Archive of Our Own

Samskeyti means joint or the place things are stuck together at. A word that begins with sam means something “together” like “samband” (relationship), literally “joint thread”.

Samskeyti would mostly be used when describing how something is built.

**

The streets outside the airport are brimmed with people, cars and luggages. Stiles has to step aside multiple times to avoid getting trampled by any of them. He finally gets where he intended to, without being being hurt or maiming anyone in the process, and takes a deep breath only once he’s standing on the sidewalk. He has to shoulder through a huge crowd to get there, and someone drives their luggage right over his toes, but he’s not gonna complain. He's fine. He never misses this part of going somewhere - getting on a train, bus, plane is fine in the end, you have to get there in time and you don't have a second to waste so you just power through everything. But once you're at your destination, the tiredness hits you all at once and you're stuck in this purgatory in a new city surrounded by too much noise, too many smells, too many people. He's too used to the precise routine he has with his team, everything accounted for and with cars and people already waiting for them to take them wherever they need to go - today he's alone and already running late and he can’t waste even a second regretting not having just picked up a rental car. He needs to go.

He flags down a cab, standing right beside three other people who are trying to do the same and, when a bright yellow car stops in front of him, he rushes to get inside. He’s thankful his only baggage is a beat up black duffel bag, which he promptly shoves to the side when he closes the door.

He gives the address to the driver and he finally can relax against the seat. He’s immensely tired and he’s only just got here, he doesn’t know how he’ll get to the wedding without falling asleep along the way. His eyes sting, dry from the lack of sleep, and he tries to scratch the itch away by rubbing them with his fingers, but the only thing it does is making it worse. He should’ve slept on the plane, brought some eye-drops with him and maybe avoided the three large coffees he's had before takeoff, but he could still feel the drained out feeling he always gets after a particularly hard mission with the team, that feeling you get after being on edge for so long, like all the power has been cut off, so he knew that if he wanted to power through this day he needed all the caffeine in the world. Three large coffees were the only thing he could buy in the short time he spent at the airport waiting to board, or he would’ve pushed to five. Maybe a sandwich. Fuck, he’s hungry.

His phone vibrates against his leg, one two three times, and his hand shoots down immediately to grab it. He unlocks the screen, worried it’ll be some other case at work, but thankfully it’s only Scott, asking him if he landed already and where he is.

Just got here. Got a cab. Be there soon. Everything all right?

Scott’s reply arrives after a minute, nice! everything good here

this place is insane

your Dad is getting ready and i’m trying to hide all the sweets but he always manages to find them i don’t know how he does it

Stiles smiles, thinking with a thrill about Scott and his Dad, about seeing them and hugging them. It’s been almost a year since he last saw them, and he misses them everyday, only now he misses them even more than he did in the past months altogether. He looks up and around at his surroundings, and he’s not sure about where he is but he knows he’s not far from the hotel and he’s suddenly happy, elated.

This is a good day to celebrate.

**

Stiles pays the cab and gets out. The hotel is a huge, tall building with shiny windows. Stiles can hear the roaring sound of water coming from a close distance. It’s so loud that he feels like he’s standing right on the edge of the precipice, looking down at the waterfalls. He can’t see them from where he’s standing, right outside the foyer of the hotel, with its impeccable clean glass doors and myriads of people lulling around, some of them employees and some of them guests. Stiles wonders if some of these people are here for the wedding and, if so, they are relatives and friends of the bride, since he doesn’t seem to recognize anyone.

The air smells like water and sun and some kind of flowery smell, too, that’s coming from the inside of the hotel and he spots his reflection on the glass panel door to his right. His hair looks like a bird’s nested in it (but that didn’t differ that much from his usual look, his boss kept nagging him about getting a cut) and his white shirt is all crumpled and halfway outside his pants by now. He really needs to shower and change.

He steps inside, the doors sliding open silently in front of him, and he goes up to the first desk. There’s a few people waiting in line there, so he grabs his phone to text Scott, to pass some time. Michaela has texted him, in the meantime. It’s a picture of a pug wearing sunglasses, a baseball hat and a gold chain. Its tongue is lolling out of its mouth. The words I DIDN’T CHOOSE THE PUG LIFE THE PUG LIFE CHOSE ME are written in all caps over the picture and Stiles can’t help but snort loudly at it and save it to his phone.

We’re not getting a pug, Mich he replies, immediately. The line in front of him moves, he steps closer to the desk, his eyes leaving his phone only for a second.

But Stiiiiiiiiiles, it’s so cute! How can you say no to that face? Honestly!

I love that face but we’re still not getting a dog. I have to go I’m at the hotel. Everything’s so fancy here, you’d wet your pants if you could see it, the waterfalls are literally three feet away from where I’m standing.

You’re the worst roommate ever I don’t know why I chose you. Take pics!! I wanna see! Also say hi to your Dad from me and tell him I still love him even tho he’s marrying someone else.

Stiles laughs to himself and shakes his head. He replies one last thing before he’s stepping up to the desk, where a smiling man is greeting him.

“Welcome, hope you had a safe trip, I’m Jared.”

“Hi Jared,” Stiles says, touching his pant pockets, searching for his wallet. “I’m here for the Stilinski-Martin wedding, I called for a reservation? It’s under the name Stiles, Stiles Stilinski.”

Jared nods and politely smiles, looking down at the computer screen. His fingers are fast over the keyboard. “Yes, here you are. One single. Non smoking. Can I see your ID, please?”

Soon enough Stiles is holding a magnetic card and is stepping inside the first free elevator he sees. He punches the floor number in and then leans back against the elevator walls. His skin is thrumming with anticipation, he wants to go and find his Dad, hug Scott, talk to them, but he also wants to take a shower, wash away the grimy feeling of plane and stuffed air, he wants to put on a new shirt and look presentable for the huge day ahead of him. He also wants to sleep for at least twenty-six hours without breaks, and eat some real food. But first he needs to get to his room.

The elevator dings and opens to a new hallway. He first hears them, the familiar voices. They’re coming from everywhere around him. Stiles is disoriented for a long second, his brain jarring around the fact that he’s listening to Scott’s voice, Liam and Theo are there, too.

He stops in his track, eyes huge on them, his duffel bag crashing against the back of his legs.

Scott stops talking mid-sentence, Liam and Theo looking up from the phone they were looking down at, and then it all happens in a split moment.

Scott whips around, his mouth open in a huge grin, and then Stiles is getting an armful of werewolves, because both Scott and Liam are jumping him. Stiles laughs out loud, stumbling back with the force of their attack, and hugs them both tight, happy to see them, to feel them.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were here!” Scott shouts at a dangerous close proximity to his right ear. Stiles flinches.

“I wanted to shower first, I’m sure your delicate sensibilities are so offended right now by the way I smell,” Stiles chuckles at Liam’s nod and he can’t help but put a hand into his hair and mess it up. Liam shrieks and pushes him away.

“You do stink, Stilinski, but it’s a welcomed smell,” Theo says, from where he’s standing a few feet away. He’s looking at them with his usual fake aloofness, like he’s not touched or bothered by anything happening around him. Then he’s looking at Liam, how he’s trying to salvage his hair in any kind of way without a mirror.

“Sure is,” Stiles replies, putting one arm around Scott’s shoulders and leaning against him. Scott puts his own arm around Stiles’ waist and smiles up at him and Theo in turns. “I know you miss me when I’m gone.”

Theo snorts, but Scott agrees with Stiles and Stiles is so happy he could probably cry or punch something or both.

“Is my Dad gonna die of an heart attack before I get to him, or did you manage to hide some sweets,” Stiles says to Scott, who looks sheepishly at him. He’s not mad, he knows his Dad is nervous, rightly so, and he knows his health has been improving in the past few years, but he’s so used to having to look out for him that’s difficult to stop. Even when he’s in Quantico. Even now. “At least he didn’t eat any steaks.”

**

Scott steers him towards his Dad’s room. Liam and Theo go back to their own room, not wanting to interfere or maybe not interested in Stiles meeting his father after almost a whole year.

Stiles knocks and his father’s voice is loud over the cacophony of other voices in the hallway.

“Come in!”

Stiles pushes the door open and he’s greeted with the image of his father getting dressed, sitting at the bottom of his plush huge white bed. He looks good, a little older, a little happier, but always the same old John Stilinski.

John is busy tying the cuffs of his pristine white shirt, when he looks up. When he recognizes his son, he jumps up with a surprised warm laugh. “Hey,” John murmurs, holding his arms open for Stiles to get in.

Stiles leaves Scott and runs up to his father, closing his own arms around him as tight as he can without hurting him. “Hi, Dad.” He closes his eyes and hides his nose into his Dad’s shoulder, smelling the clean laundry detergent on his clothes and a little cologne on him. He feels warm, real and whole. He almost can’t believe his Dad is here, safe and about to get married.

He breaks the hug but doesn’t step away, keeping his hands on his Dad’s shoulders. John mirrors him, putting his hands on Stiles’ arms. Stiles is now taller than him, has been for a while, but it’s always a slight shock for him to realize he’s not a little kid anymore, he doesn’t have to look up to his Dad’s eyes when they hug or talk. It’s always sort of weird.

“So how was the flight? How are you?” John asks him, nodding down at the bed. “You look like you could use a nap or two. Maybe a shower. Maybe a comb. Absolutely a shave.”

Stiles laughs, touching his overgrown excuse for a beard, and sits down at the foot of the bed, when John does so. The mattress is firm under him, but the bedding is plush and it gives a bit around him. It feels fresh and nice against his hands when he leans back over them.

“I would love to be able to shower and nap at the same time. That would be a damn good invention. Why isn’t anybody in on it yet?”

“Don’t know, son, maybe you could try and get it to work.”

Stiles snorts, the left corner of his mouth lifting ruefully. He is tired, and the happiness of seeing his father feels like it’s drained him even more. He’s so happy he burned his last bits of energy left. He could probably lay down for a bit, rest his eyes, just for a moment.

He shakes his head, to clear his vision. He won’t. He needs to get up, shower and then get ready for the ceremony downstairs. He’s the one who’s giving his father away, today. He’s important. He can’t miss it.

“You know how I always say I want kids someday?” he asks his Dad, watching him tie the other cuff, calmly and slowly. It’s sort of hypnotizing.

His father uhms his assent, straightening his arms in front of himself to adjust the shirt sleeves.

“Then I get on a plane and I change idea. I suddenly don’t want kids until I’m seventy-five.”

John laughs out loud, throwing his head back. Stiles smiles, too, watching him.

