Chapter Text
Things settle, after that.
It turns out that Matt snuck into the lab and injected himself with some kind of experiment they were working on, thinking it was the same thing that made Spider-Man, but the effects wore off after a few hours (thankfully), and he was given a considerable fine for the damages caused, and a severe warning. His parents made a public apology, and Matt hung his head, but at least he seemed chastised.
Spider-Man slowly becomes something of the past, a distantly fading memory, and copy-cats pop up here and there from time to time, people desperate for a taste of the fame and adoration that comes with being a vigilante.
But it’s always the same story of a kid dressed up in costume that stopped a street fight, or some little girl that wrote in her essay she wanted to be a superhero, and Stiles –
Stiles created that. Maybe not Stiles Stilinski himself, but a part of him did.
And he’ll always, always be proud of that.
Derek gives him these soft glances whenever it comes on the news, whenever a reporter ends a piece with, ‘but it would have been a different story were Spider-Man here to save the day’.
But Stiles will look back at him in those moments, unwavering.
He’s made his choice.
The others still talk about it. It just comes up in conversation, it’s basically inevitable. Almost everyone in New York City is curious, everyone wants to know.
Who exactly is Spider-Man? Is he someone we know? Is he someone close to us? Could he really be among us, just like anybody else?
Various Peter Parker’s across the world have been called out, who have all vehemently and repeatedly denied it, but it seems nobody has actually tried to name themselves Spider-Man yet.
Stiles honestly can’t figure out why. It would be easy – all they would have to do is produce a red costume, and even then, it would only take a, ‘it’s me’, for a few seconds of fame, for the spotlight to be thrust directly onto them.
But it seems nobody wants to take on the title. Everyone is simply holding their breath, silent, waiting.
“I’m past the point of caring.” Erica says, rolling her eyes, as they’re all sat at the library. “It’s been what – two years?”
“Here here.” Stiles tips his head, holding up his water bottle like it’s a champagne glass, and looks to Derek smiling.
“If he was gonna come out, he’d have done it by now.” Jackson gripes.
Stiles purses his mouth, tilting his head to the side. “That’s funny.” He says, and presses his knee to Derek’s. “I thought I was already out.”
Jackson blinks. Erica pauses with her sandwich half-way to her mouth. Danny’s eyes widen.
“No.” He starts, in disbelief. “No. No!”
Danny suddenly jumps up, and Stiles swallows, a tightness to his throat despite the careless grin.
They’d both agreed to tell the group two weeks ago, Derek and him, but the time was never right, they were never all together.
He’d practised all the ways to come out with it, all the ways to begin, but eventually just decided it was better to say it in a way his friends would know as just Stiles.
Now, with ten faces all staring back him, Stiles finds himself at a loss.
Erica Reyes blinks at him dumbly, while Vernon Boyd simply stares with an expectant expression.
Jackson Whittemore gapes, mouth hanging open. Danny Māhealani points a finger, speechless.
Isaac Lahey is frowning, uncomprehending, but Lydia Martin has her mouth pursed primly, both eyebrows raised. Malia Tate has her face scrunched up in confusion, and Allison Argent is smiling.
Scott McCall is beaming wide from ear-to-ear, Kira Yukimura has her head tilted as she waits for Stiles to continue.
Derek Hale doesn’t look at him at all, but the hand on top of Stiles’ knee is warm.
“Look.” Stiles begins, holding both hands spread and swallowing thickly. “I know this is probably a lot to take in –”
“You’re – are you saying – that you’re –” Danny babbles.
“I don’t understand what’s going on.” Erica begins, but her eyes are wide as if she does.
Until Lydia sighs, holding out a hand, and Boyd wordlessly reaches into his pocket for his wallet.
“What.” Stiles states, looking between them.
“Did you really think we didn’t know?” Lydia asks, one eyebrow perched.
“I’m right?” Erica asks, glancing around, and then she’s grinning. “Am I right? I’m right!” She jumps up, fist pumping the air.
“I –” Stiles glances to Derek, lost, and finds Derek just as confused.
“Oh my God, Stiles, did you honestly think we had no idea?” Lydia carries on.
“I honestly do have no idea what’s going on.” Isaac offers at large.
“Stiles.” Lydia inclines her head significantly. “Being. You know.”
“What’s that got to do with coming out?” Isaac looks around the group.
Erica lets her hand drop. “Were you not listening to the conversation at all?”
“Nobody told me!” Danny cries.
Stiles buries his head into his hands, but then he’s laughing.
