wegrowliketrees (wegrowliketrees) wrote,
wegrowliketrees
wegrowliketrees

42

don't be afraid (it's only love)
teen wolf
stiles stilinski/derek hale
5,500
nc-17
started with a playlist, exploded into a full-on fic. season 2 compliant. download the zip file for the fanmix here.

→ With the rest of the pack occupied and a long, hot summer stretching in front of them, Stiles and Derek discover the multiple holes in their days.



You never know where some people will go
Yeah some people been hurtin' me
You can tell by look, by the slightest crook
In the neck or the blink of an eye

Well then we'll see what they say and we'll do what they do
But that doesn't mean a goddamn thing
You can listen if you want, you can listen if you don't
Yeah they'll talk, yeah they'll even sing




It starts one night, when Stiles is tired of occupying time by himself. And Derek. Well, Derek’s tired of everything but Stiles apparently.

He taps on the window, his nose almost pressing against the screen. Stiles looks up from the couch and coughs back a laugh of surprise.

“You’re getting closer to actually knocking on my front door, huh?”

Derek doesn’t answer, his eyes roaming over the television screen. “Movie?”

Stiles darts glances between the TV and the wolf looming behind his open window.

“Is that you asking if you wanna join? Because you haven’t even said hello yet.” He rises and pads his way to the front door. “Or, like, ‘Hey Stiles. I see you’re alone in your house at night. Maybe I should text you before I come creeping at your window so as to not startle you.’”

When he swings the door open, Derek’s already standing on the front step.

“Hey.” Stiles holds back his grin. Derek stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets and smiles cheekily. “Can I come in?”

--

They drift into each others’ spaces nearly every day. It’s kind of easy.

Lydia and Jackson are navigating their Reunited Honeymoon phase, only surfacing for the occasional group outing. Scott and Isaac spend much of their time escaping the heat by working for Deaton in his fully-air-conditioned clinic. Erica and Boyd tinker around in various places (mostly in the train cars, reworking the rusted metal into a more cushioned den). The Argents aren’t back from their much-needed vacation, and no one really brings this up. Peter kind of walked off when they weren't looking, and now they're only looking out.

With the rest of the pack occupied and a long, hot summer stretching in front of them, Stiles and Derek discover the multiple holes in their days.

Their holes tend to coincide, so they fill them up with each other.

Stiles drags Derek into the woods so they can practice lacrosse. Derek manipulates Stiles into helping him re-floor the Hale house.

They’re driving to a hole-in-the-wall burger joint a few miles out of Beacon Hills one afternoon (at Stiles’ insistence, they’re trekking around the area in search of the most satisfying double decker with a side of curly fries) when Stiles turns up the volume and taps the dash of his Jeep.

“This song, right here. This is dedicated to you, Sourwolf.”

Derek’s got one hand out the window, the other stretched around the back of Stiles’ seat. He listens for a moment, taking in the sounds and words flowing out of the speakers.

Watching you run, into the high noon sun. Watching you run, farther than guns will go. You are a runner, with a stolen voice.

Wrinkling his nose, Derek grunts, “Whatever. It could be about anyone. It could be about you.”

Stiles drums his fingers against the wheel and warbles a line, “I am my father’s son. Yeah, it could be about me, too.”

They drive in silence as the song switches into the next.

“It could be about us,” Stiles mutters. Derek’s ears hear it as clearly as Stiles intended.

--


Pick apart
The pieces of your heart
And let me peer inside
Let me in
Where only your thoughts have been
Let me occupy your mind
As you do mine




The thought sits with Derek for a week. He doesn’t stop spending time with Stiles. Instead, he finds himself pulled more and more to be around the boy. His eyes roam across every surface that screams about the boy — the pictures in the Stilinski living room, the cluster of books stacked on the floor by Stiles’ bed, the litter of CDs inside the Jeep’s glove compartment, the sunburned patches of skin on Stiles’ cheeks.

In an effort to run away without actually running, Derek suggests they get out of town more. They drive to the coast one day. There’s always been something about the ocean that calms his wolf and his mind.

They leave early in the morning. The Camero is packed with blankets, lacrosse sticks and a hefty supply of food. Stiles insists on playing a mix he made in honor of the trip as soon as he slips into the passenger seat.

“Just go with it, ok? It’ll help keep us awake and energized.”

