In Word and in Deed
Title: In Word and in Deed
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7,778
A.N.: A million thanks to my lovely beta, Queenitsy, who put up with so much hand wringing on this one.
Summary: Stiles has stopped saying "I love you." Derek wants to know why.
Derek watches as Stiles rushes around their house. He picks up a book from the coffee table, his laptop from the arm of the loveseat, a stack of papers off of the breakfast bar, and tugs a spiral bound notebook out from under one of the bookcases.
"How did that even get there?" Stiles mutters to himself as he slides it into his backpack.
Derek thinks about reminding him of what they were doing the night before when it went flying, but Stiles is already running late and can't afford distractions, so instead he just finishes spreading cream cheese on a toasted blueberry bagel-- Stiles's favorite-- and checks on the coffee, though there isn't actually anything he can do to speed up the process of water dripping through the percolator.
"How do I look?" Stiles asks, pulling Derek's attention away from the slowly rising level of the coffee.
"Huh?"
Stiles makes an exasperated noise and then gestures up and down his body. "Do I look like someone you would let loose in your office to do all your busywork for free?"
Derek gives him a leer. "I don't know. Do I want to be written up by HR because of my lewd and unprofessional conduct?"
Stiles rolls his eyes at him. "You are ridiculous."
"And you are going to be late." Derek wraps up the bagel in foil and then sets it aside, reaching for the coffee. "Don't forget your project folder. I think it's still under the bed."
"Shit!" Stiles dashes out of the room and Derek can't help but smile.
He fills up a bright green tumbler and adds far too much milk and sugar, because that's the only way Stiles will drink it. He's screwing the cap in place when Stiles bustles back into the kitchen, an overwhelmed look on his face.
"Relax, you are going to do fine," Derek tells him, holding out the tumbler and bagel.
Stiles takes it with a grateful look. "You have to say that," he grouses, "you're my boyfriend."
Derek rolls his eyes. "I said it because it is true," he corrects him, watching Stiles unzip his backpack and slip the bagel inside. "Just breathe, alright?"
Stiles lets out a huff. "I always breathe, it's kind of something that happens all on it's own." But his tone is light and the lines of tension fade from around his mouth.
"You’ve got this," Derek assures him, cupping his hand around the back of Stiles's neck, drawing him in for a quick kiss.
Stiles's backpack thuds when it hits the floor; his arms wrap tight around Derek's waist, tumbler digging into Derek's back, but Derek doesn't mind. He just smiles and squeezes Stiles back, nuzzling into that warm spot where neck and shoulder meet. Stiles laughs, like he always does, and pushes Derek's face away with a grin. "Save that for later," he says, his eyes bright and mischievous. Derek growls, the way Stiles likes best, and gives him one more squeeze before letting go.
"Tonight," he says, putting all the want and longing he feels into the word.
"Tonight," Stiles agrees. He presses a gentle kiss to Derek's lips, then pulls away to sling his bag over his shoulder. "Tonight," he says again, before hurrying out the door.
Derek whistles to himself as he finishes up his morning ritual before heading to work, the promise of tonight bright in his mind.
*
It isn't until later that Derek realizes what was missing from that scene, the “I love you” line that should have been there but wasn't. He frowns as he mulls it over, then shrugs it off. They've been together just over three years now, and he isn't insecure enough to need to hear it every morning. Sure, it's a bit weird, not getting it along with his goodbye kiss like he normally does, but Stiles was distracted and Derek's not worried.
*
He wasn't worried, that is. Not until he's laying in bed that night, Stiles sprawled over two-thirds of the bed and half of him, murmuring a little in his sleep, when Derek realizes that he hasn't heard it all day. Stiles hasn't said it once, hasn't even texted it to Derek, like he normally does. And that sort of makes Derek's skin itch. Because Stiles... Well. Stiles says it all the time. Little "love ya"s pepper his speech and "<3"s show up at the end of almost every text. Derek's heard it so often, seen it written out so much, that it's pretty much faded into the background of his life. Something he doesn't pay much mind to, but that’s horribly grating in its absence.
He scowls at the ceiling, fingers tightening in the bedding, and tells himself he's being stupid. That it was just one day. One day out of the one thousand one hundred and five they've been together. One day means nothing. And, besides, it's not like Stiles is unhappy. He didn't act any different today than he did yesterday.
Aside from the whole not saying "I love you" thing, that is.
*
One day turns into two turns into a week and then a month. A month of smiles and laughter and nothing obviously wrong. A good month, Derek would have said, if not for the fact that Stiles has stopped telling Derek he loves him.
Derek tried feeling him out a few times, tried talking around the subject without outright asking what was going on. But Stiles deflected each attempt with a shrug and a soft, "Nothing's wrong with me, why would you think there was?" His heartbeat wasn’t exactly steady under the words, but his scent was free of any outward distress and he didn’t seem on edge. Still, there was something about the conversations had rung false, leaving Derek feeling unbalanced, like there was something deeper going on. Something he couldn't wrap his mind around.
He knows that he needs to ask outright, needs to sit Stiles down and force him to tell the truth, but Derek can't seem to work up the nerve.
Because there's a very simple explanation for why Stiles would suddenly stop saying, "I love you." A glaringly obvious one, really, and Derek doesn't want to face that fact just yet.
*
"Are you," Derek begins, then sighs and runs a hand over his face.
"Am I what?" Stiles asks, not bothering to look up from his textbook. Derek doesn't respond, just watches as Stiles highlights a passage, then writes cramped notes in the margin. He looks up at Derek, lower lip caught between his teeth. "Derek?"
Derek shakes his head. "Nothing," he says, forcing a smile.
Stiles smiles back, face open and guileless and something rips wide in Derek at the sight. He sucks in a breath, feeling aching and hollow inside, and turns his head away.
"I'm going to go out for a bit," Derek tells him, standing.
Stiles frowns. "Derek?" His voice is hesitant, concerned.
Derek just shakes his head. "I'll grab dinner while I'm gone," he says. "Don't worry about waiting up." He's up and out the door before Stiles has time to do more than blink.
*
Derek drives just to be driving, eyes on the road but mind a million miles away.
It's not that he's unhappy. He's not. God, he's the happiest he's ever been. His pack has settled into itself, grown up if you will, and is a source of pride more than anything else in his life. His job as a deputy is fulfilling in a way he would have never imagined. He's well known in town, admired even. He might goes as far as to say well liked. He enjoys it, the respect his badge brings, the way people look to him in an emergency. Likes the camaraderie of the force. Loves that he feels like he makes a difference, that he is able to keep his town safe.
And Stiles.
Stiles
Stiles makes his life worth living. His smiles brighten up Derek's day, make him want to come home because Stiles will be there, waiting for him with that look on his face. The one Derek likes best because it tells him that he means everything to Stiles, that Stiles can't picture a life without Derek in it.
Even now, even with what's no longer said between them, Stiles still gives him that look.
But...
But Derek not sure how much longer that will be true.
A part of Derek isn't even surprised. He always knew that this was a possibility, that Stiles would grow up and realize that Derek wasn't what he wanted. He had hoped that it wouldn't happen, that they would make it through Stiles's college years intact and settle down and maybe raise a family. They hadn’t talked about it or anything, still Derek had cherished the idea. But now... Well, Stiles still has one year left and, with the way things were between them, Derek isn't sure that they were going to last through winter break, let alone graduation.
Jesus, what will he do if Stiles left? What will he do if Stiles packs up his things and moved on to greener pastures? Because that's what is probably going to happen now. That's where all this is headed. It's pretty damn clear that whatever Stiles felt for him is...
Derek cuts that thought off, his grip on the wheel tightening. He's not going there. He's not. He'll face it when the time comes, because what else is there for him to do? But he's not going to dwell on it now, not going to let it sour what little time he has left.
He pulls off onto the shoulder abruptly, turns off the car, yanks open his door, and stands on the side of the road, staring up at the moon. He blinks a few times, hands balled into fists at his side, and tells himself that it will be alright. He'll get through this. He will. He's faced worst, damn it. Much, much worse. Losing this, losing Stiles won't break him.
No matter how much it might hurt.
*
"Derek," Stiles shifts his weight from one foot to the next, hands shoved deep in his pockets, "are you busy right now?"
Derek glances down at the stack of paperwork in front of him, then shuts the file resolutely and gives Stiles his best smile. "I'm never too busy for you," he says, his voice gruff.
Stiles sort of winces at that, his shoulders hunching, and Derek feels his heart drop. "Uh," Stiles rubs his neck, refusing to meet Derek's eyes. "Um. Can you come into the living room? I... We need to talk."
Derek nods, pushing away from the table. "Okay," he says easily, like he isn't about to have his life implode. "Lead the way."
Stiles gives him an unsure look, but doesn't say anything. He just nods and walks into their living room, choosing to sit on the armchair, instead of the loveseat or couch.
Derek sinks down onto the couch, leaning forward towards Stiles, his elbows braced on his knees. "What's on your mind?" he asks as if he doesn't already know.
It's been ninety-seven days, now, since Stiles last said, "I love you." Ninety-seven days. The last four of which have seen Stiles moping about, sighing dejectedly and side-eyeing Derek when he thinks Derek's not looking. Ninety-seven days. And now Stiles "wants to talk."