Bets were placed. Prizes were on offer for when Stiles would eventually tell them.
Why is he not in the least surprised?
*
“Can you believe they knew?” Stiles is still laughing as they stumble into Derek’s room.
Derek is laughing too. “Jackson’s face.”
“Now that.” Stiles holds up a finger. “That makes me happy I didn’t say anything.”
Derek shakes his head, but then his hands are on Stiles’ waist, warm heat and strong fingers, and Stiles turns and finds Derek’s mouth.
Stiles runs his hands up and into Derek’s thick hair and grips, pulling him closer as they tumble and topple onto the bed.
Derek gasps, mouth opening beautifully as he slides their bodies together, rough friction against their clothes, too many layers, too many –
“Get these – off –” Stiles pants against Derek’s lips, pulling at the waistband of his jeans, but to his surprise and utter delight, Derek is wriggling his hips and pulling his trousers down.
Stiles gasps and sits up immediately to help, but Derek pushes him back into the bed, growling.
“Missed you so – fucking much.” Derek pants, pulling at Stiles’ clothes now.
Stiles laughs breathlessly, even as he grips Derek tighter.
“Well don’t break up with me then.” He rasps, and Derek pulls back to give him a raised eyebrow.
“I mean it.” Stiles says, and can’t keep the creeping fear from his voice. “Never do that again, alright? Even if you hate me, even if you can’t bear to look at me – never leave me, okay?”
Derek tilts his head. “You would prefer I was with you when I hated you, rather than just break up with you?”
“I guess I would just have to make you love me again.” Stiles grins and palms Derek’s backside, grinding them together and making Derek gasp.
“I think – I could be persuaded.” Derek says into his mouth, and Stiles laughs, sliding his trousers down all the way as Derek kicks them off until he’s only in boxers and a t-shirt, hair ruffled, cheeks flushed.
“That’s good.” Stiles pants back, lifting his arms so Derek can yank at his shirt and throw it somewhere across the room.
“Dereh! Can I –”
Stiles has never seen anyone move so fast.
Because one minute, they’re kissing on the bed, and the next Derek has flown across the room and is plastering himself over the door.
“Cora!” He booms. “I told you, you can’t come in here!”
“But –”
“Ask Laura!” Derek’s voice rises in hysteria and Stiles covers his face with both hands to keep from laughing.
Derek is flustered and utterly rumpled, t-shirt rucked up and boxers tented with his obvious erection, two socked feet against the door and cheeks flushed red.
He catches Stiles’ eyes from across the room, and then he’s thudding his head on the door.
“This is terrible.” He groans.
There are a lot of words that Stiles would use to describe the sight in front of him, but terrible isn’t one of them.
Stiles crosses over quietly and presses himself along Derek, taking his face in his hands.
Derek peeks one eye open, and Stiles laughs, leaning in close and touching their foreheads.
“I don’t mind.” He whispers.
“We never have any time together.” Derek murmurs, mournful.
Stiles raises his eyebrows. “There’s time now?”
Derek’s eyes slowly begin to light up.
“Derek!” Talia calls up. “You two wanting any snacks?”
Derek rips open the door and throws his head out. “No! We’re – doing work!” He shouts. “Homework!”
“Alright!” Talia replies. “Just wondering!”
Derek sighs explosively and slams the door shut, turning back to Stiles with an even more flushed face than before.
“I swear to God.” He begins, squeezing his eyes shut. “There’s no point. She’ll be back again.”
Stiles nuzzles his face into Derek’s throat, nipping the skin slightly. Derek makes a soft noise, hands falling to Stiles’ hips.
“I can be quiet.” Stiles whispers against the hot shell of Derek’s ear.
Dere shudders, but then he’s pushing weakly at Stiles. “Stiles.” He murmurs. “They’re right outside.”
“They won’t know.” Stiles says softly.
“I’m definitely going to hell.” Derek answers.
“We’re not doing anything wrong.” Stiles murmurs, mouthing lazily at the skin of Derek’s neck.
“It’s – very wrong.” Derek says roughly, eyes shut and jaw clenched.
Stiles shakes his head. “Think about it, it’s not like we’re doing anything bad.” He pulls back to grin wickedly. “It’s not like this is dangerous, or harmful. Call it the opposite.”
Derek’s breath hitches as Stiles gives a slow roll of his hips.
“Hmm? This helps release endorphins in the body, helps relax the muscles –”
As he speaks he runs a hand down and cups Derek through his boxers, who keens and bucks into the touch like a starved man.