Derek severely doubts he’ll enjoy Stiles’ idea of energizing music, especially at 4 in the morning. But he lets the younger boy shove an unmarked disc into the CD player.

As they drive, the sun rises and Derek finds himself grinning along to Stiles’ singing. It’s not a bad mix, he thinks.

--

They’ve got the car doors open and a blanket stretched out on the sand. The CD is playing on loop and the food supply has dwindled down to a half-empty bag of chips and two lukewarm bottles of water.

The sky is smeared with purples and reds. Stiles sighs and stretches his sore legs. Derek’s had his eyes closed for about 20 minutes, his ears concentrated on the hum of music and the constant thump-thump of Stiles’ heart.

“This day was awesome.” Derek peeks open one eye and finds Stiles smiling out at the ocean waves. “Like, best summer day ever. All my favorite things. Sand, surf, lacrosse, foot-long subs.”

Derek snorts a laugh and closes his eye.

“The company ain’t half bad, either.”

He feels Stiles creep up the blanket and nestle next to him.

“This song, the one playing. This one’s for you, too.”

Derek’s stomach clenches and he slowly lets his eyes open again. Stiles’ face rests inches away, and he can count the freckles that have begun to blossom from the sun exposure. He doesn’t know what to say, so he listens.

I had a chance for a better life, but all that I've known is to run, run, run, from a devil in disguise.

“It’s a running theme. Get it? The theme is you running? And the saying is ‘running theme’?” Stiles babbles until his voice gets softer. “But really, I just like this song. It makes me think of driving around with you. Which has gotten awesome, ever since you stopped banging my head into steering wheels.”

Derek lets Stiles’ talk dwindle before he reaches out and touches the boy’s wrist.

“I’m not.”

Stiles breathes in and holds it. His heartbeats quicken and he bites his lip before asking, “Not what?”

There’s a pause before Derek wraps his fingers around the wrist.

“Running.”

--


I have this breath
And I hold it tight
And I keep it in my chest
With all my might
I pray to God this breath will last
As it pushes past my lips
As I gasp

Between two lungs it was released
The breath that passed from you to me




They hide behind narrow corners and hurriedly shut doors, beneath the shade of the tallest trees and the thinnest of bed sheets.

Stiles finds scratches on his shoulders from rubbing against harsh tree bark. He smirks when his fingers brush against the stinging cuts as he scrubs himself in the shower.

The kiss they shared on the sand-covered blanket unleashed a current of touches between skin and lips. They help fill the gaps in their days, added moments between painting Derek’s refurbished walls and Stiles’ workout routine of jogging along thin paths deep into the woods.

It also gives them more excuses to laze about, especially when the temperature spikes and the only save haven is a room with three fans working overtime.

The argument of the day is whether Stiles’ curtain should stay open or pinned shut.

“No one will see.”

“Leave it.”

“I’m like a plant. I need sunlight to survive.”

“Go outside.”

“But it’s like the surface of the sun out there!”

Derek huffs and pulls Stiles back down onto the bed.

“You’re hiding this,” Stiles whispers into Derek’s bare throat. “Me. Us.”

His hand runs down Stiles’ arms, his fingers grazing over splatters of scratches and freckles.

“We’re not hiding. They’re just not looking.”

--

It doesn’t take much to set Stiles’ skin ablaze, something Derek takes full advantage of. When it’s hot and sticky, they slide lazily across each other. When the night sky is dark and the air cooler, their bodies trip and rush together.

Stiles insists it’s a thrill to park their cars in secluded spots around town. Derek snorts and makes jokes about how juvenile the whole thing is, but it’s a thrill to him, too.

They’re tangled together in the passenger seat of the Jeep, Stiles straddling Derek with his arms weaved around Derek’s neck and dipping down his thin undershirt. Derek presses hot kisses to Stiles’ throat, his hips thrusting up against the younger boy’s in a slow rhythm.

“Derek,” Stiles groans as he grinds down desperately. Strong hands grip his lower back, fingers pressing into the exposed skin as his shirt rides upward.

“I don’t know why you insist on always playing your music,” Derek mutters as he runs his teeth along Stiles’ collarbone.

“Shut up,” the boy moans, twisting his hips down and hard enough to shock a gasp out of Derek. “This song is awesome.”

When my life ripped, all from the part that played as a kid, into the part that blazed through your lips, to find a warm, safe place then to sit, curl up inside it.