“I hope you’ll give me grandkids before that. Maybe push for when you’re forty.”

“Uhm,” Stiles pretends to think about it, “I don’t know about that. We’ll see.”

John grins down at him, claps him on one knee, and Stiles is flooded with happiness. He can’t believe he’s this happy, he can’t remember the last time he was, honestly. Yeah, he was ecstatic when he got into the FBI headquarters for the first time, when he passed his training, when he solved his first case, when he left Beacon Hills, when Lydia and him talked that night for four hours and they both laughed and cried and held hands and it felt like everything was in its right place. When Scott talked to him that day in kindergarten, when his Mom kissed him on the crown of his head. When he saw Derek smile, that time. When his Dad asked him to be by his side on his wedding day. He doesn’t think he ever was as happy as today. Not once.

**

The water pressure in this place is fantastic. He could probably live here and be fine with it. This shower will be his home from now on.

Stiles groans, enjoying the feeling of water rushing down his body. He leans his head back and lets his eyes fall close, the water a warm cover over his face. He hasn’t got much time to enjoy this, he needs to dry his hair, shave and get dressed before he has to rush downstairs. He still hasn’t met Natalie, nor Lydia.

He doesn’t speak to Lydia as much as he’d like to, anymore. She’s busy with her life in Massachusetts, he’s busy with his life in Virginia, and he’s not really... sad they never call each other. He gets it. He also doesn’t really know how to talk to her anymore, not since they quietly broke up two years ago.

It wasn’t a surprise for either of them, it just happened. They grew apart and distant with each passing day and, even though Stiles will always love Lydia dearly and she said she will always hold him close to her heart, it just wasn’t the same anymore. So they talked for four hours one night, at her place in Cambridge. He flew there just to talk to her and she looked like she was expecting him, her face a resigned polite mask. Until he said “ Lydia, this is not working anymore, ” and she just. Exhaled. Like she was relieved, like she wanted him to say it before she did.

Love is strange , Stiles thinks, cleaning the fogged up mirror in front of him. It grabs you and takes you to strange places until, one day, maybe you stop. Sometimes slowly, realizing it while it happens. Sometimes abruptly. Sometimes you just can’t anymore. Sometimes it’s the little things, the things you used to love the most about them, which is awful, but true. The way their laugh makes you cringe, or how they behave with new people embarasses you, how the fact they leave dirty plates around makes you wanna explode. Love is so strange.

But sometimes.

Sometimes love wins, sometimes you just have to let it happen. You have to let it grab you and take you on a journey; you have to feel and experience and just be. Be in love.

His Dad found love again after all those years alone, spent mourning a lost love that always felt so close. It was hard for him, and Stiles, to see her go. Not only when she died, but when they had to go on with their lives. It felt like they were losing her again, in a way. It felt like they were forgetting her. Neglecting her.

Obviously Stiles knows they weren’t, they aren’t , neglecting Claudia. He knows that they have to go on and live their lives, John is happy to marry Natalie. Stiles is happy for them, too. He is. Only, sometimes, when he’s alone, he still misses his mom. How she was. Before.

He missed her, strangely, when he watched his Dad fall in love with Natalie. He thought “ I wish my mom were here, right now, I wish I could see my parents in love and happy ,” but that was foolish, and stupid and selfish. He was happy for his Dad and he was happy when his Dad told him he was going to ask Natalie to marry him.

He hasn’t thought about that in a while.

It’s a good day to celebrate, he thinks. Celebrate love. And be happy. For once.

**

He gets downstairs in time to hug Natalie before the ceremony begins, her long hair tickles his nose when she hides her face in his neck. She smells like lavender and he smiles at her when she looks at him.

“You look wonderful,” he says to her.

She clucks her tongue and swats at him with a hand. “I know that, but thank you for telling me anyway.”

She sometimes looks and sounds so much like Lydia it’s frightening to see. She’s her daughter’s mother for sure.

He feels like he has to say something before he leaves her to get to his Dad, something to commemorate the moment even though she probably knows all this already. “You know I’m really happy for you two.”

Natalie’s smile gets softer, her eyes kinder. She nods minutely and looks down at the flowers she’s holding, all white and pink and pretty. “Your mother…” She starts to say, but then stops, like she doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. Or maybe because she thinks she’ll hurt him if she does.

So he says, “I know,” and like that they look at each other, both of them with their own feelings and thoughts and words. They understand each other. Stiles knows what she wanted to say but couldn’t. Claudia is like a memory between them, like a spirit. She’s not here in person but her presence is everywhere. He let his mother go a long time ago, but some times are just a bit harder than others.

“I know,” he says again and Natalie nods, smiles ruefully at him, touches his hair in that ‘mom’ way, trying to comb it with her fingers even though they both know it’s useless. He lets her.

“Stiles,” Scott’s voice comes from somewhere behind him. Stiles turns around immediately and nods. It’s time. “Your Dad is waiting for you outside,” Scott tells him.

Stiles turns around again to face Natalie and bends down so he can kiss her cheek, her surprised laugh a nice music in his ear. “I’ll see you out there in a bit.”

“Yeah.”

Then he turns and leaves, clapping Scott on the back on his way out.

“Lydia is outside, too. She didn’t want to intrude,” Scott murmurs.

He knew she’d landed in New York before he did, so she must’ve been somewhere when he was getting ready earlier. Probably with her mother. Probably both avoiding each other for a bit longer.

Stiles shrugs and nods, straightening his suit jacket a bit, then his bow tie.

“Maybe you can talk to her later, this could be your chance to get her back.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, this would be the hundredth time he explains to Scott that there’s nothing, and no one, to get back here, he’s not interested in a relationship with Lydia. Hasn’t been for a while, now. Scott is just so fixated on how they used to be when they were younger, when Stiles really though he was going to marry Lydia and have kids with her, that he’s basically deaf.

“You know there’s nothing between Lydia and me, we’re good friends. Nothing else.”

Scott sighs, but doesn’t try to say anything else. Stiles is eternally grateful for it.

“All right, Scotty. How do I look?” Stiles asks, opening his arms to show how his green velvet jacket shines in the sun.

Scott laughs, two thumbs up. “Like a hundred dollar bill, bro.”

**

The ceremony is nice, simple. The noise from the waterfalls surrounds them and the minister has to raise his voice to be heard over the roar of the water, and it’s funny enough that both his father and him snicker, Stiles hiding his laugh behind a cough and a hand.

Lydia’s hair shines copper red in the sun. She’s wearing a long satiny dress, that moves slightly with the light breeze. She’s holding her mother’s bouquet while Natalie exchanges rings with John, and she’s smiling at them, softly.

Stiles feels a pang in his chest that feels like longing, looking at her. She looks like he thought she would look on their wedding day, beautiful and fierce and smiling. He doesn’t regret breaking up with her, he’s just a bit sad he’s never gonna experience that feeling again with her. Maybe he spent too much time fantasizing about that, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop wishing to see her look up at him and smile that smile.

She feels his gaze on her, it seems, because she turns her eyes on him. Her smile doesn’t leave her face, but morphs into something else. Complicity. They’re both watching their parents getting married, today. That must count for something weird enough, he thinks.

He shakes his head at her, and points at the happy couple with a nod of is chin and she nods, too, giggling behind the flowers. Her smile is so big her eyes get smaller and smaller, her cheeks big and dimply. Looking at her, he finds out he doesn’t feel as drawn to her as he did years ago, he doesn’t want to go there and kiss her. He’s glad to know that he only wants to hug her and whisper to her that he’ll never stop loving her because she’s been a huge part of his life and he hopes they’ll go back to how they were before, very close friends.

He tells himself he’ll do it later, he’ll tell her.

The minister shouts, “You may now kiss the bride!” and then his father is grabbing Natalie’s waist and kissing her, like in a movie.

The guests stand up and shout, celebrating and whistling, clapping their hands. There are flower petals in the air.

His Dad just got married.

**

Stiles is trying to get all the confetti and rose petals out of his air and off his jacket, when he first spots him.

Derek.

He looks good, Stiles thinks, first thing. His beard is as neatly groomed as always, his hair is a bit longer and windswept; his suit jacket is an expensive black. Stiles can tell it’s expensive because it looks like it would feel like butter under his hands, if he touched it. But the thing that makes Stiles’ brain short-circuit is the fact that Derek is wearing glasses. Like, reading glasses.

He knows he’s gaping at him, but he can’t stop. Derek is wearing glasses .

He’s also looking back at him, and Stiles can feel his face warm up. He hastily tries to wipe away the last remaining confetti out of his hair and then tries to smooth his jacket over and over again, his hands hot and cold at the same time against the fabric.

Derek smiles at him and Stiles’ breath leaves him in a whoosh, suddenly. Stupidly.

He’s also coming over, Stiles sees, and he’s smiling . The last time he saw Derek smile was years ago and it lasted mere seconds, like it wasn’t supposed to happen, but now. Now Derek is crossing the floor and walking towards him with a small soft smile on his face, like he’s glad to see Stiles and that’s enough to send him into overdrive.

“Hi,” Derek says, stopping right in front of Stiles, who’s still trying to understand how the world goes around now.

“Hey,” Stiles whispers, his voice cracking. He clears his throat and then straightens a bit, trying to regain composure. He’s not sixteen anymore and this is not the first time he meets Derek. He should be used to it by now?

Strangely he’s never ready to face him, it’s always a surprise and it always feels like his body and mind can’t decide if they want to be chill or just go batshit crazy. Derek unnerves him and Stiles doesn’t know how to process this, even after years of knowing him. He doesn’t really know what’s up with that, but he would love to stop right now. He looks like a dumbass because he can’t even say hi like a normal person. He thought he was over the whole awkward phase, by now. He’s twenty-three, for God’s sake. He works for the FBI.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” he says, wincing a bit at how harsh it sounded. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just surprised, but happy to see you.”

Derek only smiles ( again ) and puts his hands in the pockets of the slacks he’s wearing. Stiles follows the movement with his eyes and regrets it immediately. Dereks thighs look awfully good in those tight black pants. Ugh. “Your father invited me. I didn’t think I could say no, after all. It was nice of him.”

“Oh,” Stiles can only say. He didn’t know his father kept in contact with Derek, but that doesn’t really surprise him, thinking about it. John always had a soft spot for Derek, after all that thing with… Derek being accused of murder was cleared up. And subsequently Stiles admitting to having set him up. It made sense that his father thought Derek should be here for this. “I’m glad you came, it’s nice seeing you, finally,” he concludes, smiling warmly back at Derek.

