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Stiles watches the creature pace around the pool, its tail lashing angrily, occasionally stepping closer to the edge only to skitter back with an irritated hiss, furious that it can't reach them—or perhaps isn't willing to reach them is more accurate Stiles thinks, because the longer he holds up Derek's rigid body to keep him from drowning and the creature doesn't leap into the pool to kill them, he's certain that the thing is afraid of the water.
Which. Is something, he supposes.
Dying later after his strength gives out and he's forced to either drown or climb out of the pool and be killed is certainly better than dying now because the creature is willing to jump in after them.
Probably. Maybe.
Stiles doesn't really want to think about it.
It's already been nearly an hour that they've been floating here, Stiles steadily treading water to keep them both alive and his whole body burns and aches with exhaustion, but he can't do anything about it but keep going as long as he can.
When a cramp seizes up his left calf Stiles hisses between his teeth, eyes slamming shut as he flexes his foot up and down, breathing heavily as he tries to work through the pain, cursing when he loses his grip on Derek and his body slips beneath the surface, the sputtering of his breath making Stiles's heart clench in his chest with worry.
"Sorry, sorry," he pants, "charlie horse in my calf," he explains as he hauls Derek back up, shoulders and neck twitching with painful spasms from the continued effort.
Derek spits out water, "It's fine," he says unhappily and Stiles can't really blame him—he's less than thrilled by this situation too, and he's not the one paralyzed and being held up by 142 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone. If their situation were reversed he doubts Derek would even break a sweat having to hold him up for almost an hour—hell, he probably bench presses more than Stiles weighs.
Stiles keeps flexing his foot, breathing unsteadily as the pain throbs through him.
"Are you okay?" Derek asks after a long few minutes of silence, his voice low, and if Stiles isn't crazy, filled with real concern.
"Yea," he pants, "peachy."
Derek makes a low noise and doesn't say anything else, both of their attention drawn to where the creature has shuffled closer to the pool edge only to skitter back and hiss when its clawed hand encounters water at the edge of the pool.
Eventually his shoulders and back ache so badly that he has to shift, so he breathes Derek's name and squeezes the arm he has around his waist. "I gotta shift," he warns him, "I'm gonna roll onto my back and hold you against me that way, okay?"
"What? No! I won't be able to stay up," Derek protests and Stiles grits his teeth as the muscle in his shoulder begins to spasm painfully.
"I'll hold you up," he promises through clenched teeth, "I won't let go."
Derek makes a disgruntled sound and shakes his head for a moment before sighing heavily, "Go ahead."
Stiles grunts in acknowledgement and then carefully begins the process of shifting his grip to be under Derek's armpits, pulling him up as he shifts backwards, pushing his own hips up to steady Derek's rigid body as they settle into place. Derek's head rests heavily against Stiles's chest, the weight of him pushing at Stiles's body, and it's a fight to keep them both up, but it's a fight that he does with his core and not his arms and shoulders, and the relief of it is so great that tears spring to his eyes at the throb that runs through his aching muscles.
"You okay?" he calls down to Derek, a faint ripple of amusement running through him tiredly when Derek grunts unhappily at him in response. "Great," he sighs weakly, closing his eyes as his body twitches with pained exhaustion, his breathing unsteady as he keeps a hold of Derek with one hand, the other treading water slowly.
He doesn't know how much time has passed when the muscles in his core and hips begin trembling, but it's long enough that his shoulders, neck and back have gotten a reprieve, however small it actually is. He gives Derek another word of warning and then begins shifting them again, unable to stop the guttural sound that rips out of him at the violent throb of pain that has him seizing up and struggling to breathe for a long moment.
When he's finally gotten a better grip on Derek, he's panting heavily and grateful that Derek can't see him because he knows there are tears on his cheeks and that's the last thing he wants Derek to see from him.
"Stiles?" Derek says quietly, the unasked are you okay? loud, and Stiles makes a small acknowledging sound, opening his eyes to look around the pool and place where the creature is, heart plummeting when he sees that it's still here, prowling around the ledge of the pool.