Derek surges up to catch Stiles’ mouth, his tongue slipping against warm teeth. They roll their hips together in a steadily faster motion, hands pressing bruises into skin that will last minutes or days. Stiles chokes on a cry as he tilts over the edge, legs squeezing around Derek as the other man grunts and clutches tightly before stuttering out his final thrusts.

They stay close afterwards, breathing warm puffs against each others’ cheeks. Pressing their foreheads together, Derek grins. “I liked that last song.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and steals another kiss.

“I like you, you stupid sourwolf.”

--


Did you lie for me to keep me safe?
Did you bear with me when I misbehaved?
Far from here could you feel my fear
When the lights died out and I turned to the gray side?
Did you lie for me to keep me safe?

Now you're out on the bottomless sea
So it's time for you to lean on me, lean on me




They’ve spent half the summer exchanging conversation. Stiles supplies about 70 percent of it, but he figures it’s a vast improvement. Now that make-out/mutual orgasm sessions have been added to their list of activities, talking has sort of taken a backseat.

Much of their exchanges, when they do occur, involve teasing words and comments about paint colors and suggestions for dinner. Speaking of, the Hale house has come a long way in the past months.

“I must say, I never imagined myself a Do It Yourself kinda guy. But I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?” Stiles stands in the middle of the freshly furnished living room, hands on his hips and face smudged with dust and a full-on grin.

Derek doesn’t answer as he rummages through the few boxes he’d pulled out of storage a week ago. Stiles sighs and plops down onto the second-hand couch they salvaged from Goodwill. It was worn and comfy, and ready to be defiled by the two men who had lugged it into the room just an hour ago.

“Derek, c’mon. Take a break. Or five. Five breaks sound great.”

The lack of response motivates Stiles to sit up and peer over the back of the couch. Derek’s still standing by the boxes, holding a frame. His eyes are concentrated on the musty glass surface.

“What’ve you got?” Stiles jumps up and trots over. “A picture?”

He bends around Derek to steal a look. The photograph is a little muted from the layer of dust, but Stiles can make out a cluster of smiling faces. A man and woman sit on a dark couch, arms wrapped around each other. There are hints of other bodies in the corners and along the edges, and an older lady’s soft grin is caught in the upper right, but Stiles’ eyes are drawn to what’s in the lower center. A pair of kids are frozen as they tumble over one another on the floor. The girl holds down the younger boy’s arms with one hand as she dangles a Batman action figure high in the air with the other. They’re baring their teeth at each other, but the flushed happiness shining in their eyes gives them away.

“Is that— is that you? This is your family.”

Derek jerks away, and Stiles didn’t even realize he’d been hovering his hand over Derek’s, inches from touching the fingers tightly gripping the wooden frame.

“Yes.”

And before Stiles can even comment on how adorable him and Laura are (because it’s so obviously Derek and Laura, and so then that must be Derek’s mother and father, and this is his family and they seem so content in each others’ company), Derek’s dropped the frame back into the box and is hurrying out the front door.

Stiles runs a hand through his hair and exhales a shaky breath.

--

Two days later, Stiles is waiting in the living room. He’s got a new mix playing on his phone, and he hums along to it as he fiddles with a game he downloaded last night.

“Stiles.”

The boy looks up and grins at Derek, who stands in the entryway. He frowns and walks over to the couch.

“Hey,” Stiles mutters as Derek hovers in front of him. “Sit.”

He knows better than to make dog jokes when Derek obeys.

“I— ”

“What is that.” Derek’s already seen it. Stiles grunts in frustration and reaches over to twist Derek into facing him.

“Let me explain.”

Derek’s eyes flash with a mixture of anger and sadness. “Stiles, I didn’t ask— ”

“I did it because I wanted to, Derek. I, well, I did it because someone needed to. You were doing that thing again, that thing you do when you hit an emotional roadblock? You can’t run away from this. They’re your family. And running can’t make you forget. Trust me.”

A small whine escapes Derek’s throat and Stiles sighs before bending in to press a soft kiss against Derek’s lips. They fold into each other, laying out onto the couch and whispering kisses against mouths and skin. Stiles’ phone falls to the floor. The music is the only noise that fills the room.

We’re laying in the shadow of your family tree, your haunted heart and me, brought down by an old idea whose time has come.

On the wall rests the newly framed photograph. It’s shining and bright against the pale blue wall. It says home.