Oh yeah, Derek knows what this talk is going to be about.
Stiles clears his throat awkwardly then holds out a hand. "I," he stops with a frustrated noise, shaking his head. He chews on his bottom lip for a bit, his eyes looking everywhere but at Derek. "I know you aren't happy," he says, finally. "I've known it for some time. I thought maybe you would talk to me about it, tell me what was on your mind, but that hasn't happened and, well..." He lets out a huff of broken laughter. "Well, I'm the one who is good with his words, right? So I'm the one who is going to say what needs being said. This," he gestures between them, "isn't working for you any more. I don't know what happened or why, but something did and you clearly aren't comfortable with me and, fuck, Derek. You know you don't have to stay with me, right? I mean, just because we said we would always want to be together, that doesn't mean that you have to--" He cuts off with an anguished noise, his hands trembling.
"I understand, alright," he says softly, eyes fixed on a point somewhere over Derek's shoulder. "You don't have to say anything. I understand. I've looked into my options. I found a room I can sublet near campus. I can't move in until July, but that's only a couple of weeks away. I can sleep on the couch until then. Alright?" Stiles skims a hand over the back of his head. "I, you mean the world to me, Derek. I hope you know that. But things change and I'm not mad at you. Just sad. And a little heartbroken. But, well." He laughs again, that same broken laugh, and lifts a shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll make this as easy as possible for you, alright?" He gives Derek a smile that looks all wrong on his face.
"You'll make this easy for me?" Derek repeats, feeling numb inside.
"Yeah, I mean, as easy as this sort of thing can be. I'm not going to fight you over dishes or books or anything. Well, except maybe the video games, but you don't like any of them anyway. I know you only ever played them for me."
Derek lets out a snort. "Whatever," he says, pushing up from the couch. "You’ve made up your mind about this. I can tell. And I won't make it hard for you either, but don't you try and pretend like any of this is for me."
Stiles jerks back like Derek slapped him. "Excuse me?"
"You heard what I said," Derek grits out. “This isn’t about me. This isn’t about what I want. This is all about you, Stiles. You aren’t happy. You want to go. Fine. Go. Take your stuff and leave. But don’t act like you are doing a damn thing on my behalf. Because you aren’t.”
“Bullshit,” Stiles snaps back, standing up and stepping towards Derek, his body vibrating with anger. “Such utter bullshit. You want out of this just as much as I do, you just don’t have the balls to say it.”
“The hell I do,” Derek shouts. “If I wanted out, I would have fucking said so. I wouldn’t pretend like everything is okay for months while I’m looking for another place to live and who knows what else. I would have told you to your face that something was wrong, I would have given you a chance to make it right again. I wouldn’t just...” He fists his hands in his hair, his breath coming in ragged pants. “Jesus, Stiles. You didn’t even give me the option of fixing this. Of fixing us.” He hates how his voice sounds, so damn vulnerable and raw.
Stiles lets out a nasty laugh. “Right. Like you give a shit about fixing us.”
Derek snarls. “I do give a shit, Stiles. I give a lot of shits, actually. Which you would know if you bothered to use that brain of yours. Or, you know, opened your mouth and said something.”
“Oh, because this is all on me. I need to open my mouth and say something, but you can just do that thing you do where you don’t use your words at all. Of course that’s how it works. That’s how it always works. Derek and Stiles have a problem and Stiles is the one that mans up and actually does something about it while Derek finds some shadows to lurk around in while alternating between looking pissed at the universe and like a kicked puppy, because that’s such a useful skill to have in a relationship.”
Derek sucks in a breath, trying to come up with something to say to that, some way to combat Stiles’s anger, but he can’t. All he can do is stand there with his mouth hanging open and his hands hanging uselessly at his sides while Stiles sneers at him.
"Yeah, just like that,” Stiles says, bitterness coating his words. He shakes his head. “You noticed things were off, too. Don't even play like you didn't. So, yeah, maybe I never said anything, but neither did you, Derek."
Stiles has a disgusted expression on his face, the kind he typically reserve for people he's done with, and Derek's heart just aches because this is Stiles. His Stiles, who Derek stupidly thought he would get to keep forever. But now Stiles is giving him that fuck off look, with his lip slightly curled and his eyes as flat and as cold as Derek has ever seen them. He swallows hard and tries to come up with a way to get that horrible, dead look off of Stiles’s face, but all he can think is that this is it.
This is the end.
There's no coming back from this moment. He isn't going to be able to figure out a way to smooth things over, to make Stiles love him again. Not now, not in the two weeks he has before Stiles moves out, and certainly not after he's gone.
Something breaks in Derek and he’s across the room before he even knows it, grabbing hold of Stiles and slamming him into the living room wall. His lips are hot on Stiles’s skin, mouth pressing brutally against all those sweet, soft places he loves: Stiles’s neck, his jaw, the curve of his bottom lip. He's desperate for something, some show of mutual want. Anything, really, to prove that he can still affect Stiles, that he still matters.
All he gets for his effort is a muffled curse and a kick to the shins.
Derek tries again, mouthing at that spot where Stiles's neck and shoulder meet, the spot that always makes Stiles go boneless in his arms, but Stiles just squirms against him, trying to break free, his hands pushing at Derek’s chest. Then Stiles goes limp in his grasp, his eyes wide and his heartbeat jumping, and just like that reality returns. Derek hears himself make an awful, heartbroken sound as he realizes what he has done. He gently lowers Stiles down until his feet rest on the ground, then he forces his hands to let go and steps back.
“I’m sorry,” he says, putting more distance between them. “God, I’m sorry, Stiles.” But he knows that nothing he says matters any more. He crossed a line that never should have been crossed. If Stiles hadn’t wanted to leave him before, he certainly would now and Derek can’t even blame him.
“Derek,” Stiles says softly, he reaches out to touch Derek’s cheek and Derek can’t help but flinch.
Stiles face sort of crumples in on itself, his outstretched hand curling closed, and Derek has to look away. "I have work I need to get back to," he says his voice doing nothing to disguise his emotion, and it isn't even a lie. He does have work. Not that he will actually be doing it. Oh no, Derek's not in the right mindframe to get anything done right now. But at least if he's in the dining room, staring at his files, he won't be standing here, avoiding Stiles's eyes.
"Fine," Stiles says softly. He steps out of the way and lets Derek pass.
*
"What about this?" Stiles asks, holding up a movie Derek bought, but only at Stiles’s behest.
Derek lifts a shoulder. "Take it," he says, same as he's said the last twenty times Stiles has asked if he can have something that technically belongs to Derek. It's just stuff, anyway. It doesn't matter.
Honestly, Derek wouldn't mind if Stiles hauled the whole lot of it off, if it meant that he didn't have to stand here and watch Stiles try to separate out their things, to unravel the life they built together. He said as much, when Stiles mentioned that he wanted Derek to be there while he packed, but Stiles had just sighed and said, "Please," and Derek has never been able to tell him no. So here he is, trying to look indifferent, like this isn't killing him inside.
Stiles nods and bends down to set the movie into the box he's marked as "entertainment." He straightens and turns back to the bookshelf that's home to their dvd collection. It's slightly more than half empty and a complete mess, dvds and boxsets tipped over haphazardly onto their sides. Stiles makes a face, he never could stand to see things out of place, and reaches to right a picture frame that has been knocked onto its front. He lets out a little gasp when he does, fingers closing around the edges of the frame. Stiles takes it off the shelf, staring at it with a sad, almost haunted look on his face.
"Do you mind if I take this?" he asks, rubbing his thumb along the edge of a silver-plated side.
Derek opens his mouth to say fine, whatever, but then realizes what picture it is that Stiles is holding and his mouth snaps shut. He crosses the distance between them and takes the picture out of Stiles's hands. He stares down at it, trying to reconcile the fact that that was them, that they were once so happy together.
The Derek in the picture has his head tipped up, his mouth open in a laugh and his eyes squeezed shut. The Stiles in the picture is smiling up at him with the look on his face that Derek always loved the best, the one that told everyone that Derek was his world. Derek traces a finger along the cheek of the picture-Stiles, wishing he was still allowed to do the same to the Stiles standing in front of him.
"No," he says softly.
Stiles blinks at him. "What?"
"No." Derek's hands tighten on the picture frame. "You can't have this."
"Derek," Stiles starts, his tone annoyed, but Derek cuts him off with a shake of the head.
"This is not up for negotiation," he snaps, marching back across the room to where he had been standing. Derek's not letting him have it. He's not. Stiles is allowed to leave, but that does not mean that Stiles gets to take all of their happy memories with him. He leans against the wall again, the picture frame pressed against his chest.
Stiles lets out an unhappy noise, his lips pulled down in a frown.
“Why do you even want it?” Derek asks. Stiles makes a face that tells Derek he thinks Derek is being ridiculous, but Derek doesn't care. “Why?” he asks again.
Stiles snorts. “Why do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Derek grits back. “What am I supposed to think, Stiles? Why the hell would you want this?” He holds the frame up, flashing the picture at Stiles. “You’re leaving, aren’t you? Starting over fresh? So what use do you have for a picture of us being so damn happy together?”
