Work Text:
Derek’s half expecting the knock on his door when it comes at close to 1am.
It had started off as a one-off thing, eight or so months ago, about four months after everything with the Darach and the Alpha pack, after Stiles had died, momentarily, for his father. Deaton had warned Scott, Allison and Stiles about what it would be like after, and had taken thirty seconds out of his normal disapproving silence to give Derek and Peter a heads up, a brief checklist of what to look for if it all starts becoming too much for any of them. All three of them seemed to handle it in their own way. Scott, new alpha and still getting a handle on the power, was able to talk to Allison and she him - and both of them Isaac, who had gone through his own ice-bath experience. They seemed to be getting on okay although Derek, beta once more and tentatively, nominally, coming under Scott’s mantle, sometimes caught them looking older than they should, haunted. Stiles though. Stiles had drifted slowly from his previous position at Scott’s side and had taken to spending more time with Lydia and Danny and at Deaton’s practice, slowly learning the ins and outs of being an emissary. Derek wasn’t sure if Stiles had talked about what he’d gone through; maybe he’d confided in Lydia but much as Derek didn’t particularly mind the girl, she didn’t seem like the type to give Stiles the time he needed to come to terms with things.
Eight months ago Derek’s worries that Stiles was having a hard time were partially confirmed when he came to him, drunk enough to lose his inhibitions but sober enough to understand what he was doing. He’d begged Derek to fuck him, pleaded with him to make him forget for just a little while. Derek thought about refusing but ultimately this was Stiles, Stiles who Derek had looked too long at for a while now, since Boyd or maybe even before that. Derek didn’t know if this would make Stiles happy but he wanted to try, wanted to be there for him like he suspected no-one else was, and if this was what Stiles needed who was Derek to refuse him? He didn’t fuck him that night, laid him out on his bed and sucked his cock until he came down Derek’s throat. Derek jerked himself off on Stiles’ chest as Stiles slid into sleep, cleaned them both up and laid down next to him, nose against Stiles’ neck. In the morning he woke up and Stiles was gone.
They saw each other after that but Stiles didn’t bring it up so neither did Derek. A month later the same thing happened - late night knock at the door, smell of alcohol, Stiles’ mouth begging with Derek then running across his skin. They fucked that time, Derek slowly opening Stiles up on his fingers, making him come once before pushing inside him, fucking him deep, making him feel it. When Stiles came a second time Derek did too, pushing as deep inside Stiles as he could get, wishing he wasn’t wearing a condom, wishing this was more than it was. He was alone again when he woke up.
Derek wished he was strong enough to say no to Stiles, but if this was the only way he could have him he’d take what he could get. They barely saw each other outside these hookups and barely spoke when they did see each other, and it was all so different from a year ago when Stiles had been talking to Derek nearly every day, helping him look for Boyd and Erica. Now Stiles was quiet, kept his head down, and it sometimes made Derek feel like he was suffocating, earning him a sideways look and a slight frown from Peter.
Stiles’ visits used to be pretty spaced out but recently they’d become more frequent. From once a month to once a week and this, now, was the second time this week already and it was only Wednesday. Derek thought about not answering, like he did every time Stiles knocked, but he wasn’t sure what Stiles would do or where he would go if Derek wasn’t there for him, and he didn’t want to find out.
He opened the door and Stiles was on him immediately, arms around his neck and mouth on Derek’s. Tequila this time. Derek wasn’t sure where Stiles got the alcohol, was pretty sure no-one in Beacon Hills would be dumb enough to serve the Sheriff’s underage son, but Derek wasn’t going to ask. They didn’t talk in this, just muttered half-finished sentences and half-formed words in the middle of falling apart. Stiles dragged Derek to his bed, shedding clothes on the way and he was remarkably coordinated for someone who’d had probably more than a couple of shots of tequila. Derek followed Stiles onto the bed, covering him with his body, and grasped his head in both hands, leaning down to kiss him. Normally Stiles shied away from kissing, happy to do it to get Derek to the bed but once there he preferred to bury his face in a pillow and let Derek go to town. Today though. Today Stiles met Derek’s lips in a bruising kiss, demanding with his tongue and gripping Derek’s hair to bring him closer. Derek’s heart leapt at the new development and at the same time he felt dread in his stomach - would this be the last time Stiles came? If it was, he decided, if it was, he would make it as good for Stiles as he was capable of.
He moved down Stiles’ body, taking his time to try and memorize every inch, every mole. He skirted around Stiles’ hard cock, kissing his thighs and mouthing at his balls, until Stiles fisted Derek’s hair again and moaned a plea. Derek placed a kiss at the base, licking a stripe up to the tip and then taking it all in one go and sucking hard, setting a rhythm and running his hands across Stiles’ torso as he did so. Stiles bucked his hips and Derek let him, let him fuck into his mouth, precome painting his tongue. Derek pulled off to reach for the lube, coating his fingers while he waited for Stiles to turn over onto his stomach as usual. Stiles didn’t. He brought his knees up, spread his legs and nodded shakily at Derek when he caught his eye. Derek ran his fingers across Stiles’ hole, pressing in and ignoring the slight tremor in his hand that said this time was different and yet he didn’t know why. He opened Stiles up slowly, one finger after another until he had four fingers deep inside, concentrating on where his fingers entered Stiles’ body and trying not to look at his face, afraid of what expression he might find there. Stiles writhed and fucked himself back onto Derek’s fingers, desperate for more. Derek withdrew his fingers and rolled on a condom, slicking himself up and pressing himself inside Stiles, not wanting to be separate too long. He fucked Stiles slowly, arms next to his head and hands in his hair, watched his face for the first time, watched him fall apart. He didn’t let Stiles touch himself, waited until he wasn’t sure Stiles could take any more then moved his hand down to grip his cock, stroked him twice and ran his thumb over the head, felt Stiles come almost immediately. Watching Stiles come tipped Derek over the edge, burying his face against Stiles’ neck as he came harder than he could ever remember, inhaling his scent, wishing he could keep him. He didn’t want to let him go, wanted to stay like that until morning and beyond, but he pulled out and made his way to the bathroom to clean up, leaving Stiles to fall asleep.
Derek came back from the bathroom expecting to see Stiles passed out but instead he locked eyes with him as he walked back to the bed. He suddenly felt unsure; normally he’d clean Stiles up and settle down beside him knowing that Stiles wasn’t awake, wouldn’t remember if Derek watched him sleep for a while and wished that he’d be there in the morning. Stiles held a hand out for the cloth but Derek shook his head, took a deep breath and cleaned Stiles’ skin himself, making his way back to the bathroom to dispose of the cloth and half-hoping Stiles would be asleep when he got back to bed. He wasn’t. He watched Derek walk back to the bed and get in.
“Can I stay?”
If Derek had been human he wouldn’t have heard it. As it was, he turned to Stiles and nodded, sliding down to rest his head on his pillows and stretching his arm above Stiles’ head. Stiles turned and put his hand on Derek’s chest, over his pounding heart, and laid his head on Derek’s shoulder, closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Derek. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s okay.”