--


And life, life is a long time, too long to my mind, too long by far
Between my waterfalls and your landslides, there's cartography in every scar
Life, life is a long time, too long to my mind, too long by far

Because it starts pretty rough and ends up even worse,
And what goes on in between, I try to keep it out of my thoughts




It’s well into July that trouble strolls back into Beacon Hills. And isn’t that always how it goes?

Scott stands in front of Stiles and Lydia, and Isaac and Boyd watch for an opening as Derek crashes into the snarling stranger. The other alpha had already tried to lure Erica into following him out of town before Derek caught his scent.

All they’d been trying to do was hold a pack picnic with Derek’s freshly-purchased grill. Next thing you know, Erica’s sprinting into the house and yelling about being accosted by old, horny werewolf intruders.

The alphas are brutal and Stiles flinches every time Derek takes a hit. But when the other werewolf is tossed into a nearby tree, Isaac takes his chance and lunges for the stranger’s legs. Boyd jumps in fast enough to hold back the man’s arms and Derek leans in close enough to give the man his undeserved warning.

“My pack is off-limits. Go find a mate somewhere else. I catch you on my land again, and I’ll rip your heart out.”

He turns and walks away, pretending not to notice when Erica slips in to deliver a swift kick to the man’s groin.

Stiles wants to run to Derek and inspect the already-healing wounds all over Derek’s arms and chest, but Scott’s grip on his shoulder stops him. “Wow, man. Finally something happens this summer, right?”

Derek’s eyes catch Stiles as he responds. “Yeah, pretty much.”

The moment breaks when Jackson steps out of the house and asks, “What the hell just happened?”

--

After the food is devoured and everyone cleans up the mess (everyone only after Derek flashes red eyes in the direction of two disgruntled betas named self-righteous Jackson and but-I’m-a-victim Erica), the pack sprawls out on the front porch.

“It looks great, Derek,” Scott comments, running his hand against the sanded wood. “Really, I’m totally impressed.”

Stiles grins to himself. He was the one who’d rented the sander from Home Depot last weekend. That machine was an adventure in itself.

“Thanks. It’s starting to feel like a home again.”

“So we can move out of the train cars and into your house?” Isaac’s tone is light and joking, but his wide eyes wait for Derek’s response. Erica and Boyd perk up at the suggestion, and even Jackson is trying not to sound interested.

“If you want. I would prefer this to be home base, but we can make the trains our emergency location.”

Even Stiles can feel the overwhelming joy emanating from the wolves. He sees Derek bite back a satisfied smile.

“And yes, Scott. That means you and your human can visit any time you want. Same goes for you, Jackson.”

Stiles barks a laugh. “Just a human, huh? Hear that Lydia, we’re just humans.”

--

He catches Derek in the kitchen just a few minutes later, pressing against his back as Derek runs the sink full of water.

“So does that mean Isaac and them are moving in with you?”

Derek dips his hands into the sudsy water. “By the end of the summer, yes. I need to finish the bedrooms.”

Stiles presses wet kisses to the back of Derek’s neck, his fingers creeping down to trace lines against Derek’s stomach.

“Can I help? Or am I only allowed over when Scott’s escorting me?”

Derek drops the glass he’d been cleaning to twist around. “Stiles.”

“That’s me.” Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s waist and presses his crotch flush to Derek’s. “Stiles, the pesky human.”

They stand against the kitchen counter longer than they should, mouths locked and hands wandering. Hips crush together and Stiles reaches to unbutton Derek’s fly.

“Stiles,” Derek warns, head jerking toward the open side door. The pack is out there, close enough to hear and smell and discover all sorts of secrets.

“I just wanna make sure you’re all healed up. That alpha was nasty.”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

Stiles sighs and fingers the edge of Derek’s jeans. “I was a little freaked out, not gonna lie. That dude was fucking insane, and your shirt still has blood on it, which is totally not sanitary, you should probably take it off.”

“Stiles.” The boy shuts his mouth and presses his nose into Derek’s cheek.

“Okay. You’re okay. I’m okay.”

They stand pressed together, quiet and still, arms wrapped around bodies and faces hovering close.

And you are not ill, and I'm not dead. Doesn't that make us the perfect pair? Just you and me, we'll start again.

“Stilinski! Get out here and change the fucking music!”

Fucking Jackson.