Stiles stares at Derek like he thinks Derek’s crazy. “Jesus,” he says, finally, running a hand over his face. “Just because it’s over doesn’t mean that I hate you, it doesn’t mean that I don’t care.”
It’s Derek’s turn to snort. “I think you are confused there,” he snipes, “because last time I checked, that’s exactly what leaving someone means. You don’t end a relationship because you cared too damn much.”
“Fuck you.” Stiles’s eyes blaze and he crosses the room to jab a finger in Derek’s chest. “I care. I care enough to let you go and if you don't think that this is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, you are wrong."
“Then why are you doing it?” Derek shouts, tossing his hands up the in air. The picture goes flying, but Derek is too focused on Stiles to see where it lands. “Why?”
“Because you don’t want me here!” Stiles shouts back, his own hands balling into fists at his side. “You don’t. Not really. I’m just, I don’t know, comfortable or something. And I’m sick of being your security blanket, alright?”
Derek blinks, swallowing back his first response because that makes no sense at all. “What?” he frowns at Stiles. “Are you crazy? How can you even say that?”
Stiles gives him a sad look. “Because it’s true.” He heaves a sigh. “Look, this isn’t what I...” He cuts off with a shake of the head. “It doesn’t matter. Just keep the stupid picture.” He turns to head back towards the bookshelf and Derek can’t help but reach out and stop him.
“No.”
Stiles twists so that he can frown at Derek. “No what?”
“No, you aren’t, this isn’t...” Derek shakes his head. “Damn it.” He sucks in a breath and tries again. “You aren’t comfortable,” he spits out. “You are so much more to me than that. You have to know that. I...” He bites down hard on his lower lip, hoping Stiles understands what he’s trying to say.
Stiles gives a bitter sounding laugh. “You what, Derek?” He opens his eyes wide and stares at Derek, who just stands there, his mouth hanging open. Stiles makes a disgusted sound and shakes his head.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He shrugs off Derek’s hand and walks resolutely towards the bookcase. He stares at it for a long moment, then glowers down at the half packed box at his feet.
“You know what, keep it all. I don’t need any of this shit,” he says, sounding absolutely defeated.
Derek’s insides twist at it, hating that he’s responsible for making Stiles feel this way. He squeezes his eyes shut, screws up his courage and asks, “Why don’t you love me anymore?” like he should have done months ago.
Stiles jerks like Derek punched him, turning abruptly to stare at Derek with his mouth open and an incredulous look on his face. “What?”
“What did I do?” Derek takes a step in Stiles direction, his emotions tangled up into a knot. “Can you tell me? I swear to god, Stiles, if I knew what I did, I would fix it. So, just, tell me. Please. And I’ll do whatever I have to. I’ll make things right again. I swear.”
Stiles shakes his head in denial. “I never stopped loving you,” he says, and Derek feels the bottom drop out of his world.
“But,” he begins, feeling helplessly confused, “but you stopped saying it. You haven’t told me you love me for months. And then you said that we, that you... Stiles?”
Stiles is staring off into middle space, gnawing at his bottom lip, the way he always does when his mind is working at twice its normal pace. “Huh,” he says and Derek tightens instinctively. He knows that huh.
His eyes narrow. “Stiles,” he says again, resisting the urge to march across the room and shake the other man out of his revery.
Stiles startles, blinking rapidly, and then sighs. "It doesn't change anything," he mutters.
"What doesn't change anything?" Derek bites out, a nasty feeling curling in his stomach.
"That you noticed. I thought you hadn't. Or that you did and you just didn't care." Stiles shrugs. "Knowing for sure that it is option number two doesn't really matter in the long run, though. We would still be here, either way."
Derek snarls at the thought that Stiles thinks he didn't care, that it hadn't sent him into a panicked spiral he still hasn't been able to pull out of. "Was this all a test? Did you break up with me because you ran some stupid experiment on me and I didn't perform the way you wanted me to?"
Stiles rolls his eyes. "God, way to be melodramatic about it. No. I didn't break up with you because you failed some stupid test. I broke up with you because I'm not essential to your happiness or whatever. And before you get all up in my grill about how I could possibly know that, I'm going to tell you how: close and prolonged observation. I watched how you act, how you react to everything. Yeah, it's kind of creepy, but I cared about you. I loved you. I wanted to know everything about you. So, yeah. I watched you. And I took mental notes. And you know what I found? That, sure, you were happy, and, sure, we had fun times, but you just weren't that invested in it. Not as much as me, anyway. You weren't discontent or anything, but it didn't seem to matter to you, one way or the other, if I was there or not.”
He gives Derek a sad look. “You aren't overly demonstrative, I get that. And you are kind of the opposite of romantic, I get that too, but it's more than that. It's more than three years of nothing special on Valentine's Day and birthday gifts you clearly didn't put any effort into. Hell, that you probably never even thought about before buying. It's the way you still hold yourself apart, still don't want to let me in. And," Stiles takes a big breath, "well, I just wanted you to see how it felt, alright? I wanted you to know what it was like for me. So I stopped telling you I loved you. Because, honestly, Derek, I was sick of not hearing it myself. I thought you would call me on it right away. I didn't even think you would make it a day. But you did. You lasted a whole lot longer than a day. And that," Stiles shrugs, "that was like getting hit over the head with a cluebat."
"Stiles--"
"No. I'm not done." Stiles tone is hard, his eyes angry. "I know what you are going to say. I know, Derek, so don't even try. Just let this go. Let me leave. You'll move on from this, I know you will. And you'll find someone you don't have to feed excuses to."
Derek growls at that. "Is that what you think it is? An excuse? Fuck, Stiles, I told you at the start not to expect that from me. I told you I can't say it. You know why."
Stiles laughs that bitter, unhappy laugh of his. "Yeah, I know why you think you can't say it. You can't tell me you love me because you think it will jinx things. Because it's the last thing you said to your parents. Because it's the last thing you said to Laura. Because you told her you loved her and she --" Stiles cuts off when Derek lets out a hurt sound. His eyes soften and he moves until he's standing in front of Derek. "Do you mind?" he asks as he wraps his arms around Derek's waist. Derek doesn't answer him, just hugs him tight, burying his face into Stiles's shoulder.
“You realize that you would be able to say it if you really felt it, right?” Stiles whispers into Derek’s hair, his hands running soothingly up and down Derek’s back. “If you actually loved me, it wouldn’t be so hard for you. You would want to say it. I’m not telling you that you don’t care about me, you clearly do, but whatever it is, it isn’t love. Not the same sort of love I feel, anyway. And if you haven’t developed those sorts of feelings by now...” He trails off with a sigh. “I know this hurts, Derek, but it’s the best thing for both of us. You can’t love me the way I need to be loved. There’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t owe me anything. Just because you mean the world to me, doesn’t mean that you are obligated to feel the same way.”
“I know that,” Derek says brokenly. “And I should have known that you wouldn’t want to stick around and wait for me to get my shit together, wait for me to be able to give you what you deserve. I guess I just hoped that, I hoped you would be, god I’m so stupid. Of course you are leaving. Of course you are. I’m not good enough for you. I never have been.”
“Dude,” Stiles says, his voice tight with emotion, “don’t be an idiot. This isn’t about not being good enough. It’s about you finding the person who lights you up inside.”
“But I have,” Derek tells him. “I have found that person. I found you. God, Stiles, you are my everything. You make my life ten thousand times better just by being there. Can’t you see that? With all your careful observations, didn’t you notice that you are the only person that matters to me? The only person I can be myself around?”
Stiles pulls back and Derek reluctantly lets him go. Stiles isn't his to hold anymore. He's lucky he even got this much from him. Derek swallows hard, willing himself not to cry, to let Stiles walk away this time without making everything worse. But Stiles doesn't walk away. Stiles just stands there, hands coming up to cup Derek's face, staring at him like he's never seen Derek before.
"You big dumb-dumb," Stiles says after a long, long silence, his voice filled with something like wonder. "What do you think love is?"
Derek scowls at him. "I never said that I didn't." He chokes on the words, then growls in frustration. "That was you, remember? I know what I feel. I know what you mean. You're the one who wants more."
Stiles shakes his head. "I don't want more, I just want to hear it." He gives Derek a sad look. "And I'm never going to, am I?" Stiles drops his hands, takes a step away, then another, and Derek feels as if his heart is going to beat right out of his chest.
"Is that all?" he asks, darting out to capture Stiles's hands in his.
"Is what all?"
"Saying it." Derek clarifies. "If I could say it, would you stay?"
Stiles narrows his eyes, his mouth dropping open as he peers at Derek. "I, um, yes?"
Derek nods to himself. "I." He lifts a shoulder. "I can do that. If that's all it takes, being able to tell you how I feel, to say that I, that you--" He cuts off with a snarl. "Damn it. I can do this. I can make this happen. I will sign up for therapy, if I have to. Jesus, Stiles. I will sit my ass down on some uncomfortable couch and tell all my freaking problems to some douchebag with a degree if that's what it takes. But I will make it happen. I can't promise I'll be over all my hang-ups next week, but I can promise that I will do my best and try my hardest until I am able to say what you need to hear."
“You would do that for me?” Stiles’s voice is fragile.