The burn in his muscles is so strong it sends more tears to Stiles's eyes the longer they tread water and he knows, after nearly two hours of this, he can't hold them both up for much longer. Casting his gaze around helplessly, he searches for any way that he can get Derek out of the pool safely, so that they can survive, but the creature is fast, and with the venom…he doesn't like their odds.
When his gaze catches on his fallen cell phone, hope trips through him.
He only has a half formed plan, but it's better than hanging on here until they both drown, so he gathers his courage and strength and starts talking.
"Okay, okay... I don't think I can do this much longer..." he says breathlessly, "but my phone is over there on the ledge—"
"No, no, no. Don't even think about it," Derek refutes immediately and Stiles wants to scream he's so freaking tired and sore and doesn't Derek see that this is their only hope?
"Derek I have to!" he insists on a breath that sobs out of him, leaving his words cracking and broken. "I can't—we'll both drown!" he says, "This way we survive—I'll, I'll call Scott and I won't let you drown, I promise! Would you just trust me this once?" he pleads, voice unsteady with emotion, and they bob dangerously in the water, both of them cursing as water laps over their faces before Stiles manages to steady them and haul Derek up.
"No," Derek spits out alongside a mouthful of pool water, "the venom will wear off and we'll be okay," he insists.
Stiles bites his lip bloody to hold in a sob of exasperation, "I'm the one keeping you alive, okay? Have you noticed that?" he says bitingly, hating the way the pain has him shaking all over and feeling weak enough to cry.
"Yeah, and when the paralysis wears off, who is gonna be able to fight that thing-- you or me?" Derek bites back and Stiles wants to drown him he's so frustrated. "You don't trust me. I don't trust you. You need me to survive, which is why you are not letting me go."
Stiles inhales raggedly and closes his eyes, making peace with his decision before he follows through, knowing that this will probably ruin any shot he has of gaining Derek's trust and ending this stupid thing between he and Scott.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, loosening his grip on Derek.
"Stiles! No!" Derek shouts, and if he could, Stiles knows he'd be thrashing and fighting what's coming.
"Take a deep breath," he advises before loosening his grip, and just before Derek slips under the water he hears him inhaling deeply before the sound of his desperate strokes through the water drown it out.
His shoulders and arms and back burn as he cuts through the water towards the pool edge and he can see the creature rushing around from the other side, and it's a race, breathless and agonizing, but Stiles gets there first, fingers scrabbling at the edge of the pool and he hauls himself up and forward, snatching up the phone and then throws himself backwards as the creature lunges at him, its claws raking through the air, just barely catching his still extended arm and pain lances through him.
Cursing, he thumbs through his contacts and calls Scott, gaze fixed through the water to where Derek is sitting on the bottom of the pool, throat clenched tight with worry as it rings and rings and—
"Scott!" he cries when the call finally connects, hope surging through him. "Derek and I are at the school pool—"
"I can't talk right now!" Scott hisses back before the line goes dead and Stiles almost sobs it makes him so angry. He dials Scott again and yells in frustration when it goes straight to voice mail, tears blurring in his eyes, and when he goes to scrub them away, hisses in pain as the tears in his skin from the creature's claws tug and throb.
Glancing back down at Derek, he curses again and then checks where the creature is before he swims over to the blocks the swim team use, his muscles screaming with exhaustion, but the creature beats him and when he flails back, the phone slips from his hand and sinks into the water, taking the last of his hope with it.
Derek has been under for too long, he knows that, just as surely as he knows that he has very little left inside him to keep them going, but he'd promised, he'd asked Derek to trust him, and he's going to prove that he's worth Derek's trust.
Swimming back over to Derek is a study in agony, but he ignores it as best he can—the chlorine in the wounds on his arm is at least new and distracting from the pain all across his back and shoulders, but when he comes to a stop above Derek, he's breathing raggedly nonetheless—pain is pain, and Stiles is running on empty.
