Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

art by AndyGods

The water slaps against his bare back, his body resisting before he’s swallowed whole. The sky below the surface is liquid and hardly lucid, and Derek always feels like a kid under here, pretending the world is on the wrong side as he looks up from below. As he resurfaces, he spits out chlorinated water and floats, staring up at the trees hovering above before he lets his eyes slip shut with a long sigh, disassociating from this shitty day.

He really didn’t mean to forget their anniversary. He thought he set an annual reminder but that didn’t work out this year and quite frankly, it’s not like he can bring himself to truly care. What’s there to celebrate?

“Mr. Hale?” a voice asks, shallow and distant.

Derek blinks his eyes open, and instead of the side of the garage, he’s met with a buzzcut and lanky limbs spilling out of his lacrosse jersey.

“Stiles,” Derek says, sitting up to lazily tread water. He offers a solemn smile before shaking his hair out and wiping his face. “Eli is with his mother.”

He tries not to sound bitter about it, nearly successful in letting that part of his day slip away.

Stiles bites the inside of his lip, his brows scrunched in concern. “Oh.”

He stands there, hesitating, his face flushing as he brushes his hand over his hair.

“Sorry, kiddo. He didn’t text you?”

“No…” he mumbles, looking back at the house, then Derek before pulling out his phone and shaking his head as he glances at Derek again. He’s everything but subtle each time his eyes flick over Derek’s chest and what he can see under the waterline.

Derek shrugs with a pinched smile, letting himself lay back again to stare up at the sky. It’s odd that Eli wouldn’t text him, but Derek doesn’t linger on it for long.

“Um. Are you okay?” Stiles asks, his tone careful and concerned.

Derek blinks, and without hesitating like he would were he sober, he says, “Don’t ever get married.”

Without a beat, Stiles says, “Well, that puts a wrench in my plans…” as he eyes Derek intentionally.

Derek laughs, probably too heartily for the context, but he can’t be bothered to care.

Stiles grins and looks down at his shoes, scratching at his temple before returning his gaze. He bites his bottom lip, words delayed on his tongue, and Derek can almost see the force it takes to push them out.

“You wanna talk about it?”

He seems to regret it the moment the words leave his mouth, a flicker of a grimace in his features as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

Derek can’t imagine what advice a minted sixteen-year-old would have about a crumbling marriage, but in this moment, Stiles is the only one with ears, and he seems eager to listen.

Derek regards him, a quiet moment as he treads water before running a hand over his scruff and making his way out of the pool.

“You sure you want to hear an old man complain about his marriage?” he asks, water splattering, feet slapping over the concrete as he makes his way over to the chaise beside his drink and towel. He dries his hair and combs it back with his fingers before grabbing his drink and taking a long sip of the watered down old fashioned. The bottle of whiskey made it outside with him, set on drowning his sorrows tonight before figuring out how to fix his life later.

Stiles watches his every move, lingering near the pool until Derek peeks over at him with raised brows as he refills his glass, and Stiles takes the hint before he makes his way over and drops onto the chaise beside him.

“Well, I mean… you’re not that old…” Stiles starts, licking his lips as he watches Derek’s hands.

Derek smirks and sips his whiskey, leaning back in the chaise lounge.

“I’m shocked a sixteen-year-old believes that. Isn’t anything after twenty considered ancient?”

“I think the kids are calling it vintage these days.”

Derek snorts a laugh out through his nose as he shakes his head fondly and takes another sip of his drink. Stiles has always been quick like that, even as a kid. Derek always hoped Eli would pick up on it, but he seems to live in his own little world, detached from reality.

He beams, pleased to make Derek laugh as he rubs the back of his neck.

“God, I’d always hoped you’d rub off on Eli. I love him to death, but he certainly didn’t get his brains from me,” Derek grumbles, and he knows it’s not fair to place that on Paige as if it’s her fault their son is a bit of an idiot. A sweet idiot, but an idiot, nonetheless.

Everything feels like it’s her fault these days. He knows that’s not true, but placing the blame on her makes his chest feel a little lighter.

There’s a smile curling Stiles’ lips when Derek glances over, his bottom lip between his teeth, gaze set as if Stiles were admiring him. It’s not the first time Derek has caught Stiles staring at him like that.

Stiles isn’t subtle, and Derek is more perceptive than his son, at least.

“Well, at least he got his looks from you,” Stiles says, and then he immediately flushes as if he didn’t intend to say that out loud, his hands covering his face as he leans over his knees in total mortification with an agonizing groan. Then he stands up, his face still flushed but his expression cool as a cucumber as he says, “I’ll just go kill myself now,” before he starts to rise.

Derek laughs again, his head shaking as he grabs Stiles’ wrist and tugs him back down. “Sit down, Stiles. It’s nothing I didn’t already know.”

Around twelve was when Derek noticed Stiles’ infatuation with him—the constant staring, the incessant questions, the non-casual lingering. That’s when his voice cracked and the hair over his lip got thicker, bones sharpening under bushy brows. He became even more awkward as he figured out how to use his limbs correctly, but bolder in his audacity as his brain-to-mouth filter turned to goo in his transformation.

Stiles covers his face again, and Derek imagines how hot his skin would feel against his lips if he were to kiss his cheek. He sips his drink instead, his arm resting over his bent knee. The water has started evaporating from his skin, and he shivers as the air dries him.

“You know?” Stiles mumbles, his face still hidden.

“I don’t think subtlety was included in your genetic makeup, kid,” Derek says, and Stiles finally glances up at him through his fingers, his eyebrows pinching in disdain.

“Why do you have to remind me I’m a kid all the time?”

Derek knocks back the rest of his drink, his skin warming as he sets his glass down on the table between their chaise lounges.

“Because that’s what you are. You’re a child with a silly crush. Don’t worry, it’ll pass.”

Stiles finally lets his hands fall away, his lips pursed as he studies Derek.

“Don’t Hot Priest me.”

With a shake of his head and an impressed smile, Derek runs his hand over his mouth and says, “I’m glad you get that reference. So you understand this can never happen.”

Stiles’ lashes flutter in a rapid succession of incredulous blinks, mouth falling open.

“What do you mean, this can never happen? Did I ever have a chance? What, are you a man of god? Why wasn’t I ever aware of this?”

The laughter ripples out of him before he has a chance to conceal it, and Derek just shakes his head again and finally meets Stiles’ gaze. His skin glows under the shade as the sun slips away, and for a moment Derek’s heart aches, woeful he’ll never get to feel how soft he looks.

“Stiles, go home. You shouldn’t be here right now. I’m drunk and Eli isn’t home.”

Stiles actually frowns at that, and Derek hates himself for causing it.

“But you didn’t answer my question,” he says, his tone forlorn.

Derek sighs, regarding him with a sad smile.

“Go home, Stiles.”

The heavy wooden gate clunks shut behind him, and Derek listens to the sound of the sliding door on the other side of the alley where Eli’s best friend grew up. The neighborhood kid turned pseudo-brother who plays drums in Derek’s garage and video games in Derek’s basement until five in the morning, eating all the snacks in the pantry and most of breakfast the next day. The kid who learned to swim in Derek’s pool, who fell off his skateboard hundreds of times in Derek’s driveway before getting right back on it, who asks Derek how his day was because he’s genuinely curious.

Derek watched Stiles grow into the young man he is now—smart, funny, kind, exceptional, truly gorgeous. He could easily find someone his age who would give him the time of day, but he doesn’t seem interested in a relationship, or anything that could distract him from pining for Derek’s notice.

Derek would be lying if he said he didn’t like the attention. He’s careful with it, careful not to indulge him and lead him on, to take advantage, because there’s nothing that could ever happen between them. He’s a child, his son’s best friend, the son of a Sheriff who has a gun rack, and Derek is thirty-six and unhappily married with taxes to pay and a house to maintain.

It’s just a fantasy, something Derek lets his mind play with since he knows nothing could ever come of it. If he imagines Stiles’ fingers inside him instead of his own, it’s not like anyone else could ever know that.

—

Paige’s car is in the driveway when Derek gets home from work the next day. He doesn’t pull into the garage, because the kids have their band practice today and he’ll just have to move it later, and instead stares at the white door while his car idles and his hands clutch the steering wheel.

Today was hell, just like every day at the office, worse while nursing a hangover. More insurance claims he’s forced to deny, more shit from his boss, more petty gossip he doesn’t wish to partake in at the water cooler. It’s a good job; it’s paid for all of this. They may have had help from his parents with the down payment on the house before Eli was born, but everything else he’s slaved away for, from the cherry tree in the front yard to the re-laid ceramics inside the pool. All because he tells people ‘no’ when they’ve been diagnosed with an unknown illness or broken the wrong bone.

The words ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but that bone isn’t covered’ have left his mouth, and how he didn’t shoot himself in the head when she sobbed over the phone is a master performance on derealization.

It usually fades from his mind once Eli greets him.

He inhales, exhales, several more times in the silent cabin of his air-conditioned car, reluctant to transition inside because that means they’ll have to talk, which inevitably means tears and or yelling. The thought is nauseating.  

A knock on the window jerks him from his thoughts, and when he turns he sees Eli and Stiles standing in the driveway, skateboards at their hips and sweat beading their brows.

He turns off the car and climbs out, and Stiles squints and shields his eyes as he looks at him with a smile.

They both say, “Hey dad,” and “Hey Mr. Hale,” at the same time, and Derek adjusts his jacket over his arm before hugging Eli with the other.

“Hey, kid. How was school?” Derek asks.

“Fine. Are you gonna watch our band practice today?”

Derek smiles weakly. “I’d love to, but I need to go talk to mom first. Why don’t you come save me when Scott gets here, hm?”

“’Kay,” Eli says, happy to be an accomplice.

Derek offers Stiles a smile and a squeeze of his shoulder before making the death march, loosening his tie as he goes.

The air is fragrant with herbs and spices as he enters through the back door, and Paige sits at the kitchen table with papers around her as she grades them and sips her ice tea. She turns to greet him with a half-smile as she drops her pen to the table and brushes her hair over her shoulder.

“Lasagna is in the oven, should be ready in an hour,” she says as she puts her hair up in a quick bun.

“Sounds good,” Derek says with a cordial nod. The air is stifling, still buzzing from their heated argument the night before.

She looks at him with a pause, her gaze studious. “Can we talk?”

Derek forces himself not to sigh.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna change first,” he says as he drops his suitcase on the counter by the door.

He takes his time with it, dreading this talk. He showers and changes into softer clothes and wishes he were somewhere else as he stares at himself in their bathroom mirror, wondering how the hell he ended up here.

It’s his fault he forgot their anniversary. Why it wasn’t marked in his calendar, he couldn’t say. He’s always been decent with dates, at least remembering a few days before and coming up with something on the fly. But he’s never forgotten entirely.

It’s hard to care about trivial relationship dates when the love that was present then has since ceased to exist.

“I want this to work,” Paige says, arms crossed where she sits, tears streaking her cheeks. “I love you and I want this to work, but I need things to change.”

Derek regards her and wonders how she can feel that way, how she can still love him and want to keep fighting when what they have isn’t even fun anymore. There’s no more joy in their relationship, just responsibility to the other, a commitment they made when he was twenty and she was eighteen because she got pregnant and it felt like the right thing to do, and he truly loved her then—but in time he's come to recognize that they aren't really compatible together, and he's suffered through it for at least the last ten years of their relationship. 

“Don’t you?” she adds after his long silence, her gaze imploring.

Why he keeps himself here in this miserable marriage Derek can hardly fathom. Why would it be such a terrible thing, to draw up divorce papers and be free of his spousal responsibilities, to admit to his wife that he’s just not in love with her anymore and he doesn’t want to do his part because he just doesn’t care? Why keep up the act?

“Dad, are you gonna come hear us play?!” Eli yells up the stairs, and he recalls.

The life they built together includes another who relies on them, and tearing it out from under him is hardly fair. Eli didn’t ask to be here, but he deserves to have a good life, a solid foundation, and both parents at home where he belongs.

He holds her gaze, and he nods solemnly.

“I do. I’m sorry, honey,” Derek says, reaching for her hand and squeezing softly. “I’ll do better. I’ll be better.”

Her brows furrow suspiciously, nose bright red as she sniffles.

“You really want this?”

Derek knows she’s only seeking reaffirmation. His answer seems too easy, too good to be true, and her intuition would be right, but he knows she won’t follow it. He wonders if perhaps she sees the value in staying together for their kid while simultaneously hoping to rekindle what they once had. Maybe if they can just make it work while Eli is in school, they can figure it out once he flies the coop, whenever that may be. 

For now, that's what he'll tell himself, too. It's all temporary, anyway.

“I promise, baby. I want this to work for the same reasons you do.” 

Her shoulders relax, and fresh tears spill as she nods hopefully.

“Okay,” she says, a tone of relief in her voice, and Derek stands up to pull her into a hug, her face pressing into his neck as he kisses her forehead and squeezes his arms around her in a semblance of love. She sniffles and leans back, meeting his gaze as if waiting for something to happen, and Derek leans in to kiss her.

“I love you,” she says, her hands pressing on each of his cheeks when he pulls back.

“I love you too,” he responds, on autopilot.

“Dad!” Eli shouts again, “the oven is going off! Are you coming?!”

—

Peter is lounging in nothing but his swim shorts and sunglasses when Derek returns from work. His messenger bag hangs off his shoulder as he loosens his tie, his shoes scraping as he steps up beside Peter’s chaise.

“Peter,” Derek greets, standing over him, and Peter pushes his sunglasses over his head as he peers up at the nephew currently blocking the sinking sun.

“Nephew, is that any way to greet your favorite uncle?”

“You’re my only uncle,” Derek says dryly. Never gets old. “Does Paige know you’re here?”

“She invited me to dinner, I’d hope so,” he says, grabbing the crystal tumbler beside him and sipping his cocktail. “How was your day? Ruin anyone’s life?”

Derek purses his lips. “I’m about to ruin yours. Give me that,” he huffs, snatching Peter’s cocktail before taking a seat beside him. He knocks what’s left of it back and lets his messenger bag fall away, leaning back in the chaise.

“You ever think of finding a new job?” Peter asks, and Derek side-eyes him.

“I’m not coming to work for your shady investment company, Peter,” Derek mutters, folding his hands behind his head as he looks up at the sky. A quick beating over every drum thumps through the thin garage walls, the last one a crashing cymbal, and then the music stops.

“It’s got to be better than coming home every day like this.”

Derek disregards that statement, lately wondering if that might be true but never giving it much thought. Whatever Peter does, Derek is certain it’s not entirely legal, but he doesn’t ask questions, and he doesn’t get involved.

The boys walk out of the side door of the garage, all three of them piling out into the yard. Stiles immediately locks his gaze on Derek, his lips quirking up as he makes his way over in a beeline and hovers near Derek’s chaise.

“Hey Mr. Hale,” he says, his eyes flicking over to Peter and back. Behind Stiles, Eli jumps in the pool after stripping down to his underwear, and Scott mirrors him, their splashes reaching Derek where he sits.

“Hey, Stiles,” Peter says, and Derek rolls his eyes.

“Hey,” Derek says, glancing at the two rowdy boys in the pool before trailing his eyes back to Stiles. “Good practice?”

“Mhm, you should have seen it, Eli was having a moment,” Stiles says, holding Derek’s gaze, and only Derek’s gaze as he hooks his thumbs in his pockets.

“He tends to have those,” Derek says, his lips curling. “Are you guys staying for dinner?”

“Scott’s got a date, but sure, if you’re inviting me,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, and Derek has to press his lips to keep from smirking.

“Stiles, when was the last time you were ever invited here?” Derek asks with a short laugh. “Of course you can stay, kid.”

Stiles purses his lips, seemingly displeased with Derek’s choice of honorary forced in there as a reminder. For whom is up for debate.

His expression shifts, the mischief a near entity in his eyes as the corners of his lips upturn.

“Thanks, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says, his voice a damn near purr that sends a flash of heat down Derek’s spine. He blinks rapidly, incredulous at Stiles’ audacity as if he hasn’t known this kid for seventy percent of his short life. It’s a completely predictable response, now that Derek thinks about it.

He doesn’t get a chance to respond, Eli having dragged himself out of the pool to creep up behind Stiles and snatch him into a bear hug before launching them into the pool. Stiles screams as they fall, gasping for air once he comes up, water flinging off him as he shakes his head and grabs Eli by his shoulders before shoving him back under the water.

Peter laughs beside him, and Derek smiles, amused as the boys tussle in the pool. They get bored soon enough, all three of them dripping once they emerge and let themselves airdry for a bit before Scott gathers his clothes and stuffs them in his backpack. He’ll ride his bike home like that, only his damp boxers covering him, his half nudity not unusual in this neighborhood.

Stiles shivers in his soaked clothes, hunched over his knees as he sits on the concrete edge and listens to Derek and Peter’s conversation. A bit of gossip about Cora and her new girlfriend, news on Laura and her kids, Eli interjecting every now and then as Stiles’ eyes inevitably stray to Derek no matter how many times he peels them away.

“I’m gonna go change,” Stiles tells them, quick to angle away as he rises awkwardly, clothes clinging to his body.

“Me, too,” Eli says, scrambling up to follow Stiles inside. Stiles looks back, his eyes lingering before they disappear.

It’s quiet between them for a brief moment, just a car passing and birds chirping, and then Peter opens his mouth.

“That kid is in love with you,” Peter says, pushing his sunglasses up his nose with a smirk as he laces his fingers together and rests them over his stomach.

Derek sighs and wipes his hand over his mouth as he stares at the pool, the water settled as a beach ball drifts by.

“Yeah,” is all Derek can manage, no point in denying and no need to elaborate.

“You’re better than me,” Peter says, and Derek purses his lips, keeping his gaze pointed away.

—

The LED clock illuminates the bedroom in a dim green glow, and beside him Paige snores softly as she hugs her pillow. Derek shifts again, twisting around to get comfortable, and tries for another five or so minutes to drift into slumber. When he glances at the clock again, it’s nearly two in the morning. He sighs and rubs his eyes before pulling himself out of bed, plucking his threadbare shirt from the floor and pulling it on as he quietly makes his way out of the room.

The stairs creak as he descends as silently as he can manage, rubbing his eyes with a wide yawn as he makes his way into the kitchen for a midnight snack. There are leftovers in the fridge that he can’t be bothered to heat up, and when he checks the pantry, the entire box of rice krispies treats is gone. He purses his lips—he just got that yesterday.

He sighs and stares at the dark pantry before grabbing a rolled-up bag of tortilla chips and making his way to the basement den to enjoy his mediocre snack. Reruns of his favorite sitcom are on, and he grabs the blanket off the back of the couch before tucking in.

Nights like these make him feel young again, being awake when no one else is, as if he’s up past his bedtime when he’s not supposed to be. The show he used to watch as a teen allays the silence, the TV glow a nostalgic friend of the darkness. The volume is as low as his ears can grasp as he munches on nearly stale tortilla chips. The stairs creak, and Derek’s heart beats faster, feeling like he’s been caught, dreading Paige finding him and nagging him to come back to bed.

Instead, it’s Stiles.

His feet swipe over the hardwood floors as he drags himself downstairs, an oversized shirt hanging off him as he rubs his eyes against the bright TV glow.

“Hey, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says, his voice groggy. He stops at the edge of the room, hesitating as if waiting for an invitation. Derek eyes his bare legs, an eyebrow raising as he finishes chewing his bite before swallowing.

“Hey, Stiles. Can’t sleep?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods, lingering until Derek gestures to the open spaces on the couch. Of course out of all of them, he takes the seat directly beside Derek, the couch dipping as he maneuvers himself into a comfortable position. His legs cross, and then he has the audacity to steal some of Derek’s covers, eyeing the chips before he turns towards the television. Derek presses his lips, rolling his eyes before offering up the bag of chips that Stiles happily accepts and stuffs his face with.

“Was it you who ate all the rice krispies treats?” Derek asks, shifting away as he crosses his arms to peer over at him. Stiles shrugs, hardly sheepish as he stuffs another mouthful, and Derek keeps himself from rolling his eyes again. The amount of food that vanishes between two growing boys is insane, but he can’t bring himself to complain all that much.

“This is a good episode,” Stiles says, his mouth half full as he keeps his focus forward, and Derek side eyes him with a smile tugging at his lips before letting himself rest back, keeping his arms crossed.

“I remember watching it when it aired,” Derek tells him, and Stiles quirks an eyebrow as he chews.

“Wow, did you have to hand crank the generator to watch it?”

“Ha ha.” Derek smirks and shakes his head fondly. “What are you doing up, anyway? Couldn’t wait to pilfer more snacks from me?”

Stiles tips the rest of the bag of crumbs into his mouth, crunching happily as he meets Derek’s gaze. Under the blanket, their knees brush, and Derek raises his eyebrows expectantly.

When Stiles swallows and licks his lips, Derek can’t help but track the movement, and then Stiles says, “I heard you get up,” before he wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand, hiding his knowing smirk.

“Stiles…” Derek says with a sigh, pulling his gaze away to keep himself from lingering on his lush lips. “How did you know it was me?”

“I know what your steps sound like. And you usually get up at this time for a snack.”

Derek purses his lips. “You are here way too often to know those things.”

Stiles shrugs with a proud smile, crumbling up the empty bag before handing it back to Derek. Derek blinks incredulously, and Stiles laughs, visibly pleased with himself as he shifts in his seat and unsubtly leans in closer. Derek sets the trash on the table beside the couch and side-eyes him.

“I think I’m here the right amount. I could be here more, if you wanted,” he says casually, and Derek finally brings his gaze back with a dubious shake of his head.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Stiles bites his lip with a pleased grin as he nudges at Derek’s knee.

“What else am I?”

Derek blinks at his boldness, his head rearing back with a short laugh. His arms are still locked in place, as if keeping himself from reaching out to touch him, his body leaning away.

“Stiles, quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“Flirting with me. I told you this can’t happen.”

Stiles licks his lips, his head tilting just slightly as his fingers brush along Derek’s thigh under the covers.

“But you want it to, don’t you?”

Derek grits his teeth, his jaw tensing. Stiles takes his silence as permission to keep going, until his palm covers the inside of Derek’s thigh with a squeeze, his hand cold and clammy. Derek swallows and shakes his head before he grabs Stiles’ hand and places it back in his own lap.

“Stop it.”

Stiles smirks. “Just answer the question, Derek.”

Derek’s features pinch in, a bit disbelieving that this is even happening as he studies Stiles’ face. Stiles has only ever called him ‘Mr. Hale’ with the occasional ‘dad’ as a Freudian slip or term of endearment, but has never called him by his first name. Derek can’t deny that he likes the way it sounds on his tongue, smooth and easy and not so inappropriate as Derek might have expected such a thing.

“It doesn’t matter what I want. You’re a minor, I’m a married man. Do you really think this could end well?”

“Who would ever know?” Stiles asks, his gaze penetrating as he lets his hand wander back to the inside of Derek’s thigh. “We don’t have to tell anyone. I can keep a secret.”

Derek’s eyes fall shut as he inhales, Stiles’ cool fingers slipping further down and sending little shocks of piqued pleasure to his groin, and he can’t say Paige has managed to make him this excited in a long, long time.

Stiles’ hand creeps further and further, and Derek’s breath hitches when Stiles palms over his growing erection, his jaw hardened as he shakes his head again and seizes his wrist. He meets Stiles’ gaze, his fresh face already flushing as he bites his lip and searches Derek’s eyes.

“We can’t,” Derek tries, and he hates the twinge of sadness that flicks over the boy’s features, his eyebrows drawing in just a hair as Derek places his hand back in his lap. “Just think logically about this, okay? You’ll regret this when you’re old enough to realize. You don’t want this, Stiles.”

“How could you know that? I know what I want, and I want you,” he says, his voice firm like it’s an indisputable fact, gaze fierce.

“Stiles…” Derek starts, uncertain as he searches Stiles’ face. “You know we can’t do this. This is wrong on so many levels. I can’t… I can’t take advantage of you.”

He frowns now, his lashes fluttering as he blinks back tears.

Derek was not expecting tears. He can’t tell if they’re real or imagined or if his eyes just look like that in the blue light of the television, but it makes his heart ache and his breath hitch as Stiles’ gaze holds him in place.

“Don’t you want me?” Stiles asks, his voice small and somber. He blinks, his chin tipping down, his eyes big. Derek can’t stand it, seeing him so doleful. It makes his skin prickle, and some inherent desire to fix it lights his heart on fire.

“Of course I do,” Derek says quickly, licking his lips when he realizes his mistake. “But it doesn’t matter what I want, Stiles. You can’t consent to this even if you do want it, do you get that? I can’t do that to you, you deserve better.”

This doesn’t seem to help—it only makes actual fat tears well in his eyes and crowd his lashes, and Derek cannot stand to see him so sad, his bottom lip quivering as he searches Derek’s gaze. 

“Please don’t cry, Stiles, I hate to see you so sad,” Derek tries, his voice a bit desperate as he tries to figure out what to do. He’s the adult in this situation, surely he should know the proper protocol for such things, but he fears doing the right thing will only make the tears worse.

In the end, he does what he’d do for his own son—he reaches up and wipes the tears away with his thumb, and Stiles immediately leans into his touch, as if it were a balm to his ache. His skin is as soft as it looks, warm and inviting as he reaches up to hold Derek’s hand there before he can pull it away, and Derek’s blood bursts within his veins like a wild river, his heart catching up as he sucks in a breath.

“Doesn’t it count for something, that we both want this, though?” Stiles says, his voice low and wobbly as he holds back more tears.

Derek’s lips press into a knowing frown, and he says what he thinks will end this now.

“If you still want this when you’re old enough to decide on your own, you find me, okay?”

Fresh tears spill over Stiles’ cheeks, and he sniffles with a frown, his eyes wide and forlorn.

“Can you kiss me until then, at least?” he tries.

Derek sighs.

“Stiles…”

“Please? Just one kiss, and I promise I’ll leave you alone until I’m eighteen. I promise.”

Derek knows he shouldn’t have made the offer. This is essentially, for all intents and purposes, his second son, and he doesn’t have the mental capacity to get into that implication right now. Aside from the pseudo-incest, his age, the years between them, and the power dynamic that comes with it, Derek would be cheating on his wife—the mother of his child—with their son’s best friend. No matter where they start, it cannot end well.

Despite all this, Derek finds himself hopeful against all odds. It’s only two years, and then maybe they can figure it out then.

I’m fucked, Derek thinks. It’s already too late.

He strokes his thumb over Stiles’ cheekbone, holding his gaze as he considers this, heartbeat in his ears as Stiles’ fingers grip around his wrist.

“You promise?”

Stiles nods eagerly, his energy radiating now, tears all but dried up salt on his cheeks.

“I promise.”

With a deep inhale and a slow nod, Derek licks his lips before he leans in, their gazes still locked, breaths stalled in the short distance between them. Before he can think a second thought, he lets his eyes slip shut and their lips press together, and Stiles’ breath catches in his throat as he leans into the kiss, his other hand coming up to hold onto the side of Derek’s neck.

It’s simple, at first, just their lips touching, breaths shuddering between them as they suck air in through their noses. Derek pulls back to end it, and Stiles follows him, pulling Derek back in by his neck, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and that sets Derek off, his blood rushing as he holds Stiles’ face and moves their lips together.

His lips are lush and salty when Derek’s tongue brushes over the bottom, and Stiles sucks in a breath as he pushes closer, until their chests are pressed and Stiles’ fingers are in his hair and Derek is surrounded by him, his scent, his taste, his heat. He can’t get enough of him, can’t push his tongue past his teeth to taste him anymore than he already is now, and so he wraps his arm around Stiles’ torso to hold him closer, to feel as much as he can at once, and Stiles’ whimpers into his mouth as their tongues brush and their lips smack, the noise running straight to Derek’s already hardening dick.

Derek gasps as he pulls back, and Stiles’ face is pink, his eyes blown, lips red and glistening as he breathes heavily and searches Derek’s eyes once again. Derek can’t stop him when he leans in for another kiss, their lips mashing together as Stiles pulls him back in and takes his turn to explore Derek’s mouth, his arms wrapping around Derek’s neck as he maneuvers into Derek’s lap, legs straddling Derek’s thighs.

“Stiles—” Derek murmurs, though there’s no intent behind it as his hands fall to Stiles’ hips and their erections brush with loose fabric in between. Stiles rolls his hips down, and the action is pure instinct, his movements unpracticed and awkward, but it gets the job done, their cocks frotting through annoying layers as he pants into Derek’s mouth.

Stiles doesn’t say a word as if he might break the spell, his fingers grasping Derek’s hair as he rocks his hips and presses against Derek as if attempting to melt into him. Their lips never part, even when they both pull air in, and Derek’s hands slip to his ass, squeezing as he pushes up against Stiles’ awkward ruts. The boy whimpers in his lap, and his sweet sounds make sweat sprout over Derek’s skin, desperate to hear more of them as he sucks Stiles’ tongue into his mouth. He moves his hands back to Stiles’ hips with a firm grip, guiding his unfettered rhythm as Derek rocks up to meet him.

“Derek,” he gasps, their lips breaking with a wet smack as their foreheads press together, his arms wrapped around Derek’s neck as Derek keeps his hips in check.

“What, baby?” Derek mumbles, their noses brushing as they grind against each other, and without much of a warning, Stiles whimpers again, tiny, broken hums from the bottom of his throat, his back arching as his hips still. Derek knows he’s coming, his hips jerking out of rhythm now as a wet spot spreads over Derek’s leaking cock.

“I’m sorry—” he whimpers out, burying his face into Derek’s neck in mortification. His hips jerk again with a final aftershock, and his hot breath sends a shiver through Derek, fingertips pressing into the boy’s hips, Stiles’ quivering body clinging to him.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” Derek murmurs, his nose brushing along the shell of Stiles’ ear, arms wrapping around him tightly, holding him close. Stiles keeps his face hidden, but Derek wants nothing more than to see his post-haze expression, to watch his eyes as he comes down. He nuzzles against Stiles’ temple, kissing him there because he can’t resist it now, before reaching up to guide his head back up, but Stiles won’t allow it, instead pressing further into Derek’s neck. Derek can feel his lashes, wet with tears as he sniffles and trembles, and Derek frowns as he kisses his hair and runs his hands over Stiles’ back.

“Stiles,” he says, and Stiles just shakes his head, squeezing around him. “Why are you crying, honey, what is it?” Derek asks, worried now as he pets over his spine.

“I don’t want that to be it,” Stiles mumbles, and he’s actually crying now, Derek’s neck sodden with his thick tears. “I didn’t even get you off!” he all but sobs, his voice all strangled and broken, and Derek can’t help the small laugh pulled from his chest, his hands still brushing up and down Stiles’ spine.

“It’s okay, Stiles, it’s not a big deal,” Derek assures him, his hand coming up to cup the back of his head now.

“It is to me!” he insists, finally sitting up as he glowers, face wet and glistening. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamt of this? I…” he bites his lip, sniffling as his face flushes, “I’ve wanted to get you off for years, and I couldn’t even last long enough…” he frowns and buries his face back into Derek’s neck. “And now I won’t get another chance until I’m legal, and you probably won’t even want me then,” he sobs, and Derek rolls his lips between his teeth to keep from laughing.

The poor kid is having a crisis, and Derek doesn’t want to scorch his fragile ego when he’s already so vulnerable and downtrodden. He shushes him, lips pressing over his temple once again, fingertips brushing up and down his spine.

“Stiles, it’s okay,” Derek says, his eyes slipping shut. “Just breathe with me baby, it’s okay.”

Stiles takes in a shuddering breath, his face still hidden, but Derek can feel him attempting to match his breath to Derek’s, until eventually he’s calmed and Derek’s erection has waned.

He’s nearly certain Stiles has fallen asleep, and Derek watches the television without seeing as the weight of what they’ve just done comes down on him.

He’s just had sexual relations with a minor, and the thought of not being able to touch him, to hold him like this again makes Derek want to set himself on fire. It’d be less agonizing, he’s certain of it.

He knew he shouldn’t have allowed the kiss. He saw this coming from miles away, and he still let it happen. Even if it was just a simple kiss and nothing more, it still would have escalated, eventually. Stiles wouldn’t be able to leave him alone, not after finally getting the attention he’s sought out for years, and Derek can’t say he’d be able to, either.

It’s nearly four in the morning by the time Derek nudges him, feeling guilty for waking him when he’s so comfortable and warm against him.

“You should get back to bed,” Derek tells him, and Stiles clings to him again as he shakes his head and presses into Derek’s neck, like if he lets go, there’s no guarantee he’ll be able to feel Derek again, not like this.

Derek’s hand brushes over Stiles’ shorn hair, his lips pressing against Stiles’ temple.

“Come on, baby, we can’t get caught like this. Let me take you to bed,” Derek offers.

“You’ll carry me?” Stiles mutters.

“I’ll carry you,” Derek confirms, reluctant to let him go.

Stiles nods, and as Derek shifts, his legs wrap around Derek’s waist and his arms cling tight to him. Derek turns off the television before hooking his hands under Stiles’ thighs and rising carefully, Stiles’ weight more manageable than he was expecting as he climbs the stairs while the boy clings to him like a monkey. He pauses outside of Eli’s room, and Stiles nuzzles into his neck.

“Can I kiss you again?” Stiles whispers, hardly discernable in the darkened hallway.

Derek nods, and Stiles lifts his head. The only light is from the green LED on the fire alarm above them.

“I mean after this. Do I get to kiss you again?”

With pressed lips, Derek studies Stiles’ face as Stiles’ fingers weave into his hair, his eyes wide as he waits for the answer they both already know.

Reluctantly, Derek nods, and Stiles’ face splits into a hopeful smile before he leans in and seals their lips together. This kiss is short and sweet, a quick succession of them as his legs unravel from Derek’s waist and his feet touch the floor.

“Go to sleep,” Derek murmurs, stealing one last kiss before pushing the door open.

Stiles lingers in the doorway, his smile goofy and endearing, and Derek lets his lips stretch to match.

“Goodnight, Mr. Hale,” he whispers, and Derek rolls his eyes fondly.

“Goodnight, Mr. Stilinski,” he says, and Stiles snatches him by his shirt before pulling him back in for one final kiss.

Derek falls back into bed, pulling the covers over his body and turning away from his wife. The clock glows in the dark room, and he falls asleep in his sticky boxer briefs without much of a struggle.

—

It’s later than usual when Derek wakes up, dragging himself downstairs after his morning routine. Paige is in the kitchen, frittering about has she makes breakfast, and Derek heads directly to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. Stiles and Eli are in the living room with Saturday morning cartoons on, his eyes following Derek as he sips his coffee.

“Morning,” Derek says.

“You’re up later than usual,” Paige greets him, stopping to lean in for a kiss. It feels automatic when their lips press, the warmth gone as quickly as it came. He offers her a weak smile and she returns to her cooking.

“Had a hard time sleeping,” he says, his eyes drifting to Stiles in the living room. His lips curl knowingly before shifting his gaze back to the television.

“Did you have caffeine after four?” Paige asks, flipping a pancake in the pan as her hand falls to her hip.

Derek stares at the pan as she cooks and thinks this conversation is so boring. He doesn’t care if she cares, it just feels like they’re going through the motions, and he can’t stand it.

He looks to Eli and thinks he deserves to have two parents in love. After all, that’s how he came to exist. They may have been young, but they loved each other to the ends of the earth, and he knew when she got pregnant that he was going to be the best father because she would be the best mother and they would make each other better, and together they’d be in love and raise their kid with all the love that existed between them.

But now, when he thinks of love, Paige isn’t the first person who comes to mind.

He thinks of Eli, and his parents, his siblings. Of Isaac, and even his uncle. He thinks of Stiles, his gaze flicking to the eager teen sending him long glances from the couch, and then at the very bottom of that list, there’s Paige. A love of obligation. The mother of his child, his partner of seventeen years, the matron glue of their household. It’s there, but it’s not romantic. A friend he’s known for most of his life, perhaps someone he takes for granted, but not someone he wishes to spend the rest of his existence with. His skin prickles with the thought.

“Babe?” Paige says, and Derek is pulled from his thoughts, brought back to reality, coffee mug pressed against his chest.

“Yeah, probably,” he mumbles, sipping his coffee. “Do you need help?”

Paige smiles and shakes her head. “No, I’m almost done, just go sit,” she says, stepping in to give him another kiss like she’s happy Derek has simply offered to help, and he returns it dutifully before heading into the living room, falling onto the couch beside his son.

“Morning, kiddo,” Derek says, ruffling his hair as he sips his coffee, and then, because he doesn’t want Stiles to feel left out, he tells him good morning, too, before focusing on the television and not giving him much attention.

“Will you take us to Gamestop today?” Eli asks, phone in his hands.

“Why can’t Stiles take you?” Derek asks, brows furrowing before he looks over.

“Guess,” Stiles tells him with a hint of a smirk, and then Derek knows. The Jeep is in the shop again.

Derek sighs. “And how do you suppose you’ll make a purchase?”

“With money, duh,” Eli says proudly.

“Whose?”

“Uncle Peter gave me some, remember?”

Derek purses his lips. Between all the money Eli receives from his aunts and great uncle and grandparents, he’ll never be forced to get a job like Derek wants him to.

He sighs again, the coffee steam blowing back into his face as he takes a sip.

“Please?” Eli whines, stretching out the vowels, and when Stiles joins him, Derek already knows it’s a lost cause.

“Fine, but you have to clean the pool.”

“Done!”

Derek can blame his family all he wants, but he spoils Eli just as much.

Derek pulls Eli in, squeezing him into a side hug as he kisses the top of his head, and Eli groans and attempts to pull away but somehow allows it all the same.

“Breakfast is ready, boys,” Paige calls from the kitchen table, and the youngest scramble to get to their seats first, piling their plates and stuffing their mouths as Derek takes his time chewing and staring off. He doesn’t mean to disassociate, especially when he knows these are the moments he works for in the first place, but with Paige to his left and Stiles at his right, it’s difficult to stay present without feeling overwhelmed.

He cheated on his wife last night, and he has never been a cheater. Maybe lazy at times, and maybe not the greatest husband, but never an adulterer. As Stiles knocks his knee against Derek’s and Paige talks about her week, he realizes the only guilt he feels is that he doesn’t feel guilty at all. That the woman he built this life with isn’t the person he wants to enjoy it with.

They may fight about money and Derek not doing enough to make her feel wanted, and they may resent each other at times for putting themselves in this situation at such a young age, but at the end of the day, she doesn’t deserve a cheating husband. She deserves someone who wants to make her feel wanted, who doesn’t stay in a loveless marriage because it’s the right thing to do for their son, who wants to keep building onto the life they’ve already settled into. 

Even knowing all these things, he can’t bring himself to end this part of his life. This is all he has. This is all he’s ever known.

—

They end up at the mall, because that’s where the ‘better Gamestop is’, and Derek doesn’t complain despite how much he hates the mall. Gamestop won’t be the only stop, he already knows, and he broods as he walks behind them in their glee to visit all their favorite stores. He ends up buying Eli a new hoodie because he spent all his money on the new game he wanted, and he lets them window shop at the skate shop knowing Eli will beg him for something there, too.

While Eli looks at new decks, Stiles checks out the wheels, admiring a set that would match his deck quite nicely before tearing himself away to bother Eli, hands stuffed into his pockets.

When Stiles isn’t looking, Derek asks the shop attendant for the wheel set to set aside for check out.

“Dad!” Eli calls from the other side of the shop, and Derek blinks idly, waiting for the next part. “Dad. Check this one out!”

Derek meanders over and looks at the deck Eli points to. “Cool.”

“Can I get it? Please? Please please please,” he begs, and Derek sighs.

“Don’t you already have two? What do you need another one for?”

Eli frowns and pokes Derek’s arm incessantly. “But this one is limited edition. Dad, come on, please?”

He lets Eli think the answer is no for a while longer before relenting.

“Hell yeah,” Eli says under his breath, snatching the deck off the display. When they reach the counter, Stiles eyes the case again and frowns when he doesn’t see the wheels there anymore, his expression doleful as Eli starts checkout. He doesn’t see the wheels go into the bag, either, and Derek only pulls them out and passes them over once they’re leaving the store.

At first, Stiles is confused, his brows pinching in as he holds the package in his hands, and then he bites his lip with a grin as he meets Derek’s gaze. Derek is thrown off kilter when Stiles assaults him with a hug, his face flushing as he returns it with an awkward laugh.

Derek has hugged Stiles plenty of times, usually at birthdays or after successful games, though they’ve grown less frequent over the years. It’s not unusual for him to show Stiles affection the same way he would with Eli, but it’s different now, the air buzzing with the tension between them, so full he’s certain Eli would take notice if he had any sense for it.

“Thank you, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says, and his voice is entirely too sultry to be appropriate. Derek peeks at his son, who is oblivious now, admiring his new deck.

“You’re welcome, Stiles,” Derek murmurs back, squeezing him gently before releasing him, and Stiles’ arms linger for a few seconds longer before he lets go, face split into a bright grin as he studies Derek’s face.

“Let’s go find some food,” Derek suggests, breaking the tension as his hand falls to the small of Stiles’ back and moves them along. With Eli to his left and Stiles to his right, they meander into the food court as Eli points at other shops he’d like to visit but Derek steers him away from.

They make it to the food court and order their food from three separate places, and Derek sets his tray down at a table near the carousel once they all have their food.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” he says, walking away as they take their seats.

He washes his hands once he enters, glancing at the sketchy urinals before deciding on a stall. As he starts to close the door, someone pushes against it, and he opens his mouth to protest until he realizes it’s only Stiles.

“Hi,” he says with a satisfied smirk, shoving in and locking the door behind him.

Stiles doesn’t give Derek much of a chance to respond, pushing him up against the laminate wall as his arms wrap around Derek’s neck and their lips meet. Derek’s hands automatically fall to Stiles’ hips, returning his kiss without much thought while admiring his soft lips as Stiles’ fingers weave into Derek’s hair. He can feel Stiles smile as their mouths brush, their bodies pressing without much room between, and Stiles slips his tongue in as Derek takes a breath, his hands slipping to cover Stiles’ ass with a squeeze.

Derek only breaks the kiss when he realizes they’ve been in the stall together for far too long, both a bit breathless as Stiles looks up at him from under his lashes. With lips red and swollen, skin as flushed as his mouth, Stiles bites his bottom lip in hesitation, and Derek can nearly see his brain working before he forces the words out.

“Thank you, daddy,” he says, his voice a sultry murmur, and Derek’s breath hitches as he swallows and Stiles’ words run straight to his dick. He can feel his skin heating as he flushes, and it makes Stiles laugh lowly with a mischievous grin, their hips pressing but not close enough.

Derek licks his lips before stealing a quick kiss, reaching up to pinch Stiles’ chin and hold him in place as he leans back and meets his gaze.

“You’re welcome, baby,” he replies, his tone just as low and alluring, and Stiles’ eyes dilate and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his lips parted in stupefaction. This time Derek chuckles under his breath, his other hand squeezing the flesh of his ass. “Come on, we’ve been in here too long.”

“Wait,” Stiles squeaks out, his lips turning down as his fingers tighten in Derek’s hair and he presses impossibly closer. He searches Derek’s gaze, and Derek knows what he wants, but there’s simply no time.

“We can’t, baby,” Derek tells him, pushing off the wall but making no other effort to push Stiles off him. He might actually be incapable of it.

His frown turns into a pout, his eyes wide as he blinks. “I wanted to give you a proper ‘thank you’.”

Derek smirks, his fingers hooking around the base of Stiles’ skull, thumb brushing over his soft cheek. “Later.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, angel,” Derek says, and Stiles’ pout breaks into a pleased grin as he leans in to steal a few more kisses. Derek can’t help the smile stretching his lips, squeezing his ass one final time before patting it and releasing him. “Go on, I actually have to piss.”

Stiles’ brows furrow.

“You piss in stalls?”

Derek blinks incredulously. “Yeah, there’s freaks out there. Now get out of here you little creep.”

Stiles snorts and exits the stall, and Derek has to coax his muscles into letting him piss while his dick is half hard before he stuffs himself back in.

Eli is on his phone when Derek takes his seat, and Stiles does a terrible job of suppressing his smirk as he stuffs a handful of fries in his mouth. He nudges Eli with his elbow and mumbles, “Ask him, dude,” under his breath.

He looks up from his phone, side-eyeing Stiles with pursed lips. “You act like you can’t just ask him yourself.”

Derek smirks, and Stiles blinks at Eli expectantly, waiting, until he turns to his father and asks boredly, “Can Stiles spend the night again?”

“Sure, as long as his dad is fine with it,” Derek says, eyeing Stiles as he sips his drink. The thought of the Sheriff makes his skin prickle, but he pushes it aside.

“He’s very fine with it,” Stiles tells him, and it’s settled.

—

It’s nearly three in the morning when Stiles creeps all the way to the basement. Derek has the TV on as he nurses a glass of whiskey and waits, skin buzzing as he swipes his palms over his knees. He has the thought that he shouldn’t be allowing this, he shouldn’t be waiting for his son’s underage best friend to meet him in the basement after everyone has fallen asleep, shouldn’t be excited at the thought of touching a teenager’s skin and admiring the flush that follows. And then Stiles straddles his lap like he belongs there, his ass perched perfectly on Derek’s crotch as their lips meet, and the thought melts away.

As wrong as it is, sitting here and holding him feels righter than the wife he has asleep in their bed.

“Eli took forever to fall asleep,” Stiles grumbles, hands on Derek’s shoulders as his forearms rest over Derek’s chest.

“You’re here now, baby,” Derek tells him, his hands slipping under Stiles’ shirt and resting at his waist. Stiles searches his gaze, his eyes dark in the dim light, and Derek loves that he doesn’t have to guess what’s on his mind, the boy offering it up just as he’s offered himself.

“How long have you thought of this?” Stiles asks, his head tilting curiously as his thumbs caress over Derek’s collarbones.

“Thought of what?” Derek’s hands run along his sides, admiring his soft skin, his warmth and willingness to lean into every touch.

“Of me. Of us,” Stiles clarifies, reaching up to stroke Derek’s cheek as if compelled to feel his salt and pepper scruff.

“Probably about as long as you,” Derek replies, though that’s not entirely true—he’s trying not to hurt Stiles’ feelings because it’s not like Derek thought a skinny twelve-year-old was all that hot. Really, it’s only been about a year, if that.

At least he’s not a complete and total pervert.

His hands cup Stiles’ rib cage as he thumbs over Stiles’ nipples, and Stiles shivers and shifts in Derek’s lap, his hips rocking down of their own volition.

“You thought of touching me like this?” Stiles wonders, his voice higher as he attempts to keep focus on their conversation and not his growing erection.

“Sometimes,” Derek answers honestly, thumbing over his nipples again as they harden under the pad of his thumbs. A small hum leaves Stiles’ throat, a quick little whimper as his face already starts to redden. Derek can’t help but admire how sensitive he is, his body reacting to every one of Derek’s touches. “What did you think of?”

He blushes and chews at his bottom lip, eyelashes fluttering each time Derek swipes over his nipples.

“Tell me, baby,” Derek says, his voice low as he swipes his hands down Stiles’ sides, gripping at his hips before rocking them down. Stiles’ breath catches in his throat as their cocks brush through thin cotton layers Derek is determined to get rid of this round.

Stiles licks his lips nervously, his gaze lowering as he flushes. “I thought of… of sucking you off. And eating you out… and your fingers stretching me.” He bites his lip and dares to meet Derek’s gaze again. “I thought of a lot of things.”

Derek grins, his thumbs pressing into the dips of his hips, fingertips over the pulp of his ass under the elastic band. “Yeah? You wanna taste me, baby?”

He nods, his skin so red Derek can feel the heat of it as he presses into Derek’s neck and hides his face. Derek laughs lowly, nuzzling his cheek over Stiles’ temple before kissing the shell of his ear and murmuring, “We can do whatever you want, sweetheart, there’s no rush.”

Stiles keeps his face tucked away, his lips brushing over Derek’s collarbone as he nods again with a light shudder. Derek lets his hand swipe up the column of Stiles’ spine, pressing him close as he grinds his hips up.

For as brash and cheeky as Stiles is on any other given day, he’s just as shy once Derek has him in his lap, a blushing virgin that turns Derek on more than he’d ever care to admit. Something about him being untouched makes Derek’s mouth water, as if being the first to feel him like this marks Stiles as his forever no matter what happens to them.

That, and, knowing Stiles and how long he’s been pining for Derek, it’s likely he’s been saving himself for Derek this entire time. Like he’s set himself aside, reserved for someone he didn’t know would ever come.

“Did you save yourself for me?” Derek asks, his voice husky as he drags his fingertips back down over the vertebrae, letting them slip under the elastic as he teases along the seam of Stiles’ ass. Stiles gasps, fingers clutching to the fabric of Derek’s shirt with another nod.

“Yes,” Stiles breathes out, and Derek spreads his cheeks apart before brushing a fingertip over his hole. With as close as he is, Derek can feel Stiles’ heart beating against his sternum.

“Yes, what?”

It takes him a moment, his quick breath puffing over Derek’s neck as his clever brain works it out.

“Yes, daddy,” Stiles murmurs, pushing back against Derek’s finger.

Derek circles over the puckered skin, his other hand squeezing at Stiles’ hip.

“That’s my good boy,” Derek mumbles, and Stiles shudders against him as his hips roll down, hole fluttering under Derek’s fingertip. He pulls his hand away to push Stiles’ underwear over the pulp of his ass, and Stiles whines, finally bringing his head back up to meet Derek’s gaze with his eyebrows pinched in disapproval. Derek doesn’t look away as he licks his fingers and presses them right back to his hole, and Stiles’ pants as he grips Derek’s shirt, his face flushed and gorgeous, mouth parted as he frots back and forth, unsure where to seek his pleasure now as his cock drools a wet spot through his boxers.

Derek leans in and captures his lips, letting his fingers slip further down to tease the sensitive skin before fondling at his balls, and Stiles lets out a low moan as Derek slips his tongue in, caressing over Stiles’ as the boy pants into his mouth. His other arm wraps around Stiles’ waist before he shifts him on to the couch, mouths breaking apart as Derek settles between his spread legs. Wide eyes look up at him expectantly, chest undulating, fingers still grasping at Derek’s shirt.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” Derek tells him, his thumb stroking over Stiles’ cheek, and Stiles presses into his touch, his dark eyes never parting.

“You are, too, daddy,” he says lowly, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth, and Derek leans in to kiss him again, beginning at his mouth before trailing along his chin and at his neck, shoving his shirt aside as his hands explore fresh warm skin. He shifts down further, and Stiles shivers each time Derek’s scruff brushes over his stomach, his fingertips hooking over the elastic band before shoving it down.

Stiles blushes, covering his face in the nook of his elbow as his cock bobbles before resting over his abdomen. Derek’s eyebrows shoot up, unable to hide his surprise at the flushed cock in front of him, much bigger than he was expecting on a sixteen-year-old boy.

“Don’t hide your face from me, baby,” Derek tells him as his fingers wrap around the thick shaft, stroking up with practiced ease before swiping his flat tongue over the leaking tip. Stiles gasps and keeps his face hidden, hips bucking up with a stifled whimper. Derek waits, squeezing on the upstroke before pausing, and finally, Stiles moves his arm away, his face as flushed as his cock.

“Good boy,” Derek says with a smile, and Stiles’ breath picks up, his hand gripping the couch cushion as he forces himself to keep eye contact. Derek can tell he’s already so close, a clear bead of precum drooling from the slit that he laps up just as quickly, and Stiles’ abdomen flutters as he attempts to hold himself back. Derek does it again, and again, Stiles sucking in sharp breaths each time, and, knowing Stiles will come as soon as Derek swallows him, finally covers the crown with his mouth, hardly suckling at all before Stiles is tensing up with desperate little whimpers. His fingertips press on Derek’s shoulder in warning, as if it would keep him from delaying the inevitable. 

“Derek—” he says, his voice cracking, and Derek hums around him, watching his eyes glaze over as he comes, lashes fluttering, skin red in his open vulnerability that he’s never been forced to reckon with until now. He’s determined until the last minute to keep his face in sight, and then, as the salty bitterness spreads over Derek’s tongue, he turns away and hides his face in the nook of his arm again, quiet whimpers humming in his throat with each wave that passes through him. Derek milks him through it, until there’s nothing left and the boy jerks away as the oversensitivity sets in.

Derek slips his underwear back over his hips on his way up, kissing inside his thighs and brushing his hands along his sides, mesmerized by how soft he is. He kisses Stiles’ neck, and then his cheek, and then his forehead, and Stiles’ hands come to hold his face and slot their lips together in a wet kiss, his tongue sneaking in to taste himself as Derek presses over him. His cock has been leaking this whole time, skirting the edge as he pulled the orgasm from the teen trapped beneath him, perfectly content to neglect his erection in favor of pleasing Stiles instead.

Stiles breaks the kiss, his quick breath puffing over Derek’s face, and Derek shifts so his full weight isn’t pressing against him. Stiles’ hands still hold his face, his amber gaze shifting between Derek’s eyes.

“I want to get you off,” Stiles says, thumbs grazing over Derek’s scruffy cheeks.

“Okay, baby,” Derek tells him, pressing their foreheads together as their noses brush. He kisses him again, because he can’t resist, and now it’s Stiles’ turn to slip his hands beneath Derek’s boxers as they make out, his long fingers spreading Derek’s cheeks apart as he teases at Derek’s hole.

“Can I eat you out?” Stiles asks, and Derek takes in a deep breath as his head drops to Stiles’ shoulder, his hole fluttering.

“Yeah,” Derek breathes out, his voice higher than usual as his hips buck forward, the wet spot spreading in his boxers. How can he say no to such a request?

He realizes he has to shift positions for that and pulls himself up, kissing Stiles along the way before he ends up bent over the couch, Stiles between his spread legs, his hot tongue tasting over Derek’s pulsating hole. He can’t remember the last time he’d been eaten out—it’s not something Paige prefers to do, but she’s done it for his sake and been put off by how much it turned him on. As a compromise, she’s pegged him, but not nearly as often as Derek would prefer.

He's really trying not to think of her right now as Stiles’ eager tongue explores, drool coating him and gathering in beads that slip over his balls, panting as he presses into the couch cushion. His back arches into the wet mouth, Stiles’ thumbs spreading him apart as his tongue sharpens and pushes inside of him.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” Derek gasps out, his eyes rolling back.

Stiles is ostensibly set on fulfilling one of his wildest dreams, his sloppy tongue circling and stroking and pressing into him, lips covering the puckered skin before he moves along his taint, suckling, drooling just to spread his tongue wide and lap it back up. He sucks a testicle into his mouth, and Derek’s cock twitches, leaking precum as a thumb teases over his hole and Stiles moans around him.

“Jesus, you’re gonna make me come, baby,” Derek breathes out, his voice skipping when Stiles’ mouth covers his hole and sucks, and in this moment he’s thankful for the powers that be for oral fixations and curious tongues, his skin hot and damp, warmth pooling in his groin. Stiles’ tongue presses inside him once again, sharp and probing, tasting as much of Derek as he can, his hands squeezing over Derek’s ass cheeks, holding him in place—and then Derek is coming, hole clenching, body stilling with a low moan and a good boy, fuck, yeah, such a good boy.

“Daddy,” Stiles squeaks out, “can I come on your hole?”

An aftershock spills out of him, cock pulsing as he nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah, baby, of course, come on my hole,” he says, as if it shouldn’t even be a question.

Derek can hear the shuffling as Stiles pulls his dick out and strokes himself just once, his hot cum spattering over Derek’s wet hole in erratic pulses, and Derek shudders, the ring of muscles fluttering. Stiles’ breath is hot over him once again, licking him clean as if that were his intention the entire time.

They sit on the couch afterward and Derek thinks he could use a cigarette as he sips his whiskey and stares at the television screen in a daze. Stiles is tucked under Derek’s arm, nodding off after coming twice, forehead pressing against Derek’s neck as his arm drapes over Derek’s abdomen.

The ticking clock on the wall reads three in the morning, and Derek finds himself wishing he could fall asleep with him, curled up on the couch with a blanket over them, Stiles’ drooling over his shirt, warm and safe against Derek’s side.

Derek presses his lips to Stiles’ head, breathing him in as he closes his eyes and thinks, this boy is going to be the death of me.

Chapter Text

The boys are in the pool when Derek gets home from work, a dreadful Wednesday that he’s grateful is over now as he’s greeted by his two favorite people in the world.

“Hey, dad,” Eli yells out, just as Stiles tosses a foam basketball at his head. Eli scoffs and splashes him with water, and Stiles flinches back with a laugh as he meets Derek’s gaze.

“Hey, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says, eyes shining as he dodges another splash attack from Eli. “You wanna play?”

Derek eyes them as he steps up to the edge of the pool, hands in his pockets. “No, I don’t think I will. How was your day?”

“Good,” Stiles answers for the both of them as Eli treads water behind him, “how was yours?” Stiles asks, his fingers hooking over the edge of the pool right in front of Derek’s form, eyes blinking up innocuously as his lips slant into a smirk. He’s centered right between Derek’s partially spread legs, honey eyes shining in the lowering sun.

“Terrible. But it’s over now,” and I get to see your face is implied. He loosens his tie as he holds Stiles’ gaze and watches him swallow as his eyes slip to Derek’s hand and back.

“Glad you’re home,” Stiles says, and it doesn’t seem to raise any bells with Eli as he pulls himself up onto a plastic chaise and floats over the water.

“Me, too,” he says, letting that settle in the air as they share a long look before he glances up at Eli paddling the water with his feet.

“You sure you don’t wanna play?” Stiles asks, his eyebrows raising.

“Maybe later,” Derek says, tearing himself away before they get into trouble with their lingering stares and suggestive conversation. He wishes he just stayed out there with them when Paige greets him as he walks into the kitchen.

“Hi,” she says, shoving a tray of seasoned vegetables in the oven. “The Sheriff should be here soon, dinner should be ready then.”

Derek’s brows furrow. “The Sheriff?”

Her brows mirror his as she washes her hands. “Yes, I thought it’d be nice to invite him over for a homecooked meal, is that okay with you?”

Derek blinks, a bit thrown off by the attitude.

“Yeah of course, why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, his tone more defensive than intended. Might have something to do with engaging in sexual acts with the Sheriff’s underage son in a town he governs with deputies and guns.

The Sheriff is about fifteen years older than Derek, but since their sons are the same age and they’ve been neighbors for just as long, Derek considers him a friend. They once shared many beers over broadcasted games when the boys were younger and he was a deputy with a lighter schedule, but it’s been different without Claudia. He’s chosen workaholic over alcoholic, all under the guise of saving as much as he can for his son’s college—as if Stiles wouldn’t earn scholarships wherever he wanted to go, anyway. Hence why Stiles is over here all the time.

“Well, I don’t know, Derek, you’re the one who seems thrown off like he doesn’t eat with us at least once a week.”

Derek takes in a deep breath, a transition into the next moment as he shakes his head and picks his battles. He’d ask her what’s wrong, but he doesn’t want to get into it. She’ll start bitching about anything and everything that’s bothering her and not just the thing setting her off in this moment, and it’s not worth getting into a fight. His life is exponentially easier when he just lets Paige have her way.

Instead, he asks, “Do you need help?” hoping that’ll improve her mood, and she points to the dishes as she wipes her hands on a towel and walks away.

God, this dinner is going to be fun.

Stiles sits next to him at the round table, his foot hooking around Derek’s ankle as if drawn to him by static electricity, and it puts Derek on edge, the hair at the back of his neck raising as he glances over at the Sheriff. It’s never been awkward with him until now, but Derek finds himself struggling with how to act when his son is glomming on to Derek right under his nose.

“You staying out of trouble, Sherrif?” Derek asks, resorting to his standby whenever they catch up. He stuffs a roasted potato in his mouth as Stiles’ hand falls to his thigh under the table.

“I haven’t been accused of anything yet,” Sheriff says, like he always does. Stiles rolls his eyes, his lips quirked as his fingertips brush over the inside of Derek’s knee. “By the way, Stiles, Lydia came into the station today.” His eyebrows raise a fraction as he meets Stiles’ gaze. “Said she was looking for you.”

Stiles furrows his brows, his hand in his lap now as he stabs a potato. “Why?”

“I don’t know, son, maybe you should ask her tomorrow at school,” the Sheriff says with a smug smile, like he’s proud of his son for gaining the attention of a pretty girl. 

Stiles' gaze trails away as if attempting to figure out her motive, and Derek can see the moment something clicks in his face before bringing his gaze back to his father. 

“How’s the new deputy doing?” Stiles asks, “Parrish, was it?”

“He’s good, I like him a lot. Glad I hired him.”

“He was there today?”

“Yeah, why?” the Sheriff asks, cutting his steak.

“No reason,” Stiles says, his own smug smile stretching his lips now as he takes a giant bite and chews. “I’ll see her tomorrow.”

“She’s a beautiful girl,” the Sheriff says, just an observation, and Stiles’ face turns to vivid disgust.

“Dad, ew. You can’t just say that about teenage girls.”

The Sheriff purses his lips with a stern glare. “Stiles, you know what I mean. All I’m saying is it’s not every day a pretty girl comes in asking about you. Didn't you used to have a crush on her?"

Derek stares off, disassociating now—a common ritual at mealtimes—wondering why Stiles is so interested in him when a beautiful girl like Lydia is going to his father’s place of work and asking about him, and then he thinks whatever this is between them is preventing Stiles from living his teenage life like he should be.

Derek shouldn’t even be with him, should have never entertained the thought, should have never even hinted there was a chance of this because there simply shouldn’t have been. He’s a kid, Derek is a grown man. Stiles should have a girlfriend his age, he should be exploring his sexuality with people his own age.

It’s not like Derek hasn’t known these things the whole time. The Sheriff’s presence might have something to do with this fresh clarity, and he thinks of the roles reversed—if the Sheriff, god forbid, ever touched Eli in any way and Derek were to find out about it, no one would ever be able to find his body, not even Stiles in all his savage cleverness and curiosity. If the Sheriff weren’t an honorable man, Derek is certain he’d have the same fate.

Their relationship is not right, it’s not appropriate, Derek is a terrible person for ever letting this happen, and he needs to end it before it gets out of hand.

He can see Stiles glance at him from the corner of his eyes, and he keeps his gaze averted as he takes another bite of his meal and thinks of how he’s going to end this thing, whatever this is.

Stiles helps with the dishes despite Derek insisting he go spend time with his father in the living room, all the while wondering how he’s going to break up with him, as if he could even call it that.

“Can I come over later?” Stiles mumbles to him, drying a dish too big to stick into the dishwasher before storing it.

Derek shakes his head.

“Not tonight,” he mutters back, their hushed tones undetectable from the living room as he avoids Stiles’ gaze. The energy is off between them, and Derek knows Stiles can feel it, the boy sending worried glances over at him every so often as they crowd in the living room with the rest of everyone else. Eli sits in the loveseat, Switch in his hands and his mind elsewhere, and Stiles sits beside him as Derek takes his seat next to Paige on the couch.

They watch a movie like they always do after dinner with the Sheriff, and Stiles keeps sending him glances as he chews at his thumbnail and fidgets in his seat, eventually pulling out his phone and scrolling as if to ease his anxiety. Derek ignores him, doesn’t offer any meaningful glances, instead staring at the Sheriff in the recliner every so often as the movie plays.

“Thanks for coming, Sheriff,” Paige tells him with a quick hug at the door.

Stiles hugs Paige first, and then Derek as he says, “Thank you for dinner,” his breath warm at Derek’s neck.

Derek returns the hug because it’d look weird if he didn’t now, patting his back awkwardly to encourage a quick release. Stiles pulls back, a silent question in his eyes, and Derek forces a smile with a quick wave.

“Anytime. Goodnight, you two,” Derek says, closing the door as Stiles glances back over his shoulder.

The idea of letting him go is daunting, Derek’s nerves fried at the thought. But he’s got to do the right thing, not just for Stiles, but for everyone else, too. It’s not just Stiles’ and Derek’s lives as they know it on the line, no matter how much it feels that way when they’re together and the world outside them ceases to exist.

The Sheriff would never forgive him. Derek’s family would never forgive him. Eli would never forgive him—and that hurts just as much as keeping Stiles in his clutches, like some territorial beast willing to burn the world down for the one they love.

Briefly, Derek thinks, he would burn the world down for Stiles, would tear anyone limb-from-limb were Stiles taken from him.

It’s romantic in theory, but in reality, it’s selfish to keep Stiles to himself, and he wants Stiles to live the life he deserves, to have a good adolescence and well-adjusted relationships with his peers. That doesn’t include a thirty-six-year-old boyfriend who happens to be the father of his best friend.

As he stares at the ceiling and his wife sleeps beside him, Derek knows he’ll have to break his heart, just as he knows the exact number of days left until his eighteenth birthday.

—

“Stiles needs a ride today,” Eli says as he shoves a spoonful of cereal into his mouth and scrolls through his phone.

“Alright,” Derek says, finishing his coffee before rinsing the cup. At this point, Stiles is basically carless, relying heavily on Derek to get to school like he always did before he got his license. The Jeep has maybe had one good run the week right after Stiles’ birthday. It’s been sitting useless in the garage ever since.