He then steps up to Derek and closes his arms around him, hugging him for the first time in maybe years. “We’ve missed you,” he tells Derek’s shoulder. Derek’s stiff against Stiles’ body, but he can feel Derek’s hands startle a bit inside the confinement of the pockets, like he’s not sure what to do. “ I missed you,” Stiles decides to whisper, doesn’t even know why or where it came from, the words just flowing out of his mouth and... he realizes it’s true; he did, he does.  

He’s missed Derek a lot and didn’t realize until this very moment and, now that he did, it’s almost like he can’t stop missing him, suddenly. There’s no other room in his chest but for this unexpected feeling squashing everything else inside the limits of his ribcage.

Derek hugs him back after a long, long moment. His hands are firm against his back and he’s warm, so very warm. Stiles’ lips brush against the fabric of his jacket and it feels satiny over his mouth, like butter, like silk. He closes his eyes. Derek hugs him.

“I missed you, too,” Derek confides, like it’s a secret.

Stiles’ heart does a weird twist.

**

When they break apart, they don’t  really behave any differently than usual - they just awkwardly step back and try to look each other in the eyes. Stiles feels like it’s not failing this step quite yet, so he counts it as a definite win.

He laughs a little at the whole thing and Derek smiles back, seeming a little more at ease.

He’s opening his mouth to tell Stiles something, when Malia suddenly grabs his elbow and distracts him.

“Hey cousin,” she says, giggling, and throws herself to Derek. He automatically closes his arms around her and hangs on, letting her hug him. Just like Stiles did.

Stiles leaves them to catch up, feeling a bit out of place suddenly, and he just waves a hand at no one in particular and steps around them. His shoulder brushes Malia’s back when he has to walk behind her to get out and he mumbles an apology and just gets the hell out of there.

The last thing he sees before he leaves them be, is that Derek is not smiling anymore.

**

“Hey, kiddo,” his father softly says to him, when Stiles finds him. He opens his arms for Stiles to hug him and walk with him, and Stiles can’t help but smile fondly at the gesture.

“Hey Pops, you’re a married man, uh?”

“Yep,” John says, a huge laugh on his lips. He looks happy, his eyes are glossed over and his arm is warm and tight around Stiles’ shoulder.

“How does it feel?” Stiles asks, following his Dad wherever he’s walking him. Natalie is a few steps ahead of them, talking to her own daughter. They both look like they’re having fun, so he thinks this must be the talk. He doesn’t know what they could even say to their kids that both Lydia and Stiles don’t already know, but he’s listening.

“Stiles, I know we haven’t really spoken a lot these past months,” John starts, his voice a bit quieter than it was a moment ago. “And I know you were busy with your new job and your life and- Wait, this is not me reprimanding you,” he hurries to say when he sees that Stiles is ready to justify himself. “I’m not mad. I’m just trying to say that I’m very happy you’re here today. And seeing you happy, too, for me, for Natalie, is the greatest gift you could’ve given me. We haven’t always seen eye to eye on things- Hell, we probably never have, but you’re my son and I love you. And you’re the best thing in my life, even if sometimes I made you doubt this.” John stops walking, suddenly, turns to look Stiles in the eye.

Stiles’ eyes are a bit teary, by now. He doesn’t know exactly what to say to his Dad, thousands of things are flurrying through his head and he’d like to say them all at once.

“I know it was hard for you, at first, but you’ve been supporting my relationship since day one and that made me think. I sometimes wish I could’ve have been a better parent,” John says, at the same time his arms close around Stiles’ shoulders and back.

Stiles can’t help but hide his face in his father’s shoulder, eyes warm with tears, overwhelmed by every single word.

“Dad…” his voice is mostly gone, spoken directly inside the fabric of his Dad’s best dress. He wishes he could show his Dad everything he’s feeling right now, without words. He wishes he could take his heart and mind and give them to his father to see and read. But he can’t, so he decides to try and tell his Dad. With words. “You’ve been… Great, Dad. I know I’ve been difficult. As a child and, even more so, when I got older. I truly wish I actually was a better son- I tried to keep you safe as much as I could and I also wish we talked more… God,” he laughs a bit, ruefully. He pats his Dad’s back, tightens his hold on him. “We’re Stilinkis, right? We don’t do this, usually.”

His father laughs back, one hand on the nape of Stiles’ neck. “No, we don’t. This is a special occasion.”

“Yeah… But Dad, listen, I love you, all right? And I’m sorry sometimes I’m a shitty person. I get caught up in things. And I’m very happy, I’ve never wanted to see you alone for the rest of your life.”

“Yeah,” John says. “This is getting too emotional even for a wedding. I thought your Aunt Sarah was gonna cry today, but here we are.”

Stiles relaxes his hold on his Dad and sniffles a bit, smiling wetly down at him.

“Dad, everybody knows Aunt Sarah hates us and she’s here only to eat. She’s actually been looking at us with veiled contempt for the past ten minutes or so, so I think she’s waiting for us to get a move on this and go to lunch.”

His father laughs out loud and, patting him on the back, pulls him toward the restaurant.

Aunt Sarah follows them.

**

He has been sitting at the table for the past hour or so, when he looks up again from his empty plate to look at Derek.

He’s seated beside Liam and Theo, and the guys aren’t exactly paying attention to Derek. Stiles can see him perfectly from where he is. He’s been trying to avoid thinking about his hug with Derek earlier, but to no avail. Every time he tunes out what the other people at his table are saying, his traitorous mind replays the hug in excruciating detail.

How Derek’s body felt against his own.

How he smelled, like nice perfume and hair products.

How his neck looked in contrast to the black shirt he’s wearing. His beard prickled Stiles’ skin when they touched.

The sound of Derek’s voice, when he said he missed Stiles, too. The rumble of the words coming from his chest, against Stiles’ own.

Stiles looks at Derek now, the straight profile of his nose, how the glasses hide the eyes behind them, how his teeth are weirdly bunny-like. Contrast after contrast. He’s interesting to look at, funny. Stiles is anything but a neat eater, he shoves food in his mouth with no regards of who’s around him, or the occasion. He talks with his mouth full. He also can’t use a straw like a decent normal person to save his life, and he’s grateful for not having to use one today. But.

Derek’s very neat. He cuts his food with calm, he chews with his mouth closed. He also doesn’t seem to spill his drink all over himself like Stiles does at least once every meal. He doesn’t speak with his mouth full or… Well, doesn’t seem to speak at all. He hasn’t really said anything to anyone since he sat down and Stiles’ been keeping tabs.

There’s a cute blonde girl Stiles has never met before sat right beside Derek and he can see she’s been trying to spark up a conversation with him since they’ve sat down, be she doesn’t seem to be having any luck yet.

Stiles is weirdly glad, for that. He shoves the misplaced feeling into a mental box he’s been using for Derek since he was sixteen and takes a sip of his drink. Avoid .

Derek is toying with some bread crumbs and he looks like he would probably love to be anywhere but here, and Stiles can’t help but snort loudly, looking at the downcast eyes and aloof posture, the cold distance radiating from him. Blondie seems undeterred, but she surely must feel how little Derek cares, because she’s inching away from him more and more.

Derek must’ve heard him, because he immediately looks up from the mess he’s been creating on the table to look at Stiles. Stiles isn’t surprised, anymore. He’s been living with wolves for a long time now, but it’s always thrilling when Derek puts his eyes on you. Stiles tells himself it must be some kind of basic instinct, like a prey being observed by a wolf, he feels his heart pick up the pace, his blood rushing through his veins. His cheeks feel warm.

Stiles grins at him and then shoots a quick look at the blonde girl sitting beside him, who’s just now decided to shut up. Then he looks back at Derek who’s rolling his eyes at him - or maybe at her. Stiles chuckles. Derek can’t help but flash a quick grin back at him.

Stiles nods his head towards the door, mouths wanna get out of here? to Derek and watches him stand up immediately, ready to get out. Stiles follows him.

The air outside the huge room is fresh, not so overstuffed with smells from foods and flowers and drinks. His ears are suddenly grateful for the silence. His armpits and back are a bit sweaty and he grabs his shirt with two fingers and tries to shake it a bit to get some fresh air inside - he can feel it hit where it’s moist the most. Ughh.

“What was she saying to you?” Stiles asks Derek, who’s standing in front of the huge windows that look over the water canyon outside, waiting for Stiles to catch up.

“I tuned her out, something about her being into fashion or something,” Derek replies, turning to look at him for a split second. Stiles steps right beside him. He hopes he doesn’t smell too much of sweat and jet-lag. He wishes he’d brought deodorant with him, suddenly, which is a truly weird thought.

“Maybe she was just trying to recruit you as a fashion model,” Stiles snorts, thinking of Derek wearing those ridiculous clothes people are used to seeing in magazines and on catwalks. “You are ridiculously good looking, don’t blame her for trying.”

Derek shoots a side-glance at him and doesn’t say anything. Stiles throws his head back and just breathes, tries to calm the jittery feeling in his body. He doesn’t even remember when he felt like this last, and he doesn’t really know what to do. It’s Derek .

“Isn’t this place insane?” Stiles asks, to change the subject. Stop jittering .

Derek nods. His hands find their way to the pockets and Stiles definitely doesn’t look. “Nature is amazing.”

“ Pft! ” Stiles says, ungentlemanly. “You sounded like a National Geographic dude. Nature is amazing. Next you can describe to me the flora and the fauna of this place, I’ll take notes.”

Derek rolls his eyes at him and Stiles laughs out loud, happy, comfortable, like old times. He sways a bit more into Derek’s personal space. Derek doesn’t step away.

“So, what’s been happening to you out in the real world?” Stiles says, his eyes fixed on the fine mist that permeates the air, the waterfalls with their white, blue, green colors, the reflection of Derek’s figure on the glass panel, his own. He doesn’t catalogue all the ways they’ve changed since they’ve last seen each other.

Derek shrugs minutely and replies, “Nothing much. Life’s been quiet, lately.”

“That’s nice,” Stiles says, genuinely. He’s glad Derek found a bit of peace. “You deserve it, after everything. The last time we saw each other surely didn’t count as quiet.”

Stiles remembers when he started at the academy, when he saw that video of Derek running in a forest, when the FBI was looking for him. And then all that happened in Beacon Hills, after. Stiles remembers everything and sometimes wishes he didn’t.

Derek looks at him for an unnerving moment, then nods. “Leaving Beacon Hills was the right thing for us both.”

That sparks Stiles’ interest. He never even knew where Derek went every time he left. “Yeah? Where you posted now?” He’s truly curious to know, he realizes he doesn’t know the first thing about Derek. Realizes he always wanted to know, but Derek was always like a closed off book.