Inhaling deeply, he plunges under the water and down, down, down to where Derek is sitting, motionless and too still, still paralyzed, so that the only thing that moves is his gaze, flicking up to follow Stiles's descent. There's a desperation to his gaze and Stiles pushes harder, deeper, until his fingers grab Derek's shirt and he's able to pull him up just enough that he can press his lips over Derek's and exhale forcefully, pushing the air from his lungs into Derek's, keeping just enough for himself that he should be able to get them both to the surface.
Gripping Derek under one arm, he thrashes through the water desperately, but when he get only a few strokes up from the bottom of the pool he knows he's never going to make it like this.
Putting his face in front of Derek's he gestures to his own chest and then the surface before pointing back to Derek who purses his lips and gives Stiles a murderous look, and Stiles presses his palm over Derek's heart and pushes, a silent promise, his gaze desperate as he flexes his fingers against Derek's chest, and something in Derek's eyes shift, mouth softening, and Stiles pushes away, swimming desperately for the surface.
When he breaks the surface, Stiles gasps raggedly and drags in deep lungfuls of air, steadying himself for only a few moments before he sucks down a huge breath and dives again, swimming as hard as he can until he's back in front of Derek. He breathes more air into Derek's lungs, ignoring that this is the second time he's ever had his mouth against someone else's that's not a woman, and ignoring even harder the thought that wriggles its way into his brain that he wonders what a real kiss with Derek would feel like, not this kiss of life where he's breathing air into Derek's paralyzed body.
Pulling at Derek's heavy body, he grits his teeth against the agony that ripples through his muscles, lungs screaming as the surface draws slowly but surely closer.
The sound that leaves him when they break the surface can only be described as a sob, his lungs heaving as he struggles to pull Derek against him, both of their breathing loud in the otherwise silent room.
Pressing his forehead to the nape of Derek's neck, he pants raggedly and closes his eyes.
"I told you I wouldn't let you drown," he whispers, lips brushing against Derek's skin.
Derek hums tiredly and Stiles exhales slowly, treading water.
Scott finds them eventually, and saves them from a very near death, hauling them out onto the pool deck where Derek watches as Stiles coughs and coughs, pale cheeks pink as he breathes raggedly, eyes haunted and distant as Scott chatters on about Gerard and Allison.
His strength returns as Scott helps them out of the school, and by the time they make it over to Stiles's Jeep, he's moving under his own power. Turning his back as Stiles strips out of his wet clothing, he shifts in his own sodden clothing and thinks longingly of the fireplace in the living room of his home, of the many times he'd sat in front of it as a child, warming himself after spending hours running in the snow or cold.
"How are we supposed to figure out what this thing is?" Scott asks and Derek half turns, gaze catching on Stiles as he zips up his jacket, the flash of pale skin disappearing behind red velour.
"It's called a Kanima," he replies, turning around fully in time to catch Stiles's expression of outraged disbelief.
"You knew the whole time?" he demands incredulously and Derek shakes his head tiredly, skull throbbing from what has been an interminable night.
"No. Only when it was confused by its own reflection," he explains.
"It doesn't know what it is," Scott says thoughtfully and Derek nods, "Or who," he murmurs, and Scott's brows furrow together.
"What else do you know?" Stiles asks and Derek shrugs, "Just stories. Rumors," he murmurs.
Scott shifts uneasily, "But it's like us?" he asks warily.
"A shape shifter?" Derek replies, "Yes. But it's-it's not right. It's like a..." he trails off and Stiles nods, picking up where Derek's voice has fallen away.
"An abomination," he supplies grimly, looking up from under his lashes at Derek and a jolt runs through him at the look in Stiles's eyes, the understanding that he sees werewolves not as violent, twisted monsters like the kanima, but something else, something better. Stiles blinks slowly, tiredly, and Derek is captivated by the dark flare of his lashes and the way they stand out against his pale skin, his mouth too a slash of red against cream and Derek swallows hard at the memory of his mouth against Derek's.