“I would do anything in my power for you,” Derek assures him, hope blooming in his chest. He pulls Stiles hands up and gently kisses the palm of each. “You mean everything to me. Everything. It was wrong of me to think that I could tell you once that I had issues and just expect you to be okay with that and never do anything on my end to sort myself out.”
Stiles doesn’t say anything, just looks at Derek with his heart in his eyes. Derek sucks on his bottom lip, wanting desperately to take him into his arms, to hold him like he hasn’t been able to for the last ten days, but he can’t. He knows he can’t. So instead he gives Stiles a weak smile and lets go of his hands.
Derek clears his throat and steps back, eyes averted. He hears Stiles moving but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from the half-packed cardboard box. Derek chews on his lip and wonders how long it will be before he will be able to convince Stiles to take him back. If he starts up sessions that week, and makes good progress, would Stiles be back in their home by Labor Day? Thanksgiving? Christmas? How long is he going to be alone, rattling around in a half-empty house, missing the one thing that would make it a home?
“I’m glad we don’t have to fight over this after all,” Stiles says, breaking Derek out of his thoughts.
Derek looks over at him, frowning when he sees Stiles cradling the silver picture frame in his hands. “Huh?”
Stiles smiles at him. “Well, if I’m staying here after all, what’s the point of bickering over who it belongs to?”
“You’re staying?” he asks, hating how hopeful his voice sounds.
“What? Yes!” Stiles gives him a baffled look. “I’m not leaving. Not after, Christ, Derek.” Stiles makes a frustrated sound. “I was only going because I thought you didn’t, that you weren’t willing to fix the problems in our relationship. But you are. You want this just as much as I do. So why would I go?”
Derek’s heart speeds up and his throat feels tight. “You want to stay here? To be with me? Even though I haven’t done anything yet?”
Stiles nods slowly. “Yes.”
Derek can’t help but reach out, hands fisting in Stiles’s shirt as he tugs the other man near. Their mouths meet in a crash, all tongues and teeth and heat. Stiles lets out a moan, his fingers twisting in Derek’s hair, tugging just right. He pulls back, kisses along Derek’s jaw, teeth grazing against the skin of Derek’s neck. Derek shivers in response, crowding his body closer to Stiles’s as he tips his head back to give Stiles better access.
Stiles knows what he wants, he has to, but instead of giving it to him, Stiles just laughs and pushes aside the neck of his shirt. He nips at Derek’s collarbone, then licks away the sting. Derek moans, canting his hips forward as his hands tighten on Stiles.
“Come on,” he says, “give it to me.”
Stiles licks a strip up his neck, skims his lips over Derek’s jaw and whispers, “No.”
“Please,” Derek all but whines, “Stiles, I need it.”
“Not yet,” Stiles tells him before sucking the lobe of Derek’s ear into his mouth.
Derek's eyes close and he can't help but moan. He rocks his hips into Stiles, hands working their way under his shirt to grip his bare skin.
"Tell me what you want," Stiles croons, "tell me what you need."
"You," Derek pants. "God, Stiles, you. Please."
Stiles let's out a pleased noise as his mouth works back down Derek's neck. “Like that?” he asks between kisses.
“Yes,” Derek grits out, his fingers digging into Stiles’s hips, tugging him closer.
Stiles squirms away and for a moment Derek panics, but then Stiles’s hands are tugging at the hem of Derek’s shirt, pulling it up and off of him. Stiles’s eyes are dark, his lips red and swollen and Derek can’t help but to lean forward, to suck the bottom one into his mouth. Stiles gasps, then presses forward, mouth hot and hungry. For a long moment Derek is lost in the taste of him, the slide of Stiles's tongue against his own, until the need to feel Stiles's naked skin is too much to ignore.
Derek groans as he breaks the kiss to tug at Stiles's jeans. His fingers don't seem to want to work and he fumbles with the button. Stiles’s makes an impatient sound and slaps Derek’s hands away.
“Do your own,” he instructs as he deftly pops the button, unzips the fly and shimmies out of his jeans. He kicks free of them as he skims his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before hooking his thumbs in the elastic waist of his boxers.
“Want you so bad,” Stiles says as he pulls them down. “I’ve been dying for it, fucking my hand every night and wishing it was you.”
Heat pours into Derek’s veins at Stiles’s words. His stomach tightens and he has to grab hold of the base of his cock. Pre-come leaks out, slicking the tip, and Stiles lets out a hum of satisfaction.
“Yeah.” His voice is raw. “Just like that. So damn eager. You’re always eager for it, for me, aren’t you?”
He reaches out, swipes the pad of his thumb across the head and then brings it to his mouth and sucks it clean. He licks his palm, then aligns their cocks, wraps his hand around the both of them, and gives a tight stroke. Derek whines, thrusting into the slick circle of Stiles’s fingers.
“God, Stiles.”
He cups the back of Stiles’s neck, tugging him near. Derek licks his way into Stiles’s mouth, chasing the faint taste of his pre-come, as Stiles speeds up his pace. He pulls back with a pant, eyes closing as he buries his face into Stiles’s shoulder.
“Not going to last long,” he admits, his mouth pressed against Stiles’s skin. “Need it too much, need you.”
Stiles fingers tighten at that, tugging another moan out of Derek. “Don’t care,“ he says, breathing heavy. “Want you to do it. Want you to come all over me. Want to rub my fingers in it then lick them clean. God, Derek, I want it so bad. Thought I would never have this again, that the last time was the last time and I’d never see you like this, never get to watch you fall apart again.”
Derek balls tighten and he turns his head, seeking out that sweet spot where Stiles’s shoulder and neck meet. He bites down hard as he comes, thrusting wildly into Stiles hand, eyes squeezed tight.
True to his word, Stiles runs the fingers of his free hand through the mess Derek made, then brings them up to his mouth and sucks them clean. Derek groans, balls tightening again at the sight. Stiles strokes him through the aftershocks, then adjusts his grip so that Derek can slip free. Derek tries to catch his breath as he watches Stiles work himself.
“Holy fuck,” Stiles grunts. He's arching up, hips snapping hard into his hand on each down stroke. “You look gorgeous like that,” he pants, his eyes devouring Derek. “But not as good as you’d look spread out in our bed. God, next round we’re doing that. I’m having you pressed down into the mattress, you hear me? Spread wide and taking it as hard and as fast as I can give you it.”
Derek nods, spent cock twitching at the thought. “You'd better,” He crowds close to whisper dark and low in Stiles's ear. “I want you to give it to me so hard I forget everything except your name.” Derek pushes in tight against Stiles until he can feel the hot pant of Stiles's breath on his cheek. Stiles ruts into the crease of his thigh. "Can you do that for me?" he asks. "Can you fuck me that hard, Stiles?" Stiles lets out a sound that could be a yes if it was stretched out into a moan, his head tipping back. Hot come splatters Derek’s stomach as Stiles shudders and gasps.
Derek runs his hands up and down Stiles’s sides, calming him. “Just like that,” he soothes, “so beautiful like that.”
Stiles catches hold of Derek’s jaw and lifts his head so that their lips meet. It’s just a kiss, like a thousand kisses before, but for Derek it holds the promise of a thousand kisses to come and that makes it the sweetest kiss of all.
*
“How about Tuesday? After three p.m.?” Derek asks, glancing at his laptop where he has his Google calendar open.
The receptionist makes a humming noise. “Dr. Dwivedi has an opening at four, would that work?”
Derek nods. “Sure, that’s great. Do I need to come early to fill out paperwork or?”
“We recommend all new clients come at least fifteen minutes early,” she tells him and Derek tilts his head to the side, holding the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he types that info into the event description.
“Okay, I will see you then,” he says.
“I look forward to it, Mr. Hale.”
Derek smiles to himself as he hangs up. He flips the phone into the air, catching it neatly before setting it on the nightstand. He marks the event as bold red then he saves it, feeling a little moment of accomplishment as it populates on his calendar.
“You’re really proud of yourself right now, aren’t you?” Stiles asks, leaning over to rest his head on Derek’s chest.
Derek lets a hand tangle in Stiles’s hair as he shuts down his laptop. “Yeah, I am.”
Stiles rubs his cheek against Derek’s shirt. “Good, you ought to be.” He shifts so that he can peer up at Derek. “You deserve one of those motivational posters with that ‘a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step’ quote on it or something.”
“Or something,” Derek says with a lifted eyebrow, because he definitely wants to nip any ideas Stiles might be entertaining about motivational posters in the bud.
Stiles grins at him, his eyes lit up with mischief. “Something like this?” he asks, sliding his hand up Derek’s leg.
Derek lets him have his fun for a moment before swatting aside his hand. “As enjoyable as that would be, don’t you have somewhere you need to go?”
Stiles makes a face. “Spoilsport,” he grumps as he pushes into a seated position.
“Responsible adult,” Derek counters. Stiles sticks out his tongue, then sighs and moves to get off the bed. “Hey,” Derek catches hold of his arm.
“What?”
Derek licks his lips and slides his hand down till it’s gripping Stiles's wrist. He turns it until Stiles’s palm is facing up, then reaches over with his other hand to trace a heart across the center of it. Stiles sucks in a breath, his expression dumbstruck.
“Me too,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Stiles shifts on the bed, free hand coming up to cup Derek’s cheek. His eyes are soft as he moves in for a kiss. “Me too.”
