Just Say Yes
Title: Just Say Yes
Rating: Nc-17/R (it is currently in mental debate)
Pairing: Derek/Stiles Other/Stiles
Warning: Lots of cursing in this chapter, and slight smutty times, nothing extreme.
Notes: Written for this kink meme prompt
Summary:Stiles wanted nothing to do with Derek Hale. His life was already a mess, and the last thing he needed was his ex-boyfriend back. But when he showed up bruised, beaten, and completely detached from this world on Stiles' doorstep-what else was he supposed to do? Answer: it probably shouldn't have been dragging him into his flat and trying to put him back together, and definitely not hoping Derek to return the favor.
Notes on this chapter: Sorry I feel like this took me forever to update. So this one is actually kind of happy! Except I think it'll not be how some of ya wanted so just...don't hate me. BUT THE CHAPTER IS HAPPY I SWEAR. Also I'm not that talented of a smutty writer, but practice makes perfect.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 /
Stiles didn’t come home till late. Usually he got in around four or five, or just about when the sun was rising over the roofs. Today though, he got in maybe around three, when the sun was high in the sky. He expected Derek to be asleep. They had both sort of adapted to this strange nocturnal schedule, and Stiles doubted that him being gone a few extra hours would change anything,
He was wrong.
When he came in the door, Derek was sitting at the kitchen table. His hands were folded under his chin and he was staring at Stiles. Staring at him with demanding, piercing, eyes that pinned Stiles to the door better than any hand. Well, that wasn’t exactly true; Derek’s hands were big and…forceful, but anyways.
“Where the fuck have you been?” His voice was a ball of barely controlled anger. There was that growl underneath, and the threat to break the neutral tone it had so far achieved.
Stiles took cautious steps into the living room, “Nowhere, just had a late day at work, er night, night that went into day.” His excuse did nothing for him, and before he could make a break for the kitchen, Derek was on him.
Now, his hoodie that he kept in his car for times like this did not completely cover the injury. However it was just enough to create shadows across his face that would shield it from being anything recognizable. He usually stayed a pretty good distance away from people, as close range would reveal pretty much everything.
Derek stomped over, not moving with his usual grace, he spoke in his fake-patient tone the one that was laced with sarcasm and general snark, “You’ve been gone for almost twenty hours Stiles, I’m pretty sure there’s labor laws against that.”
“Yeah, well, maybe for werewolves,” he muttered. Stiles wasn’t up for this. He didn’t possess enough energy to fight with Derek. Not today, not when he could only see out of one eye and his entire body throbbed. He kept walking though; the kitchen was only a few feet away.. He could make it there without suffering further Derek Hale interrogation right? Get the swelling down at least right?
Wrong.
“Hey Stiles!”
Derek stopped him. He grabbed him by the crook of his arm and whirred him around. Stiles was less surprised (because hey, getting manhandled by Derek Hale had definitely became a significant part of his life over the past few years) as in pain. He hissed, because either his entre body ached or Derek’s fingers had magically landed on the spot where the chair hit him the most.
It was about then when Stiles forgot he was supposed to be hiding his eye.
He had checked it out in the car and it looked pretty bad, honestly. It was a blueish purple, and to the point where the swelling pushed Stiles’ eye closed. Not only that, but it was pulsing. Derek probably couldn’t notice that, but to Stiles it was the worst thing. He could feel his eye twitching under the weight or the very dull thumping of something like his heart beat around the wound.
Not only that, but there was also the scab from where the ring had punctured him right under his eyebrow. Faded blood streaked across his face, most of which he had tried to rub off with spit and water from a fountain.
“I uh fell down some stairs, big stairs, with sharp pointy eye poking edges.” Of course Derek wouldn’t believe it, Derek wouldn’t believe anything Stiles easily told him. For them, if it was the truth it had to be pulled out with a pair of pliers and at least a dozen curse words.
“You look like you were mugged or mauled for Christ’s sake.”
Stiles winced, well he winced as much as possible, and Derek was right there right up in his face. But mostly, he was too tired to fight, too tired to try to have a witty comment against every one of Derek’s attacks. So instead he sighed, a sigh that Derek probably felt in his grip.
“It’s nothing, really, just a little bruise, humans tend to do that you know.”
Derek knew. Stiles had used that line in the past, not a lot mind you, because it made him feel weak. It made him feel inferior to Derek, Scott, and actually most of his old friends. But every time Derek backed off. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was just because he realized that he could actually be charged for assault with physical evidence available, or if there was something deeper. Stiles used to think that Derek was a better person; maybe he backed off because he was aware that what he was doing was wrong.
But maybe not.
He dropped his hand slowly from Stiles’ arm, and stepped back, maybe only half a foot, but not enough for Stiles to squeeze by without Derek cornering him again.
“Yeah I get that,” his tone shifted form angry to irritated without missing a beat, “I wanted to know how you got it.”
Stiles didn’t answer, he just sighed for what felt like the billionth time since he got home. When Derek’s persistent glare showed no signs of weakening that deep sigh turned into a whiny groan. “Seriously? Can I just get some ice?”
Even when Derek allowed him to step by it in no means meant that Stiles was free from this interrogation.
Derek was right behind him, so close that Stiles could slightly feel his body heat against Stiles’ back. He grabbed the ice pack form the freezer and almost immediately after Stiles wrapped it in a cloth and pressed it to his face, Derek started up again.
“Stiles.” This time he spoke with a condescending tone? That’s what Stiles guessed was the closest word. It was like the voice in television shows that the parents used when they knew their child had done something naughty/life endangering.