“Regulates the heart, keeps the skin clear –”
Derek makes another soft, high noise in the back of his throat.
Stiles grins, pressing into him harder, rubbing the heel of his palm into Derek, who bucks his hips and whines.
Stiles pulls back, surprised.
“It’s been – a long time.” Derek manages, croaky, as if in explanation.
Stiles gives Derek one arched eyebrow. “I would hope so.” He says strongly, even as his gut clenches. This is the first time they’ve had alone together since breaking up, and it’s not as if Stiles has been with anyone else. Not as if he even thought about being with anyone else.
Derek rolls his eyes, exasperated. “I mean just. In general.” There’s a suspicious flush to his cheeks, even as his jaw is clenched. “I haven’t. For a while.”
Stiles feels his features smooth out in realisation. “Really?” He breathes.
Derek clears his throat. “Well I just. Wasn’t. Really in the mood.” He says stutteringly.
Stiles leans in close, nudging their noses together and closing his eyes. “Me neither. I haven’t been either.”
Derek smiles, tilting his face up and brushing the tip of his nose against Stiles’. “That’s good.” He whispers.
Stiles feels himself soften, feels warmth bloom inside his chest, and then he leans in and says into Derek’s ear, “I want to suck you off.”
Derek goes rigid in a second, his spine stiffening, all his muscles tensing.
Stiles draws back to find him frozen.
“Jesus, Stiles.” He hisses after a minute, his hands tight on Stiles’ hips. “You can’t just say that.”
Stiles chuckles, satisfaction unfurling in his stomach at the reaction. “I want to, though.” He confesses softly. “I’ve wanted to for a while.”
Derek thunks his head against the door again, groaning low, and Stiles laughs.
“I want to do it here.” Stiles murmurs, and then he’s kneeling, pressing his face into Derek’s thigh and breathing in.
Derek shakes, the muscles of his legs taut and rigid. Stiles skims his mouth over the bare skin of his legs, running his hands up to hold Derek’s behind as he kisses all over his front.
“Stiles, I –” Derek starts, choked, and a hand falls onto Stiles’ shoulder.
They must look a pair: Stiles bare-chested and still wearing trousers, Derek only in a t-shirt and boxers, but Stiles finds he likes their mismatched condition, he likes their desperate state of undress.
Stiles nuzzles his face into the fabric of Derek’s briefs, inhaling the familiar smell of his laundry detergent and something else, something a little more subtle and earthier that’s just him.
Derek shudders as Stiles begins mouthing at the hard outline he finds in Derek’s boxers, pressing the flat of his tongue against the material.
He pulls the waistband down slowly, letting the head gently pop free, and teases it with flicks of his tongue until gasps are falling from Derek’s lips.
“Have to be quiet.” Stiles whispers, pulling back to look up at Derek biting his fist.
Derek nods frantically, and Stiles pulls the waistband a little lower before taking the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and relishing in the taste of slightly salty, bitter pre-cum.
Derek makes a muffled cry, and Stiles squeezes the flesh of his backside in warning before swallowing him down.
Although Stiles has read various articles online and done extensive research on the topic at hand, he only manages to take Derek halfway into his mouth before his throat seizes up.
Stiles breathes through his nose, willing his throat to adjust around Derek’s length, but Derek is already squirming, his thighs tense with the effort of keeping still.
“You okay?” Derek asks, voice strained, but there are fingers carding through his hair, soothing.
Stiles slides back slowly, fluttering his tongue along the shaft as he pulls off with a wet pop, and then he takes Derek in his hand and bends to suck on one of Derek’s balls.
Derek jolts up, shuddering all over as Stiles skims his teeth against the sensitive skin, sucking it gently into his mouth as he drags his hand up slow over Derek’s length, swiping a thumb over the leaking tip.
“Stiles, I –” Derek is shaking, voice choked, and so Stiles swallows him again, massaging his balls with one hand as he circles his tongue around Derek’s shaft and –
“Ah, ah – St –” Derek doesn’t finish his sentence, his voice going cut off in an open-mouthed, silent cry as he comes, trying to pull at Stiles’ hair with stiff, frozen fingers.
Stiles doesn’t move, just works him through it, milking the orgasm out of him. Derek is shaking, mouth moving silently with no sound coming out, head thrown back and knees nearly buckling.
Stiles rises to his feet afterwards and presses himself to Derek, pushing his face into Derek’s neck as he hides his flushed face.