It hadn't been a kiss, no, not a kiss in the way he's had before, but it had seared him more deeply than any kiss ever had—because it had taken nothing from him, not his innocence, not his virginity, no, it had taken nothing but instead had given him life and lifted him to the surface.
"Derek?" Scott calls softly and his gaze breaks away from Stiles, heart beating uncomfortably fast, ripples of something running through him as some long dead instinct awakens inside his chest, the part of him that he's always thought of as pure wolf instinct coming to the fore, aching for something he can't allow himself to focus on.
He muddles his way through the rest of Scott's thoughts on the situation and escapes as soon as he can, back to his shabby little home in the train car where he changes into warm dry clothing and paces back and forth, thoughts stuck on the feeling of Stiles's mouth against his, the warmth that had filled his lungs when he'd breathed life back into Derek's body, the regret in his voice before he'd let go of Derek and his silent pleading promise under the surface that he wouldn't let Derek drown.
He never thanked Stiles for it, he realizes, and he's moving before he even realizes he's made the decision, and before he knows it he's hovering outside of Stiles's room watching through the window as he bandages the wounds on his forearm, his hiss of pain loud even through the glass.
Derek moves again, tapping on the glass and startling Stiles, but he lifts a hand in silent greeting and Stiles hesitates for only the briefest of moments before he's unlatching the window and waving Derek inside.
"What are you doing here?" Stiles asks, but there's no aggression in his voice, only tired curiosity and Derek wonders that himself because he really shouldn't be, if he's being honest with himself, but he can't forget the feeling of Stiles's mouth against his or the strength of his arms holding Derek up until his human body gave out.
"I—" his words catch in his throat and he feels broken open, raw and vulnerable as he stares at Stiles and tries to make the words come. "Thank you," he finally manages, voice barely above a whisper and so full of emotion it cracks halfway through and he feels a flush rise on his cheeks as he looks away from Stiles, heart pulsing unsteadily in his chest.
"You're welcome," Stiles murmurs back quietly, and the silence between them grows and grows and grows until Stiles breaks it again, voice soft and hesitant as he asks, "Do you trust me now?" and when Derek looks up and meets his gaze, he finds it so hopeful, so full of yearning that he moves without thinking, instinct propelling him to close the distance between them and then his mouth is against Stiles's once more, and when Stiles gasps raggedly into it, he inhales that too, as he had the breaths that Stiles had pushed into him at the pool.
Stiles clings to Derek's sides, fingers twitching and grasping, digging in to the flesh of his ribs and he rumbles softly in pleasure, kissing Stiles more intently, his own hands finding purchase against the hot skin of his cheek and the small of his back, devouring every little sound of pleasure that Stiles breathes out, aching to make all of them part of himself, to hold them within him and never let them go.
"I trust you," he breathes against Stiles's mouth when he finally breaks away for a larger sip of air, and the dazed look in Stiles's eyes has him stroking his thumb across his pink cheek with a reverence he didn't know he had in him. "I trust you Stiles," he murmurs again before kissing him once more, pulling Stiles tightly against him and encouraging his mouth to open a little more with a well placed nip of his teeth against Stiles's lower lip.
Stiles gasps his name and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard, ever tasted, and he chases more, drawing Stiles even closer, hands plunging under the hem of his t-shirt to get them against his soft, pale skin. He's ravenous for every inch of skin, every breath and gasp that he chases out of Stiles's mouth, hands sliding down to grab at the swells of his ass and lift, growling hungrily at the way Stiles gasps out Derek's name against his mouth.
It's not far to the bed and he sinks down, pulling Stiles onto his lap as he leans back against the headboard and kisses him again and again, getting drunk on it, heat building in his blood and banking like a roaring fireplace, setting him ablaze from the inside out as they press into each other hungrily.