--


Well I walk upon the river like it's easier than land
Evil's in my pocket and your will is in my hand
Oh, your will is in my hand

And I'll throw it in the current that I stand upon so still
Love is all, from what I've heard, but my heart's learned to kill
Oh, mine has learned to kill





August creeps up on them, and the thought of school returning and summer ending starts to eat away at Stiles’ mind. He finds himself waking up and rushing over to Derek’s, or finding ways to tempt Derek into sneaking into his room late at night.

rapunzle rapunzle come get ur dick out

aren’t you rapunzle? I’m the one that climbs into your room

whatever. do you want a blow job or not

already on my way

is ur dick out

shut up stiles

He grins at the screen of his phone and wiggles impatiently in his desk chair. Two more weeks until lacrosse practice starts. Three more weeks until school. Stiles isn’t sure what the end of summer will mean for him, Derek and whatever it is they have between them. And that sinking feeling is too overwhelming to delve into. So he’s just going to make the most out of the moments they make.

The tapping at his window startles him, but it’s only Derek climbing over the sill.

“You’ve fully regressed back into window-climbing status. You’ll never knock on my front door at this rate.”

Derek shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it on the floor.

Stiles swivels his chair around to face Derek. He waggles his eyebrows and folds his arms behind his head.

“Damn, son. Take it all off.”

The werewolf shakes his head but smiles as he walks closer. “You first.”

Stiles leans forward and tugs Derek closer by the loops of his jeans.

“Nope. This is now a striptease. So strip for me. C’mon, baby. Make it real good.”

Derek lets Stiles unzip his pants, hands running over the top of Stiles’ head. Hands yank the denim down and Stiles stands fast enough to push Derek back onto the bed. He lands with a soft grunt, legs trapped, and Stiles pounces. With knees locked around Derek’s middle and his weight against Derek’s chest, he presses their mouths together. Derek opens up to the kiss, hands flying up to grip Stiles’ ass.

“What about that blow job,” Derek mutters around Stiles’ tongue.

“What about that strip tease, huh?”

With a low growl, Derek shoves Stiles up and reaches down to pull off his shirt. Stiles sits next to the wolf and watches as Derek chucks the shirt across the room, bending down to kick out his feet and do the same to his pants. Stiles reaches a hand out to cup the erection pressing through the boxer briefs, stopping Derek’s hands from tugging them off as well.

“Worst strip tease ever,” he comments before dipping down to mouth at Derek’s cock. With a soft moan, Derek leans his head back and closes his eyes. Stiles lets his tongue soak the cotton as he traces the outline of Derek’s hardness. Hands find the back of Stiles’ neck, and he moans when fingers press into his skin.

“Okay, these need to be off,” he says as he creeps his own fingers under the lining of Derek’s briefs.

“You’re the one that stopped the stripping.”

“Well, I’m starting it again. C’mon, c’mon. Lift your hips.”

Derek complies, watching Stiles yank the briefs down and off his body. The boy clambers back up to press a rushed, heated kiss against Derek’s mouth, and he takes the chance to grip Stiles’ arms and hold him close.

“Why are you rushing this?”

Stiles grunts and nips Derek’s bottom lip.

“Uh, horny male teenager. That would be me. And I’ve got a willing, muchly-abled body in my bed? Also, said body is sizzling hot? And amazing with his hands?”

He wants to stop Stiles and push further, because he could totally hear the boy’s heartbeat skip as he catapulted into a half-attempted lie. But then Stiles starts mouthing at Derek’s chest, then over to a nipple, and a hand wraps around Derek’s erection.

Stiles finally finds his way back down, and he smiles when Derek gasps, his lips curling around the other man’s warm cock.

--

Somewhere in between the blowjob and jerking Stiles off, Derek found himself promising to drive them back out to the coast. Which is what they end up doing two days later, taking the Camero if only because it’s faster and puts less mileage on the Jeep.

He can sense Stiles is nervous, and he wants to ask if the boy took his medication that morning. But he knows Stiles did, because he watched him take it. So it’s something else that has the kid fidgeting, drumming his fingers and twitching his eyes all over the place.

They park in relatively the same area, and Stiles jumps out of the car before the engine’s off.

It’s as if they need to do everything they possibly can, starting immediately. Derek can’t even fight the pleased grin his face breaks into as he stretches out of the car and watches Stiles sprint toward the water.

A shirt flies off, then shorts. Derek starts to follow when underwear is tossed into the air.

He loves the coast.