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7,778
A.N.: A million thanks to my lovely beta, Queenitsy, who put up with so much hand wringing on this one.
Summary: Stiles has stopped saying "I love you." Derek wants to know why.
Derek watches as Stiles rushes around their house. He picks up a book from the coffee table, his laptop from the arm of the loveseat, a stack of papers off of the breakfast bar, and tugs a spiral bound notebook out from under one of the bookcases.
"How did that even get there?" Stiles mutters to himself as he slides it into his backpack.
Derek thinks about reminding him of what they were doing the night before when it went flying, but Stiles is already running late and can't afford distractions, so instead he just finishes spreading cream cheese on a toasted blueberry bagel-- Stiles's favorite-- and checks on the coffee, though there isn't actually anything he can do to speed up the process of water dripping through the percolator.
"How do I look?" Stiles asks, pulling Derek's attention away from the slowly rising level of the coffee.
"Huh?"
Stiles makes an exasperated noise and then gestures up and down his body. "Do I look like someone you would let loose in your office to do all your busywork for free?"
Derek gives him a leer. "I don't know. Do I want to be written up by HR because of my lewd and unprofessional conduct?"
Stiles rolls his eyes at him. "You are ridiculous."
"And you are going to be late." Derek wraps up the bagel in foil and then sets it aside, reaching for the coffee. "Don't forget your project folder. I think it's still under the bed."
"Shit!" Stiles dashes out of the room and Derek can't help but smile.
He fills up a bright green tumbler and adds far too much milk and sugar, because that's the only way Stiles will drink it. He's screwing the cap in place when Stiles bustles back into the kitchen, an overwhelmed look on his face.
"Relax, you are going to do fine," Derek tells him, holding out the tumbler and bagel.
Stiles takes it with a grateful look. "You have to say that," he grouses, "you're my boyfriend."
Derek rolls his eyes. "I said it because it is true," he corrects him, watching Stiles unzip his backpack and slip the bagel inside. "Just breathe, alright?"
Stiles lets out a huff. "I always breathe, it's kind of something that happens all on it's own." But his tone is light and the lines of tension fade from around his mouth.
"You’ve got this," Derek assures him, cupping his hand around the back of Stiles's neck, drawing him in for a quick kiss.
Stiles's backpack thuds when it hits the floor; his arms wrap tight around Derek's waist, tumbler digging into Derek's back, but Derek doesn't mind. He just smiles and squeezes Stiles back, nuzzling into that warm spot where neck and shoulder meet. Stiles laughs, like he always does, and pushes Derek's face away with a grin. "Save that for later," he says, his eyes bright and mischievous. Derek growls, the way Stiles likes best, and gives him one more squeeze before letting go.
"Tonight," he says, putting all the want and longing he feels into the word.
"Tonight," Stiles agrees. He presses a gentle kiss to Derek's lips, then pulls away to sling his bag over his shoulder. "Tonight," he says again, before hurrying out the door.
Derek whistles to himself as he finishes up his morning ritual before heading to work, the promise of tonight bright in his mind.
*
It isn't until later that Derek realizes what was missing from that scene, the “I love you” line that should have been there but wasn't. He frowns as he mulls it over, then shrugs it off. They've been together just over three years now, and he isn't insecure enough to need to hear it every morning. Sure, it's a bit weird, not getting it along with his goodbye kiss like he normally does, but Stiles was distracted and Derek's not worried.
*
He wasn't worried, that is. Not until he's laying in bed that night, Stiles sprawled over two-thirds of the bed and half of him, murmuring a little in his sleep, when Derek realizes that he hasn't heard it all day. Stiles hasn't said it once, hasn't even texted it to Derek, like he normally does. And that sort of makes Derek's skin itch. Because Stiles... Well. Stiles says it all the time. Little "love ya"s pepper his speech and "<3"s show up at the end of almost every text. Derek's heard it so often, seen it written out so much, that it's pretty much faded into the background of his life. Something he doesn't pay much mind to, but that’s horribly grating in its absence.
He scowls at the ceiling, fingers tightening in the bedding, and tells himself he's being stupid. That it was just one day. One day out of the one thousand one hundred and five they've been together. One day means nothing. And, besides, it's not like Stiles is unhappy. He didn't act any different today than he did yesterday.
Aside from the whole not saying "I love you" thing, that is.
*
One day turns into two turns into a week and then a month. A month of smiles and laughter and nothing obviously wrong. A good month, Derek would have said, if not for the fact that Stiles has stopped telling Derek he loves him.
Derek tried feeling him out a few times, tried talking around the subject without outright asking what was going on. But Stiles deflected each attempt with a shrug and a soft, "Nothing's wrong with me, why would you think there was?" His heartbeat wasn’t exactly steady under the words, but his scent was free of any outward distress and he didn’t seem on edge. Still, there was something about the conversations had rung false, leaving Derek feeling unbalanced, like there was something deeper going on. Something he couldn't wrap his mind around.
He knows that he needs to ask outright, needs to sit Stiles down and force him to tell the truth, but Derek can't seem to work up the nerve.
Because there's a very simple explanation for why Stiles would suddenly stop saying, "I love you." A glaringly obvious one, really, and Derek doesn't want to face that fact just yet.
*
"Are you," Derek begins, then sighs and runs a hand over his face.
"Am I what?" Stiles asks, not bothering to look up from his textbook. Derek doesn't respond, just watches as Stiles highlights a passage, then writes cramped notes in the margin. He looks up at Derek, lower lip caught between his teeth. "Derek?"
Derek shakes his head. "Nothing," he says, forcing a smile.
Stiles smiles back, face open and guileless and something rips wide in Derek at the sight. He sucks in a breath, feeling aching and hollow inside, and turns his head away.
"I'm going to go out for a bit," Derek tells him, standing.
Stiles frowns. "Derek?" His voice is hesitant, concerned.
Derek just shakes his head. "I'll grab dinner while I'm gone," he says. "Don't worry about waiting up." He's up and out the door before Stiles has time to do more than blink.
*
Derek drives just to be driving, eyes on the road but mind a million miles away.
It's not that he's unhappy. He's not. God, he's the happiest he's ever been. His pack has settled into itself, grown up if you will, and is a source of pride more than anything else in his life. His job as a deputy is fulfilling in a way he would have never imagined. He's well known in town, admired even. He might goes as far as to say well liked. He enjoys it, the respect his badge brings, the way people look to him in an emergency. Likes the camaraderie of the force. Loves that he feels like he makes a difference, that he is able to keep his town safe.
And Stiles.
Stiles
Stiles makes his life worth living. His smiles brighten up Derek's day, make him want to come home because Stiles will be there, waiting for him with that look on his face. The one Derek likes best because it tells him that he means everything to Stiles, that Stiles can't picture a life without Derek in it.
Even now, even with what's no longer said between them, Stiles still gives him that look.
But...
But Derek not sure how much longer that will be true.
A part of Derek isn't even surprised. He always knew that this was a possibility, that Stiles would grow up and realize that Derek wasn't what he wanted. He had hoped that it wouldn't happen, that they would make it through Stiles's college years intact and settle down and maybe raise a family. They hadn’t talked about it or anything, still Derek had cherished the idea. But now... Well, Stiles still has one year left and, with the way things were between them, Derek isn't sure that they were going to last through winter break, let alone graduation.
Jesus, what will he do if Stiles left? What will he do if Stiles packs up his things and moved on to greener pastures? Because that's what is probably going to happen now. That's where all this is headed. It's pretty damn clear that whatever Stiles felt for him is...
Derek cuts that thought off, his grip on the wheel tightening. He's not going there. He's not. He'll face it when the time comes, because what else is there for him to do? But he's not going to dwell on it now, not going to let it sour what little time he has left.
He pulls off onto the shoulder abruptly, turns off the car, yanks open his door, and stands on the side of the road, staring up at the moon. He blinks a few times, hands balled into fists at his side, and tells himself that it will be alright. He'll get through this. He will. He's faced worst, damn it. Much, much worse. Losing this, losing Stiles won't break him.
No matter how much it might hurt.
*
"Derek," Stiles shifts his weight from one foot to the next, hands shoved deep in his pockets, "are you busy right now?"
Derek glances down at the stack of paperwork in front of him, then shuts the file resolutely and gives Stiles his best smile. "I'm never too busy for you," he says, his voice gruff.
Stiles sort of winces at that, his shoulders hunching, and Derek feels his heart drop. "Uh," Stiles rubs his neck, refusing to meet Derek's eyes. "Um. Can you come into the living room? I... We need to talk."
Derek nods, pushing away from the table. "Okay," he says easily, like he isn't about to have his life implode. "Lead the way."
Stiles gives him an unsure look, but doesn't say anything. He just nods and walks into their living room, choosing to sit on the armchair, instead of the loveseat or couch.
Derek sinks down onto the couch, leaning forward towards Stiles, his elbows braced on his knees. "What's on your mind?" he asks as if he doesn't already know.
It's been ninety-seven days, now, since Stiles last said, "I love you." Ninety-seven days. The last four of which have seen Stiles moping about, sighing dejectedly and side-eyeing Derek when he thinks Derek's not looking. Ninety-seven days. And now Stiles "wants to talk."