Stiles is waiting at the end of the driveway when Derek pulls out, slipping into the back seat as he glances at Derek in the rearview mirror and buckles in. He looks tired, his eyes a bit hollow as he holds Derek’s gaze before Derek looks away and starts the drive to school.

Eli gets out first, the door slamming shut, and Stiles acts like he’s about to get out and then doesn’t, scooting into the middle and leaning over the center console.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, canting his head to view Derek’s face better, and Derek sucks in a deep breath as he grips the steering wheel, looking forward. He doesn’t want to get into this right now, not before the day has really started, and he doesn’t want to make Stiles anxious all day waiting for the conversation Derek needs to have with him.

So he turns to meet Stiles’ gaze, his heart sinking the way Stiles looks at him all wide-eyed and hopeful, and says, “Yeah, baby, I’ll see you later. Have a good day for me.”

Stiles is quiet for a beat, his eyebrows furrowed. “Okay,” he says, and because Derek has tinted windows, Stiles feels bold enough to kiss his cheek. “Have a good day, daddy.”

Derek flushes a bit and swallows with a quick nod, and Stiles jumps when Eli knocks on the window, his ‘hello?’ muffled through the glass.

The day drags. He wants to see Stiles but dreads it all the same. It feels as immoral to break his heart as it is to stay with him, like Derek is picking off his wings.

It’s only to keep him from flying too close to the sun.

After his trip to the gym and a quick stop at the grocery store, Derek arrives home and Stiles isn’t there, a small win for Derek as he takes his time to transition into house clothes and get dinner started. From the basement den, Derek can recognize Cora’s laugh and assumes they’ll be down there most of the night. At least he gets the main floor to himself this evening.

“No Stiles for dinner today?” Derek asks when Eli stomps downstairs, always quick to come out of his room once he smells food.

“No, he had a date with Lydia,” Eli says.

A jealous frost spreads from Derek’s heart and through his veins. He shouldn’t be so upset, this is what he wants for Stiles, what the kid should be doing. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“She’s softened up to him over the years, hasn’t she?” Derek says, grabbing a bowl to fix Eli a serving of spaghetti.

“I guess. They have all the same classes,” Eli says, helping himself to the garlic bread. “They’re probably talking about Greek philosophy or like, business secrets of the pharaohs or something.”

Derek’s lips curl fondly.

“Because pharaohs had business secrets.”

“Yeah, duh.”

Derek snorts and makes his own plate. Paige is in a much better mood with Cora here as they chat over nothing Derek cares much about, a bit wine drunk as she smiles at Derek across the table like she’s forgotten whatever it was that pissed her off yesterday. Eli sips his drink and watches them, and Derek remembers he’s doing the right thing for everyone.

It’s after eight when Stiles shows up. He runs right up to Eli’s room, only leaving once Paige and Derek have turned in. Derek hears the door to Eli’s room shut, the light pad of his gait as he steps in front of their door.

“Goodnight mom and dad,” Stiles says, his eyes lingering on Derek with a careful smile.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Paige says, marking her place in her book before setting it on her nightstand and turning off her bedside light.

“Goodnight,” Derek says, his finger holding his place between the book pages as he watches Stiles turn and descend. He waits a moment, reading the same line in his book before snapping it shut.

“I think I left something on in the kitchen,” Derek says. Paige hums in acknowledgment as she makes herself comfortable, and Derek slips away to meet Stiles waiting for him outside.

It’s a chilly spring night, and Stiles shivers as he folds his arms over his chest and stares at Derek expectantly.

“Let’s go to the garage,” Derek mumbles, tipping his head in that direction. He holds the door open for Stiles and follows him inside, flicking on the light as he closes the door. Stiles keeps his distance, his body language standoffish and unsure.

Derek takes a deep breath and swipes his hand over his beard, glancing around the garage before forcing himself to meet Stiles’ gaze. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” Stiles asks, his voice small and his eyes glossy.

Derek opens his mouth to speak, only taking a breath instead before closing his mouth and nodding as he holds Stiles’ gaze.

The saltwater wells in his eyes, and he looks away as he blinks a few times in succession before glancing back over. “Do I get a say in this?”

“No,” Derek says, his head shaking subtly. “You know why we need to stop.”

Tears spill over his cheeks, and he looks down, his shoe scuffing over the concrete floor, arms still crossed as he holds himself in a hug. Derek wants to pull him in a tight embrace and keep him there.

“Yeah, but I don’t want it to,” he says quietly, his voice precarious as he attempts to hold back the dam of tears. Then he looks back up, his lashes wet, the tip of his nose red. “I just want you. I don’t care about anything else.”

Derek frowns, his heart breaking to cause such pain, to witness his candid sadness. He’s so pretty when he cries, but Derek doesn’t like these tears glistening over his cheeks. They’re the kind of tears that spill from the bottom of the well and stick, resinous tears that do nothing but declare his melancholy. He doesn’t deserve to feel this kind of pain.

“I know,” Derek says, ‘baby’ on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back and looks away.

Stiles sniffles, another round of tears spilling, and Derek simply can’t take it; he pulls Stiles into a hug, and Stiles’ tears turn to full on sobs as he clutches to Derek’s shirt, wet face tucked under his chin.

“Please,” Stiles tries, his voice grainy. “I just want to be with you, please.”

Derek’s nose grazes over his hair as he breathes out, letting his eyes fall shut as he holds him one last time.

“I want that, too, but I can’t take away your adolescence. You should be enjoying your life as a teenager, dating people your own age, Stiles.”

“I don’t like people my age,” he cries, his head popping up to meet Derek’s gaze. “Have you met people my age? They’re idiots!”

The corners of Derek’s mouth quirk up as he reaches to swipe away his tears.

“What about Lydia? She’s on your level, you should give her a chance,” Derek tells him despite the burning ache in his chest when he says it. The thought of Stiles being with anyone doesn’t sit well with him, but if he has to be with someone, Lydia is a solid choice.

Stiles rears his head back, brows furrowed. “Is this about Lydia?”

Derek purses his lips, head shaking. “I’m just saying, you have options that aren’t illegal.”

“Lydia and I have many things in common—”

“Like your age,” Derek interjects, and Stiles glares.

“And one of them is preferring older men,” Stiles finishes, eyebrows raised. “She was visiting the station for Jordan, not me. I’m just her cover when she goes.” Stiles’ gaze locks in, determined, and Derek’s heart unclenches with relief.

“I’ve had a crush on you since the fifth grade,” Stiles says, as if this should explain everything, his spiky eyelashes clumping together each time he blinks. “No one else has ever compared to you. No one,” he insists, gaze searching. “If you break up with me, I’ll just wait for you. I won’t ever date anyone else because I don’t want anyone else.”

“Stiles,” Derek says with a frown, brows furrowing, “you can’t just sit around waiting for me, I’d never ask you to do that.”

“I don’t care. I’ll wait for you. I only want you, I’ve known that for years now. Only you,” Stiles insists, fresh tears gathering.

“Stiles,” Derek says again, exasperated. To hear those words and still uphold his decision could be studied.

He can’t believe he’s letting him go.

Derek shakes his head before tearing his gaze away, heart pounding as he looks around the garage—the ladder hanging from the ceiling, the drumkit stuffed into the corner, toolboxes lining the wall. He returns his gaze with a frown, watching fresh tears coat Stiles’ cheeks.

“Listen,” Derek starts, reaching to hold Stiles’ face. Stiles leans into his touch, pressing his hand over Derek’s as if to keep him from pulling away. “I don’t want to do this, okay? I don’t want to break your heart. I…” he pauses, debating if he should say the next words that spill from his mouth regardless, “I want to be with you too, baby, more than anything. But now is not the right time. What if we get caught? Do you realize what would happen to me? To Eli, and Paige? What your father would do to me? This is my life, Stiles, and I need you to understand that. If we get caught, I’m facing prison, for life if your dad has anything to say about it. Do you want that?”

Stiles sniffles and blinks, his head shaking gently as he holds Derek’s gaze, his hands curling around Derek’s wrists as Derek holds his face.

“No, but…” he licks tears from his lips, fingers squeezing, “what am I supposed to do without you?”

Derek is quiet, gathering his thoughts as he looks over Stiles’ sad face.

“I’m not going anywhere, Stiles. I’ll still be here for you like I always have. But we need to end this, okay? You know it’s not right.”

“It feels right to me,” he says, his voice gravelly. Tears keep spilling, and Derek keeps wiping them away. “I know you feel it, too.”

With a heavy sigh, Derek closes his eyes and presses their foreheads together. Nothing feels righter than this, just being here with him, sharing the same breath. Stiles is right, he always is, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay.

“I do,” Derek admits, and Stiles presses in closer, his hands curling into Derek’s shirt. “But we can’t, baby. The world doesn’t see it the same way we do.”

Stiles buries himself into Derek’s neck with quiet sobs that shatter what’s left of Derek’s already broken heart. He hates this, hates doing this to someone he has so much love for—he just wants Stiles to be happy, that’s all. If Derek ends up in prison, Stiles would not be very happy.

He frowns, clutching him close, because who knows how long it’ll be before Derek can hold him again.

“Please do this for me, Stiles. For us. If this is meant to be, then we can wait.”

These words seem to calm him a bit, his sniffles subsiding as he nods carefully. His wet face is still pressed at Derek’s neck, his body trembling from the sheer devastation.

Derek may have underestimated how much and how long Stiles has wanted this. For them to be together is the kid’s dream come true—and he had it, but now it’s slipping through his fingers, and that’s got to be so difficult for him. It’s difficult enough for Derek, his stomach in knots about it.

His nerves are wrecked either way. They can sneak around and risk getting caught, always living with that potential hanging over them. Or they can keep the sex and the romance out of their relationship while pining for the other, knowing that they want each other but keeping themselves from acting on it. Both ideas make him want to vomit, but the latter is the only way to ensure Derek can still be here for him when the time is right.

“For us,” Stiles repeats, his voice gravelly. He clears his throat and swallows, his head lifting to meet Derek’s gaze. His eyes are wet and red, lashes stuck together, tears and snot glistening over his upper lip. He’s a fucking wreck, and the most gorgeous person Derek has ever laid eyes on.

He reaches to swipe his thumb under Stiles’ nose, and Stiles frowns as he makes his eyes big and stares through his lashes. Derek closes the rest of the space between their mouths, fingertips pressing into his skull as he holds Stiles in place, just a soft kiss, lingering and bittersweet. He pulls away before Stiles can build on it, meeting his gaze again, thumbs brushing over his soggy cheeks. He kisses Stiles’ forehead, and Stiles grips his hands before they slip away, wet lashes fluttering with solemn blinks as fresh tears flood over his cheeks.

Stiles opens his mouth to speak, and Derek can sense the words on the tip of his tongue, knows what he wants to say because Derek feels them, too.

Derek shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says, eyebrows knit in a frown.

More tears well, but Stiles nods slowly, face burning before he looks down and wipes at his eyes. He brings his gaze back, so sad and wet, and stares at Derek for a long time, his mouth pressed in a frown as if waiting for Derek to change his mind.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Derek tells him, resisting the yearning to reach out and comfort him again.

“Goodnight,” Stiles says solemnly, and Derek opens the door and watches him walk away. Stiles glances over his shoulder, cheeks glistening, and disappears.

Derek forces himself back inside, back into the house sheltering his family, the bed he shares with his wife, and thinks he must be the dumbest, stupidest idiot in the milky way to ever let Stiles go.

—

“Dad,” Eli says, poking Derek awake. “Dad dad dad dad.”

“What?” Derek snaps, shifting in bed as he pulls his pillow close and buries his face into it.

“Mom’s gone. Can we go out for breakfast?”

Derek peeks an eye open, brow furrowed. “Where is she?”

“Aunt Cora’s. Can we go to Mack’s?”

Derek inhales a sharp breath, his eye closing again as he stretches out under the covers. “Yeah, that’s fine. Give me a minute.”

“Yesss,” Eli says, and Derek imagines him punching the air in triumph.

Derek gives himself a few more minutes before pulling himself out of bed. He does some quick stretches before dragging his feet into the bathroom, taking his morning piss, splashing water on his face, brushing his teeth, fixing his hair. By the time he’s dressed and made his way downstairs, Eli has impatiently yelled at him several times.

“Can I drive?” he asks, bouncing up and down excitedly, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Derek says, refraining from having too much annoyed sass in his tone. It’s entirely too early for this kind of energy on a Saturday. “What’s with you this morning? Since when do I sleep in longer than you?”

“Nothing,” Eli says, a terrible liar as they load into the car. Derek has to remind him to open the garage door before he pulls out, and use his blinker, and stay in the right lane, but somehow they get there in one piece, even though he parks over the lines and Derek forces him to correct it.

“What is the rush, kid? Jesus,” Derek says as Eli scrambles out of the car.

“Nothing,” Eli insists, hands in his hoodie pockets. They make their way inside the diner, packed with the Saturday breakfast rush, and manage to get seated soon enough. Eli fidgets in the booth across from Derek, his fingers peeling at the menu, his eyes darting around the café like he’s looking for someone before his head bows over the menu. Derek glances around before meeting his gaze again.

“Eli, what’s your deal?” Derek asks, and Eli grumbles another nothing and flips the menu over as his eyes peruse the text. Their server finally drifts over to them, his smile nearly blinding when he catches Eli’s face, and Eli lightens up, his skin flushing as he looks up at the server with a half-smile, bottom lip between his teeth.

“Hey, Eli,” the server says, his head tilting curiously as he glances over to Derek and back to Eli.

“Hey, Liam,” Eli says, and the cadence of his voice, the light in his eyes, the flush over his face and his jittery energy explains everything.

“Oh,” Derek says under his breath, an eyebrow quirking curiously as he glances between the two before he looks back at the menu. They share a look Derek doesn’t quite catch within his line of sight, but it’s clear both of them are excited the other is here.

“Do you need some more time? I can always come back,” Liam says after a beat, eyebrows raising as he gestures behind him with his thumb.

“No, I’m ready. Dad, are you ready?”

“Sure,” Derek starts, ordering his food before passing along the menu. Liam collects it and focuses solely on Eli, nodding as Eli orders, a smile stretching his lips.

“Okay, I’ll be back with your drinks,” Liam says, and Eli watches him walk away, his arms folded over the table as he bounces a bit in his seat.

Derek meets his gaze, an eyebrow raising as he mirrors his son.

“Liam Dunbar?”

Derek is met with silence as Eli holds his gaze and blinks as if that should be enough of an explanation.

“You two have been fighting since you were in grade school,” Derek points out, his head tilting as he studies his son. Eli doesn’t say a word as Liam approaches with their drinks, his gaze set on Eli the entire time.

“I’ll be back soon,” Liam says, and Derek is pretty sure that was a wink. Jesus, cocky much.

Waiting until he walks away, Derek says, “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Eli tears open his straw and shrugs, stuffing it into his drink. “Things changed. It’s different with him now.”

Derek’s eyebrows twitch up in surprise. Now that he thinks about it, it makes perfect sense. They’ve gotten each other in trouble enough, as if their fighting was all pretense to cover up scary blossoming feelings for a boy.

“I didn’t know you were interested in boys,” Derek says carefully, his head canting. Eli’s had crushes on girls, but Derek has speculated boys might be on the menu, too. Eli looks off somewhere, avoiding Derek’s gaze as his cheeks flush with a shrug.

“I didn’t either,” he says, glancing back carefully. Derek studies him and wonders if he and Stiles have ever experimented. Considering their relationship, it’s likely.

Derek decides he doesn’t need to think about that. Instead, he’s honored that Eli even wants to tell him, and that he feels safe enough to bring Derek here while Liam is on the clock, slipping his preferences into conversation like it isn’t a big deal or anything. And it really isn’t.  

“I hope you know your mother and I love you very much, no matter what,” Derek says, blowing on his coffee.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make it a big deal, okay?” he says, waving Derek off as he sips his drink.

Derek sips his coffee with a small smile.

“Liam’s cute,” Derek starts, and Eli groans and covers his blushing face.

“Dad, don’t,” he mumbles behind his palms, letting his hair cover his hands.

“Don’t what?”

Eli lowers his hands, glancing down at the table as he fiddles with the straw paper, balling it up before flattening it again.

“Just. Don’t embarrass me,” Eli huffs, carefully looking up to meet Derek’s gaze.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Derek says, pausing as he regards his son. “So, this crush.” Eli purses his lips, blinking, but not protesting. “When, and how?”

Eli sips his soda again. “I don’t know. I guess…” he shrugs, his hair covering his face. “It just kind of happened.”

Derek raises his eyebrows expectantly, hoping to hear more, but Eli stops there, seemingly satisfied with his response. It’s like the rest of it goes on in his head as he stares off, but he doesn’t care to share it, or rather, forgets to as he gets lost in his daydream.

Oh, he’s got it bad. Derek can’t help the tiny smirk slanting his lips.

“I see. So,” Derek starts, tilting his head cautiously, “you see him in the locker room, huh?”

“Dad,” Eli starts, his jaw tensing, face flushing as if he’s been caught.

“Alright, alright. Just… I know it can be a confusing time, and I need you to know I’m here for you, for anything, okay?” Derek hopes all that implies gets across, and then he remembers who he’s talking to. He takes in a deep breath and then says, “I’ve been in your shoes, and I know it can be scary, but it can be just as fun. Just use protection, okay?”

“Dad, I swear to god, oh my god,” Eli mumbles, covering his face with both hands once again as he shakes his head. “I can’t, just stop, I don’t want to know.” Then he pauses, his hands lowering, eyebrows furrowed. “Wait. What do you mean, in my shoes?”

“I mean,” Derek starts, sipping his coffee once again, “you’re not the only Hale who has been interested in boys.”

Eli blinks, eyebrows still furrowed, and then Derek clarifies, “Besides Uncle Peter.”

Peter was obvious, he’s been out before Derek even knew what the word ‘gay’ meant. But coming out to his son has never occurred to him, and the realization washing over Eli’s features is unsettling—he can nearly see the image Eli has had of him his whole life shifting, like he doesn’t really know who his father is at all. 

“But you’re married,” Eli says, as if this should explain his sexuality perfectly, as cut and clear as a two-carat diamond.

“Yes,” Derek affirms, his head tilting as he cups his mug on the table. “Doesn’t change my attraction towards men.”

Eli’s brows pinch in, his lips a near frown. Derek can’t decide if Eli’s reaction is warranted or not. Then again, Derek might have feelings if his own father came out to him after knowing him a certain way his whole life.

“Does mom know?”

“Of course she knows,” Derek says, lips pursing.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Derek blinks a few times in succession, brows furrowing. “It never came up. Does it matter?”

Eli shrugs and looks down, fiddling with the straw trash. “No. It’s just weird… I’ve never thought of you that way before.”

“Well, it’s a spectrum, everyone lands on it somewhere.”

There’s a pause between them, just the susurrus of the diner around them as they look elsewhere. Eli sips his soda and meets Derek’s gaze.

“Have you ever been in love with a man?” he asks, his brows twitching in.

Derek swallows, caught off guard as he blinks and stares.

Isaac was his first everything. Derek considered himself ardently in love with him until one day it made more sense to be friends again, and that’s as they are now. There were men before Paige, but none he ever loved.

And then there’s Stiles. His son’s best friend whom he’s known since kindergarten, a boy he’s loved as his own and now beyond. Perhaps it’s incestual in theory, but nothing else feels more natural. There is no one in this world Derek could love the way he loves Stiles. What he felt for Isaac with his raging hormones, and Paige when he was still so young cannot hold a flame to the candle that burns for Stiles.

“Yes,” Derek answers eventually, looking down as he sips his coffee.

There’s only one person he could ever admit his love to, and Derek wishes he could brisk him away and tell him everything somewhere else.

“Who?” Eli asks, his eyebrows perking up.

“Uncle Isaac.” Derek’s not outing him—Isaac outs himself just by existing.

Eli’s mouth drops open, eyebrows still raised.

“Uncle Isaac?”

Derek nods, his lips curling. Eli’s found out his dad is bi and was once in love with his best friend whom Eli has only ever known as the man who once lived here but now visits occasionally before fucking off for another year. It’s a lot to learn in five minutes.

“Yes, Uncle Isaac. We were on the team, too.”

Eli blinks a few times, taking this all in, his gaze distant as he shakes his head a bit in disbelief. And then Liam approaches them with their plates expertly balanced as he tops off Derek’s coffee and places their meals in front of them.

“Do you need anything else while you’ve got me?” Liam asks, his gaze lingering a bit too long as he stuffs his hands in his back jean pockets.

“No, thanks,” Eli mutters, his lips curled carefully as he glances at Derek and back. “Um. This is my dad, by the way.”

Liam laughs and meets Derek’s gaze before holding out his hand. “Hey, Mr. Hale.”

Derek eyes him suspiciously, simply because he’s only ever known Liam as the troubled kid always dragging Eli down with him. Somehow, he seems like a different person standing here before him, and Derek supposes he is. He’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

He takes Liam’s hand with a squeeze and a polite smile. They’ve had their fair share of meetings on the field and in the principal’s office, but meeting him as Eli’s potential first boyfriend is a nice change of pace.

“Hey, Liam. You liking the job?”

“Yeah, it’s good so far. I’m better at it than I thought I’d be,” he says, then glances back at Eli with a contagious smile. “You might like it, actually.”

Derek’s brows go up, and he thinks maybe Eli could learn quite a lot from Liam. It’s quite possible his son will end up in a half-decent adolescent relationship.

“Don’t give him ideas, dude,” Eli grumbles, and Liam laughs again, gaze lingering for a beat as if considering his next words.

“I’m not, just you,” Liam says with a cheeky grin, holding Eli’s gaze as he blushes now. “I’ll be back soon,” he says, glancing at Derek and back before he’s gone.

Before Derek can open his mouth, Eli offers a patent Hale glower and says, “Don’t,” before he grabs his fork and digs in.

Paige is still out with Cora when they get home, and Derek takes the opportunity to lay out and read by the pool while Eli plays video games in the den. He’s been out for a few minutes when the gate creaks open, and Stiles makes his way over, lingering at the edge of Derek’s vision.

“Hey, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says, a short novel rolled up in his hand as the flat palm of his other hand taps at the end of the book. “Good day to read by the pool.”

Derek glances over the rim of his glasses, eyeing the book before meeting his gaze. “Hey, Stiles.”

Stiles watches him, waiting, and Derek’s lips twitch.

“Would you like to read by the pool?”

He shrugs, his lips curling as he drops into the chaise beside Derek. “Since you’re asking.”

Derek sighs, studying him without hiding it as Stiles pretends he doesn’t feel eyes on him, and Derek pushes up his glasses and leans back, returning to his book.

—

Avoiding Stiles is more difficult than Derek anticipated. The kid is everywhere, always there, lingering in some form or other, and Derek only now recognizes that Stiles has been quite ingrained into his life this whole time.

He still comes over for dinner more often than not, still swims in the pool, still bangs drums in the garage Thursdays and Fridays and pilfers the snack pantry in the middle of the night. Except now he does all of it with these mournful gazes that no one but Derek can decipher, his big brown eyes doleful and yearning, his lips turned in a frown. Derek catches his gaze, and Stiles stares for too long as if hoping to pull Derek towards him, until Derek forces himself to pull away and find something else to do. Anything to get his sad face out of his mind.

Derek’s been staying away from the house, increasing his workout times, lingering as he shops for groceries and runs other errands around town. It’s nice, seeing Paige less, but he misses Eli, and he misses Stiles, and each time he comes home and Stiles is sat on the couch or caught in the fridge, Derek doesn’t feel like he’s ever out of place.

It’d be wrong to send him away, to tell him to go home like this isn’t his home, too. Eli has a bunk bed just for him, a drawer with his own clothes, his own damn toothbrush in the main bathroom. This is Stiles’ home as much as it is Eli’s or Paige’s or Derek’s. Stiles belongs here.

Arriving home is different now, a mix of anxiety and excitement. He knows he’ll see Stiles, but there’s not much he can do with that. Stiles says ‘hey, Mr. Hale’, and Derek says, ‘Hey, Stiles,’ and that’s the extent of their conversations within the past couple weeks.

Except today, Eli and Paige are out, and Stiles is the only one here when Derek enters the kitchen through the back door, gym bag hanging off his shoulder as he meets Stiles’ gaze.

“Hey,” he says, hands stuffed in his oversized hoodie pockets as he leans back against the counter. Derek is certain Stiles has been waiting for him this whole time, his eyes big and searching as he chews on his bottom lip.

“Hey, Stiles,” Derek says, dropping his gym bag by the door. It’s the first time they’ve been alone in weeks. He avoids Stiles’ eyes and feels every second of his gaze as he makes his way to the fridge.

“Can you give me a ride to the station?” Stiles asks. Derek glances over at him, an eyebrow raised as he pulls out a gatorade.

“How long is your Jeep going to be out of commission?” Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs, still chewing on his bottom lip, red and swollen when he releases it from between his teeth. Derek cracks open the gatorade bottle and glances away as he takes a long sip, licking his lips and looking anywhere but Stiles.

“What do you need to go to the station for?” Derek asks, as if putting it off any longer is going to change his answer.

“I left something there,” Stiles says, and Derek resists the urge to roll his eyes because he knows that’s a lie.

“What’d you leave there that you can’t just have your dad bring back when he’s off?”

Stiles huffs, his arms crossing as his brows furrow. “I want to visit my dad, too. Are you gonna give me a ride or not?”

Derek heaves in a deep breath, sighing out as he rubs at one of his eyes.

“Fine,” he grumbles. He was looking forward to showering and ordering food and having the next few hours to himself, but it’s impossible to say no to Stiles, and it’s not like he doesn’t want to. He just knows it’s a bad idea.

Stiles grins, perking up as he brushes past Derek and heads to the car.

The keys jingle as he turns over the ignition, their seatbelts buckling before Derek pulls out of the driveway. Stiles makes himself at home, clicking through the radio stations before settling in and stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets once again.

“How’s school?” Derek asks, glancing over as he slows to a stop.

“Fine,” Stiles answers, shifting in his seat to face Derek, a mischievous smirk curling the corners of his lips. “How’s work?”

“It’s work,” Derek offers, glancing over out of the corner of his eyes. It’s quiet for a beat, just the music playing between them and Stiles’ fidgeting movements.

“I don’t have anything to pick up from the station,” Stiles tells him, and Derek purses his lips as his fingers grip the steering wheel.

“Stiles,” Derek starts, exasperated.

“And my Jeep is fine,” Stiles tells him, his gaze boring into the side of Derek’s head.

“Stiles—”

“I miss you,” Stiles says, and when Derek catches a glimpse of him, his bottom lip is between his teeth again, eyes wide and blinking.

Derek inhales, his shoulders rising as he drives and maintains his feigned indifference. He doesn’t respond for awhile, doesn’t even acknowledge there’s another presence in the car with him.

“I know you miss me too,” Stiles says, and Derek’s jaw tightens as he keeps his face forward. “Just tell me you miss me too,” he tries, a hint of desperation in his tone as he shifts in his seat and stares.

Defeated, as if he ever had a chance of triumph, Derek looks over at him with furrowed brows and shakes his head.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Stiles’ lips stretch into a smile as he leans in, elbow on the center console. He’s close enough now that Derek can feel his breath.

Derek doesn’t give him what he wants—it’s obvious Stiles already knows his answer, anyway. Instead, Derek says, “Are you hungry?”

Stiles grins. “Yeah.”

They go through a drive-thru and get burgers and curly fries, and Stiles happily stuffs his face as they sit in the parking lot. Derek sips his soda, eyeing Stiles suspiciously before he says, “How long has your Jeep been out of the shop?”

Stiles smirks and licks his lips before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“It never was,” he admits, and Derek shakes his head as he looks forward, watching an old man shuffle along the sidewalk. Of course.

The music plays and Stiles offers him a chicken nugget. Derek accepts, popping it into his mouth and chewing as he glances over.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Derek says matter-of-factly. “I miss you too, but we can’t do anything about it. Do you understand?”

Stiles frowns, his lower lip jutting out in a pout.

“What difference does it make? We can miss each other but we can’t touch each other?”

“Exactly,” Derek says, almost dully as he faces Stiles. “It makes a lot of difference, and you know it. We can’t get caught.”

“But we’re already hanging out. We could get caught just doing this, how is that any better?”

“Because we’re eating, and we have an established rapport. People already think I’m your dad, anyway,” Derek says, and it’s true. The number of times people have referred to Derek as Stiles’ father is astounding. It doesn’t help that Stiles and Eli are always together and look so alike. Derek even gets phone calls from Coach to discuss Stiles’ grades, as if they needed to be discussed, until he realizes he meant to call about ‘the other one’.

“You are my daddy,” Stiles says, a teasing lilt in his tone as he leans in.

Derek blinks idly. “Stiles.”

Stiles huffs out a laugh before sipping his drink, his gaze unremitting as his lips wrap around his straw.

“Do you think of me?” Stiles asks.

“All the time,” Derek answers, unthinking as he eats a fry.

“No, but do you think of me?” Stiles clarifies.

Derek rolls his eyes, quiet as he looks away before dragging his gaze back. He’s incapable of getting off unless he’s thinking of Stiles.

“All the time.”

Stiles grins, bottom lip between his teeth, eyes searching.

“I think of you, too,” Stiles says, as if this wasn’t obvious.

“I know, baby,” Derek says, and he didn’t mean to let the pet name slip, but nothing else feels so natural. Stiles beams now as he chews, his gaze never tearing away as they finish their meal.

“Can you actually take me to the station? I doubt he’s eaten much today,” Stiles says, and Derek nods, taking them through the drive-thru again before driving the short distance to the station.

Stiles unbuckles his seatbelt and pauses, meeting Derek’s gaze.

“What if we just date? We don’t have to do anything sexual…” he chews his cheek. “I just want to be around you.”

Derek stares past him, eyes on the Sheriff’s station where the Sheriff has likely spotted Derek’s car by now, his office in plain view.

“I don’t know, Stiles,” he says, careful to not commit even though he knows, he knows that’s exactly what they’ll end up doing, and inexorably, it will lead to something sexual, and this will be all for naught.

“Let’s just put a pin in it, okay? We don’t need to make any decisions right now.”

Perhaps denial is not a river in Egypt—it exists in Derek’s veins, as wild and flooded as his brimming love.

“Okay,” Stiles says, his tone full of hope. He bites his bottom lip, searching Derek’s face with a hint of a smile. “I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” Derek answers. They may not be together, but it is inevitable they’ll see each other again soon.

“Okay,” Stiles repeats, pausing as if hoping for a parting kiss, his hand on the door handle. Derek purses his lips, holding back a smirk.

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Goodnight, Derek.”

His sultry voice sends a shiver through Derek’s spine, lips curved as he grabs the food and drink for his dad before exiting the car. Derek rolls down the window.

“Thanks, Mr. Hale,” Stiles calls out, waving as he walks away to meet the Sheriff stepping outside now.

The Sheriff thanks him with a grateful wave, and Derek waves back as the Sheriff’s hand falls over Stiles’ shoulders, herding him inside.

—

As a proud father of a decent athlete, Derek makes it to as many games as he can. Paige is usually beside him but opted to sit this one out, and Derek had no complaints as she poured herself a glass of wine and curled up on the couch.

Sometimes the Sheriff is here, and sometimes he’s arriving just as the game is ending, or even leaving after it’s hardly begun. Tonight, he sits beside Derek on the bleachers, offering intermittent encouragement as the boys run across the pitch under the bright stadium lights.

Stiles only got put in the third quarter, but he ends up pulling them up a few points and both Derek and the Sheriff devotedly cheer from the sidelines. Stiles catches his gaze with a bright grin, lacrosse stick raised above his head as he bounces up and down animatedly. His eye contact is undeniable even behind his helmet, his wide grin revealing his bright green mouth guard. He bumps into one of his teammates, who hooks his arm around his shoulders as they celebrate the goal quickly before the next play.

They end up winning the game thanks to Liam, whom Eli rams into before anyone else once the final buzzer goes off. Even as they huddle and cheer as a team, Stiles looks to Derek in the crowd with an infectious smile, eyes alight under the field lamps as his teammates lovingly shove each other around. Coach is ecstatic, his gruff praises still sounding of disapproval as he pats each of them on the back.

The crowd has started dissolving as the teams thank each other and begin to walk off field. As Derek and the Sheriff descend the bleachers, Stiles and Eli find them and steal sweaty hugs, their faces now visible without their helmets and their bodies bulky with gear.

“Congrats,” he tells Eli with a kiss to his temple before the kid moves along to hug the Sheriff, a smile splitting his face as he settles on Liam’s gaze, buzzing with post-game energy.

Stiles is on him in an instant, nearly panting with excitement as he squeezes around Derek’s torso and breathes over his neck. Derek squeezes him back without hesitation, inhaling his sweat as he clutches Stiles close and keeps himself from nuzzling into his damp skin. It’s a perfectly appropriate hug for the setting, yet entirely too intimate as people brush pass them, offering quick congratulations.

“Great job, kid,” Derek says, the word sounding foreign on his tongue instead of the ‘baby’ he’s taken to calling him. Stiles senses it, the hesitation before he forces out the wrong word, Derek can tell. He squeezes tighter before reluctantly letting go, their five-second hug somehow as long as a lifetime but nowhere near long enough.

When Stiles pulls back and meets Derek’s gaze, his face flushed and glowy under the lights, there are unspoken words between them, a silent question in Stiles’ wide eyes that would infer he’s missing further praise that Derek can’t openly offer as incessantly as he’d prefer.

“How about some food?” Derek suggests, glancing to Eli and the Sherrif, who hugged it out in much less time but don’t seem to notice or care for the quiet moment taking place beside them.

Eli fist pumps the air and murmurs ‘yesss’ under his breath, and Stiles agrees just as easily, his gaze never breaking.

“Sounds good to me,” the Sheriff says, and for once, despite knowing how much Stiles loves his dad and looks for him in the crowd, Derek selfishly wishes the Sheriff weren’t here tonight. He’s come to prefer their after-game dinners without him.

“Go shower, we’ll meet you guys outside,” Derek says with a firm nod, catching Stiles’ gaze before shifting to Eli. Both boys snatch their sticks and helmets before catching up to the tail end of their team line and heading indoors to the locker rooms.  

Derek turns to the Sheriff with a quick smile as they head off the field, and they chat about the game and how proud of Stiles they both are. He doesn’t get to play as often as Eli, but when he does it’s always a treat to witness. It’s obvious how much love he has for the game, but unfortunately that doesn’t make for a decent athlete. Stiles is gracefully clumsy, better suited for skateboarding and swimming and drumming. The light in his eyes is different then, his confidence higher in his element.  

As they reach their cars, the Sheriff’s phone rings, and he answers swiftly as if he were expecting it. He stares at Derek before glancing away, listening carefully to the other end. His features turn grave in an instant, his head nodding.

“Alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he says, and then hangs up as he turns to Derek.

“There’s been a development,” he starts, the disappointment lining his eyes. Derek’s brows perk up curiously, but the Sheriff is pretty tight-lipped about what he talks about with work. “Are you okay to take him?”

“Yeah, of course,” Derek answers in earnest, his chest tightening. If the Sheriff knew the implication of that question, Derek wouldn’t be breathing right now, he’s sure of it.

“You’ll tell him for me?” Sheriff asks, and Derek nods again. Stiles will be disappointed, and both men know it.

“Of course,” he says dutifully, happy to oblige. He’ll take Stiles any way he can get.

God, he feels like a fucking creep.

The Sheriff thanks him and slips into his driver’s seat before joining the lineup of cars exiting the lot, and Derek crosses his arms, leaning against his car as he waits. By the time the boys walk out, the lot is nearly empty.

Eli and Liam walk together, with Stiles a bit ahead of them, his gaze set on Derek as he strides towards him. He looks around for his father, a brief flash of confusion in his face before he realizes.

“He had to go, didn’t he?” Stiles asks as they reach the car. Derek nods, his lips twitching in a frown. He doesn’t even sound disappointed anymore, just resigned.

“Is it okay if Liam comes?” Eli asks, and Derek nods again, wishing he could offer Stiles comfort as the teen slinks around the car into the front seat.

“Yeah, of course. How about breakfast for dinner?” he says, knowing it’s Stiles’ favorite, and everyone agrees accordingly.

They end up at Mack’s, where Eli and Liam slip into a booth beside each other while Derek slips in beside Stiles. Trixie serves them, and she congratulates them on winning tonight with a faded smile as she takes their orders.

Stiles sits defeated as if he wasn’t instrumental to winning the game, arms folded over the table. He sips his soda through a straw and stares ahead.

“It was a good game. I’m really proud of you,” Derek says, eyeing Stiles first before facing the other two. “I love seeing you have so much fun on the field,” he adds as he lets his hand fall to Stiles’ knee under the table. The statement was meant for him, but Derek can’t publicly direct all his praise towards him, and not when his actual son made a few goals, too. Though it’s not unusual for Eli to be an asset for the team. He seems more preoccupied with his boyfriend, anyway.

Stiles perks up a bit, turning to Derek with a careful smile.

There’s much to be said, but somehow it’s already understood between them. Derek wants to murmur it to him, regardless, as he holds him close and caresses his bruised body, builds up his orgasm and kisses him where it matters just because he wants Stiles to feel good, to make him forget anything bad that’s ever happened to him, to praise him the way he should be praised.

Derek can do none of those things, but he can comfort Stiles in the next best way for now, thumb stroking on the inside of his knee as Stiles’ hand settles over his with a grateful squeeze. His mood improves soon after, the pint of sugar rushing through him likely stimulating his dopamine receptors, too. They talk about the game, how awesome it was when Stiles caught the ball twice and proceeded to make just as many goals even though he nearly got knocked out a few times, how a scout was there and has taken an interest in Liam, how soon lacrosse will be over and the end of the school year will follow.

The Sheriff isn’t here, but Derek is, and he’ll ensure Stiles feels just as loved and revered as if he were. It’s not the kind of contact either of them craves, but it’s nice and discreet nonetheless, and by the end of their meal Stiles is yapping and animated again, his calf pressed against Derek’s as he shoves peanut butter pie into his mouth. Derek smiles at him and wishes he could kiss him before he tears his gaze away much like he has been all night.

Trixie comps their meal, expected since Liam won the game tonight, but Derek still gives a generous tip. After dropping Liam off, they are home within a few minutes, car doors slamming shut. Stiles looks to his dark house with a long gaze, and to Derek over the hood of the car with a hopeful stare, lip between his teeth as his eyebrows raise.

“Can I stay the night tonight?” he asks.

“Of course,” Derek says automatically, biting his tongue. He swears one day the endearment will slip.

It’s a school night but it’s not uncommon for Stiles to sleepover at any point in the week. He changes into something from his drawer in Eli’s room, and they all end up in the living room to wind the evening down with a long running game show. Paige is wine drunk and happy for them, doting on Eli a bit as Stiles meets Derek’s gaze from across the room. The low lighting blurs his face and makes him look even younger, and Derek has to look away, heart stuttering as he sucks in a breath. God, he’s such a creep, falling in love with a child.

Derek has given him all he can allow. He knows it was too much at all, that just because it wasn’t sexual doesn’t mean it’s any less incorrigible, but that will just have to do.

They go to bed and Derek hears shuffling in the hall once the other two are asleep, and he swears for a moment Stiles is on the other side of his bedroom door, breathing quietly before sneaking his way downstairs.

Derek does not meet him. Instead, he stares at the ceiling and falls asleep after two, certain Stiles has passed out on the basement couch waiting up for him.

—

Peter is lounging by the pool when Derek gets home, the sunlight sparkling over the gushing peaks as the boys play pool basketball. Once Stiles catches Derek’s gaze, a smile splits his face before he slam dunks the ball in the basket and tackles Eli.

“Hey, Mr. Hale,” Stiles calls out, pushing Eli under the water. Eli pops back up gasping before returning the favor. Derek smirks and takes a seat beside Peter.

“Nephew,” Peter greets, unbothered as he leans back in the chaise, intwined fingers tucked behind his head. His bright blue speedo is comical and borderline inappropriate, and Derek has to shake his head and roll his eyes as he looks back at the boys in the pool.

“Ever think you’re too comfortable here?” Derek asks, leaning over his knees as his fingers interlace. He’s still in his gym clothes, and jumping into the pool is tempting, but he doesn’t want to give Stiles any ideas.

“Not at all,” he offers, no other explanation as a smirk slants his lips. “Your darling wife ensures it; it’d be rude to decline her hospitality.”

Peter is the only one who knows Derek’s indifference towards his wife. He likes to tease him about it, like he teases Derek with everything. That’s just the nature of their relationship.

“Right…” Derek doesn’t bother with a response, his eyes trained on the boys splashing in the pool. Eli spits water in Stiles’ face, and Stiles splashes him hard enough that it reaches Derek and Peter. Peter pulls his sunglasses down with a glare, eyes pointed at the boys.

“I’m gonna shower. Are you staying for dinner?” Derek asks as he rises. Peter pushes his sunglasses back up.

“Of course,” he says, and Derek squeezes his shoulder as he makes his way inside, Stiles’ eyes glued to him as he walks away.

Paige greets him with a quick kiss as he passes her in the kitchen preparing dinner, and he pulls off his shirt as he drags himself upstairs, his legs like jello after today’s workout.

Through the blinds in the bathroom window, he can still see the boys in the pool, Eli on the float and Stiles pulling himself from the water. He’s soaked, a trail of water darkening the pavement behind him as he takes the seat Derek just left. He leans back in the lounge, his eyes scanning the house, his lips curling when he spots Derek in the window.

Stiles turns to Peter and says something Derek can’t make out just by lip reading, and Peter seems intrigued enough, his body turning to face Stiles better as he pushes up his sunglasses with raised brows. Stiles says something else to him, his body language suggestive, and then reaches over to squeeze at Peter’s bicep.

Derek’s teeth clench, his gut sinking, jealous bile rising in his throat as he watches the interaction. Peter soaks it up, his chest puffing out, his muscles flexing as he eyes Stiles like a pig on a spit, and when Stiles’ eyes flick over to where Derek stands in the window, Derek knows Stiles is only fucking with Peter to get to Derek.

Before he can get a grip, Derek shoves the window open and yells out, “Peter, fuck off! Stiles, get inside, now!”

Stiles jerks in the chaise lounge, head perking up, eyes blinking innocuously as he faces the window full-on. Peter’s head snaps over with pressed lips, meanwhile, Eli sits up in the float, head turning as he attempts to understand what is happening around him.

“Why?” Stiles shouts back with a feigned innocence, hand over his brow as he shields the sun.

Derek purses his lips. “Because I said so. Leave that old man alone.”

This earns a glare from Peter as he shoves his sunglasses back over his face, crossing his arms as he leans back in the lounge. Stiles, surprisingly, does as he’s told for once, his lips quirked as he makes his way inside.

Derek shuts the window and runs a hand over his face, annoyed with himself as he stares into the mirror. His outburst won’t be seen as suspicious—if anything, it looked like he protected Stiles from Peter, which won’t be seen as out of the ordinary for Peter, the creep.

He swallows, still staring at his reflection in the mirror as if he isn’t a creep himself, then shakes his head and shucks off his gym shorts before starting the shower. He broods as he washes himself, his hair, his face, the room growing steamy.

When he steps out, Stiles is standing there, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk still pasted over his lips. He’s in fresh unmatched clothes, dressed in whatever was leftover in his drawer in Eli’s room. Making a show of it, he locks the door as he leans back against it.

“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek huffs, snatching the towel before wrapping it around his waist. “What are you doing?”

The kid bites his lip, chewing as his eyes trail over Derek’s body before meeting his gaze again, gaze bright and mischievous as he shrugs.

Derek purses his lips.

“Why are you flirting with Peter? You know he’ll flirt right back.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, as if annoyed Derek doesn’t already know the answer.

“Because he’ll flirt right back,” he answers blatantly, taking a step closer.

“Are you trying to get molested by older men? Because you’re right on track,” Derek snaps, fingers clutching the towel around his waist.

“Just by one,” he says, his lips curled as he studies Derek carefully. “Did it make you jealous?”

Derek’s eyes close, jaw tightening with a defeated sigh. When he opens them, Stiles is closer.

“You can’t be in here, Stiles,” Derek says, taking a step back.

“Just answer the question,” Stiles insists, Derek’s efforts fruitless as Stiles follows.

“Stiles, this is not the time or place, my whole family is downstairs.”

Stiles pauses, eyes glinting as he studies Derek’s face.

“I guess I’ll just go back down and see what Peter is up to…” he says with a melodramatic sigh. He starts to turn away, eyebrows raised expectantly, glancing sideways in his unhurried movements while a hint of a smile threatens to curl his lips and give him away.

He’s such a fucking brat, and Derek adores that about him.

He’s Derek’s brat.

Derek’s jaw aches, teeth grinding before he snatches Stiles back in, fingers gripped tight around his wrist.

“Yes, it made me jealous, okay? What are you trying to accomplish here? You know how I feel about you already, what more do you want?”

“I want you to do something about it,” Stiles replies, eyes searching. “I want you to show me how you feel about me.”

Derek’s brows furrow, studying Stiles’ face as he waits in earnest.

“Stiles, we can’t. You know we can’t. Why are you making this so difficult?”

“Because I want you.”

“You know I want you too,” Derek says, a bit desperate now as Stiles steps in closer. Their height difference isn’t much, but it’s enough for Stiles to make himself seem smaller than he really is, like a puppy begging for affection, eyes big and warm and searching as he tilts his head down and gazes up from under his lashes. Derek swallows, his breath catching in his throat.

“But we can’t. We just can’t, Stiles. This… this is impossible, and we just can’t, okay?” his tone is harsher than he meant, and he doesn’t even mean it, any of it, but he’s hanging on by a fucking thread here. He wants to do the right thing, but it feels wrong to do anything but please Stiles.

Stiles’ face falls when Derek says it, the corners of his mouth turning down now. All the mirth is gone from his gaze, just sad eyes staring back at Derek. He starts to pull away, the tip of his nose reddening, glossy eyes shifting to hide his welling tears.

He can’t fucking stand to do this to him anymore, to hurt his feelings and make him so sad, to reject him over and over. He can’t stand to let Stiles go any longer without giving him what he so desperately craves.

Derek snatches him back in, closer, right against him, arms wrapping around Stiles’ waist as he leans in and seals their lips together.

Instantly, Stiles’ sighs and tilts his head, his arms wrapping around Derek’s neck and pressing him close, their fervent kiss a dream turned déjà vu. God, Derek missed his lips, missed tasting him, touching him, hearing him.

Derek’s fingertips press into his flesh, their tongues caressing as their breaths pick up and circulate between them, and Stiles lets out a tiny whimper as Derek sucks his tongue into his mouth and Stiles’ fingers grip in his hair.

The noises he makes, his inherent need to press into Derek as if attempting to merge into him, his soft skin and slick tongue all trigger the swell at the bottom of Derek’s stomach, his cock already half hard when Stiles grinds his hips forward.

The kiss breaks when Derek pulls away, an abrupt smack as their foreheads press together and their breaths puff over each other’s face.

“Baby,” Derek starts, head shaking slightly, eyes closed as he grips Stiles close. “We can’t.”

Derek says this as a hail mary on his part, knowing damn well whatever resistance left in him is paper thin. Useless really, and simply for ceremony on the off chance someone can hear his thoughts and know he tried—he really fucking tried.

“I need you,” Stiles whines, capturing Derek’s lips in another kiss, his cock already hard as he presses Derek against the counter and rolls his hips in.

How could anyone say no to that?

Derek sucks in a sharp breath, fingertips crushing over the pulp of Stiles’ ass, mouth watering as their tongues meet again. Another whimper sounds from the back of Stiles’ throat, small and needy just as he declared, and Derek simply cannot deny him any longer, not when he begs so sweetly and makes even sweeter sounds.

Derek is uncertain how long they’ve been locked in the bathroom, but just as certain Stiles will come quick enough.

Bringing his hands to Stiles’ face, Derek breaks their lips apart with short kisses as he pulls away. “Okay, okay,” he says, and Stiles keeps kissing him as if the next one will glue their lips together. “Okay, baby,” Derek contends, holding his face as he pulls back and searches Stiles’ gaze. “Tell me what you need.”

Stiles licks his lips, his pupils expanding as he swallows.

He pauses, as if considering the best way to share his answer, his skin flushing at the thought as he bites his lip and holds Derek’s gaze.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks, and Derek’s body reacts accordingly, a fresh spike of sweat bursting over his skin as his heart stutters and his dick twitches.

“Of course, baby,” Derek tells him with an easy nod, licking his lips before stealing another kiss and turning around in Stiles’ embrace. He lets his towel fall away as he looks over his shoulder, hands planting over the bathroom sink as he presses his ass against Stiles’ crotch.

“There’s no time for prep, just spit,” Derek says, a bit breathless as he arches his back and spreads his legs.

Stiles looks a bit dumbfounded, his mouth parted in a stupor as he blinks and stares for a moment while processing that this is really happening. Derek nudges his ass back against his cock before Stiles gets on with it and shoves his sweatpants down, his erection catching under the elastic band as the fabric slips away and pools at his ankles. His fingertips tease at Derek’s hole just because it’s there in front of him and he can, a dazed look in his eyes as if mesmerized at the thought of his dick stretching it open.

Derek shudders, his hole twitching as a bead of precum drools from his aching cock, having never felt so empty in his life.

Stiles spits in his hand and smears it over his dick as he instinctually lines himself up at Derek’s entrance, and Derek is certain the teen has gone down a research hole instead of working on a book report to prepare himself for this, to know what he’s doing when fucking another man, as if his pure, unbridled desire wouldn’t guide him alone. There’s no road map needed with a curious mind and an inherent need to please.

“Am I going to hurt you?” Stiles asks, his tone concerned as his thumb brushes over the notches at the bottom of Derek’s spine.

Derek inhales, his hole fluttering eagerly, and shakes his head.

“No, baby, I’ll be fine,” Derek insists. He fingers himself enough that he will indeed be fine, and he loves the stretch, anyway, set on Stiles splitting him the moment Derek discovered his huge dick. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been preparing for it.

“Okay,” Stiles says dubiously, a hand falling to Derek’s hip as the other keeps himself aligned while pressing in.

It’s a burning at first, the initial stretch of it, and Stiles gasps behind him, low and incredulous obscenities spilling from his mouth as tight heat presses around his cock for the first time in ever, his shaking hand splaying over the small of Derek’s back as he sinks in.

“Oh, fuck, oh fuck, Derek,” he whimpers, as though nothing could have prepared him for the reality of his dick pressing into an unrelenting vise.

The fullness of him takes Derek’s breath away, his head dropping as he pants quietly, his mouth salivating as he leans into the dull ache and lets himself adjust.

“Are you—” Stiles chokes out, fingertips pressing as he stills, “are you okay?” he asks breathlessly, and Derek nods, swallowing as he grips the edge of the counter.

“Yeah, baby, don’t worry about me. Just do what feels good, okay?” Derek tells him, and that’s all the permission Stiles needs before bottoming out with an abrupt thrust.

Derek can’t suppress the low moan that falls out of him, his hole pulsating around the heavy cock filling him, his sweat mixing with the steam in the air and rolling down his temples. He relaxes, panting in place of the shallow moans he keeps in his chest, eyes rolling back as his mouth drops open. Completely sated.

“Fuck, baby, you fill me so good,” Derek breathes out, spine curving as he accepts all of him.

“So—good,” Stiles agrees, his voice tight like he’s holding back, utterly still behind him as his dull nails dig into Derek’s skin.

He knows Stiles is about to come, can hear it in his voice, feel his muscles tensing as Derek twitches around him.

“Fuck me, baby,” Derek tells him, wiping the fogged over mirror to watch his face.   

Stiles stares at him through the glass, his lids heavy, skin flushed as he shakes his head.

“I’ll come if I do,” Stiles whines, desperate to make it last, to make Derek come first.

Derek has to laugh, his muscles clamping around him as he glances over his shoulder.

“Be a good boy, come inside me, baby,” Derek insists, keeping his voice low and steady, his back arched. That is, after all, the entire point of this activity. 

Stiles watches him in the mirror and sucks in a quiet gasp, his lips parting, his eyes wide. As if his hips have taken over, he jerks into Derek only twice before he’s spilling inside of him, lashes fluttering, skin impossibly dewy and red. Derek can feel his cock pulsing, his coarse hair tickling as he ruts in small, desperate movements, chasing every inch of pleasure he can get as his breaths come out in quiet whines.

“Good boy,” Derek says, and Stiles whimpers as his hips twitch in aftershocks, eyebrows drawn in ecstasy. So stunning, Derek thinks, his cock hard and leaking as he savors the heaviness inside him. Stiles’ hands remain over his hips, fingertips trembling.

“Better now?” Derek asks, an eyebrow raising.

“No,” Stiles huffs out, his face pinched in disappointment. “I always come too quickly. I want to get you off, too.”

“We’re out of time, baby. We need to get back downstairs,” Derek tells him, and Stiles pouts and shakes his head, his hips moving defiantly as he watches Derek’s face through the glass.

Derek swallows, the intense spike of pleasure drawing up his spine sending a shudder through him. Stiles notices and doesn’t stop, his pout slowly twisting into a pleased smile once he realizes he’s got more power than Derek in this position.

Derek can’t even blame him, expecting nothing less.

Stiles is still rock hard inside of him, quick to build a rhythm now that his first orgasm is out of the way. He might come again and probably will, but it’s clear that’s not his intent as he pulls out and presses back in with ease this time, his cum aiding the glide, hips slapping against the back of Derek’s ass as he holds Derek in place and fucks him hard and fast and so fucking good. He’s got his rhythm down, like the beat of a drum, and Derek bites his fist as he slumps over the bathroom counter with a low groan he can’t contain.

Pegging has gotten the job done, but it’s not the same as a good-bent-over-the-side-of-something-and-absolutely-railed fuck Derek prefers. He’d swear Stiles had done this before, the way he rams in, balls smacking, nailing his prostate every. fucking. time.

“Oh, fuck, you’re gonna make me come, baby,” Derek warns, his quiet voice breaking as he pants and steadies himself as best he can over the slippery marble counter, his body jerking with each thrust as he meets Stiles’ gaze through the glass. “That’s right, baby boy, just like that.”

Stiles is so flushed and faded, his gaze heavy as he stares back at Derek and fucks him hard and good, and it’s better than Derek ever imagined, his mind wiped blank as the thick cock brushes over the gland inside of him.

He comes with a choked moan, gushing with each of Stiles’ heady thrusts.

“Such a good boy, Stiles, such a good boy,” Derek drones as he rides his wave, light-headed and dizzy on the cock inside him alone. A tiny whimper struggles in Stiles’ throat, his brows knit. It’s always the praise that gets him off in the end.

His body stills, breath catching the way he does, fingertips digging into Derek’s hips.

Derek wants to hold it all inside him, keep it there until the next time Stiles can empty his seed into him. If that makes him a creep, then so be it.

He might as well lean into it, now.

He’s unsure how long he’s been away, how long Stiles has been missing, too, nonetheless basking in their afterglow for a moment as Stiles slumps over him.

“I don’t want this to be over,” he mumbles, flushed fully against Derek now like a symbiotic organism unable and unwilling to let go.

Derek is just as reluctant, never so content in his life than to lie there and let Stiles warm his cock inside him.

Eventually, he convinces Stiles to pull out, clenching his hole to keep as much as he can as he turns around and pulls Stiles into a tight hug, nose pressing into his scalp. He smells like chlorine and sunscreen, warm and perfectly fitted against him.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Derek murmurs, though there’s no real gravity behind his words, his will to keep them apart eroding each time Stiles’ breath ghosts over his neck.

“Stop saying that. We’re already doing it. Just…” he huffs, arms squeezing, “just let it happen.”

Derek sighs against his scalp, his eyes closing as he holds Stiles close, stretching out their dwindling minutes. Cum drips down the inside of his thigh, and he’s sure Eli is wondering where Stiles is, that Paige is wondering what’s taking Derek so long, that Peter is wondering why both of them are missing.

“Alright,” Derek says, finally relenting, eyes opening to stare at himself in the mirror. He can feel Stiles’ body release every ounce of tension before he leans up for another kiss, languid and easy this time, his lips curled. It takes another minute or so before they can separate themselves. He sends Stiles away first, cleaning up his mess and changing into fresh clothes.

Once they’re both downstairs, no one asks where either of them was or even bats an eye as they continue minding their own business, and Derek can’t help but feel slighted, as if time was stolen from them that they’ll have to scavenge for later.

At dinner, Stiles ignores Peter entirely, instead flicking his gaze over to Derek across the table every so often, his foot settled between Derek’s legs. Stiles’ semen drips between his cheeks, and he feels dirty but lovesick, the ongoing conversation taking place overhead. Derek squeezes his foot on occasion, everyone at the table none the wiser.

—

Stiles is already in the basement once Derek makes his way downstairs. He’s warmed Derek’s spot, moving over with just enough room for Derek to slip in beside him, and as soon as he does, Stiles is pressed against his side, tucked under his arm like he belongs there.

They fall asleep like that, and Derek wakes up abruptly when his brain reminds him they can’t get caught. They’ve shifted into a lying position, Stiles curled against him under the blanket too small to cover both of them comfortably. It’s still dark but barely, and Derek feels damp wherever Stiles presses against him, nearly all over as his warm breath puffs over Derek’s chest.

“Baby,” Derek murmurs, rubbing over his side tenderly. Stiles hums and scuttles in closer, their weight sinking into the seam of the old couch. Derek kisses his cheek, his beard brushing over Stiles’ temple. He lets them lie like that for another minute as the blue glow of the early morning sky peeks through the garden windows.

“Baby, wake up,” Derek tries again, shaking him gently, and Stiles groans in protest.

“S’saturday,” he croaks, as if that should end the wake-up attempts. It’s about five in the morning, and while Eli won’t be up for another few hours, Paige could wake up any time soon for her morning run with Cora.  

“You have to get back upstairs. You can sleep there,” Derek reminds him, and Stiles sighs as if brushing it off, his hand gripping Derek’s shirt at his side.

“Wanna sleep with you,” he says sorrowfully.

“I know,” Derek says, his tone just as remorseful.

It takes Stiles another five minutes, but eventually he manages to force himself up in a zombielike state. They both drag themselves upstairs, and Stiles steals a quick kiss before rubbing his eyes and reluctantly entering Eli’s room.

Derek slips into bed, already too awake to fall back asleep, but too tired to do much of anything else. Paige presses against his side and it feels wrong as he stares up at the ceiling, imagining Stiles instead.

Chapter Text

Sunday dinners at Derek’s parent’s house have fallen to the wayside with life getting in the way, but Laura insisted they reinstate the tradition without much notice today. Eli complains and drags his feet before they go, but once he’s under the same roof as his cousins who think he’s cool just for being a teenager, he acts like it was his idea all along.

Derek tends to zone out at these dinners, overwhelmed with his nieces and nephews running around, his parent’s nagging, Cora’s attitude, and Peter’s snark.

They sit in the den after dinner, letting their food digest as a network movie plays and the kids are off in another room, when Laura scoots in closer to him and nudges his arm.

“How’s work, Der-bear?” she asks, brushing her hair back as she situates herself to face him.

He sighs. He’s tired of people asking him about work. Nothing ever changes, it’s always the same, aside from the revolving door of coworkers, the gossip, and the shops and restaurants surrounding the office building.

“Fine,” he mumbles, arms crossed, eyes on the screen he’s hardly paying attention to. “Hayden is having a baby,” he adds, because that’s the only newsworthy item that’s happened within this quarter. Beside him Peter gives him a smug look.

“Aww, she’ll make some cute babies,” Laura says wistfully, and Derek purses his lips in a tight smile, never very fond of babies other than his own. Even that one was questionable, but at least he grew up.

Overhead, Paige chats with Cora and his mom, who has always loved her and treated her like her own daughter since her and Cora became thick as thieves in grade school. Sometimes they stare at him with this look in their eyes—it’s like they think this was all meant to be or something, as if it’s not what happens everywhere all the time.

His father is asleep in his recliner, and Derek knows if they switch the channel, he’ll wake up and snap at them to change it back. He’s gotten grumpier in age, and it makes Derek sad to think of how old his parents are getting.

Laura plays with the ends of her hair mindlessly beside her husband on his phone, glancing around the room before her eyes land back on Derek.

“Isn’t it about time for your midlife crisis? How about a new job?”

Derek side-eyes her, his face flat. Laura is only two years older than him.

“I’ll get right on that, as soon as yours is over,” Derek tells her, referencing her home pottery studio she purchased without having any idea what the fuck she was doing and no previous experience in ceramics whatsoever.

“It’s going well, thanks for asking,” Laura says, her tone sardonic.

He sighs and meets her gaze. “I’m glad that’s working out for you. We can’t all have rich spouses willing to pay for the next hobby,” he says dully. “No offense, Joe,” Derek adds, and Joe nods like it was never a thought.

She glares at him. “Don’t be fucking rude,” she snaps, hitting his chest with the back of her hand. “Stop acting like you don’t have a safety net. You know you’d be taken care of.”

Derek huffs, reaching up to rub the tender spot where her ring impacted him.

“That’s not the point. I have a job that provides for my family, why risk that?”

“Uh, because you’re fucking miserable? I know insurance adjuster isn’t your dream job. You can do something about it.”

His brows pinch in, hand still rubbing over his chest as he looks off at his parents. He knows they would take care of him if he wanted to switch careers. Peter, too, would help him, and Laura and her husband, Cora if she could, though she might be resentful about it being the baby and all.

Laura is right, he has many safety nets, and perhaps he takes them for granted, but just the thought of asking for help makes his muscles tense and his skin hot. His parents had to beg him to accept the house they helped them buy as a new couple, even though it was technically Derek’s trust money anyway.

This conversation isn’t new. It’s something him and Paige argue over all the time—she points out how miserable he is, how he can switch careers and they would manage just fine, how his family would be more than willing to help him while he tries to figure out something to do that makes him happy again so that they can work on their marriage and live out the happiest of lives. Happy, happy, happy.

It always devolves from there, his pride getting in the way, convincing himself he’s not as miserable as everyone makes him out to be, that he’s completely fine, that he doesn’t need any help figuring it out. Most people hate their jobs, it’s not a big deal.

Aside from not knowing what to do, he doesn’t know that it’s possible that any job could make him happy, or at least less miserable than he is in this current position. Besides, they have remote days now, which makes the job more bearable, and he’s been there for so long that leaving feels like losing everything he’s worked for. What else can he do?

He rubs at his temple, letting his eyes slip shut as he exhales before glancing over at Laura.

“I don’t even know what I would do. And nothing else would pay me as well starting out, anyway.”

Laura sighs again, a groan in her voice as she rolls her eyes. “You’re so fucking annoying, you know that? Would it hurt to let your imagination run wild?”

Derek blinks, lips pursed as he studies her face. “Yes.”

She blinks incredulously before glancing at the three other women in the room, shaking her head with pursed lips as they all communicate quietly. Derek ignores it and thinks of his high school dream.

Derek’s high school dream was just that—a dream. More like a fantasy. He wanted to be a successful athlete which definitely didn’t involve having a family to provide for. He started college with a liberal arts degree because he couldn’t decide on a practical career when he was eighteen and a fucking child, and he didn’t really need to care all that much about it back then because he had all the time in the world to figure it out... later.

And then Eli was born. Derek was twenty and halfway into his bachelor’s degree before he dropped out, unable to balance basketball, school, a full-time job, raising a child, and a marriage all at once. He didn’t have time to use his imagination to figure it out long term—he needed a job that could provide for his family because having Paige at home was way cheaper than daycare, and now he’s too tired and too busy to really let his mind wander. A luxury he can't afford.

“What makes you happy?” Laura asks him, and the question makes his brows twitch in like the thought of being happy at work is a fantasy that shouldn’t be trifled with.

He stares at her, his gaze glossing over as he thinks.

Eli makes him happy. Isaac, his family, for the most part. Stiles makes him happy. But when he thinks of what activities that might ‘spark joy’ as they say, he realizes he doesn’t do much other than work, work out, and come home to unwind with a drink at the poolside. He hardly even swims anymore.

Reading he enjoys, but it’s not like that makes him giddy. Sports is exciting but it’s not like he’s a fanatic that lets it take over his life. Baking is pleasant enough if he has a craving and the time or a birthday coming up. But he doesn’t dedicate time to improving a skill or a hobby to keep him entertained, not until more recently, at least, and Stiles hardly counts as a hobby. More like an obsession that’s incapacitated half his brain power, his mind a maze that always leads back to the boy who lives across the alley.

“Nothing, huh?” Cora says after a long moment of silence, the tinny TV blabbering in the background. She tilts her head, an eyebrow raised in silent judgement. Their mother glances at him, intrigued, her raised brow not unlike Cora’s.

Derek blinks, refocusing his gaze. He really doesn’t want this to be the topic of conversation this evening, or ever. Maybe he wouldn't hate his job so much if they didn't remind him about it all the time.

“I think you should do something with your hands. Remember that welding class you took in high school, honey? You were pretty good at it,” Talia says, her tone encouraging.

“Yeah,” Derek says noncommittally just to sate them. Welding was alright.

Now Paige looks like she has something to add and Derek can’t stand to get into it with her tonight—not when his mom and sisters will side with her and gang up on him. He doesn’t stand much of a chance once all four Hale women start insisting.