He doesn't realize his shift has slipped over him until one of his fangs drags across Stiles's lip and blood blooms into their kiss—but far from slowing Stiles down like Derek anticipates, it has him moaning softly as Derek drags his tongue over the weeping spot, and grinding down into Derek's hard cock.
Stiles's scent has bloomed with arousal, warm and heavy on his tongue, but he can smell the sour tinge of exhaustion and feel the tremble in his body so he slides both hands up Stiles's back and draws out the ache in his muscles from holding Derek up in the pool and the effect is immediate—Stiles melts into him with a breathless moan, pressing his forehead into Derek's as he pants for breath and shudders all over.
"Okay?" Derek murmurs, deep instinctual worry turning his grip soft and gentle while he noses at Stiles's throat, inhaling the scent of his skin and hating the faint burn of chlorine that he can still detect despite the overlay of a musky body wash and arousal.
Stiles hums and turns his head, nuzzling into Derek's hair, mouth open and hot against his temple. "M'good," he murmurs, chin tilting down so his lips brush against Derek's cheek, fingers curling around the nape of Derek's neck and the back of his head, gently tilting his head up and when their gazes connect Derek feels it like a bolt of lightning running through him.
"Touch me?" Stiles murmurs against his mouth and Derek makes a low noise in his throat, nodding faintly as he flicks his tongue out against Stiles's lower lip, eyes wide open to watch the way it makes Stiles's lashes flutter and his body roll with pleasure, hips grinding down into Derek's cock.
Derek slides his hands down to Stiles's waist, watching as his lashes go low and heavy over his amber eyes, lips parted around unsteady breaths that gust against Derek's mouth, hot and warm and so enticing he can't help but nip and suck at Stiles's lower lip, devouring the breathy moan that shudders out of him in response.
Thumbs tucking under the waistband of Stiles's sweats, he rubs at the sharp notch of his hips and aches to put his mouth there, to bruise and bite and claim, and the intensity of his desire has him breathing out raggedly and then groaning in shocked desire when Stiles leans into the kiss, deepening it with a sharp bite to Derek's lip that makes his cock throb.
"God," Stiles breathes, rolling his hips and grinding his cock into Derek's belly, "please, Derek," he whispers, "please touch me."
Derek nods, nose sliding against Stiles's lips brushing together as they both breathe unevenly, bodies pressed together, hot and aching and he can hear the rush of blood in Stiles's veins, can smell the salty tang of pre come and his jaws ache with the urge to bite, to extend his fangs and claim what his wolf knows is his.
He gets distracted for a moment, when he slides a hand down the trail of hair at Stiles’s belly, the sensation of it making him gasp softly and roll his hips into Derek's touch, and god he wants to put his mouth there, inhale his arousal and taste his skin.
Derek lets out a soft rumble of pleasure, palm sliding lower and lower, under the waistband of his pants and then further still, to wrap around Stiles’s cock.
Stiles moans into his mouth and kisses him, sloppy and urgent and Derek makes a soft wanting noise, cupping his cheek as he deepens the kiss and chases the very air from his lungs, desperate and greedy for more. Stiles moans louder when Derek tightens his grip, twisting his wrist just a little and thumbing across the silky head, the sticky pre come lending a smoother glide when he runs his thumb over the head of Stiles's cock again.
Stiles clings to his shoulders, shivering in his grasp, murmuring Derek's name in a breathy voice that makes Derek want to live in this moment, to feel this burning warmth that's settled inside him forever, even as it terrifies him with its intensity.
The wolf knows his mother had told him as a child, and he'd thought with Paige, and then worse, with Kate, but now, now he knows—Stiles is his mate.
It's not because of some fated destiny, it's not written in the stars or a dusty prophecy, it's because he trusts Stiles with his life, with the lives of his pack members, with his territory, and the wolf knows—this is a good mate, a mate worthy of claiming, of offering his dedication and adoration to, and Derek makes a low almost wounded sound as he cups the nape of Stiles's neck and kisses him with everything he's feeling behind it.
Stiles's hands tighten on him, a ragged noise tearing out of him as Derek devours him, desperate for more, more, more.