Oh yeah, Derek knows what this talk is going to be about.
Stiles clears his throat awkwardly then holds out a hand. "I," he stops with a frustrated noise, shaking his head. He chews on his bottom lip for a bit, his eyes looking everywhere but at Derek. "I know you aren't happy," he says, finally. "I've known it for some time. I thought maybe you would talk to me about it, tell me what was on your mind, but that hasn't happened and, well..." He lets out a huff of broken laughter. "Well, I'm the one who is good with his words, right? So I'm the one who is going to say what needs being said. This," he gestures between them, "isn't working for you any more. I don't know what happened or why, but something did and you clearly aren't comfortable with me and, fuck, Derek. You know you don't have to stay with me, right? I mean, just because we said we would always want to be together, that doesn't mean that you have to--" He cuts off with an anguished noise, his hands trembling.
"I understand, alright," he says softly, eyes fixed on a point somewhere over Derek's shoulder. "You don't have to say anything. I understand. I've looked into my options. I found a room I can sublet near campus. I can't move in until July, but that's only a couple of weeks away. I can sleep on the couch until then. Alright?" Stiles skims a hand over the back of his head. "I, you mean the world to me, Derek. I hope you know that. But things change and I'm not mad at you. Just sad. And a little heartbroken. But, well." He laughs again, that same broken laugh, and lifts a shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll make this as easy as possible for you, alright?" He gives Derek a smile that looks all wrong on his face.
"You'll make this easy for me?" Derek repeats, feeling numb inside.
"Yeah, I mean, as easy as this sort of thing can be. I'm not going to fight you over dishes or books or anything. Well, except maybe the video games, but you don't like any of them anyway. I know you only ever played them for me."
Derek lets out a snort. "Whatever," he says, pushing up from the couch. "You’ve made up your mind about this. I can tell. And I won't make it hard for you either, but don't you try and pretend like any of this is for me."
Stiles jerks back like Derek slapped him. "Excuse me?"
"You heard what I said," Derek grits out. “This isn’t about me. This isn’t about what I want. This is all about you, Stiles. You aren’t happy. You want to go. Fine. Go. Take your stuff and leave. But don’t act like you are doing a damn thing on my behalf. Because you aren’t.”
“Bullshit,” Stiles snaps back, standing up and stepping towards Derek, his body vibrating with anger. “Such utter bullshit. You want out of this just as much as I do, you just don’t have the balls to say it.”
“The hell I do,” Derek shouts. “If I wanted out, I would have fucking said so. I wouldn’t pretend like everything is okay for months while I’m looking for another place to live and who knows what else. I would have told you to your face that something was wrong, I would have given you a chance to make it right again. I wouldn’t just...” He fists his hands in his hair, his breath coming in ragged pants. “Jesus, Stiles. You didn’t even give me the option of fixing this. Of fixing us.” He hates how his voice sounds, so damn vulnerable and raw.
Stiles lets out a nasty laugh. “Right. Like you give a shit about fixing us.”
Derek snarls. “I do give a shit, Stiles. I give a lot of shits, actually. Which you would know if you bothered to use that brain of yours. Or, you know, opened your mouth and said something.”
“Oh, because this is all on me. I need to open my mouth and say something, but you can just do that thing you do where you don’t use your words at all. Of course that’s how it works. That’s how it always works. Derek and Stiles have a problem and Stiles is the one that mans up and actually does something about it while Derek finds some shadows to lurk around in while alternating between looking pissed at the universe and like a kicked puppy, because that’s such a useful skill to have in a relationship.”
Derek sucks in a breath, trying to come up with something to say to that, some way to combat Stiles’s anger, but he can’t. All he can do is stand there with his mouth hanging open and his hands hanging uselessly at his sides while Stiles sneers at him.
"Yeah, just like that,” Stiles says, bitterness coating his words. He shakes his head. “You noticed things were off, too. Don't even play like you didn't. So, yeah, maybe I never said anything, but neither did you, Derek."
Stiles has a disgusted expression on his face, the kind he typically reserve for people he's done with, and Derek's heart just aches because this is Stiles. His Stiles, who Derek stupidly thought he would get to keep forever. But now Stiles is giving him that fuck off look, with his lip slightly curled and his eyes as flat and as cold as Derek has ever seen them. He swallows hard and tries to come up with a way to get that horrible, dead look off of Stiles’s face, but all he can think is that this is it.
This is the end.
There's no coming back from this moment. He isn't going to be able to figure out a way to smooth things over, to make Stiles love him again. Not now, not in the two weeks he has before Stiles moves out, and certainly not after he's gone.
Something breaks in Derek and he’s across the room before he even knows it, grabbing hold of Stiles and slamming him into the living room wall. His lips are hot on Stiles’s skin, mouth pressing brutally against all those sweet, soft places he loves: Stiles’s neck, his jaw, the curve of his bottom lip. He's desperate for something, some show of mutual want. Anything, really, to prove that he can still affect Stiles, that he still matters.
All he gets for his effort is a muffled curse and a kick to the shins.
Derek tries again, mouthing at that spot where Stiles's neck and shoulder meet, the spot that always makes Stiles go boneless in his arms, but Stiles just squirms against him, trying to break free, his hands pushing at Derek’s chest. Then Stiles goes limp in his grasp, his eyes wide and his heartbeat jumping, and just like that reality returns. Derek hears himself make an awful, heartbroken sound as he realizes what he has done. He gently lowers Stiles down until his feet rest on the ground, then he forces his hands to let go and steps back.
“I’m sorry,” he says, putting more distance between them. “God, I’m sorry, Stiles.” But he knows that nothing he says matters any more. He crossed a line that never should have been crossed. If Stiles hadn’t wanted to leave him before, he certainly would now and Derek can’t even blame him.
“Derek,” Stiles says softly, he reaches out to touch Derek’s cheek and Derek can’t help but flinch.
Stiles face sort of crumples in on itself, his outstretched hand curling closed, and Derek has to look away. "I have work I need to get back to," he says his voice doing nothing to disguise his emotion, and it isn't even a lie. He does have work. Not that he will actually be doing it. Oh no, Derek's not in the right mindframe to get anything done right now. But at least if he's in the dining room, staring at his files, he won't be standing here, avoiding Stiles's eyes.
"Fine," Stiles says softly. He steps out of the way and lets Derek pass.
*
"What about this?" Stiles asks, holding up a movie Derek bought, but only at Stiles’s behest.
Derek lifts a shoulder. "Take it," he says, same as he's said the last twenty times Stiles has asked if he can have something that technically belongs to Derek. It's just stuff, anyway. It doesn't matter.
Honestly, Derek wouldn't mind if Stiles hauled the whole lot of it off, if it meant that he didn't have to stand here and watch Stiles try to separate out their things, to unravel the life they built together. He said as much, when Stiles mentioned that he wanted Derek to be there while he packed, but Stiles had just sighed and said, "Please," and Derek has never been able to tell him no. So here he is, trying to look indifferent, like this isn't killing him inside.
Stiles nods and bends down to set the movie into the box he's marked as "entertainment." He straightens and turns back to the bookshelf that's home to their dvd collection. It's slightly more than half empty and a complete mess, dvds and boxsets tipped over haphazardly onto their sides. Stiles makes a face, he never could stand to see things out of place, and reaches to right a picture frame that has been knocked onto its front. He lets out a little gasp when he does, fingers closing around the edges of the frame. Stiles takes it off the shelf, staring at it with a sad, almost haunted look on his face.
"Do you mind if I take this?" he asks, rubbing his thumb along the edge of a silver-plated side.
Derek opens his mouth to say fine, whatever, but then realizes what picture it is that Stiles is holding and his mouth snaps shut. He crosses the distance between them and takes the picture out of Stiles's hands. He stares down at it, trying to reconcile the fact that that was them, that they were once so happy together.
The Derek in the picture has his head tipped up, his mouth open in a laugh and his eyes squeezed shut. The Stiles in the picture is smiling up at him with the look on his face that Derek always loved the best, the one that told everyone that Derek was his world. Derek traces a finger along the cheek of the picture-Stiles, wishing he was still allowed to do the same to the Stiles standing in front of him.
"No," he says softly.
Stiles blinks at him. "What?"
"No." Derek's hands tighten on the picture frame. "You can't have this."
"Derek," Stiles starts, his tone annoyed, but Derek cuts him off with a shake of the head.
"This is not up for negotiation," he snaps, marching back across the room to where he had been standing. Derek's not letting him have it. He's not. Stiles is allowed to leave, but that does not mean that Stiles gets to take all of their happy memories with him. He leans against the wall again, the picture frame pressed against his chest.
Stiles lets out an unhappy noise, his lips pulled down in a frown.
“Why do you even want it?” Derek asks. Stiles makes a face that tells Derek he thinks Derek is being ridiculous, but Derek doesn't care. “Why?” he asks again.
Stiles snorts. “Why do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Derek grits back. “What am I supposed to think, Stiles? Why the hell would you want this?” He holds the frame up, flashing the picture at Stiles. “You’re leaving, aren’t you? Starting over fresh? So what use do you have for a picture of us being so damn happy together?”