“Was it – good?” He murmurs, and then Derek is spinning them around and pressing him to the door.
“That was amazing.” He states, eyes dark and serious, cheeks red and hair disarrayed.
“Oh.” Stiles pants, and shudders, overwrought and overwhelmed.
But then Derek’s hands are at his waistband, popping opening the button and unzipping his jeans, and Stiles can’t help but gasp and buck up into Derek’s touch.
“Shh, I’ve got you, I’m here.” Derek is murmuring, sliding a hand inside Stiles’ briefs and finally, finally gripping him, loose and unhurried.
The tightness in his gut is replaced instantly with relief, pure pleasure, and Stiles bites his lip against a moan, rolling his hips up into Derek.
“What do you want?” Derek is murmuring, breath hot on Stiles’ face. “Want me to suck you off? Or this? Something else? Anything else?”
Stiles gasps a laugh, suddenly so fond despite the incessant throbbing in his groin, and wraps an arm around Derek’s strong shoulders, peppering kisses over his face – the corner of his mouth, his cheekbone, his ear.
“I love you.” Stiles nuzzles into the side of Derek’s face. “So much.”
Derek laughs, a gentle, lovely sound. “Stiles, I’ll do it, you don’t have to –”
“But I do.” Stiles cups his cheek, caressing his face with the pad of a thumb. “I do.”
“What do you want?” Derek asks, quickening his pace, tightening his hand just so and making Stiles gasp.
“Ah – if you would be so very kind, I would really like to come on you.” Stiles manages to pant.
Derek stills, and Stiles feels his cheeks heat impossibly more, mouth opening to dismiss what he's just said, but then Derek looks Stiles in the eye, dark and heated.
“Where?” He asks, voice rough.
Stiles swallows. “Anywhere, just – keep the clothes on.”
Derek quirks an eyebrow. “Really? This?” He looks down at himself. “Is a turn-on?”
“Such a turn-on.” Stiles says in a breath, his eyes drinking Derek in. “I have Derek Hale, alone in his bedroom, wearing nothing but boxers and that band t-shirt I’ve seen him wear a million times, asking me how I want to come.”
Derek tips his head back laughing, shaking his head, eyes crinkled in warmth. “You have no idea.” He begins, eyebrows raised. “Who I have in my bedroom.”
Stiles grins, and starts to say – Spider-Man?
“Stiles. Stilinski.” Derek finishes, and Stiles feels his face flame to life.
He ducks his head, hiding away even as he laughs, but Derek carries on.
“Half-naked, hottest guy I ever met, also the funniest, kindest, cutest – and currently hiding his face as I compliment him.” Derek says, tilting his head down with Stiles and trying to catch his eyes, but Stiles shakes his head laughing, wrapping his arm around Derek’s shoulders more and hugging him close.
“I really hate you.” He chuckles, pressing his cheek to Derek’s, but Derek just laughs in his ear.
“No you don’t.” He informs Stiles. “I know this for a fact.”
Stiles pulls back, but he’s grinning so wide his cheeks his hurt. “Maybe I do, and I just keep you around for other things.”
Derek makes an inquisitive face, even as his hand on Stiles tightens. “Hm? What’s that?”
Stiles gasps, jerking forward as his aching, forgotten cock is given attention. “Ah, lots – lots of things.”
“I think you need to be more specific.” Derek tells him.
Stiles shakes his head, clinging to Derek. “Just – research.” He manages. “Very important research.”
“I see.” Derek flicks his wrist, making Stiles’ knees almost buckle and give way.
“I’m – I’m close, Derek.” Stiles pants, and Derek slows his hand.
“Where do you want to do it?” Derek asks, soft and willing. “Stomach? Face? Chest?”
Stiles honestly doesn’t care one ounce where it is exactly he comes on Derek, but the thought of just coming on Derek Hale – of marking his skin, of Derek having Stiles’ come somewhere on his body – fills Stiles’ head with a cloudy haze.
“Any – anywhere.” Stiles rasps thickly.
Derek lifts the edge of his t-shirt, exposing his bare stomach, the tan skin, the trail of soft, fuzzy hair darkening at his navel, the muscles flexing, and Stiles –
Yes.
Stiles would like to come there.
“Here?” Derek asks, almost – coy, biting his lip.
Stiles nods frantically before Derek starts stroking him again, taking him out of his briefs and nudging the head against his belly, and it only takes a few rough strokes until Stiles feels the building pressure in his gut mounting to the point of pain, and he’s gasping, rocking forward, still nodding.