“New York.”

“What? Really?”

Derek nods, turning to look at him. His eyes are hidden behind the reflections on the glasses he’s wearing for a second but then he moves his head and the white cast disappears, and there they are. His eyes look as mesmerizing as always.

“It was the last place where I had memories left. It seemed fitting, to go back, and try to find them again. Not all of them were bad.”

“Oh,” Stiles whispers. He didn’t expect Derek to tell him that. He knows so much about Derek, on paper, that he sometimes forgets that he doesn’t really know Derek as a person. He liked to think he did, back when they were in Beacon Hills - when he liked to go around and ask Peter about Derek, about his life before. He knows what’s happened to him, knows more than Scott and the pack did, but. He wishes he knew him, instead. All the little quirks, and stories.

He wonders if Derek knows him, if he would want to, even. Or if he wouldn’t care at all.

Derek would probably rather listen to Theo talk about the weather.

“What do you do in New York, then? You have a job?”

“I bought a restaurant, only because I remember Laura loved it. And I read a lot. I try to keep in contact with Cora.”

“It sounds… Nice,” Stiles murmurs, taken aback. He never pictured Derek doing any of that, but it seems fitting. Sounds like a calm quiet life, so different from Stiles’ own. He’s been going around chasing bad guys, always running, always on edge, adrenaline coursing through his blood every waking minute of his day. Sometimes even when he sleeps.

He loves it, truly loves it. But sometimes he wishes he didn’t have to look so deeply into people’s frayed minds and know what they’re capable of doing. The dead bodies and the tears their families always cry. It’s heavy, sometimes. It’s dirty and sad and sick. Derek’s life sounds like a bedtime story. “What kind of restaurant?”

Derek snorts. “One of those places where you need a suit and tie to get in. Laura liked fancy things.”

Stiles laughs. “Yeah, the Camaro was a dead giveaway.”

Derek nods, a small smile on his lips, his eyes fixated on some point in the distance.

**

“I have to ask,” Stiles says after a while. “What’s going on with the glasses?”

Derek laughs and rolls his eyes for the tenth time today. He doesn’t say shut up, Stiles .

Stiles’ stomach flips backwards.

After a while, after Stiles had already thought Derek wasn’t gonna reply, Derek clears his throat and shrugs.

“I read a lot and they help me focus. It’s not like I need them really, but they’re nice to have.”

Stiles thinks about the answer for a long minute, nodding his head.

“They look good on you,” he says, finally. He’s looking at Derek from his reflection on the window, and he almost can’t tell when Derek’s eyes look down for a split second, but he sees it and Stiles doesn’t know why but it makes him want to shout “DANGER!” out loud. His stomach is upside down. He feels lightheaded for a moment.

He’s possibly fucked.

Derek says, “Thanks,” and that smile from earlier, the soft one that Stiles analyzed in every detail in his thoughts, comes back and Stiles knows. He knows, okay? It’s stupid and he didn’t want this to happen, but his feelings are… well, predictable. He’s been begrudgingly into Derek since he was sixteen, even when he disliked Derek as a person (and that thing lasted for the entirety of a week so he learned a lot from that experience) but. He probably has feelings for Derek. And of all the times he could have realized this, he chose his father’s wedding day.

This could totally be a disaster.

**

Going back into the crowded restaurant is almost too much and a salvation at the same time. The noise in the room is nearly deafening, a mix between excited chatter, laughter and young children crying. It’s also downright scorching in here and Stiles feels caged in his too tight pants and bowtie. He ditched the jacket as soon as he sat down, knowing well it would’ve only made him uncomfortable during the meal and he now would love to take off almost thirty percent of what he’s wearing (mostly the bowtie) but Natalie would probably look at him with disappointment and Lydia would probably kill him slowly with a fork, so he’s gonna have to do with the bare minimum.

The chair beside him, where Scott was sitting, is now empty. Scott went outside with Malia, all playful smiles and warm hands wrapped around each other and, now that he’s lost the only person he could turn to in his moment of doubt, he purposefully doesn’t look at Derek. He instead decides to roll the sleeves of his shirt up because he feels like he could combust in here, his face warm and sweaty.

He’s in the middle of untying  the button on his right wrist, when a flurry of red hair and perfume sits down in Scott’s vacated seat.

He looks up to find Lydia looking around the room. He remembers her perfume, the way her hair feels between his fingers, silky and smooth. Her upturned nose and high cheekbones are still as cute as they always were. She looks stunning, but he’s used to it, and the familiarity of it only makes him smile with fondness.

“Hi, Stiles,” she says to the room at grand, before she turns to look at him, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Hello, Lyds.”

“It’s been a while,” she adds, her voice low in the noisy restaurant. She’s looking at him like she’s trying to scold him for not calling her every night, but he can tell she’s not serious because she then grins at him and pokes him with a pointy finger right in his side.

He jumps a bit at the offending appendage and then covers his vulnerable ribcage with the same arm he was trying to get free from the confinement of his shirt. He’s still trying to work the small button open when he replies to her, “you didn’t even send me a letter a day like you promised me, Linda . I’m very disappointed in you.”

She laughs and grabs his chin in one tiny hand, squeezing his cheeks a bit. It’s a thing she used to do often when they were together, just squishing his cheeks. She said he looked like a squirrel and she found him cute, with his puckered lips and dumb expression. She also did it every time he ended up being a smartass with her, because she always would end up laughing at him and she felt like she was still winning the argument. “I missed your stupid face and your even more stupid sense of humor.”

He tries to smile but her grip is too strong, so he only ends up pushing his lips out more. “I missed you, too, Wonder Woman,” he mumbles.

She finally lets him go and Stiles spends five whole minutes making faces trying to regain feeling in the lower half of his face. She’s looking at him, an elbow leaning over the table. Her wrist is adorned with a sparkly bracelet that catches the light every time she moves and the same shiny accessory is in her hair, too. “Were we avoiding each other this morning?” she asks him, as matter-of-factly as possible.

Stiles shrugs and goes back to his task at hand. “I don’t know if you were, but I was just running very late, so I didn’t have time to look for you.”

“Uhm,” she murmurs, like she’s accepting the answer he just gave her, before continuing. “I might have been avoiding you a little.”

Stiles laughs, his cuff finally untied. He starts rolling up the sleeve, fold by fold. “Everything’s fine between us, right Lyds?”

She nods. “Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just a bit weird. Talking to you, now. I mean, the last time we sat down and discussed one on one we ended up taking a definitive break.”

Stiles starts on his left wrist, his eyes downcast so he doesn’t have to look at Lydia directly. He doesn’t really know what to say. “We’re still friends, and I know we haven’t really been keeping in touch and that’s probably because we both felt like it would’ve been awkward between us but-” he tells her, folding the fabric over and over, the movement mechanic. He looks up at her and she’s looking at him, too. “We’ve been friends before we were lovers and I liked us that way.”

She smiles at him, her megawatt grin that makes her eyes disappear behind her dimply cheeks. “Yeah, I liked us, too.”

They both laugh a bit, self-conscious, and it feels like the past two years are suddenly only a memory. It’s gonna be tricky going back to the beginning of their relationship, but they’ve gotta start somewhere and it seems like they’re both starting today.

“Sooo,” he says, dragging the word out while he crosses his arms over the table. He looks at Lydia over them. “How’s life been treating you over at MIT?”

She takes a deep breath and he catches himself staring at her bosom. Old habits die hard, apparently. She used to be his girlfriend and he’s only a man . He’s weak. She cuffs him on the back of his head, but doesn’t otherwise mention his wandering eyes. “I love being surrounded by people who get me, for the most part. I love doing what I like the most and calling it my job. I never thought I would get to do that. So everyday I wake up and I’m still not used to it. It feels unreal. I’m writing an article,” she reveals to him.

“That’s awesome, Lyds. I’m so proud of you. I always knew you were destined for much more than Beacon Hills had to offer. You deserve every prize and every accomplishment.”

Her cheeks become redder, under the blush she’s already wearing, and she rolls her eyes at him. She pushes him gently away from her, but she clearly appreciate Stiles’ support. He’s always been her number one fan and he always will be. He knows what Lydia is capable of and he will never stop believing in her. “You’ve always been a flatterer.”

“Am not,” he contests her. He pushes against his elbows a bit to point at her face with a finger. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

She smiles and begrudgingly accepts the compliments Stiles keeps showering her in. “And you? The last time I talked to you, you were in the middle of one of your first cases ever.”

Stiles thinks back at the night he took the plane to Michigan: it was mid-November and the air was crisp. He remembers wearing a scarf Michaela had bought him because she was sick of seeing him turn blue from the cold every time they were out. Thanksgiving was quickly approaching and there were Christmas lights everywhere already, lighting up the streets and almost every store. He remembered working on a case about a serial rapist who tortured and murdered innocent women in the San Diego area and then glued their eyes wide open.

“It’s a difficult job,” Stiles says. Difficult is an understatement. “But I don’t think I could do anything else.”

Lydia uhms and nods at him, like she gets it. And she probably does, more than anybody else. That’s what he always liked about her, she always got what he meant when he talked about his job - the hardships, the ups and downs, the willingness to give anything to keep waking up every morning and go back to it. It was one thing they agreed on.

“So, you don’t have any new girlfriends I should know about?” She nags him with a sly smile.

“Pfft,” he replies, surprised. “I don’t have time for girlfriends.”

“Sure. Maybe boyfriends?”

He looks at her from the corner of his eye. “That’s what you should tell me , do you have any new boyfriends I should know about?”

She sniffles a bit, turning her head towards the whole room at large, her pointy nose stuck in the air. Hah , Stiles thinks. She does . “I don’t have time for men,” she mocks his response from earlier.

He pinches her lightly under her armpit, without grabbing any skin, and she cries with uncontrolled laughter. She’s always been ticklish. Her arm clamps down over his hand and she sways a bit to get away from his attack.

“Don’t lie to me, you have a bae,” he pesters her, trying to wiggle his fingers free.

“Stop it! I don’t!” she almost shrills, her voice getting louder even though she’s been trying to keep it controlled. He grabs her waist and brings her closer to him. “Let me go, you caveman.”

“You should just tell me you like somebody and I’ll let you go.”

“Ughhh,” she says.

He’s actually having fun joking with Lydia like old times, feeling nineteen again, when he sees movement from the corner of his eye and he catches Derek walking towards the exit. His hands slack in surprise and Lydia wiggles free immediately, pushing him back a bit with a hand on his chest.