--

They’re lounging on their blanket, and it’s a good thing no one is around, because they refuse to dig into the Camero’s trunk in search of their swimming trunks.

Stiles worms his legs around Derek’s, his fingers tracing lazy shapes into Derek’s bare chest.

“So. It’s almost the end of summer.”

Derek hums, too content to move his mouth.

“And we’ve been hanging out a lot.”

He feels so perfectly warm and so perfectly perfect just like this.

“But it won’t be as much, you know. Like, when school and lacrosse start up again.”

The sounds and smells of the ocean, and the comfort and pleasure of having someone that’s his pressed up against him.

“So, I guess, I wanted to just put that out there. Because this summer’s been amazing.”

Mine. The thought catches Derek off guard, but he feels it settle into his bones just as quickly as it hit him. Stiles is his and that fact burns through him with tremendous joy.

You’re amazing. And— Derek, are you listening?”

He yanks Stiles atop him, surging up enough to catch Stiles’ mouth in a searing kiss.

Mine,” Derek mumbles against Stiles’ lips.

Gasping, Stiles ruts against Derek, his cock already swelling with excitement.

“Yes, yes. Obviously yours. You, too. You, mine.”

Derek flips them and presses their hard-ons together. “Yours. Mine,” he growls before biting and licking around Stiles’ neck.

“Jesus, you’re possessive. And, fuck.” Derek’s teeth leave marks, and it thrills his wolf. “Uhgn. That’s hot. Fuck, again.”

--

They do it on the beach, on their blanket. Stiles runs to the car to retrieve the lube he’d packed, just in case. It was something they hadn’t done yet, had been holding off on. But now it’s something they need, something that will cement them as each other’s.

It seems perfect, even if Stiles makes these ungodly squeaking noises the first time Derek presses a finger in, and then again when there’s two and then three and they’re scissoring and stretching and suddenly pushing up and good god it feels fucking amazing and Stiles can’t stop babbling until Derek slides his tongue into his mouth and then it’s actually perfect.

When Derek pushes into him, Stiles feels his chest swell with words and feelings and they unhinge with each thrust, gushing up his throat and into the air as inarticulate blurbs.

“God, Derek. You, I— fuck, right there, yeah. Never want you to stop, please, fuck.”

Stiles whimpers when Derek finally reaches around his leaking cock, jerking him in time to the deep thrusts. He sobs a strangled fuck me, fuckfuckfuckfuck when he comes all over their chests, and Derek speeds up his hips until Stiles is almost in the sand and Derek’s cock is throbbing its own release.

They lay together for a while, Derek slipping out slowly and Stiles pressing his sloppy grin against Derek’s satisfied smirk.

“That? That was the best part of this summer.”

“Mmhmm.”

The sun is slowly setting, and Derek can feel the itch of the sand that managed to creep into their skin. But he chooses to burrow his face into Stiles neck and just breathe. Fingers tangle into his hair and he smiles as Stiles starts to sing.

“Yeah, when I was only 17, I could hear the angels whispering. So I droned into the words and wandered aimlessly, about until I heard my mother shouting through the fog.”

“You and your silly music,” Derek mutters. Stiles laughs and taps Derek’s forehead as he continues.

“It turned out to be the howling of a dog, or a wolf to be exact, the sound sent shivers down my back. But I was drawn into the pack, and before long, they allowed me to join in and sing their song.”

Derek harrumphs and shuts Stiles up with another kiss.

--


Don't be afraid, it's only love.

Love is simple.




The rest of the pack moves into Derek’s house just a few days before lacrosse practice starts. Isaac can’t stop grinning and he spends the afternoon torn between unpacking and chasing Scott into playful spats of tag.

“Such puppies, I swear,” Erica mutters, rolling her eyes at the betas. But Derek’s not fooled. He can smell the content rolling off Erica in heavy waves. She’s got her own room, and although she needs to return to her family house most nights, she already thinks of the Hale place as her home.

Boyd shoves her softly before asking her to help him arrange his own room. They pass Jackson on their way up, and he makes a face at them before waltzing into the living room.

“Yeah, I’ll be buying my own furniture. Just so you know. Probably have it delivered in a few days.” Derek snorts at Jackson’s speech.

“You’re welcome.”

Jackson stumbles a little but regains his cocky attitude fast enough to snap a look up at the picture hanging on the wall.

“Who’s that?”