He shifts uncomfortably, and Peter remains a quiet observer of the conversation, entertained by Derek’s uneasiness. Seems dad doesn’t have much to say either, but he’s definitely listening in, his soft snores halted once Talia spoke up.

Laura sighs. “I’m just saying… think about it, okay? There’s no reason you have to stay in hell.”

“Alright,” he says, happy for this discussion to be over.

Laura narrows her eyes.

“Don’t just say alright and never think about it again. Promise me you’ll consider even just the tiniest possibility of you enjoying your job. Eli will be out of the house before you know it, and then whatever excuse you have then just won’t work. Seriously, Derek, all I’m saying—”

“Alright, Laura, fuck, I’ll think about it. Would you stop hounding me? Jesus,” Derek snaps, disgruntled now as he tightens his arms over his chest and stares at the TV. Peter snickers beside him.

“That’s what big sisters are for,” she says, lips quirked in a teasing smile as she reaches over and tussles his hair. He’s long given up on reacting to her teasing, and she still does it anyway because she knows even if he’s not reacting, it still pisses him off.

She’s so fucking annoying.

—

Monday morning, Eli’s got a fever and a nasty cough. Derek works from home, tending to Eli during the day as he attempts to play video games while fading in and out of consciousness on flu meds. Eventually he gives up and just puts a show on, his TV humming in the other room as Derek works in his office.

Stiles visits after school with his makeup work but since Eli isn’t cognizant, he leaves after bothering the sickling a decent amount without any worthy reaction and stealing a few kisses from Derek in his office. Eli is sick on Tuesday too, another day Derek stays home and works, checking on the kid between phone calls and endless emails even though he’s slept all morning and barely eaten anything but ginger ale and a few saltines.

As he sits back down at his desk, his phone vibrates and Stiles’ face pops up on his screen, an unassuming photo he took of himself and set as his contact picture when Derek wasn’t looking. He should be in class right now, Derek thinks, the phone buzzing once more before answering the call.

“Hey, baby,” Derek answers, pulling his chair in as he wiggles his mouse.

“Hey,” he breathes out, his tone guilty. “Can you come get me?”

Derek furrows his brows. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles is quiet for a beat, a long-exasperated sigh on his end before he says, “I got in a fight and got suspended.”

Derek’s brows raise, his head rearing back slightly as he gazes out the window. “You? Got into a fight? With whom?” He expects this behavior from his own son, but from Stiles?

“Fucking Jackson,” he scoffs. “My dad can’t leave work right now, so they let me call you.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, but his tone would suggest the opposite. Derek purses his lips, pressing his phone against his shoulder. He opens a chat to inform his boss he has to handle a family emergency and he’ll be taking the rest of the day.

“Alright, I’ll be there soon. Do I have to talk with anyone?”

“The dean already talked with him over the phone. You just have to sign me out,” he says, annoyed. “Can you just hurry?”

“Alright, baby, I’m on my way.”

Derek hangs up and doesn’t wait for his boss to respond, heading to his room to put on proper pants before checking on Eli.

“I have to go pick up Stiles,” Derek tells him as he brushes his hair back, and Eli blinks an eye open, brows furrowing.

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you later. Go back to sleep.”

Eli hums groggily, his eye slipping shut again, and Derek leaves, snatching his keys and slipping into his tennis shoes before he’s out the door.

Once he parks in the circle drive, he makes his way inside the building he typically only frequents for his son, catching Stiles’ gaze through the breezeway window as he enters the air-conditioned office. He’s got an icepack pressed against his eye, meanwhile Jackson is at the opposite end of the row of chairs, arms crossed, legs sprawled as he glares away. When he turns to see who’s arrived, his lips twist into an amused smile before he scoffs and shakes his head sardonically. His cut lip and swollen cheek only add to his notorious reputation.

“Hey, Julie,” Derek says to the front desk woman, and she presses her lips into an empathetic smile as if they’ve got an undisclosed agreement between them each time he steps into this office.

“Mr. Hale,” she greets, setting the sign out sheet attached to a clipboard in front of him. He scribbles the necessary information, catching Jackson’s gaze as he turns to meet Stiles.

“Let’s go, kid,” Derek says, his tone faux disappointed, and Stiles blinks at him incredulously with a gaping mouth, his hand falling away to reveal an already blackening bruise before his expression switches in realization. His mouth snaps shut as he rises, backpack swinging over his shoulder as he flips Jackson off in the same movement. Derek hardly catches it before clenching his jaw to keep from laughing as they leave the office.

As soon as they slip into the car, Derek cups his chin, twisting his face with a frown.

“Baby, what happened?”

Stiles pulls his chin away, his head lowering as he presses the ice back to his eye and tugs up his hood.

“Nothing,” he says, and Derek rolls his eyes, his lips pursed.

“Stiles,” he tries, his tone flat, “this clearly isn’t ‘nothing’. What’d they tell your dad?”

Stiles glares forward, his jaw tensing. “He just knows I got into a fight and got suspended.”

“Okay,” Derek starts, taking in a deep breath as he keeps himself calm. “How long are you suspended?”

“Two days,” he says. “And I can’t play in the next game.”

“Can he?”

“What do you think?” he snaps, finally turning to Derek as his hand falls away. “He’s the team captain, they’re not going to force him to sit out.”

Derek sighs, feeling a bit defeated as he reaches to push his hood back, and Stiles lets him as Derek’s hand cups the back of his head, thumb brushing gently near the edge of the forming bruise. Stiles winces, jerking away before side-eyeing Derek wearily and pressing the melting ice pack back to his face.

“What’d he do?”

“Jackson was just… being Jackson. He said some things and I told him to shut the fuck up, and it just escalated from there.”

“Things like what?”

Stiles’ jaw hardens again, his head shaking. It’s quiet for a beat, and then he says, “Can we just go?”

Derek eyes him, his brows furrowing as he waits for Stiles to explain, but he doesn’t, just remains silent as he looks ahead.

“Alright, baby.”

He shifts the car out of park, pulling out of the circle drive, sending glances over every few moments as he lets his hand rest on Stiles’ thigh. He pulls into their neighborhood and glances over again.

“Are you going home, or do you want to come back with me?”

“With you,” he answers, his tone nearly offended as his head whips towards Derek.

“Okay,” Derek says, hand squeezing Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles covers it with his own, cold fingers hooking under Derek’s palm as he squeezes back and brushes his thumb over Derek’s fingers.

Derek pulls into the garage, and before they head inside, he drags Stiles into a tight hug, his hand cupping the base of his skull as his arm squeezes around his torso. He kisses his temple, and Stiles presses into his neck with a long sigh, fingers grasping Derek’s shirt as he melts against him.

“At least you got him good, too, huh?”

Stiles huffs out a short laugh, breath purling over Derek’s neck as he nods. “Only because I sucker punched him.”

“Is your hand okay?” Derek asks, bringing Stiles’ right hand up to inspect it. His fingers look a bit swollen, and Derek kisses them tenderly as Stiles exaggerates his pout and leans into the comfort.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, only a hint of a whine heard in his tone, and Derek smirks, doting on him a bit just because he’s so pitiful. He kisses his knuckles, squeezing around Stiles’ waist before loosening his grasp.

“My poor baby. Come on, I made Eli soup that he hasn’t eaten. You hungry?”

Stiles nods, reluctant to let go before they head inside. He slouches over the counter as Derek prepares him a bowl of soup and passes him a few painkillers, brushing over his downy hair before he makes his way upstairs to check on Eli. He’s passed out and drooling on his pillow, dead to the world.

Paige won’t be home for another few hours, and Derek has already taken the rest of the afternoon off. With their unexpected free time, they settle into the couch, the only place they have for themselves. Their sanctuary.

Stiles, as usual, makes himself at home, pressing against Derek’s side as they search for a movie as background noise, and Derek’s palm settles at his waist, thumb stroking the skin under his shirt. Derek scrolls through endless movies, and at the edge of his vision he can feel Stiles watching him, his face pressed at Derek’s shoulder, gazing steadily through his lashes before leaning in and kissing Derek’s cheek. Derek puts on a movie he can’t recall the name of before dropping the remote and turning his full attention towards Stiles.

“Hey,” Derek says, reaching up to touch his face, thumb stroking over Stiles’ cheek. “You okay?”

With a nod, he leans in, his eyes searching, and Derek meets him the rest of the way, their lips pressing in a solemn kiss, slow and simple before Derek pulls back to meet his gaze. He looks so doleful, his bottom lip jutting out as he frowns, and Derek scoops his arm under Stiles’ knees before gathering him into his lap and nuzzling into his buzzed hair.

“You need me to go kill someone?”

Stiles exhales a short laugh through his nose, pressing into Derek’s neck as his arm hooks beneath Derek’s armpit and slithers between Derek’s back and the couch as he makes himself comfortable.

“No, because if you go to prison, I’ll have to do something just as wild to end up in the same cell.”

Derek smiles against Stiles’ scalp, eyes slipping shut as he holds him close. The movie plays, a tertiary character in the room with them, and Stiles’ fingers curl in Derek’s hair at the back of his head with a soft sigh.

“You gonna tell me what he said?” Derek asks eventually, and Stiles tenses against him.

“It’s stupid,” he mumbles, fingers playing with Derek’s hair.

“Stupid enough to earn a black eye?”

Derek can imagine Stiles’ face pinched in disdain as he presses in further.

With an exaggerated sigh, his breath tickling against Derek’s neck, he pauses for another moment before finally muttering, “He said you look like you need to be bent over and fucked like a bitch in heat.”

His skin grows hot against Derek’s neck, and Derek’s lips press into a tight line as he suppresses a smirk while staring at the television, envisioning Stiles filling him up in such a scenario. It makes his mouth water, and he swallows before looking down.

“And that pissed you off because it’s true?”

Stiles huffs, raising his head as he meets Derek’s gaze. “It pissed me off because he said he’d take one for the team.”

Derek’s lips stretch into a full smirk. “I’m flattered you defended my honor, but next time you’re at risk for ruining your beautiful face, don’t. Okay?”

His bottom lip protrudes in a reactive pout, lashes fluttering as he blinks dejectedly. “So what, I’m supposed to just let him say that about you? Wouldn’t you defend my honor?”

“Of course I would. Not on school property, though. Come on, baby, I know you’re smarter than that.”

The pout doesn’t leave his face, his eyes growing wider as he tips his chin down and stares from under his lashes, the darkening bruise only aiding his cause.

“I couldn’t just let him get away with it, daddy,” he says, and Derek laughs before pinching his chin and pulling him in for a kiss, nipping gently at his bottom lip.

“You’re such a brat,” he says fondly, his lips curled.

“Your brat,” Stiles says, his arms wrapping around Derek’s neck as he presses closer. Derek can feel his pleased smile as he tilts his head and teases his tongue over Derek’s bottom lip. Derek’s hands squeeze where they rest at his waist and over his thigh, happy to feel his heavy warmth and submit to the soft tongue stroking against his own.

Derek lets him control the gratuitous kiss, a bit breathless once it ends and his eyes flick to Stiles’ puffy lips and back to his warm gaze. His left eye has darkened with the bruise that Derek can only admire, the temporary mark only affirming his beauty. Not just physically, because yeah, Derek might have a thing for bruises on pretty boys, but within him, too, his fierce loyalty to stand up for those he loves one of the most endearing things about him.  

Stiles’ tongue darts out before he pulls his lip between his teeth, his eyes searching.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” Derek asks, stroking his thumb at Stiles’ waist.

Stiles opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it, his eyes wide as he shakes his head and tucks back into Derek’s neck. Derek’s hand brushes up and down his side as he kisses his forehead.

“You can tell me anything, Stiles, you know that, right?”

Stiles nods but remains quiet.

“Because I’d love to hear anything you have to say,” Derek persists, his nose brushing over Stiles’ scalp as the corners of his mouth upturn. He has a feeling what Stiles wants to say, can sense it in the quiet between them. It’s been there a long time, already, but knowing that and saying it out loud are two different things.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Stiles mumbles out.

Derek huffs a laugh through his nose, a full smile stretching his lips. “Yeah, baby.”

“Okay, then, glad that’s settled.”

Lips still curled, Derek kisses at Stiles’ hairline and squeezes his waist.

“Good, because I’ve wanted to tell you I love you for a while, now.”

Stiles’ head pops up so fast he knocks Derek’s chin, a hint of blood swelling over his tongue caught between his teeth.

“Ow,” he furrows his brows as he presses the throbbing part of his tongue against the back of his teeth, lips pursing as he blinks idly. “Stiles.”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry! Wait, you love me?”

“Of course I do, what do you think this is?” Derek regards him, maybe too gravely for the situation, but this is a serious matter. He wouldn’t be risking everything if he didn’t.

Stiles beams, his hands cupping Derek’s cheeks as he pulls him in for a rough string of wet kisses. There’s no other way to describe his laugh other than a faint giggle, his energy buzzing with it, and Derek beams along with him as he returns each kiss.

“I love you too,” Stiles tells him, calming down enough to press their foreheads together, his thumbs swiping over Derek’s cheeks. “Like, a lot. I love you a whole lot.”

Derek smiles, their noses brushing.

“Okay, then, glad that’s settled.”

They kiss again, because Derek can’t keep his lips off him, and Stiles sucks the blood off Derek’s tongue before shifting into his favorite position—folded knees straddling each of Derek’s thighs, his ass sitting on Derek’s crotch like it’s his throne, and Derek breaks the kiss as he pants, already half hard from their make out sessions. Stiles is slow to open his eyes and meet his gaze, eyes half-lidded as he bites his lip.

Derek has always been able to read Stiles fairly well, and his current expression is no exception.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” Derek tells him, though he can’t think of a reason why. Eli is knocked out on flu meds and Paige still has another hour before she leaves work.

“Daddy,” is all Stiles says, or whines, really, his eyebrows drawing in. “Can I suck your cock?

Derek’s eyes flutter shut as he swallows and takes in a deep breath, carefully meeting his gaze as his eyes slip open again.

“Stiles,” he starts, exasperated, and Stiles blinks innocuously, eyes wide with a juicy pout as his hips rock down.

Derek can’t possibly tell him no—he’s just a man with a beautiful boy in his lap who wants nothing more than to drool over his cock, and it’s not like denying him is ever in the realm of possibility, anyway.

He knows Stiles can play him like a fiddle. He honestly does not care.

“Okay, okay,” Derek breathes out, squeezing over Stiles’ hips as he captures his bottom lip between his teeth. He can feel Stiles’ victorious smile before he starts shifting down, kneeling between Derek’s parted thighs, inching his pants off before his clever hand wraps around Derek’s dick and then his cleverer mouth follows, warm eyes preserving Derek in place.

“You’re so pretty like this, baby,” Derek breathes out, his thumb stroking Stiles’ cheek gently over his bruise before settling his fingertips at Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles flushes, his gaze never tearing away as he lets his tongue trail through the slit, his wet mouth soaking him. A string of drool snaps from his chin, lips lush and red as he lets his throat relax and swallow more, and Derek’s breath hitches as he grasps at Stiles’ shirt over his shoulder.

“That’s it, baby, just like that, good boy,” Derek mumbles, holding his gaze as he bites his lip. Stiles pulls back and sucks the tip, tongue lapping through the slit.

“Jesus, baby,” Derek gasps out, and Stiles circles his tongue beneath his foreskin, letting his slobber coat Derek’s dick while his hand covers the shaft with a slow upstroke. It’s wet and messy and Stiles cups his balls and fondles them like he’s playing a game to win, a hint of mirth in his eyes as he suckles at the tip and watches Derek closely.

“Shit—” Derek grunts out, his body tensing as he holds back, his hand gripping over Stiles’ shoulder. “Gonna come,” he warns, just as the garage door opens.

The blood drains from Derek’s face as Stiles pulls off him, saliva connecting them in a long string before Derek quickly tucks himself back into his sweatpants. He’s still achingly hard despite his orgasm being ruined, his dick sticky in his underwear before tucking it under his waist band and covering it with his shirt.

The teen scrambles to plop on the other side of the couch, his face rosy, lips red as he adjusts himself to hide his erection. He swipes a hand over his mouth and meets Derek’s gaze just as the back door swings open, and Derek’s heartbeat hums in his ears as he tries to act normal despite his flushing skin and leaking cock.

“Hey,” Paige says, her brows furrowing as her gaze switches between the two, letting the straps of her tote bag fall off her shoulder before setting it on the counter as she makes her way into the living room. “What’s up?”

Derek pauses for a brief moment, blinking a few times before turning to Stiles, who turns to him at the same time with a red face and parted lips. They both turn back to Paige.

“I got suspended,” Stiles answers simply, holding his breath as if waiting for her to accept this answer. At least his flushed face can be taken as shame.

“Suspended? What happened?”

Derek takes in a deep breath, his heart catching a fraction of relief as Stiles explains a diluted version of the story, and Paige seems to believe it all, as if it weren’t the truth, though her surprised expression turns disappointed fairly quickly.

“What’d he say?” she asks, eyebrows knit.

Stiles doesn’t even flinch when he says, “Something about my mom, I don’t even remember.”

A flash of understanding flickers over her features, and she nods as her lips press in a solemn line.

“I see. Well, violence is never the answer,” Paige makes herself at home and takes the open seat on the couch between the two, “but I do think a few punches might do Jackson some good,” she says, leaning in to greet Derek with a quick kiss.

It’s the only form of affection they share these days, done out of habit more than anything, but of course it has to happen in front of Stiles.

Derek hardly returns it, glancing at Stiles from the corner of his eyes before meeting Paige’s gaze as she leans back.

“Good thing you were home today, huh?” she says, and Derek nods as he swallows.

“Yeah, I guess,” he answers, swiping his hand over his beard. “How are you home so early?”

“It’s the first Tuesday of the month,” she says, snatching the remote from the arm rest over Derek’s lap. “Early out.”

“Oh, right,” Derek responds, glancing at Stiles on the other side of Paige.

“You want to just get delivery tonight?” she asks, leaning in against him as she tucks in her legs and flips through the options on the landing page.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Derek says.

The air is tense, and if Paige can feel it she doesn’t make it known. She sighs and lets her head rest on his shoulder.

They don’t touch like this anymore, but lately it seems the more Derek pulls away from her, the more handsy she gets, as if she’s pulling Derek back to her. If he lets it happen it's less intense.

It’s only a minute of the awkwardness before Stiles jumps up from his seat.

“I’m gonna go check on Eli,” he says, his voice distant as he walks away and stomps up the stairs two at a time, Derek’s eyes on him as he leaves.

After the door shuts upstairs, Paige says, “He seems in a mood today.”

Derek just looks after him as if he’ll reappear and look back at him this time before he departs.

“Yeah, it’s been a day,” Derek says, his cock already soft.

—

Derek shivers as a breeze passes over him, carrying away smoke as he stuffs his hand into the pocket of his sweatpants and drags on his cigarette. The long shadow of the fence cuts the light spilling from the dim light post, hiding him from any view from inside the house. A dog barks in the distance, his cigarette crackling as he pulls on it, and Stiles slinks out of the shadows as he comes forward. From this angle, Derek can see Stiles’ window—Stiles must have seen him, too.

He smells fresh when he steps in front of Derek, his arms crossing as he holds his gaze, brows pinched and lips pursed as if waiting for an explanation like it isn’t obvious.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” Derek says, smoke blowing from his lips.

“I hate her,” Stiles says, and even the way he says it, he knows that’s not true. Paige has been in Stiles’ life as much as Derek has, and it’s either this dissonance, or acknowledging the truth that neither of them wants to reckon with—they are both betraying her.

“You know that’s not true,” Derek says, pulling on his cigarette.

Stiles’ eyes follow Derek’s hand, quiet in his remorse. He keeps his arms crossed before meeting Derek’s gaze again, stepping inches closer.

“Why don’t you leave her? You’re clearly unhappy,” he says, studying Derek’s face.

Derek eyes him, sucking on his cigarette one last time before dropping it on the cement and scraping his shoe over the butt. Smoke pours from his lips, already craving another.

“Eli deserves both parents, don’t you think?”

This seems to perplex Stiles, his brows furrowing. “He’ll always have both parents, until one of you dies. And it better not be you, by the way.”

“Stiles,” Derek starts, his tone flat and defeated as he shakes his head and looks away.

The alley is quiet, but in the distance he can hear the highway breathing, and he thinks of driving on it with Stiles in the passenger seat and Beacon Hills a distant memory. He wonders if that could ever be a possibility, leaving here with him, starting their own life somewhere else as if it wouldn’t affect any of their loved ones here, right now, in this life.

Bringing up Claudia is always a risk, but he needs Stiles to understand. He turns back to him, eyes searching.

“Imagine your mother were still here,” he starts, chewing the inside of his lip, choosing his next words carefully. “And you’d never felt the devastation of losing her, but let’s say your parents got divorced instead. You don’t think that would be just as devastating?”

Stiles’ brows scrunch in a glare. “I’d rather my parents be divorced than dead.”

Derek winces, his face heating up as he swipes a hand over his mouth and looks down.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Derek says quickly, his head shaking, wondering why he ever thought it’d be a good idea to compare the two. “I just… I need you to understand where I’m coming from. A divorce would be the most traumatizing thing to happen to him at this point in his life, and he’s happy. We all live under the same roof and act as a family. I can’t take that away from him.”

“Yeah, act as a family. What, are you just supposed to act like that forever? Miserable and resenting her? I think Eli deserves happy parents more than living under the same roof with both.”

Derek sucks in a deep breath, letting his eyes slip shut as he takes a moment. There goes that ‘happy’ word again.

He really doesn’t want to get into this, not here, not right now. He doesn’t want to deal with real-life shit. Stiles is supposed to be his escape from that. Stiles is his dreamlife, the one he gets a taste of whenever they’re together and nothing else exists outside of them.

“I just. I’m not ready to do that to him yet. I know a divorce is inevitable, I do. And I promise you I want that. But it doesn’t have to happen while Eli is in school. This works and I’m determined to keep it that way until you two graduate at the very least. Do you understand?”

Stiles glowers at him, his arms still crossed as his eyes flick over Derek’s face. It’s clear this response doesn’t please him, but Derek can see it in his expression the moment he recognizes there’s nothing he can do about it—it’s either accept this as it is and maintain their secret relationship for the foreseeable future, or have nothing at all, and neither of them wants the latter. 

Stiles looks down, brows pinching in dolefully as he blinks away tears, and Derek watches with a frown before glancing around the dark alley. It’s late enough that most normal people are in bed and likely not watching whatever this interaction could be. He decides to take the risk, stepping in closer to drag Stiles into a tight hug and nuzzle into his downy hair, eyes slipping shut as he breathes in his peppery scent. 

“We just have to make it to your eighteenth, okay, baby? I know this sucks, but it’s all temporary.”

What it means to make it to that distant point in time, Derek doesn’t know. It doesn’t exist yet, and so he doesn’t need to worry about it in this moment.

Stiles presses into Derek’s neck with a soft sigh, his arms slipping around Derek’s torso with a tight squeeze.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, a reluctant agreeance as his fingers hook into Derek’s shirt. Derek kisses his hairline as he rubs over Stiles’ back and they stand there in the darkness, the cars whistling in the distance, their breaths falling in sync.

The guilt Derek feels is getting old really fast. He’s got to tamp it down with something.

“Hey,” Derek starts, keeping his arms tight around Stiles’ shoulders. “How about tomorrow I take the day off and we take a trip to San Francisco? Whatever you want to do, just you and me.”

Stiles’ head pops up, his lips curled in a careful smile, eyes bright.

“Really?” he asks, pulling his lip between his teeth, eyebrows raising hopefully.

“Yeah, baby. We can go to the zoo, or the aquarium, or just get a hotel for the day…”

His careful smile splits into a grin, dimples pressing in. “Can we go to the skate park?”

A smirk curls Derek’s lips, but he nods. “If that’s what you want, we’ll go to the skate park.”

Stiles nearly vibrates out of his skin, bouncing as he squeezes around Derek. “Okay, yeah, let’s go. And the hotel, too. With room service.”

Derek laughs, and, unthinking, leans in to capture his lips. “Anything for you, my love.”

Stiles beams, and after a gratuitous parting kiss hidden under the shadow of the tree, makes his way back to his house across the street. Derek pulls out another cigarette and watches him go, waiting for Stiles to come to the window. He appears between the open curtains, holding up the sign for ‘I love you’ as his forehead presses against the glass.

Derek sends the sign right back, kissing his fingers before holding his formed hand up proudly. Stiles kisses the glass and closes the curtains, and Derek watches his window as he finishes his cigarette.

—

“Why can’t I just stay home with you?” Eli whines, his head pressed against the passenger window.

“You’ve already missed too much school this semester. Coach isn’t very happy about it,” Derek replies, clicking on the turn signal. He glances back at Stiles in the rearview mirror, his lips a hint of a smile.

“But I don’t feel good,” he says with a frown, attempting to catch Derek’s gaze as if seeing his face will make him change his mind.

“You don’t have a fever anymore and you need to catch up on your schoolwork. You’re going to school, kid,” Derek insists, his jaw hardening as he pulls into the long line of kid drop-offs.

He sighs dramatically, sitting back in his seat with a brooding pout before turning back to Stiles. “You’re terrible at being suspended. You’re not even sleeping in.”

“Well I had to see my precious baby off to school, now didn’t I?” Stiles says with a smirk, reaching up to pinch Eli’s cheek, and Eli huffs before shoving his hand away and glaring forward once again. Derek doesn’t miss the implication.

“It’s disrespectful to the sacredness of suspension is what it is,” Eli grumbles, and Derek snorts and shakes his head as he pulls forward in the slow line. “Two whole days. I bet I could make it three, at least…”

“Eli, don’t you even think about it,” Derek snaps, turning his head to meet his gaze. “If you get suspended again, you’re off the team, and I will make sure your newfound free time is not fun for you.”

With an indignant huff, he snatches his bag and unbuckles his seatbelt, hand on the lever as he waits his turn. “Fine,” he grumbles, his face turned away. The radio noise fills the cabin as he ignores them both.

“Have a good day, I love you,” Derek tells him, and Eli chooses to ignore that, too, slamming the door shut on his way into the school. Derek sighs, feeling guilty.

Any other day, he’d let Eli stay home, because going to school while recovering from the flu sucks and he knows it. But today, it’s not in the stars. He’s got a lover to take on a day trip, and Eli really has missed too much school already.

Stiles climbs into the front seat, his hip shoving at Derek’s shoulder in his struggle, but soon he’s buckled in and grinning as Derek pulls out of the circle drive and heads to the highway.

“I’m so excited!” Stiles says, his bountiful energy radiating, and Derek smiles as he reaches over to take his hand, interlacing their fingers before bringing them to his lips.

“Me, too, baby. What do you want to do first?”

“Food, for sure, and then maybe the aquarium,” he answers, shifting in his seat as he tucks his calves under his thighs and faces Derek. Their hands fall into his lap, and his fingers play with Derek’s, stroking and massaging as he fidgets in his excitement. He changes the radio several times before connecting his phone, and Derek can never tell if Stiles’ playlists cater to Derek’s tastes, or if he really enjoys the same music Derek grew up listening to. They’re really good playlists, Derek tells him, and Stiles beams.

The drive is just over ninety minutes, but it goes by fast as they drive-thru for coffee and sing along the way. Stiles searches for places to eat and sets the directions on his phone, and when they get to the diner, they crowd into the same side of the booth and order way too much food.

“It must be father and son day,” the server says, and Stiles doesn’t miss a beat.

“Yes, I’ve got my daddy all to myself today,” he says, leaning in to kiss Derek’s cheek. Derek flushes and side-eyes him, his lips twitching as his arm falls around Stiles’ shoulders with a playful nudge.

“Aw, how cute,” she says flatly, slipping her pen behind her ear. “I’ll have that right out for you boys,” she says with a wink, and Derek can’t tell if she’s entirely oblivious or playing along. Servers must see a lot of affairs, Derek thinks.

Stiles presses against his side, and Derek leans in to kiss his temple.

“You’re a menace,” he mumbles against Stiles’ skin, and Stiles laughs as his hand settles on the inside of Derek’s thigh.

It’s slow for a Wednesday at brunch, only a handful of tables occupied in the themed diner. At the other end of the row of booths, a middle-aged man meets his gaze with a knowing smirk, a young boy at his side—Derek can’t quite tell his age, but something tells him he’s underage, too, and Derek averts his gaze quickly, as if lingering on them any longer makes him an accomplice.

In a city like San Francisco, their relationship dynamic is not unordinary.

He glances at Stiles, admiring his profile as he cranes over his phone, and wonders what people think of them, if they can tell Stiles is underage, or even if he’s just a kid in his twenties, what they think of Derek. There’s no skirting around it. Even though Derek is in his thirties—which is still young, by the way—his beard and hair have more salt than pepper thanks to genetics. He looks like a much older man than he is, and Stiles’ wide eyes and fresh skin will make him look half his age for a long, long time. The two beside each other only accentuate the physical differences in their age.

“We could go to Golden Gate Park,” Stiles murmurs, his eyes on his phone as he scrolls a reddit thread of suggestions, “or check out the wharf,” he says, eyes flicking as he reads, “or the planetarium…” his lips curl down a bit as he looks up and meets Derek’s gaze. “There’s so much to do and so little time.”

Derek leans in and kisses over a mole, his hand squeezing Stiles’ shoulder reassuringly. “It’s okay, baby, we can always come back.”

His lips switch, just a hint of a smile as he searches Derek’s gaze. “You promise?”

Derek smiles, amused because that’s just what Stiles does—amuses him and pulls smiles out of him and makes him happy, and it makes Derek want to give Stiles the world on a string and all the planets in their solar system and beyond.

“I promise,” Derek says, and Stiles kisses him because he can here. Derek hates that it makes him feel like he’s doing something bad, like they’re not supposed to be doing this—because they aren’t—but especially in public where someone could see them, it still feels incredibly risky but altogether worth it.

He returns the kiss nonetheless, certain he’d do the same if he were pulled away from Stiles in handcuffs.

The server drops off their meal, and they stuff their faces and talk about other things they could do, the skate park one of the lower items on the list now that Stiles has discovered there’s more to do here than they have access to in Beacon Hills. He gets whipped cream on the corner of his mouth and Derek doesn’t resist reaching up to clear it off and lick his thumb clean.

After brunch, Stiles plugs in the next location, and they meander around Pier 39 on the wharf, watching the sea lions and stopping into shops, kissing whenever they feel it’s necessary, which happens to be quite often. It’s like Stiles remembers he can kiss Derek whenever he wants, and so he does, little pecks on his cheek or at the corner of his mouth whenever Stiles glances over and smiles like he’s harboring a secret. Derek lets him lead the way, following wherever he goes, happy to be here with him and have their sacred time together.

In a crystal shop, they find matching woven bracelets meant for friendship and tie each other’s wrists in blue and green thread, and Derek decides then and there it’ll stay until the fibers disintegrate off his body. How they’ll explain matching bracelets is beyond him at this point, but he’s certain they’ll figure it out.

He kisses the inside of Stiles’ wrist once he’s finished tying it off, and Stiles smiles with all his teeth as he admires it before leaning in for yet another kiss—Derek hopes to never meet the end of them.

Eventually, both a bit overstimulated, Stiles decides he wants to sit on the cable car, people watching and sight-seeing until they get a little lost and end up stopping into a downtown café for a coffee break.

“I think I’m ready for a nap,” Stiles says, staring off tiredly as his fingers tap mindlessly over his knee, the other hand grasping his paper cup.

Derek sips his own coffee, watching Stiles over the rim as they sit at a bistro table on the sidewalk.

“Are you sure you’re not the old man in this relationship?” Derek teases, an eyebrow raising.

“Shut up,” Stiles huffs, the corners of his mouth upturning as he lightly kicks at Derek’s ankle. “I just want to lay in a bed with you.”

Derek’s lips curve in a melancholy smile, regarding him for a moment before nodding.

“Okay, baby.”

They end up at a five-star hotel because anything less would feel cheap when asking for the day rate already devalues the experience. Derek doesn’t even expect sex—he just wants to lie down in a bed with Stiles, too, but no one would believe them if they told them that.

He’s not sure he believes it either. Being in an actual bed with Stiles? It’s a no brainer.

The hotel room is bright and contemporary, with a plush loveseat and a welcoming bed, and Stiles spreads out his arms as he lets himself fall back onto the fluffy comforter with a dreamy sigh. His lips are stretched into a contented smile, his long lashes nearly laying on his cheeks before his eyes flutter open to stare at Derek hovering above him.

Watching him closely, Derek knees Stiles’ legs open before slotting between his thighs, reaching out to feel the strip of revealed skin beneath the hem of his shirt as he skims along the denim waist band. He could hardly resist touching him in public, and now that Derek’s got him here in this room, locked away and all to himself, he makes no attempt to inhibit his deviance.

Stiles licks his lips and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, unmoving as he lets Derek feel him, his eyes darkening when Derek’s fingertips brush through the trail of hair beneath his navel before hooking under the elastic of his boxer briefs. He tugs gently, and Stiles swallows, his breath catching.

“Are you having fun today, baby?” Derek asks him, repressing his smirk as Stiles’ eyes reflect a lack of comprehension as Derek’s fingers tease at his wild pubic hair.

“Huh? Yeah,” he breathes out, his dick already hardening. Derek’s lips stretch wide, amused. He can’t deny how hot it is that Stiles is so reactive to his touch, the wanton desire apparent in every curl of his body as he aches for more.

“Good,” Derek says, and just the word alone is enough to have Stiles salivating, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath milky skin as he swallows and blinks up with wide awaiting eyes.

They’ve fooled around enough now, fingering and blow jobs and lots of kissing and even some rimming, but have hardly had time to take their time. It’s only noon, and they won’t have to leave for a few more hours.

With Stiles laid before him in a private room and hours ahead of them, Derek takes advantage, his hands wandering wherever they please, pushing the teen’s shirt up to his nipples before leaning down and latching his mouth over a pink bud. He watches Stiles carefully, lapping his tongue, savoring the flush of his skin as he starts getting worked up with small gasps and eager squirms. So sensitive.

Derek takes his time, because they have just enough of it, undressing him, kissing him, feeling him, every noise a reminder of how much Stiles wants this, every grasp of Derek’s wrist or bicep an affirmation that Derek is wanted and if he stops, there will be hell to pay.

With Stiles beneath him, Derek’s knees planted between spread legs, arms bracketing Stiles in as they kiss and frot, Stiles arches up to meet every bit of him as he grasps their cocks together and squeezes. Derek breaks the kiss and presses their foreheads together, sucking in a breath as his hips follow the heat of his hand, and then Stiles says it.

“I want you inside me, daddy.”

The thought makes Derek’s brain short-circuit as he attempts to wrap his mind around it. He swallows, panting as Stiles jerks them off, leaning back to meet his gaze. His eyes are so warm, half-lidded and voracious, lips plush from Derek biting at them. He blinks, waiting.

“You’re sure?” Derek breathes out. As much as he’s wanted to, content to take him anyway he can get, it somehow finalizes things between them, even more so than telling each other ‘I love you’ or getting fucked over his bathroom sink with his family downstairs.

It means Stiles is really his—he’ll get to open him up, to feel his insides that no one else has ever had the pleasure of knowing. He’ll get to finish inside him and mark him, as if Derek were some feral animal declaring his mate to the world.

He’s never needed to declare such a thing until this very moment.

“I’ve been sure since I was eleven,” Stiles says positively, reaching to comb his fingertips through Derek’s beard, his eyes searching. “I’m yours, Derek.”

The words take Derek’s breath away, his lips parted as he searches Stiles’ gaze right back.

Derek nods, licking his lips as he swallows and leans in to seal their mouths together again.

“All mine,” Derek affirms, and Stiles melts beneath him, like that’s all he needed to hear.

He wants to get this right. He wants Stiles’ first time to live up to whatever fantasy he’s had since the fifth grade. He wants every part of it to feel good, because it should, and because Stiles is worthy of nothing less.

After Derek orders a salad with extra olive oil on the side and they have a few laughs, he slicks up his fingers and watches Stiles’ face each time he presses another in, taking his time, palming anywhere he can reach, easing into him. Derek has fingered him before, but not with this many fingers, and not with the intent of coming inside him, either.

Stiles’ cock is drooling precum, his moans breaking every time Derek thrusts his fingers over his prostate, lashes fluttering as he fails to hold himself back.

He comes unannounced, hiding in his elbow as a puddle forms over his stomach, beautiful cock twitching, tight hole puckering around Derek’s thick fingers.

“That’s a good boy,” Derek says, and Stiles whimpers as another bead spills out of him. Derek wonders if he could get Stiles off by praise alone, without even touching him. He’ll have to try that some time.

Derek licks his stomach clean and teases his nipples again, and only once Stiles is writhing and begging and leaking precum again does Derek line himself up to press inside.

The only way to describe the soft, tight heat is heaven.

Derek’s been inside men, and women, before, obviously. For the most part, give or take which hole, it all feels the same.

This time is different. This time it feels like he’s supposed to be here.

Unwilling to miss any second of every micro expression on his face, Derek watches diligently as Stiles falls apart beneath him, already close again as his hands fervently roam over Derek’s body, their heavy breaths and elicit moans the only noises aside from the slap of their skin meeting and the small gasps each time Derek sinks back into him.

“Can you tell me, daddy?” Stiles begs, his voice a tight whine as his hole spasms around Derek’s cock.

For a moment he’s not sure what Stiles means, but he understands quickly enough by the way his eyes blink up at him and his small pout.

His lips twitch fondly, hands seizing Stiles’ waist with a tender squeeze as he buries himself in the heavenly heat and stills.

“That’s my good boy,” Derek says lowly, and Stiles’ lashes flutter as he comes untouched, clenching tightly with pretty whimpers that have Derek spilling inside of him.

The crisp linens trap their naked warmth once they huddle in close to each other. Their heads are on the same pillow, their eyes locked with contented smiles, legs slotted, arms draped over the other. They can lie down on the couch like this no problem, but it’s different. It feels impermanent, like a transition, like it won’t last as Derek wants it to. Lying with him in a bed feels more settled, more real.

Derek wants to know what it’s like to wake up next to him, to pull him close and wake him with kisses and squeezes, to press into him and hear his sleepy pants and moans, to get him off first thing before they enjoy the rest of their uninterrupted day together.  

“What are you thinking?” Stiles asks, his fingertips grazing through Derek’s chest hair. Derek squeezes at his waist, thumb stroking over his rib.

“I’m thinking,” Derek starts, pausing as he admires his plumy lashes and the blooming bruise around his eye, “that I want to wake up next to you.”

“I see. And?” Stiles says, eyes glinting.

“And,” Derek says, leaning in for a quick kiss as he grips Stiles close, “then come inside you for you to walk around like that all day.”

Stiles shudders against him, returning his kiss as his hand comes up to curl around the back of Derek’s neck. Unable to resist—a constant struggle for Derek these days—Derek’s hand wanders to slip between his wet cheeks, a finger circling the hole he just came in. The one marked as his, now.

They go for another round, because they’ve got time and Stiles begs him to when Derek’s worried it’s too much, he doesn’t want to hurt him, but then Stiles tells him he wants it to hurt so he can feel Derek all day, and, well. Derek once again cannot resist.

The time to leave has come too soon. They both have difficulty disentangling themselves, eager to lean back in and steal more kisses, to feel more of the other. Eventually they manage, showering together and stretching out every moment until the very last.

As they walk hand-in-hand, meandering through the hotel lobby in bliss, Derek happens to glance into the hotel bar and make eye contact with a patron who looks a lot like his uncle. He does a double take, his heart stopping as he stills, his hand tightening over Stiles’ clutched in his own.

Peter tilts his head with a knowing smirk, signature crystal tumbler in hand.

There’s no explaining themselves out of this. Glowing from a salubrious session of love making aside, their hands are clutched with no intent on disconnecting, and there’s no telling how long Peter has been here.

Stiles, who turned back in confusion when Derek halted in his tracks, follows Derek’s line of sight.

“Oh, fuck,” he says.

Peter grins like he’s read Stiles’ lips, raising his glass in a toast before finishing off his cocktail.

Well, that sealed it.

They don’t have time to stop and explain themselves. It’s obvious, anyway, and really, Derek wants to salvage what's left of their slightly ruined perfect day. He clenches his jaw and cuts his gaze away, tugging Stiles along with him as they head towards the car.

Stiles’ energy is radiating, anxious now as he glances back and jitters along.

“What’s gonna happen?” he asks, his fingers clutching tight. Derek opens the passenger door for him, bringing him in before releasing his grasp and reaching to hold his face with both hands. Their gazes lock, Derek’s fingertips pressing into his skull.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Derek says firmly, and he knows this. He knows Peter. He’ll want something, but in return he won’t tell a soul. He wouldn’t anyway, but this way he can get something out of it, and Peter above all else is an opportunist. Out of anyone who could have discovered them, he is their only plausible ally.

“How do you know?” he asks, worry in his gaze as he frowns.

“Trust me baby, I know. You think he’d have any hesitation if you gave him the time of day?”

Stiles blinks, his head shaking as he remembers this.

“So he’ll ask you for something,” Stiles concludes, his voice already lightening in hesitant relief. Derek nods.

Stiles lets himself relax, his shoulders dropping as he nods back and grips at Derek’s wrists. Derek kisses him firmly, as if stamping the gravity of this windfall to ease his anxiety, and when they break apart, he waits until Stiles is buckled in before closing the door and rounding the car to his side.

The ride home isn’t as exciting as the ride coming out. Music plays but it’s just a radio station hardly curing the silence as Stiles chews at his thumbnail and stares out the window. Derek reaches for his hand, and Stiles switches to the other.

Even if they will be okay, it’s still nerve-wracking that someone knows their secret.

“I should tell you something,” Stiles says, letting his hand fall from his mouth as he turns to face Derek.

“Okay,” Derek answers, glancing sideways and back to the road.

“Lydia knows, too. She’s known this whole time. Like, she’s the only one who has ever known my feelings about you. But she knew something was up pretty much immediately and I had to tell someone. So yeah. She knows.”

Derek takes in a deep breath through his nose, pausing, and then he shrugs. Lydia seems like she knows how to keep a secret, and Derek doubts she would ever do anything to hurt Stiles. She’s got her own business to maintain, anyway. Lydia isn’t a threat.

“Okay,” Derek says with a nod, stroking his thumb over the back of Stiles’ palm.

“You’re not mad?”

“I could never be mad at you,” Derek tells him, and he’s certain of this. Nothing Stiles could ever do would make Derek angry. Maybe sad, maybe devastated, perhaps annoyed, but when it comes to Stiles, anger isn’t even an eligible emotion on the roster. “I’m glad you have someone you can talk to.”

He’s quiet for a beat, his fingers twisting at Derek’s.

“I’m glad you have someone, now, too,” Stiles says, and he brings their hands up to his warm lips, brushing them over Derek’s knuckles.

The rest of the ride feels lighter from there as Stiles continues to fidget with Derek’s fingers in his lap, occasionally fiddling with the bracelet he tied on just hours ago.

“I don’t think you should keep this on,” Stiles says a bit solemnly, and Derek knows he’s right.

He glances over at Stiles with a resigned smile as he starts to untie the bracelet with his dull fingernails before inevitably bringing Derek’s wrist up to his mouth and using his teeth.

Derek doesn’t want to ever take it off, but it’s too suspicious for them to be wearing matching bracelets and not very smart of them to defy the unspoken decrees of affairs. They can’t risk it, not after already getting caught.

“I’ll keep it in my wallet,” Derek promises, and Stiles releases his hand to dig beneath Derek’s ass and pull out his wallet from his back pocket. He loops the bracelet up into a smaller circle before stuffing it into the bifold, slipping Derek’s wallet back in his pocket before taking his hand again.

“Yours stays on,” Derek says firmly. Stiles’ lips curl, his head hung as he returns to playing with Derek’s fingers.

—

Peter is waiting for him by the poolside when Derek returns home from work the next day, the boy’s band practice the soundtrack of the evening. He’s cool as a cucumber, sipping his beverage, reading his novel as his skin tans under the sun. Derek takes a seat beside him, reaching for his glass.

“I think you’re an alcoholic,” Derek says, finishing off the drink.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Peter says, pretending to read his book.

Derek’s jaw ticks. At one point in his life, not very long ago, he thought the same.

When Derek doesn’t offer anything, Peter drops his book in his lap and looks over his sunglasses.

“Are you going to share the juicy details, nephew, or do I need to go buy Stiles an ice cream?”

Derek huffs through his nose, exasperated as he looks away. He would honestly prefer it if Peter never talked to Stiles again, but seeing as how he’s one of the few who knows about them, it’ll be inevitable.

“It started a week after his birthday,” Derek says, running a hand over his mouth. That’s when Stiles’ feelings were acknowledged, in the very spot Derek sits now, their relationship quickly evolving from there. He scans the water and thinks, for Stiles, it started way before then. Not including the couple of weeks Derek broke it off, the affair has only been just over a month. It feels like it’s been much longer somehow.

“I broke it off, but obviously it didn’t last.”

Derek wants to say, ‘He’s the one who pursued me,’ but even the idea feels like he’s placing blame on Stiles when he knows damn well he fantasized about Stiles before then. It doesn’t change anything, anyway—at the end of the day, he’s still a pedophile.

The thought makes bile rise in his throat, and suddenly his eyes are watering and he’s pressing the heel of a palm to them as he looks away. Peter is gracious enough to sip his drink and wait patiently.

What he has with Stiles feels so natural, so right in his soul, that it doesn’t feel like he’s taking advantage of him. It doesn’t feel like he’s forcing this, like he’s making Stiles do these things, but Derek can’t help but feel like he’s this horribly incorrigible monster diddling a defenseless child, because anyone with sense would view him as such.

The uninhibited love between them should transcend any implication of their relationship. Unfortunately, that’s just not how the world works.

He can admit he had fantasies of a teenager, but he never in a million years thought they’d come true in the same way he never had any intention of making it so. But a man can only deny what he truly wants for so long when his prey is taunted in his face the taking, and really, who can say no to Stiles? Incessant is his middle name.

“And you’re in love with him,” Peter states. It’s not a question, because Peter knows Derek just as well. He’s a sucker for love and he’s down bad, and he wouldn’t be risking his whole life for Stiles if he weren’t.

“Yes,” Derek answers, almost intuitionally as he rubs at his eyes. He can’t quite say why he’s crying, just that he’s needed to.

It really is nice to finally have someone to talk to.

“I’m leaving Paige when he graduates,” Derek adds.

“Is that so?”

The way Peter says it makes Derek’s blood hot. Then again, he doesn’t feel he has anything to prove. What he feels for Stiles doesn’t need to be defended, Peter of all people in the least.

Peter laughs and pushes up his sunglasses.

“Oh, Tali is going to love this,” he says, and Derek presses his lips in a grim line as he glances over, resigned.

“What do you want?”

Peter smirks.

“I think it’s about time for our Isaac to make an appearance, don’t you?”

Derek lets out the breath he’d been holding, pleasantly surprised as his head tilts and his eyebrows go up. It has indeed been some time since Isaac has visited, and even if Derek can’t tell him about his affair, it would be nice to have his best friend in town for a while. Unfortunately for them, it means having to include Peter.

“You know he’s not going to fuck you,” Derek says, deadpan.

“Anything is possible. Look at you,” Peter says with a proud smile, and Derek wrinkles his nose.

“Fine, whatever,” Derek says, reaching up to loosen his tie as he leans back in the chaise, legs planted on each side. He wants to jump into the pool but the boys will be done soon and he knows they’ll want to cool down after their practice.

Peter has refilled his glass from the flask on the table between them, and he takes a sip before he offers it to Derek.

“How’s it been with Paige?” Peter asks, and even though Peter might not let his cool exterior show it, he does in fact genuinely care for Derek’s wellbeing.

“We haven’t had sex in six months, so it’s not like anything has really changed,” Derek says, sipping his drink.

Paige has made advances, but they’re ultimately unsuccessful. Partly because Derek dodges them, partly because whenever he doesn’t, he just can’t get it up, and then it’s awkward and devolves into Derek comforting her as some form of penance.

“Anytime she touches me, it feels like I’m cheating on him.”

Peter’s brows go up as he leans in, thrilled to finally collect the juicy details he originally asked for.

“You think you can manage that for the next two years?” he asks, and it’s not snarky, like he doesn’t believe Derek can manage it, but genuinely curious to see how he’ll be able to pull that off.

“What choice do I have? I’m not going to put Eli through a divorce before he’s done with school.”

“Do you think she will, though?”

Derek stares ahead, his lips pursing as his brows knit in. Paige leaving him has never even occurred to him. She may threaten it, but ultimately they both know she’ll only leave for a few days before she comes right back. Unless she finds out about Stiles, Paige isn’t going anywhere.

“No, she won’t. She’ll never leave me,” he says, a twinge of guilt stabbing his heart. He can’t imagine what it’ll feel like for her once Derek leaves her for Stiles, because eventually, they will be a public couple one day. People will know, and they’ll pity her and she’ll hate it. Pity is the last thing she’ll want.

Peter doesn’t have anything to say to that. Derek takes a sip of his cocktail before passing it back, watching the water and listening to the cover song the boys picked today, muffled through the thin garage walls.

Peter decides to bring the conversation back to Stiles and asks, “So, how’s the sex?”

Derek glowers a bit, glancing over.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Derek says, despite having shared a few things of his sex life in the past. Mostly, he doesn’t want anyone in their business. No one needs to know how good Stiles is in bed, or outside of it, for that matter.

Peter laughs, his eyebrows going up. “That good, huh?”

He can’t help the curl of his lips as he stares ahead, avoiding his uncle’s gaze.

As expected, the boys burst out of the garage mid-strip as they run to the pool, jumping in and sending great splashes that reach Derek and Peter where they sit. Peter, annoyed, grabs his towel to wipe off the droplets.

Derek smiles when Stiles pops back up and wipes his face off, his eyes flicking between the two before settling on Derek in a silent question.

“Hey, dad,” Stiles says before shifting his gaze to Peter. “Hey, Mr. Hale.”

It’s rare for Stiles to call him ‘dad’, but he uses it as a term of endearment on occasion. It’s clear what his intent is here, though, more as a differential between the two grown Hales as well as a quiet acknowledgement in front of Peter.

“Hi, Stiles,” Peter replies, his voice smooth, “You know, I’ve said it a million times, just call me Peter.” His lips slant in a smug smile as he sips his drink and watches Stiles over his glass.

Derek rolls his eyes, leaning over his knees with his hands laced between his legs as he meets Stiles’ gaze.

“Hey, Stiles. Good practice?” Derek asks, glancing at the other boys as they start a game of pool basketball. Liam is here, too, because he kind of just follows Eli wherever he goes now, and before Stiles can reply, Scott starts rambling about Stiles’ drum solo as Eli throws him the ball.

“Sorry I missed it. I’ll have to come by next time,” Derek promises, his lips curling.

“Okay,” Stiles says, his smile matching. “You wanna come play?”

Derek’s lips stretch wider with a short huff through his nose. He shakes his head, because they know better than to put themselves in risky situations in front of others by now, and Derek can’t promise he won’t touch Stiles inappropriately. Technically, it’s always inappropriate, but. You know.

“Not tonight, kiddo. Rain check,” he says, and Stiles’ lips press in a resigned smile before he nods and inserts himself in the game.

If he goes inside, he has to talk to Paige. He sighs, taking a long drink before passing the tumbler back to Peter. He glances at his watch and counts the three hours ahead to figure out Isaac’s time. It’s just after nine there, but knowing Isaac, he’ll be up and buzzing. Nighttime is his prime time.

She’s in the kitchen when he enters, starting dinner with the radio keeping her company. She greets him with a quick kiss and asks him about his day, returning to her chopping as she listens, and Derek watches her and thinks there’s no way she’s enjoying this. They hardly have anything in common anymore, hardly have any conversation fodder outside of daily life things. Their life is just a monotonous existence that Derek doesn’t give much thought to until he’s forced to reckon with it.

He hates it. It feels like a performance, a mask he must wear for the sake of their son, for the image that must be portrayed to the world—this is a completely normal family, nothing to see here. No need to look behind that curtain, that’s just the neighbor kid.

“How was your day?” he asks out of courtesy. He remembers when he was excited to hear what she had to say. Now listening to her feels like a chore.

“It was alright, just kids being kids,” she says, stirring the sauce in the pan. He watches the spoon and feels guilty. He steps into this house and feels guilty.

He has the thought that she’s in someone else’s spot, and he realizes he can’t treat her as his wife because that’s not how he sees her anymore. How can she be his spouse when it feels as though that’s Stiles’ place?

She doesn’t deserve to be in a marriage where she’s not wanted. It’s not like she’s this terrible person Derek wants to make her out to be simply because it would be easier that way. She’s still the same person Derek fell in love with seventeen years ago, the same qualities that have him weak in the knees—brains, beauty, wit. But it’s just not her anymore.

Perhaps, if Derek never allowed himself to fall in love with Stiles, they could have come back to themselves as couples tend to throughout their vast years of companionship. But it’s too late for that now.

She’s simply the mother of his child, a friend at best, but even that’s pushing it.

If he can’t treat her as his wife, he can at least treat her as his friend. She deserves that at the very least, so he nods and chuckles when she tells him a kid brought a kitten in her shirt to school today, which is actually pretty funny, and she smiles like she’s proud of pulling a few laughs from him.  

“I’m gonna go call Isaac, it’s been a minute,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek, because friends don’t kiss on the lips.

“Okay. Dinner should be ready in thirty.” He nods appreciatively, eyeing the sink full of dishes.

“I’ll do these, don’t worry about them,” he says, waving his hand as if it’ll make them disappear.

“Okay,” she says, glancing up at him with a soft smile. Derek starts to back away, but her hand falls to his waist before he can turn. He meets her gaze with a raised brow.

“Hey, I love you,” she says, her hand squeezing. “I feel like I haven’t said it to you in a while.”

Derek’s lips twitch in a reactive smile, his eyes searching.

Not his wife, but his friend. He still loves his friends.

“I love you too, honey,” he says, in the same way a gay man would call their lavender girlfriend. That’s what she is now, and she doesn’t even know it, but she still seems happy enough as she leans in for a kiss. Anything to keep her mollified.

Derek returns it dutifully, squeezing at her arm before he forces a smile and heads upstairs to change out of his work clothes.

With that interaction behind him, he sits on the edge of his bed and calls Isaac.

“Chris and I broke up,” Isaac tells him eventually, after all the greetings and ball busting, and just by the melancholy tone of this conversation, Derek could already tell.

“What happened?” Derek asks, mostly out of courtesy. These things never work out for Isaac, no matter how hard or often he tries, though he’s shocked this one lasted a lot longer than the others.

“It just wasn’t working. He works too much and won’t give me the time of day,” Isaac says, and if it’s not this or the client’s wife discovering them, then it’s because whatever dude he’s with can’t get it up anymore and their cardiologist cut off the Viagra. That’s how old Isaac’s clients tend to be. He could go for younger ones, but they’re douchier and stingier, and Isaac, like Stiles, tends to prefer them older, anyway.

“Come visit, then,” Derek tells him, because he usually does after a breakup anyway, and this way he doesn’t have to explain the bribe. He’s not even sure how he could without telling him of the affair.

Isaac sighs dramatically, his end of the line rustling when he assumingly falls back on his bed.

“I guess I could come visit the old stomping grounds,” he says, as if it’s a chore, though Derek knows he loves visiting. The Laheys might be dead to Isaac, but the Hales have always welcomed him into their home and treated him like family in the same way Stiles has always been welcome here.

“You should. Peter’s asking about you,” Derek says with a small smirk, and he can hear the eyeroll. “Plus Eli is getting so big. You won’t recognize him, or Stiles,” Derek adds. It’s no unknown fact how joined at the hip they are, and Derek is suffering here, eager to talk about Stiles whenever and however he can.

The idea of Stiles and Isaac meeting has Derek a bit flustered, but in a good way. Of course they’ve met before, but it was different then. This is like introducing him to family, and he wants Stiles to know his life; Isaac is a big part of it even if he doesn’t show up very often.

“It’s settled, then. When are you coming?” Derek asks, mostly to avoid blurting out his prolific love affair. He’s having a hard time figuring out what to say without giving himself away.

Two people already know, and that’s two people too many. He knows Isaac wouldn’t tell a soul, but it feels unfair when Stiles can’t tell his own best friend and Derek already has someone he can talk to.

“Soon, I guess. Not like I have much else to do,” Isaac says dully. He’ll be a bit insufferable while he works through the sadness, but it’s nothing Derek isn’t used to. There’s more rustling as Isaac taps through his phone. “I could book a ticket right now and be there next Friday.”

“Alright, I’ll pick you up at the airport. Book it,” Derek says, excited to see his friend. It’s been at least a year since they’ve seen each other in person, and Derek’s only now realizing how much he’s missed him and could use the socialization.

“It’s booked,” he says, his tone apprehensive before he pauses. Derek can imagine his eyes narrowing, as if he could read Derek from three thousand miles away. “You alright?”

Derek chews at the inside of his cheek, staring across the room into the primary suite bathroom. He licks his lips and nods.

“Yeah, I’m good, actually. Send me the details, okay? I have to go get dinner started.” The last part’s a lie but if he doesn’t get off the phone right now he will spill his secrets.

“Alright, dude…” Isaac starts, his tone disbelieving. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.”

Derek hangs up and sucks in a deep breath, holding it instead of screaming.

Chapter Text

A week after Stiles’ eleventh birthday, he sat up and stared out his bedroom window, panting and sweaty and rock hard for the first time in his life, his boxers sticky with an aching in his loins and a yearning so profound he was sure he was dying. In his dream, Derek’s big hand covered him, and his hot breath whispered in Stiles’ ear and said, ‘good boy.’

He’d been awakened from a slumber that night, like a love that transcended time had reactivated in his bones—there all along and only then had he just remembered. He has been in love with Derek ever since.

Limerence, infatuation, obsessive crushes… those are all for unfated relationships. What he and Derek have is not that. Just because he’s a teenager doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what love is. What he feels for Derek was coded in the stars billions of years ago, and nothing will ever convince him otherwise.

Stiles’ father, best friend, the woman who half-raised him, and the town they all grew up in will find out, eventually, and hearts will be broken, relationships will unravel, people will talk and judge. And that’s a risk Stiles is willing to take to have a life with Derek. Their future is as real as the bed Stiles is tucked into, soft but sturdy, a bit messy and difficult to get out of, but set. There is no one else for Stiles.

Stiles hits snooze on his alarm one last time, burrowing into his bed as he inhales deeply and squeezes the life from his pillow. Monday mornings are the worst, delaying the inevitable as he steals the last minutes of his rest before the day begins.

“Stiles, up,” the Sheriff gruffs from the doorway, “if I have to come in here again I’m stealing your covers.”

Pressing his face into the pillow, he groans loudly, enough for the Sheriff to hear him and know he’s getting there and to kindly fuck off.

Derek wouldn’t steal his covers.

A smile curls his lips, pulling in a long inhale through his nose as he forces himself up with a big stretch. The covers fall away, and he looks to his open window at the house across the alley where he knows Derek’s window to be. The lights are on, and it gives Stiles some comfort, knowing he’s only a few steps away from his beloved.

He yanks the covers off, jumping out of bed before clamoring to the window. The clock at his bedside says 7:04 when Derek’s curtains rustle a minute early and his head pops into view.

Derek holds up the appropriated American Sign Language sign that doesn’t quite illustrate the depth of their feelings for the other, but for their tryst it gets the job done. Even saying the words out loud never seems to be enough, but they spill out of Stiles’ mouth as if every avowal pours a solid layer over their love, encasing it, protecting it, attesting it. Stiles kisses the glass and sends the sign back, and Derek’s lips curve as he catches it and presses his palm over his heart.

Stiles melts a bit, kissing the glass once more as they linger and stare at each other for too long, until Stiles hears his father’s footsteps coming up the stairs to check on him. He waves and closes the curtains in time just as the Sheriff rounds his doorway.

“Oh, good. Breakfast is ready,” he says, glancing to the wavering curtains. “What are you doing?”

“Just looking at the weather,” Stiles says as nonchalantly as he can manage, and the Sheriff nods carefully, like he knows that’s a lie but isn’t sure why. “Another spring day in northern California,” Stiles says with a shrug, crowding his dad at the doorway.

Too tired to follow up on that, the Sheriff follows Stiles downstairs for breakfast. Unless Stiles visits him at the station, it’s really the only consistent time they have together. The Sheriff’s schedule is so erratic, but at least they’ve got breakfast.

They’ll catch up and fill each other in as they eat, and Stiles reminds him of his game on Thursday, and the Sheriff nods and sips his coffee as he stares off tiredly.

It’s difficult to find common ground with him these days. It was never like this before, right after his mom died. He drank more, but at least he was home. As Stiles has gotten older and more independent with his extracurriculars, it seems his father feels less inclined to be home alone, making himself more useful at work instead of hiring more deputies.

That’s fine, it only means more time with Derek.

In the shower he rubs at his eyes and thinks of the day ahead. He’s got practice and homework he didn’t do over the weekend, but he’ll have time to make it up in study hall if Lydia lets him use her notes. Derek doesn’t get off until five, and then he goes to the gym on Mondays and doesn’t get home until seven.

With a melodramatic inhale, his shoulders rising, Stiles lets himself lean against the tiled wall as he sighs out. It’s going to be a long day.

He takes his meds and heads downstairs, his dad already half asleep in his chair with the TV on. As he drinks from the milk carton for good measure, he glances out the glass doors leading to the backyard.

On the other side of the tall fence of the Stilinski backyard is the alley, and on the other side of the alley, safe in his home and getting ready for his day is Derek. The only person who matters most to him, more than his best friend, more than his own father.

“Bye, dad, see you later,” Stiles calls out, hooking his backpack over his shoulder before he’s out the door.

Thumbs under his backpack straps, Stiles stands outside the Hale driveway as he watches the garage door raise and Derek back out of the driveway. He slips into the backseat with a smile, eyes greeting Derek’s in the rearview mirror.

Seeing his face is like sucking in ice cold air, the oxygen in his lungs burning into carbon dioxide once he finally breathes out.

“Morning,” Derek says as Stiles buckles in. Eli gives him a nod and a ‘sup’ before he’s back to texting his boyfriend. What they talk about this early in the morning, or at all, is lost on Stiles. They mostly make googly eyes at each other, and Stiles makes like a leaf. He really can’t wait for whatever phase this is to be over, because he can’t stand Liam and doesn’t want to third-wheel with them, anyway.

“Morning,” he says, his eyes only on Derek through the mirror.

At a stop light, Derek’s hand reaches behind him between his seat and the car door, and Stiles grins as he plays with Derek’s fingers, tempted to lean in and kiss his palm. It’s not like Eli pays much attention, especially these days, but Stiles is still as discreet as he is physically capable of. Luckily it’s enough not to get noticed.

Eli is the first out, slamming the door shut behind him, and in the five seconds they have together within the tinted cabin of Derek’s FJ Cruiser, Stiles leans up between the seats and kisses his bearded cheek.

“Love you,” he murmurs, and Derek turns to him to steal a quick kiss. He tastes like brown sugar oatmeal.

“Love you too, baby. Have a good day,” Derek tells him, and Stiles tries not to melt all over his leather seats. That’s all the interaction they’ll have until the day is essentially over, and Stiles will run it through his head until they meet again.

The school day drags. He thinks about Derek in every class as he fiddles with his bracelet, draws their initials with hearts around them, sighs as he stares at the clock and wishes he were in Derek’s lap this very moment.

“I think love has made you stupid,” Lydia tells him as she stares into her compact mirror and reapplies her lipstick after finishing her iced coffee.

“Not stupid, just apathetic,” Stiles says, watching her to have something else to look at for a moment. He remembers when he thought he was in love with her and even the thought of having this kind of interaction would have sent him into orbit. What a stupid schoolboy crush that was.

Lydia is the only one who knows about Stiles and Derek. He couldn’t very well live without telling anyone, and Lydia knew almost immediately, anyway. While he’d make teasing comments in front of Eli over how hot his dad is, the extent of his hardcore crush was always overstated in Lydia’s presence because she agreed with him.

She doesn’t judge him for it, doesn’t make him feel guilty for falling in love with his best friend’s father, doesn’t even suggest they cool it down because she’s got her own affairs to worry about and can’t be bothered to stick her fingers in other people’s business. She observes and remains discreet, Stiles’ greatest confidant and the one person, outside of Derek, keeping him sane.

“Apathetic won’t get you into Columbia,” she reminds him, and Stiles rolls his eyes as he leans his chin into his palm and stares ahead. Harris drones on about isotopes and Stiles is annoyed he couldn’t start a dual-credit program at the local college to get twice the grades for completing the same work.

“I’m the personality hire and we both know it.”

Her lips quirk as she snaps her compact shut and slips it back into her purse.

“Love hasn’t changed you at all,” he states bluntly.

“Perfection doesn’t need alterations,” she says, picking up her gel pen to continue her note taking. Stiles’ lips twitch, and the morning drags.

Lunch and PE are the only class periods Stiles and Eli have in common. Lunch usually consists of Stiles helping him with homework and Eli complaining about sophomores and seniors not having lunch together.