“You’re such a nuisance, sometimes,” she pants, trying to smooth her dress down as much as possible. She then follows his eyes to the exit door. Her hands stop fussing over her skirt, her mouth opens in a silent oh . He draws away from her, not wanting to hear what she thinks she suddenly knows, and he scrunches his eyes closed, cursing her quick mind and her even quicker tongue.

“ Lydia ,” he warns her, holding a hand up to stop the river of words he knows it’s coming.

“That’s interesting,” she only says, but her voice is telling more than her words are. He rolls his eyes.

“There’s nothing interesting here.”

“Oh, but there is,” she continues, her voice as sweet as molasses. She smiles slyly at him. “Funny how you got yourself all worked up when our dearest dark handsome wolf left the room.”

“I’m perfectly fine!” he half-shouts. Lydia raises an eyebrow at him, like she’s saying case in point exactly. He clears his throat, trying to pretend he’s not at all affected by Derek or Lydia’s words. He’s really not. He’s fine .

“I wondered when you were gonna acknowledge your huge crush on Derek. It took you literal years.”

Stiles doesn’t squeak but it’s a near thing. “What the- What what? ”

Lydia looks at him like he’s dense and then sighs. “You’ve been drooling for years over Derek. You’ve flirted with him. And he’s flirted with you, albeit in a weird stilted way.”

“I. What? I never once was unfaithful to you? I haven’t seen Derek in years?”

“Oh. My God. Don’t be purposefully obtuse, you know I can’t stand it. You and I both know I’m not talking about you cheating on me, I’m talking about the huge elephant in the room and that’s you and Derek and your weird dance around your manly feelings. Ugh ,” she grunts, looking at the ceiling like it holds all the secrets why Stiles is so stupid. “You men are so dumb, sometimes.”

Stiles is gaping at her in a frankly unattractive way, but he’s… not following her. “Excuse you,” he exclaims, blinking rapidly. His eyes burn. The world seems to have shifted suddenly and he doesn’t know anything anymore. The huge box in his mind with DEREK HALE written on it has been uncovered and now he’s reevaluating all the times Derek and him have been in the same room together. Yes, he’s always been weirdly drawn to Derek for some reason! Okay? He’s man enough to admit that to himself. But he also knows that most people with working eyes are gonna agree with him that Derek is just that good looking . That doesn’t mean he has always had feelings for Derek? He was just thinking that this morning! He’s been toying with this newfound revelation only for the past few hours and Lydia comes strolling in and tells him she’s been in the known for the past seven years. “I literally don’t know where you’re coming from right now.”

“Think about it for a moment, I’ll leave you to it,” Lydia tells him, getting up from the chair in a swift movement. Stiles just looks at her with his mouth hanging open. “I’m sure it’ll get to you sooner or later.”

She pats him on the hand a couple of times and then just turns and leaves.

**

Stiles finds Derek outside, leaning against the wall, one foot propped up. His arms are crossed over his chest and his face is looking down, like he’s watching the floor. He doesn’t look up when Stiles stops beside him, silently, mirroring Derek’s stance against the warm concrete, hands behind his back and ankles crossed.

“Dad and Natalie are gonna cut the cake soon, you should come back,” Stiles says, turning to watch the sun play over Derek’s face. He took the glasses off and now Stiles can see his eyelashes perfectly. They cast soft shadows over his cheekbones.

Derek still doesn’t look up, but does answer. “I’ll be back as soon as I know they’re ready.”

“All, right,” Stiles sighs, swaying from foot to foot, before relaxing again against the wall. “You can hear what’s going on inside, right?” Derek nods. “So I’ll stay here with you, we’ll go back in together.”

Derek rolls his eyes at his words, and Stiles can see a muscle moving in his jaw, just like it used to happen so often when they were younger and Stiles got on his nerves - he realizes right now Derek’s gone back to being a closed off book, for the first time since they’ve met again. Lydia’s words replay back in his mind, over and over, and he can’t stop himself from thinking how they all now change his perception of Derek, how they’re making this a lot harder, because Stiles now wants to get closer to him and push, see what would happen if he did.

“Stiles, go back inside,” Derek tells him, his voice like gravel.

“Wow, it sure looks like I’m talking to the old Derek right now, what happened, the smoked ribs weren’t of your liking? You want me to call the manager for you?”

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, like he’s already tired of Stiles’ presence, but joke’s on him, Stiles is not gonna budge. He should know by now. “Why do you always have to talk so much?”

Stiles grins and shrugs. “Dunno, I thought you liked my incessant chatter. Sure remember a couple of instances where you spent hours listening to me.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, like he’s not ready to give up this fight. “One time when we were stuck in a pool for two hours and another when we drove to Beacon Hills alone in a car for hundreds and hundreds of miles. Those don’t count.” He turns around to look at Stiles, his eyes thunderous, and his beard shines in the light. Stiles can’t help but stare at it.

“You have grey hairs in your beard,” Stiles intelligently says. Derek’s face softens minutely in surprise, like he wasn’t expecting the sudden change in topic. Stiles doesn’t even know why he’s so shocked by that, it’s literally just a couple of grey hairs and it’s stupid, but he just can’t wrap his head around the fact that Derek is old enough now to have a salt-n-pepper beard. “Huh.”

He doesn’t realize he’s still watching Derek’s chin until he focuses on the closest other feature, his lips. His mouth is slightly open, still in that fraction of surprise, and it’s so close to Stiles that he could probably lean forward without moving and catch it. He really wants to. He could probably do it.

Derek takes a big breath and his mouth tightens, but doesn’t otherwise move away. Stiles looks up at his eyes and he finds them already staring at his eyelashes. Or the tip of his nose, Stiles’ doesn’t know. Derek’s eyes are even lighter in the sun, sea green with a hazel ring in the middle, his eyelashes dark and spidery, like his unruly eyebrows. And Stiles feels suddenly seventeen again, his heartbeat picking up pace just being around Derek, his breaths coming quicker. His hands spasm with how much he wants to touch him, touch his face and mess his hair up and kiss him and grab his stupid jacket.

“Don’t kill me for this,” he whispers, before he turns his body around and grabs Derek’s jacket with one hand, his fingers catching over the buttons. He pulls Derek in a little, but he doesn’t want to force him, just wants to make him understand how much he wants this. He wants this so much his brain can’t even wrap around it - it’s like a fire ignited in him and now he’s burning. He’s completely gone.

Derek meets him halfway, his mouth opening under Stiles’ immediately. He tastes like salt and the gravy they had with the potatoes. It’s funny, he’s thinking of this while Derek’s tongue is in his mouth but he should probably imprint this in his brain because it’s likely the first and last time it’s going to happen. Derek is going to realize who he’s making out with and probably avoid Stiles for all eternity. Stiles’ other hand finds its way into Derek’s hair, folded over the back of his head to hold him in place.

The kiss is messy and there’s teeth and tongue and Stiles’ can’t even breathe he’s so into it, and Derek is not gentle . At all. He’s pushing and grabbing at Stiles just as much as Stiles’ is, and Stiles is this close to coming in his pants. Embarrassing, if he was kissing anyone other than Derek, who’s been a predominant part of his spank material for years. He thinks he can cut his dick some slack here. It deserves it.

Stiles’ tightens his hold on Derek’s hair and then turns his head, deepening the kiss - his lips feel bruised already, stretched by the force of it, and he’s sure he’s going to look like he just made out with a cactus because Derek’s beard is scratching his face pretty hardcore, but he doesn’t literally care right now. If anyone asks he’s just had a good time.

Derek pushes him back a little, until Stiles’ back hits the wall, and Stiles moans out loud, pleasantly surprised.

Derek’s mouth stretches in a sly grin. Stiles’ tongue is still in there.

“Fuck,” Stiles pants, loud enough just for Derek to hear him. “What are you laughing at?”

Derek’s body is heavy and hot against his. Stiles wishes they had a bed and lesser clothes between them. “It’s cake time.”

“Ugh,” Stiles says, throwing his head back in despair. “Tell me this isn’t finished.”

Derek says, “Scott’s coming,” but he leaves a kiss on Stiles’ lips before he steps away, dislodging Stiles’ hands in the process. Stiles takes it as a promise he’ll be sure to collect later.

And, sure enough, Scott’s voice comes from behind the glass doors to his right, calling his name out loud. Stiles looks at Derek while he brushes a hand over his mouth to wipe the wetness away a bit and then straightens his shirt as best he can, before the door opens and Scott steps out.

“Oh, there you are,” Scott says, looking at him with a big smile on his lips. He looks at Derek’s back before his eyes jump back to Stiles. Stiles stares at him, wondering if he’s going to say anything (Stiles can feel how sore his lips are, how sensitive his skin is, he’s sure he must already be pretty red in the face, and he doesn’t think his hair is in any better condition - Derek doesn’t really look any different, he looks…. Like someone who’s just been thoroughly kissed and Stiles thinks with a thrill: “I did that” ), but Scott just looks. His smile dims a little, but he doesn’t comment on anything. “Your Dad and Natalie are ready.”

“Yeah,” Stiles replies, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat and then steps away from the wall, ready to go inside. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Scott looks between them one last time, before he turns around and goes back. Stiles doesn’t know why but he feels like he just went through some kind of judgement and he doesn’t like the feeling it left in his stomach.

He throws one last look at Derek, trying to convey how much he would rather continue this, and then follows Scott inside.

Derek follows him later.

**

Scott’s already sitting back at his place at the table, when Stiles steps in.

Stiles looks around, but he doesn’t seem to have attracted anyone’s attention so he goes immediately back to his seat at the main table. He clears his throat, still a bit frazzled and a lot turned on, and smiles hurriedly at his Dad who just claps him on the back and gets up to join Natalie at the center of the room, where the cake is going to be.

He’s looking at the happy couple, when Scott says something. “What are you doing, Stiles?”

Stiles wasn’t expecting Scott to ask him anything, especially not now in the middle of a crowded room. He looks back at Scott and finds him strangely quiet, serious. His crooked jaw even more evident when he’s mad. Stiles can’t understand why Scott would be mad at him. “What do you mean?”

They both get temporarily distracted when the lights dim suddenly and the huge white cake appears, wheeled in by a guy in a black waistcoat. It’s big and pretty and looks delicious, surrounded by white sparklers. Everybody starts clapping and Stiles and Scott join in, too. John and Natalie are laughing at each other and they look so happy, Stiles feels bad for a second to have abandoned them. He was supposed to be at his Dad’s side.