Stiles sagged back onto the dirty grimy kitchen counter He was exhausted. On the days Lucas suggested (demanded) Stiles slept over after one of their fights, there was little sleeping involved. Usually it was just sex, sex and arguing, and Stiles repeating promises-and not something he wanted to discuss. “Derek can’t you just drop it?”
“No.” There was it. There was the ‘I’m the Alpha’ ‘I’m superior’ voice. “Just tell me Stiles, it isn’t difficult.”
Stiles didn’t get angry like normal people. Anger took up a lot of Stiles’ focus and that was one thing he really really needed more of already. He possessed about three different types. The first was brief infuriation, mediocre anger he thought of it as. This mostly happened with Scott where he would be upset, but still able to concentrate on other things, and it would only take a quick apology or bribe for him to get over it. The second one was from which his grudges were born. A significant event had to happen, and that significant event had to make Stiles so furious that what happened was the only thing he could think of. That anger slowly fizzled out though, and he was left with a grudge at the back of his mind like a pile of coals waiting to be relit.
Then, there was a third. They were rare, and Stiles had only experienced maybe a dozen (note: five of them were spawned by Derek) outbursts in his life. Something set him off. Not only was he in a fury though-no he was in something worse. He was blinded by rage, his filter had completely gone, and that haze consumed his brain. That haze that couldn’t tell right from wrong, because it clouded every sense and emotion except for sudden hate. He would no longer be able to control himself, and the Stiles that was presented to the public every day was gone.
“What the fuck Derek?! But seriously. What. The. Fuck. First off, you show up to my house a complete wreck, and yeah you had shit happen I get it. Sure, I can’t deny that I was not persistent in asking you to tell me, but hell, I wanted to hear it from you, because talking actually helps people Derek, really. I could just have asked Scott for all of the details instead of just the basics and let you deal with it on your own but no, I asked you for your own benefits. Not for mine, it had nothing to do with me. But you know what Derek, because you’re an ass, you won’t tell me. I understand the whole emotional nub thing, I read so many fucking articles, but you can’t just run away from things forever. And yeah, our relationship was shit, and I know that you think that when I’m asking you to talk it’s about that-but it’s not. Because we’re done with that, and I don’t know what the hell we are. We’re not together, we’re not friends, I don’t even know if we count as acquaintances. But we are two people who have been through a bunch of crappy stuff together and know what crappy stuff is like. So before I tell you about my crappy stuff, you have to tell me, you fucking owe me an explanation. And and you have no right to ask me to talk when you haven’t. Because, because….”
Stiles was both out of breath and out of words. He searched or a concluding sentences, but ending up panting out with ice water trailing down his face, “because I asked you first. And you know what? That should be fucking enough.”
Derek had that look of when he did not know what to say. His arms were folded to make defined bicep muscles pop even more, his mouth slightly parted, but a glower taking over. Mostly, it was to hide the fact that the gears reeling n his head were sticking together. The final sign was the intense eye contact, sure most of Derek’s eye contact was pretty intense, but this was just like he was trying to melt you into the ground.
Stiles licked his cracked, bloody lips, his burst of rage dissipating, and his sense finally starting to come back. “You just can’t…pretend nothing is wrong but then when you look sometimes…it’s like you’ve seen a ghost or something or something life-threatening, I dunno you’re a werewolf, ghosts probably don’t freak you out.” Derek’s expression did not change, “Do you know what I mean?”
“Every day.”
__________________
Stiles didn’t understand at first, because it could of referred to a lot of things. So he didn’t answer right off the bat, instead, he paused and tried to sum up something that would be the most likely connection to what Derek had said before. He clearly did not know what Stiles meant every day or else they would have a hell of a lot easier time communicating.
“See ghosts…?” Was this going to turn into like a television show? Was there secretly a ghost in his house that only Derek could see because of his supernatural-ness?
But Derek looked uncomfortable; usually he owned whatever space he was in. Whether people realized it or not Derek always made himself very situated in what ever surrounding he happened to be in But now he was looking up at the ceiling or rubbing the back of his neck. The chair he was leaning against started to move under his force, but he didn’t seem to notice.
The answer came out in an almost reluctant way. It was said like what it was. A secret that Derek did not want to giveaway, with a grumble it came out, “My pack.”
Stiles almost dropped his ice pack. Sure he had read about cases where victims hallucinate and relive their trauma. But Stiles always assumed that Derek’s stress only focused on nightmares. They were dealing with that too-every night they would sleep together, and Derek would calm down slowly. Stiles thought they were getting better.
This was new. Stiles pushed off the counter and moved forward towards him. Just in case a hand on the shoulder was needed the usual comforting things. Then again Derek flipped from any contact that was not initiated by himself.
“Where?” Stiles whispered. He now registered why they never talked in the past. It was really freaking awkward. It wasn’t that Stiles didn’t know what to say, of course he did. He just didn’t know what was to get him the fastest answers.
Derek mumbled a curse, and this time it was in frustration. Stiles wasn’t a telepath, and this still probably wouldn’t be any easier to convey if he was. He guessed that Derek’s thoughts were as jumbled as his words. He started to rub the front, sides, and down to the temples of his forehead; it was a clear sign.
“Everywhere, everyone.” Stiles didn’t follow. His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth hung open ever so slightly, and his finger rose for a question, but Derek cut him off. “People, Stiles, people-people I don’t know they look like them everyone looks like them.”
Stiles moved another step closer towards Derek, still didn’t touch him with fear of ruining the moment, but after clearing his throat spoke as gently as possible, “They’re not…here Derek.”
“No shit Stiles.”
Then something scary happened. Derek’s breath grew heavier and each one came out a little shuddered. His shoulders didn’t shake but his arms quivered. His muscles twitched through the tight shirt, and he rubbed his forehead again as if smoothing out the invisible wrinkles. “I’m not an Alpha-they tell me I’m not the Alpha.”