They walk the track lazily, ignoring Coach’s orders to run since they have practice later, even pausing to stretch on the bleachers as they squint in the sun.

“Did you know my dad is bi?” Eli says out of the blue, peeking at Stiles as he leans over and stretches out his leg.

Stiles’ eyes go wide, his mouth dropping open as his foot slips off the aluminum bleachers. Why does Eli have this information?

“Uh, what?”

“Yeah, he told me recently.”

“What? When? Why?”

Eli shrugs, unfussed. “When Liam and I first started going out. He was giving me the talk,” he says, his upper lip curling in repulsion.

“What’d he say, exactly?” Stiles asks, brows quirking up.

“He just told me to use protection.”

Stiles restrains a frustrated sigh. Eli always has so much information but it’s like digging up dinosaur bones to get it out of him.

“No, dude, like, how did he come out?”

Eli stares off for a bit, his brain working behind his vacant eyes. “Something about being in my shoes,” he says, and then his eyes light up. “And then I asked him if he’d ever been in love with a man, and you’ll never guess who he said.”

Why Stiles’ mind goes to Derek revealing their love to Eli, Stiles couldn’t say. The blood drains from Stiles’ face as he manages to keep his cool and furrow his brows.

“Who?”

“Isaac, dude,” Eli answers.

Stiles lets go of the breath he’d been holding, his heart lightening, and then he halts, realizing Eli just said ‘Isaac’. He rears his head back, eyes fluttering incredulously.

“Isaac as in the one who’s visiting in a few days?”

“Yeah, Uncle Isaac. Isn’t that so weird?”

“Dude, why the fuck are you just now telling me this?”

Another shrug. “I dunno, wasn’t thinking about it until I remembered he’d be back in a few days.”

Stiles blinks rapidly, brows pinched in. He’s familiar with Isaac but he hasn’t lived in Beacon Hills since they were ten, only visiting once a year since then, if that. Stiles even thought he was cute but now knowing who he is, he’s more annoying than anything. Derek’s first love? And they’re still friends to this day? And Derek has never mentioned it?

“What else do you know about Isaac?” Stiles asks after a beat, regarding Eli like he has all the answers. He likely does, but they are unknown even to Eli himself.

“I don’t know, probably as much as you,” Eli says with a shrug. “They were on the basketball team together.”

“Okay,” Stiles says slowly, returning to the track when Coach yells at them for lingering. Eli follows along. “What else? Like, what does he do for work?”

Eli looks off again, his eyes squinting under the sun.

“Honestly, I don’t even know. I don’t think he does, he’s always got a different rich boyfriend.”

“Huh,” Stiles says, staring off at the same spot as he considers this. Sounds like he’s a sugar baby. Or an escort. “Interesting. What do you think of him?”

Eli shrugs again. “I don’t know. Dad’s always said Isaac is the brother he never got to have, so I guess he’s just another distant family member to me.”

“Ew,” Stiles says, his nose scrunching. He doesn’t like thinking of Derek with anyone, but now that’s all he can imagine—two younger versions of Derek and Isaac making out or sucking each other off. He frowns, his nose still scrunched.

“We’ve messed around before,” Eli reminds him, as if Stiles could ever forget. Derek can never, ever know of their experimental days, but deep down, surely it’s a subconscious truth Derek recognizes in gay boyhood. Stiles really cannot spare the brain capacity to give that thought any more attention in this moment.

“I stand by my previous statement.”

Eli shoves him with his elbow with a laugh and Stiles shoves him right back, lips curling as they walk the curve of the track.

“So…” Stiles starts, deciding where to go with this. “Do you ever think your dad still has lingering feelings for him?”

“Never thought about it,” Eli says, blinking as he stares ahead. “I don’t think he’s in love with my mom anymore, though.”

Stiles’ brows shoot up. “Whoa, dude. What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know, I just get this feeling he’d rather be somewhere else,” Eli tells him, and Stiles glances over, his brows drawing in ruefully.

Eli can be daft but he doesn’t get enough credit for his emotional intelligence. He’s always been very intuitive—having a father like Derek would guarantee a regulated nervous system and the empathy required to pick up on the frequencies put down, Stiles is certain.

“You really think so?” Stiles asks, feeling guilty.

After a pause, Eli nods. “Yeah.”

Not knowing what to say or if he even has a right to speak on it, Stiles just nods, too. Coach yells at them to run again, and this time they both pick up a pace and run side by side.

—

Stiles tosses the lacrosse ball up and catches it, again, and again as he slumps back in the chair at Eli’s desk. He’s tempted to bounce it off the wall, but Paige will yell at them and he doesn’t feel like dealing with her. He catches the ball a final time before tossing it over to Eli, who twists away from his phone just in time to catch it from where he leans on his bed.

“Do you think I could get into BU?” Eli asks in earnest, sitting up and tossing the ball back in the same breath. Stiles catches it and stares at him, careful not to let his features give him away.

“Uh,” Stiles starts, unsure of how to answer that. This is the first time Stiles has heard of him even considering college, let alone one of the most prestigious colleges on the west coast.

Eli isn’t the kind of kid destined for a university, and that’s okay. He’s better suited as a tradesman or service worker—there’s no way Eli would be able to withstand working in an office environment for more than a week. The idea of him being at college, let alone a university, is so foreign to Stiles that he’s caught off guard, his lips parted as he blinks and stares.

Stiles knows Eli, and he’s just not cut out for a life of schooling and convention. It’s everything to do with his personality type, his intelligence aside.

“I think you’re better suited for something else. You really want to keep going to school?” Stiles asks, eyebrows raising. He’s trying to be gentle with this.

“What, you don’t think I could do it?” Eli asks, mirroring Stiles’ expression.

Stiles purses his lips. “It’s not that. I just know how much you hate school, and I don’t think it would help you reach your greatest potential.”

Eli stares at him. “That sounds like bullshit. Just answer my question.”

With a big inhale and a great sigh, Stiles stares back.

“Between the both of us? I think you’re the one more likely to end up at BU…” and that’s the nicest way Stiles can put it for him.

This seems to give Eli permission to really delve into this new dream of his.

“Maybe it could be like, a Legally Blonde kind of deal, you know? Like, the diversity admission,” Eli says, and Stiles snorts, his lips pressing into a poor excuse for a straight line.

“First of all, Elle had a 4.0 and got a damn near perfect score on the LSAT, and second of all, you’re a white man.”

“Yeah, but I’m gay,” Eli points out easily, his response loaded up in his back pocket.

“So is half their student body and staff, it’s California, dude. That doesn’t even… whatever. What would you go for?” Stiles asks, curious if he’s thought any further on this plan, and Eli shrugs as he glances down at his phone again.

“Right, so you want to go to Beacon because…?”

He knows exactly why Eli wants to go to Beacon, but he’s going to make him spell it out to see if he realizes how fucking insane he’s sounding right now.

Eli glances up at him, his lips pursed. He looks like Derek when he does that.

“Liam’s going,” he answers simply, and Stiles grasps to every stitch of compassion for his brother from another mother, thank god, to keep from rolling his eyes out of his head.

“You’re not serious,” Stiles states, his voice flat as he blinks.

Eli’s head tilts, his eyebrows furrowing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

It takes another concerted effort to not snap his neck when he rears his head back. And then he remembers who he’s talking to.

“Eli, listen…” he starts, careful to choose his next words and not completely crush his best friend. “I’m gonna be real with you because I love you, man, and I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

He pauses, and Eli waits with that glazed over look in his eye. Instead of going for his intelligence, he decides on the shitty boyfriend angle.

“I don’t know, man, do you really think Liam is gonna like…” Stiles scratches at his sideburn, a bit uncomfortable now as he regards his friend. “Do you really think he’s gonna stick around?”

“What do you mean?”

Stiles huffs, exasperated.

“Eli, come on, you’re dumb, but you’re not stupid. Tell me you don’t think this is gonna last forever.”

Guess intelligence is back on the table.

Eli is gravely offended now, his head rearing back as he searches Stiles’ gaze.

“What makes you think it won’t?” Eli asks, brows pinched.

Stiles purses his lips.

“I mean, he has a reputation… and he’s about to be drowning in a sea of horny kids released into the wild for the first time in their lives. That’s what you do in college, dude, you fuck and live like there are no consequences.”

Eli glares, his brows still pinched in.

“His reputation is with girls. I’m the only guy he’s been with. It’s different,” he insists, his tone hardly confident now as he considers this information as if it’s news. 

“Eli, you’re sixteen. You’re just gonna follow this guy around and let that be your whole life? This guy who used to beat the shit out of you, by the way.”

Stiles has the self-awareness to understand there’s a total double standard here—but it’s different with him and Derek. There’s no way what they have could compare to whatever it is Eli and Liam have got going on. It’s just high school hormones, it won’t last, and Liam is so predictable that Stiles would be surprised if they even made it through to Liam’s freshman year.

Eli is pissed, his eyes dark and jaw taut. He regards Stiles like he’s looking at him for the first time, and then his brows soften as if he’s come to a realization.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you? Because I have someone, and you’re still a virgin,” Eli says, and Stiles has to bite his tongue from bursting out into laughter. He rolls his lips between his teeth, holding his breath.

He takes a moment, deciding to lean into it—Eli has convinced himself it’s the truth anyway.

“You know what, yeah, totally, dude. I’m jealous of your abusive boyfriend and pissed I still haven’t gotten dicked down, that’s exactly it,” Stiles snaps back, returning his glare.

“He’s not fucking abusive, take it back!” Eli barks, jerking up from his spot to tower over Stiles and shove his shoulders back.

Stiles stands to meet his height, their faces inches apart before he shoves Eli right back.

“He’s an asshole with anger issues and one bad day away from full-blown alcoholic. Be fucking for real, Eli.”

Eli’s fists clench, his glare intense.

“It’s fucking different with him, okay? He’s not—” he cuts himself off, his gaze imploring now. “The way he is with me is the opposite from before. But you don’t fucking know that because you never even ask about him!”

Stiles blinks at him incredulously. “Are you fucking serious, Eli? You guys fight your whole lives and within one semester you’re in love? Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?”

Eli’s jaw ticks as he glares and shoves Stiles back again, harder this time. “Fuck you, dude! You don’t know what it’s like; you’ve never even been in love!”

Stiles, nearly stumbling back, catches himself on the desk chair and glowers. If only he fucking knew.

“Just fucking watch, dude, he’s gonna break your heart and then where are you gonna be? Stuck at a university you’ll have to beg to get into? It’s not like your dad can bribe the dean.”

Stiles regrets it the moment he says it, the hurt flashing in Eli’s eyes before the rage takes over.

Before Stiles can react, Eli’s fist meets his mouth, and Stiles yells out before shoving Eli’s face away, tasting blood inside his cheek. The fight proceeds from there, minor punches as shirts are yanked, arms bruising where Stiles blocks his hits, skin burning where Eli secures him in place to punch his ear.

If Stiles has learned anything from lacrosse, it’s how to take a hit. But usually his face is protected and he doesn’t get punched in the fucking ear. That shit fucking hurts.

It takes his breath away for a moment, his jaw clenching with a hardened glare before lashing back out. He lands a solid hit to Eli’s nose, Stiles’ other hand gripping at the collar of his shirt. Eli groans, his head knocking back as he reaches up to cup his nose. Stiles had been holding back a bit, because he knows what he said was fucked up, and this is still Eli. But his lip is bleeding and his ear is ringing, and Eli’s just being a fucking brat. It’s fair game now.

They’re sweaty and breathless, adding insult to injury as they throw petty hits and bitch each other out. Stiles doesn’t even catch when the door bursts open and heavy hands are pulling them apart.

“Hey, hey! What’s going on?” Derek’s booming voice cutting off their words as his hand presses over Stiles’ chest and pushes him away from Eli.

Stiles recognizes Derek’s voice, but his face is different, off looking. His breath catches in his throat, eyes watering as he blinks back tears and studies Derek’s face. He doesn’t even know why tears are happening, but the Derek standing in front of him is not the Derek Stiles is used to seeing and it’s making his brain short-circuit.

He shaved. His beard is gone, and instead of the soft fur lining his chiseled cheeks, not even a hint of a five o’clock shadow shapes his face. His face is completely bare, and he looks wrong, and somehow older despite looking so fresh, and Stiles does not like it.

A frown twists Stiles’ features, lashes fluttering as he attempts to blink his reactive tears away. It all feels too overwhelming, the overabundance of emotions, the leftover tension in the air as Eli seethes across from him, Derek’s other hand pressed to his chest as he holds them apart. Stiles pulls away from Derek’s touch, head shaking as tears start to slip over his cheeks.

Derek’s brows furrow, his gaze full of concern as he reaches out to Stiles as he backs away.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

The tears flow now, and Stiles shakes his head again, unable to get a word out before he runs out of the room, down the stairs and through the kitchen, the backyard, the alley, until he’s bursting through the back door of his house and stomping his way upstairs. The door slams shut, and Stiles knows his father isn’t home, otherwise he would have gotten yelled at for slamming doors and stomping through the house.

The sight of Derek without his beard was overwhelming enough on top of that stupid fucking fight, and Stiles has to remember to breathe as he attempts to calm himself and understand what the fuck is going on and where these tears are coming from. Each time he thinks of Derek’s bare face, the waterworks reset, until he realizes he’s like a fucking toddler crying once they recognize the strange man in front of them is supposed to be their father. 

That makes him feel even worse, which makes him cry even harder, and now he feels like a fucking baby as he clutches his pillow and sniffles, curled up in a fetal position as the room darkens. His eyes sting when they’re open, so he keeps them shut and falls asleep thinking maybe Derek shaved because Isaac is visiting soon and he wants to look good for him because he’s still in love with him.

When someone wakes him, the room is dark and his eyes feel swollen and dry, his ear aching. He rubs his eyes, remaining in his fetal position as he blinks himself awake. When he sees Derek’s face by the light of the window, tears prickle behind his lids again.

“Baby,” Derek says, his low tone doting and concerned, brows knit in confusion.

Even when he didn’t have a full-on beard, he still had scruff. He looks so different than Stiles has ever known him and he can’t even place why it bothers him so much.

“What’s wrong, baby? Tell me so I can fix it,” Derek says, his hand brushing up and down Stiles’ side with a reassuring squeeze.

Stiles sniffles and rubs his eyes again, wary of opening them and seeing Derek’s bare face without his beautiful beard, so opting to keep them shut instead.

“Did you shave because Isaac is coming and you’re still in love with him and you want to look younger for him to remind him of what he’s missing out on? Because it was the wrong choice and it makes you look older and I hate it,” Stiles says, his voice muffled behind his palm as he covers his face and more tears gather beneath his lids.

There’s a pause, long enough for Stiles to peek an eye open to witness Derek’s confusion melting into wholesome amusement. He laughs, his smile radiant, his head shaking as he scratches his cheek and regards Stiles with fondness.

“It’s that bad, huh?”

Stiles frowns, his lower lip pushing out just a fraction as he blinks back more tears. He feels absolutely ridiculous crying over this—though to be fair, he seems to have reached a breaking point.

Finding out about Isaac, hearing the sadness in Eli’s declaration on the track today, their fight over his stupid boyfriend, on top of carrying this secret, of committing these acts and hurting the people he loves even though nothing feels more right than loving Derek… it’s just been a lot, and the weight of it all has finally made him crack. Then for Derek to come home and not even look like his Derek?

Now that Stiles thinks of it, anyone else would be crying, too, he’s sure.

“There’s other reasons, too,” he insists, his voice small.

“Oh, baby,” Derek laments, his tone soft and doting, his heavy hand coming to rest over Stiles’ cheek as his thumb swipes at the current of tears. “It’ll grow back in a week, I promise you. The barber made a mistake and had to commit.”

Stiles regards him, his tears finally halting as his eyebrows furrow. Derek’s hair is indeed shorter, too, but hard to tell when a major part of his face is missing. He sniffles.

“So you’re not trying to freshen up to get Isaac back?”

Derek smirks before his lips roll between his teeth. He shakes his head, thumb swiping over Stiles’ cheek again.

“No, baby, just my regular haircut. And Isaac and I are not a good match, you’ll see why.”

“I will?”

“Yeah, of course. I want you to properly meet him this time.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, lashes sticking together with each blink. “Are you going to fire that barber?”

Derek huffs out a laugh before he leans in and kisses Stiles between his brows.

“For making you cry? He’s dead to me,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles’ lips twitch.

“What time is it?” Stiles asks, meeting Derek’s gaze once he pulls away.

“Just after nine. I told them I just wanted to come check on you since the Sheriff is working,” Derek tells him, his big hand brushing over Stiles’ buzzcut. He lets his eyes slip shut, tired from the day and all his crying.

“Can you lay with me?” Stiles asks, and Derek is behind him within seconds, pulling Stiles against his warm chest and pressing his nose into Stiles’ hair. Stiles snuggles back against him, ensuring as much of their bodies are in contact as possible. Derek’s hand slips under his shirt, fingertips grazing over his stomach as his lips press at Stiles’ scalp.

“You wanna talk about it?” Derek asks.

Stiles’ hand falls over Derek’s, their fingers interlacing as he shakes his head. He’d rather just be here with him and talk about it later.

“I missed you today,” Derek tells him, his voice content and quiet. “I think about you all day.”

Stiles’ lips stretch into a smile, squeezing over Derek’s hand.

“I think about you too, always. Today was such a long day without you.”

“Yes, it was,” Derek agrees, his body melded against Stiles as he curls himself around Stiles’ frame.

Stiles lets out a relieved sigh, twisting back to kiss the corner of Derek’s mouth. He’s thrown off by the smoothness, a small hitch in his breath before he decides to get over it and kiss his daddy. He’s still handsome, just different, and just for now. It’s fine.

Derek kisses him back before holding his face still, fingers on one side and his thumb on the other, his grip beneath Stiles’ chin squishing his mouth open as Derek plants kisses all over his face. He can’t help but laugh, and Derek kisses the tip of his nose, and his eyes, and cheeks, before returning to his lips, lingering with gentle nips. Derek pulls back, still cupping under Stiles’ jaw as he guides Stiles’ head away and presses his lips against his cheek.

“I love you so fucking much,” Derek murmurs, the low vibrato tickling and sending a shiver through Stiles’ body.

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, his lips twitching as he glances at Derek from the corner of his eyes.

“Yeah,” Derek confirms, releasing his grip as he wraps his thick arms around Stiles’ body, his nose pressing into the sensitive spot behind Stiles’ ear. He clutches Stiles close and inhales, fingertips pressing as if that’ll offer greater protection, keeping Stiles close and guarded. And that’s exactly how Stiles feels in Derek’s arms, secure and adored, his love so sturdy it’s indisputable.

Stiles might have had to make the first move, or dozen, but he knew he had Derek wrapped around his finger the moment their lips first met. Derek wants Stiles as much as Stiles wants Derek, and he feels stupid for even questioning that. The man wouldn’t be risking his life if he didn’t feel the same.

“I love you too,” Stiles says, squirming to loosen Derek’s grip before turning in his arms. Stiles tucks against him, pushing a leg between Derek’s, wrapping his arm around Derek’s waist. They bump foreheads before Stiles leans back and meets his gaze. “Even without your majestic beard.”

Derek’s lips stretch. “I’m sorry, my love, I’ll never shave my beard again,” Derek promises, his nose nudging against Stiles’.

Stiles smiles and lets his eyes slip shut, content to drift back to sleep in his arms, but doomed to only have these fleeting moments. The garage door starts to creak open, and their time has already come to an end.

Stiles could cry, but he won’t.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, baby. Get some rest,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles pouts up at him.

He only pouts because it works, nearly every time. Derek would give him the world if he could.

It grants him a few more kisses, quick and wet until the last lingering peck.

“Love you,” Stiles mumbles against his lips. Derek repeats it back to him like a prayer, and then he’s gone again, his deep voice resonating downstairs as he talks with the Sheriff on his way out.

—

When Stiles slips into the backseat the next morning, Eli glances back at him with a sneer. He’s got a black eye and a scratch on his neck, and Stiles doesn’t feel so bad about it when he acts like this. Stiles' lip is swollen and his ear still hurts, but he doesn't look as bad as Eli, at least.

“When is your Jeep gonna be fixed?”

Stiles purses his lips, blinking as he meets Derek’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

“Eli,” Derek says, his tone a warning as he pulls out of the driveway.

“Just saying,” he grumbles, crossing his arms and looking out the window.

Derek’s brows furrow as he looks over at Eli and then back at Stiles again.

“Are either of you going to tell me what happened last night?”

“No,” Stiles and Eli say at the same time. Derek sighs in defeat, the three of them quiet for the rest of the car ride.

Derek pulls up a block away from the school, where he tends to drop them off these days, and once Eli slams the door shut without glancing back, Stiles climbs into the front seat. Meeting his gaze, Derek reaches over and takes his hand, thumb brushing over the back of Stiles’ knuckles.

“Was it that bad?” Derek asks, and Stiles sighs as he squeezes Derek’s fingers. He stares ahead, chewing the skin on the inside of his tender cheek. 

“I said some shitty things,” Stiles mumbles, a light warmth of shame spreading over his face.

“Care to share?” Derek asks, eyebrows raising cautiously.

The corners of Stiles’ lips turn down.

“He was asking me if I thought he could get into Beacon,” Stiles starts, and Derek’s face says it all—he must be hearing this for the first time, too. “I asked him why, and he said because of Liam, and I said…” Stiles sighs, stalling. “Basically I was like, Liam will cheat on him once he’s begged to get into a school you can’t even bribe him into.”

Stiles winces, his face pinching in mortification. He doesn’t even care about Derek’s net worth, it was just a low blow to get his point across in the moment, perhaps a bit of subconscious deflection. Stiles has always been sensitive towards Eli’s intelligence—he’s just a bit airheaded, is all, it’s not his fault he’s an Aquarius. But he means well, and he’s still a good person even if he can’t get a B minus to save his life.

He can’t bear to look at Derek’s face right now, so he stares ahead and watches Eli get smaller and smaller as he walks towards the school.

“Stiles…” Derek starts, the disappointment apparent in his tone. He sighs, and the cabin is quiet. Stiles dares to glance over from the corner of his eyes, brows raising.

Derek faces him completely, his lips pressed in a thin line as he studies Stiles’ face.

“You know I can’t take your side on this, right?”

Stiles frowns and finally meets his gaze. “But it’s all true!”

Derek’s brows pinch together. “Even so, you know it was a dick move. I would have punched you, too.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open with an exasperated huff. He pulls his hand from Derek’s, crossing his arms as he turns and glowers. Derek is right, and Stiles knows it, but it sucks his own boyfriend can’t take his side on principle alone.

“Baby, don’t be mad at me,” Derek says, his hand resting on Stiles’ thigh. “You know how sensitive Eli is. You need to apologize to him.”

Stiles shakes his head in a tight, maddened gesture. Now he doesn’t want to just because someone told him to do it. He keeps his arms crossed, jaw taut.

A hand cups under his jaw, and Stiles’ face is turned to meet Derek. He seems vaguely amused. Stiles’ brows pinch in, lips pursing.

“Apologize to him and I’ll give you a blow job later, okay?”

Stiles can’t keep his face tense, his features glazing over at the thought, and Derek laughs before he leans in, tugging Stiles the rest of the way to press their lips together. Stiles decides it’s not worth it to hold the grudge—it’s not like he has a right to, anyway.

He melts into the kiss, his head tilting to deepen it. Derek teases him with a swipe over his bottom lip and a gentle nip before pulling away.

“Wait, I wasn’t done,” Stiles says, gripping his tie and pulling him back in, and Derek chuckles as he indulges him for a few more seconds. It’s odd kissing him without his beard, but he’s already got a five o’clock shadow, the scruff of it burning at Stiles’ lips. Derek pulls away, and Stiles pouts.

“You’re gonna be late. Get to class.”

Stiles frowns.

“Can’t we play hooky today?”

“Not today. I can’t miss any more work before our camping trip. You’ve only got a couple weeks left, you can make it,” Derek says, leaning in again. Stiles thinks it’s for another kiss, and when their lips meet and Derek laughs, he realizes it was only to open the door.

“Out. Love you, baby,” Derek says.

Stiles sighs. “Love you,” he says, grabbing his backpack and hooking it over his shoulder. He watches Derek depart before making his way to the school.

—

It’s easy for Eli to ignore him when they don’t have any real classes together. Between classes he lingers at Liam’s locker, his gaze pointed away when Stiles passes him and taps his shoulder, and at lunch he sits with tertiary friends on the lawn. By PE, Stiles has been chasing him all day. Stiles runs, and Eli runs faster.

“You’re making it really hard to apologize,” Stiles pants out behind him on the track, and Eli glares over his shoulder, maintaining his stride just out of reach. Of course he’s an equipped athlete, his father is a god.

“Come on, man, I’m sorry, okay? I knew that was shitty as I was saying it,” Stiles yells out, uncaring if the rest of the class hears them. It’s not really anything new, them causing a scene.

“Which part, hating on Liam or making me feel stupid while insulting my dad?” he shouts back, and Stiles maybe cares a little bit if the class can hear them because now he sounds like a fucking asshole.

“All of it, okay?” he says, flustered. He cannot keep up with him, no matter how hard he’s tried his whole life. “I was a dickhead, and I’m sorry!”

His body won’t let him go any more. He halts, his feet slapping the tread as he comes to a full stop and bends over his knees, gasping for any molecule of air his lungs can gather at once.

Certain Eli has left him in the dust, Stiles glances up to spot how far he’s gotten. His breath catches when he realizes Eli is only standing a few strides away, hands on his hips, chest heaving as he waits.

Stiles stays bent over his knees in some weird attempt at a mea culpa, and if he’s real with himself, groveling at Eli’s feet is the very least he can do. He’s still heaving, but slowly he regains better control of his breath as he meets Eli’s gaze.

“That was probably the shittiest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Eli says, taking a few hesitant steps towards him. The closer he gets, the more hurt Stiles realizes he is—not just his bruised eye and scabbed over scratch, but his sad gaze and scorned ego.

“I know,” Stiles agrees, frowning. He really hurt him, and he doesn’t even have a good reason why. Eli didn’t do anything to him. It’s Stiles doing everything to Eli. Why he even had to bring Derek into it he can’t even say. What is wrong with him?

“You’re supposed to be the one who defends me when people call me stupid.”

The hurt is still apparent in his expression, in his tone, and it pricks right through Stiles’ heart. He’s right, he’s so right.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says again, his voice smaller this time. God he’s such an asshole.

Stiles chews the inside of his lip and thinks of what to say, slowly rising as he takes in a deep breath.

“We just never spend time together anymore, and you’re right, maybe I’m jealous, but like… not for the reasons you think.”

It’s all true, just not at face value.

“You’re always welcome to hang out with us, dude,” Eli says in earnest, then pauses as he thinks this one through. “Well, not always.”

Stiles’ lips twitch, and he knows Eli has already forgiven him.

“That’s the thing dude, I don’t want to tag along with you all the time, third-wheeling it and watching you two be in love. Like… it’s kinda gross, not gonna lie. I just miss hanging out with you is all, without him. We don’t do shit together anymore, like, just us, you know?”

Not only do Eli and Liam spend as many waking moments together as possible, leaving Stiles alone to tend to his own devices, but they’re sickening with the PDA, and yeah, maybe Stiles is jealous that Eli and Liam get to be cute and in love in public. That’s something he yearns to have with Derek, only getting tastes of it if they leave town and god forbid get caught by another relative. It’s selfish and he hates it but watching Eli and Liam together makes him sick, knowing he can’t have that with his boyfriend.

Eli frowns, like he’s realizing that maybe he was a dick too, leaving Stiles all alone when they used to spend most of their time together. If he only knew what his new relationship meant for Stiles and his father—if Eli wasn’t so preoccupied with Liam, he’d probably have noticed a few things by now. It’s been a windfall for Derek and Stiles to say the least.

“I’m sorry, too, man, I wasn’t even thinking of that. But you don’t even try to get to know him, either. It’d be cool if my best friend and my… friend who’s a boy could get along.”

Stiles glances over, his eyes narrowed.

“He doesn’t even let you call him your boyfriend?”

Eli purses his lips and shakes his head. “Don’t. I’m not getting into that with you.”

Stiles scoffs and shakes his head, looking off. He loathes Liam with a passion and does not want to give him the time of day when he’s proven himself time and time again. They can be disgusting in public but Liam can’t call him his boyfriend? What is wrong with this kid.

He sighs, hands on his hips. His disdain for Liam has been made well known, and it’s not solving anything. Stiles isn’t in much of a position to barter this anyway, not after what he’s done.

“Okay, whatever, I’ll try to get to know him,” Stiles says with an exaggerated eyeroll even though he’d rather spend time with Derek when he can get it, and Liam is a dirtbag that will wind up hurting Eli some day, Stiles just knows it. And now he’ll have to witness those two going at it like the horny teenagers that they are.

His lips purse. “But can you cool it with the PDA?”

Stiles gets it, he really does. He just doesn’t want to see other people’s PDA is all.

“Yeah, man,” Eli says, stepping in the rest of the way to offer up his hand. Stiles smiles, slapping their palms into their handshake, and then their shoulders bump and everything is peaches and cream again.

Coach yells at them about kissing and making up and getting back to running, and they pick up an easy pace side by side.

“You know, Liam has a cute friend,” Eli says after a spell of silence, side-eyeing Stiles carefully. He says this as if Stiles has no idea who Theo Raeken is.

Stiles coughs, his heart skipping a few beats as he maintains his pace. He gives Eli an incredulous look, his head shaking.

“Uh, I don’t think so, dude. I’m not really interested in high school boys,” Stiles offers, hoping Eli will take the hint and drop it. It’s not like Stiles hasn’t made his preference for older men abundantly clear. Eli has not ever wished to hear of the things Stiles would do to his uncle or his father. Honestly, Grandpa Hale can get it, too.

“Yeah, but I think you’d like Theo. And he’s about to be a college boy,” Eli insists.

Stiles makes a face. “Theo’s an asshole.”

“Exactly.”

Stiles huffs and slows to a walk, hands on his hips. “Okay, I deserve that. But it’s not gonna happen. Theo isn’t my type.”

Eli stops once he realizes Stiles isn’t beside him, swiping his face off with the collar of his shirt. “Okay, well. The men you’re interested in aren’t legal for you, or whatever. But like, you could be having sex right now.”

Stiles laughs, a bit uncomfortable as he scratches at his sideburn. Sex is pretty awesome, Stiles would agree. And he can almost guarantee the sex he’s having is way better than whatever vanilla shit two teenagers are into, but there’s no way Eli could ever know that.

“I’m fine, dude. I’ve got an overactive imagination and my hand.”

More like memories cataloged to come back to later. Who needs those, anyway, when he’s got the real thing. Since he and Derek have been together, he’s come at least twice every evening.

“It’s not the same dude, I’m telling you. You could just like, fuck around a bit, you know. Experiment.”

Stiles stares flat ahead, his lips pursing.

“Okay, I get it, dude, I’m not getting any action, but it’s not like, a problem we have to fix. I’m a relationship person, I can’t just fuck for fun,” Stiles insists. He’d probably still be able to come, but it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be worth it.

Eli pauses as he comprehends this, and then he nods reluctantly, their walking lazy now as he ponders.

“I don’t know, like, you don’t always have to be the third wheel. We could invite a fourth person,” Eli says after a while, glancing over carefully. “It’d just be cool to do like, double dates and shit.”

Stiles meets his gaze, eyes narrowing. “What are you getting at?”

“Liam asked me to prom,” Eli says, his lips pressed as he attempts to hold back his goofy smile.

“Okay,” Stiles says slowly. He honestly thought this already happened, or at least assumed it did. “Congrats, dude.”

“Thanks. I want you to go, I think it’d be fun.”

“Well, I’d have to be invited by a senior to go,” Stiles says, and then he realizes. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So, if Theo invited you, we could all just go together. And who knows, maybe you guys could hit it off,” Eli says with a shrug, watching Stiles closely.

Stiles laughs again, rubbing at the back of his neck as he keeps his gaze averted. “I appreciate you trying to get me some dick, dude, but I’m honestly not that desperate.”

Eli looks at him funny, perhaps a bit exasperated at the idea that Stiles really has no intent on getting laid despite knowing how horny he is, or maybe just dead set on getting Stiles to attend prom with them so they can have fun high school memories together. He’s a sap like that.

For whatever reason, Eli seems set on having Stiles there, and it’s looking like Stiles doesn’t have much of a choice. If he says no, Eli is spurned again, and it’d be odd to resist so adamantly when he’s technically not even going for Theo. He’s just a means of getting through the Beacon Plaza threshold on prom night.

Stiles sighs.

“Alright, whatever, I’ll go. But only for you. And the moment Theo pisses me off, I’m leaving.”

“Deal,” Eli says with a grin, spitting in his hand before holding it out. Stiles does the same, his lips pursed as their hands slap and shake firmly. Derek is not going to be pleased with this.

—

As promised, Derek’s lips are wrapped around his cockhead later that evening, and Stiles is panting and sweating as the glow spreads out from their crux. He’s slouched on the sofa that has seen many of their fluids by now, thighs trembling when Derek’s fingers stroke his prostate and his tongue licks at Stiles’ ever-leaking slit. His fingers grip at Derek’s shoulder, holding his breath now like it’ll hold back his orgasm.

He won’t last longer than four minutes, no matter how hard he tries. Once he starts whimpering, Derek doubles down on his efforts as if prodding for more, his low, encouraging hum zipping through Stiles’ cock.

Derek’s big hand wraps at the base of Stiles’ dick, his hot mouth covering him as mossy eyes devour him. Thick fingers thrust in and out and take Stiles’ breath away, his lids fluttering with a low moan he can’t contain. He knows he should, he knows how quiet he should be down here in the basement as everyone sleeps soundly two levels upstairs. But he can’t help it.

“Derek,” he gasps out, a frantic warning as his hips twitch and his pelvic muscles constrict. Derek presses on the spot, unrelenting as his tongue flicks just right, and Stiles is spilling, his hole fluttering with each pulse.

“Good boy,” Derek says, his voice gruff once he pulls back and licks his lips.

Three minutes is what he’s managed this time. Much better than his baseline two when they started fucking nearly two months ago.

It still makes him blush, mostly in frustration, that he can’t make his orgasms last as long as Derek can. But Derek seems to love it, set on making him come quickly to get the first one out of the way before inevitably pulling another from him. Stiles gets to come twice so he really shouldn’t be complaining.

Derek sits on his cock, his arms boxing Stiles’ head in as his hips rock in Stiles’ lap. Stiles’ hands fall to his thighs covered in hair that makes Stiles’ mouth water, thumbs pressing into the crease where his legs hinge and pin Stiles in place. Derek is so good at riding him, and Stiles’ brain is mush, his only thought a puddle—that he has this gorgeous man in his lap, riding his cock like he needs it, watching Stiles intensely as awed praises fall from his lips.

Stiles is certain he’d be able to last longer if Derek didn’t praise him, but that’s kind of the whole point, anyway.

Derek has ruined anyone else for him.

The man drags himself up and sinks back down over Stiles’ cock, and Stiles feels a bit dazed as they watch each other, his breath heavy, lids low. Half the time he can’t believe this is really happening—it feels like a dream, the way Derek touches him, kisses him, wraps himself around him and comes on Stiles’ cock alone.

Stiles hasn’t even done anything, and Derek is calling him his good boy, prattling on as he rides his wave and spills between them. He clenches so tight and tells Stiles to come inside him, so Stiles does because it feels good and Derek can do that, can just say the words and Stiles will come, he swears.

“Such a good boy,” Derek murmurs against his lips, and Stiles hiccups, cock twitching as Derek kisses him. He is breathless and overcome, his body lagging behind his brain, a bit how he is every time after coming twice and getting praised for it. It’s like a fucking drug and it’s a wonder Stiles can focus on anything at all when he could be having euphoric orgasms with his daddy.

Some would say he’s been groomed, but Stiles is the one who fell in love first. Derek never entertained Stiles’ little schoolboy crush, not once, and it’s not like Stiles was slick asking Mr. Hale for rides to the ice cream shop in the fifth grade.

The only thing Derek ever did was be there for him, and that was enough. For the longest time he was a background character in Stiles’ life, only becoming more prominent once his mother died and his father started drinking. He never looked at him the way he does now, never said creepy microaggressions that could get lodged somewhere in Stiles’ subconscious and make him think he’s so mature for his age. He was just a good dad, and Stiles always admired him for it.

Some people grow up to fall in love with father figures, and others grow up to judge or condemn them for it. Clearly those people don’t know what it’s like to be sublimely in love with someone who takes care of them the way they’ve always wanted. Who wouldn’t want that?

Derek kisses him as Stiles returns to a somewhat present state, lax in Derek’s hands as the man holds Stiles’ face and licks into his mouth like he’s savoring him, and all Stiles can do is breathe through it and allow it to happen.

Eventually he pulls off Stiles’ softened dick, and Stiles watches as Derek pulls his sweatpants back on over his perfect ass and pats his pockets. He briefly wonders if Paige has ever seen Stiles’ cum on the inside of his boxer briefs, but he knows Derek does his own laundry. 

“Come smoke a cigarette with me,” Derek tells him, the two fingers that were inside him moments ago gesturing him to ‘come here’, and Stiles is up, tugging his pajamas back into place as he follows Derek to the back door. They stand in the damp stairwell leading up to the pool patio, where prying eyes cannot see them, and where they can hardly see each other when the pool lights aren’t on. 

Derek never smoked before they got together, not like he does now, but Stiles can’t really blame him. At least he looks good while doing it, smoke spreading in puffs as he breathes out and watches Stiles watching him.

“What if I started smoking?” Stiles asks, a playful threat as Derek takes another drag.

“I’d probably use positive reinforcement to get you to quit,” Derek tells him with a smug smile.

“You’d do psychology on me?” Stiles asks, feigning his offense with a scoff, and Derek huffs a laugh through his nose, eyeing him fondly.

“Whatever it takes,” Derek says, and Stiles knows he means that as an all-encompassing kind of thing, his face growing hot as he grins and looks down. He may have fallen first, but Derek fell pretty hard once he finally let it happen. He actually says a lot of romantic shit that makes Stiles’ heart skip multiple beats too many times a day when he thinks back on all of Derek’s declarations.

He steps closer, and Derek’s hand comes out to offer a hug that Stiles falls into easily, his face pressing into his warm neck. He smells like cedarwood, deep and resinous and perfect, a nostalgic scent that has taken on a whole new meaning now that Stiles can smother his face in it. Derek’s arm settles around his waist, the cigarette crackling when he takes another hit and blows it in the other direction.

“Tell me about Isaac,” Stiles mumbles.

“What do you want to know?” Derek’s hand cups where it’s settled beneath Stiles’ rib cage, keeping him close.

“Eli said you were in love with him,” Stiles says, failing to make his statement sound anything less than an accusation.

“A long time ago, yeah. When I was your age,” Derek says easily, pulling on his cigarette. Stiles levels his head expectantly, still pressed to Derek’s side.

“We experimented, as teenagers tend to do,” Derek says with a sly smile, watching Stiles’ expressions closely. Stiles waits, blinking impatiently. “It was a confusing time then. I think I mixed recognizing my truth with being in love. I loved Isaac, but not the way I love you.”

Stiles’ heart does the fluttering thing again, licking his lips as he swallows. “Oh,” he says, pleased with this answer. “What does he do for a living?”

Derek eyes him, bringing his cigarette to his lips as he debates telling Stiles the truth or not. He must decide he can’t withhold it, and it won’t matter much anyway because Stiles will get it out of Isaac himself if he has to. Derek knows this, Stiles is certain.

“He’s an escort,” Derek confirms, smoke blowing from the side of his mouth, and a quiet laugh bubbles from Stiles’ throat.

“I fucking knew it,” he says. Derek’s brows scrunch in a quiet question.

“Eli said he’s always got a different rich boyfriend,” Stiles offers, and Derek’s expression shifts as he nods in understanding. “So did he lose a client or what?”

Derek blows smoke away, his fingertips circling over Stiles’ shirt, scrunching the fabric as he squeezes. “It’s not really like that. He doesn’t live by one of the cardinal rules.”

“Which is?”

“Don’t fall in love,” Derek answers simply. He takes a final drag before stamping the cigarette out on the cement wall. Stiles studies him for a bit, his fingers slipping into the hair at the back of Derek’s head.

“So he falls in love with a sugar daddy, and it inevitably goes south,” Stiles says, his tone shifting midway through his sentence as he realizes in real time how tragic that is.

Suddenly he’s not so jealous of Isaac anymore.

“Inevitably,” Derek affirms, his lips pursing like he’s had this conversation many times with the perp.

“So, he’s not in love with you?” Stiles asks, mostly for reassurance at this point, though he already knows.

Derek huffs a laugh, his head shaking. “No, baby. I don’t make enough to bribe the dean of a state school; there’s no way Isaac could fall for my charms alone.”

Stiles pouts, making his eyes big. “Hey,” he says, offended and ashamed, and Derek laughs, his smile bright even in the dark stairwell.

“I’m just teasing,” Derek says, leaning in to tickle his scruff along Stiles’ neck, and Stiles shudders with an abrupt laugh. He clutches close to Derek, turning serious.

“You know I don’t care about your income, right?” Stiles says, meeting his gaze once Derek’s head pops back up. “I was just being a dick. I’d love you no matter what.”

“Clearly,” Derek says, and Stiles pouts again, searching his gaze as he flutters his lashes playfully.

Derek laughs, a light chuckle in his throat, his eyes softening like he’s got everything he could ever need held within his tight grasp. Stiles’ knees buckle, fingers gripping at Derek’s hair.

“I know, baby. You know I’ll take care of you no matter what, right?” Derek asks, his grasp shifting as he supports Stiles’ weight.

“Yeah,” he says easily, because he does know that. He’s known that since he was eight and his mom died and Derek was there when his dad couldn’t be, bandaging scrapes when Stiles fell off his skateboard, buying snacks that Eli doesn’t even like, taking them to school, sometimes even making sure Stiles was bathed and in fresh clothes.

Those were the dark days, when the Sheriff was on leave and his grief, as well as his hangover, was too heavy to get out of bed.

Without Derek, Stiles would likely not be so well adjusted, although that’s up for debate depending on who’s asking. As content as he is in Derek’s arms, he’d say he’s doing pretty great.

Derek kisses him like he’s sealing a vow, and Stiles notices he does that a lot, each time a promise is made. He’s so intense it makes Stiles feel like he’s floating, sat on top of a pedestal Derek has hoisted him upon, and there’s really no reason to get down. Derek’s got him.

— 

Derek is held hostage the first night of Isaac’s visit. Stiles was trying not to have a vendetta against the guy, but so far he’s not off to a good start.

Eli is out with Liam, and Scott is at his dad’s this weekend. Lydia doesn’t respond when he texts her to see if she’s up for something, so he distracts himself with a video game, his eyes wandering to his window waiting for Derek to meet him and at least tell him goodnight. Stiles ends up falling asleep staring out his window.

It puts him in a grumpy mood the next day. They never go to bed without saying goodnight, or wake up without saying good morning, and it’s all Isaac’s fault.

After begrudgingly getting ready for his day and breakfast with his dad, Stiles lets himself into the quiet Hale residence like he lives there. He’s greeted by Paige seated at the breakfast table with her phone and her coffee.

“Hi, honey,” Paige says, sipping from her mug. “Eli’s still asleep.”

Paige has called him that his whole life; he feels awful when she says it now. He tends to glaze over her presence a lot these days.

“Not for long,” Stiles quips, making his way upstairs two at a time. He avoids Eli’s room, instead walking into Derek’s bedroom and expecting him to be asleep in bed or up brushing his teeth or something, but he’s not here. A sinking feeling drags at his heart as he stares at the empty bed, Derek’s side still unmade.

Stiles tries not to jump to any conclusions, sucking in a deep breath, but his first instinct is to check Derek’s office. As he steps out of the room, the stairs creak and Derek’s head pops above the landing. He drags himself up in the same clothes he wore yesterday, his tired gaze meeting Stiles as he rubs at his eyes and corrals Stiles back into his bedroom.

The door snicks shut behind him as his entire body wraps around Stiles, strong arms locking him in, and Stiles breathes out as he returns the hug.

“Hey,” Derek murmurs into Stiles’ neck, his voice gruff and his breath ass but Stiles honestly doesn’t even care. “Isaac drank me under the table.”

“Is that where you were hiding from me?” Stiles says, still miffed despite it all.

“Not hiding, just making very bad decisions,” Derek says, crushing Stiles in a tight hug before releasing him way too soon.

“Bad decisions like what?” Stiles asks, his heart rate spiking as he follows Derek to the bathroom, watching as he begins to brush his teeth with closed eyes and a long sigh. He leans against the counter, his movements lethargic and exerted as he drags his eyes open and stares at Stiles through the mirror.

“Jesus, you’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

“Definitely still flammable,” he says with a mouthful of foamy toothpaste before spitting into the sink.

Stiles crosses his arms, his brows pinching in scrutiny.

“What bad decisions?”

Derek glances at him with a look of defeat, his eyes remorseful like he knows he fucked up really bad. He rinses his toothbrush and swipes his mouth clean before turning to face Stiles, and Stiles wishes he would just fucking say it already because he’s already thinking the worst, his palms sweaty as he waits for the expected.

“I told Isaac,” Derek says, holding his breath as he waits for Stiles’ reaction, and Stiles lets out a sigh of relief, his hand thumping over his chest as his whole body deflates.

“Jesus Derek, can you lead with that? You scared the shit out of me,” Stiles huffs, taking the few steps closer to reach out and shove him before fiddling with the hem of Derek’s shirt.

Derek’s brows draw in. “You’re not mad?”

Stiles chuffs, his hand waving in dismissal. “Whatever, I don’t care, as long as you’re not cheating on me with your ex.”

Derek purses his lips, snatching Stiles back in and pressing their bodies together. Stiles makes an abrupt sound as Derek’s hands fall to his hips and Stiles’ arms reflexively slip around his waist.

“You’re insane to think I’d ever do anything that would endanger our relationship.”

“You didn’t tell me goodnight,” Stiles accuses him, eyes narrowing, and Derek’s brows furrow like it’s the most dismal thing to ever happen. Derek didn’t even text him, but Stiles can’t begrudge him too much for that when they agreed not to leave a paper trail.

“I’m sorry, baby, I wasn’t even coherent enough to text you by then. I picked Isaac up and we went straight there,” Derek says, and Stiles’ brows knit together.

“Straight where? What happened?”

“Peter’s. He had absinth,” Derek says, his lips pursed as he stares off distantly like it might change the series of events likely running through his head. “It’s his fault, honestly. Peter likes to impress. He has a thing for Isaac.”

Stiles blinks rapidly, his eyebrows raising.

“Oh,” Stiles says intrigued, his head tilting. “Does Isaac have a thing for him?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” Stiles repeats, studying him carefully. “So, yes.”

Derek shrugs, his hands slipping under Stiles’ shirt to squeeze at Stiles’ waist.

Stiles huffs. “That’s really all you’re gonna give me? I know you know the details.”

“I do,” Derek says, leaning in to peck his lips. “But I’m exhausted and want to take a nap.”

Instead of moving to do just that, Derek kisses Stiles’ forehead before dropping his head to his shoulder, breathing him in as he clutches Stiles close.

“I missed you the whole time, if it’s any consolation.”

Stiles sighs, his arms squeezing around Derek’s torso as he lets his head fall to Derek’s shoulder.

“Almost. You could’ve led with the Isaac and Peter thing, too.”

Derek hums in response, content to let some of his weight hang over Stiles.

“Your jealousy is cute,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles purses his lips, feeling called out. “But it’s unnecessary. I’m all yours, baby.”

Stiles’ lips twitch, still wrapped up in one of Derek’s amazing hugs. Derek is right, there’s no need for Stiles to be so jealous, but it’s not really an emotion Stiles can control. In any case, he’s more bitter than jealous—Isaac was hoarding him all night. Rude.

“Where is this elusive Isaac, anyway?”

“Still passed out at Peter’s.”

“Did they…?”

“Isaac is never going to give him the time of day,” Derek mumbles, leaning up to steal a kiss before he releases Stiles once again and starts shedding his clothes, his movements irregular and uncontrolled. “I’m glad you’re not upset.”

Stiles eyes him, brows drawing in. “Why did you think I’d be so upset?”

Derek frowns, pulling back the covers.

“I know you can’t tell your best friend,” he says melancholically, falling into his side of the bed with a long sigh. His arm hangs over the edge, face pressed into the pillow. Stiles frowns and crouches by his side, taking Derek’s dangling hand and pressing it to his cheek. He can’t for the life of him figure out why Derek is tapping on this nerve right now.

Perhaps a lot was exchanged during his drunken adventure with his uncle and best friend, mixed with the ever-present guilt that’s lined his nervous system like plaque accumulating in arteries if Derek feels anything of what Stiles does. Which, he does. Among the love they share, the guilt is parallel. Most of the time, it’s something they tend to gloss over in favor of feeling good with each other instead.

Stiles wishes they could cuddle and nap together and chat all day so that it covers up all those icky feelings and the only thing that’s there is the only thing that matters. He wishes he could take care of him while he’s not feeling so great, and he has the thought that sometimes loving Derek so much feels like a curse because most of the time he can’t even do anything about it.

“It’s only fair, anyway. Lydia knows,” Stiles tells him dismissively, leaning into his touch. They should each get one person to tell, even though they really shouldn’t have told anyone. Peter doesn’t count.

“She’s not your best friend,” Derek murmurs, an eye peeking open as he brushes his thumb along Stiles’ cheek.

“Close enough,” Stiles mumbles, watching Derek’s eyes slip shut again as his hand slackens. Stiles turns to kiss inside his palm with a woeful sigh. “You’re gonna be asleep all day, aren’t you?”

Derek hums noncommittally.

Stiles can’t bring himself to be too bothered when he looks so peaceful like this. It’s not often Stiles get to see him sleep. He sighs again, watching Derek’s slackened face.

“What does he think?” Stiles asks, an attempt to keep awake a bit longer.

“He wants to meet you,” Derek mumbles, his eyes still shut.

“Yeah? And you told him you love me more than anyone else you’ve ever loved in your entire life?”

Derek’s lips quirk, an eye peeking open. “I’m sure I said something of the variety.”

Stiles smiles, pleased enough with this answer as he leans in for a quick kiss before letting Derek rest. He should get going, but he’d rather watch as Derek’s breathing slows and admire his thick brows and full beard that did indeed grow back within the week. He reaches to brush his fingertips through it, happy to have it back, and Derek hums softly, letting him.

“Did I take advantage of you?” Derek asks after Stiles thought he’d already fallen asleep.

Stiles scowls at him, annoyed at the thought.

“No, of course not. Did Isaac say something to you?” Stiles asks, ready to seek him out and throw hands.

Stiles pursued Derek, incessantly, for years, and Derek never even looked at him the way Stiles wanted him to until he was at least fifteen. The only thing Derek finally took advantage of was Stiles’ massive heart-on for him.

“No,” Derek answers, his head shaking as his eyes pull open. “I just wonder.”

“What, if you’re a pedophile?”

Derek visibly recoils, and Stiles gets it. It’s a strong word, a brand if they get caught by the wrong person. It’d follow him for life, and while Stiles would stand by him no matter what, their lives would be a lot more difficult, Derek’s reputation and social status ruined anywhere they’d go.

The only thing is, it’s not true. Stiles has done extensive research on this. Pedophilia is a medical term, not a legal one, reserved for people sexually attracted to minors under the age of thirteen. Legally, were Derek to be charged, he’d be a sex offender, which unfortunately still has a stigma synonymous with pedophilia.

Stiles scoffs. “You’re not a pedophile, Derek. I’m not a prepubescent child, I have a driver’s license for Christ’s sake, and I want you. It’s different,” Stiles insists, squeezing his hand.

“You know it’s not that simple,” Derek murmurs, his eyes slipping shut again as he frowns. Clearly this has been bothering him for some time, and Stiles needs to quash it now.

“Shut the fuck up. Don’t ever ask me that again, because it’s not true and we both know it. You’re not sexually attracted to children on the playground, okay? Unless there’s something you haven’t been telling me.”

Derek purses his lips, his eyes opening to send a proper glare. 

“Precisely,” Stiles says, all snark as his lips curl. He runs his fingertips up and down Derek’s forearm, toying with the thick arm hair he loves so much. “You’re just a guy attracted to another guy. I probably look like what I’ll look like for the next ten years, at least,” Stiles says confidently. He can’t see his body changing much from here, unless those snacks finally start to catch up with him.

“Doubtful. You don’t even have real facial hair yet,” Derek says with a smirk.

“Um, excuse me, I have to shave at least once a week now,” Stiles huffs, shoving at Derek’s arm playfully.

Derek eyes him, a smile tugging at his lips, his gaze studious as if he’s picturing what Stiles might look like with full facial hair. He touches Stiles’ cheek with his thumb, swiping gently before letting his hand fall back over the edge of the bed, and in the same moment the telltale sounds of someone ascending the stairs reaches Stiles’ ears.

His eyes go wide, watching Derek’s matching face.

“Hide,” Derek whispers tersely.

Stiles glances around the room for a split second, his heart racing as he figures out the place to hide in the quickest time. For his current position, under the bed is his safest bet.

In his flustered state, he falls on his ass and scrambles to get back up before realizing he can just roll under the bed frame, hiding from plain site as the door opens.

From his new position, elbows on the floor as he keeps his head up, he can see Paige’s feet shuffle over the carpet, pausing as Stiles can only assume she stares at Derek face down in bed.

The tension is an undercurrent the moment she enters, and Stiles can’t tell if it’s because he’s where he’s not supposed to be, or if Paige is mad at Derek for not returning last night, or if their vibes are just off because Derek is simply not in love with her anymore. She doesn’t say a word, just steps over to where Stiles was just seconds ago, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks, and Stiles’ breath stills as he watches her feet. She’s touching him, he just knows it, probably the same way Stiles was touching him—because she’s still in love with him.

Stiles knows that’s his wife. He knows he is the other… person, technically speaking, in the eyes of the law. But he knows Derek does not love her, and yet here they are, still married, still sharing a bed and a life. It makes his jaw ache as he clenches his teeth, being reminded of this as he hides under their marriage bed.

“Long night,” Derek murmurs, not one hint of nerves apparent in his tone. It’s likely easier for him to give less of a shit when he’s so hungover. “Probably gonna sleep all day.”

“I figured,” she says softly, the sounds of skin brushing over skin audible from Stiles’ hiding spot. His heart pounds so loud he’s scared she’ll hear it. “I was waiting to make breakfast until you got home.”

“Ugh.”

“Kind of figured,” she says, and Stiles imagines her fingers in his hair and wants to gag.

It’s silent for a beat, all except for the blood gushing in Stiles’ ears. He’s sure she’s petting him and watching him rest and thinking of how beautiful he is and how lucky she is to be married to him and have this life with him. Stiles lets his head drop, his upper lip curling in disgust.

There’s some shuffling, as if Derek is shifting to get more comfortable and away from her, and then a long sigh.

“Peter is probably gonna drop Isaac off later,” Derek says, his tone detached. “I’m sure he’ll want to stick around for dinner.”

Dinner tonight. It’ll be a large gathering, especially now that Peter will be joining. The Sheriff will be there, and Liam. Everyone wants to see Isaac.

Stiles is getting sick of hearing about Isaac.

“Alright. I was just gonna order pizza,” Paige says, her feet hanging now as she moves up further on the bed.

“Sounds good,” Derek says in a short tone clearly intended to send her off. She doesn’t take the hint if she catches it, lingering as she no doubt touches him in a general gesture of comfort, more for herself than Derek, likely.

She inhales, and Stiles can hear the sadness in it, like she’s losing hope for their marriage but doesn’t want to say it out loud. For another moment, she loiters, until eventually the bed creaks as she rises.

“I’m gonna send the boys to the store, do you need anything?”

Stiles’ ears twitch as he perks up, eyes wide.

“For what? We’re getting pizza,” Derek says almost defensively, and Stiles can tell he’s trying to keep his tone level before she exits the room and realizes Stiles isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

“Drinks, snacks. Stiles ate all the rice krispies treats again,” she says, and Stiles purses his lips as he watches her feet round the bed to her side of the room and linger in front of the dresser. He’s pretty sure Eli helped, too. “I’m gonna make that boy start cleaning the pool.”

“Leave him alone, I don’t want him to feel like he has to earn his keep,” Derek grumbles. From the sound of it, they have this conversation a lot. Stiles’ heart flutters.

“I’m gonna put his name on the chore chart,” she threatens playfully. Stiles wrinkles his nose. He cleans enough at home, thanks.

“Leave him alone,” Derek says again, her mirth unreciprocated. “He’s got enough on his plate.”

“Yeah, all the rice krispies treats.”

Stiles’ lips twitch even though he resents that, letting his forehead rest over the back of his palm. He doesn’t eat that many damn rice krispies treats.

“Paige, drop it,” Derek says with finality, and the tension is thick again. She sighs.

“I swear you love that kid more than our own son.”

This makes Derek sit up, the bed shifting above. Stiles wonders what looks they exchange—he’d venture to bet Derek is glaring at her.

“I love him as my own, sure,” Derek says, and then he must decide this fight isn’t worth it because his feelings go much, much deeper than that and he can’t give himself away. His head drops back to his pillow, resigned. “I don’t need anything from the store.”

Those are his final words, the silence awkward now. She finally takes the hint, her feet shuffling as she makes her way to the other side of their room. The bathroom door clicks shut behind her.

Stiles scrambles out from under the bed, looking back at Derek as he rises. Derek’s on his stomach hugging his pillow, his head lifted as he meets Stiles’ gaze with raised brows. One of his hands moves out from under the pillow and forms into a quick ‘I love you’ sign as Stiles exits the room and sends it right back.

He takes in a deep breath, his shoulders rising as he slips into Eli’s room, sighing out once the door is shut behind him.

Eli is still asleep, in the same position Stiles left Derek in, face down as he hugs his pillow with light snores. Stiles makes no effort to keep quiet, knowing how dead of a sleeper Eli is, before he sits on Eli’s back, ducking his head under the low bunk bed.

“Wake up,” Stiles says, poking him back to life incessantly. “Your mom is about to send us to the store.”

“The store?” Eli gruffs out, like he’s forgotten what a store is and why people go there. He attempts to shove Stiles off but fails, only shifting with an annoyed grunt. “Get off, fat ass.”

“My ass is not fat,” Stiles bites back, face pinching indignantly.

“It is. Theo talks about it,” Eli grumbles, his face still pressed into the pillow. “And I’ve seen it. It’s fat.”

“Shut the fuck up, buttmunch. Stop looking at my ass.”

“It’s hard to miss it, it’s so fat.”

Stiles scoffs, bouncing a bit just to be annoying, and this time Eli manages to shove him off, where he falls to the side between the bed and the wall with a loud thump.

Paige enters then, and Stiles’ eyes go wide on instinct like he’s just been caught. She glances between the two, her brow raised, her eyes just the faintest hint of red as if she went into the bathroom to cry once Derek made his final statement and dismissed her.

Ugh.

“I need you guys to do a store run,” she says, not even asking but telling. “I have a list. It includes rice krispies treats.”

—

There’s never been a reason to really get to know Isaac, and therefore they never talked much when he came around. To Isaac, Stiles is Eli’s little friend he grew up with, the weird neighbor kid who’s always loitering around the Hale household. Like most kids, they’d greet him and briefly catch up before letting the adults do their thing while they went and did theirs, and that’s been the case for as long as Stiles can remember.

Stiles feels like he’s that kid again as they sit at the dinner table, with the adults talking and catching up as they help themselves to pizza and soda.

Instead of joining in, Stiles observes. The way he talks, the way he looks at Derek in particular, how he folds his pizza and sips his beer. His clothes are simple but designer, his jewelry minimal, his hair and skin immaculate, and Stiles supposes the line of work he’s in would guarantee such proclivities. He glances at Stiles on occasion with a knowing gleam in his eye, but otherwise engages with the ones talking to him.

“So what is it that you do, Isaac?” Stiles asks, just to be facetious and test the waters with him.

Derek shoots him a look, his lips pursed. He’s sitting far away enough that he can’t nudge Stiles’ leg under the table. Stiles works on suppressing his smirk as he takes a giant bite of his pizza.

“I work in public relations, but I’m in between jobs at the moment,” Isaac offers, and it’s so quick that Stiles knows he’s rehearsed it and said it about a thousand times since then, too.

Peter clears his throat beside Isaac, and those who know share glances, but otherwise the conversation continues. Isaac studies him with an amused smile no one else but Derek seems to notice.

“Alright, that’s enough testosterone for me, I’m going to Cora’s,” Paige says as she rises with her plate, staring at the mess on the table before her hand falls to Derek’s shoulder. She leans in for a quick kiss that Stiles pulls his eyes away from.

“Can you take care of all this?” she asks, glancing at the table and back, and when Derek nods with a forced smile, she squeezes his shoulder and walks away.

She looks like a fool in front of them, playing her part in their charade none the wiser. More than anything, guilt aside, Stiles feels sorry for her. She loves a man who will never return her love again, and being on the receiving end of their affair will hurt her the most of anyone else at this table. From the looks of Peter and Isaac when he glances over, he gathers they’re thinking the same thing.

Everyone wishes her a goodbye. Once she’s gone, the Sheriff looks at his watch, and then at Stiles with raised brows.

“I take it you’re staying the night?”

Stiles looks to Eli and Liam, and then Derek. “Can I?”

“Of course,” Derek answers with a firm nod, as if it shouldn’t even be a question.

“Stay out of trouble,” the Sheriff says, his hand falling to Stiles’ head with a gentle tussle.

“Not making any promises,” Stiles tells him as he departs, the screen door slamming shut behind him.

Eli and Liam share glances with each other, communicating silently before turning to face the remaining men.

“We’re gonna go to a movie tonight,” Eli says, meeting Stiles’ gaze. “You can come with us if you want, Stiles. Theo’s gonna be there.”

Stiles’ brows shoot up, his eyes wide. “Uhh,” he glances to Derek and back. “What movie is it?”

“Does it matter? Just come with us, it’ll be fun,” Eli insists, and Stiles bites the inside of his lip, feeling Derek’s gaze and everyone else’s boring into him.

“Who’s Theo?” Derek asks, and Stiles swallows. He’s yet to tell Derek of Theo asking him to prom for reasons, but it’s not like that included actually dating the guy.

They’re putting him on the spot and they don’t even know it. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“He’s my best friend,” Liam answers. “He asked Stiles to prom,” he adds, waggling his brows as he meets Stiles’ gaze over the table, and Stiles wants to barf up all four slices of pepperoni pizza he just ate. He’d be so happy if Liam never did that again.

Derek’s head rears back in the slightest, his brows twitching up. “Oh? When did this happen?”

“Just a few days ago,” Eli says, beaming like he’s elated to share the news. “Stiles said yes.”

A flush warms Stiles’ face as he brushes his hand over his head, glancing furtively at Derek before looking back at Eli with pursed lips.

“It was a pity ‘yes’ for your sake, and that doesn’t mean we’re dating. I’ll stay in tonight, thanks,” Stiles snaps, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair.

“Aww, come on, dude, it’s just a movie, and it’s Saturday night. What else are you gonna do?”

“Not that. Theo’s a creep, I’m not hanging out with him in a movie theater,” Stiles reaffirms, wishing this conversation wasn’t taking place in front of his boyfriend and the two other adults watching this like an episode of Jerry Springer.

Eli must sense Stiles’ discomfort and thankfully decides not to push it, instead eyeing him carefully before he shrugs. Liam looks minorly assaulted but Stiles doesn’t give a shit.

“Alright, suit yourself.”

As soon as Eli and Liam are gone, Stiles glances at Derek with a guilty frown.

“I was going to tell you eventually. Eli really wanted me to go to prom and the only way I can go is if a senior invites me.”

Derek’s lips quirk up, watching Stiles from a few chairs away. “It’s fine, baby, I get it.”

Being called ‘baby’ in front of people gives Stiles a rush, his heart speeding up and his ears growing hot as he glances at Peter and Isaac and then back.

“You’re not jealous?” Stiles asks, brows raised as he chews at the inside of his cheek.

“Maybe a little bit,” Derek says easily, his fixed gaze on Stiles undeniable, his voice smooth and full of intent. It makes Stiles want to kick his feet and giggle, the way Derek stares at him—like he’s the only one in the room and does not care if anyone sees it.

“Alright, are you getting a room or are we going for round two at mine?” Peter asks, disgust heard in his tone.

“There’s no way I’m drinking for another year, at least,” Derek says, head shaking as he rubs his temple and glances at Isaac. “Are you going back over there?”

Isaac looks between Stiles and Derek, his arms crossed. “If you are, sure. We should all go. The vibes are way off in this house, dude.”

Derek’s lips purse. “As if you didn’t want to go.” He turns to Stiles, his face softening. “What do you think, you wanna go to Peter’s?”

Stiles’ lips part, staring at Derek in wonderment. So this is what it’s like to exist as a real couple in front of other people.

It’s nice.

He nods, a hint of a smile curling his lips as he holds Derek’s gaze and wonders if he’s thinking the same thing.