“Yeah, yeah, please –” he mutters, senseless, but Derek just rubs Stiles’ weeping, swollen tip across his stomach, hand quickening, and that’s it.
Stiles comes with a guttural, drawn-out groan, long and low, and spurts across Derek’s stomach, catching on his t-shirt a little bit.
Derek just rubs it into skin, grinning.
“It’s warm.” He murmurs, looking down. “Feels nice.”
Stiles flops against him, listless, and buries his face into Derek’s neck. “You are too hot.” He complains.
Stiles can feel Derek’s laugh reverberate inside his chest.
*
Afterwards, they lie in Derek’s bed, just basking in the contact, running fingers along each other's skin and tracing patterns on each other.
Somewhere along the way Derek lost his shirt while Stiles lost his trousers, and so he lies on his back with one arm wrapped around Stiles as Stiles circles his pink nipples with a gentle fingertip and watches him squirm, their legs tangled, chests bare.
“It tickles.” Derek giggles, trying to wriggle away, but Stiles holds fast.
“I think you like it.” Stiles tells him, because he knows that flush crawling it’s way down Derek’s chest.
“Feels weird.” Derek insists, scrunching his nose, but Stiles decides that further testing is needed before a conclusion can be made.
“Whatever you say.” Stiles grins, and then sighs blissfully, fitting his head under the crook of Derek’s chin and closing his eyes.
“I think I like this – just as much.” Derek murmurs, and Stiles pops his head up.
“What?” He raises an eyebrow.
“This.” Derek murmurs sleepily, eyelids drooping. “Just being close, touching. I think it’s just as good as – other stuff.”
Stiles hums in his chest, lying back down. “I agree.” He replies, after a second.
“I’ve never really had this with anyone.” Derek confesses. “I don’t think I would want it with anyone other than you.”
Stiles pushes his face into Derek’s neck in order to hide his beam. “Me neither.” He says in a whisper.
Derek takes a deep breath, turning his nose into Stiles’ hair, before exhaling in a gust. “Have to get changed soon.” He says, quiet. “Mom will probably ask about dinner.”
Stiles nods. “Few more minutes.”
Derek just shuffles around onto his side, fitting himself up against Stiles’ back and draping an arm over him.
Stiles groans. “This isn’t helping.” He says, almost comatose. He can’t move a muscle. Even his feet are warm, trapped between Derek’s. His feet are never warm.
He feels Derek smile into the back of his head. “Sleep.” He says, and so Stiles does.
He doesn’t know if Talia asks them about dinner, but when he wakes, a blanket has been put over them both, and Derek is fast asleep, mouth open and features lax.
*
They’re sat outside in the summer sun, crossed-legged on the picnic blanket with the food spread out between them as they relish in the heat, the first good weather they’ve had in ages.
Derek is smiling, a soft thing on his face as he talks, hands waving to gesture the story, and Stiles lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment, just to savour it.
They’re leaving for England next month, packing up and starting afresh. He’s nervous, although he won’t admit it, and there are things that he’ll miss, people he’ll miss, but he’s excited too. It turns out that there are a lot of scholarships on offer for students with Stiles’ grades, and well. It’s not as if Stiles isn’t interested in science.
Plus, four years isn’t such a long time to get a degree. Stiles thinks it would be a lot longer without Derek.
His dad is coming too, along with the whole Hale family in some kind of big, pieced-together, mismatched group. It’s an adventure, but one that they’ll embark on together.
Suddenly Stiles hears an alarm, some way away in the distance, and glances up sharply.
Derek is watching him.
Stiles glances back to him smiling, and shakes his head. “Sorry.” He laughs. “Habit.”
He’s still watching. “Go.” Derek says suddenly.
Stiles blinks. “What?”
“Go on.” Derek inclines his head, grinning. “Just go.”
Stiles opens his mouth, but closes it, and leans close. “Are you sure?” He asks, frowning.
Derek’s eyes are clear, intent on him. “Yes.”
“Derek –” Stiles starts.
“I’ll still be here.” He smiles, his expression unchanged. “But go.”
Stiles waits a beat before standing, bending to touch Derek’s shoulder, to take a second, before he’s shooting his web out and swinging through the air.
He isn’t wearing his mask, in full view, broad daylight.
Derek has a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, head tipped back as he looks towards the sky.
That’s the photo they use.
*
I watched Superman fly away
Come back, I'll be with you someday,
I'll be right here on the ground,
When you come back down.
— Taylor Swift, Superman