What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to have a sappy emotional moment with his ex-boyfriend? He couldn’t do that. But he also couldn’t just walk out the door that would just be cruel. So the only solution was to stand there awkwardly, and scratch the back of his head.
When he spoke again it was at a mile every thirty seconds, “I’m not that great at comforting, you think I would be because it kind of fits in to my character profile, you know? But usually people do the opposite of what I say, so I kinda jut quit after awhile. So I mean, why did you come here? I mean you couldn’t have thought that I’d be good at this,” He gestured to between them with his free hand, and chewed on his bottom lip until the scab popped, and blood oozed out. ”And…the people are even more unfamiliar here.”
It was then that Stiles truly saw what a mess Derek was. Stiles had his own crap to deal with, his relationship, living in this neighborhood where walking was a threat-that could be why. It could be because he was still angry and wanted to believe that Derek was incapable of feeling any emotion, incapable of being hurt. Sure, he knew that Derek had problems; he knew that they were severe problems. Stiles had no doubt in his mind that Derek had come here for Stiles to put all of his pieces back together. But even then he assumed it would easy, because this was Derek Hale, he either recovered from his issues immediately or buried them so deep they couldn’t resurface.
But now, he saw the true image of the man in front of him. His eyes were bloodshot, his normal scruffy chin was starting to grow into a full fledge beard, and he looked thinner. He was definitely thinner, and Stiles had occasionally noticed that haunted look in his eyes-because it was difficult not to, but now he was even more aware of it. After the first couple of days of nightmares, he convinced himself it was mostly gone, but he was wrong. Right now, it was as present as the day he arrived, that blank, vacant, disturbed stare that locked onto nothing but showed the terror of someone who had seen so much more.
It not just that though, it was more than his stance or his appearance, it was the essence radiating off of him. It was when the stare disappeared only for a second-just long enough for Derek to send Stiles this expression. His eyebrows raised just a little bit his mouth in a tight frown, and his hand rubbing his face all over.
Every fiber of Derek’s being was asking Stiles’ to fix him. What he was doing now was only the start-it wasn’t enough so far, it wasn’t enough to ease the chaos in his conscious. Derek’s mind was in a bullet field without any protection.
It was too much-too much pressure. How was Stiles supposed to take care of another human being when he could hardly take care of himself. He was afraid of the responsibility.
“I-I don’t know why you picked me.”
“I said I wanted normal. You, Stiles, you’re normal.” He didn’t follow, and this next part wasn’t whispered but spoken in a gruff hushed tone, “The scents in Beacon Hills they became…mingled. Everywhere I could only smell the pack, but you, what was left of you there, was so clear.”
Stiles swallowed some of the extra spit that had suddenly built up into his mouth and this time he chewed on the inside of his cheek, against a little lump that formed there.
“You were the only one who wasn’t someone else.”
Stiles wasn’t sure what Derek was confessing. It didn’t feel exactly like a compliment or an insult. But something about it had heat rushing to Stiles’ face and even the back of his neck. It was the way it was stated, with unbroken eye contact and Derek’s low serious voice.
He was at lack of what to say again. He wanted it to be something inspiring something that healed Derek right on the spot, and there would be no more nightmares, no more trauma, he wanted his next words to be perfect.
“Usually Allison comforts Scott and I just hear about it later. But I’m not her and you aren’t him. We aren’t epically in love, and I can’t say that as long as we’re together everything will be okay.” This wasn’t a good start, but Stiles knew what he was doing, or he had a very vague idea, “We may not even like each other but I can tell you for what it’s worth there is at least one person in the world who wants you alive…and well.”
Derek didn’t say anything at first, and Stiles began to wonder if his words had no impact. Derek always said it was actions that matter not words, but wasn’t speaking an action in itself? He was hoping Derek thought so too, or else Stiles didn’t know how this could help at all.
But then his expressionless face morphed into something else. One corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly and his eyes for once had just a hint a life in them. It was there; it was that infectious smile, the one that caused Stiles to return it unknowingly in full force.
“If that’s you, I’m not sure how much it’s worth.”
Stiles wasn’t as offended as he usually was by Derek’s comments. He knew everything wasn’t magically better but that one smile was worth it. He yelled with a grin, rather than with the indignation from before, “I’m trying to be helpful and you just have to be a jerk, don’t you?”
It wasn’t unexpected really, given Derek’s track record. They weren’t far apart; the conversation seemed to pull them closer together with every sentence. Now they were maybe a quarter of a foot away with Stiles head tilted up just a little to meet Derek’s eyes and his body within grabbing range. All he would have to do was reach one arm out.
He swooped down the only minor height that separated them with his hands still attached to the chair, and not using any other extremities than his mouth to keep Stiles in place.
When he backed off, Stiles wiped his mouth and whined, “Aw man you had to kill the moment didn’t you?”
“Reward.” He stated simply as he stretched one arm in the air.
“What?”
There was that trap again. That sneaky thing Derek did, and you knew he had won when he had that silly victorious smirk on his face. “I demand compensation for my efforts.”
Stiles could bring up that he had a boyfriend. A very possessive boyfriend at that. Derek would probably say something lame like he didn’t remember. But Stiles didn’t mention it, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to bring up his lover after Derek kissed him, no, after Derek confessed before.
They say that flattery does not work on intelligent people. Obviously they had never received a sort of compliment from Derek Hale.
Stiles wasn’t sure that if someone telling you, you were the only thing keeping them sane was a good thing. But it made Stiles feel pretty fucking special. He felt important, and needed. He could take a survey, and he was pretty sure that people would say there was nothing as meaningful as that. Stiles felt worthless lately; he had been vomited on, beaten, underpaid, and sexually harassed. He felt like his entire existence was just something to laugh at.