Stiles stares at Derek like he thinks Derek’s crazy. “Jesus,” he says, finally, running a hand over his face. “Just because it’s over doesn’t mean that I hate you, it doesn’t mean that I don’t care.”
It’s Derek’s turn to snort. “I think you are confused there,” he snipes, “because last time I checked, that’s exactly what leaving someone means. You don’t end a relationship because you cared too damn much.”
“Fuck you.” Stiles’s eyes blaze and he crosses the room to jab a finger in Derek’s chest. “I care. I care enough to let you go and if you don't think that this is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, you are wrong."
“Then why are you doing it?” Derek shouts, tossing his hands up the in air. The picture goes flying, but Derek is too focused on Stiles to see where it lands. “Why?”
“Because you don’t want me here!” Stiles shouts back, his own hands balling into fists at his side. “You don’t. Not really. I’m just, I don’t know, comfortable or something. And I’m sick of being your security blanket, alright?”
Derek blinks, swallowing back his first response because that makes no sense at all. “What?” he frowns at Stiles. “Are you crazy? How can you even say that?”
Stiles gives him a sad look. “Because it’s true.” He heaves a sigh. “Look, this isn’t what I...” He cuts off with a shake of the head. “It doesn’t matter. Just keep the stupid picture.” He turns to head back towards the bookshelf and Derek can’t help but reach out and stop him.
“No.”
Stiles twists so that he can frown at Derek. “No what?”
“No, you aren’t, this isn’t...” Derek shakes his head. “Damn it.” He sucks in a breath and tries again. “You aren’t comfortable,” he spits out. “You are so much more to me than that. You have to know that. I...” He bites down hard on his lower lip, hoping Stiles understands what he’s trying to say.
Stiles gives a bitter sounding laugh. “You what, Derek?” He opens his eyes wide and stares at Derek, who just stands there, his mouth hanging open. Stiles makes a disgusted sound and shakes his head.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He shrugs off Derek’s hand and walks resolutely towards the bookcase. He stares at it for a long moment, then glowers down at the half packed box at his feet.
“You know what, keep it all. I don’t need any of this shit,” he says, sounding absolutely defeated.
Derek’s insides twist at it, hating that he’s responsible for making Stiles feel this way. He squeezes his eyes shut, screws up his courage and asks, “Why don’t you love me anymore?” like he should have done months ago.
Stiles jerks like Derek punched him, turning abruptly to stare at Derek with his mouth open and an incredulous look on his face. “What?”
“What did I do?” Derek takes a step in Stiles direction, his emotions tangled up into a knot. “Can you tell me? I swear to god, Stiles, if I knew what I did, I would fix it. So, just, tell me. Please. And I’ll do whatever I have to. I’ll make things right again. I swear.”
Stiles shakes his head in denial. “I never stopped loving you,” he says, and Derek feels the bottom drop out of his world.
“But,” he begins, feeling helplessly confused, “but you stopped saying it. You haven’t told me you love me for months. And then you said that we, that you... Stiles?”
Stiles is staring off into middle space, gnawing at his bottom lip, the way he always does when his mind is working at twice its normal pace. “Huh,” he says and Derek tightens instinctively. He knows that huh.
His eyes narrow. “Stiles,” he says again, resisting the urge to march across the room and shake the other man out of his revery.
Stiles startles, blinking rapidly, and then sighs. "It doesn't change anything," he mutters.
"What doesn't change anything?" Derek bites out, a nasty feeling curling in his stomach.
"That you noticed. I thought you hadn't. Or that you did and you just didn't care." Stiles shrugs. "Knowing for sure that it is option number two doesn't really matter in the long run, though. We would still be here, either way."
Derek snarls at the thought that Stiles thinks he didn't care, that it hadn't sent him into a panicked spiral he still hasn't been able to pull out of. "Was this all a test? Did you break up with me because you ran some stupid experiment on me and I didn't perform the way you wanted me to?"
Stiles rolls his eyes. "God, way to be melodramatic about it. No. I didn't break up with you because you failed some stupid test. I broke up with you because I'm not essential to your happiness or whatever. And before you get all up in my grill about how I could possibly know that, I'm going to tell you how: close and prolonged observation. I watched how you act, how you react to everything. Yeah, it's kind of creepy, but I cared about you. I loved you. I wanted to know everything about you. So, yeah. I watched you. And I took mental notes. And you know what I found? That, sure, you were happy, and, sure, we had fun times, but you just weren't that invested in it. Not as much as me, anyway. You weren't discontent or anything, but it didn't seem to matter to you, one way or the other, if I was there or not.”
He gives Derek a sad look. “You aren't overly demonstrative, I get that. And you are kind of the opposite of romantic, I get that too, but it's more than that. It's more than three years of nothing special on Valentine's Day and birthday gifts you clearly didn't put any effort into. Hell, that you probably never even thought about before buying. It's the way you still hold yourself apart, still don't want to let me in. And," Stiles takes a big breath, "well, I just wanted you to see how it felt, alright? I wanted you to know what it was like for me. So I stopped telling you I loved you. Because, honestly, Derek, I was sick of not hearing it myself. I thought you would call me on it right away. I didn't even think you would make it a day. But you did. You lasted a whole lot longer than a day. And that," Stiles shrugs, "that was like getting hit over the head with a cluebat."
"Stiles--"
"No. I'm not done." Stiles tone is hard, his eyes angry. "I know what you are going to say. I know, Derek, so don't even try. Just let this go. Let me leave. You'll move on from this, I know you will. And you'll find someone you don't have to feed excuses to."
Derek growls at that. "Is that what you think it is? An excuse? Fuck, Stiles, I told you at the start not to expect that from me. I told you I can't say it. You know why."
Stiles laughs that bitter, unhappy laugh of his. "Yeah, I know why you think you can't say it. You can't tell me you love me because you think it will jinx things. Because it's the last thing you said to your parents. Because it's the last thing you said to Laura. Because you told her you loved her and she --" Stiles cuts off when Derek lets out a hurt sound. His eyes soften and he moves until he's standing in front of Derek. "Do you mind?" he asks as he wraps his arms around Derek's waist. Derek doesn't answer him, just hugs him tight, burying his face into Stiles's shoulder.
“You realize that you would be able to say it if you really felt it, right?” Stiles whispers into Derek’s hair, his hands running soothingly up and down Derek’s back. “If you actually loved me, it wouldn’t be so hard for you. You would want to say it. I’m not telling you that you don’t care about me, you clearly do, but whatever it is, it isn’t love. Not the same sort of love I feel, anyway. And if you haven’t developed those sorts of feelings by now...” He trails off with a sigh. “I know this hurts, Derek, but it’s the best thing for both of us. You can’t love me the way I need to be loved. There’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t owe me anything. Just because you mean the world to me, doesn’t mean that you are obligated to feel the same way.”
“I know that,” Derek says brokenly. “And I should have known that you wouldn’t want to stick around and wait for me to get my shit together, wait for me to be able to give you what you deserve. I guess I just hoped that, I hoped you would be, god I’m so stupid. Of course you are leaving. Of course you are. I’m not good enough for you. I never have been.”
“Dude,” Stiles says, his voice tight with emotion, “don’t be an idiot. This isn’t about not being good enough. It’s about you finding the person who lights you up inside.”
“But I have,” Derek tells him. “I have found that person. I found you. God, Stiles, you are my everything. You make my life ten thousand times better just by being there. Can’t you see that? With all your careful observations, didn’t you notice that you are the only person that matters to me? The only person I can be myself around?”
Stiles pulls back and Derek reluctantly lets him go. Stiles isn't his to hold anymore. He's lucky he even got this much from him. Derek swallows hard, willing himself not to cry, to let Stiles walk away this time without making everything worse. But Stiles doesn't walk away. Stiles just stands there, hands coming up to cup Derek's face, staring at him like he's never seen Derek before.
"You big dumb-dumb," Stiles says after a long, long silence, his voice filled with something like wonder. "What do you think love is?"
Derek scowls at him. "I never said that I didn't." He chokes on the words, then growls in frustration. "That was you, remember? I know what I feel. I know what you mean. You're the one who wants more."
Stiles shakes his head. "I don't want more, I just want to hear it." He gives Derek a sad look. "And I'm never going to, am I?" Stiles drops his hands, takes a step away, then another, and Derek feels as if his heart is going to beat right out of his chest.
"Is that all?" he asks, darting out to capture Stiles's hands in his.
"Is what all?"
"Saying it." Derek clarifies. "If I could say it, would you stay?"
Stiles narrows his eyes, his mouth dropping open as he peers at Derek. "I, um, yes?"
Derek nods to himself. "I." He lifts a shoulder. "I can do that. If that's all it takes, being able to tell you how I feel, to say that I, that you--" He cuts off with a snarl. "Damn it. I can do this. I can make this happen. I will sign up for therapy, if I have to. Jesus, Stiles. I will sit my ass down on some uncomfortable couch and tell all my freaking problems to some douchebag with a degree if that's what it takes. But I will make it happen. I can't promise I'll be over all my hang-ups next week, but I can promise that I will do my best and try my hardest until I am able to say what you need to hear."
“You would do that for me?” Stiles’s voice is fragile.
