

Derek proceeds to bite, lick and cover every inch of skin he can reach with his tongue before actually putting his mouth back where Stiles needs him.

When he finally does, Stiles bites a moan into the sheets, hands fisting.

Derek licks into him relentlessly and the fact that he’s making these tiny growling sounds of appreciation while eating him, is sending amazing vibrations right up Stiles’ body.

When Derek pushes a thick finger inside, alongside his tongue, Stiles clenches down wanting more.

Derek spits right on his tight hole and finger fucks him up to three digits until Stiles is rocking back onto his hand.

Stiles is at the stage of begging.

“Derek, please,” Stiles pants.

“Please what? What do you want Stiles? Tell me? I’ll do anything you want. Fuck, you taste amazing, I could do this for hours,” Derek pauses to speak and Stiles is pleased to hear that he sounds completely ruined.

“As fucking amazing as that would be, I’m going to die if you don’t get your dick inside me,” Stiles arches his back on a particularly deep thrust of Derek’s hand.

“You’ve no idea what you look like. How long I’ve wanted to do this to you. To take you apart,” Derek growls.

“I do, because I feel the same. Please... Der, please, I want to come on your beautiful dick,” Stiles whimpers.

Derek flips him around onto his back and Stiles shuffles to get further up the bed.

Derek literally crawls up his body, pausing to lick a thick line up Stiles’ happy trail and he’s eyeing Stiles’ dick like it’s his favourite kind of candy.

Stiles’ hands grab Derek’s hair hard, yanking until Derek looks at him with fucked out eyes.

“If you even so much as put the tip of your tongue on my dick, I’m going to come,” Stiles warns.

Derek grins dangerously.

“Derek no... bad Derek,” Stiles flicks him on the nose.

“But it’s so pretty Stiles... I never knew you were cut. Look at you, so hard and long. Hard for me,” Derek takes his balls into his mouth again and Stiles’ dick leaks a bead of pre-come onto his stomach.

Derek licks it up while Stiles watches in total disbelief.

“You taste so good,” Derek moans, dragging his stubble along the side of Stiles’ dick.

“Nggghh,” says Stiles, in sensation overload.

And that, as they say, is all she wrote.

Stiles comes hard, dick completely untouched, all over Derek’s cheek and chin.

Derek licks him clean, sucking his sensitive dick until Stiles pats his head, begging for mercy.

“I’ve never had a cheek job before and I must say, fucking A plus Derek, would do again,” Stiles groans, covering his eyes with his hands.

Derek tugs his arm away and shows him a bottle of lube, looking at him excitedly.

“I’m going to get you really wet, I’m going to fuck you really hard and then you’re going to come again, ok?” Derek’s eyes are gleaming.

“Jesus, when did you get so talkative. Don’t get me wrong, it’s hot as fuckkkkkkk,” Stiles gasps when Derek pushes one of his legs up and breaches him with three lubed fingers.

“I think I’m going to last about five seconds when I get inside you,” Derek grunts, introducing the tip of his pinky finger. “I’m being deadly serious, I wish you could smell how you smell to me right now. I wish you could feel how tight you are.”

Stiles looks down between them to see that his dick’s valiantly trying to rejoin the party.

Derek looks completely gone, watching his fingers disappear into Stiles’ body so Stiles sits up and nudges Derek until he’s sitting up, back against the headboard.

Stiles sits in his lap, legs around him and he grips Derek’s cock.

Derek nods at him frantically as he grips Derek’s dick and places it near his hole.

Derek’s face as he sinks down is going to be ingrained in his memory forever. He’s looking at Stiles softly, a little ‘oh’ on his lips and just as he’s buried to the hilt, Stiles kisses him.

Stiles rides him slowly, because despite the prep, Derek’s fucking big and he can feel how stretched out he is on his dick.

Derek takes it until he can’t, eyes flashing back and forth between his usual stormy mix and deep red, teeth a little too sharp to be fully human.

He bites Stiles‘ lip hard and he topples them over, not pulling out and he proceeds to attempt to fuck Stiles through the mattress.

Stiles manages to get his ankles locked around Derek’s lower back, arching his body to meet him.

Derek’s up on his knees between Stiles’ legs, supporting himself next to Stiles’ head on one arm as he fucks into him relentlessly.

Derek’s other hand is locked like a vice around Stiles’ thigh. He’s gripping so hard Stiles thinks he’s going to be able to see that hand print tomorrow and god does he want that to be a thing.

Derek fucks him like he’s dying for him and every drag of his dick on Stiles’ clenching hole drags them both closer to the edge.

Stiles comes first, dick rubbing on Derek’s stomach, come painting between them and Derek slams his hips into him twice more, spilling inside him, before collapsing onto Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t even care, he just strokes him until he rolls to the side, dick sliding out of him.

When they’ve both caught their breath, Stiles looks over at Derek to see him watching him already.

“What can I do for you?” Stiles says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“That... you can do that for me. Every day. Possibly several times... for a long time...” Derek says and rolls onto his stomach, throwing his hand around Stiles’ waist.

He pushes and nudges until Stiles is the little spoon. Derek fingers his hole, feeling his own come leaking out and slowly pushing it back in again, touch feather light.

Stiles whimpers. Derek buries his face in the back of Stiles’ neck and he doesn’t come up for air.