But Derek just told him, that without Stiles he wouldn’t be able to hold onto whatever was left of his sanity. To someone, Stiles meant something. It freaked him out a lot, but it also made him feel awesome.
“Fine. One more.”
_
It wasn’t one more, or two more, or three more, it was a lot more. But this kissing wasn’t violent. There was no hunger, no swallowed growls; it was all far simpler. Derek licked the blood off of Stiles lip and moved his hand from the back of the chair to around Stiles’ waist and then to his back. The ice pack slid off between their faces and onto to ground, when Stiles shifted closer.
Then they were chest to chest. Derek’s tongue worked its way in, licking at the blood soaked corners of Stiles’ mouth before sliding inside. Then not as violently and demanding as before he explored every inch of his mouth. He took his time, for once, and worked his way around in no particular pattern.
He loosened Stiles’ bow tie with one hand, and Stiles allowed it. In fact he encouraged it, and tugged on the bottom of Derek’s shirt.
He wasn’t exactly sure how they ended up in the bedroom. He actually thought that it was a sort of combined effort. That they both were exhausted and trying to do this while standing would not have a good outcome. So Stiles believed that they must have slowly shuffled towards the bedroom.
Stiles bed wasn’t much better than the futon. He was actually briefly concerned if it would be able to hold their combined weight. Stiles could see the marks from Derek’s knees on the stained mattress when he climbed on top of him.
Clothing was gone in a matter of seconds. Actually initiated by Stiles, who wanted more than anything to trace the outline of Derek’s quite pronounced abdomen muscles. While Derek got frustrated at all the layers that Stiles was wearing and ending up pushing the entire attire upwards which only succeeded in exposing the middle part of his ribs and the low waistband of his boxer shorts.
He complained about Stiles being too skinny, softly to himself mostly, but then kissed every dip between ribs and then moved up to kiss his cheek, and the extra water that was left from the ice.
“You’re being so nice.” Stiles managed to say still grinning, “It was kind of unexpected.”
Derek stopped, and propped himself up on his elbows, he quirked an eyebrow up, “You’d rather have me be mean?”
“I don’t know, no. But I kind of have a thing for wall shoving now, thanks to you.”
Derek moved to chew on the flesh of Stiles neck, “Shut up.”
That was innocent for them, and things very quickly turned not so innocent. This was probably the longest, nicest, foreplay that they ever had. Usually their sexual-ish encounters were very rough, fast, and occurred multiple times, because of their rough and quickness.
So it wasn’t a surprise when Derek started to get more aggressive. Derek’s slid his fingers inside of Stiles pants, and skillfully found the slight bulge in his boxers.
“Uh…Derek?”
That hand quickly changed tactics and went from naïve touches to more practiced techniques. He began to roll his palm over the clothed erection, changing his pressure every time, and successfully drawing out a chocked moan from Stiles.
“Oh shit.” Stiles muttered.
“For someone who has a lover, you’re pretty damn horny,” Derek mocked. And Stiles did argue back because he was right. He needed physical contact and he needed it right fucking now. Stiles entire forearm was over his mouth trying to prevent himself from actually saying those words, and the other slung over his shoulder, digging his fingers nails into Derek’s tattoo.
That hand lifted out and moved down inside of his boxers. Stiles’ shook with pleasure the instant Derek’s hands were around him. He forgot how they felt, how strong they were, how he could feel every callous against his cock, and how Derek knew where to touch-how to touch.
“Shitshitshit,” and Stiles bucked his hips into the air, but Derek was there rubbing the inside of his thighs with his fingertips and going over his balls ever so lightly. “We can’t do it, you know, we really shouldn’t do it. I’m with someone, and seriously we shouldn’t be doing this, and we definitely can’t do it.”
Derek mouth wasn’t near his ear, but his voice with that growl on each of the vowels, “What are you twelve? We aren’t going to fuck.”
He reached for Stiles’ hand and guided it past his stomach, and into his own boxers. Even though he was doing this, he said, “If you really want to stop, we’ll stop.”
But Derek knew, the smug bastard, when he touched and talked like that Stiles was no way going to say no.
It was a bad idea. This was how their fucked up relationship in the past had started right? This was how everything went down hill in the first place, right? This was too fast, too much, more than Stiles wanted, right? Did he want this?
Stiles didn’t stay anything. Instead he groped for Derek’s own erection. When he found it, he could hear Derek snicker above him about how harder Stiles got from it. And it wasn’t from just some hand job-it was from the memories.
Stiles could trace Derek’s dick with his hand, run his hand along it, remembering how long, how wide, how it felt. How he could make Derek feel, and that was the best part. He could make Derek groan quietly above him, and every time he did that, Derek would make sure that Stiles would reply with a louder one.
It was a loop really, both of them trying to out do each other, until they were both going at their usual fast pace, and faster and faster, until both orgasms arrived almost simultaneously. They wiped sticky wet fingers on the sheets, and didn’t need to analyze anything more.
It was certainly the best hand job Stiles had ever got.
Derek Hale wasn’t fixed; he wasn’t back to as sane as he would ever be. It just couldn’t magically happen like that. But some part of Stiles felt like from before, what Derek had told him, was a start.
__________
It certainly slipped his mind then, and maybe it was because of the other activities they were preoccupied by. Stiles didn’t notice that Derek never brought up the subject of his wounds again, and he never demanded that Stiles tell him after.
He didn’t figure out that before, Derek was asking out of courtesy. He decided it would be better to hear it from Stiles.
Derek was completely capable of finding out on his own.