But his eyes seek Derek out by their own volition, and find him sitting at his own table. Stiles can see his face only in part, lit up faintly by the lights coming from the sparklers and the little candles in the centrepiece, and he still hasn’t put his glasses back on. Stiles can’t tell from where he’s sitting if he looks any different than he did earlier this morning, if he looks as Stiles feels or he doesn’t carry any sign from Stiles’ kisses.

“I’m talking about that exactly, and you know it well. Derek.” Scott murmurs to him, startling Stiles out of his reverie. Stiles turns to him and Scott is now looking at him like he’s not sure what game Stiles’ playing. “Stiles, do you know what you’re doing?”

“Honestly?” Stiles says, his voice low in the noisy room. John’s hand covers Natalie’s on the back of the knife and they cut the cake together. “ No , but…” Natalie pushes one of her fingers into the soft cream at the top of the cake and then covers John’s nose with it. Stiles looks at Derek and Derek’s looking back at him. He doesn’t know what to say to Scott, but he knows what he feels and he doesn’t want to stop or pretend it didn’t happen. He looks at Derek and. He just feels his chest hurt, in someway, but it’s a good hurt.

Scott doesn’t seem convinced, but he says, “Just please… Be careful.”

**

The chair where Liam was sitting is now empty, so Stiles plops down in it, his piece of cake sitting prettily on a plate. Derek raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t seem to be opposed to the idea of Stiles being there. Stiles pushes one of his legs silently against one of Derek’s.

“Did you eavesdrop on my conversation with Scott?” Stiles asks him, his mouth full of delicious creamy heaven.

Derek looks at him like he doesn’t know what he sees in him, but he nods. “Yes,” he admits, doesn’t even try to deny it. Stiles has to admit he likes a man who knows how to pick his battles. It’s sexy.

“So you know what I said,” he says, trying to feign nonchalance. Like he doesn’t care either way, if Derek wants to even continue this very precarious thing they’ve just started or not. He actually would probably be very hurt if Derek decided not to give him a chance - he would understand, in some way, but he would never get over it. He knows he’ll have nightmares that will keep him up at night of Derek rejecting him over and over again. Nice , now he’s got himself down.

Derek just keeps eating silently, looking at the people sitting at a table nearby. The lights are still out, so the only way Stiles can see Derek’s eyes is thanks to the candles that are burning quietly in the middle of the table, surrounded by flowers and cut off branches and stones. The warm light hits Derek’s eyelashes in a pretty way, making them look almost translucent.

Stiles should probably quit staring, it’s getting out of hand. Blondie’s also been stealthily looking at them and her phone in turns, so yeah, Stiles should stop staring. Blondie should, too.

Derek clears his throat and turns around to look Stiles in the eyes, and for a second Stiles can’t chew and look at him at the same time, because he thinks he knows what those eyes mean. He hopes. “You said you don’t know what you’re doing,” Derek murmurs to him, his face getting closer, his nose almost touching Stiles’.

“I mean,” Stiles replies, gaping a bit. The cake is lying there forgotten. Blondie is drinking this shit up like this is the best thing that’s happened to her all day. Probably is. Stiles can relate. Stiles doesn’t know if he wants to look at Derek’s lips or Derek’s eyes while he speaks. “Do you know what you’re doing? I’m genuinely curious.”

Derek doesn’t respond, but his eyes look down at Stiles’ mouth and. Yeah . Stiles can already feel his body thrum with anticipation, it literally only took Derek looking at his lips and he’s ready to start where they left off when they got interrupted. He’s so ready his breath shakes on its way in. He licks his lips. Derek tracks the movement with his own eyes and Stiles can almost see his pupils dilate, but he can’t be sure in this half-light.

A music starts suddenly, and Stiles blinks surprised, looks back at the main table to find it empty of the two most important people, who are now in the middle of the room, ready to dance their first dance together. It’s a Fleetwood Mac song, one that Stiles knows so well only because his Dad used to listen to it often when he was younger and... John and Natalie are laughing at each other, arms around the other, and this is not really a song you’re supposed to slow dance to, but they’re making it work.

Sweet wonderful you, you make me happy with the things you do. Oh can it be so, the feeling follows me wherever I go , the music goes, and Derek is still looking at Stiles. Stiles looks back at him and it’s almost like a spark goes off between them. Stiles’ heart is in his throat and the music keeps going, while John and Natalie are embraced in the middle of the floor, all the lights pointed at them, all the eyes looking at them. Only Stiles and Derek are looking into each other’s eyes, incapable of looking anywhere else. I never did believe in miracles, but I have a feeling it’s time to try. I never did believe in the ways of magic, but I’m beginning to wonder why, the music goes, and Stiles suddenly grabs Derek’s fingers where they’re resting just a little over the edge of the table. His grip is tight and Derek closes his own fingers around Stiles’. Stiles’ breath shakes, but he’s sure.

**

The walk upstairs is silent after the few words they’ve exchanged when they left the restaurant, between rough kisses and wandering hands. Do you have a room , said Stiles, his breath short and hot. Derek just shook his head no and said I planned to go back to my apartment later , and Stiles almost laughed at this and panted I have a room, please tell me you want to go upstairs, tell me you want this and Derek said yes, yes, yes .

The lobby is not as crowded as it was earlier that morning, but Stiles almost can’t hear what’s happening around him because Derek’s stepping inside the elevator with him and the doors are closing in front of them and they’re alone for the first time today. Yes, they were alone for ten minutes outside earlier, but Scott barged in on them so easily that Stiles only just now feels truly alone with Derek. He can see his distorted muted reflection on the metal of the elevator doors - the distance between Derek’s elbow and his own is so short they almost merge in the reflection. Stiles’ green jacket is draped over his arm, and Derek’s hands are back in his pockets, both are trying to not make a show for the cameras watching them from every corner of the hotel, aware of every stolen glance , of every shaky breath, of clenching fists - they’re being watched right now, Stiles thinks, and he wonders what the guy in charge of looking through the videos is thinking right now. He wonders if they look like they’ve been mentally undressing each other for the past hour and a half or if his beating heart can be heard over the running engines of the moving elevator.

The elevator stops suddenly, a ding signals they’ve reached destination, and the doors swiftly open. Derek makes Stiles get off first, because he’s the one who knows where his room is, and a shiver runs through his back when his shoulder brushes against Derek’s chest the moment he steps out. Derek is a burning presence behind him and Stiles is suddenly reminded of Derek being a werewolf, of how powerful he can be. He feels like he’s being followed by a predator, all silent looks and huge presence and his blood rushes immediately through his veins, gets to his face, he feels scalding hot. The keycard beeps green and the door unlocks immediately. Stiles can only think he left a bit of a mess on his bed earlier when he changed and showered, before he hears the door slam behind his shoulders and he’s being grabbed.

His shoulders hit the back of the door and he can only gasp, “ Fuck, ” and Derek’s on him, eyes dark and mouth demanding.

**

The clothes are the first to go.

It’s like they can’t even stop to breathe, before they’re pawing at belts and shirts and socks - they keep kissing through most of it, through elbows that get in the way and mouths that clash together and stumbling steps towards the huge bed in the middle of the room. Stiles gets thrown on it as soon as they reach it and he can’t help but laugh. The bedding is soft against his heated skin, fresh, and he brushes his hands over it, spreading legs a bit, leisurely. The last item of clothing he’s wearing now is a black pair of boxers and they don’t do anything to hide how much he’s into this. Derek’s just staring, though, standing almost naked at the foot the bed and Stiles is suddenly back into his childhood bedroom in Beacon Hills, dreaming of seeing Derek just like this - eyes hot over him, breath coming in short pants, hands itching to touch him. He dreamed of kissing Derek, feeling his scratchy beard all over his pale soft skin, dreamed of touch him in return, feel him. He doesn’t feel as skinny in comparison, he knows he’s changed a lot since he entered his twenties. He’s good looking, objectively. He knows this . But he still feels like that scrawny little kid when he looks at Derek, at his chiseled body, his straight jaw, his thighs, he’s both seventeen and twenty three at same time, his brain incapable of wrapping around the fact that he’s here and Derek’s here, too.

“I’m not gonna ask if you see something you like,” Stiles says, his voice rough. He hides his hands under the pillow he’s using and moves softly the soles of his feet over the silky bedding, stretching a bit. The mood has shifted, suddenly, while they were both staring at the other’s naked body, time’s moving slower, like it’s moving through molasses. They’ve seen each other in so many different occasions - naked, bruised, battered, covered in blood, dead - but this is the first time they’re allowed to see, to look. “I don’t think I need to know the answer.”

Derek’s breath leaves him in an incredulous laugh. “ Yes, I like it ,” he whispers, before he bends down, slowly, to travel a hand over Stiles’ foot, his calf, the back of his knee. Stiles gasps, like he wasn’t expecting it. And he wasn’t, he isn’t. He didn’t know only one touch from Derek’s fingers would burn like this. He’s spinning. His hand is now almost at the seam where Stiles’ boxers meet his groin and his heart's in overdrive, boom boom boom , he inches his legs more open. His lungs are filled with butterflies.

**

Derek undresses him swiftly and blows him, his mouth a scorching heat wrapped around his cock. Stiles is sweating and he doesn’t know where to put his hands, doesn’t know how to stop shouting. Derek’s hands are hard over his hips, pushing him down against the bed, stopping Stiles from thrashing against it. This feels so good, almost surreal, and he doesn’t know how to process it.

“Fuuck,” he groans, fingers grabbing the covers. He can feel his orgasm inching closer and closer fast, he’s not gonna last very long and he would be sorry in any other circumstance but he just can’t. Not now, with Derek sucking on his dick, his lips red and pretty, his heavy weight over him. His hands hurt from how hard he’s grabbing the bed. Derek looks up at him.

Stiles is over.

**

He can’t even get his breath back, before Derek is turning him around.

Stiles is pliable under his hands, and he goes with it, because he’s ready for whatever Derek’s going to throw at him. Also, he’s still reeling from the awesome orgasm he just had, so.

He can feel how soft Derek’s hands are over his back, caressing him from his shoulders to where his back curves, dips in. Stiles moans quietly, sated by the feeling, and he follows Derek’s silent order to open his legs more so he can nudge in between. His body seems to know what is going to happen before his mind does, because when Derek spreads him and licks him where he’s the most sensitive, he jumps a bit and shouts out loud.