"Lemme touch you," Stiles gasps against his mouth, "Der, please," he begs softly and Derek nods, a noise almost like a whine coming out of him when Stiles leans back, hating the distance between them, but then Stiles's hands are on the waistband of his sweats and pulling them down enough that he can free Derek's cock.
Derek greedily pulls Stiles closer, shoving at his sweats until they're down enough that he can wrap his hand around both of their cocks, both of them moaning at the friction and grinding into each other helplessly. Stiles pants against his mouth, moaning as Derek strokes them, his hand fluttering between them for a moment before he drops one to wrap around their cocks, face scrunching up with pleasure as he moans loudly.
Their hands move in sync, fingers slipping between each other, sticky and hot from the friction and it’s good¸ god it’s so good that Derek can barely breathe—mouth open around mindless gasps and moans, sloppy kisses stealing what little breath he has in his lungs, Stile’s name heavy on his tongue, warm and sweet with the taste of Stiles's arousal.
It's like honey candy his grandmother used to make and Derek can't get enough of it, licking into Stiles's mouth, nipping at his jaw and throat as they find a rhythm together, grinding and thrusting against each other, the way growing smoother as their cocks leak.
The air between them is humid and hot, sweat beading down the small of his back and neither of them are quiet as their pace picks up, cocks sliding against each other with a slick, wet sound that makes his gut burn with a desperate sort of hunger.
It's slow and intense in a way Derek hasn't ever had, and each thrust rocks Derek down to his core with the way their gazes are locked on each other, the way it feels like they’re connecting deeper than just a physical bond. His throat goes tight with emotion and he curls tighter into Stiles, hand gripping almost too tightly at the nape of Stiles's neck so he can kiss him as they move together, their breaths shared in the tight space between them, and Derek’s senses sing with joy at having the very air from Stiles’s lungs inside his body.
Stiles breathes his name out over and over again, and each time, Derek chases the words, the wolf desperate to taste them, to inhale Stiles and hold him inside his body, to make him part of Derek in a way that can never be undone.
He can smell when Stiles's arousal grows, taste his sweat and pre-come on the hot humid air between them, and he wants to see it, to feel it—hips bucking up harder, he kisses Stiles hungrily, moaning as they move together, chasing pleasure.
Eventually the hot tension in his belly coils tighter and tighter, and Derek knows his release is imminent—too soon for his pleasure, he never wants this to end, wants to stay like this all night, wrapped in Stiles’s arms pressed as close to him as he can get without actually being inside him.
Stiles's moans turn to soft cries, his forehead pressing into Derek's as his cock throbs and then starts spilling over their joined grip, hot and sticky and so good it makes Derek dizzy, his breathing ragged as he inhales hungrily, his balls aching as they grind together, his own release turning his spine to molten steel, spilling out of him in huge pulses that add to the mess.
They frot together messily, chasing sensation until it grows a little too sharp, cocks still a little firm and their breathing loud and uneven in the relative quiet of the room. The scent of their joined arousal sits heavy in the back of Derek's throat and he can't restrain the instincts inside him, doesn't stop himself from lifting his hand from their cocks to lick at the come, lids heavy as he watches Stiles watch him, mouth slung open in stunned arousal, an almost pained sound of desire coming from his throat.
"Derek," Stiles groans, blinking dazedly before he sways in and licks up the mess from Derek's wrist, and then Derek loses himself to instinct and chases Stiles's mouth, licking into it and moaning at the shared taste of them on their tongues, panting and groaning into Stiles's mouth and shuddering at the almost painfully good twitch his cock gives.
They calm, eventually, and then Stiles is smiling against his mouth and huffing out a soft, disbelieving laugh, the warmth of his breath like a benediction on Derek's skin. "That was…" he huffs softly and his lashes flutter shut as he exhales slowly, body melting into Derek's with an ease that makes Derek's instincts preen with pride at how well he's taken care of Stiles, of how comfortable and safe Stiles must feel to be this close to a predator.