Part 6
Rating: Nc-17/R (it is currently in mental debate)
Pairing: Derek/Stiles Other/Stiles
Warning: Lots of cursing in this chapter, and slight smutty times, nothing extreme.
Notes: Written for this kink meme prompt
Summary:Stiles wanted nothing to do with Derek Hale. His life was already a mess, and the last thing he needed was his ex-boyfriend back. But when he showed up bruised, beaten, and completely detached from this world on Stiles' doorstep-what else was he supposed to do? Answer: it probably shouldn't have been dragging him into his flat and trying to put him back together, and definitely not hoping Derek to return the favor.
Notes on this chapter: Sorry I feel like this took me forever to update. So this one is actually kind of happy! Except I think it'll not be how some of ya wanted so just...don't hate me. BUT THE CHAPTER IS HAPPY I SWEAR. Also I'm not that talented of a smutty writer, but practice makes perfect.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 /
Stiles didn’t come home till late. Usually he got in around four or five, or just about when the sun was rising over the roofs. Today though, he got in maybe around three, when the sun was high in the sky. He expected Derek to be asleep. They had both sort of adapted to this strange nocturnal schedule, and Stiles doubted that him being gone a few extra hours would change anything,
He was wrong.
When he came in the door, Derek was sitting at the kitchen table. His hands were folded under his chin and he was staring at Stiles. Staring at him with demanding, piercing, eyes that pinned Stiles to the door better than any hand. Well, that wasn’t exactly true; Derek’s hands were big and…forceful, but anyways.
“Where the fuck have you been?” His voice was a ball of barely controlled anger. There was that growl underneath, and the threat to break the neutral tone it had so far achieved.
Stiles took cautious steps into the living room, “Nowhere, just had a late day at work, er night, night that went into day.” His excuse did nothing for him, and before he could make a break for the kitchen, Derek was on him.
Now, his hoodie that he kept in his car for times like this did not completely cover the injury. However it was just enough to create shadows across his face that would shield it from being anything recognizable. He usually stayed a pretty good distance away from people, as close range would reveal pretty much everything.
Derek stomped over, not moving with his usual grace, he spoke in his fake-patient tone the one that was laced with sarcasm and general snark, “You’ve been gone for almost twenty hours Stiles, I’m pretty sure there’s labor laws against that.”
“Yeah, well, maybe for werewolves,” he muttered. Stiles wasn’t up for this. He didn’t possess enough energy to fight with Derek. Not today, not when he could only see out of one eye and his entire body throbbed. He kept walking though; the kitchen was only a few feet away.. He could make it there without suffering further Derek Hale interrogation right? Get the swelling down at least right?
Wrong.
“Hey Stiles!”
Derek stopped him. He grabbed him by the crook of his arm and whirred him around. Stiles was less surprised (because hey, getting manhandled by Derek Hale had definitely became a significant part of his life over the past few years) as in pain. He hissed, because either his entre body ached or Derek’s fingers had magically landed on the spot where the chair hit him the most.
It was about then when Stiles forgot he was supposed to be hiding his eye.
He had checked it out in the car and it looked pretty bad, honestly. It was a blueish purple, and to the point where the swelling pushed Stiles’ eye closed. Not only that, but it was pulsing. Derek probably couldn’t notice that, but to Stiles it was the worst thing. He could feel his eye twitching under the weight or the very dull thumping of something like his heart beat around the wound.
Not only that, but there was also the scab from where the ring had punctured him right under his eyebrow. Faded blood streaked across his face, most of which he had tried to rub off with spit and water from a fountain.
“I uh fell down some stairs, big stairs, with sharp pointy eye poking edges.” Of course Derek wouldn’t believe it, Derek wouldn’t believe anything Stiles easily told him. For them, if it was the truth it had to be pulled out with a pair of pliers and at least a dozen curse words.
“You look like you were mugged or mauled for Christ’s sake.”
Stiles winced, well he winced as much as possible, and Derek was right there right up in his face. But mostly, he was too tired to fight, too tired to try to have a witty comment against every one of Derek’s attacks. So instead he sighed, a sigh that Derek probably felt in his grip.
“It’s nothing, really, just a little bruise, humans tend to do that you know.”
Derek knew. Stiles had used that line in the past, not a lot mind you, because it made him feel weak. It made him feel inferior to Derek, Scott, and actually most of his old friends. But every time Derek backed off. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was just because he realized that he could actually be charged for assault with physical evidence available, or if there was something deeper. Stiles used to think that Derek was a better person; maybe he backed off because he was aware that what he was doing was wrong.
But maybe not.
He dropped his hand slowly from Stiles’ arm, and stepped back, maybe only half a foot, but not enough for Stiles to squeeze by without Derek cornering him again.
“Yeah I get that,” his tone shifted form angry to irritated without missing a beat, “I wanted to know how you got it.”
Stiles didn’t answer, he just sighed for what felt like the billionth time since he got home. When Derek’s persistent glare showed no signs of weakening that deep sigh turned into a whiny groan. “Seriously? Can I just get some ice?”
Even when Derek allowed him to step by it in no means meant that Stiles was free from this interrogation.
Derek was right behind him, so close that Stiles could slightly feel his body heat against Stiles’ back. He grabbed the ice pack form the freezer and almost immediately after Stiles wrapped it in a cloth and pressed it to his face, Derek started up again.
“Stiles.” This time he spoke with a condescending tone? That’s what Stiles guessed was the closest word. It was like the voice in television shows that the parents used when they knew their child had done something naughty/life endangering.