“You know, it’s going to be hard to do this thing long distance... how committed are you to being down in Boston?” Stiles scratches the hair on Derek’s arm where it’s wrapped around him.

Derek pulls back so that Stiles can turn around, head resting on his hand.

Derek looks at him sleepily, pecking him on the lips, blush high on his cheeks.

“I’ve drafted my transfer email in my head. I did it while I was fingering you, to distract me so I wouldn’t come,” Derek admits.

“Are you kidding? Don’t tell lies. You’re such a loser, you are so in love with me dude!” Stiles laughs.

“Shut up. I let you go once, I’m not letting that happen again...” Derek admits, going back to his snuggling. This time he shuffles down and buries his face in Stiles’ armpit, not settling until Stiles throws his arm over his head.

Derek sighs in contentment, breath coming evenly on Stiles’ skin.

“I was going to ask how you felt about... how you would feel if I maybe went back to Beacon Hills...? Would you ever be able to live there again?” Stiles asks quietly, knowing that wherever Derek decides to go, he’s going to end up there anyway.

Derek pulls back and looks at him again, frowning.

“I only left there because you didn’t come back...” Derek sighs rolling his eyes, like Stiles is the stupid one for not realising.

“Right...” Stiles says, smile forming.

“I’ll email Beacon Hills Fire department tomorrow, see if they have any vacancies. Wake me in an hour and we can eat the chilli in our underwear, then you can fuck me.” Derek tells him, matter of fact and he promptly falls asleep, snuffling softly.

Stiles stares at the top of his perfect stupid head.

“It can’t be this easy,” Stiles murmurs, wrapping his arms around Derek.

Derek grumbles happily in his sleep, pressing even closer.

Maybe it is...

—————

Four weeks later

—————

“Now that I’m leaving, I’m kind of sad to see this place go,” Stiles glances around his apartment, all boxed up.

Derek’s sealing the last of the boxes with tape and he walks over to where Stiles is standing looking out the window.

“Regretting deciding to go back?” Derek asks, wrapping his arms around him from behind and sniffing the back of his neck.

“Stop trying to smell what I’m feeling. I can’t wait to go back actually. I just got kind of attached to the place in the last few weeks,” Stiles grumbles but pulls him closer.

“Are you thinking about how you bent me over your couch, right over there and fucked me this morning?” Derek purrs. “Because I’m happy for you to do that wherever. Whenever actually. I came so hard with your dick in me... filling me up. It’s a good job you’re moving really, there’s come on the cushions...”

Stiles whines and he can feel Derek laughing into his neck. Derek’s a menace. The absolute best kind.

Stiles rocks his ass back into Derek for good measure and he’s rewarded with a growl when he feels Derek’s dick fattening up against him.

“Cut it out, your dad is on his way up,” Derek bites him playfully on the ear, adjusts his dick and lets him go, just as the door slams open. Stiles has to make sure he stands behind his come covered couch to hide his boner.

The open door reveals Scott, Jordan Parrish and his dad.

“Give me the twenty bucks Parrish, I told you they’d still have clothes on,” Scott whoops.

Parrish rolls his eyes and hands over the cash.

“Barely,” Derek whispers loud enough for Parrish and Scott to hear and Stiles has to hide a smirk at their disgraced faces.

They all load up the boxes fairly quickly and Parrish ends up talking to Mr. Miller in the hallway about some easy renovations and how the place would be quite nice with a bit of sprucing up.

“Dudes, you’re not bringing that couch are you?” Scott wrinkles his nose and he looks worried.

Stiles can barely stop laughing enough to lock the place up.

Just as they go to head down the stairs, Stiles tells them to hang on while he says goodbye to Denny.

He knocks on his door and Denny opens it, make up free, but wearing a ridiculously indecent purple neglige that hits him mid thigh.

Denny shrieks when he sees that Stiles has company and he slams the door, opening it a minute later to reveal a long sparkly robe and slippers, his wig crooked on his head.

“You finished packing sugar?” Denny asks, fake casual.

Stiles can see him giving everyone the once over; he’s met Scott a few times now over Skype but his eyes linger on Parrish.

He mouths to Stiles “That one is cute!”.

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“All done. Just wanted to say goodbye. And you know... thanks... for being my friend... You’re coming up for the wedding right?” Stiles hugs him and he ignores Derek’s soft growling.

“Oh shut up tall, dark and handsome, we all know you’re doing the dirty with him, you don’t have to broadcast it all the time! Of course, thanks again for the invite Scott,” Denny tuts at Derek. He squeezes Stiles a little tighter and wipes his eyes.

Hey, no problem, any friend of Stiles is a friend of ours dude!” Scott gives a little wave.

Derek, to his credit, does shut up.

When they finally make it into the moving truck, after much tears on Denny’s part and quite a few on Stiles’, Stiles nearly chokes on his soda when Parrish speaks.

“So... Denny... is he single, or....?” Parrish says, all fake nonchalant.

Scott looks at Parrish like he’s got two heads, but Stiles throws his head back and laughs. It feels good.

Derek takes Stiles’ hand, gives it a squeeze and he flashes him a toothy grin. Stiles’ Dad starts the truck up.

Stiles smiles brightly, looking around him, eyes settling on Derek...

He can’t wait for Cora to ask him if he’s happy again... this time, he’s got a different answer.

—————