Once the table is cleared and the meager leftovers are put away, they slip into Peter’s million-dollar car he most definitely picked out to show off for Isaac, and Stiles and Derek climb into the backseat and sit happily stuffed together as Peter zips across town.

Stiles has never been here before, and it’s interesting to see the way Peter lives in his penthouse loft in one of the highest buildings that he just so happens to own in downtown Beacon Hills.

The space is carefully curated and designer, and Stiles wonders why Isaac won’t date him, if it’s because he’s Derek’s uncle and it’d be weird, or if it’s something Stiles can’t even fathom. The way they interact would suggest they have a history together, and Stiles fully intends on pestering Derek for it when they’re not in front of them.

The card table is still left out from last night, set fresh in the center of the living space for whatever games they’ll get into tonight. Isaac sets a record while Peter pours drinks at the bar, glancing over as Derek starts shuffling the cards.

“You want one?” Peter asks as he holds up a crystal decanter, and Stiles peeks at Derek for silent permission. He doesn’t need it, but it’s comforting to have his approval.

“Go ahead, I’ll get us home,” Derek reassures him, their calves pressing together under the table.

“Okay,” says Stiles, turning back to Peter with a nod. He’s already deviant enough, might as well lean into it.

When he sips whatever cocktail Peter made for him, he tries not to make a face at the bitter taste that hits the back of his tongue. Peter laughs, and Isaac does too, but he at least makes an effort to hide it behind his glass as he sips his own cocktail.

“I’ll finish it if you don’t like it,” Derek tells him as he deals the cards. “There’s beer, too.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles huffs, taking another sip out of spite. The bitter is less assaulting this time, and Derek’s lips curl but he says nothing as he finishes passing out cards.

This scene feels Very Adult, and Stiles doesn’t know how to act. He’s fine with Peter, having grown up around him too, and of course he’s fine with Derek, but the dynamic changes once Isaac is introduced.

Stiles gets the feeling it’s important to Derek to get to know Isaac and somewhat get along, and he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. But he also doesn’t know what to say, which means inevitably, he’ll blabber out the wrong thing. Plus, interacting in front of Derek’s family without having to hide their secret is a novel idea.

Suddenly he understands why people drink—soon those things don’t bother him quite so much.

They play a few rounds of rummy, which Stiles has never played before, so Derek helps him for a round before he understands the rules and wants to play on his own. Stiles sips his beverage throughout and ends up winning a round with a pleased laugh as he glances at Derek for approval. Derek’s lips are curved, his heavy hand squeezing at Stiles’ knee under the table.

“Nice job, baby,” Derek says softly, and it makes Stiles blush but he doesn’t care much after his second drink of the evening. It seems like alcohol is good for releasing those stupid inhibitions, and Peter and Isaac aren’t paying much attention to them, anyway, as they bicker at each other over something that seems to have happened a long time ago.

“So why aren’t you two together?” Stiles asks, casually sipping at his third cocktail like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Derek sips his own beverage he’s been nursing for a while, watching with a raised brow like he’s waiting for the same answer.

This question abruptly pauses their interaction, and they stare at Stiles like he’s said something offensive, only Stiles doesn’t have the wherewithal to humbly apologize or even acknowledge it. Instead, Stiles sips his drink again, enjoying the tingling on his lips and the warmth in his veins, and flicks his gaze between them expectantly, waiting.

“That’s a wonderful question, Stiles. Why aren’t we together, darling?” Peter asks, his eyebrows raised as he draws his gaze back to Isaac and brings his glass to his lips.

Isaac narrows his eyes at Stiles very intentionally before he glances back at Peter.

“You couldn’t afford me,” Isaac says simply, a smug smile curling his lips.

Derek laughs, and Peter chuffs, his jaw taut as he glares at Isaac.

“I make half a billion dollars in a bad year!”

Stiles can’t help the giggle, but at least he has the decency to cover his mouth as he watches. Derek glances over at him with a smirk.

“All of my clients make half a billion every quarter,” Isaac says, and it sounds like bullshit but Stiles doesn’t intervene, entirely entertained by this back-and-forth interaction.

“All your clients who end up leaving you high and dry?” Peter snaps back.

“At least they have the decency to leave instead of cheat,” Isaac says, his tone as sharp as his eyes.

“Half the time you’re helping them cheat with someone else!”

Oof. Stiles definitely shouldn’t have asked that question, though he can’t feel too bothered to feel guilty in this moment. Something tells him they’d eventually hash this out, anyway.

While they bicker it out, Derek tugs on Stiles’ hand and pulls him out of the room onto the balcony, their voices and the music cutting off once the sliding door snicks shut. 

Beacon Hills isn’t very big, but the view from this high up still takes Stiles’ breath away. A pond of yellow lights glistens within the sharp stroke of trees in the distance, nearly a perfect circle of life taking place below their feet.

Derek’s arms wrap around Stiles’ waist, his chin hooking over Stiles’ shoulder as he presses Stiles close and stares ahead. Stiles leans back into him, his arms falling over Derek’s as he turns to kiss his cheek.

“One day we’ll be in New York on our own balcony,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles melts a bit, though that might be the whiskey pumping through his veins. It makes him giddy, being here with Derek, their relationship not a secret this high up, their future ahead of them.

“You’ll go to New York with me?” Stiles asks, though he already knows the answer.

“I’ll go wherever you go, baby,” Derek tells him, his breath tickling behind Stiles’ ear. He shivers, his lips curved as he tilts his head back to regard him fondly, and even though part of Stiles wants to brush it off because it’s so far away and it feels too good to be true, deep down he knows. He knows Derek will stick with him through thick and thin, through whatever it takes, even if that means—god forbid—he ends up in prison.

One day, Derek will come up behind him and grip him in a hug as they look at the city below them, and their love won’t be a secret anymore.

They linger for a while, until Derek is certain it’s cooled down enough before it’s safe to return.

“I’m gonna stay out here for a bit,” Stiles tells him, leaning over the railing to stare out at their hometown. He feels a bit woozy and should probably take it easy on the alcohol, but he won’t. He’s having too much fun acting like a real adult.

“Alright, baby. You need anything?”

Stiles shakes his head and Derek kisses him before he goes back inside, and Stiles imagines what their life will be like when they finally get to live together and be free of this town. One day they’ll never be able to look back, and Stiles looks forward to it.

The door slides open again, and Stiles thinks it’s Derek checking up on him since he’s been out here for a while, attempting to sober up a bit but also just enjoying the view he’s never had a chance to experience. When he turns back, he sees Isaac instead.

Isaac cups his cigarette and lights it, smoke blowing away as he leans his forearms on the railing a foot or so away from Stiles. Instead of ahead, he looks at the pavement thirty floors down.

Stiles glances over at him, unknowing what to say now that Isaac is out here alone with him. Any reservations or qualms Stiles had against him are suddenly dissipated—he’s not in love with Derek, and even if he were, Derek isn’t in love with him, and that’s that. Which means Isaac is just a guy, someone who’s known Derek longer than anyone else besides his family, who happens to be a sex worker. A very high-class sex worker, who bends the rules and falls in love a lot. It feels exhausting to think about.

“What’s it like?” Stiles asks, eyeing him as smoke pours from his lips.

Isaac turns to him, his gaze half-glazed in his inebriation, studying Stiles as he brings the cigarette to his lips.

“It’s good, until it’s not. It’s not what you’re thinking, though,” Isaac says.

“What am I thinking?” Stiles asks, an eyebrow raising.

“It’s not just sex. They want companionship, just like everyone else.”

“Do you really fall in love with them?” Stiles asks, and this silences Isaac for a moment as he puffs on his cigarette.

“Unfortunately,” he admits, quiet for another beat. “The money doesn’t really mean anything without the love. It’s nice, yeah, but it’s not everything.”

Stiles studies him, his eyebrows furrowing. “Then why do you do it?”

Isaac shrugs, sucking on his cigarette. “I don’t like working. This is the least amount of work for the most amount of money, and it’s pretty fun for the most part.”

Stiles nods, understanding that work categorically sucks, but the occupational hazards of this job are probably a hell of a lot more emotionally arduous than any other field.

“But don’t you get your heart broken all the time?” Stiles asks, perhaps with pity but genuinely curious, and the way Isaac looks at him—like, yeah, Stiles is sixteen, but he’s not some dumb kid to be underestimated—lets him know he’s just earned Isaac’s stamp of approval.

With a short shrug, the tip of Isaac’s cigarette glows as he inhales and watches Stiles openly now, smoke puffs carried away by the wind.

“Better to have loved and lost,” Isaac starts, letting the rest of the quote go on implication. His tone is detached, like it hurts that it’s the truth but there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I think I’d rather never love at all,” Stiles says, glancing inside. Peter and Derek sit at the card table and chat and drink, a perpetual smile tugging at Derek’s lips. “I wouldn’t want to know what I’m missing out on. Nothing else would ever be enough.”

Isaac looks like he wants to say something but remains quiet as he watches Stiles for a few uncomfortable seconds, like he needs to study him to properly construct the right words.

“How did you know you loved him?” Isaac asks, and Stiles gets the feeling this isn’t originally what Isaac wanted to say, but he gladly takes the conversation bait to move it along.

“I was eleven,” Stiles says, and it feels silly saying it out loud, but it’s true. “I dreamt about him. It wasn’t just a wet dream, though,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he blushes and looks down, and he realizes he’s never even said this to Derek but he needs to. “It was almost like a premonition, or an awakening, or something, I don’t know. It was like I just knew… that he’s my person. And I’ve been in love with him ever since.”

Stiles chews at his cheek and wonders if he’s convincing enough, and then he realizes he doesn’t really care. He knows how much he loves Derek, and he doesn’t need to prove that to anyone but Derek. It’s not even as if his love is a measurable concept—it’s endless.

With a final draw on his cigarette before he crushes it on the cement wall, Isaac blows smoke away and meets Stiles’ gaze once again.

“I believe you. I’ve never seen Derek like this. The way he is with you is… different,” Isaac says, his brow serious as he regards his best friend’s boyfriend. “He really loves you.”

Stiles can’t help but smile at his shoes, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “I really love him.”

“I can see that. But I think you two are fucking crazy to do anything about it before you’re legal,” Isaac says, his tone harsher than before. Stiles pops his head back up, brows furrowing. “You know if you get caught, your father will send him right to prison.”

Stiles sucks in a deep breath, his heart skipping. He knows it’s the truth but he does not like acknowledging it. Regardless, he has a plan.

“I know my dad,” Stiles starts, lips pursing. “I’m all he has, and I’m pretty convincing.”

Isaac’s brow goes up, his eyes reading Stiles up and down as if looking for the proof in this statement.

Stiles shakes his head, annoyed as he looks away. He shouldn’t have to prove anything to Isaac, though he knows what he’s doing. He had a similar talk with Liam not very long ago.

“I’m just saying, if you really loved him, you could let him go for a while.”

Stiles scowls, exasperated. While he knows Isaac is right, the simple thought of keeping his hands to himself when Derek is right across the alley sounds like a circle of hell.

“Would you want to be away from your person when he’s right fucking there?”

Isaac regards him, hands in his designer pockets. His gaze is intense, like he’s got someone in mind as he asks himself this question, but he must decide Stiles has passed his test, his ball busting more irritating than endearing now.

Isaac is annoying, Stiles decides. Annoying, but not unlikeable, surprisingly.

“Must really be something, then,” he says, pausing. “As his best friend, I’m legally obligated to tell you I’ll kick your ass if you break his heart. I don’t give a shit how old you are.”

Stiles’ scowl shifts into an amused half-smile, and he nods.

“Got it. He can’t get rid of me though, so. Might as well get used to me.”

Isaac scrutinizes him one last time, just for show, but his lips curl as he nods slowly in approval. He slides open the door, brows raising expectantly as his head tilts indoors. Music plays, and Peter laughs before slamming down his winning hand of cards. Derek glances over when he hears the door, his annoyance thawing into a contented smile as he meets Stiles’ gaze and holds out his hand.

“C’mere,” Derek says, and Stiles takes his hand before Derek pulls him into his lap. Stiles blushes but decides not to care, his arms going around Derek’s neck as Derek grips him close and kisses his cheek.

The previous tone has lifted, and it seems Peter and Isaac are on well enough terms for the night to continue, full of overzealous card-playing and lots of laughs and even a few stories from Derek’s childhood that Stiles repeats in his head so he won’t forget them once he passes out tonight.

Derek used to cry in the car wash, terrified of being baked alive, and he broke his arm falling off the monkey bars trying to do a gymnastics routine after watching the summer Olympics, and Stiles thinks that’s probably the cutest fucking thing he’s ever learned about him only because he’s imagining a little Derek doing all these things and it makes his heart swell. He must know more.

Stiles has another drink, working on the fifth by the time Derek rounds him up at the end of the night, even though he’s recognized his limit is probably somewhere around two. He’s giggly and lackadaisical, clinging to Derek as they leave.

“Where’s Isaac?” Stiles asks, looking back as Derek guides, or rather, gently drags him from the loft to the elevators.

“He insisted on staying here tonight. Why, you like Isaac now?” Derek teases, his grip tight around Stiles’ waist as they descend. The moving elevator makes Stiles nauseated, grateful he has Derek to lean on.

“Yeah, I like Isaac now,” Stiles slurs, attempting to keep the sass in his tone but failing when he hiccups in the middle of the sentence. “He’s your Eli.”

It takes him a minute, but Derek understands.

“Yes, he’s my Eli. Did he give you the best friend talk?” Derek asks, amused. There’s a car waiting for them when they exit the building lobby, and Derek helps him into the backseat before pushing in beside him and confirming the address to the Uber driver.

“Mhm, he said he’ll kiss my ass,” Stiles says, then he snorts and shakes his head, palming his face with a laugh. He may have over done it for his first time, but Derek’s here and he’s safe, so really it’s the best first alcohol experience he could have. “I meant he’ll kick my ass.”

Derek chuckles, buckling Stiles in.

“I doubt it’ll ever come to that,” Derek says, his big hand settling over Stiles’ knee with a tight squeeze. Stiles loves his hands, how big they are, the weight to them a balm wherever they press over Stiles’ skin. He curls his fingers around Derek’s palm, squeezing as he rests his head on Derek’s shoulder. 

He’s starting to feel carsick, or maybe that’s just being drunk, but Derek’s scent grounds him as he sucks in short breaths. He’s definitely going to puke and he’s hoping it’ll pass until they get out of the car.

Miraculously, he makes it, never so grateful in his life for his father to work overnights when he spews in the front yard. Derek ends up rinsing it away once Stiles is passed out.

Derek gets him to his bed after forcing Stiles to brush his teeth, pulling the covers up to his chin.

“Hey, I had a dream about you,” Stiles tells him, shifting as he makes himself more comfortable.

“Yeah?” Derek asks, his weight skewing the bed as he sits on the edge, his hand settling on Stiles’ side.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, yawning as he slurs, “it’s how I knew I loved you.”

“How’s that?” Derek asks, curious as his hand rubs up and down.

“Just did,” Stiles answers, offering no further explanation. There is none. “You’re my person.”

Derek is silent, and Stiles sucks in a deep breath through his nose, his body thawing over the mattress. He could fall asleep at any moment.

“And you’re mine,” Derek says eventually, his heavy hand brushing over Stiles’ head. “Love you, baby boy.”

By the time Stiles remembers to say it back, Derek is gone. He says it anyway, because it’s true and whoever is listening in right now should know it.

Chapter Text

Derek had half a mind to chaperone this event, but he knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. Stiles wouldn’t be able to stop looking at him, and Derek can’t say he’d be any better. Plus, he knows Eli would be pissed.

Stiles comes over dressed in a slim fit suit that matches his eyes, and Derek can’t even stop glancing over at him now.

“Very nice,” Derek says, and Stiles’ lips curl as they hold gazes for a couple seconds too long. Were no one else around, Derek would tug him in by his tie and tell him how gorgeous he looks before stealing a few pecks, and he’s sure Stiles would blush and laugh and brush it off while somehow gracefully soaking up Derek’s compliments and kisses.

The Sheriff is with him, because of course he is, sending his kid off to the only prom he’ll likely ever attend if he has anything to say about it. He insists on a photo and Stiles refuses as he takes a seat beside Eli on the couch, waiting for Liam and Theo to arrive.

“I don’t want to have evidence of this evening,” Stiles says, nibbling the skin off his lips and swiping his hands over his knees as he sends Derek a furtive glance. Derek knows how much Stiles doesn’t want to do this, but it doesn’t make it any better.

Eli side eyes him with pursed lips. “The whole point is to go with me, asshole,” Eli says, shoving him. He’s dressed more formally in black, his long hair slicked back with gel and a rose pinned to his lapel. He looks quite dapper, taking this prom thing very seriously. Derek’s lips curl.

“There’s no way we’re not taking any photos. Come on, up,” Derek says, gesturing with his fingers to stand up. Eli’s up in a heartbeat, always one for making memories.

Stiles’ mouth falls open with a noise of protest as he stares up at Derek, and Derek just tilts his head and raises a brow. “Come on, you’ll look back on this night with fondness, seriously.”

Stiles doesn’t have to say a word for Derek to know what he’s thinking, his face says it all—he entirely doubts that.

With a dramatic sigh, Stiles heaves himself up, and Eli yanks him into a side hug with a contagious wide grin. Paige and Derek and the Sheriff proceed to take pictures and tell them to do different poses, while Stiles stares at Derek and fails at hiding his disdain with a forced smile.

Derek wants him to smile for real, but he’s not going to do it out of sheer stubbornness, unable to give in without remonstration.

“Hey, do you know why I never trust stairs?”

Both Stiles and Eli ask him, “Why?”

“They’re always up to something.”

Stiles snorts and cracks an incredulous smile, his eyes shining as his mouth splits open, Eli laughing beside him. Paige and the Sheriff chuckle under their breaths, and Derek smirks, pleased with himself as he takes the shot. It’s perfect.

Liam and Theo arrive and they’re both wearing sharp suits. Theo is clearly interested in Stiles more than Stiles even cares to acknowledge his existence, crossing his arms and cutting his gaze away when Theo asks to take a picture. No one pushes him on this one.

After Paige gets some shots of Liam and Eli on their porch, the boys are off in Liam’s car and the house falls silent.

Derek and Paige don’t spend time alone together anymore. Most of the time Derek is at work or the gym, and when he’s home, Eli or Cora or some other Hale is around the house, and they never really have to be alone. It’s worked out nicely.

“You wanna stay for a beer, Sheriff?” Derek asks him, hoping to delay the inevitable. It’s somehow less daunting chatting with the Sheriff than it is with Paige.

“Thanks, Derek. I’d better get to bed, I’ve got to get up early tomorrow,” he says, patting Derek’s shoulder with a squeeze, and soon he’s gone and now it’s just Derek and Paige standing in their living room.

He doesn’t even really know how to talk to her anymore, unless it’s something regarding Eli or another family member. It shouldn’t be so awkward with his wife, but it is.

He swipes his hand over his beard and meets her gaze with a careful smile.

“You want to order some food and watch a movie?”

If they’re going to hang out, they might as well eat and watch a movie, where there’s not much room for actual conversation outside of what they’re watching.

“Yeah, that sounds nice. What are you in the mood for?”

“Whatever you want,” Derek says with a shrug, pulling out his phone as he drops onto the couch.

“Thai?”

“Sounds good to me,” he says, navigating to the food app to start their order. She pours herself a glass of wine and takes a seat on the other side of the couch while she starts searching for something to watch, and Derek passes over his phone so she can add her own food to the order while he takes the remote.

They end up picking a scary movie, and Paige takes her time ordering before eventually handing Derek back his phone. As she sips her wine, Derek can feel her eyes. He glances over curiously, and she seems oddly pleased, a smile curling her lips as he grips her wine glass.

“What?” he asks, eyebrows raising.

“I’m just glad to be spending time with you,” she says, making herself comfortable as she stretches out on the couch. Her feet touch his thigh as she takes another sip of her wine.

Derek forces a smile, studying her as he thinks of what to say.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” he lands on, his hand falling to her ankle with a tender squeeze as he settles his focus back towards the film. From the corner of his vision, he knows she’s still staring at him, the power of her gaze intentional. It makes him nervous, like she’s looking at him through a lens.  

It occurs to him that there’s a very real possibility that Paige may have just looked through his phone, but he wants to give her the benefit of the doubt and not make assumptions. In any case, Derek has no incriminating evidence on there. He and Stiles don’t communicate much aside from him asking for rides because Eli always forgets to charge his phone, and any photos of them exist solely on Stiles’ phone in a locked album. So there’s literally nothing for her to find. No grindr app, no whatsapp, no snapchat or insta. Derek doesn’t even have facebook.

The only thing that might raise alarm is the photo of Stiles assigned to his contact profile, where he’s sticking out his tongue without a shirt on beside the pool. Questionable, but not altogether incriminating.

While gratified they had the foresight to ban any traceable communication early on, if his assumptions are correct, he now knows that Paige has her suspicions about him. And why shouldn’t she? It’s not like Derek has been paying her much attention, content to daydream of the future he’s got planned with Stiles instead.

Something in him has switched, and he’s not quite as miserable as he once was despite no outward change in his life. She’s probably wondering what could have such a profound effect on him, and an affair is anyone’s best guess.

It makes perfect sense, and her intuition is not wrong. But without any solid evidence to prove it, there’s no reason to believe Derek is cheating on her. She seems relaxed and relieved, and Derek decides for now, he has every reason to feel the same.

They continue watching the movie, and Derek lets his hand rest on her ankle, hoping this light touching will be enough for the evening. He has a feeling Paige will try to have sex tonight, and he’d really rather not have to rebuff her advances.

The food arrives and Paige ends up beside him as they eat, eventually curling up against him for the last half of the film. He tries not to be so stiff, his heart racing as he rests his arm around her shoulders, hoping against all odds they’ll just have a cuddle session at most.

By the time the movie is over, her hand is on the inside of Derek’s thigh, her head on his chest before she twists her head and plants her lips over Derek’s pec. If Stiles were touching him like this, he’d already be half-hard.

He swallows, licking his lips as he looks ahead and attempts to maintain neutral behavior while his heart kicks into panic mode.

“I miss you,” Paige says softly, lifting her head. He turns to meet her gaze, searching over her face. Her lips are stained dark red, and her eyes are really big as she brushes her hand over Derek’s chest.  

“I’m right here, honey,” Derek says reassuringly, his skin growing hot.

“Yeah?” she asks, searching his gaze. Her fingertips slip up and around his neck, threading in the hair at the back of his head, exactly where Stiles likes to hold onto Derek. He swallows again, nodding carefully, and Paige takes it as an invitation to lean in and seal their lips together.

Her lips move over his and he can’t get his to move back, frozen in place as she tilts her head as if further offering herself up, and Derek doesn’t know how to kiss her back anymore, but he can’t just sit here without responding.

He forces himself to move his lips, just small pecks over her mouth, his hand settling at her side as he closes his eyes and pushes back the guilt and self-loathing taking over his nervous system. Kissing her isn’t right; she tastes bitter and her lips are chapped, and she smells florally, and her body is too soft under his touch.

But if he doesn’t kiss back this could all fall apart, and he’s got to make this last as long as possible.

She turns up the heat, stroking over his chest, pushing her tongue in to meet his. Derek breaks the kiss on instinct, repulsed to the core as he swallows and meets her gaze.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, eyes searching.

Derek shakes his head, his eyes glued to her. “Nothing,” he lies, and he forces himself to lean back in and kiss her. She responds accordingly, shifting and swinging her leg over Derek’s thighs, straddling his lap as the kiss deepens and his hands fall to her hips.

They get more heated, more tongue, more caresses and grips as she presses her breasts against his chest and rocks her hips down. It does nothing for him, and he makes the mistake of opening his eyes and seeing her in his lap where Stiles is supposed to be, on their couch, without anyone else around.

She keeps rocking her hips down and rubbing herself over him, and Derek’s hands are frozen in place at her sides, and his lips mirror her lips, and she palms him through his jeans and he’s still not even a little hard despite all her efforts.

The kiss breaks and she looks down and then back up at him, brows knit in offense. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before, but at least before Stiles, he’d get a semi and remedy it by eating her out.

Now, his dick is not coming out, and there’s no way Derek is placing his mouth on anyone else’s genitals besides Stiles’.

This simply isn’t going to work, and something has snapped in him, just now, with the wrong person in his lap.

“You want my mouth?” she asks, starting to pull of Derek’s lap. He lets her, taking her hand and sitting her back down beside him before she can kneel in front of him. Her eyes are wide and anxious as she searches his face.

“Listen,” he starts, biting his lip. Paige already has tears in her eyes.

“Are you not attracted to me anymore? Or is it just women in general?” she asks, voice quivering. “Because I can peg you if that’s what this is about, I don’t hate it like you think I do.”

Derek licks his lips and flushes a bit. He shakes his head.

“No,” he starts, sucking in a deep breath.

As if channeling Stiles himself, Derek blurts out the thought as it occurs to him.

“I think I should start sleeping in the office.”

He doesn’t know where this thought came from, but it feels right.

She blinks a few times, tears crowding her eyes.

“So you aren’t attracted to me anymore,” she says, her voice steadier as if speaking the truth out loud has given her that clarity.

“I never said that,” Derek replies, taking her hand. It stays limp in his grasp. “This could be good for us. I think part of it is we didn’t get to have a lot of independence in our formative years, and I think having separate bedrooms could offer a sense of independence to help us figure out who we are individually, you know?”

As he’s saying it, he knows it sounds like total bullshit. There may be some truth to it, but the whole figuring out who they are is the beginning of the end, and they both know it.

Maybe Paige will buy it and they can make this last a bit longer.

She stares at him silently, and he feels a bit unsettled under her gaze. She takes her hand away, wiping tears from her cheeks before she reaches for her second glass of wine and takes a long sip before looking back at him.

“Let’s call a spade a spade, shall we?”

She stands up with her wine and leaves him there, snatching her phone off the kitchen counter as she makes her way outside to the back patio.

He watches her go, a bit surprised that was so easy. This conversation isn’t over, but for now, he just won his own bedroom and nights without Paige by his side, his heart weighing less.

—

Stiles calls him just after two in the morning.

He’s been staring at the office ceiling, where the pool reflects the light and shimmers off the water, when his phone vibrates beside him and Stiles’ face pops up.

“Hey,” Derek whispers. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says on the other end, a little slurred. “Can you come get me?” Definitely slurred.

“Where are you?” Derek asks, sitting up to dress as he keeps the phone to his ear.

“Lydia’s lake house,” he says, a smile heard in his tone. “Come pick me up daddy.”

There’s a giggle in the background, and Derek is nervous more than Lydia is present during this conversation. Stiles shushes her and shuffles away.

“Don’t worry, it’s just Lydia. Do you know how to get here?”

“Send me your location and I’ll be there soon,” Derek whispers, slipping on his socks.

“M’kay, drive safe, love you,” he says, hanging up.

Once Derek gets his location, he’s out the door as quietly as he can manage, grateful he didn’t park in the garage earlier this evening. It takes him thirty minutes to get there, mostly through thick preserve before he’s rolling down the long driveway of the lake house. There are a few other cars that have likely been abandoned if this party was anything like what Derek remembers.

Stiles is waiting for him when he pulls up, his tie loosened, shirt untucked. He grins as he climbs inside and sidles up to Derek over the center console, the car door slamming shut behind him.

“Hey, daddy,” Stiles says, leaning in for a kiss that Derek grants automatically. He’s clearly drunk, tasting of cheap beer, and possibly high if he smoked any of the weed he smells like.

“Hey, baby. You good?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods with a faded smile as he meets Derek’s gaze.

“Did you have a good time?” Derek asks.

“It would have been better if I could have danced with you, but yes, I did actually have a good time,” Stiles says, his tone proposing he can hardly believe it himself as he buckles in. Derek huffs a few quiet laughs, eyeing him fondly as he shifts gears and turns around in the driveway.

“I’ll dance with you,” Derek offers, one hand on the steering wheel, the other over Stiles’ knee. Somehow, eventually, they’ll find a way to dance together.

“You promise?” he asks. Stiles is all about making promises, and Derek is all about keeping them.

“Yeah, baby, I promise,” Derek says, hooking their pinkies together. From the corner of Derek’s vision, Stiles smiles and squeezes at their linked fingers. “Tell me about your night, what’d you get up to?”

“Theo tried to kiss me, and I punched him,” Stiles says proudly, playing with Derek’s fingers.

“Oh yeah? How’d he get close enough to kiss you?” Derek asks, glancing over. His features are softened by the orange backlights of the dashboard.

“Well, I felt kind of bad for him, not gonna lie. He looked a little pathetic out there and I figured it was just one dance before I never really have to see him again. It was during a fun song too, and then it faded into a slow song and got awkward and then he leaned in as his eyes closed and puckered his lips and then I punched him. What a loser,” Stiles says as he laughs and shakes his head, babbling and clearly pleased with himself. Derek smiles.

“Otherwise you had fun?” Derek asks, eyebrows raising.

“Yeah, we left pretty soon after that anyway and went to Lydia’s after party,” Stiles says.

“Lydia went to prom, too?”

“No,” Stiles says, sounding happy as he fiddles with Derek’s fingers and stares over at him. “You’re so beautiful, like, honestly. Do you know how beautiful you are?”

Derek smirks and glances over again. He’s definitely high.

“Yeah,” Derek says blatantly, his lips curled. There’s no reason for him to lie about it, he knows what he looks like. “It’s different when you tell me.”

“How so?”

“You’re not just talking about my physical appearance,” Derek says confidently. The way Stiles stares at him goes beyond his beauty, though his current stare would suggest that’s not true in this moment—a horny moment after a drug-fueled night of teenage debauchery no doubt.

“So unfair how pretty you are,” Stiles continues, laying it on thick. A hand slips up Derek’s forearm as he squeezes and licks his lips. “Hey, can I fuck you in the back seat?”

Derek snorts, looking over. Stiles’ eyes are glued to Derek’s mouth.

“You’re hilarious,” Derek tells him, squeezing his hand fondly. “And yeah, of course.”

It’s miles before they’re home, and extremely dark in these woods. When there’s a look out just around the curve and a chance to get his lips on Stiles, Derek will take it.

He parks and turns off the headlights before they’re mashing their lips together over the console, the kiss hot and heated and enough to get Derek half hard by the time they make it to the folded down backseat.

Every time Stiles fucks him, Derek thinks it’s a miracle the perfect cock came attached to the perfect human—as if Stiles were made for him.

“Say it, daddy, please, please say it,” Stiles begs, his voice trembling in a tight whimper.

Before Stiles, it was rare for Derek to come on penetration alone, but the desperation in Stiles’ tone, the need to hear how much of a good boy he is, the wanton desire that makes his fingers tremble at Derek’s hips already sets Derek at the edge. Stiles has managed to pin down a rhythm that’s got Derek’s thighs trembling and precum drooling from his tip, and nowadays that’s all it takes for Derek to forget how to breathe, his mind on another plane entirely as he spills in lazy spurts over his stomach.

“Oh, fuck, that’s daddy’s good boy,” Derek groans out, his vision hazy as his afterglow settles in. “Come for me, baby.”

He watches Stiles’ parted lips and his fluttering lashes as he comes with a breathy moan and a quick sputtering of his hips, his fat cock pulsing within Derek’s quivering hole. Stiles slumps over, cheek pressed to Derek’s chest as he comes down, their heavy breaths fogging up the windows.

Always reluctant to be empty of him, Derek lets Stiles take his time to recover, his body melded against him, cock still buried as he leans up and captures Derek’s lips in a breathless kiss. Their tongues brush and their noses graze, and Derek’s hands settle at his waist under his shirt, cherishing the soft firmness under his touch as Stiles’ fingertips comb through Derek’s beard.

Reluctantly, after more kisses, Stiles slips out of him and tucks himself back into his trousers, and Derek, for the sake of making less of a mess, clenches tight to keep what he can of Stiles’ cum inside as he pulls on his sweatpants. He grabs one of the microfiber cloths he leaves back here and wipes his stomach off before passing it over to Stiles.

The thick air in the cabin is dispersed once Derek opens the hatchback, pulling out a cigarette before sitting down on the flatbed. Stiles takes his rightful place beside him as he sparks up.

This deep in the woods, the only noises are insects and distant animal sounds. It’s peaceful this far away from everyone, Stiles by his side.

“I’m glad you had a good night,” Derek says, pulling on his cigarette as he glances over at Stiles.

“It was alright. I really missed you,” Stiles says, his foot tapping at Derek’s as he swings his legs over the edge. “What’d you get up to while I was gone?”

“Well,” Derek starts, taking another puff.

Stiles’ eyebrows pop up, waiting for Derek to continue. He blows smoke out the other side of his mouth.

“Paige and I had some alone time that was more productive than I had anticipated,” Derek says.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Derek pauses, his lips twitching. He knows Stiles will be stoked to hear this. “I don’t know what came over me, but I told her I think I should start sleeping in the office.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open, his eyes wide. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah. I told her I think it’d be good for us. I mean, I embellished it a bit, but. Honestly, it was kind of inevitable, now that I think about it,” Derek says, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Uh, no shit,” Stiles says harshly, blinking as he shakes his head like he’s known this all along. Which, he has. He has a right to be sassy. “Wait, what’d she say?”

Derek purses his lips, silent for a beat as he puffs. “She said let’s call a spade a spade and took her phone and her wine glass outside. So Cora probably knows already.”

“And that was it?”

“Yep. I’m sure we’ll talk about it soon. But I think she knows it makes sense, too.”

Stiles nods along, staring. Even as dark at it is out here, the waning moon offers enough light to see his features.

“So… how did this conversation start?” he asks after a beat.

Derek rubs the back of his neck and takes another drag. “She came on to me. She sat in my lap and kept trying to…” he pauses, licking his lips, “it just wasn’t working, and I knew it wasn’t and it never would and I couldn’t even pretend anymore. It just came out of me, like someone else took over.”

Stiles is quiet as he stares, bewildered.

“Huh,” he says, a long pause as he watches Derek bring the cigarette back to his mouth, his lips slowly curling at the corners.

“So, your own room, huh?”

Derek smirks. The office has always basically been his room, the only place in the house with most of his clutter, but now he sleeps in there, too. It’s liberating.

“How do you think Eli will take it?” Stiles asks, and suddenly he’s heavy again. Derek sighs, smoke pouring from his lips.

“I think he’s aware it’s not working, but I don’t know if he’s prepared to accept what that means. At least this way I’ll still be at home, even if it is the beginning of our separation.”

Stiles nods, his head bobbing as he reaches over to rest his hand on the inside of Derek’s thigh.

“I’m really proud of you. And really glad you don’t have to sleep in the same bed as her anymore.”

Derek smiles. “I’ll bet you are.”

“No, but really. I think you’re doing the right thing. Eli will be okay as long as you’re happy,” Stiles pauses, staring. “He knows that you don’t love her anymore. So I don’t think this will be shocking to him.”

Derek turns to him, brows furrowed. “He told you?”

Stiles blows a raspberry, his eyes rolling. “Derek, please. Everyone around you has known for a long time. Uh, but yeah, he told me.”

So it’s been more obvious than Derek ever cared to acknowledge. It was easy to pretend it was his job dragging him down, but lately it hasn’t even been all that bad because he has something to look forward to at the end of the day.

It’s almost as if he’s been unhappy for a really long time and had learned to just live with it because he felt like he couldn’t change anything. But now that he’s with Stiles, he remembers what it feels like to actually enjoy life, and that makes it harder to maintain his old patterns.

Derek slips his arm around Stiles’ waist and pulls him close, sucking on the last bit of his cigarette. He glances at his watch and back at Stiles with a weary smile, blowing smoke out the other side of his mouth.

“We should get you home,” Derek says, standing up to drop his cigarette and crush the butt out. He steps in front of Stiles, wedging between his legs as he leans in to plant a kiss between his brows.

Stiles sighs.

“I wanna wake up next to you,” he says forlornly, pulling Derek into a crushing hug as he buries his face in Derek’s neck. Derek lets his eyes slip shut and his arms return the crushing embrace, lips brushing at his hairline, nose in his velvet hair.

“Me too, baby. Soon,” Derek says, pulling back to grasp his skull and stamp a sloppy kiss on his mouth. He’s feeling playful after his victory and Stiles gets the brunt of it.

“Ew,” Stiles laughs, reaching up to wipe his mouth and then wipe it off on Derek’s shirt, and then he yanks him back in and returns the favor. He’s smiling now, Derek’s full intent.

As Derek leans down to pick up his cigarette butt, headlights spill over them when a car comes off the main road and crawls up behind Derek’s parked FJ Cruiser.

He squints and realizes it’s a Sheriff’s department cruiser, his heart sinking to the bottom of his gut as he freezes. He glances over at Stiles, who looks like an honest to god deer in headlights, his lashes casting shadows, his mouth dropped open.

The cruiser shifts into park, and a long moment passes before the door finally opens. Derek squints and waits for the inevitable, only to realize that the man approaching them with headlights blasting behind him is not the Sheriff, but Jordan.

“Jesus fuck, Parrish,” Stiles breathes out, relieved and exasperated as his arms flop to his sides. “Seriously unnecessary,” Stiles says, his lips pursing now.

Jordan glances between the two of them, and it’s only now that it occurs to Derek that Jordan likely knows, too. One of the Sheriff’s deputies knows.

That’s already four people who know, and that’s too many.

“Just checking in. What are you two up to this late?”

“Seriously? You wouldn’t even be here if you weren’t on your way to Lydia’s right now,” Stiles grumbles, eyes rolling as he crosses his arms.

This comment doesn’t bother Jordan in the least.

“Now, what kind of deputy would I be if I didn’t stop to check in on the Sheriff’s son?” Jordan asks, eyebrows raising. His thumbs hook under his belt, and Derek feels uneasy.

“A better one. Sometimes it’s best to know when to mind your business, Jordan,” Stiles snaps. “We were just heading out anyway.”

Jordan stares for a long moment, eyes shifting between the two like he has his suspicions. Derek hasn’t said a word to him, and he’s not sure if he should. Stiles seems to have it handled.

“All I’m saying is, it doesn’t look good,” Jordan says eventually, glancing over to Derek and back. “You should be a lot more careful.”

He offers a pointed gaze, as if punctuating his words, and turns to walk back to his car, red taillights fading as he cruises away.

Derek glances over, lips pursed in a frown. Stiles looks about the same. They get back in the running car and buckle in without a word, both knowing Jordan is right.

“Too many people know,” Derek says, gripping the steering wheel.

Stiles chews at his lip with a shrug, like he supposes that’s true but there’s nothing they can do about it. His fingers tap over his knees.

“I thought you said Lydia was good at keeping secrets,” Derek grumbles, focused on the dark road as he drives them home with the windows down to air out the cabin.

“She is. She never confirmed anything with him, but she told me he had his suspicions.”

“How? I never see him around. How does one of your father’s deputies have suspicions?” Derek asks, exasperated.

Stiles sighs. “Well, that’s probably my fault. I used to talk about you all the time, and now I don’t. That and I think people can tell I’m hiding something.”

“You’re always hiding something,” Derek says, glancing over. “You always look like you have a secret.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment,” Stiles says. “But thank you.”

Derek’s lips twitch. He can’t be upset with Stiles. They’ve been a bit reckless, but most of the time it truly feels like no one second guesses them together, and the false sense of security they have because of their already established relationship makes it easier to feel like they’re flying under the radar.

Derek takes his hand, interlacing their fingers. “We need to be more careful. No one else can know.”

Stiles nods adamantly, agreeing as his other hand covers their entangled fingers.

“No one else will know. Lydia and Jordan won’t tell anyone,” Stiles insists.

Peter and Isaac won’t say a word, either. While Derek is concerned the Sheriff’s deputy knows, there’s nothing they can do about it now.

Stiles kisses him slowly once they’re parked in Derek’s driveway, and Derek cups his face and returns his tender kiss.

“I won’t be able to sign to you in the mornings anymore,” Derek warns him, his tone low and careful as they pull apart.

“I think I’ll be okay,” Stiles says with a satisfied smile, fingers brushing Derek’s hair back. He’s stoked Derek won’t be sharing a bed with his wife anymore, there’s no room for disappointment.

“Love you, daddy,” Stiles says, stealing a series of kisses before he opens the passenger door.

“Love you, baby,” Derek returns, watching him head inside before turning in.

—

“Since when do you smoke all the time?” Cora asks, striding up to Derek at the poolside.

Derek glances over with raised brows as he takes a long drag. Her satchel purse hangs from her shoulder, long hair draped over the other as she tilts her head and studies him.

“Been stressed lately,” he says, eyeing her carefully. She surely knows.

She takes a seat on the other chaise, crossing her legs. “Paige told me.”

“I’m shocked,” Derek says flatly.

“She’s known for a while,” Cora says.

“Seems everyone has,” Derek says, blowing smoke. She’s silent for a moment.

“Yeah,” she admits. “It took you long enough.”

Derek purses his lips, brow furrowing. “She could have said something, too.”

“She’s still in love with you, Derek, what is she supposed to say?”

This silences him, his face flushing as he looks at the glistening water under the afternoon sun. He’s on lunch right now, tempted to dive in and end this conversation.

When he doesn’t respond, she starts to dig.

“So, is it true? You’re not attracted to her anymore?”

“It’s deeper than that. I still find her attractive, I just…”

“You don’t love her anymore?”

“No,” he starts, shaking his head and furrowing his brows, “I mean, yes. I still love her, I just…” I’m not in love with her.

He doesn’t exactly know where he’s going with that thought because he can’t share the rest of it out loud, but she finishes another for him, anyway.

“What, is your dick not working anymore?” she asks blatantly, and Derek feels his skin growing hot as he looks away and shakes his head. Maybe he should just roll with that. He doesn’t say anything, and she takes his silence as her answer.

“Aw, Derek, that’s no big deal, just get some Viagra.”

“Cora, I’m not talking to you about my dick. Or my relationship with my wife,” Derek says, taking a drag of his cigarette. There are many things he doesn’t wish to share with his baby sister, and if he knows anything about women, he knows they talk. He would not be surprised if Cora already knew a few things about their relationship that he would otherwise prefer her not to know.

“You mean your lack of relationship with your wife,” Cora states, an eyebrow raised. “You haven’t even tried to get better, or done anything that could help your marriage, for that matter.”

“What do you think I’m doing now?” Derek gruffs, his jaw taut. He swallows and attempts to relax, softening his tone. “I’m trying, okay? I don’t think sleeping in separate bedrooms is the end-all be-all. You know, some couples stay together forever without ever even moving in, and that works for them.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they don’t share a kid, either,” she says, studying him with pursed lips. “You really think this separate room thing will help?”

“I’m trying to figure myself out and we’ve hardly ever slept a night apart. Maybe it could bring some mystery back in, I don’t know. I just need space, is that so terrible?”

This gives Cora some pause, and she keeps staring at him like she’s looking for something but she’s not finding it, and it’s unnerving, the way her eyes attempt to see into his brain. He puffs on his cigarette and stares at the glistening water.

“Okay,” she says, as if she’s been convinced and perhaps there’s some hope for whatever this experiment turns out to be. “I can understand that. You know you can talk to me about this stuff, though, right?”

“Sure,” he says idly, thumbing the butt of his cigarette. “I don’t need you to meddle with this, Cora. Just leave it.”

“Whatever, I’m just saying. I want you to be happy, too.”

“I’m getting there,” Derek says confidently, glancing over with a hint of a smile. She must believe him, because she drops it.

Eli and Stiles make themselves scarce when Paige gets home that evening. She stayed the night at Cora’s last night, and the boys had the house to themselves the rest of Sunday. It was actually nice hanging out with them without her, and when she returns home, the house feels heavy, her presence felt.

Derek already started on dinner, so while it bakes, they take a seat at the kitchen table that has seen many of their tears and rehashings. He wonders how today will go.

He waits for her to speak, licking his lips and meeting her gaze.

“I’ve known for a while our marriage isn’t what it was,” she starts, her voice low and guarded. “If this is what you need to be happy, I’m willing to give it a shot. If not for us, then at least for Eli.”

Derek blinks, his brows pinching in. This is so far from what he expected that it feels like a trap.

“For Eli,” Derek repeats, staring. She inhales, her shoulders rising as she nods and breathes out.

“If you don’t love me anymore, that’s fine. I just want Eli’s life to be stable, and I think you’re right. This could be good for us.” It sounds like she has more to add to that, but her mouth pinches shut as she rubs her thumb over a scuff on the table, her nose red as she holds back tears. 

“I never said I don’t love you anymore, Pay,” Derek starts, and Paige shakes her head, her eyes closing as her lips purse.

“Don’t,” she mutters, looking down as she swipes at her cheeks. “Clearly you have some shit you need to figure out, and as much as I want to be there for you, it’s obvious you want to do that alone.”

Derek opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She’s right, and it won’t do them any good to refute it.

“And that’s fine. Whatever it is, just know I’m here for you when you’re ready,” she says, and she rises from the chair and pushes it back in calmly before she helps herself to a glass of wine.

Later that evening, after everyone has gone to bed and Stiles has crept into Derek’s room, Derek tells him how the conversation went.

“So… she’s basically brushing it under the rug for Eli’s sake,” Stiles reiterates plainly, keeping his voice low, his head tucked under Derek’s chin.

Derek nods, his fingertips brushing up and down Stiles’ spine. He’s amazed to have Stiles in bed with him, that he’s even in his own room and his life hasn’t fallen apart like he thought it would once he blurted out his true feelings.

This bed is smaller than the king he shared with her, and Derek’s feet hang off the edge. Stiles is basically on top of him but he would be no matter what size bed they share. It feels like they’re doing something they’re not supposed to be doing, especially in a new environment, but it always feels that way. It’s just a matter of what feels more right, and ultimately, Stiles pressed up against him at any given moment always will be.

“I think she’s hoping we can work on our marriage in the meantime,” Derek says softly. His eyes are shut, a few moments away from sleep if Stiles doesn’t keep him awake. Derek never truly sleeps when they’re together, a piece of his brain always on high alert to ensure they don’t get caught.

“I don’t know what to say to that. Can we stop talking about her?” Stiles asks quietly, face pressed against Derek’s neck.

“Yeah, baby,” Derek says, sighing against his scalp. He drags his eyes open to watch the glowing water patterns on the ceiling, and Stiles makes himself more comfortable, his leg slipping between Derek’s thighs.

He understands why Stiles doesn’t want to talk about her, but his opinion on the matter is the only one that matters to him. While he cares for what Peter and Isaac might have to say, he just wants to know Stiles’ thoughts, to know if he’s making the right choice, even though Derek already knows he is, and even though Stiles has already said he’s proud of him.

It’s a big thing happening in his life and having that reassurance would be nice. But Derek gets it.

He’s just about to fall asleep when Stiles babbles lowly against his neck, “I’m really glad you told her. It… feels less icky, somehow. Like, I know it doesn’t make it any better, but.”

“It’s a start,” Derek says. Perhaps he’s being selfish, dragging their relationship on in phases, but this is what he feels capable of in this time of his life.

“Yeah,” Stiles replies, and Derek’s lips curl as he presses a kiss to Stiles’ forehead.

They fall asleep, and the moment the room starts to lighten, Derek’s heart beats wildly and his eyes snap open. Sprawled and drooling over Derek’s shoulder, Stiles only snuggles in closer when Derek starts to wake him. He gives the standard five minutes before nudging Stiles closer to the edge of the bed. Stiles inevitably steals a quick kiss and drags himself up with a woeful sigh, his lazy fingers flashing their sign before the door clicks shut behind him.

—

The last day of school. The boys have been buzzing with it, incapable of lamenting about much else in their last days as finals took over their lives. Derek knows Stiles did fine. He’s not so sure about Eli, but the grades will be posted within a week, and in the meantime, they’ve got their annual camping trip to hold their focus and turn off the real world for a while.

This year, the Sheriff can’t make it, and while Stiles would obviously prefer his father to be there, he doesn’t seem all that upset about it. Paige was never much of an outdoor person and gave up attendance when she realized she’d have the house to herself for a week and stopped going years ago, and wouldn’t be welcome this round anyway. And now that Eli has inserted Liam into the lineup, it’s looking like the upcoming trip will be one for the books. Just two sets of boyfriends camping in the wilderness, nothing to see here.

With the car loaded up and Stiles on the aux cord, they barrel down a rural highway lined with thick coniferous trees and winding curves creeping them up the mountain. Eventually, Derek pulls into a graveled road where they bump along for a good ten minutes before reaching the clearing where they’ll park and hike to the secluded campsite.

They gather all their supplies, their backpacks full and heavy, while two of them carry the full cooler at a time. It’s about a twenty-minute hike, not that far, but enough to be a bit inconvenient when they inevitably have to head into the tiny mountain town for a food and supplies run. But that’s half the point, and something to worry about later.

Eli drops everything once they finally make it to their site, a charming cove of trees shading their chosen spot, and strips down to his underwear before getting a running start and jumping into the lake. Liam follows him, likely the same intuition guiding him, and Derek purses his lips as he sets the cooler down with Stiles, letting his backpack drop. He reaches for his water bottle stuffed in the side pocket, taking a long sip, and when he straightens back up, Stiles is watching him carefully, eyes glinting.

“You wanna go jump in the lake, too?” Derek asks, an eyebrow raising, and Stiles holds his gaze as he shakes his head slowly, his eyes flicking to Derek’s lips and back.

“There’s something else I’d rather jump,” he says, and Derek rolls his eyes as he fails to suppress a smile, staring out at the lake with a hand on his hip.

While the camp site is a much more secluded one, there’s still a picnic table and an established fire pit, with the lake conveniently placed a few yards away. It’s the same spot they get every year, reserved months in advance.  

The boys splash in the distance, flirting and playing the way Derek and Stiles would if they could. Derek longs to have that here with him, but refuses to let the bum thought taint their time together. They’re here without the Sheriff for an entire week, free from school and work and Paige and almost every other hindrance that keeps them apart, and they’ll be sharing a tent the whole time.

It just makes practical sense. Eli and Liam are going to have sex, it’s not only inevitable but entirely expected, and Stiles wants no part of that. He could have brought his own tent, but that’s more weight to carry when he could easily just share a tent on the other side of the site with Derek, anyway.

Stiles and Derek begin their own set up on their side of the camp as the two boys continue fucking around in the water. It doesn’t take too long, it’s a modest tent, but they’re both sweating once they finish and lean backwards against the table, their elbows planted on the surface behind them as they cool off and sip their waters. They turn to each other, and Derek admires his sweaty, flushed face in the daylight as Stiles regards him accordingly, his lips curling.

“Race you to the lake,” he says, shooting up before Derek has a chance to snatch him. Derek grins and follows suit, their clothes and shoes trailing behind them, losing to Stiles by only a second as they jump off the bank and splash into the water.

“Jesus fuck I always forget how cold this water is,” Stiles gasps out, panting as he treads and adjusts to the temperature. He brushes a hand over his face and shivers, and Derek wishes he could kiss him. Eli and Liam have finally started setting up their tent, and with the bank blocking their view, a quick kiss could take place before the boys could take notice.

Stiles must be thinking the same, his smile apparent even under the waterline as he slips closer, only his playful eyes and sharp nose visible before he pops up and spits a stream of water at Derek’s face. Derek’s eyes squeeze shut, his face scrunching,

“Meet me under water,” Stiles says, and Derek watches curiously as Stiles sucks in a deep breath before letting himself sink under. Derek feels hands tugging at his own before he dips below the surface, and immediately he’s tugged in, pressed against Stiles.

The lake water is relatively clean, but Derek doesn’t dare to open his eyes. Instead, they are guided by instinct alone, and in the next second his mouth is warm, covered with soft lips while spindly hands cup his face and bubbles blow from their noses as they laugh. It’s hard not to grin, but harder to keep kissing him, his overdriven heart stealing more oxygen than he’d need otherwise.

They come up gasping for air, Stiles’ skin liquid as the water rivulets off him. He wipes his face again, lips red as he pants with a pleased giggle, lashes dark and spiked as he bites his bottom lip.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” Derek says lowly, his lips curled.

He colors a bit, lip slipping from between his teeth as a smile stretches his mouth and a foot hooks around Derek’s ankle.

“I was gonna tell you the same exact thing.”

Derek laughs, not because Stiles is so facetious, but because his playfulness is so sincere and pure and natural that anytime he’s like this, Derek finds himself falling further in love with him.

Derek shakes his head so subtly it could hardly constitute as a fond endearment if anyone were watching. Their legs interlace from the knees down, and they float as their heart rates return to normal, hidden from view and connected under water where only the lake entity could know of their impossible love. From a few feet away, Stiles’ head is mounted on the water as he stares at Derek, their shared secret alight in his amber gaze.

Eventually, they all end up around the fire roasting hot dogs and s’mores, stuffing their faces with sticky hands they end up rinsing off on the pebbled beach before lingering around the fire until the sun goes down. It’s only around nine, quite early for this bunch, when Eli starts rubbing his eyes with embellished yawns. Derek’s lips press in a smirk, though he can’t say he blames him. Derek wants to get to bed, too.

“It’s been a long day,” Eli says, and Liam bobs his head beside him with long, exaggerated blinks. From the corner of his vision, Derek can see Stiles cover his mouth as he hides his snicker.

“Yes, it has,” Derek agrees, interlaced fingers hanging between his spread legs as he leans over his knees and stares at the fire. To be fair, the boys did still have school today, and then the drive out is four hours, and then the hiking to their site and setting up camp. That’s a long day. “Should we call it?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says as he rises with a stretch. “I’m beat.”

They brush their teeth around the fire before Derek dumps a bucket of water over the sizzling embers, and then a second one for good measure. It’s pitch dark now, and they use their phone flashlights to find their ways to their tents in the dark.

“Goodnight, you two. Use a condom,” Derek calls out as he unzips the tent. He knows he’s a huge hypocrite.

“Dad!” Eli yells.

Derek snorts and lets Stiles push in before him, fastening the zipper with a lock once they’re safe inside, just to ward off any shenanigans Eli might be so inclined to pursue.

They can’t see two inches in front of their faces, and Derek doesn’t want to risk turning on one of the lanterns in case their silhouettes can be seen from the outside, so they suffer in darkness. It’s cooled down, but it’s still warm in the tent once their body heat fills the space, the kind of warm that makes cuddling almost unbearable but apparently does nothing to deter Stiles from pressing up against him.

Derek indulges Stiles’ cuddling nonetheless, the teen’s fingers finding their way in Derek’s hair at the back of his neck before their eager lips meet.

Derek can feel his infectious smile, his excited heartbeat bursting against Derek’s chest where they press together. Derek’s hands slip around his waist, and Stiles sighs into their kiss, his thigh pressing between Derek’s legs as he moves impossibly closer. He tilts his head and their tongues meet between them, stroking softly, just tasting a hint of the other as their hands start to roam and their skin gets hotter.

Sweat is a given, the early summer air a blanket over them as Derek shifts to his back and pulls Stiles onto his lap, his folded legs automatically falling to Derek’s sides. They’ve been half hard all night with silent foreplay, sending intentional glances, glowing in front of the fire, and now that Stiles is in his lap, their erections brush and the sweat stings as it cools.

From the other side a low moan rings out, barely there but undeniably discernable, and Stiles bursts out laughing, his hands planted over Derek’s chest as his body quivers.

“Just because we know doesn’t mean we want to hear it!” Derek yells out, and it’s eerily quiet from their end now, both boys likely blushing profusely as they bite their tongues. Derek blushes himself, embarrassed for his son.

He wonders if Stiles, with all his perfect noises that Derek could compile into a symphony, will be able to keep quiet tonight.

Stiles lets out another giggle, his weight shifting as he leans in close and mashes their lips together. His fingertips brush through Derek’s chest hair before his hands find their way to Derek’s cheeks again, Derek’s hands falling over his thighs. He palms over them before pressing his thumb at the hinge of Stiles’ hips with a squeeze.

It’s so dark that Derek can’t tell much of a difference between keeping his eyes open or closed. Still, he keeps them open, having never watched Stiles so closely as he admires the thick outline of his lashes. Stiles rolls his hips down, his full erection already apparent, his kiss growing more desperate.

They frot for a bit, because it feels good and it’s one of Derek’s favorite things, just feeling Stiles’ cock against his own, Stiles’ long fingers squeezing them together, nimble thumb swiping over their leaking slits. So far he’s only managed a few gasps and one tiny whimper when Derek teased a finger over his hole, but the closer he gets, the harder it is for him to restrain his small noises.

Breaking their kiss, he cups under Stiles’ chin, a smile in his hushed voice as he whispers at Stiles’ ear, “You make the prettiest noises when you’re not supposed to.”

Stiles shudders against him, his hips jerking. Derek can feel a bead of precum dribble over his abdomen, and he knows if he says the right thing, Stiles will come. He smirks to himself, always in awe how quickly Stiles gets off when they mess around, and lets his finger tease at Stiles’ hole again.

“You want daddy to fill your pretty hole, baby?” Derek whispers, and Stiles chokes on a gasp, his hips sputtering as he spills with tiny whimpers. Derek praises him, murmuring into his ear as milky spurts coat Derek’s stomach. He’s grateful Stiles has managed to keep his sounds down to a minimum even if Derek despises it.

He gathers the cum up and uses it to stretch him open as Stiles rocks his hips over Derek’s thick fingers, palms pressed over Derek’s chest as he pants and furrows his brows.

“Need your cock, daddy, just fuck me,” Stiles whines out lowly, clenching tight as he pushes back.

Derek flips them over and hooks his hands beneath Stiles’ knees, pressing them up to his chest as Derek pushes inside. He’s on his knees for leverage, stilling as he lets Stiles adjust, and Stiles lets out a whimper once Derek is fully buried, cock twitching over his abdomen.

“You love being full of cock, don’t you, baby?” Derek asks, sweat beading his brow as he starts to move, and Stiles nods desperately, gaze stuck on Derek’s as he bites his lip and holds back his moans. He feels good like this, malleable and easy to mold, his hole clenching uncontrollably each time Derek pulls out as if unwilling to part from one inch.

“Such a good boy, being so quiet for daddy,” Derek whispers to him, his hips shifting into a teasing rhythm, slow and even as he drags his cock in and out. He’s incessant, until he finds the right angle and then Stiles’ lids flutter a bit as he shivers and arches back, his hands grasping at the spread open sleeping bag.

Derek takes note, holding the angle as he pumps his hips back and forth, movements achingly slow but noticeably quiet, and beneath him Stiles is clamoring to touch his skin where he can reach, tapping relentlessly as a soundless solicit for faster, harder, more, but Derek keeps his pace and it’s not long before Stiles is already close.

Sinking in up to the hilt, Derek stills and releases Stiles’ legs, reaching down to brush the back of his knuckles over Stiles’ balls.

He lets out a broken hum, low in his throat as he clamps down around Derek’s cock and wraps his legs tight around Derek’s waist.

“You’re gonna come on daddy’s cock, aren’t you, baby?” Derek asks, fondling his balls as he curls his fingers around Stiles’ cock. Derek hardly swipes his thumb over the wet frenulum, and Stiles gasps as he stills, lashes fluttering, cock twitching as he clenches and lazily spurts over Derek’s fingers.

“There you go, angel, such a good boy. I love when you come so soon. You just can’t hold it, can you, baby?” Derek murmurs in his ear as Stiles rides out the rest of his silent wave and Derek milks him through it. He’s still, focused as he spills for a long moment, and then his body relaxes entirely.

Derek is shocked Stiles has managed to keep himself so quiet, only making minor whimpers that could be misconstrued as animal sounds if they’re even caught from across the distance. The blaring sounds of the forest have blurred out anything from the other end, so Derek can assume they were fine.

He’s still achingly hard and hasn’t come yet, and Stiles seems a bit faded as he comes down, blinking up at the tent ceiling. He finds Derek’s gaze in the dark, visible now that their eyes have adjusted without the campfire.

“I love you so much,” Stiles says quietly, contentedly as his lips curl and his eyes close as if savoring the fresh memory. Derek grins.

“I love you too, sweet boy. Can I finish inside you?”

Stiles nods easily, his lips still curled as he meets Derek’s gaze again. Derek leans in and kisses him quickly.

“Roll over and relax, baby,” Derek says, pulling out carefully and helping Stiles bring his leg around to roll over.

Stiles lays over his stomach, and Derek presses over him, arms hooked beneath Stiles’ arm pits as he fucks into him. His face presses into the spot behind Stiles’ ear, breathing in his scent as his legs spread to straddle and rut his hips over Stiles’ ass, savoring the delicious heat, the tightness, the willingness of Stiles offering up his body just for Derek to get off with.

“Are you gonna fill me up, daddy?” Stiles asks coyly, his voice a sweet murmur as he arches his back and sends Derek in up to the root. Derek chokes on a gasp and comes, and Stiles has the nerve to snicker under his breath as Derek’s cock twitches in his tight hole.

He’s such a fucker.

Derek tickles his side once he pulls out, and Stiles snorts a laugh as he jerks back. They wrestle around a bit, their breaths short and the tent so stifling that they burst out of it once Derek finagles the lock open.

They slip quietly into the reprieve of the cool water, the soft waves crashing over the pebbles tickling at Derek’s brain. The moon hasn’t risen yet, so stars offer them the only light. This high up in the mountains, not one spot of light pollution even legal in this state park, the Milky Way is visible, and most of the constellations in the summer sky.

Stiles’ legs lock around Derek’s waist, his arms wrapped around his shoulders as Derek walks further into the water and grips Stiles close.

“Look, see that W shape over there? That’s Cassiopeia,” Stiles says, pointing off somewhere, and Derek follows his finger before turning back with a smile as he watches Stiles’ eyes scan the sky for other star clusters he recognizes.

“What about this one,” Derek says, leaning in to kiss a collection of moles at his collarbone. Stiles laughs, just a short incredulous chuckle in his throat to share his amusement, and Derek continues kissing along his neck. He loves Stiles’ laugh, and his moles, and his knowledge of constellations that he wishes to share with Derek.

“Um, I think that one is Stilus… Stilinscius… something,” he says, giving up as Derek pulls the skin between his lips and nibbles gently with a soft huff of laughter through his nose. Stiles sighs out, his head tilting away for easier access, his legs gripping Derek tight.

“Derek?” Stiles asks quietly as Derek kisses up his long neck, fingers gripping Derek’s hair at the back of his skull.

“Yeah baby,” Derek says, nipping at his ear lobe before pressing a kiss to the spot behind it. Stiles shivers, as he always does when Derek kisses him there.

“Do we have stuff in common?”

Derek pauses, lifting his head to meet Stiles’ gaze. No color is visible on his face, just the stars reflecting in his eyes as he waits, pretty lips parted. Derek’s brows pinch in a bit as he searches Stiles’ face.

“Of course we do, we both love each other,” Derek answers simply, and Stiles’ lips twitch into a woeful smile as his fingers play in Derek’s hair.

“You know what I mean,” he says, eyes still searching. “Are we compatible?”

Derek hums thoughtfully, walking them gently through the shallow parts of the lake. “Well, I think Aries and Capricorn probably butt heads a lot, but they make it work, don’t they?”

Stiles huffs, bouncing a bit. “Come on, Derek, seriously.”

Derek smiles, his hands settled at Stiles’ waist.

“Do you think it really matters?” Derek asks, thumbs swiping over his ribs.

Stiles frowns. “Yeah, of course I do. Don’t you think?”

“I think,” Derek starts, turning them around to walk back, “that we are compatible whether we have things in common or not.”

This seems to be the answer that Stiles was looking for, the corners of his mouth stretching cautiously. Derek continues.

“But to answer your question, yeah, we do. We both like to read, right?”

Stiles nods.

“And we both love Jeff Buckley, right?”

He nods again, tentatively, his smile widening.

“And we both prefer cats over dogs?”

Stiles snorts, but he nods, beaming now. 

“That’s enough for me,” Derek says, holding his gaze. There are numerous other things they have in common, like a love for camping, and rice krispies treats, and rainy days inside, but it doesn’t matter because Derek would love him regardless. They could have not one single thing in common, and Derek would fall in love with his humor and his spirit, his brains and his cozy gaze. As long as they make each other laugh, they have everything they need.

“Okay,” Stiles says, his arms squeezing as he leans in to seal their lips in a quick set of kisses. “So we’re gonna last?”

“We’re gonna last,” Derek confirms against his lips, squeezing him back.

—

Despite staying up so late, Derek wakes the moment the birds start chirping. His heart beats in overdrive until he remembers where they’re at, and then he sucks in a deep breath before releasing a relieved sigh.

They opened the tent windows and were able to sleep once it cooled off, but wherever their skin meets is doused in sweat. Stiles doesn’t move, sprawled naked and dead to the world as he snores softly.

Waking up beside him without having to send him back to Eli’s room is as satisfying as Derek had hoped, his lips stretched in a lazy smile as he reaches over and brushes his hand over Stiles’ soft hair.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek murmurs, his thumb brushing at Stiles’ temple. It takes a few minutes, but eventually Stiles stirs with a matching smile as he draws in closer.

“Morning, daddy,” he says, his voice grainy as he rubs his eyes before blinking them open to meet Derek’s gaze. “You’re pretty.” His fingers find their way to Derek’s beard, stroking softly as he lets his eyes close again. “Seriously, you should have been a model,” he goes on, and Derek rolls his eyes with a smirk. Of course first thing in the morning he’s still babbling. “But I’m glad you didn’t. I never would have had a chance.”