Stiles sagged back onto the dirty grimy kitchen counter He was exhausted. On the days Lucas suggested (demanded) Stiles slept over after one of their fights, there was little sleeping involved. Usually it was just sex, sex and arguing, and Stiles repeating promises-and not something he wanted to discuss. “Derek can’t you just drop it?”
“No.” There was it. There was the ‘I’m the Alpha’ ‘I’m superior’ voice. “Just tell me Stiles, it isn’t difficult.”
Stiles didn’t get angry like normal people. Anger took up a lot of Stiles’ focus and that was one thing he really really needed more of already. He possessed about three different types. The first was brief infuriation, mediocre anger he thought of it as. This mostly happened with Scott where he would be upset, but still able to concentrate on other things, and it would only take a quick apology or bribe for him to get over it. The second one was from which his grudges were born. A significant event had to happen, and that significant event had to make Stiles so furious that what happened was the only thing he could think of. That anger slowly fizzled out though, and he was left with a grudge at the back of his mind like a pile of coals waiting to be relit.
Then, there was a third. They were rare, and Stiles had only experienced maybe a dozen (note: five of them were spawned by Derek) outbursts in his life. Something set him off. Not only was he in a fury though-no he was in something worse. He was blinded by rage, his filter had completely gone, and that haze consumed his brain. That haze that couldn’t tell right from wrong, because it clouded every sense and emotion except for sudden hate. He would no longer be able to control himself, and the Stiles that was presented to the public every day was gone.
“What the fuck Derek?! But seriously. What. The. Fuck. First off, you show up to my house a complete wreck, and yeah you had shit happen I get it. Sure, I can’t deny that I was not persistent in asking you to tell me, but hell, I wanted to hear it from you, because talking actually helps people Derek, really. I could just have asked Scott for all of the details instead of just the basics and let you deal with it on your own but no, I asked you for your own benefits. Not for mine, it had nothing to do with me. But you know what Derek, because you’re an ass, you won’t tell me. I understand the whole emotional nub thing, I read so many fucking articles, but you can’t just run away from things forever. And yeah, our relationship was shit, and I know that you think that when I’m asking you to talk it’s about that-but it’s not. Because we’re done with that, and I don’t know what the hell we are. We’re not together, we’re not friends, I don’t even know if we count as acquaintances. But we are two people who have been through a bunch of crappy stuff together and know what crappy stuff is like. So before I tell you about my crappy stuff, you have to tell me, you fucking owe me an explanation. And and you have no right to ask me to talk when you haven’t. Because, because….”
Stiles was both out of breath and out of words. He searched or a concluding sentences, but ending up panting out with ice water trailing down his face, “because I asked you first. And you know what? That should be fucking enough.”
Derek had that look of when he did not know what to say. His arms were folded to make defined bicep muscles pop even more, his mouth slightly parted, but a glower taking over. Mostly, it was to hide the fact that the gears reeling n his head were sticking together. The final sign was the intense eye contact, sure most of Derek’s eye contact was pretty intense, but this was just like he was trying to melt you into the ground.
Stiles licked his cracked, bloody lips, his burst of rage dissipating, and his sense finally starting to come back. “You just can’t…pretend nothing is wrong but then when you look sometimes…it’s like you’ve seen a ghost or something or something life-threatening, I dunno you’re a werewolf, ghosts probably don’t freak you out.” Derek’s expression did not change, “Do you know what I mean?”
“Every day.”
__________________
Stiles didn’t understand at first, because it could of referred to a lot of things. So he didn’t answer right off the bat, instead, he paused and tried to sum up something that would be the most likely connection to what Derek had said before. He clearly did not know what Stiles meant every day or else they would have a hell of a lot easier time communicating.
“See ghosts…?” Was this going to turn into like a television show? Was there secretly a ghost in his house that only Derek could see because of his supernatural-ness?
But Derek looked uncomfortable; usually he owned whatever space he was in. Whether people realized it or not Derek always made himself very situated in what ever surrounding he happened to be in But now he was looking up at the ceiling or rubbing the back of his neck. The chair he was leaning against started to move under his force, but he didn’t seem to notice.
The answer came out in an almost reluctant way. It was said like what it was. A secret that Derek did not want to giveaway, with a grumble it came out, “My pack.”
Stiles almost dropped his ice pack. Sure he had read about cases where victims hallucinate and relive their trauma. But Stiles always assumed that Derek’s stress only focused on nightmares. They were dealing with that too-every night they would sleep together, and Derek would calm down slowly. Stiles thought they were getting better.
This was new. Stiles pushed off the counter and moved forward towards him. Just in case a hand on the shoulder was needed the usual comforting things. Then again Derek flipped from any contact that was not initiated by himself.
“Where?” Stiles whispered. He now registered why they never talked in the past. It was really freaking awkward. It wasn’t that Stiles didn’t know what to say, of course he did. He just didn’t know what was to get him the fastest answers.
Derek mumbled a curse, and this time it was in frustration. Stiles wasn’t a telepath, and this still probably wouldn’t be any easier to convey if he was. He guessed that Derek’s thoughts were as jumbled as his words. He started to rub the front, sides, and down to the temples of his forehead; it was a clear sign.
“Everywhere, everyone.” Stiles didn’t follow. His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth hung open ever so slightly, and his finger rose for a question, but Derek cut him off. “People, Stiles, people-people I don’t know they look like them everyone looks like them.”
Stiles moved another step closer towards Derek, still didn’t touch him with fear of ruining the moment, but after clearing his throat spoke as gently as possible, “They’re not…here Derek.”
“No shit Stiles.”
Then something scary happened. Derek’s breath grew heavier and each one came out a little shuddered. His shoulders didn’t shake but his arms quivered. His muscles twitched through the tight shirt, and he rubbed his forehead again as if smoothing out the invisible wrinkles. “I’m not an Alpha-they tell me I’m not the Alpha.”