“I would do anything in my power for you,” Derek assures him, hope blooming in his chest. He pulls Stiles hands up and gently kisses the palm of each. “You mean everything to me. Everything. It was wrong of me to think that I could tell you once that I had issues and just expect you to be okay with that and never do anything on my end to sort myself out.”
Stiles doesn’t say anything, just looks at Derek with his heart in his eyes. Derek sucks on his bottom lip, wanting desperately to take him into his arms, to hold him like he hasn’t been able to for the last ten days, but he can’t. He knows he can’t. So instead he gives Stiles a weak smile and lets go of his hands.
Derek clears his throat and steps back, eyes averted. He hears Stiles moving but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from the half-packed cardboard box. Derek chews on his lip and wonders how long it will be before he will be able to convince Stiles to take him back. If he starts up sessions that week, and makes good progress, would Stiles be back in their home by Labor Day? Thanksgiving? Christmas? How long is he going to be alone, rattling around in a half-empty house, missing the one thing that would make it a home?
“I’m glad we don’t have to fight over this after all,” Stiles says, breaking Derek out of his thoughts.
Derek looks over at him, frowning when he sees Stiles cradling the silver picture frame in his hands. “Huh?”
Stiles smiles at him. “Well, if I’m staying here after all, what’s the point of bickering over who it belongs to?”
“You’re staying?” he asks, hating how hopeful his voice sounds.
“What? Yes!” Stiles gives him a baffled look. “I’m not leaving. Not after, Christ, Derek.” Stiles makes a frustrated sound. “I was only going because I thought you didn’t, that you weren’t willing to fix the problems in our relationship. But you are. You want this just as much as I do. So why would I go?”
Derek’s heart speeds up and his throat feels tight. “You want to stay here? To be with me? Even though I haven’t done anything yet?”
Stiles nods slowly. “Yes.”
Derek can’t help but reach out, hands fisting in Stiles’s shirt as he tugs the other man near. Their mouths meet in a crash, all tongues and teeth and heat. Stiles lets out a moan, his fingers twisting in Derek’s hair, tugging just right. He pulls back, kisses along Derek’s jaw, teeth grazing against the skin of Derek’s neck. Derek shivers in response, crowding his body closer to Stiles’s as he tips his head back to give Stiles better access.
Stiles knows what he wants, he has to, but instead of giving it to him, Stiles just laughs and pushes aside the neck of his shirt. He nips at Derek’s collarbone, then licks away the sting. Derek moans, canting his hips forward as his hands tighten on Stiles.
“Come on,” he says, “give it to me.”
Stiles licks a strip up his neck, skims his lips over Derek’s jaw and whispers, “No.”
“Please,” Derek all but whines, “Stiles, I need it.”
“Not yet,” Stiles tells him before sucking the lobe of Derek’s ear into his mouth.
Derek's eyes close and he can't help but moan. He rocks his hips into Stiles, hands working their way under his shirt to grip his bare skin.
"Tell me what you want," Stiles croons, "tell me what you need."
"You," Derek pants. "God, Stiles, you. Please."
Stiles let's out a pleased noise as his mouth works back down Derek's neck. “Like that?” he asks between kisses.
“Yes,” Derek grits out, his fingers digging into Stiles’s hips, tugging him closer.
Stiles squirms away and for a moment Derek panics, but then Stiles’s hands are tugging at the hem of Derek’s shirt, pulling it up and off of him. Stiles’s eyes are dark, his lips red and swollen and Derek can’t help but to lean forward, to suck the bottom one into his mouth. Stiles gasps, then presses forward, mouth hot and hungry. For a long moment Derek is lost in the taste of him, the slide of Stiles's tongue against his own, until the need to feel Stiles's naked skin is too much to ignore.
Derek groans as he breaks the kiss to tug at Stiles's jeans. His fingers don't seem to want to work and he fumbles with the button. Stiles’s makes an impatient sound and slaps Derek’s hands away.
“Do your own,” he instructs as he deftly pops the button, unzips the fly and shimmies out of his jeans. He kicks free of them as he skims his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before hooking his thumbs in the elastic waist of his boxers.
“Want you so bad,” Stiles says as he pulls them down. “I’ve been dying for it, fucking my hand every night and wishing it was you.”
Heat pours into Derek’s veins at Stiles’s words. His stomach tightens and he has to grab hold of the base of his cock. Pre-come leaks out, slicking the tip, and Stiles lets out a hum of satisfaction.
“Yeah.” His voice is raw. “Just like that. So damn eager. You’re always eager for it, for me, aren’t you?”
He reaches out, swipes the pad of his thumb across the head and then brings it to his mouth and sucks it clean. He licks his palm, then aligns their cocks, wraps his hand around the both of them, and gives a tight stroke. Derek whines, thrusting into the slick circle of Stiles’s fingers.
“God, Stiles.”
He cups the back of Stiles’s neck, tugging him near. Derek licks his way into Stiles’s mouth, chasing the faint taste of his pre-come, as Stiles speeds up his pace. He pulls back with a pant, eyes closing as he buries his face into Stiles’s shoulder.
“Not going to last long,” he admits, his mouth pressed against Stiles’s skin. “Need it too much, need you.”
Stiles fingers tighten at that, tugging another moan out of Derek. “Don’t care,“ he says, breathing heavy. “Want you to do it. Want you to come all over me. Want to rub my fingers in it then lick them clean. God, Derek, I want it so bad. Thought I would never have this again, that the last time was the last time and I’d never see you like this, never get to watch you fall apart again.”
Derek balls tighten and he turns his head, seeking out that sweet spot where Stiles’s shoulder and neck meet. He bites down hard as he comes, thrusting wildly into Stiles hand, eyes squeezed tight.
True to his word, Stiles runs the fingers of his free hand through the mess Derek made, then brings them up to his mouth and sucks them clean. Derek groans, balls tightening again at the sight. Stiles strokes him through the aftershocks, then adjusts his grip so that Derek can slip free. Derek tries to catch his breath as he watches Stiles work himself.
“Holy fuck,” Stiles grunts. He's arching up, hips snapping hard into his hand on each down stroke. “You look gorgeous like that,” he pants, his eyes devouring Derek. “But not as good as you’d look spread out in our bed. God, next round we’re doing that. I’m having you pressed down into the mattress, you hear me? Spread wide and taking it as hard and as fast as I can give you it.”
Derek nods, spent cock twitching at the thought. “You'd better,” He crowds close to whisper dark and low in Stiles's ear. “I want you to give it to me so hard I forget everything except your name.” Derek pushes in tight against Stiles until he can feel the hot pant of Stiles's breath on his cheek. Stiles ruts into the crease of his thigh. "Can you do that for me?" he asks. "Can you fuck me that hard, Stiles?" Stiles lets out a sound that could be a yes if it was stretched out into a moan, his head tipping back. Hot come splatters Derek’s stomach as Stiles shudders and gasps.
Derek runs his hands up and down Stiles’s sides, calming him. “Just like that,” he soothes, “so beautiful like that.”
Stiles catches hold of Derek’s jaw and lifts his head so that their lips meet. It’s just a kiss, like a thousand kisses before, but for Derek it holds the promise of a thousand kisses to come and that makes it the sweetest kiss of all.
*
“How about Tuesday? After three p.m.?” Derek asks, glancing at his laptop where he has his Google calendar open.
The receptionist makes a humming noise. “Dr. Dwivedi has an opening at four, would that work?”
Derek nods. “Sure, that’s great. Do I need to come early to fill out paperwork or?”
“We recommend all new clients come at least fifteen minutes early,” she tells him and Derek tilts his head to the side, holding the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he types that info into the event description.
“Okay, I will see you then,” he says.
“I look forward to it, Mr. Hale.”
Derek smiles to himself as he hangs up. He flips the phone into the air, catching it neatly before setting it on the nightstand. He marks the event as bold red then he saves it, feeling a little moment of accomplishment as it populates on his calendar.
“You’re really proud of yourself right now, aren’t you?” Stiles asks, leaning over to rest his head on Derek’s chest.
Derek lets a hand tangle in Stiles’s hair as he shuts down his laptop. “Yeah, I am.”
Stiles rubs his cheek against Derek’s shirt. “Good, you ought to be.” He shifts so that he can peer up at Derek. “You deserve one of those motivational posters with that ‘a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step’ quote on it or something.”
“Or something,” Derek says with a lifted eyebrow, because he definitely wants to nip any ideas Stiles might be entertaining about motivational posters in the bud.
Stiles grins at him, his eyes lit up with mischief. “Something like this?” he asks, sliding his hand up Derek’s leg.
Derek lets him have his fun for a moment before swatting aside his hand. “As enjoyable as that would be, don’t you have somewhere you need to go?”
Stiles makes a face. “Spoilsport,” he grumps as he pushes into a seated position.
“Responsible adult,” Derek counters. Stiles sticks out his tongue, then sighs and moves to get off the bed. “Hey,” Derek catches hold of his arm.
“What?”
Derek licks his lips and slides his hand down till it’s gripping Stiles's wrist. He turns it until Stiles’s palm is facing up, then reaches over with his other hand to trace a heart across the center of it. Stiles sucks in a breath, his expression dumbstruck.
“Me too,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Stiles shifts on the bed, free hand coming up to cup Derek’s cheek. His eyes are soft as he moves in for a kiss. “Me too.”