“Oh, please, like you couldn’t have been one, too.” He gathers Stiles in his arms, pressing him close as his lips crush between his brows.

“Yeah, right,” Stiles says, disbelieving, his body limp as he lets Derek partially manhandle him. “What did you want to be when you grew up?” Stiles asks, his limbs draped over Derek. Derek glances at his watch, just to be sure they won’t be interrupted. It’s barely 5:30 in the morning and Derek is doubtful the boys will be willing to get up before 8.

Derek sucks in a breath, arms squeezing.

“I got into Beacon on a basketball scholarship,” Derek starts, moving his hand over Stiles’ velvety head. “I wanted to be pro, but I don’t know if I really believed that would happen. I ended up dropping out, anyway.”

Derek likes to think he could have ended up in some minor league in SoCal at the very least. He always wanted to get out of Beacon Hills, wondering how people could ever stick around after high school until eventually, he realized they all had kids, too.

“Well, what about now? What do you wanna be when you grow up?” Stiles asks, leaning back to meet Derek’s gaze.

Somehow when it’s phrased like that, Derek’s mind has more freedom to roam. He blinks and searches over Stiles’ face.

“I don’t know,” Derek starts, brooding. “I think something creative. Something with my hands.”

It’s the first thing that comes to mind, and it makes perfect sense when he says it out loud.

The corners of Stiles’ lips curl up, his fingertips brushing through Derek’s beard once again as he nods.

“Yeah, you have amazing hands,” Stiles says. “What about woodworking? I can see you being really good at that. Honestly, you’d be good at anything.”

Derek smiles. “Thank you, baby. Woodworking does sound fun, but that’s… too intimidating.”

“Well don’t let that hold you back. You could take a class at the park district,” Stiles suggests. “Just try new things, see what you like. You never know what it could lead to.”

Out of all the nagging and battering and fighting and suggestions, it never occurred to Derek that trying a bunch of things until something clicks could be the answer to all his suffering.

For some reason his mind had him convinced whatever career he switched to would have to be the next one he stays at for another fifteen years, therefore making any kind of commitment sounding just as miserable as staying right where he’s at.

Stiles makes it sound so simple.

Derek realizes he’s been staring as he grasps this new insight, and he nods, grazing his palm over Stiles’ buzzed scalp again.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Derek tells him, his thumb brushing over the shell of Stiles’ ear. “I don’t know why I’ve never considered that,” he admits, slightly embarrassed as his brow wrinkles in disbelief.

Stiles beams proudly, stroking the hair over Derek’s chest. “I’ll be here all week.”

Derek smiles. “What about you? Have you decided what it is you want to do when you grow up?”

“Hmm…” Stiles keeps stimming with Derek’s chest hair as he constructs his choices. “I suppose it depends on where I get accepted and what scholarships I get awarded. There are so many things I want to do, it’s hard to pick one.”

“First of all, there’s no way you won’t get accepted to any school you apply to without a full ride. It’s a given,” Derek starts, amused at his modesty. “And let’s say, for all intents and purposes, you had all the money to do anything you want. What would you do?”

“Okay, well, those are two different questions. Because if I had the money, I’d probably just try as many things as I could until I figured out what I like best.”

Derek’s lips twitch as he huffs out through his nose. “Okay, I get it. But you’re young, you can do that now. You know you don’t have to go to college right away, right?”

“But I want to,” Stiles says, holding Derek’s gaze with a frown. “Don’t challenge my narrative. It’s my ticket out of Beacon Hills.”

Derek huffs another laugh.

“Okay, fine. What do you want to go to Columbia for?”

“Well, the journalism program is the gold standard, and I could probably do that, I think. Maybe, I don’t know, it doesn’t seem like a very lucrative career considering the state of journalism these days. The creative writing program could lead to a career in academia, but that’s like, a long path. And the computer science program is pretty great, too. I mean, it’s Columbia, I could do anything there and have a degree from Columbia, so,” Stiles says, sucking in a breath as he shakes his head and blinks like he’s just realized he’s babbling. “But I don’t know, honestly.”

He avoids eye contact now as he glances down and fiddles at Derek’s chest hair, and Derek takes his hand and clasps it against his chest. 

“Hey, you don’t have to know right now. You have plenty of time, baby,” Derek says, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “Whatever you choose to do, I know you’ll be good at. I support you no matter what.”

Stiles’ lips twitch, his eyes drawing back to Derek’s. “Okay,” he breathes out, comforted. “Do you wanna go look at birds?”

Derek feels bad for getting him riled up over his future, especially when Derek can’t even figure out his own shit. All he knows in this moment is he wants Stiles by his side, and hopefully the rest will slot into place.

“Yeah, let’s go look at some birds.”

—

 “So what’s the deal with Isaac and Peter?” Stiles asks, his shoes crunching over the graveled path.

“Isaac and Peter,” Derek repeats, glancing over curiously. He’s a bit flushed as they hike along the side of the mountain, his pale skin illuminated under the shade. Liam and Eli chose to stay behind at the camp site for reasons, and Derek didn’t fight it.

“Yeah, I still don’t know the whole story. Tell me.”

“Alright, let’s see,” he starts, recalling the beginning of their relationship. “Isaac didn’t fess up about it until he was eighteen, but I had always sensed something was there between them. It was weird at first, but ultimately it didn’t bother me. Except I knew Peter had a history of cheating and that Isaac would likely get his heart broken, and I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“And you were right,” Stiles says flatly, his arms spread out as he balances over a precarious path of rocks crossing through the creek.

Derek purses his lips, following him. “Yeah. They had a good run, though. I was shocked they lasted that long, and then Isaac found his phone and saw he’d been talking to younger guys for a few months at least.”

Stiles frowns, his brows furrowed. “Peter’s such a dick.”

It’s easy to agree with that statement, though Peter’s cold heart has thawed over the years.

“Yeah. But that’s probably his biggest regret in life,” Derek says. He takes in a deep breath, the air thinner up here, and pauses to sip his water.

“How long were they together?” Stiles asks. Derek passes him the water bottle, and he takes a sip.

“About four years, not including the time they were sneaking around before he was eighteen.”

“Wow,” Stiles says, his eyebrows going up. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and passes the water back, and Derek sticks it in the side pocket of his backpack before they start walking again. “And they still love each other,” he states, as if it’s obvious.

“Pretty much, yeah. Isaac will fuck him before he’s gone again, but I know deep down that’s really all he wants.”

“That sounds miserable,” Stiles says after a beat. “And Peter hasn’t given up all these years.”

“Nope. Takes his shot any chance he gets,” Derek says, huffing along. He really should stop smoking.

Stiles seems to mull this over, quiet now as they follow the beaten path within the shaded wild wood. Birds chirp and beetles click, the shadows stretching as the late afternoon sun descends over the tree line. They’re almost to their destination, just a few more meters away, when Stiles speaks, his head hung.

“If you ever get tired of me, would you just leave me and not cheat? I don’t think I could handle it,” Stiles says, and Derek feels like he got the wind knocked out of him, already struggling to breathe as they hike the last of their distance.

“Stiles,” Derek says, exasperated as he stops in the middle of the path. “I’d never cheat on you, baby. That’s not—” he wants to say ‘the kind of person I am’ but that would be a bold-faced lie, considering. He clears his throat, swallowing. “I know I don’t have a good reputation, either, but I need you to know I’d never do that to you.”

“Okay,” Stiles says solemnly, like he wants to believe Derek but isn’t entirely convinced a Hale wouldn’t break his heart.

They’ve arrived at their destination, a cavernous waterfall spilling into a crystal-clear lake below. Derek takes Stiles’ hand, tugging him in as he searches his gaze.

“Seriously, Stiles, it’s different with you. I feel terrible cheating on Paige and couldn’t bear to do that to someone else again. And I could never get tired of you, either,” Derek says, thumb swiping over the back of Stiles’ palm. “You’re my world, baby.”

The corners of Stiles’ lips upturn just a hint, and he nods again. “Okay,” he says, more firmly this time. “And you’re mine. So if you break my heart, I’ll be really sad for a long time but I’ll have to murder you and whomever, so. Just keep that in mind.”

Derek smirks. “If I cheat on you, which I won't," he adds when Stiles narrows his eyes, "I give you full consent to murder me.”

Stiles is satisfied with this, binding their new vow with a kiss.

—

The tone in the Hale house has shifted, lighter now that he and Paige act more as roommates than spouses. It’s crazy but somehow it works in the bullshit way he intended—their relationship is better for it. There’s no obligation to the other outside of Eli, and once they acknowledged that, the tension dissolved. He’s able to talk with her again without any pressure, and they still act as a domestic unit. Over dinner Eli even blurts out how much better it feels like this. It’s actually nice.

Taking Stiles’ philosophy to heart, Derek signs up for a local woodworking class on Tuesday and Thursday evenings throughout the summer. It’s a blast using his hands and creating things, but beginning as a woodworker is still intimidating and he wants to see what else he might like. He’s already got a ceramics class lined up through the fall.

The sultry summer days feel long and languorous while they’re happening but fly by entirely too quickly when Derek looks back and realizes how much time has passed. There are only two weeks left before school starts up again, and soon Stiles won’t be hiding in his car in the mornings to kiss him good-bye for the day, or sneaking into Derek’s office to steal more kisses, or waiting up so late that his eyes burn just for them to have more minutes together. Which is no different from school nights, either, but Derek feels less guilty about it when Stiles can sleep in.

Savoring the rare evening they have to themselves, they linger at the shallow end of the pool, hidden from view under the cork tree and the high fence as Derek steps around and Stiles leans back to float every so often. The only lights are the dimmed pool lamps making the water glow where it touches Stiles’ sun kissed skin. He lets his arms outstretch, his legs clamped tight around Derek’s waist, and Derek keeps him steady, each hand squeezing at his waist.

“I don’t think I want to do lacrosse this year,” Stiles tells him once he rises, fingers in Derek’s hair.

“Why not?” Derek asks, already knowing the answer as he lazily walks them to the other side of the pool, his hands cupping Stiles’ ass.

“I want more time with you,” Stiles says simply, beads of chlorinated water slipping down his chest.

Derek presses his lips into a line.

“I don’t think that’s a good enough reason,” Derek starts, and Stiles rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh.

“I knew you were gonna say that,” he says, his fingertips brushing through Derek’s beard. “It’s not like they’d miss me much.”

“Of course they would, you’re a part of the team, baby,” Derek says, brows pinching as he studies Stiles’ face. “You’re a good player, Stiles. Maybe not the best compared to some others, but you’re fast and you love to play, and that’s all that matters.”

Stiles blinks apathetically, his lips pursed as if Derek has proven his point.

“It’s high school sports, it’s fine, dad,” Stiles says with a smirk, and Derek blinks idly, displeased.

“Sports builds life skills and character. And look good on college applications,” Derek says, watching him carefully now. Stiles likes to avoid this topic if he can.

“I don’t wanna talk about college,” Stiles insists, bouncing up and down incessantly. The water sloshes around them, Stiles grunting once Derek’s grip tightens around his waist.

“We have to at some point,” Derek says, holding him in place with a raised brow. “You’ll be applying before you know it.”

Stiles chews the skin off his bottom lip. “Yeah, well… I don’t know, I’ve been thinking and maybe you’re right. Maybe I should take a year off,” Stiles says with a sigh, his arms wrapped around Derek’s neck. He pauses for a minute, his amber gaze searching over Derek’s face. “Everything is gonna be so different. I’m not ready to lose Eli, or my dad. I don’t know.”

Derek’s face softens in understanding, nodding as he presses their foreheads together. “I know.”

Derek isn’t sure if he’ll ever be ready for it, either. They’ll be exchanging one life for another, no returns, no take backs. Once they’re out, that’s it.

“We have time, baby,” Derek tells him, but he knows how fleeting it’ll be, and then at one point or another, they’ll have to make a choice. Ultimately, they both know there’s no future for them in Beacon Hills.

But that’s not something they have to worry about for now, and so Stiles just nods in agreement before their lips seal together and his arms tighten around Derek’s neck. Derek presses his hands over Stiles’ spine, one at the small of his back and the other between his shoulders, their kiss easy and slow as Derek starts to lead them out of the pool. Stiles’ full weight hangs from him as he ascends the stairs, gripping Stiles close as he makes his way to one of the chaise lounges.

The point was to dry off, but Stiles takes his seat in Derek’s lap, folded legs bracketing Derek’s thighs as they return to their make out session. The evaporating water cools their skin, and Stiles shivers against him, pressing their bare chests together as Derek’s hands swipe over his gooseflesh.

“You wanna go inside, baby?” Derek asks him, their breath warm between their faces. Eli is out for the night with Liam, and Paige is with Cora, like she is most nights as of late. They can cuddle under the blankets in the den with snacks and a movie in peace.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, pecking his lips as he starts to rise from Derek’s lap.

Stiles is still on his knees when the gate squeaks open, and the next moment seems to drag in slow motion as their heads turn to see the Sheriff standing in the gateway. Stiles gasps, his fingertips digging into Derek’s shoulders.

Derek’s heart stops, his ears ringing as the blood in his face swoops into his stomach.

There’s no going back.

For a moment, everything is quiet. Every emotion shifts in the Sheriff’s eyes, confusion, betrayal, sadness, anger. His face is red, his jaw clenching as tight as his fists at his sides.

Derek notices he’s in his civilian clothes, quietly grateful no gun is within reach.

“What the hell is going on here?!” he shouts, his eyes flicking between the two as though he still can’t believe what he’s seeing as he stomps his way over.

Stiles trembles in Derek’s lap, clutching close to Derek instead of pulling off him. Derek’s hands haven’t left Stiles’ hips, stuck in the same position as if he made like a statue, this problem would cease to exist.

“Dad, listen—” Stiles starts, and Derek isn’t sure he’s ever seen Stiles so frightened, his voice wobbly as he clings to Derek, pressing Derek’s face against his neck. He’s surprisingly strong for a sixteen-year-old.

“Listen my ass! Are you fucking kidding me? How long? How long has this been going on?!” he shouts as he grips Stiles’ bicep and attempts to tear him off Derek’s lap. He’s nearly successful, Stiles flailing as he yelps and yanks himself back to drape his body over Derek’s like a human shield.

Derek’s arms grip around his waist and hold him in place, his wide gaze turning into a glare.

“Don’t fucking touch him,” Derek warns him over Stiles’ shoulder.

The Sheriff blinks, his head rearing back.

“Excuse me? Who the fuck do you think you are? How long have you been touching my son?!”

The Sheriff’s fists clench, the rage emanating from him as he stares Derek down. “Stiles, get off him, now!”

Stiles shakes his head, remaining silent. Derek knows he needs to put him down and deal with this, but Stiles is sticking to him and shaking, and they both know without the teen between him and the Sheriff, Derek would be badly bruised by now. He clenches his jaw, sucking in a breath.

“Stiles, let me get up,” Derek murmurs to him, and again, the Sheriff yanks at Stiles’ arm to pull him off Derek. He yelps again, pulling away, trying to flick his father’s grip off him.

“He’ll kill you,” Stiles says, as low as he can, his grip unrelenting. In his voice Derek can tell he’s not exaggerating.

“Damn right I’ll kill him, he’s a pedophile, Stiles! Let go of him and get your ass inside, now!”

The word cuts deep, and Derek winces. Is that all he is now, for the rest of his life?

Stiles is only delaying the inevitable. With a deep breath and some maneuvering, Derek manages to stand up with Stiles still gripping to him, until the teen finally lets his feet fall to the concrete.

The Sheriff snatches Stiles out of the way, sending him half tumbling towards the pool before Derek can do anything about it. He swings at Derek’s face, and on reflex, Derek dodges it.

“I said don’t fucking touch him.” Derek glares, shoving the Sheriff away, mostly to create distance between them. He doesn’t want to fight him, but seriously, he should not be handling Stiles like that.

“That’s my fucking son, and I’m getting him away from you!” Sheriff shouts, raging forward as he swings again. Derek steps back, and Stiles attempts to wedge in between them before it can get too heated, but Derek knows it’s already too late as Sheriff yells obscenities and threats at him—I’m gonna fucking kill you for touching my son, you’re gonna rot in jail for the rest of your fucking life, I trusted you, you sick pervert!

Derek knows he deserves it, but he’s not going to sit here and take it without defending himself.  

They scuffle in a power struggle, stomping over the concrete in their brawl. Derek blocks and dodges hits and keeps him at arm’s length while the Sheriff does his best to get his hands on Derek’s face and murder him.

“Would you just cut it out and listen, dad, please, it’s not what you think, please, dad, just fucking stop,” on and on Stiles babbles, helpless to pull two grown men apart as his frantic hands still attempt to separate them.

There’s a rage in the Sheriff’s eyes Derek has never seen, the man nearly foaming at the mouth as he seethes and attempts to knock Derek down on his ass, or in the pool where he can hold him under water. He manages a blow to Derek’s temple that leaves his mind fuzzy.

“Dad, I swear on mom I’ll never fucking talk to you again,” Stiles yells, still doing his best to shove the Sheriff away. This gives him pause, as if his son’s words have finally registered.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Stiles. He took advantage of you!”

“I took advantage of him!” Stiles insists, taking the chance to slip back between them. His back presses against Derek’s chest, and Derek lets him, shaking as he sucks in deep breaths, adrenaline spiked blood rushing through his veins.

“You’re a child, he’s an adult, that’s not how the legal system will view it!” the Sheriff gruffs out, his shoulders rising and falling as he huffs in big breaths. He’s sweaty and crazed, his pupils dilated, eyes wild.

“The legal system won’t know,” Stiles insists, his hands reaching back to settle on Derek’s hips as he takes a step back. Derek steps back with him, his heavy breath waning as his body quivers and starts to calm from the rush.

“Like hell it won’t! His ass is going to fucking prison for life if I can help it!”

Stiles glowers at him, his head shaking.

“I love him.”

The Sheriff blinks.

“No, you don’t, Stiles. You’re sixteen. Whatever you’re feeling isn’t love—Derek groomed you.”

“No!” Stiles shouts, and it echoes across the fenced-in back yard, stilling everything between them.

Derek really fucking hopes the neighbors won’t hear them, but he doubts it.

Stiles has the Sheriff’s full attention now, at least while the man attempts to catch his breath for round two. He swipes a hand over his mouth, his gaze flicking from Stiles to Derek.

“You don’t fucking know how I feel, because you’re never there,” Stiles says, his voice low and spiteful. He doesn’t have to yell this part—his words cut across as if he screamed them out. “You’re a shit father and we all know Derek took way better care of me than you ever did.”

His voice shakes, but he holds his head high. Derek can’t see Stiles’ face but he can imagine how incensed he looks while glaring at his father, his fingertips trembling where they dig into Derek’s hips. Derek rests his hand at Stiles’ waist with an encouraging squeeze, and Stiles lets himself relax against him.

The rage in the Sherrif’s features dissipate into a shocked hurt as he stares at his son.

“Derek and I are going to spend our lives together, and you can’t stop us, no matter what you do. If you take him in, you’re as dead to me as mom.”

His tone is severe, borderline unhinged. His words bite and sink into flesh, and Derek isn’t sure he’s ever seen Stiles so austere.

Stiles loves his father, they all know this just as well, but if it’s between the Sheriff and Derek, he will choose Derek every time. He made that choice a long time ago, before Derek even knew it himself.

The Sheriff blinks again, his mouth agape as his brows pinch in. He studies Stiles’ face, glancing at Derek behind him and back as his head shakes like he can’t believe this is happening to him. Derek stands firm, supporting his weight.

“Get in the house,” the Sheriff tells him, his thumb pointing behind him aggressively. His demeanor has shifted, as if Stiles’ declaration has settled in, the insinuation made clear. Lose his son, the only family he has left, the only person who means anything to him, or comply. Obviously they need to go have a talk.

Stiles doesn’t make a move, just stares back at him as if waiting for the gasket to blow off again while he stands his ground.

“Stiles, get in the fucking house, now.”

Stiles turns around, his arms wrapping around Derek’s neck in a squeeze, lips meeting in a chaste kiss. Derek crushes him close, not knowing if he’ll ever get to hold him again, terrified of the Sheriff tearing Stiles from his arms.

“I love you,” Stiles says when they pull apart, their foreheads pressed together as if it were just them again. The Sheriff grips Stiles’ shoulder and pulls him back while insisting they leave right fucking now, and Stiles shrugs his hand off and lunges forward, arms tightening around Derek’s neck again as they search each other’s eyes.

“I love you too,” Derek says, his tone firm as though it’s fact, unable to deny. He steals another kiss before Stiles is yanked away entirely.

Stiles lets it happen this time, his face drawn in a frown.

“This isn’t over, Hale,” the Sheriff says, disgusted as he drags Stiles by his wrist. Stiles watches over his shoulder as they part, the gate slamming shut behind him.

—

Derek is tense. Paige gets home first, and he does his best to act as if nothing is wrong. She stares at him in concern and asks where the bruise forming on his temple is from, and Derek lies and says he hit it on the counter when he went to pick something up and thinks he might just puke from nerves, the guilt hot under his skin everywhere her eyes land over him.

Each night Derek falls asleep, he thinks he’s lived his last day of freedom, and he only got to see Stiles in his window when he was outside smoking by the pool. The Sheriff has been home with him the last two days, watching their every move, ensuring Stiles stays in his line of sight and out of Derek’s reach.

Paige and Eli are still on the outs, but they know something is up. Derek’s been acting weird and Stiles hasn’t been over in two days, which is even more weird. There are far too many rice krispies treats remaining in the pantry.

He’ll have to tell them before word gets out, but he doesn’t know how. The thought paralyzes him, unable to even fathom the right order of words. He misses Stiles and the safety of their secret.

Instead, he spends as much time as he can with Eli before his world is flipped upside down.

They go bowling and eat pizza, and Eli tells him how excited he is to go to Liam’s family’s cabin this weekend, how Liam got a single dorm room as a freshman which is unheard of, how he’s not looking forward to school starting again soon because Liam won’t be there, and Derek stares at him as if committing every square inch of his face to memory.

“Hey, you know I love you, right?” Derek tells him, and Eli eyes him while he’s chewing his food.

“Yeah, dad,” he says through a mouthful. “I love you too.”

“I just don’t tell you enough,” Derek says, his brows drawn seriously.

Eli shrugs and chugs his soda. “You don’t have to.”

Derek’s lips press in a grim line.

“Just know it, okay? No matter what happens, I’ll always love you.”

Eli’s brows pinch in, not unlike Derek’s.

“Okay, jeez, dad. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Derek tells him, lightening his tone so as not to worry him. “All good. I’m just. I’m proud of you. You’re a good kid with a good heart and I’m proud to call you my son.”

Eli blinks, his expression apprehensive.

“I’m proud to call you my dad,” he says, his head tilting like he’s finally grasping the gravity of Derek’s words. “You’re a good dad.”

Derek’s lips twitch, his eyes stinging with tears as he blinks and looks away. Eli used to say things like that all the time when he was a kid, and Derek cherished them in the moment knowing the sweet words wouldn’t last. It’s nice to hear them again. He can’t even remember the last time Eli said something that made his heart swell.

There were times he felt like a shit father, but he knows he did his best. He’s grateful that Eli can recognize that now, even if once he finds out, he won’t have the same thoughts.

It hurts Derek’s heart knowing his choices will hurt Eli the most. Everything he did was to protect him, to keep him happy and safe and ensure a healthy upbringing and a well-adjusted adult. That’s all any parent could ever hope for. But in the end, he’ll have a felon for a father and trauma the same as any other kid with an absent dad and an alcoholic mom.

Derek sips his beer and watches Eli strike out, smiling when Eli turns back and whoops.

When Derek gets home that Thursday, the Sheriff is waiting for him in the open door of his garage, staring across the alley with crossed arms. Derek makes his way over like he’s walking the plank.

He’s quiet, studying Derek the way cops do, his lips a tight line. He looks like he’s aged years overnight, and Derek knows the feeling.

The Sheriff takes him inside, and Stiles is sitting at the dining room table waiting nervously, his eyes wide when Derek walks in. It takes every ounce of his will power to keep from reaching out and touching him.

“Sit,” the Sheriff says, remaining in his assertive stance as he stares Derek down. Derek obliges, sitting adjacent from Stiles.

He’s silent, as if it implies a greater dominance over them, and Derek decides he won’t say the first words, waiting for the Sheriff to get to his point.

It takes a moment, but finally he cracks.

“The only reason I’m not sending you to prison is because Stiles has made it abundantly clear he will cease to exist to me if I do,” he starts.

Derek wonders how that conversation went, how many tears were shed between them until Stiles broke the Sheriff down and made him understand the gravity of his declarations. If Stiles feels anything of what Derek feels for him, his madness knows no bounds. 

“Regardless, we both know what has happened here is illegal and I could easily send you away,” the Sheriff continues, his face pinched in disdain as if the thought of not putting Derek behind bars physically pains him.

“That being said—” he leans over the table, his hands planted on the edge as he holds Derek’s gaze. “—you will not speak to Stiles. You will not touch him, and you will not know him. As long as he lives under my roof, whatever is going on between you two is over. Stiles knows this, doesn’t he?” the Sheriff says, glancing over at Stiles.

He clenches his jaw, his lips pursed, eyes dark. He offers a short nod in accession. Beneath the table, Derek can feel Stiles’ foot hooking around his ankle.

“Which should be easy for you, anyway,” the Sheriff says, returning to his power stance, arms crossing as he scowls down at him. “Considering you no longer live in Beacon Hills, or even the state of California.”

Stiles swallows and holds Derek’s gaze, his eyes glimmering with tears.

 “You are no longer welcome in this town as long as I live. You have 24 hours.”

Stiles’ eyes go wide, his mouth dropping open. “That wasn’t part of the deal!”

“I don’t care, it is now. 24 hours, Hale. Starting now.”

“Dad, seriously?!” Stiles’ voice is high and reedy as he holds back tears.

“Stiles,” Derek says, eyeing him carefully. The past 48 hours have been weighing heavy on him, his heart encased in concrete as he faced the likely reality of his life being over, of being dragged away in cuffs, of losing his son forever. The cement cracks and crumbles, and his heart is light again.

This is good. This is the best scenario that could happen for them. It’s not ideal—being away from Stiles never is—but they can stick with the plan once Stiles is graduated, the break inevitable until Stiles became of age no matter what the scenario after getting caught. This is a gift. They can live their lives together as they intended, they just can’t speak for a few years before then.

Stiles regards him, his brows drawn in dolefully, lashes clumping as he blinks. Without thinking, Derek stands and pulls Stiles into a hug, and Stiles breaks down in his arms, clutching him tight as he sobs into his neck.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby,” Derek murmurs to him, as quietly as he can manage as the Sheriff stews in his disgusted resentment across from them. Derek squeezes around him, kissing his forehead because he can’t resist it.

“Enough. Get out,” the Sheriff says, stomping around the table and cutting their goodbye short. His hand hooks around Stiles’ elbow before tugging him away. Derek doesn’t want to let go, but he allows it, regretting it the moment he catches Stiles’ expression. Tears slip over Stiles’ cheeks as his eyes frantically search over Derek’s face. There’s so much to be said left in the air between them, but Derek holds his gaze and shakes his head sternly.

Derek will figure out a way to see him before he leaves town, but for now he has to get his shit together and leave his wife and kid.

He looks to the Sheriff, and despite the circumstances, he can only feel gratitude towards him.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I broke your trust. I didn’t mean to fall in love with your son, but I love him more than my own and never wanted to hurt him, or you,” he says with a pause, “Thank you.”

The Sheriff is left speechless for a moment, disbelief settling in his features before his stunned mouth closes and his head shakes abruptly.

“Get the hell out of my town.”

Derek nods curtly, stealing a lingering look from Stiles as he shapes a hand into the subtle sign for ‘later’ in a silent communication, and then he’s gone.

—

That evening, Derek eats dinner with his family, his eyes wandering the home he made with his half-estranged wife, for their son sitting across from them. He loads the dishwasher as Paige and Eli’s faces reflect the blue television glow and a laugh track from a shitty sitcom plays, his son laughing along with it. His heart clenches, and he rubs his watery eyes before taking his chair in the living room.

They can have one more night as a unit, and Derek will pack and think of the right words to say even though they’ll never be enough as they sleep. Leaving without telling them would be easier and cowardly. He could avoid the drama and the fall out and the pleading and bargaining because in the end, it will change nothing, but he knows he can’t leave without saying a word.

His phone buzzes, and it’s Peter. Derek doesn’t want to deal with him tonight and silences it, and Peter calls again, and again, incessantly until Derek huffs and takes the call.

“Hey, Peter,” he says, and the other two turn back to the TV when they realize it’s only Peter on the line.

“Hey,” a voice says, entirely not Peter’s, and Derek realizes. He swallows, glancing at Eli and back at the television. “Can you come to Peter’s?”

“Yeah,” Derek says dully, an attempt to keep his voice level. “I can bring it over now.”

“Okay,” Stiles breathes out, his tone hopeful. “See you soon,” he says, and then the line clicks off.

Derek lets his phone drop in his lap casually, glancing over at Paige.

“Peter left his iPad, I’m gonna take it to him,” Derek says as he starts to rise.

“Right now? It’s almost ten,” Paige says, her brows furrowing.

“He needs it tonight for something in the morning I guess,” Derek replies, and Paige drops it with a shrug as she curls up tighter on the couch.

Stiles is on him the second he walks through the loft door, his grip a vise as he presses into Derek’s neck. Derek’s arms go around him mechanically, lips pressing to the top of his head as he inhales before glancing up and catching Peter’s intrigued stare.

“This one threatened to torture me as if I wouldn’t have said yes in the first place,” Peter says, watching Stiles carefully. “His chosen method was very graphic and disturbing.”

“Was it rat torture or the Spanish donkey?” Derek asks.

“Both,” Stiles answers, his lips turned in a frown as he lifts his head and meets Derek’s gaze. His eyes are red from tears, but he seems well enough considering the circumstances. Derek reaches up and cups his face, thumbs brushing over his soft cheeks.

“How did you manage to get away?”

“I drugged him. He should be out until tomorrow morning,” Stiles answers, his fingers slipping into Derek’s hair at the back of his skull. The corners of Derek’s lips quirk up.

“Of course,” he says, the answer obvious now that he’s said it out loud.

Stiles leans in and seals their lips together, sighing into the kiss. He clutches Derek close, as if it’ll keep him here forever, and Derek kisses him back fervently, his hands shifting to grip at his waist.

“O-kay, guess I’ll get a hotel,” Peter says, annoyed, though Derek can tell he knew this would be the case, anyway. Stiles likely included that in his threats.

The tears start flowing once Peter is gone, and Derek shushes him and kisses his face and tells him everything is alright, and Stiles insists it’s not as he buries his face in Derek’s neck and clutches tight. Derek does his best to soothe him, but he knows there’s nothing that’ll make this better.

Stiles starts kissing him, frantic and intentional as his hands move under Derek’s shirt and feel over his abs, and Derek is obliged to give him what he wants, letting Stiles pull off his clothes and kiss and bite and shove him back onto the bed.

Soon, Derek’s legs are wrapped around Stiles’ waist as Stiles pounds into him, his face red and dewy, lips plush and parted. Derek’s vision goes white each time Stiles brushes over that spot.

“Daddy,” Stiles gasps out, his brows scrunched in as he concentrates.

“There’s my good boy, come for daddy,” Derek tells him, and Stiles’ eyes roll back as he spills inside of him, dick pulsing. Derek comes untouched.

He searches for his cigarettes and pulls one out, leaning against the concrete wall as Stiles rests his head over Derek’s shoulder. Stiles takes the cigarette from him and brings it to his lips, and Derek doesn’t say a word as the neon tip crackles in the soft darkness.

“Where are you gonna go?” Stiles asks quietly, smoke pouring from his lips as he passes the cigarette back. He keeps his voice low as if it’ll keep him from crying.

“New York,” Derek says, though he hadn’t really thought of it until this moment. The answer rolls off his tongue effortlessly, and he’s satisfied with that for now. It makes the most sense. Isaac lives there and Stiles will end up there eventually.

Stiles lifts his head to meet his gaze, his eyes serious.

“Take me with you,” Stiles says.

Derek inhales, studying Stiles’ face with a subtle shake of his head.

“I can’t, baby, you know I can’t,” Derek tells him, watching Stiles’ face crumble as fresh tears well in his eyes.

“I don’t want you to go.” He says it like it’ll change anything, his voice small, his eyes big, and Derek frowns as he stamps the cigarette out before pulling Stiles into the gap between his spread legs. Stiles’ head tucks under his chin automatically, sniffling as his arm hooks under Derek’s and around his shoulders, his legs resting over Derek’s thigh.

“I don’t want to go, either,” Derek tells him, his eyes closing as he exhales over Stiles’ scalp. “But this is the best thing that could have happened for us. It’s only two years.”

“You’ll forget about me,” Stiles cries, his tears cooling against Derek’s neck.

“That’s impossible. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“You’ll fall out of love with me,” Stiles tries, his voice muffled.

“Also impossible. As long as you want me, I’m yours,” Derek murmurs, his hand settled at Stiles’ waist, thumb brushing over the last rib.

“You’ll find someone new.”

“There is no one like you, Stiles. No one else for me but you,” Derek reassures him, palming along his naked side. “I’ll build us a new life while you get to be a real teenager, and we’ll be together when you’re ready. I promise I’ll wait for you, however long that takes.”

“You think I won’t come as soon as I graduate?” Stiles asks, his tone offended and wobbly through his tears.

“If you meet someone new, I won’t blame you.”

Stiles scoffs, insulted by the notion.

“I could never. It’s always been you,” he insists, “always,” he adds, his voice breaking on the last syllable. It’s silent for a beat, only the sound of the wind picking up with the rain.

“Will you write to me?”

Derek’s lips press together, his grip tightening around the teen in his arms. This entire time they’ve gone without a paper trail, and with his freedom on the line, it’s not something he wants to risk.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea” Derek says, and Stiles is quiet as fresh tears slip over his cheeks. Derek swipes them away, only for more to follow. “Let’s not test your father any more than we already have.”

“So we really can’t talk for two whole years?” he asks, his tight voice cutting through Derek’s soul. He hates how sad he is, the devastation evident in his very existence as he grips Derek close.

Derek doesn’t offer a response—he hates telling Stiles no and refuses to do it anymore. This will be the last time, Derek is certain of it. The moment Stiles re-enters his life, if he decides to return, Derek will give him anything he asks for. Stiles will forget the meaning of the word.

Instead, Derek tips Stiles’ chin back and kisses his salty lips tenderly, just to feel him while he can, and Stiles deepens it like it’s the air he breathes, shifting in Derek’s lap to straddle him. Their erections return in record time, and Stiles melts into Derek’s touch, tears drying once Derek presses his slicked up fingers inside of him. He watches Stiles’ face, the micro expressions each time Derek presses over his prostate, the way his lips part when he gasps, his eyes black in the dark room as he holds Derek’s gaze.

“Want you to come in me,” Stiles says, his voice a soft whine, begging as if Derek won’t give it to him if he asked properly.

Derek loves his whines, his whimpers and his pleading, the way he makes himself a fragile thing under Derek’s touch like he couldn’t knock Derek out if he really wanted to. He’s not delicate but Derek handles him like he’s made of glass, presses into him like he might tear to shreds, holds him like he’s the most precious creation of this entire universe—because he is. Stiles is everything to him, and these next two years will be pure torture without him.

Derek’s eyes sting, holding them open as he studies Stiles’ face, his furrowed brows and his pointed nose, his flushed cheeks and the exact position of each mole dotting his glistening skin. He etches every detail into his memory, the sounds he makes, the heat he gives off, the cadence of his breath and his hips moving as he rides Derek’s cock and digs his fingertips into Derek’s skin.

“I’ll give you anything you want, baby,” Derek reminds him like it’s his dying wish to please him, to make him happy, his hands gripping at Stiles’ waist, aiding him as his movements start to drag. Derek flips them over and lays Stiles down, hovering over him as he builds up his rhythm. Stiles watches him, his lips parted as he arches up to feel as much of Derek as possible.

“Tell me, daddy,” Stiles begs, his legs tight around Derek’s waist.

“You’re my good boy, baby,” Derek says, the words spilling from his lips as easy as the sweat dripping from his forehead. One hand anchors himself as the other palms over every inch of Stiles he can reach, along his side and over a nipple, thumbing over his bottom lip before splaying his fingers over Stiles’ chest. He offers all the praise off the top of his head as his hips rock, tells him you’ll always be my baby boy, Stiles, so good for daddy, I love you so much, baby, on and on as he watches for the telltale signs of his oncoming orgasm. His lashes flutter as he struggles to keep his eyes open, his panting becoming more frantic, his hole clenching around Derek’s cock as he attempts to hold himself back.

“Come for me, baby,” Derek tells him, and Stiles shakes his head no, like if he holds himself back it’ll keep Derek here with him forever—like once he comes, he’ll never see Derek again.

“It’ll be okay, honey, just come for me,” Derek tells him, fingers wrapping around the teen’s length, the tip red and wet as precum dribbles from the slit. He gasps and jerks into Derek’s hand.

“You first,” Stiles chokes out, his dull nails digging into Derek’s skin where he clenches over his shoulders, his eyes begging. “Come inside me, daddy.”

Derek stills as he comes, breath catching in his throat, lids fluttering as Stiles clamps down around him with each pulse. He fucks himself empty, filling Stiles up the best he can before he can’t anymore, and Stiles’ eyes roll back as his hips curve forward and his orgasm rolls through him.

“That’s my good boy,” Derek tells him, fucking him through it as Stiles moans lowly, squirting out with each thrust. His semen reaches up to his neck, and Derek cups beneath his chin to guide his head away as he leans in to lick him clean.

Stiles pulls him into a dire kiss, his hands gripping each side of Derek’s head as they share fluids over their tongues. Their breaths are heavy when they pull apart, foreheads pressed together as they come down, and it’s not long before reality sets in and the tears start up again. Derek kisses his face, wiping his watery eyes over Stiles’ cheek before pressing into his neck wordlessly.

They fall asleep that way, sheets tangled around them, cum drying on their skin. Derek wakes as the birds start chirping, the sky ready to tilt into dawn.

He kisses Stiles’ temple tenderly, fingertips brushing him awake, up and down his spine and over his shorn hair.

“Baby,” Derek murmurs. Stiles’ grip tightens around Derek as he wakes, his lashes growing wet against Derek’s neck.

“I know, baby,” Derek says, “but we have to go.”

Stiles nods, and they manage to pull themselves apart and get dressed after they find their clothes. Derek pulls the sheets off the bed and stuffs them in the washer, Stiles never more than two feet away from him anywhere he goes.

“I feel like I’m never gonna see you again,” Stiles says, his tone flat and intentionally steady as they stand at the loft door. Their hands are linked, hanging together at each side, and Stiles’ eyes hold him still, full to the brim with tears he can’t control any better than Derek can.

Derek leans in and kisses his forehead, letting his lips linger as his eyes close. This is the last time Derek will hold him for a long time.

When he pulls back, he reaches to hold Stiles’ face, returning his solid stare as his thumbs swipe over damp cheeks.

“I promise I’m not going anywhere. You’ll know where to find me,” Derek tells him, fingertips pressing into his skull as if it could imprint this declaration.

“Pinky promise?” he says, his nose red, and Derek hooks their pinkies together with a firm squeeze.

“Pinky promise,” Derek affirms, leaning in to kiss him and seal their vow.

It’s then Derek remembers the bracelet in his wallet, and he fishes it out before handing it to Stiles and holding out his wrist. Through his perpetual tears, Stiles’ lips twitch, and he sniffles as he knots the bracelet ends together as tightly as he can manage. Stiles’ bracelet is still holding out strong after a summer of swimming and sweat, less vibrant than Derek’s, but they’ll match by the time they see each other again. Stiles fiddles with the strand around Derek’s wrist before hooking their pinkies back together.

“It stays on,” Stiles says, and Derek nods firmly as he touches Stiles’ cheek and holds his gaze. It seems everything has already been said, and now words aren’t enough so none will suffice. Instead, they burn the other’s face into their memory.

Stiles is so sad, but he is so stunning. He still can’t stop crying no matter how many times he wipes his cheeks, until he’s resigned to it and the brine wets his neck and stains his shirt. Derek leans in to kiss the tears clean, burying into Stiles’ neck and clutching him close as wetness gathers along his own lashes.

As sad as Derek is, he can only feel relief. This sucks, but it’s all temporary.

They linger for as long as they can, the sun already brightening the space by the time they reluctantly pull apart. Derek walks him to the elevator, their pinkies grasped between them as his finger stamps on the down button.

The lift is there too soon, dinging as the doors open. Stiles steps inside, their fingers still linked as Derek stands in place.

“I love you,” Derek tells him, kissing his knuckles. He slackens his hand, and Stiles clutches for a moment before finally letting go.

Stiles’ wet eyes stare back at him, brows knit.

“I love you,” Stiles agrees as the doors close, and he’s gone.

Derek stares at the closed doors, his heart so heavy he could trip over it.

—

He waits for Peter in the loft, staring ahead as he thinks of all the things he has to do today on empty, if he should pack up and go without saying a word, if Paige will even let him go that easily. He knows he can’t do it, but he wants to. He needs to gather his important documents and quit his job and sit down with his wife and kid and tell them he has to leave without any legitimate reason.

Peter walks in, the loft door rolling shut behind him, and Derek’s eyes prickle with tears when he realizes it’s not just Stiles he’s leaving behind.

He’ll never witness Peter at his poolside again, or watch his son play another game of lacrosse, or be there for his nieces and nephews, or even when his parents die. This life no longer exists.

“I don’t know what to do,” Derek says, his voice cracking.

Peter hands him a glass of something iced, and Derek knocks it back as Peter takes the seat beside him.

“You do know,” Peter tells him, sipping his drink before setting it on the table in front of him. “It’s only two years.”

“That’s two years,” Derek says, his voice distant. It feels so far away, and in this moment he is stuck in time, the crystal glass cold at his fingertips.

Peter doesn’t say anything, just grabs the bottle and pours Derek another shot.

“You’re lucky,” Peter says, eyeing Derek carefully. “Not just because you got out of jail free.”

Derek nods. He knows Stiles is his person, that’s all there is to it. Not everyone gets one. Derek feels like the luckiest man alive with Stiles by his side. Without him, his world has no glue, no meaning.

His get out of jail free card is a miracle, and at the end of this long tunnel, they will be together again. That’s what he’ll hold on to, because that’s all he has left.

—

Paige is in the kitchen when Derek gets home, eyeing Derek as she fixes up her breakfast. Without Eli, the house is quiet, and it’s like he’s watching himself in a movie as he stares at his wife hovering over the counter.

“What was it this time?” she asks, her tone detached. “God, you look like shit. He kept you up all night, didn’t he?”

Derek stares at her and decides it’s either this or leaving with a note left in his place.

This is the right thing to do. For the first time, he recognizes he should have done it ages ago.

“I want a divorce,” Derek tells her, and the knife stills in her hand, her grip tight before it slackens and she sets it down. She turns to Derek, her gaze intense but unreadable, quiet for entirely too long.

“You know nothing is going to change,” Derek starts, watching her carefully. “You know I don’t love you anymore,” he says, and her face pinches in sadness as she comes to recognize the truth they’ve both known for some time now. “I can’t stay here.”

Her head reels back, brows drawing in confusion. “Jesus, Derek, you don’t have to leave right now,” she says, stepping closer. “Can’t we talk about this?”

Derek shakes his head, taking a step back. “There’s nothing to talk about. I have to go, I can’t be here anymore.”

“I know you haven’t loved me for a while now, but I thought… I thought we could work on it. Marriages ebb and flow, couples fall out of and back in love all the time,” she says, her voice wobbly as she reaches out to touch him with a frown, and Derek shakes his head as he backs away again.

Derek studies her, her eyes watering, her shoulders hunching in on herself. He feels sad for her, that this is how her life turned out. In love with a man who, in the eyes of most, is considered a creep. At least she doesn’t have to know that, not yet.

He thinks long and hard, his brain lagging and words slipping past him. He has to say something so that she’ll understand, but nothing seems adequate enough. How do you end a seventeen-year marriage in less words?

It’s now he’s wishing he just left a note. No words can change that he has to leave and he can’t ever come back. 

“I love you as a friend and as the mother of my child, and that’s all I’ll ever feel for you. You will find someone who will never fall out of love with you, but as long as we are married, you won’t find the happiness we once had. It’s gone.”

Her tears overflow now, slipping over her cheeks. Derek doesn’t have time to comfort her, and in all honesty, he’s relieved he doesn’t have to anymore.

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” she says, her voice breaking.

Derek stares, his face emotionless. He doesn’t have to ruin her life any more than he already is. And technically, there is no one, not for two years at least.

He shakes his head, holding her gaze. “There’s no one. Our time has come.”

She’s unable to get a word out, her breath short with flooded tears. Even if only half of that statement is true, she knows it.

“So you’re just leaving?” she asks, and Derek nods solemnly. This only makes more tears spill.

“I have to,” he says, and she asks why, and he can’t give her a response other than, “I just have to.”

As he packs, she follows him around, tears strangling her voice. She hounds him with fraught questions and wild statements in an attempt to get him to stay, to at least stay one more night, to talk it out.

“What about Eli?” she asks desperately as Derek stuffs his messenger bag with his essential documents, certain he’s forgetting something but incapable of forming an organized thought in this moment. He glances at the clock on his office wall, Paige’s cries background noise. He’s got seven hours before he has to leave and he still hasn’t talked to Eli.

“Where is he?” Derek asks, finally meeting her gaze again where she watches him from the doorway.

“He’s at Liam’s family cabin,” she answers, brows pinched in like Derek should know this. “He won’t be back for a week.”

Derek’s heart is in his throat, his lips turning down. He won’t even get to say goodbye to his son.

The rest of the morning is a blur. Paige finally leaves him to it when she realizes Derek isn’t listening to her. It’s not intentional—he just doesn’t have the brain capacity for it as he packs what he can fit into the suitcase once used for family trips. As he stares around his room, he realizes most of these things don’t even matter. None of it matters.

He hasn’t checked his phone since last night. There are several missed calls from his boss, a text from Hayden, and a call from Isaac. He heaves a sigh and rubs his eyes.

As sad as he is, he is just as relieved to quit the job he’s dreamed of leaving since Eli was born. It feels as good as he imagined it all those times. He’ll miss Hayden, the only good thing to come from that wretched place, but Derek knows she’ll understand.

Isaac sounds like he’s just waking when he answers the call. There’s rustling on his end, a low voice in the background, and then a door clicks shut and Isaac’s voice resonates in a bathroom.

“You good?” Isaac asks, his voice groggy.

“No,” Derek says dully. He’s in Eli’s room, sitting on the bottom bunk at the edge of the full bed. It’s a mess in here, but it smells like him, and Derek isn’t sure he’ll ever get to smell him again. “How do you feel about me staying with you for a while?”

“Are you serious? You don’t even have to ask, dude,” Isaac says, his voice lighter now as the rest of his sleep slips away.

“Thanks,” Derek says, staring off. “I have to leave today.”

“What, today today?”

“Today,” Derek confirms. “I’ll explain later.” He’s sure Isaac can fit the pieces together.

Derek purchases his ticket once the call ends. The flight leaves sooner than he’d like, but with Eli gone, there’s no reason to linger any longer.

He grabs paper and a pen and stares at it for a long time. He doesn’t have time to think of a well thought out and meaningful letter without telling the truth. He wishes Eli were here, but in a way he’s grateful he doesn’t have to see his broken face when he tells him goodbye.

In the end, all his note says is: One day you will understand. I’m so sorry. I love you.

When he comes downstairs, Paige is gone, probably at Cora’s to break the news. Soon his phone will be flooded with calls from family members he can’t answer to.

With his messenger bag over his shoulder and his suitcase dragging behind him, he takes a long glance at the life he’s leaving behind and blinks the tears from his eyes.

Peter’s car idles as Derek approaches, stuffing his meager belongings in the trunk before slipping into the front seat. The house that is no longer Derek’s home grows smaller in the passenger side mirror as Peter drives away, and a figure emerges from the alley, gliding effortlessly on his skateboard.

Even in the long distance, Derek can see the tears in his eyes as he kicks off the pavement as fast as he can, his t-shirt billowing in the race to catch up.

Stiles holds the ‘I love you’ sign up, his arm outstretched as if reaching out for him, and Derek rolls down the window to return it, the object in his mirror closer than he appears.

Chapter Text

Derek only sheds a few tears on the plane, sunglasses hiding his eyes as he stares out the window. It’s not until he greets Isaac at the bottom of the escalators, the fucker holding a sign that says ‘Hale’ with a welcoming grin that Derek can’t contain them anymore.

“Aww, buddy, it’s gonna be okay,” Isaac says, patting his back as they hug it out and silent tears stream over Derek’s face. He will not speak, because then his voice will crack and it’ll be so much worse.

Isaac takes his roll away suitcase and nudges his arm. “Let’s get you some food and a shot, yeah?”

Derek doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s not up for it, but he hasn’t eaten since last night and Isaac is clearly ecstatic to have his best friend in the city with him despite the circumstances.

On the subway Isaac says, “Your boy texted me, by the way. I better take care of you.”

Isaac shows him the texts from Stiles’ phone number, and Derek’s breath lodges in his throat as fresh tears sting his eyes. He asked Peter the same—just to keep an eye on Stiles, make sure he’s staying out of trouble, that he has someone he can go to since he can’t go to Derek.

Derek clears his throat and blinks recurrently as he glances away, clutching at his suitcase handle. He might actually puke.

“Don’t let him text you. I don’t want him to think he can get around the no contact.”

“I already blocked him,” Isaac says, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

After a beer and a burger he takes two bites out of, they end up at Isaac’s loft in Soho, a warehouse turned artist studio that’s definitely not zoned for residential use, but is set up that way.

It’s fucking huge. Like, bigger than Derek’s house, just without any walls. Every area is a mere suggestion—the living area has a large couch and coffee table spread over an expensive looking rug, and the bedroom area is on the north wall with all of Isaac’s art supplies taking up the northwest corner, the bed hidden by a canopy. The kitchen takes over a quarter of the space which includes the eating area, and the bathroom/closet combo is the only private room within the studio, tucked away in the northeast corner.

It's probably a bitch to heat, but in the summer it’s not so bad.

“I’m not here most nights, so you can sleep in the bed when I’m gone and I’ll just crash on the couch if I need to,” Isaac tells him with a careful smile. “You can have the bed tonight.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch, it’s fine,” Derek says, waving his hand as he leans back. He’s still on California time, but it’s been a long day and he’s tired. He’s had his phone off and isn’t eager to turn it back on.

“Your call. Bed’s gonna be empty though.”

The first few weeks are hard. He lets himself wallow about it, crying when Isaac isn’t there, sometimes even when he is. Without knowing what to tell his family, he tells them nothing, screening their calls, ignoring their texts until he can figure out what to tell them. Laura congratulates him on his mid-life crisis in a voicemail. Cora bitches him out in audio texts. His parents worry over him and just want him to come home because whatever it is, they can help him figure it out, just come home.  

Peter says Stiles is a lot more annoying now that Derek isn’t keeping him occupied, and it’s bittersweet to hear it, his lips curling as his eyes sting.

Eli calls him crying, and Derek talks him down and says this is something he needed to do, this is just how it has to be, and he can’t explain now but it’ll make sense when the time is right.

He still doesn’t get it, but after a while he stops asking questions and instead asks to visit.

“Soon,” Derek says, glancing around the studio. Behind the dark canopy curtains, Isaac flips through a magazine with headphones on to give Derek some semblance of privacy. There’s no way Eli could visit while they’re living here, but he says it to appease him.

“How’s your mom?” Derek asks, curious to see how she’s handling everything. They haven’t really talked yet, though Derek knows they’ll have to sort things out soon. He’s trying to give her space to grieve a bit before he proceeds with the divorce.

“She’s really sad and there’s nothing I can do about it,” Eli says, eyeing something off screen. He’s in his bedroom, his posters visible behind him.

Derek frowns, looking down as he scrapes his thumbnail over his denim. “This isn’t for you to fix, Eli. It’s okay for her to be sad. Is she taking care of you?”

“I guess,” Eli says with a shrug. “I don’t know, she’s barely taking care of herself. Aunt Cora is over a lot.”

Derek sighs. Of course she is.

“She called you a coward. Well, actually she said ‘fucking coward’, and also a dumb idiot,” Eli relays, and Derek purses his lips.

“Whatever,” Derek says, annoyed. He gets that they’re best friends but Derek’s still her brother and it’s not like Cora didn’t know the marriage obviously wasn’t working. “They’ll both probably say some shitty things about me.”

Eli looks to the side, quiet like he has something to say but he can’t decide if he should share or not. Derek waits.

“I knew you didn’t love her anymore, but I didn’t think you’d leave like that,” Eli says, his tone on the edge of bitter. “It was shitty, dad.”

Derek looks down, his lips pursed as he nods in acknowledgment. He sucks in a deep breath. “Yeah, I know. You’ll—”

“Understand one day, whatever. Still shitty.”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Can we not get into this again? Tell me about school. How are things going?”

“Fine,” he says with a sigh. Derek blinks, waiting for more, and Eli sighs again, rolling his eyes.

This is difficult for him, obviously, it’s difficult for all of them. He’s more despondent lately, at least whenever he’s on the phone with Derek.  

“I don’t know, everything is weird this year. Liam’s not there and Stiles quit lacrosse so I don’t see him as much.”

Derek frowns. “He quit the team? Why?” He knew Stiles was thinking of it, but Derek had hoped he would stick it out.

Eli shrugs again. “He never really liked it. He got a job at the ice cream shop.”

“A job, huh? Good for him,” Derek says, wondering what else Stiles is up to. “The band is all good?”

“Yeah. Hey, I gotta go, Stiles just got here,” Eli tells him, and in the background Derek can hear the stomps up the stairs, always two at a time, and then the door bursting open.

“Sup,” Stiles says, popping into view as he creeps over Eli’s shoulder. His face changes when he recognizes Derek on screen, lips parted, eyes wide.

“Hey. Say bye to my dad,” Eli says, tilting the camera fully on Stiles’ frame, and Stiles’ face is blank as he stares and swallows.

“Good to see you, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says carefully, intentionally, and Derek smiles to keep the tears behind his eyes, his heart tied up in his throat. “You doin’ alright?”

Derek clears his throat with an affirmative nod. “I’m doing alright.”

It’s been a full month without him, a long miserable month, and here he is on Derek’s screen, still beautiful and breathing. There’s much to be said but it’s locked in the long distance between them.

“Alright, bye dad,” Eli says, scanning the phone back to his face. “It’s your turn to call me next.”

“Yeah. Love you,” Derek says, his eyes on Stiles in the background. Eli says it back before he hangs up, and Derek is certain he sees Stiles’ sign before the screen goes blank.

He sucks in a sharp breath before dropping back into the couch with a long sigh, reaching up to rub his eyes until he sees phantasmagorical flashes of Stiles behind his lids.

Derek misses him so much. There is a void inside him as big as the space between them, bigger even, and if he lets himself wallow for too long, he’ll fall into it. He goes to work instead.

They say that those who don’t know what they want to do end up serving others. Derek decided bartending was better suited for him. He’s pretty sure he only got the job because of his looks but figures he may as well start using them to his advantage when he’s got rent and child support and their first apartment to save for.

The tips are easy when he smiles a lot, so he does, even if it’s almost as numbing as sitting at a computer all day. It’s not his dream job by any means, but he likes moving his body and has met a lot of people in his short time living here already. Plus, he makes more money than he did back home. Granted, it doesn’t go as far here as it would there, but it’s actually insane he could have been doing this the whole time instead of hating his life like it was his cross to bear.

Tonight is slow, just a few people lingering around pool tables as they nurse their drinks and chat. Isaac sits at the bar, drinking because he usually does before he goes on dates, while Derek dries glasses out of the dishwasher before stacking them.

“You know, you could be making a week’s worth of tips in one night,” Isaac says, sticking a cigarette between his lips, as if he’s never brought up the subject before.

Derek stares at him, an eyebrow raised dubiously as he continues wiping water stains off the glasses. “My price is too high.”

“Someone would pay it,” Isaac says, his lips slanted. “Just have to find the right client.”

“I’m good. I smiled at that blonde earlier and she tipped me fifty bucks on a ten-dollar tab.”

Sex is too much work for him when it’s not with someone he cares about. He’s pretty sure he’d have more fun flirting with people knowing nothing will ever come of it except perhaps a bigger tip and a phone number scribbled on a receipt that he can trash at the end of the night.

Derek’s not interested in being intimate with anyone but Stiles, and thinking about all the affection they’re missing out on bums him out. If they could talk on the phone, one hundred percent they’d be having phone sex. Derek gets off to scenarios in his head about it, among other things.

“That’s how it started for me. Worked at a bar and a woman offered half a grand for one night, and then doubled it when I said no.”

Turning down a proposition for an exorbitant amount of money for just one night is kind of insane, if Derek thinks about it, especially being so fresh to a new city. A new and very expensive city. If he wasn’t hung up on someone else he might consider it.

The whole point of Isaac becoming an escort was so he’d have more time to work on his art, except all he really does is go on dates and sit at classy hotel bars to meet the next love of his life.

With all the extra time he would hypothetically have, Derek doesn’t know what he’d do with all of it. He likes working long hours. It takes his mind off things.

“If you make so much from one night, why are you working all the time? I thought that was the point of this,” Derek says, calling him out.

“Because it’s fun, Derek, and I’m looking for more than money. It takes a lot of dates to find the right person,” Isaac says, taking the cigarette from his lips and holding it between his fingers. He’s got smudged eyeliner on tonight, his icy gaze intense even in the dim light as he watches Derek over the bar. “Might as well get paid while I’m doing it. Plus, it’s kind of addictive. It feels nice, to be wanted and spoiled.”

Derek’s brows twitch in a hint of a frown. He doesn’t mean to, but he feels pity for him.

Being wanted and spoiled is indeed an addictive feeling, especially coming from someone who loves unconditionally. But the people who spoil Isaac are only temporary—impermanent fixtures that he cannot rely on, insidious people who use their money to get exactly what they want from him and anybody else, and he lets it happen, hoping every time this might be The One.

Isaac might think he wants love, but he’s had it and it’s never stuck. What’s left is all the money and gifts he raked in while he had the chance, though, filling in the voids he can’t fill otherwise.

“Don’t do that. I hate that,” Isaac scoffs, bringing the unlit cigarette back to his lips as he grips the edge of the bar and stands up. “Don’t wait up for me,” he says, grabbing his leather jacket off the stool.

“Isaac, come on. You know it’s not like that,” Derek starts, eyeing him as his brows knit in concern. “I just worry is all.”

“Yeah, well. I’m perfectly content. Just because I don’t have someone waiting for me doesn’t mean I can’t be happy,” Isaac snaps, the cigarette hanging between his lips as he shoves his arms into his jacket and checks his pockets. “All I’m saying is, you’ve got over a year to go. You could have some fun, maybe make a little money out of it.”

“Why are you insisting when you already know my answer?” Derek asks, pursing his lips.

With a shrug, Isaac takes the unlit cigarette from his lips between his two fingers. “I just worry is all.”

Derek shakes his head. He can be such a dick sometimes.

“You don’t think he’ll end up coming out once he graduates,” Derek accuses, his tone flat.

While Derek has second guessed himself on occasion, mostly because it seems too good to be true, he ultimately knows Stiles will show up. Whether he gets here at graduation or waits until he has to move into the dorms at the end of the summer, Stiles will be in New York no matter what and something tells Derek that Stiles will be quick to find him.

“I never said that. I just know over a year without sex sounds awful, and I think Stiles would understand,” Isaac says with a faded smile, pleased he’s come to this conclusion.

Derek rolls his eyes. “If you don’t think he’d murder whoever touched me, it’s no wonder you don’t think he’s coming,” he says, shifting his weight as he stares Isaac up and down. “If I could bet on it, I’d make more money than you do in a whole month.”

“O-kay,” Isaac says, his hands thrown up in surrender with a dramatic eye roll. “Whatever, just saying, it’s an option.”

“I’ll think about it,” Derek says, and he’s thought about it. He won’t be doing any of that but he’ll say whatever to get Isaac off his back. Derek may be sad, but ultimately he’s content—he’s got someone waiting for him.

—

The Christmas tree Isaac put up would look better burnt. At least then whoever is looking at it would know it’s dead on purpose. Derek would rather have no tree at all.

“It’s a statement piece,” Isaac says sardonically, “Late Stage, I’m calling it.”

Derek’s lips twitch, watching as Isaac places a bauble on one of the broken branches. It’s been painted black, like all the other ornaments Isaac picked up at a flea market for this purpose.

Without Stiles and Eli and the rest of his family, holidays just aren’t the same. It’s nice to spend time with Isaac, but that’s basically a given considering their close quarters. He told Erica he’d work Christmas at Thanksgiving when he was bored and sad without anything to keep him distracted, and she invited him over for Christmas dinner but he insisted he’d rather work as Lord of Misrule for the day.

Being around other people’s family only reminds him what he’s missing, and at least here at work, customers will chat and tell him about their crazy lives and he doesn’t have to feel so bad about his own.

After Derek and Isaac share a Christmas slash birthday brunch at a Mediterranean diner, he spends most of the afternoon serving drinks to people who also don’t have anyone to spend the holiday with, or just prefer not to. It’s not super busy, but it’s relatively consistent, enough to keep him occupied and his mind elsewhere.

Derek does a shot with Isaac, and he says he’ll be back later, he’s going to meet someone, and then it’s only Derek and Matt the fry cook with a few patrons nursing their beers and watching the football game.

Outside, fat clumps of snowflakes fall gently and pile into slush. The incandescent blinking lights hung up around the bar add an extra layer of depression as Jeff Buckley plays on the jukebox, and it makes him think of the boy back home like everything does these days. Derek sighs, his shoulders rising. He might just hang himself with the lights and decides to take them down while he’s got the time. Erica won’t mind.

Derek pulls out the step ladder and carefully unhooks the string of lights from the little plastic hooks stuck in the corners. He’s cleared a whole wall when the phone rings, and he glances over at it, annoyed. It’s been ringing all day and he should just unplug it but he’s already made an executive decision over the Christmas lights. He steps down and reaches the phone by the third trill.

“Wish You Were Here, yes we’re open today,” Derek says, wedging the phone between his shoulder and ear as he coils the string lights around his hand.

The other end is silent.

“Hello?” Derek asks, giving a gracious pause.

“I wish you were here, too,” a careful voice says at the end of the line, and Derek’s heart freezes. He looks at himself in the mirror behind the bar, clutching the phone against his ear. “How funny is it you work at a bar called Wish You Were Here?”

Derek’s lips stretch into a smile.

“Yeah, it’s pretty funny.”

Even though they should not be speaking and Stiles shouldn’t even know where he works, Derek is elated to hear his voice and know Stiles is thinking of him.

There’s a short pause, and Stiles sucks in a breath.

“Happy birthday, daddy.”

“Thank you, baby,” Derek says quietly, glancing around as if someone might catch him. “Merry Christmas. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, and Derek wonders what he’s doing, where he’s hiding to make this call, how he even knew Derek would be at work today of all days. He checks the clock and counts the hours back. It’s only five-ish there.

“Where are you?” Derek asks, eyeing a patron at the bar who holds his finger up for another drink. Derek sets the lights down and keeps the phone against his shoulder as he pours a beer.

“I’m at your pool, actually. Eli and Paige went to Laura’s house. Dad fell asleep in front of the TV,” Stiles says despondently. So he’s all alone today, too. “I miss you,” Stiles says, and Derek wishes he could see his face.

“I miss you, baby,” Derek agrees as he sets the full glass back in front of the man. He gives Derek a look, like it’s nice to hear that from someone even if it’s clearly not directed towards him. Derek offers a pinched smile before he turns away and walks to the other end of the bar. “You know you shouldn’t be calling me.”

Derek can hear his pout, and it makes his lips twitch into a tiny smile. He misses that pout. Derek imagines his lush lips and wants to bite them.

“I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stand to think of you all alone on your birthday.”

“I’ve got Isaac,” Derek reminds him, leaning his hip against the bar.

“But you don’t have me,” Stiles reminds him woefully. Derek’s smile stretches, and he looks down as he fiddles with the edge of a note taped to the counter.

“In my head, I do. I have you all the time,” Derek says, closing his eyes to imagine his face.

There’s a pause. “Yeah?”

He huffs a fond exhale through his nose. “Yeah,” Derek says, pausing too. He doesn’t want this conversation to end, content to just hear him breathing. Of course that guarantees more people shuffling in.

“I have to go,” Derek says with a frown. “Listen, baby,” Derek starts, turning away from the group taking a seat in one of the booths. “Don’t call me at work unless it’s an emergency, okay? And I’m talking… blood loss, near death experience. I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

“But daddy,” he objects, his voice just the faintest whine. He’s really holding back the pout, Derek can tell.

“Emergency only. Or you call Peter. Okay?”

Stiles sighs, but he doesn’t say okay.