“Shh,” Derek murmurs, still between Stiles’ asscheeks. The gust of air hits Stiles’ hole and he squirms, sweating from how much he loves this. He’s never been into rimming, not as much as other guys he’s had sex with have been, but he’s always been a willing participant - it’s not that he doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t even love it. But now. Jesus, now he’s ready to crawl out of his own skin, he’s trembling and dizzy and he feels so hot he’s combusting and he wants to get away from the sensation of Derek’s beard scratching the sensitive place behind his balls but he also wants Derek to stay there forever. He almost hates how much he’s loving this and he hates Derek for making him feel this way, the fucker. He mindlessly juts his ass out even more, trying to get Derek’s tongue deeper inside of him, and Derek’s fingers clench where they’re keeping Stiles open, over the firm meat of Stiles’ cheeks. It feels so wet already, saliva dribbling down over his balls and cock, and Derek is so thorough Stiles can’t even hear anything else apart from the whooshing sound of his blood in his ears.

Derek keeps pushing his tongue inside, like he’s fucking Stiles’ with it, pulling back to watch Stiles’ hole squirm under his eyes, lick him, caressing him with one thumb. Stiles is literally going to die tonight and he’s not even mad about it, he’ll go doing something he loves.

“What the-” Stiles gulps, tries to say, but Derek decides to push the thumb that he was circling around the rim of Stiles’ hole in and he moans out loud. “Jesus, I can’t- Fuck, are you going to fuck me or what?”

Derek doesn’t stop moving the digit inside of him, but he slows down a bit, pushes over so he can look Stiles in the eye. Stiles looks back, his hair glued to his face with sweat - he pushes his ass back so Derek’s finger will move inside him, so ready to come again, but he wants to come with Derek’s dick inside him, won’t settle for anything less. Derek’s eyes are almost blown out, his pupils so dilated, and he looks. Frankly he looks awfully good, his hair is all over the place, and his beard is glistening with saliva, and his lips are puffy and bitten red and Stiles throws one hand back, grabs the nape of his neck and pulls him down, so he can kiss him. He can taste himself on Derek’s tongue, and he thought that he would be grossed out by that, but he actually can’t stop chasing the taste, pushing his tongue inside Derek’s mouth, licking inside.

“There’s some oil inside my bag, grab it, please- Please, quick,” he pants, running his fingers through Derek’s artfully windswept hair, scratching his scalp. Derek’s breath hitches and he nods frantically, like he lost his words and Stiles nods back, kisses him again sloppily.

Derek leaves him and goes to look for the vial of oil Stiles always carries with him, while Stiles hides his hot face into the bed, listens to Derek, to his own heart, squirms a bit to feel how wet and open Derek left him.

The bed dips beside Stiles’ feet from Derek’s returning weight, and Stiles turns immediately his face to look at him from over his shoulder. Derek’s looking at him in turn and opening the bottle of oil - Stiles tracks the movement of his long fingers, how the oil glistens in the sunset orange light coming from the huge windows, the bottle getting thrown over the bed, Derek’s eyes burning holes into his. And then he’s inching closer, shuffling on his knees, and Stiles stops breathing. He nods yes to Derek’s silent question and pushes his ass up, let’s him see, understand he wants this so badly.

The oil is not as cold as he thought, already warmed by Derek’s skin, and it eases the slide in of the first finger, tentative. There’s no discomfort, and Stiles already wants more.

“Yeah, it’s good,” he tells Derek, his voice shot to pieces. He wiggles his ass a bit and he loves how it feels. “Another.”

Derek complies, and now the stretch is burning a bit, but Stiles loves this part, always has, and he gasps, moans, looks at Derek’s face. He looks like he can’t believe he’s doing this, like he can’t believe Stiles is writhing under his hands, like he’s really the one who’s making him sound like this. He’s red-faced and panting, too, and this is the first time Stiles has ever seen him break a sweat, look anything else than supernatural. It’s enticing, and Stiles can’t look away.

He also looks beautiful.

When Derek finally pushes in with his dick, they’re both ready to burst.
Derek’s dick is much bigger than the fingers he just used, but he’s gentle, lets Stiles adjust to his girth before he pushes in deeper, lets him breathe through it, rolls with Stiles’ movements.

After that, it’s heady, and fast, and loud. Derek fucks him deep and hard and Stiles can’t stop his voice from being so high, can’t stop his body from shaking inside Derek’s arms, under his body. He almost can’t believe how good this is, he keeps thinking that he never had sex like this before, and he doesn’t know why this feels so heart-shattering, but it’s probably because someone who looks like Derek, surely knows how to fuck.

That’s the only explanation.

When he feels his orgasm crawling closer, he grabs one of Derek’s hands and puts it into his own hair, makes him close a fist in it, pulls on it to make him understand what he wants.

Derek almost growls when he hears his moan, how hard he’s clenching around the dick inside him, how much he loves getting his hair pulled. “Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans, and his thrusts are getting more and more hurried, like he’s closer, too.

Stiles bites down on Derek’s wrist, the one closest to his face, and comes, when Derek pulls his hair again, can’t help himself, he’s literally tumbling down.

Derek growls, and comes.

**

After, Stiles is laying with his head on Derek’s shoulder, one of his legs thrown over his hips. His hand is drawing mindless circles over Derek’s hairy chest, and Derek’s own fingers are quietly combing through his hair.

Stiles smiles.

“I always forget to get a cut and my boss keeps nagging me to just get a haircut because he can’t see me like this,” he says into Derek’s skin.

“I like it,” Derek replies, and tugs a bit on the hair, making Stiles moan out loud. His belly clenches at how good it is. He can’t help it, his hair is one of his weaknesses.

“Fuck, if you don’t want me to come again in the next five minutes, you should stop pulling on it.”

Derek just smirks and kisses him languidly.

“You like it because it’s a sure way to get into my pants,” Stiles gasps into Derek’s mouth. “Now I need to find out what makes you cream your pants, that’s only fair.”

Derek grabs his face with both his hands and kisses him again, deep and slow and so good that Stiles’ toes curl. Jesus.

“I think you already know what it is,” Derek tells him, his voice low into Stiles’ skin, and Stiles is bursting out of his body, like a firework, like a smattering of stars. Fuck, this man is going to be the thing that kills him, he already knows.

“This is- I-”

He can’t say it. His eyes are wide, staring into Derek’s.

Derek looks at him. “Yeah.”

**

“When did you open your restaurant?” Stiles asks him, after another mind-blowing kiss.

“Almost two years ago,” Derek replies. “It was expensive, and I didn't know the first thing about managing a business all by myself, but it was already a successful restaurant before I bought it, so it was both easier in terms of having a clientele and also harder, because they already knew what they could expect from such a high end place. Luckily I have an excellent staff with me.”

“That's really good,” Stiles tells him, leaves an unhurried kiss on his lips to go with his praise. “So I am in bed with a successful business owner. I'm suddenly up and ready to go again. Tell me what kind of food we're talking about and I'll blow you.”

Derek laughs softly and rolls his eyes at him, says “shut up,” but there's no heat behind it. He doesn't mean it.

Derek is caressing Stiles’ left thigh, where a healed scar is very visible. His finger keeps finding its way there, like pulled to a magnet - the skin is smoother there, in the centre, the edges are raised and circular and darker than the rest of him, it always looks angry but it's healed well, pretty fast even, and Stiles sometimes even forget it's there. But now he's weirdly aware of it, of how his leg looks, he recalls how much it sometimes hurts, like a pulled muscle, like a silent cramp that builds up and builds up until it's impossible to walk without crying. “I got shot last year,” he murmurs. Derek looks up at him immediately, taken aback. His finger stills. “It wasn't even anything cool, like, I got shot by a man who had just lost his only son. And I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Luckily the bullet didn't do much damage and it healed well.”

“But it still hurts, sometimes,” Derek doesn't ask him, like he already knows the answer. His whole hand curls around Stiles’ leg, like he wants to take the hurt away from him, like he wants to comfort him.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, his voice weirdly breathy. His own hands curl around Derek's neck and hold on. Derek has pushed on his elbows to look over him, look down at him, and his hand pulls Stiles’ leg closer to his hip, his hold firm. “That's why I always make sure to have oil with me, so I can massage it when I can't take it anymore.”

“Mmm,” Derek murmurs, leaning down slowly. His mouth opens to kiss Stiles deeply, and Stiles falls into it immediately, moans around Derek's tongue, pushes his fingernails into the soft skin of Derek's neck. His chest hurts like when he can't breathe, like he's underwater, and he can't stop kissing Derek back, can't stop shivering when Derek's hold over him gets harder and more possessive, his fingers traveling down where his thigh meets his ass.

This is when his leg would cramp up, normally - the muscle would seize up, and hurt, and Stiles would have to stop and breathe through it for a minute, try to calm down and massage it. It always happens when he splays his legs open, when he feels the muscles pull - but nothing's happening, now. Everything feels perfect and normal, even a bit better, strangely.

Stiles breaks the kiss suddenly, and looks down at where Derek's hand is, curved around him. And then he sees the black tendrils running over Derek's forearm, like jet black veins. Derek's taking his pain.

Stiles stares at him and doesn't know what to say, but his heart is running running running, like it's trying to leap out of his ribcage and his eyes are weirdly prickly. He stares at Derek's beautiful face, his pretty eyes, those same eyes that are looking back at him like there's nothing else in the world, and Stiles feels smaller and bigger at the same time, like the world is miniscule and they're the only two people living in it.

They kiss again, and this time is different.

The waterfalls outside keep falling, and Stiles falls with them.

**

Stiles is leisurely sitting in the bathtub and taking his sweet time. The water is nice against his heated skin, and the bubbles smell good. He feels like he’s floating on a cloud, swimming in space.

Derek steps in the bathroom silently, wearing a white fluffy bathrobe. He’s holding a bottle of champagne (like Stiles asked) and two glasses. He’s gonna get charged like a motherfucker just for this, but he thinks he can splurge on the best sex of his life and the person he’s probably been a little bit in love with since he was a teenager. These are the kinds of occasions when one just has to throw money out of the window and get some overpriced champagne while sitting in a Jacuzzi.

Stiles smiles languidly up at Derek and watches him walk inside the room.

Derek looks at him with warm eyes and stops right beside the tub, he bends down to leave the bottle and the two glasses on the floor, just inside Stiles’ reach, if he ever decided to take his hands out of the water. Kneeling, Derek’s almost at eye level with Stiles and they just look at each other, silently. The atmosphere is different now, more quiet. The urgency of just getting their hands over the other hasn’t faded, it’s still there, but now that they had the time to calm down after their first orgasm, everything is more mellow. Stiles still feels this itch in his hands, in the soles of his feet, to be near Derek, to touch him and kiss him and be with him, but he also wants to enjoy this, look at him and talk to him, listen to whatever he wants to say. Derek’s always calm and poised and he’s so different from Stiles, usually, but now it almost feels like they’re on the same wavelength, they’re finally both living on the same plane of existence - it’s weird, thinking of how different they are, because now it doesn’t feel right anymore; almost like the span of time they spent apart, just made them move closer to each other. They’re more similar than they thought.