What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to have a sappy emotional moment with his ex-boyfriend? He couldn’t do that. But he also couldn’t just walk out the door that would just be cruel. So the only solution was to stand there awkwardly, and scratch the back of his head.
When he spoke again it was at a mile every thirty seconds, “I’m not that great at comforting, you think I would be because it kind of fits in to my character profile, you know? But usually people do the opposite of what I say, so I kinda jut quit after awhile. So I mean, why did you come here? I mean you couldn’t have thought that I’d be good at this,” He gestured to between them with his free hand, and chewed on his bottom lip until the scab popped, and blood oozed out. ”And…the people are even more unfamiliar here.”
It was then that Stiles truly saw what a mess Derek was. Stiles had his own crap to deal with, his relationship, living in this neighborhood where walking was a threat-that could be why. It could be because he was still angry and wanted to believe that Derek was incapable of feeling any emotion, incapable of being hurt. Sure, he knew that Derek had problems; he knew that they were severe problems. Stiles had no doubt in his mind that Derek had come here for Stiles to put all of his pieces back together. But even then he assumed it would easy, because this was Derek Hale, he either recovered from his issues immediately or buried them so deep they couldn’t resurface.
But now, he saw the true image of the man in front of him. His eyes were bloodshot, his normal scruffy chin was starting to grow into a full fledge beard, and he looked thinner. He was definitely thinner, and Stiles had occasionally noticed that haunted look in his eyes-because it was difficult not to, but now he was even more aware of it. After the first couple of days of nightmares, he convinced himself it was mostly gone, but he was wrong. Right now, it was as present as the day he arrived, that blank, vacant, disturbed stare that locked onto nothing but showed the terror of someone who had seen so much more.
It not just that though, it was more than his stance or his appearance, it was the essence radiating off of him. It was when the stare disappeared only for a second-just long enough for Derek to send Stiles this expression. His eyebrows raised just a little bit his mouth in a tight frown, and his hand rubbing his face all over.
Every fiber of Derek’s being was asking Stiles’ to fix him. What he was doing now was only the start-it wasn’t enough so far, it wasn’t enough to ease the chaos in his conscious. Derek’s mind was in a bullet field without any protection.
It was too much-too much pressure. How was Stiles supposed to take care of another human being when he could hardly take care of himself. He was afraid of the responsibility.
“I-I don’t know why you picked me.”
“I said I wanted normal. You, Stiles, you’re normal.” He didn’t follow, and this next part wasn’t whispered but spoken in a gruff hushed tone, “The scents in Beacon Hills they became…mingled. Everywhere I could only smell the pack, but you, what was left of you there, was so clear.”
Stiles swallowed some of the extra spit that had suddenly built up into his mouth and this time he chewed on the inside of his cheek, against a little lump that formed there.
“You were the only one who wasn’t someone else.”
Stiles wasn’t sure what Derek was confessing. It didn’t feel exactly like a compliment or an insult. But something about it had heat rushing to Stiles’ face and even the back of his neck. It was the way it was stated, with unbroken eye contact and Derek’s low serious voice.
He was at lack of what to say again. He wanted it to be something inspiring something that healed Derek right on the spot, and there would be no more nightmares, no more trauma, he wanted his next words to be perfect.
“Usually Allison comforts Scott and I just hear about it later. But I’m not her and you aren’t him. We aren’t epically in love, and I can’t say that as long as we’re together everything will be okay.” This wasn’t a good start, but Stiles knew what he was doing, or he had a very vague idea, “We may not even like each other but I can tell you for what it’s worth there is at least one person in the world who wants you alive…and well.”
Derek didn’t say anything at first, and Stiles began to wonder if his words had no impact. Derek always said it was actions that matter not words, but wasn’t speaking an action in itself? He was hoping Derek thought so too, or else Stiles didn’t know how this could help at all.
But then his expressionless face morphed into something else. One corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly and his eyes for once had just a hint a life in them. It was there; it was that infectious smile, the one that caused Stiles to return it unknowingly in full force.
“If that’s you, I’m not sure how much it’s worth.”
Stiles wasn’t as offended as he usually was by Derek’s comments. He knew everything wasn’t magically better but that one smile was worth it. He yelled with a grin, rather than with the indignation from before, “I’m trying to be helpful and you just have to be a jerk, don’t you?”
It wasn’t unexpected really, given Derek’s track record. They weren’t far apart; the conversation seemed to pull them closer together with every sentence. Now they were maybe a quarter of a foot away with Stiles head tilted up just a little to meet Derek’s eyes and his body within grabbing range. All he would have to do was reach one arm out.
He swooped down the only minor height that separated them with his hands still attached to the chair, and not using any other extremities than his mouth to keep Stiles in place.
When he backed off, Stiles wiped his mouth and whined, “Aw man you had to kill the moment didn’t you?”
“Reward.” He stated simply as he stretched one arm in the air.
“What?”
There was that trap again. That sneaky thing Derek did, and you knew he had won when he had that silly victorious smirk on his face. “I demand compensation for my efforts.”
Stiles could bring up that he had a boyfriend. A very possessive boyfriend at that. Derek would probably say something lame like he didn’t remember. But Stiles didn’t mention it, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to bring up his lover after Derek kissed him, no, after Derek confessed before.
They say that flattery does not work on intelligent people. Obviously they had never received a sort of compliment from Derek Hale.
Stiles wasn’t sure that if someone telling you, you were the only thing keeping them sane was a good thing. But it made Stiles feel pretty fucking special. He felt important, and needed. He could take a survey, and he was pretty sure that people would say there was nothing as meaningful as that. Stiles felt worthless lately; he had been vomited on, beaten, underpaid, and sexually harassed. He felt like his entire existence was just something to laugh at.