“I love you,” Stiles says instead. “And I miss you so bad it hurts.”

“I miss you more, baby boy,” Derek says softly, his breath catching. “Be good for me.”

“Always,” Stiles says, and they both linger for a long moment.

“Love you,” Derek says, forcing himself to end the call.

He looks at himself in the mirror again, thinking of Stiles on the other side of the world, and misses him even more now, his heart strings drawn by the weight of his sorrow. For the first time, he wishes he weren’t at work while he’s grieving.

Blinking back tears, Derek clears his throat and sets the receiver back on the base before heading over to serve the group who just arrived. They order food, and as he’s punching it into the POS, another group scuffles in off the cold street.

Isaac slips up to the bar with a grin and an aluminum-wrapped dish in his hands, face flushed from the bitter cold. Erica and Boyd flow in right after him, Erica with another food tray, and Boyd with a pink bakery box. She sets the tray down at a table before locking the door and turning the sign to closed.

“What did you do,” Derek says with all the firmness he can muster as he glances between the three of them before settling on Isaac, his jaw tight. He was barely holding it together before they walked in, and now his heart is in his throat and he can’t slip away to cry in the walk-in.

“We weren’t going to let you get away without a plate and some cake on your birthday. Now get over here and make a wish,” Erica demands, and Boyd carefully pulls the decorated chocolate cake from the box and sets it down at the table with a proud smile as he stands beside Erica, staring expectantly.

The cake is gorgeous, and he’s touched Boyd cared enough to spend so much time on something for someone he’s only known a few months of his life. Thinking too deeply on it is overwhelming and he can’t open his mouth to speak without crumbling into a million fragments on the dirty bar floor.

Derek glances at Isaac, his head shaking sternly as he holds it together. He told Isaac not to mention it.

“Isaac,” Derek grits through his teeth, his glare futile. Isaac smirks and shrugs and gestures for him to come out from behind the bar. It’s too late now, they know his birthday and he can’t wipe it from their memories.

He supposes that means he has to keep them around for the foreseeable future.

The remaining patrons and Matt join in on singing Derek happy birthday once Erica lights the candle, and Derek pinches the inside corners of his eyes to keep from crying. He fails.

It earns him lots of hugs that he didn’t ask for but he allows because the contact is nice and anyway, it’s not really a birthday if he hasn’t cried, is it?

The lit candle is blurry in his vision, and Isaac squeezes around Derek’s shoulders and nudges him with a shit-eating grin because he always thinks it’s so fucking funny when Derek cries. Derek knows Isaac is only laughing so he doesn’t cry, too, the pansy.

Isaac tells him to make a wish, and of course Stiles is the first thing that comes to mind.

He’d wish for his baby boy to be here in his arms, but he knows it’s a waste. There’s nothing that’ll bring him here, nothing that’ll make Stiles appear in Derek’s lap in this very moment, and that’s all he truly wants. But he knows Stiles will be here, eventually. The time apart can be good for them.

Instead, he wishes to figure out his fucking life before Stiles gets here. He wishes to be better before Stiles arrives, so that he knows it was all worth it.

He closes his eyes and blows out the candle, and Isaac kisses his cheek and thrusts a beer into his hand before knocking the glass with his own. Derek wipes his eyes with a weak smile and looks around at his new family and thinks, at least he’s got the hard part figured out.

—

Fresh off a 1am start, Derek leaves work as the 9-to-6ers head in for the day. He walks the couple blocks and takes the subway home, pulling out a cigarette as he slips into the alley beside their apartment to lean on a wall and smoke in peace.

It’s Stiles’ eighteenth today. The day they’ve been waiting for, but doesn’t really mean anything since he still has to finish high school. Still, it’s a milestone.

They’ve talked every birthday, and Derek figures those days are excusable. Just short conversations that affirm… them. They hardly catch up but there’s no need—between Eli and Peter, he never has to wonder what Stiles is up to, and he’s sure Stiles asks Eli and Peter about Derek all the time.

He pulls out his phone and thinks of calling him. It’s six in the morning for him, an hour before he’s usually waking up for school. If Derek called him now he’d likely sleep through it.

Derek calls anyway, and gets sent straight to voicemail. He sucks his cigarette and listens to Stiles’ voice tell him to ‘just send a text dude’ and smirks as he blows out his smoke.

“Hey, baby. Call me,” he says, looking down at his boots.

He hangs up and thinks maybe it was stupid to leave a voicemail where the Sheriff might see it, but then he decides not to care. Stiles is eighteen now, and he can make his own choices. From this point on, they’ll likely have daily conversations.

He finishes his cigarette and stamps it out under his boot, and every time he has to climb the six stories to their loft, he imagines Stiles whining about it and it makes the trek a lot more pleasurable. As he’s smiling and huffing up the stairs, he has the thought that his life is about to change all over again.

Isaac isn’t home when he arrives, the vast space quiet in between him and the bed calling his name. He forces himself to shower before he can fall into bed and take his regular after work nap.

Baker’s hours are brutal. It’ll suck once Stiles gets here, but they’ll figure it out, he thinks, as he drifts to sleep.

Chapter Text

Arms crossed over his chest, the Sheriff watches from the doorway as Stiles packs his backpack with the barest essentials—PlayStation, laptop, birth certificate, social security card he stole from his father’s office just so he wouldn’t have to deal with his sass. It’s too early in the morning for that.

“You’re really leaving,” the Sheriff says. It’s a judgement made out loud, much like all the other ones he’s broadcasted.

“Yes, I am,” Stiles says, shoving his meds into the front pocket of his backpack. He feels like he’s forgetting something, but he always feels that way. That’s bound to happen when he’s leaving his whole life behind. Not even a fresh pair of clothes will go with him. He’ll just buy new ones and borrow from Derek when he gets there.

He saved up his money from the ice cream shop job he got just to take his mind off Derek, even though every scoop of mint chocolate chip made him think of the man waiting for him on the other side of the world. Knowing he’d be graduating early and ready to leave the moment he turned legal, Stiles bought a one-way ticket to New York as soon as the booking window opened.

Briefly, he wonders if Derek is even waiting for him the way Stiles has been—in earnest, counting down the hours until they can see each other again. And then he shoves that thought aside.

While Stiles never gave a shit about his father’s demands, Derek has respected them to a T and has not been willing to bend the rules—except for birthdays. It seems to be their only consolation prize since they’ve been so good otherwise, even if it is a short call that leaves him sadder on the other side of it. He spoke to Derek on his birthday a few months ago, managing to keep the surprise to himself and Isaac, and unless something has changed since then, he knows Derek is waiting for him, too.

He takes a long look at his room before closing the door and meeting his father and Eli in the car.

Eli cries and squeezes Stiles tight at the park-and-kiss, and Stiles knows that what they’ve had, this brotherly love since they were boys, will never be what it was again. He cries, too.

“I love you, man. No matter what,” Stiles tells him. He closes his eyes and clutches Eli close.

“I love you too, dude,” Eli says, his voice strained. When he pulls back, he surreptitiously swipes over his cheek and clears his throat as he looks down. “You’ll have to visit my dad. I think he’s lonely.”

Stiles forces a smile and nods. “You’ll have to check in on this guy for me,” he says, pointing to the Sheriff with his thumb, and Eli nods as Stiles glances over to his father standing off to the side attempting to keep his cool.

When Stiles moves on to drag his father into a hug, the Sheriff grips Stiles close and kisses his head like he’ll never see him again.

Their relationship since Derek left has been a conundrum to say the least. The Sheriff does not support Stiles and Derek one bit, voicing that opinion as often as the brainwave ripples through his head, and yet, they’re the closest they’ve ever been. Leaving the Sheriff alone hurts too much to think about, so he doesn’t dwell on it. He was always going to be leaving him, it just sucks that it’s like this. It could have been a lot different. In a perfect world, his daddy and his father would get along just fine.

“You call me as soon as you land,” his dad says, squeezing Stiles like it’ll be the last time they ever see each other.

“Alright, dad. Take it easy on the fast food. You know they pre-make salads, right?”

“You know they make boyfriends the same age as you, right?” the Sheriff murmurs, just low enough that Eli can’t hear.

Stiles purses his lips, glancing to Eli off to the side. He squeezes the Sheriff before letting him go, adjusting the strap over his shoulder as he looks at his father’s face as he is now. He has every intent on seeing him again, but sometimes that’s not how intentions work out.

On the plane, he spots Peter in business class and does a double take as Peter smiles and pats the seat next to him.

“I took the liberty of upgrading your seat. Happy birthday, nephew-in-law,” Peter says slyly, as if he were the gift, and Stiles rolls his eyes with a partial slant of his lips, shoving his backpack in the overhead before dropping beside him.

“Isaac is not going to be happy,” Stiles warns, buckling himself in.

“Isaac never lets himself be happy,” Peter says, his tone only slightly resentful.

Nothing Peter does surprises him anymore. He’s a psycho with millions, not unlike the majority of millionaires, and he’s taken Stiles under his wing. It’s a big wing, so it’s not like Stiles can do much about it, and he can usually finesse a meal or a toy he wouldn’t even bother saving for just because it's so expensive. At the end of the day, Peter is family now, so Stiles just goes with it.

Stiles checks his phone before turning it off. He’s got a missed call and a voicemail notification from Derek, his heart skipping when he brings the phone to his ear.

“Hey, baby. Call me,” he says. He sounds tired, his voice soft and husky, but the smile is heard in his silky tone, and Stiles listens to it again and again until the flight attendant tells him to turn it off. He won’t be able to call him back until he gets there six hours from now. He hopes Derek won’t worry too much.

He’s grateful to have Peter with him now even if he won’t admit it. Flying alone and for the first time would have been okay, but arriving to a new city with nothing but what’s on his person is terrifying. He did his research and knew the city was big and dirty and dense, but absolutely no one is overstating that enough.

New York is fucking massive. The horizon, with all its plunging drops and cut peaks and thousands of streets on a mass of land at the edge of the ocean is intimidating, and when the plane lands and he glances up at the sky he just occupied, he feels like a tiny ant. Smaller than an ant. Maybe a tardigrade.

As expected, Isaac is not very pleased to see Peter next to Stiles as they descend on the escalator. His eyes narrow and Stiles shows his palms in surrender.

“He was on the plane before I was,” Stiles says, and Peter’s lips twitch into a gratified smirk, like everything has worked out in his favor as if he didn’t plan it that way himself.

Isaac was going to take Stiles straight there on the MTA, but Peter has a car waiting for them once they step out onto the New York pavement. The driver takes his backpack, and Stiles feels naked without it as he slips into the middle seat to keep the peace.

“Derek is still asleep, so if you’re hungry we should find something to eat now,” Isaac tells him, and food is the last thing on Stiles’ mind. His stomach is in knots, his knees bouncing as they drive through the city.

“I’m not hungry, but I’m sure Peter is if you guys want to drop me off and go somewhere,” Stiles says, more of a subtle hint to get rid of them than anything. He can feel Isaac glaring over at him, while Peter gloats to himself.

They start bickering with Stiles in between them and Stiles keeps his arms crossed as his knee jiggles and he ignores them. They’ll have to figure it out because neither of them is invited to the Derek and Stiles reunion.

Isaac hands him his keys, holding one up. “This is for the front door,” then he holds the second one up, “and this is for the studio. 6A. The elevator is broken, sorry,” Isaac says, almost like he’s serving up a fresh dish of revenge.

“You’re kidding,” Stiles says in exasperation, and Isaac smirks and slips out of the car to allow Stiles to exit. He sighs, grabbing his backpack from the trunk and slamming it shut. They drive away and Stiles stares up at the grey unassuming building. It doesn’t look residential, but he supposes that’s just what residential looks like in the city. 

He punches the ‘up’ button for the elevator just in case, and nothing happens for a good two minutes as he crosses his arms and glares at the stairs. As he climbs, he thinks there’s no fucking way he is living here. He’s panting and sweating by the third floor, and by the sixth, he’s hunched over his knees as he questions his life choices, spending way too long recuperating.

The door sticks when Stiles pushes it open, and he fumbles a bit as he falls into the studio, his heart ready to grow wings and fly away.

It’s so big—much bigger than he pictured it in his mind’s eye this whole time, light spilling through the wall of windows on the west side. It’s a shame it’s so big without any real separation of space, because for three people it could manage just fine. Without walls and a working elevator, Stiles has already written it off. They will be finding their own apartment, thank you very much.

The bed is a massive fort, curtains hiding whoever sleeps within. Stiles drops his backpack, slips off his shoes, and makes his way over, breath catching when he pushes back the curtain to see a familiar half-naked figure sleeping on his stomach. His hand hangs off the edge of the bed, his face half-smooshed over his pillow. His beard is longer and more salted, his eyebrows pinched even in sleep. He still makes Stiles’ heart do backflips.

Instead of being obnoxious about it, Stiles reels his excitement in and undresses out of the clothes he’s been travelling in before climbing into bed on the other side of him, half his body falling over Derek’s side as he hooks an arm over Derek’s waist. He nuzzles into Derek’s hair, inhaling as his eyes sting because he’s just so overwhelmed with emotion that it’s about to shoot out of him. He smells like apple shampoo and his resinous cologne, and Stiles can’t hold back the prickling tears.

He could fall asleep like this, crowded against Derek’s warmth, his body relaxing in the safety of being pressed against him again. It’s been a long day of traveling and dealing with Peter on top of waking up at an ungodly hour.

Derek sucks in a breath and stirs, his head hardly lifting as he grumbles, “The fuck, Isaac.”

Stiles smirks, squeezing his arm around Derek’s waist. How they shared a bed this whole time and managed to not cuddle is beyond Stiles—if he and Eli share the same bed, they inevitably end up pressed together since Stiles is a monster in his sleep—but he’s happy Derek is so unused to being touched that he’s calling Isaac out on it. Maybe it’s twisted but Stiles doesn’t care. He’s got a touch starved man at his fingertips.

“Guess again,” Stiles says, and Stiles can feel the hair on Derek’s skin raise. He stills, only for a moment, and inadvertently shoves Stiles back as he abruptly turns. As he sits up, his hair mussed, a wrinkle in the sheets imprinted on one side of his face, he meets Stiles’ gaze and blinks with squinted eyes like he must be dreaming.

He is so fucking adorable it actually hurts Stiles’ heart that he’s missed out on this the whole time.

Stiles grins and bites his lip, reaching over to brush his hair back. It’s longer, too, enough to swoop over his face at his widow’s peak, and holy shit, still mad that he missed out on this.

“Baby,” Derek says, his voice gruff. Stiles missed that word on Derek’s tongue.

He looks like he still can’t believe it, his eyes closing as he shakes his head, and then he shifts and lets his body fall over Stiles’ form, heavy and warm as he presses into Stiles’ neck with a deep inhale and a squeeze. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Stiles affirms, his arms going around Derek’s shoulders.

He’d say more on that but his tears cut him off.

“I’d kiss you but I have morning breath,” Derek murmurs tiredly, his fingertips pressing into Stiles’ flesh.

“I literally don’t care, please kiss me,” Stiles says, his voice only minorly breaking, and Derek is quick to oblige, leaning up to smash their lips together in a chaste kiss. Stiles’ hand falls to his cheek, fingers brushing through his beard as their lips move softly, carefully, like it’s been so long that it feels new all over again. He can’t help the excited bubble of laughter in his throat or the salt welling in his eyes as he holds Derek’s face and kisses his soft lips again, admires his beard and tastes him for the first time in way, way too long.

Derek breaks their kiss as he says, “Wait, let me look at you,” and searches over Stiles’ face. Stiles licks his lips, his skin warming under the intensity. He hasn’t felt so exposed in so long. It’s the good kind of exposé, the kind he feels safe under—a tentative but familiar vulnerability he’s returning to.

“You look different but the same,” Derek says, reaching to touch Stiles’ face, his thumb brushing along Stiles’ jaw.  

“How?” Stiles asks, studying his face right back. He can’t pull his eyes away, his brain lagging as he takes this new version of Derek in. He’s got deeper wrinkles at his eyes and flashes of silver in his hair, and Stiles thinks it only makes him about a hundred times sexier.

Judging from how heavy he feels against Stiles’ frame, Derek’s gotten bigger, too.

“You’re more filled out. Sturdier,” Derek says with a smirk, leaning on his elbow to hold himself up. He reaches up and runs his fingertips through the hair at Stiles’ temple. “And you grew out your hair.”

“Do you like it?” he asks, biting the inside of his lip.

“I love it, baby,” Derek says easily, leaning in to seal their lips again, and Stiles melts a little, relieved. This time the kiss is slower, more intentional, and Stiles lets his hand wrap around Derek’s bicep with a gratuitous squeeze.

“You got bigger,” Stiles murmurs, definitely pleased with this as Derek nips at his bottom lip.

“Makes it easier to lift twenty-pound bags of flour,” Derek replies as he meets Stiles’ gaze again. Stiles doesn’t have much time to wander with that thought as Derek’s expression shifts, brows furrowing.

“Wait, shouldn’t you be in school?”

Stiles’ lips curl into a cheeky smile, his fingertips appreciating Derek’s new body, grazing over his pec so plump it’s basically a boob. Derek has boobs. Very strong boobs that make Stiles’ mouth water.  

“I graduated early. I’m all yours, daddy,” he says, staring up at Derek with all the suggestion he can muster in his gaze.

Derek laughs, and Stiles’ heart beats faster. He missed his bunny teeth and his deep laugh and the crinkles at his eyes whenever Stiles does something to amuse him. It comes so easy to him, like anything Stiles says or does would make him happy, and the way it’s so reverent, the way he stares at Stiles when he smiles is its own form of praise. Stiles has made Derek happy and proud, and it’s the best feeling in the world. Besides coming, obviously.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm, you’re stuck with me now, big guy. Hope there’s room for three in this bed. And a working elevator you’re not telling me about.”

Derek laughs again, a short chuckle in his throat, his gaze all fondness.

“I think you are mistaken,” Derek starts, leaning in to capture a quick kiss without breaking eye contact. Okay, intense. “You are stuck with me. You’re not going anywhere without me ever again.”

Stiles grins, his dick twitching.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Derek says, and then he does that thing where he seals their lips together as if sealing a vow, and his big hands come up to hold Stiles’ head in place as he deepens their kiss, and Stiles melts.

Derek is definitely bigger. Like, monstrosity big, and damn near supernaturally strong, which is crazy and so fucking hot. He spent all his free time at the gym and climbing those damn stairs, and Stiles imagines Derek was in there missing him while pumping major iron or whatever those gym bros call it, and it’s paid off quite handsomely.

Stiles is mesmerized as he palms over Derek’s abs, straddling his waist as they explore each other again. Heavy hands press all over him, and Stiles ends up on his back, very easily he might add, as Derek sucks bruises into his neck—because he can leave bruises now—and brushes his fingers through the hair over Stiles’ thighs. He has a lot more body hair since Derek touched him last, and he doesn’t have to wonder if Derek likes it.

He arches into Derek’s touch with a low whine, feeling trapped under him in the best way possible as Derek fists their cocks together. Stiles grips Derek’s hair and already he thinks he might come soon. He’s gotten a lot better at lasting, but imagining scenarios is one thing, and being under Derek in real life again is another, nearly enough to push Stiles over the edge.

“Were you my good boy while I was away, baby?” Derek asks coyly, and Stiles pants and nods fervently as his leg wraps around Derek’s thigh. Stiles missed his bed talk and his reverent praise—it’s like Derek knows exactly what he wants to hear, what makes his mouth water and his cock twitch.

“Yeah, yes, daddy,” Stiles breathes out, insisting as he rocks his hips up and licks his lips.

“And you thought of me with your fingers in your hole?” he murmurs, his lips attaching to a nipple that sends Stiles dangerously closer to shore, and Stiles whimpers as he squirms beneath him, attempting to pull away before it’s too late, except Derek only follows.

“Yes,” he squeaks out, his voice cracking, and Derek seems amused as a huff purls over Stiles’ chest and sends a shiver through him. “Thought of everything, constantly,” Stiles says, and it’s the truth.

Maybe some scenarios he made up, but they have enough memories that make it easy. Fucking Derek over the bathroom sink, Derek riding him, Derek teasing him, Derek sucking him off, Derek’s fingers inside him, Derek’s gaped hole drooling out the load Stiles just gave him—and then Stiles doing all the same things to him. You know, for equality.

“Me, too, baby,” Derek says, his voice low as he sucks a nipple and squeezes the tip of Stiles’ cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles whimpers, and he’s already leaking as Derek’s beard brushes over his nipple and the pad of his finger twirls over the other.

“Still so sensitive,” Derek murmurs, and he says it like he’s in awe, like he’s lucky he gets to play with Stiles and make him come and it’s so easy because he’s so sensitive, but really Stiles just thinks Derek is the hottest man on earth and his body is just responding accordingly. Like, who wouldn’t get hot over Derek stroking his beard over their nipples?

Someone else could touch him like this and he’d come, but it wouldn’t be nearly as intense or even warranted. Derek earns every one of the orgasms he fosters out of Stiles just by being Derek.

“You gonna come for me, baby boy?” Derek asks, settling between Stiles’ legs as he reaches to fondle his balls the same time his calloused thumb swipes over the slit, and Stiles gasps as his stomach arches forward and he spills over Derek’s hand, a heady flush sweeping through him as Derek milks him through it.

That was not supposed to happen so soon—he swears he’s gotten better at this—but it’s not like it’s anything new, coming when Derek asks him to.

Derek is quick to smear the jizz over Stiles’ cock, straddle his waist, and sink down over him, all while Stiles is still breathing through his euphoria. His mouth drops open with a groan and his hands fall to Derek’s thighs, the tight heat surrounding him as Derek seats himself in Stiles’ lap and pauses to let himself adjust.

“Fuck, I missed your cock, baby,” Derek rumbles, his hands palming up Stiles’ chest, his weight a balm.

Stiles can’t believe he missed out on this for twenty months. There’s no comparison to the inviting warmth embracing his cock, the heady mass weighing over him, the calloused fingers teasing at his nipples, the mossy gaze pinning him in place. It feels like coming home.

Derek rides him, his eyes fluttering as he bounces up and down, his breath heavy. He’s so fucking beautiful and Stiles can’t keep his hands off him, rubbing up and down his hairy thighs, over his abs, up his chest, and inevitably around his cock. The red tip is bursting from the sheath, glistening with precum that Stiles can’t resist tasting just because it’s been so long. He licks the web between his forefinger and thumb, his eyes never parting from Derek’s gaze, before he grabs Derek’s cock again to jerk him off just the way he likes.

Derek’s eyes darken and a broken moan falls from his lips, bucking into Stiles’ hand as he works overtime to keep his pace.

Without the need for sound control, Derek moans like he needs it, always so satisfied on Stiles’ cock alone. His low noises and his tight body and his ethereal eyes all sweep into the growing swirl behind Stiles’ navel, and he comes when Derek whimpers out and paints Stiles’ stomach, clamping down with each wave that rides through him.

Stiles missed coming inside him. Not just the intimacy of leaving a piece of him behind, but the way Derek covets Stiles’ semen like he’s incomplete without it, content to keep what he can inside until next time.

When Derek stands and stretches out, Stiles’ cum dribbling down the inside of his thigh, Stiles can really tell how big he’s gotten. His heart flutters as his eyes devour him, mindlessly chewing skin off the inside of his cheek as he watches Derek walk to the bathroom.

The ginormous man looks over his shoulder with a smirk.

“You coming?”

“I just came twice,” Stiles says, and Derek laughs before he walks back over and grabs Stiles’ exposed ankle, tugging him to the edge of the bed.

“Get your ass over here, Stilinski,” Derek says, pulling Stiles close, and Stiles grins with a laugh as he’s dragged across the bed until his legs fall over the edge on each side of Derek’s thighs.

“Make me,” he says, leaning on his elbows as he tips his chin in and gazes from under his lashes, blinking innocuously up at Derek.

Derek eyes him, an eyebrow raising, and Stiles mirrors him, failing to keep his smirk in check. Without further ado, Derek snatches Stiles up by his waist, and before Stiles knows it, he’s draped over Derek’s shoulder like one of those twenty-pound sacks of flour, Derek’s perfect ass in view as he walks them to the bathroom. Stiles can’t stop laughing.

In the shower, Derek cups his jaw and says, “Happy birthday, baby,” and Stiles beams and soaks it up as Derek kisses all over his face, his arms falling easily around Derek’s neck.

“Best birthday ever,” Stiles says, content to let the water stream over their raveled bodies.

As Stiles dries his hair off, he watches Derek pad over naked to the dresser and pull out fresh clothes, and honestly the act shouldn’t be so tantalizing, but there’s something different about him. It’s not just the muscle he’s packed on that makes him walk differently, but the confidence in which he does it, how sure he is of each of his graceful movements.

Stiles saw it the moment his eyes fell over Derek’s face for the first time in nearly two years. Derek is happy. Stiles knows he makes Derek happy, and surprising Derek like this is very exciting, but this is different. This is an internal thing that Stiles has nothing to do with, something he could never reach and alter for Derek despite how much he wanted to.

He is so happy to see Derek so happy. Even without Stiles, Derek is thriving here, and Stiles is ashamed the thought even popped into his head. Of course Derek is thriving here—he deserves to be happy without Stiles.

Stiles slips on his underwear, content to walk around like this until he has to put real clothes on. Derek watches him and raises a brow.

“Is that all you brought with you?” he asks, pulling a shirt over his head, filling it out quite nicely.

“Yeah, I figured I’d just wear yours, but I’m starting to think maybe Isaac’s clothes would fit me better,” Stiles says, staring. He honestly did not think Derek could get any sexier.

“If you touch any of Isaac’s clothes, I will miss your dick very much,” he says, entirely serious, which makes Stiles snort and laugh under his breath as Derek shuffles through drawers and pulls out a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He walks over, all confident as he passes the bundle over to Stiles with an amused slant to his lips.

“You’re staring,” Derek says, his eyes flicking to Stiles’ mouth.

“You’re so damn sexy I can’t believe you’re into me,” Stiles blurts out, and Derek takes that personally. His eyebrows twitch in, gaze studious.

“Stiles, you’re objectively the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says, stepping into Stiles’ space now as he reaches to tip Stiles’ chin up.

“I don’t think that’s what ‘objectively’ means,” Stiles says, and Derek smirks.

“Objectively, from my point of view,” Derek says contrarily, and Stiles laughs and bites his lip and regards him. He missed this, and it’s a relief how easy it is to fall back into it with him.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” Derek asks, and before Stiles can open his mouth, he adds, “besides me.”

Stiles huffs a laugh through his nose. “Um… I honestly don’t know. You tell me.”

He really had no expectations aside from seeing Derek when he got here. He knew they’d figure out the rest as they went along, and getting here was overwhelming enough. He’d be happy staying in bed with Derek for the rest of the day.

Derek eyes him curiously, his head tilting a bit. Stiles mirrors him with a smile.

“What?”

Cupping Stiles’ face firmly, Derek cradles his head and strokes his thumbs over Stiles’ cheeks, kaleidoscope eyes washing over Stiles’ face. He’s so handsome it’s unfair.

“I’m just so glad you’re here. I really think you’ll love it here,” Derek says.

A warm feeling settles in Stiles’ center and spreads out, his shoulders relaxing as Derek confirms what he’s known all along—this is where he’s supposed to be. This is where their life begins.

—

Derek takes him to get pizza because that’s all Stiles can think of when Derek asks him what he’s in the mood for. They stop for a slice and walk around the neighborhood as Stiles chews ravenously, only now realizing how hungry he is.

“So, how did you manage living with Isaac in a studio?” Stiles asks, peeking over as he takes another bite.

“Pretty easy,” Derek starts, chewing and licking his lips. “We took turns on the bed at first, but then we liked trying on the kitchen counter, too.”

Even though he knows Derek is joking, Stiles gives him a half-contemptuous look, and Derek laughs as he nudges Stiles’ elbow.

“I’m kidding, baby. We ended up swapping the bed with the way it worked out with our schedules, for the most part, but yeah, sometimes we’d share. When Isaac has a steady, he’s hardly there, so it’s almost like living alone sometimes.”

“So it just never made sense to move,” Stiles states, and Derek nods.

“I would have found us something if I’d known you’d be here sooner. But I kind of wanted us to find a place together, anyway. So it worked out,” he says, glancing over with a smile. His arm wraps around Stiles’ shoulders, and he pulls Stiles in to kiss at his temple. Stiles beams, his mouth greasy and full of food. He can’t think of any other time in his life he’s ever been this happy.

They walk and talk and Stiles is still hungry after eating basically half a large pizza, wondering about dessert as he wipes his fingers off on his jeans.

“We need to get you a birthday cake,” Derek says, glancing over as he takes Stiles’ hand.

“Only if it’s made by you.”

Derek grins and squeezes his hand. “I’ll make you a cake, baby. Come on.”

They end up at the bodega down the street from the studio, where Derek picks up a few ingredients and Stiles follows him through the tight aisles, perplexed that only ten hours ago, he was in his childhood bedroom packing, and now he’s here beside Derek in a Soho bodega, with a bodega cat and everything, as he turns to Stiles and asks, “You want anything else while we’re here?”

And it’s hitting him that this is what he’s been waiting for the whole time and he’s really here and it’s happening. Their life together is really happening.

“No,” Stiles says, eyeing him fondly as he pets the tabby cat sleeping on a shelf of chips, and as if Derek is thinking the same thing, he leans in for a quick peck to the corner of Stiles’ mouth.

“Still can’t believe you’re here,” Derek says, and Stiles’ lips curl.

“Me, too,” he says, and Derek whisks him away like he has been all afternoon, until they’re back at the apartment with the six flights of stairs. Not only are there way too many, but they’re fucking steep, too.

Stiles doesn’t have it in him to hold back his complaints as he drags himself up the stairs. Derek is several steps ahead of him and insists that going up as fast as possible is the only way, but Stiles would beg to differ, taking a break about halfway as he sits on the steps and heaves, his elbows hanging between his knees.

"We need to find something asap," Stiles insists, swiping his hand over his face as he tries to steady his breath. “I’m never going to leave if I know I have to climb back up.”

Derek huffs out a laugh, his breathing heavy but clearly not as winded as Stiles as he jogs back down the stairs and sits beside Stiles on the cement steps.

“We’ll start looking, baby. But I’m just warning you now,” Derek starts, leaning back on his elbows with a smirk, “New York is made of stairs. You’ll have to climb them one way or another.”

Stiles lets his head fall back with a groan and a small pout. He should have known this. It makes perfect sense. New York is old as fuck.

Stiles glances over at him, holding his pout, making his eyes big, and Derek huffs a laugh through his nose, amused.

“I love you very much, but I’m not carrying you up these stairs,” Derek says, nudging Stiles with his knee. “Should have stayed in lacrosse, Stilinski.”

With a full inhale, and refusing to acknowledge that last statement just because he’s right, Stiles pulls himself up and decides to put Derek’s method to the test, pumping up the steps as fast as possible to just get it over with. Derek laughs behind him, both panting by the time they reach their floor.

Sat at the island, Stiles watches as Derek effortlessly creates the cake from scratch, passing over spoons to lick before pushing the cakes into the oven and setting a timer. While the cakes bake, they fall into the giant cloud couch and put on a movie, Derek’s entire body pressed up against him. He falls asleep, his breathing sounds comforting, and Stiles plays with his hair and kisses his forehead every so often. He feels bad for waking him when the timer goes off.

“What time do you usually work?” Stiles asks as Derek flips the cakes onto a cooling rack.

“One am to nine am, Wednesday through Sunday,” Derek tells him, crossing the space to sit back down beside Stiles. “That’s if Boyd doesn’t ask me to do overtime. I usually do, just because I don’t have anything else to do. Or if Erica needs help at the bar, I’ll help her out.”

“So how many hours do you end up working a week?” Stiles asks, eyeing him like he’s insane.

Derek’s arms slip around Stiles’ waist and tug him close. “Probably about sixty on average. Depends on the week.”

“When do you sleep?” Stiles asks, concerned now.

Derek shrugs. “During the day, or whenever I can.”

“And you still have time to go to the gym?” Stiles asks incredulously. “How are you so casual about this?”

“I enjoy it,” Derek tells him easily, his lips curled. “I like the people I work with, and I like what I do, so work is actually… fun,” Derek says, a small laugh punctuating his sentence as if he’s just now realizing this. It’s almost odd, to see him this way. Stiles isn’t sure if Derek has ever been so content in his life. It suits him.

Studying his face, Stiles lets his hand fall over Derek’s chest with a careful smile, thumb stroking over the fabric.

“It makes me happy to see you so happy,” Stiles tells him, searching his green gaze. Derek’s lips twitch, his head tipping forward as one of his eyebrows goes up.

“But?”

Stiles swallows, his blood pressure spiking as he licks his lips. He’d forgotten how well Derek can read him.

“But when are we gonna have time together?” Stiles worries out loud, and Derek’s smile widens as he hooks his finger under Stiles’ chin.

“We’ll figure it out, baby. Don’t worry about it too much,” Derek tells him, sealing their lips together.

Stiles kisses back automatically, but who is Stiles if he doesn’t worry? He finally has Derek in his arms, but soon he’ll be at work and Stiles will be left in an empty bed, and that’s never any fun.

The cake is finished by nine, and the icing work is impeccable—Stiles can’t believe Derek did that, and within thirty minutes no less. It’s like he does it professionally, or something.

“Derek, it’s so beautiful,” Stiles tells him in awe.

It’s so stunning that Stiles doesn’t want to ruin it, but Derek jams a candle in the middle and lights it before Stiles can protest.

Derek smiles modestly, placing the cake in front of him and pulling out his phone to take a picture. It’s such a dad thing of him to do, but it’s so endearing Stiles can’t even tease him for it.

“Make a wish, baby boy,” he says, watching Stiles through his phone.

Even though Derek spent hours making this cake, Stiles never really gave his birthday wish much thought. What more could he ever want when Derek is already in front of him?

He meets Derek’s gaze over the candle, eyebrows going up as he bites his lip and thinks of something so selfish he knows he can’t wish for it.

Instead, he wishes to stop worrying.

“This is the best fucking cake I’ve ever had in my life,” Stiles says through a mouthful, and he’s not just saying that because Derek made it. It’s so moist and buttery and decadent and he can’t wait to take another bite even as he chews on the mouthful he’s got going on for him right now. He knows there’s icing on his lip but he’s entirely too fixated to lick it off. Derek does it for him, anyway, leaning back with a proud smile.

In bed, Stiles lays directly on top of Derek, his ear over Derek’s heart. Derek’s grip loosens around Stiles’ shoulders as he falls asleep, and after a long day, Stiles sleeps, too.

He doesn’t even remember Derek’s alarm going off, but at some point, scruffy lips are pressing against his.

“Love you, baby,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles mumbles it back as he curls into a new position and falls right back to sleep.

—

When Stiles wakes up, he’s forgotten where he is for a long minute, and slowly, once it all shifts into place, he smiles and buries himself in the cotton sheets. He checks his phone and discovers it’s just after nine in the morning but it doesn’t look like it, the canopy blocking out any sunlight. No wonder he slept for nearly twelve hours straight.

It’s so cozy in the cavern that leaving it feels like a sin, but he peels back the curtain, squinting as the light spills in and his feet hit the cold cement floor. The studio is perfectly still, only the street sounds below. It’s pretty during the daytime, but Stiles prefers it in the evening, when the low lights and the tv glow make it feel cozy.

The bathroom is on the other side of a long closet, a basic modern with no actual character other than the classic subway tile. It’s like it was built as an afterthought.

He takes his morning piss and brushes his teeth, and as he exits, he flips through the side of the closet that clearly belongs to Isaac, admiring all his clothes. Isaac is the kind of guy who only wears black as a fashion statement, completely committed to the bit, and Stiles thinks it’s cool but would never tell him that.

He finds a shirt from Derek’s side and slips on his jeans for the day before having cake for breakfast. Because he’s an adult now, technically, and he can do that. There are a lot of things he can do now, and in this moment it feels overwhelming.

He’ll need to find a job. There’s no way he’s not working and helping towards rent, no matter how much Derek insists Stiles doesn’t pay, Stiles needs to help with something. And being idle makes Stiles anxious. He figured that out quick when he graduated a semester early and was simply waiting for his birthday to come along.

A knock on the door startles Stiles as he stuffs his face, licking his lips as he pads over carefully and glances through the peep hole as he wipes his mouth.

“It’s me, dork. Let me in,” Isaac says, standing there impatiently while heaving. Isaac shoves through as soon as Stiles unlocks the door.

“How was baby’s first night on the town?” Isaac asks as he heads towards the bathroom, pulling his shirt off as he goes, and Stiles rolls his eyes as he makes his way back to the kitchen to finish his cake. He hopes the age jokes die down with time.

“We stayed in, mostly. He made me cake,” Stiles says, smiling. “Want some?”

“Later. He’ll be back soon, we should take him to brunch before he passes out for the day.”

“Will he want to?” Stiles asks, an eyebrow raised.

“For you? Yeah,” Isaac says, giving him an incredulous look, like Stiles should know this by now. He supposes he does.

The bathroom door slams shut, and Stiles wonders where Isaac’s been all night. He glances around the apartment, noticing the art leaning against the walls, and the pipes and air ducts in the ceiling, and the crack in the floor that he’ll choose not to obsess about, and wanders over to the couch before falling into it.

With nothing to do as he waits, he decides he should probably call his dad like he said he would.

“Glad to know you’re alive,” the Sheriff answers, miffed.

“I texted you when I landed,” Stiles says defensively.

“Not the same and you know it,” he says, then he sucks in a deep breath, like he’s relieved either way. “How are things? What’d you do for your birthday?”

“You really want to know?” Stiles asks, eyebrows raising.

“You can spare the details,” his dad says, and Stiles imagines his terse expression. He didn’t think he would miss his dad so much already, but he does, even if he’s been kind of a dick lately.

“Well… Derek took me to get pizza and then we went grocery shopping so he could pick up some ingredients to make me a cake.” They also cuddled and kissed a lot, but he doesn’t need to include that. “It was the best cake of my life,” Stiles adds wistfully, and perhaps that could be taken as a euphemism but he’s certain the Sheriff would have no idea what that could even mean. He smirks to himself.

The Sheriff clears his throat and takes a moment, and Stiles can tell he’s trying not to make it uncomfortable.

“Well, I’m glad you’re safe. What’s your plan?”

Stiles purses his lips. “What was even the point of asking if you’re going to completely disregard his existence?”

His dad sighs heavily on the other end. “Aw, come on, Stiles, we don’t need to get into this.”

“I just don’t see why you would even ask. Like, he’s in my life now, you can’t ignore that.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem, Stiles, he’s always been in your life,” the Sheriff snaps, and Stiles’ jaw tightens, the air static between them in the silence.

“You know what, you’re right, we don’t need to get into this because I’m going to be with him regardless, so you can be a good sport about it or stop calling because I don’t want to fucking hear it anymore.”

He’s heard enough of it over the last twenty months. Coincidentally enough, as if it would “fix” Stiles, the Sheriff cut back his hours and switched to daytime shifts to spend more time with him. It’s like he thought if he could get through to Stiles, make him see he’s been brainwashed, he could prevent Stiles from leaving him. If anything, at least they got to spend time together before he moved across the country, but the Sheriff’s efforts were in vain. Ending up here was inevitable. 

His father takes in a deep breath and clears his throat again, leaving a long moment between their lines.

“Fine. What’s your plan?”

Stiles huffs and crosses his arm over his chest.

“I don’t know. I need to find a job. We’ll be looking for an apartment soon, there’s no way I’m staying in this studio with Isaac,” Stiles mumbles, his eyes flicking to the closed bathroom door.

“You have a full scholarship, what are you trying to find an apartment for?”

“Because we want to live together?” Stiles thought that was pretty obvious.

“Son, you’re required to live on campus your first year,” the Sheriff says, as if Stiles glossed over this detail during a hyperfixated research session of his dream school.

“Unless I get permission from a parent or guardian, and I’m pretty sure I’m the one who told you that.”

“And what makes you think I would consent?” Sheriff asks, matter-of-factly.

“Because it’d be a dick move and you know it.”

Another sigh. “You’d be throwing money away, kid.”

This conversation is starting to grate on Stiles’ nerves, his patience wearing thin.

“I’m pretty sure they’d pay out anything that doesn’t go towards the residence halls,” Stiles says, picking at a hangnail. “Listen, dad, I gotta go, Derek will be back soon and we’re going to get breakfast.”

“Alright,” the Sheriff says, defeated. They say their goodbyes, and Stiles lets his phone drop in his lap.

He really hopes that one day this will be a non-issue. Imagine, the Sheriff and Derek and Stiles all sat at the table for Thanksgiving, talking like they used to. The thought makes him huff out a disbelieving laugh to himself. For all intents and purposes, Derek is now the Sheriff’s mortal enemy.

It’ll never be as it was, and maybe it shouldn’t be, anyway.

Eventually Isaac comes back out, showered and in fresh clothes. He sprays on a bunch of cologne and slips on rings he pulls from a dish on the dresser.

“What’d you get up to last night?” Stiles asks curiously, watching Isaac watch himself in the mirror as he adjusts his jewelry.

“Business as usual,” Isaac answers vaguely.

“Oh, yeah? Peter does a lot of business, I suppose,” Stiles says with a smirk, and Isaac shoots him a disdainful side eye, but otherwise ignores him.

It’s just occurred to Stiles that he only knows Peter’s side of their story, and whatever Derek has told him. But he doesn’t really know a whole lot about Isaac’s side, or even the man himself, and Stiles feels like he probably should by now.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Stiles asks, eyes following Isaac as he moves across the loft and takes a seat on the couch adjacent. He pulls a vape from his pocket and sucks on it, eyebrows raising as he inhales.

“You trying to get to know me, Stilinski?” Isaac asks suspiciously, and for a moment Stiles thinks he’s entirely serious, until his lips crack into a smile as he blows out his smoke and passes the vape over.

“Well, yeah,” Stiles says as coolly as he can manage. He eyes the vape in Isaac’s hand before glancing back at his face.

“It’s weed. That’s what I do for fun. What about you, still banging drums and skateboarding?”

“Oh,” Stiles says, licking his lips. “Yeah. Or, I guess I used to. I don’t think I’ll be skateboarding around the city, that sounds too intimidating,” Stiles says as he accepts the vape, taking a careful hit before he passes it back. He still manages to cough, not used to hitting vapes, even though he’s smoked enough herb to not be considered a noob. He fears that’s how he comes across to Isaac—fresh and naïve, and he hates when he does anything that confirms it.

“Nah, you should, you’d have a blast,” Isaac tells him, bringing his pen back to his mouth. “Once you stop doing it you’ll never pick it up again, and it’s a decent way to get around and stay pretty fit.”

Stiles eyes him. “Did you skate?”

Isaac nods, a hint of a smile curling his lips. “Then I moved out here and forgot how. I miss it sometimes.”

“Huh,” Stiles says, intrigued to learn something about Isaac all on his own. Everything he knows is through other people, and in Stiles’ mind he’s become this elusive figure in Derek’s life that he’s yet to figure out for himself.

“You could probably still do it, I bet,” Stiles says, eyeing him. He seems strong and lithe enough.

“I’m almost forty years old, I don’t think so,” Isaac says with a smug smile. He does not look like he’s forty. He looks like he’s like, twenty-five, maybe thirty.

“Age is just a number,” Stiles says with a mirrored smile. Isaac of all people should know this.

“True,” he says, leaning back into the cushion.

It’s silent now, just on the verge of awkward as Isaac hits his pen again.

“So, what’s your deal with Peter?” Stiles asks, eyebrows raised.

Isaac shoots him another one of his disdainful looks, blowing his vapors the other way.

“I’m sure Derek and Peter have shared the details with you,” he says, blinking.

“Yeah, but like, why don’t you let yourself be with him?” Stiles asks, and he knows he’s being nosy but his mouth has a mind of its own.

Isaac gives him this look, like Stiles has said the thing out loud that he doesn’t like to talk about or even acknowledge, and shakes his head.

“You don’t know enough,” he says, voice flat.

“I probably know more than you think. And so what, it’s true,” Stiles says with a shrug. “He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and he’s right there. Why deny it?”

“He cheated on me,” Isaac says, harsher now. “Why should I give him another chance?”

“That was like, ages ago. He’s changed. And it’s obvious you still love him.”

“Cheaters don’t change, Stiles,” Isaac says, his tone dull, like it’s a truth he doesn’t want to believe but he’s been resigned to accept since it’s never been proven wrong.

Stiles swallows and furrows his brows. He has to choose to believe that’s not true, not just for Peter and Isaac’s sake, but his own, too.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Stiles says carefully. “And you didn’t deny your love for him. Isn’t that enough?”

Isaac purses his lips. “No,” he says, and he doesn’t elaborate, just folds his arms and crosses his legs, closing his eyes as if exiting out of this conversation.

What a way to tap out. 

“I think you’re scared,” Stiles says, ignoring his body language. He’s feeling quite bold today. Even if their relationship is somewhat new, it feels worn in enough to be able to say these things to him.

Isaac keeps his eyes shut, and Stiles is about to open his mouth to talk again when Isaac speaks up.

“Just leave it, Stiles,” Isaac says all stoic and sad boy like. “What we have works, it’s best not to mess with it.”

Stiles regards him and decides to let it rest for now. He has the time to wear him down.

Boots clomp up to the door, keys jingling in the lock. He turns as Derek bursts through the door panting, quick to meet Stiles’ gaze as he huffs out heavy breaths.

“Hey,” Stiles says with a wide smile, eyeing him from head to toe. He’s got flour on his dark denim, his leather jacket unzipped and open to reveal a plain white t-shirt. He looks messy and kissable and even from here he smells like fresh baked bread and his Marlboro Lights.

“Hey, baby,” Derek says with a grin, pulling his jacket off as he steps over to lean down and kiss him. He smells sweeter this close.

Isaac nudges Stiles’ foot with his own. “Ask him,” he mumbles.

Stiles bites his lip, staring up at Derek as he straightens up. He looks worn out and ready to sleep, and Stiles feels bad for asking.

“Ask me what?”

Stiles pauses, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Derek raises a brow, waiting.

“Are you up for brunch?”

“Yeah, of course. I was planning on taking you out when I got back,” Derek says, squeezing his shoulder before he heads towards the bathroom, pulling his shirt off as he goes.

When Stiles glances over, Isaac’s got a smug look on his face. “See?”

—

While Stiles loves living in Derek’s clothes, they’re not really his style. Derek’s a minimal kind of guy and has always been able to pull off the James Dean look. But Derek’s jeans don’t fit him without notching his belt tight, and white and Stiles do not mix, so Derek takes him to a few thrift stores to stock up on flannels and a few pairs of pants. He holds Stiles’ hand as they walk the streets, and life exists outside of them, in their own little world.

After Derek takes him out to eat, they manage to snag an appointment to view an apartment in Midtown. It’s definitely not it.

“2k for a studio?” Stiles asks, brows raised as he glances around. They knew before coming here this wouldn’t be it—there’s no way Stiles can be a student while Derek has odd hours in a studio. If it was anything like Isaac’s, Stiles might reconsider. But this one is about the size of the kitchen-quarter of Isaac’s studio, and it’s not even updated.

“This is just to get an idea of what we want, baby,” Derek reminds him, his heavy hand settling at the small of Stiles’ back. The leasing agent is on a call in the hallway as they tour themselves. It’s not like there’s much to see.

“Yeah, but if this shitty studio is 2k a month, how the fuck are we going to afford a one-bedroom apartment?” Stiles worries out loud, and Derek purses his lips and glowers in that way he does when Stiles is discontented.

“You shouldn’t even be worrying about price. I’ve got rent handled, okay?” Derek says, his hand clenching into a fist over the fabric of Stiles’ shirt as he pulls him in closer and kisses between his brows as if that should settle it.

“Derek, there’s no way I’m not contributing,” Stiles tells him sternly, brows pinching in defiance.

“Fine, you can pay the utilities. But I’ve got rent covered. We’re not fighting about this,” Derek tells him, his tone just as stern and settled as he stamps Stiles’ lips with his own.

“But daddy—” he starts, unwilling to give up so easily. He doesn’t want to place that pressure over him, doesn’t want Derek to think he has to take care of Stiles in order to feel like he’s making up for lost time or any other caveat that could go in-hand with this sort of thing.

“No,” Derek says, his tone absolute as he cups Stiles’ face and searches in earnest. “I don’t want you to worry about anything while you’re in school. Just let me take care of you. I’ve got this handled, baby.”

Derek rarely tells Stiles no. But when he does, and he’s firm, Stiles can’t push back even if he wanted to.

He sighs, his shoulders slumping. It does feel nice, to be taken care of, and Stiles is by no means ungrateful. He just wants Derek to feel the same way, too.

“Okay,” he says, resigned. Derek’s lips curl, and he steals another kiss as the leasing agent returns.

She has this bewildered expression, like she hadn’t considered that the two people viewing this apartment together are in fact a couple. Stiles can see her assessing their age difference, her disgusted expression subtle but undeniable.

“This place is a dump, you should be ashamed to even show it,” Stiles snaps with a pointed gaze, snatching Derek’s hand before they book it out of there.

Chapter Text

Falling into a routine with Stiles is as easy as the spring clouds rolling by. They’ve only been in their new place a couple days, and Stiles—after staying awake for 24 hours against Derek’s opposition—has accomplished his feat of adjusting his schedule to align with Derek’s now that he’s gotten over his jet lag and the odd bed schedule at Isaac’s. They sleep before Derek heads into work for the early morning, and then when he gets home with food from the bakery, he showers and centers the rest of his day around Stiles.

They found their Upper West Side apartment just by walking the neighborhood, having more luck that way than dealing with shitty leasing agents and online searches. It’s not the high rise of their dreams, but Derek insisted they find something near campus so Stiles won’t have a long commute once classes start. Derek’s commute time hasn’t changed much. In fact, he gets a few extra minutes to press up against Stiles’ side in their bed on the floor.

They cleaned the place up quite nicely, brushing the cobwebs from the corners, wiping the dust that’s settled along the trim despite the landlord insisting the apartment had been cleaned prior to their move-in. Stiles hung a few of Isaac’s art pieces and organized the kitchen, albeit a bit chaotically, but Derek ended up re-organizing it to be more intuitive when he wasn’t looking.

They don’t have a view, other than the building across the breezeway and the street below, but at least now they have a fire escape balcony that leads to the top of the building, and an elevator that only opens manually. If that ever goes out, it’s only two flights of stairs to huff over. The walls are stark white and the floors are worn oak, and the bathroom could use an update, but it’s bright and cozy and theirs, and only 2.5k a month. Therefore, it’s perfect, for now.

Derek went without a lot the whole time Stiles was away. He’s always been pretty frugal, but he’s kept a budget about as tight as his regular schedule, his buffer margins offering just enough room to enjoy life. Peter helped out a few times, mostly because he wouldn’t take no for an answer, but Derek wanted to work for this new life of theirs and did the bulk of it on his own. The gratification of paying off the first few months of rent and buying them their first bed together makes the wait and everything he’s worked for well worth it.

Derek figures they have all they need, but he wants to make sure Stiles is comfortable, and that this feels like their home and not just a place to rest their heads. They haven’t had the time to look for pieces of furniture together, but they’ve got plans today once Derek gets home from work.

The kid is reluctant to wake, as always, but Derek sets aside enough time to cuddle him back to life and let him get there.

Derek forgot how warm he is, how perfectly Stiles slots into place against whatever form Derek’s body has taken shape. His breath shifts into a more conscious rhythm, his limbs stirring as he clutches Derek close to him. Derek brushes his lips over Stiles’ hair, fingertips stroking up his spine.

“Hey, baby,” Derek murmurs quietly, combing his fingers through Stiles’ hair.

Stiles sighs out through his nose, nuzzling closer. It takes him a moment.

“Hey, daddy,” he murmurs back in a rusted voice, and Derek’s lips curl. Waking up beside him will never get old.

During their five-day tenure at Isaac’s studio while searching for their own place, Derek did his best to tread quietly and let him sleep, but the moment he pulled away, Stiles was already awake. He looked so sleepy and adorable, his longer hair all mussed as he struggled to keep his squinted eyes open, and Derek insisted he keep sleeping, but Stiles is about as stubborn as an old man.

He looks much like that now as he shoves cereal into his mouth, sat at the counter crunching and staring off as Derek steps into their tiny kitchen.

“What are you gonna do today?” Derek asks him ask he starts fashioning his regular protein smoothie.

“Job,” Stiles says, his mouthful, and Derek nods as he switches on the blender. Stiles has been on the lookout, but Derek insisted they focus on finding their place first before he try to find anything. That way he can search for something nearby and have an actual address to fill out applications with.

“Do you want to come to work with me?” Derek asks once the assaulting noise ends.

“Like, to work there? Or just to visit?” Stiles asks, taking another bite of his cereal as Derek pours his protein smoothie.

Derek shrugs. “Why don’t you come take a look and see if you want to?”

Stiles mulls this over as he watches Derek rinse out the blender. “Okay, sure,” he says with a nod. He leaves his bowl in the sink, and Derek leans on the counter and sips his smoothie as Stiles gets ready.

Derek prefers the city after dark. It’s always bright enough, anyway, and different characters seem to come out to play that don’t exist during the daytime. It makes his commute somewhat entertaining if he’s not reading a book, and it’s even better with Stiles by his side.

They don’t hold hands, but their bodies press against each other as they both witness a man proceed to pull out an entire seafood boil and eat it on the other side of the car. They side-eye each other with amused smirks, and Stiles rests his head on Derek’s shoulder as the train sways.

When Stiles first got here, Derek introduced him to all his new friends over dinner. By then, he had talked about Stiles so often it was like everyone already knew him. Apparently, Stiles and Erica have had a few chats over the phone throughout their time apart.

Needless to say, Stiles has already fit into their tight knit group. Boyd welcomes him when they come in through the back door, tearing Stiles away while Derek changes into his work shoes and apron. When he finds them again, Boyd is showing him how to make sourdough, and Stiles laughs when he sees Derek with the net over his beard.

“Keep laughing and I’ll shave,” Derek teases, and Stiles turns very serious.

“Don’t even joke about that,” he says with a scoff, and Derek smirks before getting to work. He usually prefers to do bread, but pastry is his next favorite thing, then cakes and everything else. Stiles wanders from room to room witnessing the processes, spending most of his time lingering nearby as Derek fills pastry.

“You want to try it?” Derek asks, holding out the pastry bag with a raised brow.

He takes the bag, and Derek shows him how to hold it the right way so his wrist stays straight and his hand grips the bulb, and Stiles manages just fine until he squeezes too hard and the tip bursts out of the end of the bag.

“Oops,” he says, side-eyeing Derek with a bit of a flush, and Derek laughs a bit as he settles an arm around Stiles’ waist.

“It’s okay, it takes a few tries. I’ve done it too,” Derek tells him, remembering when he first started as an apprentice and Boyd was imparting his vast baking knowledge, including the science as well as the tricks of the trade. Derek fell in love with it.

He’s always found baking to be therapeutic, but commercial baking is a new form of therapy he can get lost in, falling into an easy flow state once he got the processes down and it became second nature. Boyd’s dedication to the craft only influenced his own, and it’s only grown and evolved from there. Even though Derek still has to work some extra shifts at the bar, it’s well worth it. Not wanting to shoot his brains out makes up for the pay cut.

Ultimately, Stiles decides it’s not for him.

“It’s too much work for something I’m not that passionate about,” Stiles tells him, taking a bite of a ham and swiss croissant Derek pulled out of the oven maybe ten minutes ago. “I mean, I’m passionate about enjoying the food, but the making is totally your thing.”

Derek’s on a break, smoking as they sit at a bistro table at the back terrace. The bakery opens at five, so Derek only gets a couple relaxing smoke breaks before he has to lean on a wall in the alley for the rest of his shift.

“Yeah, I get it,” Derek tells him, taking a drag of his cigarette. The work can be arduous, but since Derek has trained at the gym and figured out how to hold his body ergonomically, it’s not as backbreaking as it was when he first started.

“It’s cool to see what you do, though. And you look really good doing it,” Stiles says with a grin. Derek huffs a laugh through his nose.

“Thank you, baby,” Derek says, sipping his coffee. “You could probably work up front if you wanted to.”

Stiles shrugs. “Eh, I don’t think so. I’m over customer service already,” he says, taking another bite as he stares off and chews. He swallows and returns his gaze to Derek as he licks his lips. “I think I could probably make some decent money tutoring.”

As he says it, it makes perfect sense to Derek, and he likes that idea a lot better than delivering food on a bike. Derek shut that down immediately. Since living here he’s already witnessed a few terrible accidents involving bikes, one even resulting in a death. He does not care if that makes him controlling, there’s no fucking way he’s going to lose the one he loves most when it can easily be avoided.

If it were up to him, Stiles wouldn’t work at all and only focus on his studies, but there’s a lot of time between now and the beginning of his first semester. Stiles wants to contribute as much as possible even though Derek just wants to take care of him so he can have time to be a kid while he still can, but he understands. It’s not really ideal for him to sit at home and waste his potential, anyway.

“I think so too,” Derek agrees, pulling his cigarette and blowing smoke away. Stiles watches him, taking another bite.

“This is really good, by the way,” he says through his mouthful, eyeing Derek’s lone coffee. “Do you ever eat your creations?”

“Of course. Not all the time, though. I’m pretty sure there’s half a stick of butter in that one croissant alone,” Derek muses, flicking ash before bringing the cigarette back to his lips.

Stiles takes another bite, never one to care for calories. “Could use more, honestly,” he says with a sardonic twitch of his lips as he chews. He sips his coffee and leans back in the chair, eyeing Derek as he smokes. He tips his head and looks like he has something to say, carefully meeting Derek’s gaze through his lashes.

“Hey, daddy?” he asks sweetly, and Derek can tell by the word alone that Stiles is about to request something of him. Derek raises a brow.

“Yes, angel?”

“Will you quit smoking?” he proceeds to ask, his lashes fluttering, and Derek snorts as he takes a final drag of his cigarette before crushing it on the pavement, glancing up from under his brows as he blows the last of his smoke away.

“We’ll see what I can do,” Derek says, not making any promises, knowing well enough that disappointing Stiles is the last thing he ever wants to do. Stiles’ lips twitch, smug as if he knows this. Really, Derek’s been meaning to, anyway.

“I’m gonna go home, I’ve seen enough,” Stiles says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Alright, baby,” Derek says with an amused smile. “What else are you up to today?”

“I’ll probably wander through Central Park while it’s still dark and ride a bike around during morning rush hour.”

Derek blinks deliberately, unamused.

“You know how to get home?” Derek asks, knowing perfectly well Stiles knows how to navigate the city. He does not like the idea of Stiles wandering around by himself so late but there’s not much he can do about it—it’s one of the biggest draws of living in the city.  

Stiles sighs as he rolls his eyes.

“Yes, daddy, I’ve got the Transit app,” he says, exasperated, leaning in to seal their lips together. He tastes buttery and sweet like his coffee.

“Alright, be safe,” Derek reminds him, pressing their lips together one last time. He still can’t believe he’s here, reluctant now more than ever to let him part.

“I will,” Stiles says, getting the final kiss in, as if it’s a competition to see who can get the last one in before he leaves. Derek watches him go with a smile, and Stiles peeks over his shoulder with the ‘I love you’ sign up. Derek sends it right back before he disappears around the corner.

—

Within a few weeks, they have fashioned their modest one-bedroom apartment into a home that more or less portrays who’s living here. It’s minimal, but they can add more to it as they settle in, and they’re happy with how it’s turning out so far.

The only new items they’ve purchased are the area rugs and their new mattress—everything else was thrifted or given to them thanks to Boyd and Erica getting rid of a few things, though Derek suspects they only got new items to give away the old ones that work as well as the day they were first acquired. There’s no way the coffee machine or the microwave needed replacing, but Derek doesn’t point that out. Boyd knows him well enough by now to recognize Derek wouldn’t feel comfortable accepting brand-new items.

Stiles created a registry with one item—a large and very expensive TV—before sending the link to Peter, and Peter reminded Derek he could make his own list, too, if he wanted to. Really, he has everything he needs.

They’ve got the afternoon to themselves, but Derek is tired from working the bar last night instead of sleeping with Stiles like he usually would, so now he’s trying not to fall asleep as a movie plays on their giant TV and Stiles’ fingers brush through his hair.

“If you’re tired, you should sleep, daddy,” Stiles tells him softly, fingertips scratching at Derek’s scalp.

“Then I won’t be able to sleep tonight,” Derek murmurs, blinking his eyes back open and focusing on the television.

“I’ll lay down with you,” Stiles offers. “Come on, just a nap won’t hurt,” Stiles says, and Derek knows he won’t stop so he just goes with it, letting Stiles drag him into the bedroom before they fall into bed.

“I wish you didn’t have to work so much,” Stiles says with a doleful sigh, his fingers in Derek’s hair once again. Derek is on his stomach, clutching a pillow under his head, and Stiles is pressed against him, arm resting between Derek’s shoulders.

“I like working,” Derek says. He prefers baking over bartending any day, but bartending is where the money is at and he’d be insane to let that job go. Erica probably wouldn’t let him, anyway. According to her, sales have gone up since he started working there.

“Imagine that,” Stiles says, his tone sardonic but in a fond way. He steadily strokes his fingers through Derek’s hair, over his ear and to the back of his skull before he sends them back to Derek’s temple.

Derek’s lips twitch, his breath slowing as Stiles’ ministrations send him to sleep. He’s already on the verge of it when Stiles kisses his forehead, letting his lips linger.

“One day, I’m going to take care of you,” he murmurs.

Derek hums a soft acknowledgement and falls asleep.

When he wakes, the sun is setting, and Stiles’ side is empty. He rubs his eyes and checks his watch, yawning as he pulls himself out of bed and creeps down the hall into the soft-lit living area.

One of Stiles’ video games is paused on the television while he stands at the stove and stirs, steam rising from a boiling pot, the bubbling sauce splattering tomato everywhere. Derek’s brows go up as he approaches, and Stiles turns to him a bit hysterically, skin flushed with a minor pout.

“I tried to make Bolognese,” he says woefully, and Derek can’t help the twitch of his lips or the half-amused laugh that huffs through his nose.

“Aw, baby, I’m sure it’ll turn out fine,” Derek says, wrapping himself around Stiles and kissing the tense muscles at his shoulder. He may have spoken too soon. The Bolognese doesn’t look terrible, but there’s a burnt acidity in the air, and Derek is pretty sure the noodles are way passed al dente. He reaches to turn down the heat on the sauce and turns off the element under the boiling pot.

“I’m a terrible house boyfriend,” Stiles whines, and Derek smirks as he shifts to let his hand rest on the small of Stiles’ back, taking the wooden spoon from Stiles and stirring the thick sauce that is most definitely burnt and wholly inedible.

“Well, that’s because you’re not a house boyfriend,” Derek says easily, setting the spoon down, and Stiles frowns, blinking dejectedly.

“If you’re working most of the time while I’m at home, that makes me the house spouse by default,” Stiles explains as Derek turns off the element entirely and spins Stiles to face him. He slouches in, his pout persisting as he blinks his wide eyes up at Derek. “I’m a terrible cook. I can hardly pour cereal.”

Derek laughs and lets his hands fall to Stiles’ biceps, squeezing affectionately. “Cooking is a skill you have to improve over time like any other. It’s really just mastering temperature.”

Stiles blinks like he hadn’t considered that, his expression still mournful over the loss of food and effort and time he put into the meal they won’t have the pleasure of eating.

It’s the thought that counts. He really gave it a valiant effort, on a Bolognese sauce no less. He could have just gone for a simple spaghetti sauce, but he had to one up himself and ended up disappointed. It happens.

Stiles sighs and leans into him, his forehead resting at Derek’s collarbone as his arms wrap around Derek’s waist. Derek envelops him in a hug, arms going around Stiles’ shoulders as he kisses the top of Stiles’ head.

“I’ll help you, baby, don’t worry. We’ll make you the best house boyfriend yet.”

Derek never had this expectation of him, perfectly content to split the house responsibilities like he always has, but Stiles does indeed have a point—since he’s the one who spends most of his time at home in between the few pupils he’s managed to collect, it makes the most sense for him to keep up with the domestic duties. He just doesn’t exactly know how yet, but Derek is confident he’ll get there.

Stiles hums out a pathetic whine, and Derek squeezes around his shoulders, his amused smile lingering.

“How about some ramen?”

“Okay,” Stiles says, his tone still doleful.

“I’ll get this cleaned up, why don’t you go sit?” Derek says, loosening his grip with a final kiss to his head. Stiles pops up, his head shaking.

“No, I’ll do it. I can at least microwave ramen.”

Derek eyes him, glancing over at the mess and back again. He isn’t entirely convinced Stiles will do that great a job cleaning the wild tomato sauce from the backsplash and cabinets it’s managed to reach, but Stiles is adamant on shoving Derek out of the kitchen while he does his best.

They eat on the couch with a movie playing and the sky darkening, and later Derek goes into the kitchen to clean up any remaining mess. Stiles didn’t do that bad of a job, but Derek will have to remind him to clean the places often overlooked as he wipes off the backsplash and soaks the drip trays in hot soapy water.