He says so to Derek, softly. “We’re both different and the same, you and me.” And Derek touches his face, gently, one hand cupping his cheek. He smells of soap and laundry detergent, and Stiles closes his eyes, his chest burning him from the inside. “Does it feel like everything has been leading up to this? Like all the time we haven’t seen each other doesn’t count…”

Derek kisses him suddenly, and his lips are full and soft and it almost tastes like words.

“Yes,” Derek murmurs against his lips, and Stiles opens his eyes to look at him. He can only see his eyelashes and the color of his eyes from this up close, but it’s enough.

* *

Stiles rides Derek in the tub, slow and deep. Derek’s looking up at him, now, and his lips are parted on whispered moans that Stiles is drinking up like the expensive champagne he so much wanted. The glass he was holding in his hand is now sitting at the bottom of the tub, forgotten - it fell into the water when he slid into Derek’s lap, drawn to him like waves to shore.  

Derek’s grip on him is faint, like his hands don’t have the strength to hold him anymore, too undone to do anything but watch Stiles sway over him. His eyes are wide and there’s water on his lashes, clumping them up, and his face is all wet from where Stiles is dripping over him - there are fat droplets of water falling from Stiles’ hair, the point of his nose, all over his arched back, he can feel them roll and follow the curves and angles of his body, can feel where he’s touching Derek, how had he is under his weight, how big and hot he is where they’re joined together. He moves a little faster and Derek’s mouth opens a fraction wider, his breath getting sucked in in surprise. He’s so devastatingly beautiful that Stiles feels dizzy with it, like everything about him is so perfect that sometimes it hurts his brain to look at him.

Even Derek’s cock is perfect, feels amazing inside him, and this would make him roll his eyes in annoyance (at himself, at Derek) but he’s too busy throwing his head back in ecstasy, to really do anything else.

When he comes, is with Derek still inside him, and one of his hands wound around his long hair.

**

“Do you ever regret choosing your job?” Derek asks him, lazy hand drawing circles over Stiles’ scarred leg that’s draped over his hip.

Stiles shakes his head no, immediately. “I don’t think I could ever do anything else, to be honest. I’m good at it and I love it. I love everything about it.”

“So you never thought about leaving it, not even after the shooting?”

“I knew what the job entailed - and that means I’m aware that it could go wrong, one day. I know I could end up dead on a mission, that’s always a possibility. All the people on my team know. It’s hard and it asks a lot out of you, like, sometimes the shit we see is way worse than any physical wound. I don’t mind getting hurt, if in the end I know I can heal.”

Derek’s silent after this, and Stiles wonders if he went a little too overboard with the sharing - not everyone’s into the existentialist void he’s in. He’s been spending too much time with Michaela. He looks at Derek’s face, so he can see every change in it, but he can’t really understand what’s going through his head.

“I don’t think it’s very different from how I was living my life, before,” he says in the end, startling Stiles a little. It's funny how he says before, like they all think of their lives in Beacon Hills like another life entirely, like that's a closed chapter, another book.

“I suppose not,” Stiles admits, taken aback. “I’ve never thought about it that way, but I suppose not.” He looks down at Derek’s chest, the hair there, and starts playing with it with soft fingers. “I’m really glad you don’t have to run anymore, that you’ve found a place to stay, to live. That you’ve built yourself a nice life.”

That he really would love to be a part of, but he doesn’t say. He doesn’t have the right to. Not now. Not ever, probably.

“Do you get to stop running, sometimes?” Derek asks him, turning a bit so he can face Stiles with his whole body. Stiles’s hands find their way to the back of his neck. “Do you have time to unwind? To relax?”

“I get tonight,” he says, and it’s more than he wanted to admit, but then Derek’s kissing him, again and again and again, and he thinks it’s enough. Tonight’s enough.

**

His phone tells him it’s almost five thirty am and he didn’t sleep at all. He feels jittery and out of place and his eyes hurt - from the lack of sleep, from how much he wants to break down and cry, from how hard he keeps scrubbing at them. The sun is gonna come up in a couple minutes and then he’ll have to say goodbye to all of this and go back to Virginia, go back to his usual life, to the team, to Quantico.

For how much he loves his life, he can’t help but feel like he’s going to miss a huge chunk of it - like someone who misses a limb but still feels it’s there. A phantom feeling.

He’ll be somewhere in the world and he’ll be feeling like he could be here, with Derek. He could be in a bed in New York, reading the news on his computer, drinking overpriced coffee, waiting in line somewhere, talking on the phone with Derek who will be at his restaurant, waiting for him to bring him a coffee, too. Mundane things, like washing dishes together after a nice dinner, or falling asleep together, going around the city chatting about nothing at all, making fun of the other. The little things, he’s going to miss the most.

He’s trading all this for what he loves the most in the world, he supposes. That’s not bad at all. He’s never thought about this, never once since he got to be an FBI agent, never wanted anything else. Not even with Lydia, not ever. It had to be Derek the one who would make him reevaluate his whole life. Make his miss things that haven’t happened yet, that never will. Derek with his honest way about him, his huge blinding presence, the fact that he can make you fall in love with him and not make you realize it, that even with a few words he can get inside you and carve them into your soul.

He need to stop reading Ryan’s shitty books, because he’s turning into one of those tortured leading protagonists that are frankly too much and will always sing praises about their love interest. Fuck, he’s turned into Bella Swan. Fuck, Derek I know what you are. Say it out loud. A fucking piece of shit!

God, Stiles needs help.

He grabs his phone and gets off the bed, as silently as he can. Derek doesn’t seem disturbed, because he keeps sleeping, one hand under the pillow and the other reaching out for Stiles’ body. Stiles looks at him for a long second and he hates how his chest constricts over his heart. He finds his discarded shirt and puts it on. It’s long enough to cover his junk and he forgoes the boxers because he really needs to shower and he doesn’t want to put anything over his ass, not after how much Derek came last night (it’s literally a lot, he thought he couldn’t feel more wet than when they fucked in the tub but, oh boy, was he wrong) and he looks for the pack of smokes he always carries with him in his bag and, when he finds it, he tiptoes to the window, opens it softly, steps outside for the first time in so many hours. The air out on the balcony is a bit chilly, making him erupt in goosebumps, but he needed this, to breath. The waterfalls are almost too loud in the silence of those hours that lead into sunrise - when you can see the changing colors in the sky, when your mind is clearer suddenly, and you feel like you can breathe a little better, like there’s a fresh start ahead of you and all the bad things of the night are in the past.

He leans over the railing and gets a cigarette, lights it up on the first try, inhales the smoke deeply into his lungs. Just the mindless routine of it makes him feel more grounded, following the steps one after the other. He looks down at the view - at the falling water, the deafening sound of it, at the changing colors in the sky, how soft and pink and violet they are, looks at the burning amber at the end of his smoke, the way his fingers hold it. He doesn’t think.

He opens the camera app on his phone and snaps a quick photo of everything and sends it to Michaela, to Ryan. He doesn’t think Michaela’s already awake, because he knows she likes to sleep, but Ryan has such weird habits and he’s always on his goddamn computers, so he waits.

I love you a lot, but never send me anything like this ever again unless I’m there with you and we’re getting married.

Stiles smiles to himself and gets another drag of his cigarette, blows the smoke up into the air.

Are you proposing?

I don’t think we would work , Ryan replies, since you don’t even wanna read the Captive Prince saga and I’ve asked you to, like, twice

Stiles snickers and rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. Ryan has been nagging him for basically a year to read these goddamned books and he just never had the time nor the will to get into weird princes that are held captive or whatever. What even.

The sun is almost halfway up, by now, and Stiles just looks at it. He has less and less time to be with Derek for every inch of gold that comes up. One minute lost, another one, another one, now it’s five, now seven. He wants to go in and kiss Derek one last time, but he feels rooted to the spot, like he can’t move.

Ryan , he writes, his fingers shaking over the screen, I think I fucked up

What? Why? Is this about me rejecting you? Because you know I love you always

No , Stiles sighs, out loud, writes it down. The cigarette is burned out. He feels burned out, too. I fucked up for real.

I think I just realized I’m in love with somebody but it’s too late , he sends in another text.

Too late for what?

Stiles crushes the butt of the cigarette into one of the ashtrays lying around and then hides his face into his now free end. It smells like nicotine. He looks down at his phone, at the blinking cursor, the empty box waiting to be filled with words.

Too late to tell him I want him, I want this. Ryan, I can’t have this only for tonight.

“Hey.”

Stiles startles so hard he almost loses his grip on his phone, too engrossed in his own panic attack to even listen to Derek move inside, listen to the window slide open.

He looks back and finds Derek with his hand still over the window handle, from when he pushed it open - Derek's looking at him with this worried expression on his face and Stiles can't take it.

“I could hear your heartbeat even over the sound of the water, out here. Everything okay? You look pale.”

“I can't, Der,” Stiles murmurs, turning around to face him. His phone feels like it weighs seven hundred pounds in his hand. Derek's eyes widen, in the soft light of the pale orange morning. It's like he's not breathing anymore, and Stiles doesn't understand why. He's the one who's choking on this.

“I can't have this only for tonight. Derek, I can't.”

Once the words are out, he thought he would feel better, but he doesn't. He feels like a hole just opened under him and it's going to swallow him whole, like there's still something in his throat trying to choke him.

He fucked up, but he doesn't know what else to do. He's out of time, out of hope, out of dignity.

But then, Derek's stepping outside, still as naked as he was on the bed, and grabs Stiles’ shirt, hard, grabs his hair and kisses him, kisses him hard, and angry, and deep, and Stiles’ brain can't even follow it for one long second, still too deep into being desperately sad.

“Please, tell me this is your way of telling me you want this to continue, too and not some backhanded way to let me down easy,” Stiles tries to say in between kisses, Derek's tongue and his demanding hands. It's hard but he does it.

Derek stops kissing him long enough to stare at him, one of his hands an almost vicious hold on his chin, and says, “Shut up, Stiles.”

Stiles does, and he almost laughs at it, elated, light, finally happy, and opens up under Derek's kisses and thinks of all the things they can do before he has to leave.

The water is still falling behind them, and Stiles is falling, too. But this time, Derek’s with him and he’s not afraid anymore.

**