But Derek just told him, that without Stiles he wouldn’t be able to hold onto whatever was left of his sanity. To someone, Stiles meant something. It freaked him out a lot, but it also made him feel awesome.
“Fine. One more.”
_
It wasn’t one more, or two more, or three more, it was a lot more. But this kissing wasn’t violent. There was no hunger, no swallowed growls; it was all far simpler. Derek licked the blood off of Stiles lip and moved his hand from the back of the chair to around Stiles’ waist and then to his back. The ice pack slid off between their faces and onto to ground, when Stiles shifted closer.
Then they were chest to chest. Derek’s tongue worked its way in, licking at the blood soaked corners of Stiles’ mouth before sliding inside. Then not as violently and demanding as before he explored every inch of his mouth. He took his time, for once, and worked his way around in no particular pattern.
He loosened Stiles’ bow tie with one hand, and Stiles allowed it. In fact he encouraged it, and tugged on the bottom of Derek’s shirt.
He wasn’t exactly sure how they ended up in the bedroom. He actually thought that it was a sort of combined effort. That they both were exhausted and trying to do this while standing would not have a good outcome. So Stiles believed that they must have slowly shuffled towards the bedroom.
Stiles bed wasn’t much better than the futon. He was actually briefly concerned if it would be able to hold their combined weight. Stiles could see the marks from Derek’s knees on the stained mattress when he climbed on top of him.
Clothing was gone in a matter of seconds. Actually initiated by Stiles, who wanted more than anything to trace the outline of Derek’s quite pronounced abdomen muscles. While Derek got frustrated at all the layers that Stiles was wearing and ending up pushing the entire attire upwards which only succeeded in exposing the middle part of his ribs and the low waistband of his boxer shorts.
He complained about Stiles being too skinny, softly to himself mostly, but then kissed every dip between ribs and then moved up to kiss his cheek, and the extra water that was left from the ice.
“You’re being so nice.” Stiles managed to say still grinning, “It was kind of unexpected.”
Derek stopped, and propped himself up on his elbows, he quirked an eyebrow up, “You’d rather have me be mean?”
“I don’t know, no. But I kind of have a thing for wall shoving now, thanks to you.”
Derek moved to chew on the flesh of Stiles neck, “Shut up.”
That was innocent for them, and things very quickly turned not so innocent. This was probably the longest, nicest, foreplay that they ever had. Usually their sexual-ish encounters were very rough, fast, and occurred multiple times, because of their rough and quickness.
So it wasn’t a surprise when Derek started to get more aggressive. Derek’s slid his fingers inside of Stiles pants, and skillfully found the slight bulge in his boxers.
“Uh…Derek?”
That hand quickly changed tactics and went from naïve touches to more practiced techniques. He began to roll his palm over the clothed erection, changing his pressure every time, and successfully drawing out a chocked moan from Stiles.
“Oh shit.” Stiles muttered.
“For someone who has a lover, you’re pretty damn horny,” Derek mocked. And Stiles did argue back because he was right. He needed physical contact and he needed it right fucking now. Stiles entire forearm was over his mouth trying to prevent himself from actually saying those words, and the other slung over his shoulder, digging his fingers nails into Derek’s tattoo.
That hand lifted out and moved down inside of his boxers. Stiles’ shook with pleasure the instant Derek’s hands were around him. He forgot how they felt, how strong they were, how he could feel every callous against his cock, and how Derek knew where to touch-how to touch.
“Shitshitshit,” and Stiles bucked his hips into the air, but Derek was there rubbing the inside of his thighs with his fingertips and going over his balls ever so lightly. “We can’t do it, you know, we really shouldn’t do it. I’m with someone, and seriously we shouldn’t be doing this, and we definitely can’t do it.”
Derek mouth wasn’t near his ear, but his voice with that growl on each of the vowels, “What are you twelve? We aren’t going to fuck.”
He reached for Stiles’ hand and guided it past his stomach, and into his own boxers. Even though he was doing this, he said, “If you really want to stop, we’ll stop.”
But Derek knew, the smug bastard, when he touched and talked like that Stiles was no way going to say no.
It was a bad idea. This was how their fucked up relationship in the past had started right? This was how everything went down hill in the first place, right? This was too fast, too much, more than Stiles wanted, right? Did he want this?
Stiles didn’t stay anything. Instead he groped for Derek’s own erection. When he found it, he could hear Derek snicker above him about how harder Stiles got from it. And it wasn’t from just some hand job-it was from the memories.
Stiles could trace Derek’s dick with his hand, run his hand along it, remembering how long, how wide, how it felt. How he could make Derek feel, and that was the best part. He could make Derek groan quietly above him, and every time he did that, Derek would make sure that Stiles would reply with a louder one.
It was a loop really, both of them trying to out do each other, until they were both going at their usual fast pace, and faster and faster, until both orgasms arrived almost simultaneously. They wiped sticky wet fingers on the sheets, and didn’t need to analyze anything more.
It was certainly the best hand job Stiles had ever got.
Derek Hale wasn’t fixed; he wasn’t back to as sane as he would ever be. It just couldn’t magically happen like that. But some part of Stiles felt like from before, what Derek had told him, was a start.
__________
It certainly slipped his mind then, and maybe it was because of the other activities they were preoccupied by. Stiles didn’t notice that Derek never brought up the subject of his wounds again, and he never demanded that Stiles tell him after.
He didn’t figure out that before, Derek was asking out of courtesy. He decided it would be better to hear it from Stiles.
Derek was completely capable of finding out on his own.
Part 6