"Good?" Derek murmurs hopefully and Stiles nods, fingers curling around the nape of Derek's neck, flexing gently and scritching through the soft hairs there and sending a shiver down Derek's spine.
"So good," Stiles breathes, mouth curled into a smile against Derek's mouth and he can't help but kiss him, firm and long, breathing him in, breathing in the way Stiles exhales and moans softly.
When things get sticky and Stiles is slumping with exhaustion, his kisses messy and off center, Derek huffs a soft laugh of affection and rolls him down onto the bed, pressing him into the mattress with a kiss to his throat before reaching for the wipes Stiles directs him to in the nightstand.
"Not that I'm objecting…but…where did this come from?" Stiles asks after they're both clean and curled together, Stiles's head pillowed on Derek's chest, his gaze heavy as he peers up at Derek.
Derek hums thoughtfully, rubbing his fingers through Stiles's shorn hair, instincts pleased with the way he arches into the touch, lashes fluttering.
"I trust you," Derek tells him, "it's…important for me," he says slowly, thinking of Kate and how she'd shattered his trust so thoroughly, made it nearly impossible for him to imagine ever having something like this.
Stiles nods thoughtfully, fingers curling under the collar of Derek's shirt to pet at the hair on his chest. "Because of Kate," he murmurs and a ripple of shock runs through Derek and he finds himself nodding, wondering how the hell Stiles knows.
"And because of my instincts," Derek tells him quietly, hand curling protectively around the back of Stiles's head, thumb sweeping over the tender skin behind his ear, savoring the way it makes Stiles shiver and hum happily, lashes fluttering for a moment.
"Instincts?" Stiles asks sleepily and Derek smiles at the growing scent of exhaustion on him, instincts pleased with how easily Stiles melts into him in such a vulnerable state.
"To be naked together, to sleep together, it's a vulnerability," Derek says softly, "and the wolf knows when a partner is right, safe," he murmurs.
Stiles hums and shifts his head, nosing into the vee of Derek's t-shirt and at the skin that's exposed, fingers flexing against his ribs where he holds Derek firmly.
"—'re safe w'me," Stiles sighs, words slurred with sleep, "I trust you," he whispers and Derek's gut clenches at how sure he is, how steady his heartbeat is—he means every word of what he's said and it makes Derek's breath catch in his throat, emotion knotting it up so all he can do is nod and curl up enough that he can press a kiss to Stiles's hair.
"I trust you too," Derek whispers against his head, and Stiles hums and wiggles happily for a moment before he exhales deeply and slips into sleep, body soft and trusting against Derek and he can't help but curl his hand protectively around the curve of Stiles's hip, tuck his thumb under the hem of his shirt and caress the soft skin there with utter reverence.
He stays and watches Stiles sleep until the rumble of the Sheriff's engine outside forces him into movement, sliding out of the bed and behind the door, waiting until Noah has stuck his head in the room to check on his son, the scent of his love and affection lingering in the air after he's trod quietly down the hall to his own room.
Derek brushes a kiss over Stiles's temple and hushes him when he stirs and sleepily murmurs Derek's name, capturing his soft mouth in a sweet kiss that lingers until he's tempted to crawl back into bed with him and stay the night. He doesn't want to leave, instincts howling for him to stay, but he soothes himself with another long kiss, inhaling the soft sigh of his name from Stiles before he leaves out the window, standing in the dark and staring up at the window, lungs aching with the way he's holding his breath in, determined to keep Stiles with him as long as he can.
He exhales finally, and forces himself to walk away, hand rubbing idly over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of it and knowing that tomorrow he'll be able to fill his lungs with Stiles again, be able to sate the drive of his instincts and be close to his mate.
The wolf knows, and despite the unknowns swirling around them—the kanima, the Argents, the signs of an alpha pack approaching—the wolf knows with utter certainty that Stiles is his mate, and that is an anchor that Derek can cling to, can be secure in, can trust.