Derek stares at the photograph for a moment before answering. “That’s my family.”

The other boy, startled but not surprised, doesn’t comment. They stand together for a moment, both werewolves studying the images of those gone and of one grown.

“What are you boys doing?”

Derek turns, but Lydia’s talking about Isaac and Scott, who stumble back into the living room, Scott caught in a headlock and Isaac growling like a pup. Derek can’t help but dart his eyes up to the image of him and Laura, and the connection makes him swell with an odd combination of pride and sadness.

“Okay! Guys! Everyone in the living room! It’s pack-family photo time!”

Stiles rushes in from the kitchen, where he’d been assembling the army of sandwiches they would eat in a few minutes. In one hand he’s clutching a camera. The other smacks Isaac in the back of the head. “C’mon, children! Avengers, assemble!”

Erica and Boyd clamber down the stairs, and the rest of the pack arranges themselves on or around the couch. Stiles stands in front of them, hands on his hips like an impatient mother.

It hits Derek, like most of his feelings do, right then and there what is happening.

“Okay, now when I say kanima, everyone smile.”

“Hey! That’s not funny!” Jackson cries at the same time Lydia says, “But what about you?”

Scott adds to the noise with a, “Yeah! Stiles, get in here!” and Erica laughs, “C’mon, mommy!” Isaac laughs and nudges over to make room next to Derek.

Derek, who is staring at Stiles as if the boy was his entire world. Well, imagine that.

He pats the space next to him and says, “Right here, Stiles. We can lean in close.”

Stiles’ eyes widen and Derek’s afraid he might do something drastic, like cry or tear his clothes off and jump on his dick right there. But he doesn’t do either. Just nods, tries to hold in his face-splitting grin, and makes his way over to the couch. Before he sits, Boyd says, “Oh go on and kiss him. We already know.”

Scott sputters, “Wait, what? We already know what?” But Derek doesn’t care. He pulls Stiles into his lap and kisses him full on the mouth. The boy drops the camera into Lydia’s lap and folds his arms around Derek’s neck. They kiss and Derek’s heart sings.

They break away to the sound of catcalls (wolfcalls?) and Jackson’s fake disgust. Lydia’s showing off the picture she snuck and Scott’s starting to realize just what Stiles was actually up to all summer.

“Alright, you rowdy pack of wolves. Let’s take our family photo. Mama’s got the perfect frame waiting for it.”

They’re piled all over each other, faces mushed together when the camera goes off. Derek’s cheek stays pressed against Stiles, and he thinks, yeah. This is perfect.

--

Stiles says they need to go one more time in order to declare Derek’s bed officially christened. Derek chuckles and smothers the boy with his own overheating body.

“Werewolf or not, my dick might actually fall off.”

“Dude!” Stiles gasps. “That’s not funny. I need that dick.”

“Shhh. Sleep time.”

“But I want to go agaiiin. Three’s a magic number, Derek.” Stiles pouts and Derek almost relents. Almost. “At least let me put on some music.”

Derek sighs and rolls of Stiles. “Fine.”

Jumping up with a gleeful cry, Stiles ambles across the room to the iPod dock on the dresser. He queues a song and dives back into bed, immediately snuggling up to Derek.

Hands roam across skin as the two press against their favorite places (Derek’s navel, Stiles’ chest freckles, Derek’s eyebrows, Stiles’ lips). They snuffle and rub until Derek’s sure their scents are one. Just as they should be.

“This song, this one. It gives me feelings.”

Derek doesn’t know if he’s awake enough to listen.

“About?”

“Mmm. The pack. My dad. Mostly about you, though.”

Derek’s ears perk up enough to take in the lyrics, and he recognizes it.

“This is on that CD you left in my car.”

“Yeah. I really, really like it.”

Derek finds himself mouthing words into Stiles’ shoulder.

“You know the words, don’t you.”

He nods and lets them leak out of his mouth. “I belong with you, you belong with me, you’re my sweetheart.”

Stiles makes a strangled noise and reaches to kiss Derek on the forehead. “You’re amazing, and perfect, and mine, and I’m yours, and god, Derek, I love you, I love you so much.”

Derek kisses him on the lips, hands slipping up to hold his face still.

“I love you, too.”

They hold each other, kisses warming their bones like kindling.

(Stiles totally gets his third round.)




Tags: fandom: teen wolf, ficmix, pairing: stiles/derek, rating: nc-17
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