Stiles plays his game and fights sleep, his meds having worn off from the night before. They’d usually be in bed by now, but he’s staying up to spend their time together that was stolen by Derek’s nap earlier. It seems it’s always one or the other playing catch up, and Derek hates that he’s the reason Stiles is so tired.

Derek dries his hands on the towel hanging off the oven handle before he takes his spot next to Stiles, and Stiles pauses his game before he switches back to the movie they had on.

“Come here, baby,” Derek says, spreading his legs as he sinks into the cloud couch. Stiles initially tucks under his arm, until Derek pulls him directly into the V of his parted thighs as Stiles’ legs hang over Derek’s lap. One of Stiles’ arms hooks beneath Derek’s, squished between his back and the couch, and the other wraps around Derek’s neck. Derek’s hands slip under his shirt to steal his warmth as he hugs him close and buries his face into Stiles’ neck.

“You did a good job. Have I told you how proud of you I am?” Derek says, kissing his collarbone. Stiles’ fingers comb through Derek’s hair at the back of his skull.

“I don’t know, tell me,” Stiles says melodramatically, and Derek huffs through his nose and brushes his hand up Stiles’ side.

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” Derek says lowly, latching to the creamy skin taut over Stiles’ neck as he swipes a thumb over a nipple. Stiles sucks in a short breath, swallowing as he relaxes and lets Derek caress him.

“You’ve already done so much since you’ve been here,” Derek continues, brushing his bearded cheek along Stiles’ neck as he thumbs over Stiles’ nipple again. He really has—he did his best to find a job until he decided to tutor, and then he made his own webpage and fliers and posted them around the city and got his first client within a week.

Stiles shivers and squirms in Derek’s lap, shifting to capture Derek’s lips in a kiss.

It’s not frantic like so many of their past kisses have been, but full of desire, all tender and teasing, like he knows they have the time with the full intent to soak up and stretch out every last salacious bit of it. Derek lets him set the pace, happy to taste him and revel in the kiss as he grazes the hair beneath Stiles’ navel. His abdomen trembles the lighter Derek makes his touch, and Derek hardly brushes his fingertips over the trail at all when Stiles shudders and breaks away to suck in a deep breath.

Derek opens his eyes to admire his lush lips, Stiles’ heady gaze holding Derek in place as he blinks and breathes heavily. Derek watches his face, his shiny parted lips and his flushed cheeks, their movie playing in the background as he slips his hand under the elastic band and palms over his hardening length, fingertips fondling the velvety skin over his balls.

“Oh,” Stiles gasps, their foreheads pressing, noses brushing as Derek rubs his palm up and down over Stiles’ cock, pressing his testicles inside of him.

“Feel good, baby?” Derek asks softly, leaning in to bite at his irresistible bottom lip.

“Yeah, daddy,” he breathes out, voice cracking as his legs spread out and he presses into Derek’s hand.

Between Derek’s legs, Stiles is soft and warm and malleable, leaning into every touch with encouraging little noises and eager squeezes, and Derek wonders if the euphoria of having Stiles here with him will ever wear off. He still can’t believe it sometimes, pressing firm into his flesh just to make sure this is real and he’s not dreaming. The stroke of Stiles’ greedy tongue against his own, the pretty noises that Derek replayed over and over every time he got off by himself, his wild hands wandering wherever they can reach as he leans into every graze feels so surreal that Derek still has to wonder.

“I love how hard you get for me, baby,” Derek says, pulling his already leaking cock free. “Such a good boy for daddy.”

Stiles sucks in a shuddering breath, still as much of a slut for praise as Derek is one doling it out, and Derek fists his cockhead and wriggles his thumb over the sensitive frenulum. Stiles whimpers, just a small, broken hum from the back of his throat, and bucks into Derek’s hand, his face pressed into Derek’s neck. Derek holds him upright, cupping under his rib cage as his other hand drags out long strokes over Stiles’ fat cock.  

Squeezing the tip, Derek pulls his hand away, and Stiles fidgets in his lap as Derek shoves his sweatpants the rest of the way off. He licks three fingers before reaching to stroke them over Stiles’ hole, and Stiles shivers as the muscles flutter under Derek’s touch.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, clutching to Derek’s shirt now. Derek rocks the pad of his finger over the puckered skin, and the tight ring of muscle goes wild. “Daddy,” he whines, burrowing into Derek’s neck.

“Yeah, baby?” Derek asks unassumingly, stroking his finger over the sensitive skin.

“I want your fingers,” he says, the pout heard in his tone as he wriggles his hips to feel more.

Inclined to give Stiles whatever he asks for, Derek pulls his fingers back and presses them into Stiles’ mouth, and he wastes no time coating them in his spit as Derek admires his plush lips and half-lidded gaze.  

Derek strokes over his tongue before pressing down, and Stiles opens his mouth and licks his lips as Derek’s fingers go right back to teasing over his hole. He slips a finger into the tight heat, and Stiles chokes on a gasp, the ring clenching. Stiles seeks out his mouth again, sealing their lips together in a more frantic kiss as Derek strokes inside of him, his pace lazy and just on the side of slow that always drives Stiles a bit mad.

Another finger sinks into his soft heat, the muscles clenching once Derek brushes over the gland inside of him, and Derek is always in such awe the way Stiles opens up for him, laying himself bare, offering himself for the taking.

Their lips smack when Stiles breaks the kiss with a low moan, already panting.

“You’re so soft right here, baby boy,” Derek tells him, his pace achingly consistent, and Stiles is left speechless as Derek presses more intentionally on the gland, speeding up his rhythm. “You love daddy’s fingers filling you, baby?”

Stiles chokes on a gasp as Derek fucks into him, his legs spreading over the couch, his back curving as he pushes down over Derek’s fingers.

“Y—yes,” Stiles gasps out, his face pressed against Derek’s neck once again, voice a strangled mess. His dick bounces each time Derek thrusts his fingers back into him, the head flushed and leaking. “Please, daddy, more,” Stiles begs, and Derek obliges, pressing his palm over Stiles’ balls as he fits a third finger in the pulsating warmth.

“That’s daddy’s good boy,” Derek reminds him, lips pressed at his hairline as Stiles falls apart in his lap. He whimpers and writhes, fisting Derek’s shirt, helpless to move much in his current position tucked between Derek’s legs, but there’s really no need to. Derek knows Stiles is right where he wants to be.

“Are you gonna come on daddy’s fingers, angel?” Derek asks, and Stiles squeaks out a broken hum in response, incapable of coherent words the closer he gets. Derek leans back into the cushion and cradles him, watching his blushed face, his furrowed brows and his half-lidded gaze, and Stiles nods compliantly, panting.

“Show me,” Derek says, and the words have barely left his lips when Stiles is spilling, his lashes fluttering as he clenches around Derek’s fingers with a low moan.

“Such a good boy, daddy’s good boy, there you go, baby, just like that,” Derek says lowly, persistent in his endeavor to drag out his orgasm as long as he can. Stiles’ breath hitches as he holds Derek’s gaze and his semen drools out in lazy fat globs, cock twitching.

Stiles melts against him, panting as he comes down. Derek gives him plenty of time, kissing his forehead, rubbing up and down his side with his free hand. He slowly pulls his fingers out, missing the snug heat, and wipes them on the inside of Stiles’ thigh, happy to stroke the hair there.

“You’re so good to me, daddy,” Stiles tells him with a dreamy sigh, his arms wrapped around Derek’s waist, head resting at Derek’s shoulder. “I love you so much.”

Derek’s lips twitch as he squeezes at the inside of Stiles’ thigh.

“I love you too, baby boy,” Derek says softly, thumbing over the notches of his vertebrae.

Derek is hard, as always when he gets Stiles off, but he’s sated nonetheless, tucking Stiles against him and squeezing him tight, his body lax in Derek’s arms. Usually Stiles would attempt to return the favor, but he’s so tired he ends up falling asleep like that, tuckered out after coming and holding off on bedtime.

Derek uses his shirt to wipe Stiles clean, tugging the blanket off the back of the couch and over his bare legs. He watches reruns with the volume on low, fingers mindlessly stroking through the hair over Stiles’ creamy thighs until it’s time for him to get ready for work.

Derek hates waking him, but he’s given no choice, pinned to the couch beneath his weight. He’s a lot heavier than he was a few years ago, his muscles denser now that he’s grown into himself. Derek admires his lashes resting over his cheek before reluctantly kissing him awake, starting at the corner of his mouth with soft little pecks before fully placing his lips over Stiles’. He brushes their noses together, and rubs gently at his sides, and burrows into his hair with more soft kisses as he inhales his spice and squeezes him close, until finally Stiles stirs awake with a quiet inhale and a weak stretch.

“Don’t want you to go,” Stiles mumbles tiredly.

“I know, baby,” Derek offers, his tone doting and sympathetic. Stiles showers with him and follows him out to the living room once Derek has gotten dressed.

“Can you bring a loaf of sourdough home?” Stiles asks, rubbing his eyes as he lingers at the doorway and watches Derek pull on his jacket, the early May nights still chilly enough to warrant it.

“Yeah, baby. You want anything else?” Derek asks, leaning in to steal a kiss and meet his gaze once he pulls back.

“Just you,” Stiles says with a lazy smile.

Derek kisses him for too long and only ends up a few minutes late to work.

—

In the last two years, Eli has visited twice. The first time was during the first spring break that occurred since Derek had left. Isaac was out of town with a beau, so they had the studio to themselves, and Derek still had to work so Eli spent a lot of time exploring or lingering nearby while Derek worked.

The last time was eight months ago for his birthday, and Peter came along with him and paid for a hotel et all for the week. That was the first real vacation Derek had since he moved to New York.

“I was thinking maybe I could come back with you after graduation,” Eli says, stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth as he watches Derek through the tiny screen.

Derek purses his lips and looks to the side where Stiles is seated on a stool at the kitchen counter pretending to mind his own business as he fucks around on his laptop. He glances over, his eyebrows raised.

“Sure, we can talk about that when I’m there,” Derek says, hoping that’s enough to table the conversation for now.

Through many discussions, they decided it’s best to just tell Derek’s family upfront, and graduation, unfortunately, is the most convenient time. Inevitably, they’ll find out, so they may as well get it over and done with while they’re all gathered.

“Well, I was kind of thinking since Stiles is there too, maybe I could stay for the summer,” Eli says through a mouthful. Derek’s started to sweat, his heartrate increasing as he brushes his hair back.

While he doesn’t want to lie, he doesn’t have much of a choice without coming clean.

“You’re always welcome to stay with me, kid,” Derek tells him, swiping a hand over his mouth, and this is true. They got a couch with a fold out mattress specifically for him, despite not knowing if he’ll ever actually use it. “There are some things that we’ll have to discuss before then, but we can talk more at graduation,” Derek insists.

“Okay,” he says, stuffing another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Can you send me your new address? Mom keeps asking,” Eli says, wiping his mouth.

“Yeah, I’ll text it to you.”

“‘Kay,” he says, walking through the house. “Have you seen Stiles yet?”

“I have,” Derek says. He’s looking at him right now. “How’s Liam doing?” Derek asks, changing the subject.

“You did? What’d you guys do?” Eli asks, forgetting the second part.

“He came to visit me at the bakery,” Derek tells him, which is technically not a lie. Stiles visits him often, usually at the tail end of his shifts so they can go home together. “I take it Liam is fine, then.”

“Yeah. He’s been stressed about finals so I haven’t seen him as much,” Eli says with a sigh. “It’s honestly so boring here without Stiles. I really miss him.”

Derek’s mouth pinches in a solemn half-smile, and across from him Stiles lets his lip jut out as he frowns and blinks heartily. “I’m sure he misses you too, kid. How about you, are you prepared for your finals?”

“I guess,” he says with another despondent sigh. “I can’t wait to be done with school forever. Literally never going back there again.”

“You’ll do just fine, Eli, I know you will,” Derek tells him, wishing he could offer some other kind of advice that would ensure successfully completing high school. Derek is worried that he won’t pass all his classes, but he’s not going to let Eli know that.

“It’s gonna take a miracle,” Eli says woefully.

“You’ve gotten this far, haven’t you? Just do your best and you’ll be fine,” Derek says, insisting.

“Well, I had Stiles that whole time,” Eli says, his lips twitching into a frown.

“You still do, E.”

“I guess,” Eli sighs melodramatically, brushing it off as he walks upstairs to his room. “What day are you getting here again?”

“Next Wednesday evening,” Derek answers. “I’ll be staying with Peter.”

“Hey, Stiles is coming that day, too. Maybe you guys are on the same flight,” Eli says, pleased to point out the coincidence.

“Maybe,” Derek offers, his tone indifferent. “I’ll be there for a few days.”

“Okay,” Eli says, his tone detached. He’s not paying attention anymore, his eyes pointing somewhere off screen. “I’m gonna call Stiles, I’ll talk to you later dad.”

“Alright,” Derek says, glancing over at the boy in question. They sign off and Derek hangs up, and Stiles kisses him on his way to the other room before he answers the call.

Derek sinks into the couch with a sigh. He’s so tired of lying.

As much as he wants to come clean, Derek has a feeling once they share their news, Eli won’t want anything to do with them. He can’t decide what’s more painful—lying to his son, hiding who he is, or losing him forever. Either thought has his throat tightening and his heart sinking. He tries not to linger on it too much.

—

The graduation ceremony drags as ceremonies tend to, but then every Hale and Stilinski alive in town congregates to his parents’ backyard as the sun sets and a pop playlist plays under the tea lights. There are tables of food and drink, adults talking in groups and sitting around tables, a few kids running through them. By the tree further out in the yard, Stiles catches up with Lydia and Scott with Eli and Liam by his side, while Derek sips his beer on the deck and glances around with a hand in his pocket.

The Sheriff has avoided him all day, sitting off by Paige and the Hales at the ceremony. Derek was not welcome inside while Stiles picked up a few things from his room before Derek dropped him off at the school, and now, in the giant Hale backyard, he stays about ten yards away from him at any given moment. He truly wants nothing to do with Derek, and honestly, Derek is fine with that. Stiles is not.

His parents hug him and tell him how happy he looks, Talia kissing his cheek as she pulls away to take a more intentional look at him. She’s got more grays than her dark hair now, and deeper smile lines, but she’s healthy and thriving and dragging her husband along with her whether he likes it or not.

“We’re so proud of you, honey,” Talia says, and Derek’s heart clenches, knowing how devastated his whole family will soon be. Part of him wonders if they should just wait, or never say anything at all, and just live their lives in New York and let them figure it out for themselves.

But that still feels like lying, and Derek is tired of lying. He’s tired of hiding and pretending and fighting an ever-losing battle of staying away from Stiles in front of family when he’d rather be glued to his side. He has to tell them, because he loves them, and he loves Stiles and he can’t keep this a secret anymore when he wants the whole fucking world to know, anyway. Derek has waited too long to have Stiles by his side, and he’s ready to exist alongside Stiles in front of everyone, including his family. Especially his family, if they’ll allow it.

They knew this day would come, and it’s finally here, and by the end of the night they’ll be walking away hand-in-hand, and that’ll be that. He doesn’t really want to think of what will follow.

“Thanks, mom,” Derek tells her, scratching at his beard with a modest smile. He looks over to his dad. “You staying out of trouble?”

“Why, did someone say something?” he says, and Derek huffs a laugh and shakes his head, more appreciative of his dad humor than ever before.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Cora asks as she approaches, cocktail in her hand and Laura at her side. He’s honestly surprised Cora is even speaking to him—the last thing she said to him was in a voice message. He apologized in an email since she blocked him, but she never responded.

“Hey,” he says sheepishly, a hand in his pocket. Laura pulls him into a crushing hug, her chin hooking over his shoulder as his arm goes around her waist. She supported him from the start, and if any resentment was still lingering between them, it’s gone once she squeezes him close.

“I missed you, fucker,” she says, and Derek pats her back with a remorseful smile. “You didn’t have to disappear to glow up, you know.”

“Missed you too, Laur,” he says as she pulls away.

Cora eyes him apprehensively, her lips pursed. “That was really shitty, dipping out like that. You just… fucking left.”

Derek knows, and he can’t really do anything about it. It’s been done, and if it had been an option for him, he easily would have stayed in town until it was time for them to leave.

“Yeah,” he says, at least offering her the decency of acknowledging it. “I’m sorry.”

She mulls this over, scanning him up and down in appraisal before sipping her drink.

“Clearly it worked, so I can’t say I blame you,” she finally says, her eyes alight. Derek has a feeling she forgave him a while ago, but she’s not the kind to admit that or even reach out first after setting a grudge.

There’s no way she’ll ever talk to him again after tonight. A piece of his heart breaks off at the thought.

“Yeah, Der, you’re like, glowing. Are you in love or something?” Laura asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Thanks,” Derek says modestly, flushing as he clears his throat. “Yes, actually.”

Laura flips, her grin terrifying as she grips his arm and bounces excitedly. Cora’s brows go up in questioning surprise.

“Say more,” Cora says, and Derek laughs a bit nervously as he sips at his beer and looks around for Stiles.

“I will, later. I’m waiting for the right time,” Derek says, hoping that’ll be enough, but it never is with these two.

“Now’s as right as ever. Who is she?” Cora demands, a hopeful smile finally breaking her lips as she leans in closer, waiting.

“He,” Derek corrects her with a half-smile. “I will,” he insists. “Later.” He doesn’t want to cloud their special day, but she’s right. There’s no better time than now.

Their faces say it all—shock at first, and then understanding as if it all makes sense now.

Derek is grateful when Paige approaches them tentatively, glancing between the three siblings before her eyes settle on Derek. His sisters give him an apprehensive but empathetic glance, and then they slip away to wherever his parents crept off to, likely on their way to spread the news.

Derek clears his throat with a polite smile. He has not seen her since the day he left, but they have since talked to sort and separate their lives while sharing Eli. It was a lot more difficult for her at first, but eventually they settled into a coparenting relationship like what they had before he left, just long-distance. He has a feeling whatever bridge has been built between them is about to collapse.

“Hey,” he says, wishing he had a cigarette. She looks nice, in a long flowing skirt and a tight cami, always one of Derek’s favorite outfits on her. She brushes her hair over her shoulder with a careful smile.

“It’s good to see you,” she says, her eyes dropping down and back up to his face. “You look great.”

“Thank you. You do, too,” he says. Eli told him she met someone, but Derek could have guessed just by the way she’s radiating. He wonders where he is, glancing around curiously.

“He’s not here,” Paige tells him with a knowing smile, her arms crossing over her middle. “Meeting the whole family at once is intimidating.”

Derek nods, understanding entirely. There are cousins here he hasn’t seen since his own graduation.

“How’s life? Are you seeing anyone?” she asks, eyebrows raising. Derek can tell she’s asking because she genuinely cares, not just to sate her ex-wife curiosity. His lips press in a careful smile.

“Yeah, actually,” he says, sipping his beer and licking his lips. “He’s around here somewhere,” he says, searching. None of the graduates are visible, and Derek can guess what they might be up to on their last night together before everyone goes off to do begin their life.

“‘He’, huh?” Paige says, her lips slanted. Derek colors a bit with a shrug, and she taps his arm gently as if brushing it off. “I had a feeling.”

Knowing they could have ended up here had Derek done the right thing and divorced her sooner only makes their new coexistence even more bittersweet. She’ll probably never talk to him like this again, or at all, and she has every right.

He wasted a chunk of their lives because he was too paralyzed in his fear to do anything about it. Change was something that happened to other people, not him. It seemed impossible, and looking back now, he can’t even say why. What’s worse is he cheated on her instead of ending it as he should have years before Stiles even came along.

Maybe she doesn’t have to know that part ever, but the pieces will all add up in one way or another. The truth has an inevitable way of revealing itself, and Derek is ready to lay everything bare. He’s tired of carrying it around with him.

“Should we find our son and have our photo taken?” Paige asks, and Derek nods, finishing off the rest of his beer before tossing it in one of the bins.

The party goes on for a couple more hours, and Derek manages to slip away by himself to stroll around the neighborhood he grew up in as he smokes a cigarette and attempts to quell his anxiety. He knows he shouldn’t be smoking, but he stopped and bought a pack after he dropped Stiles off. A day like today warrants such proclivities.

He’s hoping Stiles won’t catch him, which of course only ensures the boy on the skateboard plowing toward him is none other than the devil himself.

“Hey, big guy,” Stiles says with a faded grin, coming to a slow drift before kicking his board up. He catches it at his hip and gracefully stumbles into a walk that lands him directly in front of Derek.

“Hey,” Derek says, lips curling carefully as he brings the cigarette to his mouth. Stiles is all sweaty, beaming and panting after returning from Lydia’s house just down the street. He glances at the cigarette and back with a raised brow before he holds two fingers out expectantly, black polish adorning his nails. Derek loves it, naturally—the grungy emo look always suited Stiles quite well.

“Uh, no?” Derek says with an incredulous look. He takes another puff and blows his smoke away as he holds eye contact, brows wild.

“It’s graduation day,” Stiles says, like that should excuse it, his lashes fluttering innocuously as he blinks with wide eyes.

“You graduated last semester,” Derek reminds him, and Stiles huffs before he manages to pluck the cigarette from Derek’s fingers and bring it to his lips as he swiftly backs away with a triumphant smile. He inhales, and the way he holds the cigarette tells Derek he’s done this a few times before already. Derek sighs.

“I’ll only smoke when you do,” Stiles says with a righteous smirk. Derek purses his lips before starting up his stride again after standing too long in front of a neighbor’s house. They walk the block as Stiles passes back the cigarette.

“Where’s Eli?”

“With Liam,” Stiles says, their hands brushing as they walk. “He said he'd be back for your announcement.”

Derek nods, puffing on the cigarette. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure everyone is anxiously waiting."

The reality of it sets in, his stomach lurching. His legs start to feel heavy the closer they get to the house.

“Why's that?” Stiles asks, making the gesture for the cigarette again, and Derek eyes him before taking a final puff and crushing it under his shoe. Stiles huffs and shoves him playfully.

“I think they could tell,” Derek says, lips twitching. “Laura asked if I’m in love.”

Stiles laughs. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Paige had a feeling too,” Derek says, his tone a bit detached. “They know I’m seeing a guy.”

“Oh, so they’re sat waiting,” Stiles says, the corners of his lips tugging up. For someone about to admit they’ve been lying about an illegal relationship for two years, he’s sure in a decent mood.

Derek nods, glancing over. “How’s your dad?”

Stiles shrugs, skateboard clutched at his hip. “Happy to see me and pretend you don’t exist. He won’t be there.”

A terse smile presses Derek’s lips. “Sounds about right.”

Derek can’t imagine why the Sheriff would want to be here for this. He’s been an accomplice the whole time, whether he’s against their relationship or not—of course his side is nuanced, but that might be difficult for the Hales to come to terms with, him being a man of the law and all.

They’re just about to reach the edge of the driveway when he stops and grabs Stiles’ hand, waiting for Stiles to meet his gaze. Stiles watches him patiently, eyes searching, hand squeezing.

It’ll never be like this again. There is no more safety in their secret, and no point in keeping it anyway. Stiles deserves better than that.

“You ready?” Stiles asks, brows raised.

Derek kisses him, his heart thudding against his sternum. Stiles’ hand comes up to his face, and his lips return the kiss, steady and strong. He tastes like weed and Derek’s cigarettes. Derek’s anxiety briefly subsides.

“As I’ll ever be,” Derek says when they pull apart, letting their foreheads press together as he stretches out the long moment before the inevitable. He’ll never be ready but he’s not giving himself a choice in the matter. It’s time to face the music.

They approach the wooden gate together, the chattering of voices and the music growing louder. He lets Stiles in first, following behind him. He feels a few eyes turn to him when he enters, and every step feels like he’s walking through sand as they climb the deck stairs.

“Come sit, Der,” Laura urges, gesturing him to come over to the chair that’s open by her around the table big enough to seat the core Hales.

“Actually, I should probably stand,” Derek says, swallowing. His blood is pumping so fast he’s certain he’s vibrating, and Stiles is still standing beside him as Derek stares around the table and inventories every face of his family into his memory as tears start to prickle in his eyes. He blinks them away rapidly, looking down for a quick reprieve as he swallows carefully.

He’s so terrified he’ll never get to see them again, after he already went too long without them. He really missed them, and now he’s about to fuck it up all over again.

He looks back up, sucking in a sharp breath as he opens his mouth to speak, and then… nothing. His palms sweat, and his heart beats in his ears.

He just stares. At his parents, at his sisters, at Paige, and Eli all waiting to hear with bated breath what this anticipated announcement is. Peter and Isaac sit quietly, their presence a fraction of a boon as he recalls when they came out to their family, too. It was messy and there were judgements and disappointed looks, but the thing about their relationship is it was half-expected. Peter’s appetite for young men had been well-known for years before, and while it was frowned upon, eventually the storm cleared, and they got over it.

This is the last thing the Hales would expect from Derek. He can’t imagine they’d be as understanding, especially when the young man in question is the son of a Sheriff.

His mouth is dry and his forehead is sweaty, and Derek’s mouth opens but he can’t force one word out.

Stiles steps in beside him, his hand reaching out to grasp Derek’s palm within his own, and Derek, hoping that’s explanation enough, turns to his family with an affirming nod as he squeezes Stiles’ hand.

Silence. They glance around at each other with furrowed brows, checking to see if this is happening, if this is what they think it is, and then eventually all eyes land on them again as they all start piping up to ask questions.

“Derek, what…” Talia glances between them, her expression quickly switching to bereft as the stark realization falls over her.

Derek clears his throat and swallows. His skin is hot, and his throat is tight, and he’s never been very verbose, but he has to say something.

He just says what he feels.

“I’m in love with Stiles,” he says above all the chatter, and then he turns to hold Stiles’ face, searching his eyes before he leans in and seals their lips. Actions speak louder than words, as they say.

Immediately, Stiles’ lips move over his, and his hands clasp at Derek’s shirt and pull him in as he returns the kiss in earnest. They pull apart, and for a sliver of a second nothing exists outside of them again.

“And I’m in love with Derek,” Stiles announces as they hold gazes. He’s flushed and scared, but his lips curl like he’s proud to declare it.

Everyone’s eyes are on them, their gasps and judgements filling the stale air. Laura says oh my god, and Cora says what the actual fuck. His dad looks so confused, and his mother looks torn, and Eli looks so betrayed, his head shaking as his brows pinch in and his mouth gapes open in shock like he can’t comprehend what’s happening despite the substantiated evidence laid before him.

“Is this a fucking joke, Derek?” Cora asks, her voice unsteady like she already knows the answer. He blinks and swallows and shakes his head slowly.

“How long?” Paige asks, her face unreadable as she listens intently for Derek’s response.

He swallows, sweat sprouting over his skin. He won’t lie—he can’t lie anymore. He’s done lying, and she deserves to know.

“Since he was sixteen,” Derek admits solemnly, and another round of gasps and interjections take place in a susurrus surrounding them.

As shameful as he feels, he’s just as relieved.

They finally know, and it’s not a secret anymore, and some delusional part of him hopes that the agonizing admission is penance enough, but he knows he doesn’t deserve it that easy.

“That’s why you left,” Cora accuses, her tone in disbelief as if she’s realizing this in real time. “You got caught, didn’t you?” she asks, her gaze sharp, brows arched fiercely.

Derek licks his lips with a curt nod, his grip steadfast over Stiles’ hand. Stiles grips just as tightly.

“Who?” she asks, and Derek shakes his head, his jaw taut. He’ll let the Sheriff keep his peace, since he kept theirs for so long, but Stiles has other plans.

“My dad,” Stiles answers instead. “And before you judge him, just know that I didn’t give him much of a choice.” His voice is a lot stronger than Derek feels in this moment.

Another wave of disappointed chattering rings through the backyard, and when Derek glances at Eli again, he’s not even staring at Derek—his gaze is set on Stiles, a mix of hurt and betrayal pinching his brows together. He glances to Derek, his jaw clenching.

Paige stands up first. Her face is red, from anger or holding back tears, Derek can’t tell. When she slaps him across his cheek, the sting is nearly gratifying. He knows he deserves it.

Eli follows, keeping his gaze turned away, and the procession inside begins when enough disbelieving looks have been exchanged, his family clearly done with the evening and Derek, too.

“Eli, wait—” Stiles starts, releasing Derek’s hand to follow him.

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” Eli snaps, quick to leave. Stiles halts where he stands, a frown pulling at his lips.

Laura hasn’t said a word, just given him that look not unlike their mother. Their expressions are somewhere between disappointed and confused, with a hint of sorrow, as if they actually pity him, though Derek knows it’s only because they feel bad for Paige and Eli.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, his voice cracking. He’s not sorry for loving Stiles by any means. He’s sorry for letting his family down, for changing the image they’ve built up of him in their heads.

He clears his throat and looks down, feeling like a damn kid, adrenaline still rushing through him, skin still hot from shame.

“I—I didn’t mean to, I just…” he doesn’t have an explanation, not one that could make this any better.

Derek’s father steps in front of him as the others spill off the deck and back inside, muttering amongst themselves, sending piercing glares as they depart. Out of all of them, he’s the only one who hasn’t voiced his disdain or dismay.

“It might be best to leave for now, son,” he says quietly, and Derek nods, understanding they’ll need time to process once they’ve set their judgements aside. Or perhaps they won’t, and the only family he’ll have from now on is Stiles and Peter and Isaac.

He can hardly look his father in the eye. His dad’s hands fall to each of their shoulders as he glances between the two with a woeful half-smile. Derek for the life of him can’t understand how out of all of them, his dad is the only one to show them any sort of compassion. He thought his father would be the most disappointed of them all.

Talia doesn’t even look at him as she lets herself inside, and Derek feels like crumbling into dust and percolating through the cracks of the wooden planks.

Back at Peter’s, drinks are poured the moment they enter the loft. Stiles makes a face when he takes the shot Peter poured for himself, and Derek pours another as the liquor burns his throat.

“Well, all things considered, I think that went quite well,” Isaac declares. He melts over the couch and sips his cocktail. His world fell apart much like this a few decades ago—it’s nothing new for him to experience it through his best friend all over again.

Neither Stiles nor Derek have said a word. They got in the car and drove to Peter’s in silence, processing their loved one’s reactions as they passed their old haunts they’ll likely never see again.

Peter cuffs a hand over Derek’s shoulder, jostling him fondly likes he’s just accomplished a rite of passage. It makes Derek feel nauseated.

“It’ll pass. It always does,” Peter says, and maybe he’s right, but Derek can still feel the sting of Paige’s warranted slap over his cheek, and he can’t get the series of contorted faces out from his mind, most of all Eli’s. Derek has never seen him look so hurt or disgusted. It’s hard to imagine Eli ever looking at him like he once did—with an amalgamation of pride and love and esteem and not one hint of dismay in his eyes.

As if Peter is reading his thoughts, he says again, his tone absolute, “It’ll pass.”

Upstairs, Derek sits at the edge of Peter’s guest bed, watching as Stiles changes out of his suit. Stiles approaches him, his fingers combing Derek’s hair back.

“Do you regret it?” Stiles asks carefully. He’s standing in his underwear, body language a bit standoffish. Derek shakes his head and pulls Stiles in between his legs, arms wrapping around his waist, forehead pressing against his sternum.

“No,” Derek admits, and despite the shame and sadness bubbling within him, he doesn’t feel as heavy as he did before they told the truth. The only regret he has is not saying something sooner. His thumb rests in the channel of Stiles’ spine at the small of his back, and Stiles bends down to kiss the top of Derek’s head as his fingers grip at his hair.

His heart is conflicted, light and heavy all at once, but he knows they did the right thing, and he knows Peter’s words are true. It’ll pass, eventually. Derek wonders just how long that will take.

—

The next day, Derek is on his old doorstep while Stiles visits with his father. He knows he is not wanted, and he knows nothing he says or does could ever make up for all the hurt he’s caused. But he also knows he can’t leave town without trying to smooth things over as best he can, and he can’t leave again without giving his son a proper goodbye the way he deserved when Derek left the first time.

He takes in a deep breath, his shoulders rising before he exhales and presses the doorbell.

Neither Eli or Paige answers the door—instead it’s Cora, her glare cutting when she meets Derek’s gaze.

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” she growls, slamming the door shut in his face. He manages to stick his foot in and stop it, and she keeps attempting to shove him back out, the door hitting the rubber of his shoes.

“This is still my house, Cora,” he grumbles, easily shoving past her as he lets himself in. Technically, it’s not in his name anymore, but he slaved away for it for fifteen years, and if he doesn’t force himself in, he’ll never get the chance to say goodbye.

“No it’s fucking not, get the fuck out,” she shrieks, punching his arm. It actually hurts, and he purses his lips and furrows his brows as he regards her.

“You done?” he asks. “I can’t leave town without saying goodbye to my son.”

“Why not? You’ve done it before. You should do it again and never fucking come back, you piece of shit,” she snarls, and that one hurts more than her punch did.

“You can be mad at me all you want,” Derek starts, rubbing his arm where a bruise will surely form. “I know what I did was fucked up, but the only thing I regret is not leaving her sooner.” That came out wrong, but he’s sure she gets the idea. He should have left her instead of cheating on her in the very least.

Cora pauses with a scoff, her head shaking incredulously. “Wow, you’re a real gentleman, aren’t you?”

Derek sighs, lips a tight line. Nothing he says will be right. It’s a wonder he even tries.

“You know what I mean, Cora. She deserves better than what I put her through,” Derek tries, eyeing her carefully.

“She deserves better than having a cheating pedophile for an ex-husband!”

“Yes,” Derek agrees, exasperated. Cora’s eyes narrow, her arms crossing as she glowers. It’s obvious she doesn’t have a rebuttal for that.

“Can I go talk to my son, please?” he asks, glancing over to the staircase.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I get that, but I’m not leaving until I do. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to see him again.”

A flash of empathy crosses over her expression before she schools her features back into the scowl she’s reserved just for him. With crossed arms and pinches lips, she turns away as if she’s pretending to not notice him while he lets himself further inside.

The same stairs creek as he climbs them. Across from him is their old bedroom, the door closed. To his right is his old office, now simply the guest room with an empty desk. To his left is Eli’s room, his door also closed. He approaches and knocks tentatively, holding his breath as he waits for an answer.

Eli opens the door, his expression souring as he immediately slams it shut in Derek’s face.

Derek sighs.

“E, listen,” Derek tries. He knows Paige will hear whatever he says behind her closed door, and he attempts to gather his thoughts to tread lightly.

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you,” Eli grumbles. Something thumps on the door, a lacrosse ball perhaps, and Derek jerks back at the noise.

“I know. I deserve that,” Derek says quietly. He presses his hand against the door. “I know nothing I say can make it right. I know I hurt you,” he says, pausing as he eyes the white door. There once was a sign here that said ‘Eli’s room – keep out. Except for Stiles’.

He decides to say what he feels. Because that worked out so well the last time.

“Everything I did—” he starts, his eyes closing as he presses his forehead against the door. “I tried not to fall in love with him, Eli, I truly did. Maybe that makes me weak, I don’t know. I’m not sorry for it anymore, because he means everything to me as much as you do and I can’t be sorry for loving him, but I am sorry for putting you through this. I thought I was doing what was best at the time, staying with your mom, trying to make it work for your sake. I shouldn’t have cheated on her.”

He's not sure where he’s going with this, just that Eli and Paige deserve some kind of explanation, no matter how lame and irredeemable he makes himself out to be. As he said, he knows nothing will fix the damage he’s caused, but he has to make a veritable attempt to smooth things over as best he can.

“I love you very much, Eli, with all my heart. I never wanted to leave you. I wish I had done things differently. You and your mother deserved that at the very least.” He pauses again, listening carefully. “I just want you to know I’ll always be here for you, if you ever decide to talk to me again.”

Derek waits. The house is completely silent, but he knows three sets of ears are listening to him. Tears sting at his eyes, and he waits, and waits, but nothing happens.

With a woeful sigh, Derek pulls back, letting his hand fall away. He looks to Paige’s door with a frown, and as a last-ditch attempt, he says, “I’m so sorry, Paige,” his voice resonating in the solemn hall.

Just as he begins descending the stairs, Eli’s door opens. Derek snaps back to see him, his blood pumping as the adrenaline spikes hope into his heart.

Derek barely gets a glimpse of his face before he throws a crumpled-up piece of paper and slams the door shut again. Reaching down, he unfolds it, only to realize it’s the letter he left nearly two years ago now, almost incomprehensible with the words ‘cheater pedophile’ written over them in black ink.

Derek’s heart breaks, tears clumping his lashes as he leaves this house for the last time.

Chapter Text

“So it’s everything you dreamt of?” Eli asks, passing back the joint as he blows smoke away. They lean against a weeping willow at a park within one of the cul-de-sacs of Derek’s childhood neighborhood, the clicking summer sounds humming around them within the tree’s limp embrace. He wonders if Derek ended up here a lot as a kid, if this tree was a secret place for him to hide, too.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Stiles says, his lips curling. He takes a hit and holds it while Eli does his best to temper his frown. Stiles huffs out smoke through his nose.

“You thought I would hate it and want to come back, didn’t you?”

Eli shrugs. “I guess. I don’t know, I’ve been thinking a lot and it’s not like there’s anything for me here.”

“Liam and your whole family are here, dude, what do you mean?”

“Not my whole family. Not my dad, or you,” he says as Stiles passes the joint back.

“So, you wanna come live in New York then?” Stiles asks, not so much an invitation as it is a clarifying question.

Stiles would love for Eli to be close to him again. He just can’t imagine Eli would want to be close to them once the day is over and their secret is out.

“Yeah, I was thinking of just coming back with my dad. Maybe he’ll let me crash on the couch and we could find a place together or something.”

“Or something,” Stiles says, watching Eli do a French inhale before blowing out blurry smoke rings. He’s always so good at that.

“Can I ask you something?” Stiles asks, chewing at his cheek.

Eli blinks over at him, face blank. “What?”

Stiles licks his lips. “What would you think if you saw an older man and an obvious teenager together?” Stiles is a legal adult now, but he’s still eighteen and he’ll look that way for a while.

Eli shrugs. “What, like the kind of relationship you’re into?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, joint between his two fingers as he inhales and watches him closely. 

“I don’t know, I thought you might grow out of it but now that you’re legal, you should do what you want.”

“Huh,” Stiles pauses, blinking lazily. “So… what if you saw your dad with an eighteen-year-old?”

Eli looks over at him, his brows furrowed. “You mean someone our age?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, remaining patient with him as he works through this unprecedented idea.

“It’d be weird. Why would he be into someone our age?”

Stiles chews at the skin on his lip and takes another hit before passing it back.

“Well, I’m into older guys, so older guys would have to be into me. Does that make me weird?”

“Well, no, but like… I don’t know. What does a 38-year-old man have in common with an 18-year-old?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Eli blinks, his brows furrowing as he hits the joint and blows the smoke out.

“Did you see my dad with an 18-year-old?” Eli asks, studying Stiles more closely. Somehow these series of questions haven’t connected any dots for him just yet, at least not in the way Stiles would assume. Or perhaps, subconsciously, he knows the truth but he’s unwilling to acknowledge it.

Stiles purses his lips, shaking his head as if shaking off the subject.

“No, dude. It’s… whatever, I was just curious what your thoughts might be once I start dating older men.”

“Okay…” Eli sucks on the joint, keeping a close eye on him.

“Let’s go to Lydia’s,” Stiles says, eager to move on as he nudges at Eli’s arm with the back of his hand. 

“I told Liam I’d meet him at his place,” Eli says, offering the final bit of the joint with raised brows. Stiles shakes his head and Eli crushes it out at the bottom of his shoe.

“Are you coming back to the party?”

“Yeah, my dad said he had an announcement. Are you?”

With a tentative smile, Stiles nods.

“Alright, dude, I’ll see you later,” says Eli, and they do their handshake perhaps for the last time before he’s skating away.

While Derek was gone, Stiles spent a lot of time with Lydia, cast to the wayside as Liam took up all Eli’s free time outside of lacrosse. He could have hung out with Scott more, but the longer Derek was away, the more Stiles just needed to be around people who knew his situation, where he didn’t have to hide his sadness. Peter came in handy for that, too, but Lydia he saw daily. 

“I can’t believe you chose Stanford over an actual Ivy League school,” Stiles laments as he paints his nails black, keeping his antsy hands occupied. Lydia had just finished painting hers when Stiles arrived, the bottle still out and calling his name.

He’s bitched about her school choice quite a lot, considering she got into every university she applied to with flying colors yet still chose to remain on the west coast for another four years. Likely less if she breezes through her baccalaureate as Stiles suspects she will.

“I’ll be at Harvard Law before we know it,” she says, immune to his guilt trips as she sits on her bed and idly flips through one of the many academic journals she’s subscribed to, nails drying.

“And I’ll be all by myself in a big city,” he says woefully, laying the guilt on thick as he paints sloppily, and she glances up at him with a dull stare, brows raised.

“If all by yourself means you and Derek’s ass,” she says, and Stiles cracks a smile, huffing through his nose. He missed her in his short time away, and he’ll miss her when he returns to New York. He loves Eli, and he loves Scott, but neither of them can keep up with Stiles the way Lydia can, Stiles occasionally having a hard time keeping up with her himself. Most people can’t meet her on her level, hence why Jordan is no longer in the picture, and she’s more attracted to women these days.

They lean against her headboard and watch an episode on her laptop as their nails dry, stretching out the time before he should get going.

“You sure you don’t want to go?” Stiles asks, chewing at his bottom lip as he clutches the truck of his skateboard pressed to his side and stands at her doorway. This board is on its last legs, the wheels Derek got him ages ago long past their renewal due date. He’s ridden them sparingly to extend their life, but he knew the day of their last procession ride would come long before he’d be ready to retire them for good.

“Quite sure,” she says, braiding her hair up before starting on her nighttime routine. “Break a leg.”

“Breakfast tomorrow?” Stiles asks, lingering now. He knows it’s time to head back, but then everything will change.

“Sure, if you’re still alive by then,” she says, rising out of her bed as she finishes braiding off the tail of her braid.

Lydia doesn’t think they should tell anyone, just let people figure it out and let them think it didn’t start until Stiles moved out there. Stiles would agree, but he can’t ask that of Derek when it’s clear he needs to come clean for his own sanity.

She offers him a hug before gracefully shoving him out into the unknown.

The closer he gets to Derek’s parent’s house, the less dreadful he feels, as if he’s come to accept the looming events because there’s not much he can do about it. It’s happening, and part of him looks forward to that oncoming relief, excited to hang off Derek’s arm in public without feeling like they’ll get caught. Even three thousand miles away, it still feels like they’re sneaking around.

The remaining tension drains from his shoulders when he realizes the brooding man he’s rolling towards is in fact his brooding man—smoking a forbidden cigarette as he pauses and smiles at Stiles like he’d been waiting for him this whole time.

—

After the confession, they loiter around Beacon Hills for a few more days, hoping to resolve as much as they can before they’re gone for good. Derek doesn’t want to skip town just yet—he says it feels like running away after dropping a bomb, and Stiles gets it.

They can re-lay the brick all they want, but the foundation of trust has been broken, and what they once had will never be what it was. But maybe with time, the seeds of what lie dormant beneath it all can sprout through the rubble, and something new can claim the ruins.

Stiles has a lot more hope than Eli is even capable of entertaining the thought.

Eli already blocked his number, and even Scott won’t help Stiles out. He was always so righteous, to the point of it being his downfall, but Stiles didn’t think he’d lose both friends.

He won’t answer the door, and Paige gives him an expression worthy of a Caravaggio. She doesn’t have to say a word for him to know he’s not welcome, but she does.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she says in a tone Stiles didn’t know she was capable of, and she slams the door in his face.

He can’t say he feels all that bad for her anymore—she’s a lot happier than what Stiles ever remembers her being when she was with Derek. The shame he once felt for sneaking around behind her back dissolved when she found a new person better suited for her, and she never would have found him if it weren’t for Derek finally leaving her. She was always in the way, and now she’s not.

Stiles knows he was an accomplice, but it doesn’t change how Derek didn’t want her even before their affair. She knew that and still chose to stay. He’ll act remorseful to her face, but it’s sort of moot at this point, anyway. He doesn’t care about reconciling with her, hoping for Eli to appear as he stares at the door for a long beat before inevitably skating away.

Inside the confines of the tiny skatepark they’ve consecrated with their sweat, blood, and tears since the tender age of eight, Stiles manages to corner Eli in, though Scott doesn’t make it easy.

“You need to leave,” Scott tells him, standing tall in front of Eli, and Stiles rolls his eyes, arms crossed over his chest.

“What, are you his little guard dog now, Scott?” Stiles snaps.

“I’m just being a good friend. Something you know nothing about.”

“Oh my fucking god dude, can you get the fuck out of here? You have nothing to fucking do with this.”

“You’re the one not welcome here,” Scott snaps back, and Eli steps up beside him and touches his arm, offering a short nod when Scott whips back for confirmation. Stiles side-eyes Scott as he walks away, finally meeting Eli’s gaze once he’s gone to a distant corner to watch their interaction from afar.

Eli’s beyond pissed. Stiles has never seen him so disgusted, so hurt, so angry.

“Eli—"

“You lied to me that whole fucking time. That whole time!”

Stiles’ lips press in a tight line.

“I’m sorry, man, I’m truly sorry. But what was I supposed to do?”

Eli gets a wild look, eyes fluttering in a series of incredulous blinks. “Um, how about don’t fuck my dad in the first fucking place!”

Stiles sucks in a breath, closing his eyes as he calibrates. Eli has every right to bitch him out, and he should. It’d be weird if he didn’t.

When he opens his eyes, Eli’s brows are pinched in, his gaze searching.

“Did he… did he force you to do this? Did he make you think you had to?” Eli asks, his tone shifting into something more concerned, and Stiles’ stomach lurches in repulsion.

“Eli, no,” Stiles says, quick to shut it down. “God, seriously? You know your dad, he would never do that. I was the one who came on to him. I really didn’t give him much of a choice.”

“Obviously I don’t know him if he’s attracted to his son’s best friend that he’s known since kindergarten!”

Stiles clenches his teeth. Eli shakes his head again, turning away with a taut jaw.

“He’s not a fucking pedophile, Eli, Jesus Christ, can you look at this objectively for five seconds? You’ve known I’ve had a crush on him since we were eleven.”

“That doesn’t mean you do anything about it! I had a crush on Mrs. Swanberg but you don’t see me holding hands with her walking down the street!” he snaps, eyes wide with rage. “What about me? Did you ever stop to think how this would make me feel?”

“Of course I did. We thought of it all the time. We never wanted to hurt you, but we just… we couldn’t stay away, Eli, he’s… he’s my person. I love him,” he tries, his voice breaking in a desperate attempt to convey these universal truths like that should explain everything away.

Eli shakes his head again, his face turned away but no doubt stuck in the same disgusted expression.

“Even if we had waited a while, even if we lied and told you it only started when I moved… you’d still be mad at both of us.”

“Uh, yeah, you’re fucking my dad, dude! What, did you think I’d be happy about it?!”

“Of course not,” Stiles says, brows wrinkled. He’s at a loss for words—there simply are none. He can’t talk his way out of this one with sarcasm and self-deprecating humor. Eli’s not in the mood.

Stiles licks his lips and looks down at his shoes, scratching at a sideburn before glancing back up from under his brows.

“I know I fucked up, dude. But don’t you think it means something, that we wanted to tell you the truth?”

Stiles could have lived with it, and he would have. He would have gone to the grave with their secret, but Derek didn’t have it in him to lie to his family anymore, and Stiles couldn’t ask that of him.

“Oh, fuck off. You’re just eager to clear your conscience. If you cared about me at all, you never would have gone after him.”

He’s wrong, and his last statement is just plain unfair. Two things can be true at the same time.

Sure, maybe part of his conscience is cleared, and sure, Stiles didn’t like lying to Eli—but if it meant keeping him, keeping the peace, having his childhood friend become his lifelong one, he would have done it for as long as they could pull it off. Even if it grated on his soul like sandpaper on a chalkboard, even if it would have inevitably blown up in their faces—at least he’d have Eli for a little bit longer.

Stupid, selfish, immature, sweet, sincere, loving Eli.

Stiles can’t say he’s any better. He sucks in a deep breath, exhaling quickly as his shoulders slump down.

“All I know is staying away from him would have meant staying away from you, too, and I’m too selfish to let you go. But you have to know falling in love with him had nothing to do with you. You just happened to be his son, and I’m fucking sorry it turned out this way, but it doesn’t change how much you mean to me. You’re my best friend, dude, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Eli looks at him with the patented Hale glare, repulsion etched into every one of his features as he studies Stiles’ face.

“Friends don’t fuck each other’s dads. You’re not my fucking friend. You’re… nothing to me, anymore.”

A million tiny shards of hurt strike into his heart, replacing the oxygen in his veins and erecting every one of the hairs over his skin as tears prickle at his eyes.

Stiles knew this would suck, but he underestimated just how much a suck fest it would be. And not the fun kind.

Eli scoffs and looks away, and he keeps doing that, like he can’t stand the sight of Stiles, his head shaking in a maddened gesture, fist clenched at his side. If it meant allowing Eli to let it out in order for them to move forward, Stiles would let Eli would hit him. It’d hurt a lot less than his heart breaking.

“You know, the funny thing is… I don’t even care that much, because I know you, and this tracks for you. For my dad…” he stops himself from finishing that thought, shaking his head again as his piercing gaze meets Stiles. “I just can’t believe you would do that to my mom. She practically raised you, too!”

Stiles’ gaping mouth snaps shut, racking his thoughts for the right words. But there’s nothing. Still, he tries.

“Eli—”

“I honestly don’t care,” he says, turning away, skateboard clattering once he drops it to the ground. “Don’t fucking talk to me. I don’t know you anymore,” he says, kicking off the pavement and skating off. Scott drops his board and falls in line with him, glancing back as they roll away.

With tears crowding his lashes, Stiles watches the boy he grew up with disappear around the corner for the last time, uncertain if he’ll ever see him again.

He looks down and wipes his eyes, sniffling as he steps on his board and skates in the opposite direction, all the way back to Peter’s loft.

The moment Derek pulls him in, his inviting warmth and his smoky scent encasing him, Stiles clutches close and breaks down, crying into his neck as the sobs overtake his body.

As sad as Stiles is, he’s just as grateful they have each other to cry on. Derek’s nose presses to his scalp, his breath short as he suppresses his own tears.

After what seems like hours, the tears have subsided and Derek murmurs into his scalp. “Are you ready to go home?”

Stiles nods, sniffling as Derek’s comforting hand rubs up and down his back and Derek’s lips press at his hairline, and in-between breaths, Stiles feels okay. He is crumbling, but Derek is there to hold him together.

“Okay, baby, let’s go home.”

—

Raindrops patter the windows as they shuffle back inside their apartment, Derek’s suitcase dragging behind them. Stiles feels as well as the weather.

It’s good to be home, but the weight of their confession weighs heavy over them.

Even though he has Derek, and he and Isaac are getting closer by proximity, Stiles feels lost and alone without his best friend to shoot the shit with. He imagines Eli feels the same, just with a bit more anger and resentment and probably a lot of disgust, too.

Derek has the rest of the week off, just a few more days at this point, and Stiles intends to spend every moment of it latched to his side.

The mood in the apartment has shifted to a sullener tone than they’d gotten used to the last few weeks. With Derek on edge, Stiles does his best to ease his tension with kisses and touches, but he’s so wound up himself that he’s not sure it does anything.

On the couch, Derek’s arms go around his waist and tug Stiles into his lap, and his face presses into Stiles’ neck with a long sigh. It seems all he wants to do is hold Stiles close, like that makes it all better. Stiles supposes it does, his arms wrapped around Derek’s neck.

“You sure you don’t regret it?” Stiles asks, combing his fingers through Derek’s hair.

“I’m sure,” Derek confirms, his voice soft and muffled. His beard tickles Stiles’ neck, and Stiles shivers as he shifts in Derek’s lap.

“Because it’d be okay if you did,” Stiles goes on, chewing the inside of his cheek, fingers persistent.

“I don’t regret it, baby,” Derek reiterates, his lips pressing at Stiles’ neck. “I feel better that it’s out there. I’m just sad.”

Stiles frowns. He’s sad too—that Eli hates them, that Derek is sad he’s disappointed his family, that there’s nothing Stiles can do to make the sadness go away.

“Yeah,” Stiles says with a sigh. He doesn’t know what else to say. He’s not sure there’s anything to be said. He kisses Derek’s temple and lets his lips rest there and thinks of the next best thing.

“Will you play with me, daddy?”

“You wanna play, baby?” Derek asks, his baker’s hands swiping up Stiles’ side beneath his shirt.

“Yeah,” Stiles answers, dipping his head down to seal their lips together. Derek returns it with small pecks, nipping at Stiles’ bottom lip before he slips an arm under Stiles’ knees and around his waist, holding him bridal style as he walks them to their bedroom.

Stiles lets out an ‘oof’ when Derek drops him in the bed, his body bouncing as he leans back on his elbows and watches Derek undress. Even as he starts to tug off Stiles’ sweatpants and push up his shirt, his energy is still solemn, their lips pressing together as his hands plant on each side of Stiles’ head.

“What do you want, baby?” Derek asks softly, leaning back to meet Stiles’ gaze. Stiles presses a palm over his chest, fingertips grazing through the hair there.

“I just want you to feel better,” Stiles tells him, swiping his hand up to curl around the back of Derek’s neck. “Do what you want to me, daddy.”

Derek’s lips twitch, the tender fondness in his eyes not lost on Stiles as the man reaches to cup Stiles’ jaw before dipping in to steal another kiss.

“Be careful what you wish for, baby boy,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles swallows excitedly, his fingers finding their rightful place in the hair on the back of Derek’s skull. He doesn’t know what that means but he’s ready to find out, trusting Derek so implicitly that he knows it’s nothing much to worry about.

It starts with long, sensuous kisses that leave Stiles panting, Derek’s tongue dipping in and pulling out, Stiles’ tongue chasing. Derek’s hands swipe up his sides, and his knees push Stiles’ legs apart, and then his fingers ghost over the hair leading to Stiles’ cock just before he stops to grab the lube and coat his fingers.

“Stiles,” Derek says, teasing a slicked finger at his hole.

“Yeah, daddy?” Stiles asks, squirming a bit in anticipation.

“You know I love you, right?” he asks, a brow raised.

“Of course I do,” Stiles says, almost confused as he searches Derek’s face.

He smiles.

“Good, because I’m about to treat you like I don’t.”

Stiles licks his lips, heat rising up his neck and over his cheeks. It’s not until after his second orgasm does he realize just what Derek means.

Derek’s slippery fingers press relentlessly on the gland inside him, thick and persistent as Derek dutifully watches above him. The constant pleasure leaves him breathless without any room to recover from his last release, and already Stiles needs to come again, his back arching off the mattress, hands scrambling at the sheets.

“Daddy—” Stiles warns, breathy and broken. Derek watches him attentively, his brows furrowed in concentration, his body still. He’s planted between Stiles’ spread legs, hovering over him as one hand pinches at a nipple and the other presses a third finger inside of him, his pace achingly slow. He knows exactly how to make Stiles writhe, seemingly intent on it—just to make Stiles keen and pant and struggle as his body quivers and chases his fingers.

“Come on daddy’s fingers, baby,” Derek commands, his voice low and smooth, sending shocks of bliss up his spine and back down into the coil winding tightly behind his navel. Stiles’ eyes flutter and roll back as he comes untouched, dick twitching out thick beads over his stomach.

“Such a good boy.”

Derek’s fingers remain inside him, pressing on his prostate, moving in and out without any pause or indication that he’ll ever stop. Stiles shudders as his cock pulses over his abdomen and another drop spills out of him, clenching around the perfect fingers filling him.

Derek’s free hand gathers the semen over his stomach, his fingers pressing into Stiles’ mouth, heat rolling over Stiles’ face as he sucks them off dutifully and watches Derek watch him. It’s humiliating, eating his own cum, exposed under Derek’s intense gaze, but he likes it, and he’s a good boy willing to do just about anything Derek asks of him.

His fingers pull away, wet with Stiles’ spit, and Derek uses the back of his knuckles to fondle at Stiles’ nipples again, the sensitive skin cooling and budding as he pinches and tugs before moving on to the other. Stiles squirms under his touch, panting as Derek’s fingers persist, his pace marginally faster than before.

Stiles whines, his legs spreading wider as he presses down on Derek’s hand.

“Daddy,” he breathes out, exasperated, and Derek’s lips curl, his eyes glinting as his head tilts in the slightest.

“Angel,” Derek says back, his tone annoyingly composed, clearly in a better mood if he’s feeling this devious.

“Are you gonna fuck me?” Stiles asks, and he really tries not to whine, but it comes out that way, all desperate and needy as Derek’s thick fingers incessantly stroke over his prostate.

“Not yet, baby,” Derek says, and Stiles’ brows pinch in, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. Derek’s lips stretch wider, and Stiles can’t complain too much—at least daddy is happy now.  

True to his word, Derek continues fondling him, watching Stiles devotedly, pressing his hands over each ass cheek, thumbs spreading him open.

“Show me your insides, baby,” Derek says, and Stiles has never felt so exposed, another hot flush prickling at his face, his hole clenching around nothing under Derek’s gaze.

“So pretty,” he says, his voice rasping. “Daddy’s pretty boy, aren’t you, baby?”

Stiles swallows and nods fervently, quite agreeable in this moment, his neglected cock leaking and achingly hard. He whimpers and grips the sheets, his skin hot everywhere, testicles trembling.

This seems to please Derek, his smile fond like some maniac deriving pleasure from causing pain. He hasn’t once touched Stiles’ cock, just teased his prostate the whole time, occasionally massaging his balls or fondling at his nipples, and it’s getting to be fucking infuriating.

“Please, daddy, please,” Stiles begs, and he’s not even really sure what he’s begging for—it’s not like Derek has ever told him he can’t come, or that he can’t even touch himself, but he doesn’t dare to without solicit permission and he prefers it that way.

“What, baby?” Derek asks coyly, his tone driving Stiles wild. He knows exactly what, feigning innocence like he’s not the one making Stiles fall apart at his fingertips.

Stiles isn’t sure what Derek’s angle is tonight, but he’s persistent in drawing out another orgasm without touching his dick and making Stiles suffer at the same time, and he’s damn successful at it, too, his fingers milking his prostate, his eyes devouring him.

“Need your cock,” he whines, body arching towards him, legs stretched open as he clenches down.

“Not yet,” Derek tells him, and he keeps—fucking—going, fingers buried deep, incessantly pressing on the gland. “Come for me.”

Stiles thinks he might actually unravel, every inch of him on fire, squeaky whimpers caught in his throat as he comes again. This one is more lackadaisical, spurting over his stomach in warm waves, but each one has been more hair-raising than the last.

Still, Derek keeps going.

“Look at you, baby,” Derek says softly, in total awe he’s managed to get Stiles so worked up—as if that wasn’t his goal the whole time, his free hand swiping up Stiles’ side and squeezing at his waist.

“You’re a mess, aren’t you? Daddy’s messy boy,” Derek says, and Stiles flushes, still receptive to his praise, eager to please him even if it hurts, just the idea of coming again, but he won’t disappoint Derek, and he won’t ask him to stop, not when he seems to be having so much fun. He presses and prods at his prostate and pushes Stiles’ testicles inside him, still resolute on disregarding his throbbing cock, and Stiles gasps and writhes, another orgasm already building in his guts.

“Daddy,” Stiles tries again. His voice is so broken he’s even not sure it was him that spoke, his heart thumping in his chest. His hole throbs, swollen and stretched wide each time Derek spreads him open and makes him gape, and his cock aches, red and obstinately stiff, tears welling in his eyes as a sob wracks his body. “Daddy,” he begs.

“So pretty,” Derek says, reaching up to swipe the fallen tears, as if that’s all he was after, indifferent to the pain he’s caused. Derek has never pushed Stiles like this, his dick so oversensitive he’s certain he won’t feel it for the next few days.

“Give me one more, baby,” Derek says, milking the quivering gland inside of him, spreading his fingers apart. He reaches out to tap his finger to the tip of Stiles’ drooling cock, dragging it down before releasing it to bob against his stomach in the sticky mess, and Stiles whimpers and jerks back, every muscle trembling.

“Please, please, daddy, just fuck me, please just fuck me,” Stiles cries, more tears spilling, his hole spasming around his fingers.

“Shh, you’re okay, baby,” Derek coos, his fingers pulling out to gather the cum cooling over Stiles’ stomach before he presses them back inside. Stiles shivers, eyes rolling back, cock twitching. “Poor baby. You need daddy’s cock to fill you up?”

Stiles nods ardently, his breath hitching as he sucks in air and tears sting the corners of his eyes.

Finally, Derek seems to take pity on him, slicking his cock up, lining up to Stiles’ hole, only to tease him relentlessly, letting his pre-cummed up tip swirl around the pulsing skin, pushing just past the ring of muscle before he pulls back out again.

It’s fucking annoying, and Stiles lets out a string of curses, his skin buzzing with the ache of denial.

“You want it so bad, huh, baby?” Derek teases, his cockhead snug at Stiles’ entrance, and Stiles’ hips buck down as he groans helplessly.

“Yes,” Stiles whines, and he can’t for the life of him figure out how Derek’s managed to stay rock hard without coming this whole time. Not even fucking once.

Stiles manages a few solid breaths before Derek is finally pressing into him, his hole so swollen and sensitive that he feels every lovely inch fully seating inside of him, until Derek is buried in him up to the root and Stiles can feel the coarse hair at the base of his cock. He shudders, hips jerking forward of their own accord, hole clenching tight as if to keep him from pulling out and teasing him all over again.

Derek breathes out a shuddering breath, each of his hands settled on either side of Stiles’ torso, his forehead pressing against Stiles’ neck with a low moan.

“Fuck, you take daddy’s cock so well,” Derek tells him as he finally starts to fuck him, like, actually fuck him—the ruthless fucking Stiles has been begging him for. Stiles could cry, and he does, breathless sobs choking him, fingers trembling as he grips at Derek’s biceps.

Derek sucks and bites along along Stiles’ neck, marking his way down to his chest, teeth scraping over a nipple before he sucks it into his mouth. Stiles squeaks out a whimper as he shudders and jerks back, veins vibrating. He’s too sensitive, he can’t handle it anymore, the touches that have always been a balm only causing him agony—and yet, if Derek were to stop, Stiles might actually throw a raging fit with a lot more tears that Derek only seems to covet above all else, unconcerned as he brushes them away, kissing the salty tracks, even licking over them.

Stiles has learned something new about his daddy, a darker side of him Stiles knew was there all along. He just needed some coaxing to bring it out.

Derek’s hips smack against the back of Stiles’ thighs, his pace brutal and rhythmic, each thrust sending Stiles further up the mattress.

“God, you’re such a mess, baby,” Derek says in reverence, his voice gruff and low, his brows pinched together in wonder. “Such a good boy for daddy. Say it, baby.”

Stiles swallows, his breath as rhythmic as Derek’s snapping hips, the overstimulation and creeping humiliation prickling at his skin. He doesn’t like saying it—he likes hearing it, though he supposes Derek likes to hear it too, likes to make sure Stiles knows this about himself the way Derek knows it.

“I’m your good boy, daddy,” he says, insisting, Derek watching him closely as he fucks into him, sweat beading his brow.

“Of course you are, baby. Say it again,” Derek says, and Stiles lets out a wrecked whimper, back arched, his butterflied legs rocking each time Derek sinks back into him.

“I’m your good boy, daddy,” Stiles whines, his vision blurry with tears as he blinks up at him, panting and shaking.

“Keep saying it,” Derek tells him, his hips unrelenting, mossy gaze searching over Stiles’ ruined face.

Stiles obeys, babbling it out now, hands grasping at Derek’s flesh wherever he can reach, frantic tears slipping over his temples as his leaking cock slaps against his stomach each time Derek slams back into him. I’m your good boy, I’m your good boy, daddy.

“Such a good boy,” Derek affirms in a broken groan, his pace slowing, lids fluttering as his hips jerk one final time before he stills entirely. His twitching cock spills inside of him, their foreheads pressing together, wild breaths mixing between them as Derek comes deep inside him. He doesn’t give himself very long to come down, pulling away to sit upright and reach for Stiles’ oversensitive dick.

Stiles shudders and flinches back, fingers grasping at the sheets, breath quick as he whimpers and meets Derek’s gaze with pinched brows and pathetic pout.

“Daddy,” he squeaks out. “It hurts.”

“One more,” Derek reminds him, his big hand squeezing as he glances down to watch the bright red head burst from the tight ring of his fingers. A strangled cry falls from Stiles’ lips, sweat spiking over his skin.

Stiles is on fire, every cell wound tight and ready to burst from under his skin. His hole flutters around Derek’s cock, balls drawing inside him as the calloused hand works overtime to bring him to the edge. Stiles isn’t even sure if he has anything left, he’s never come so many times in a row. Derek seems determined to draw out whatever remains, and Stiles is begrudgingly inclined to give it to him.

“Come on baby, one more,” he says again, his deep voice resonating in Stiles’ chest, in his head, down to his dick Derek keeps pumping as he fondles Stiles’ balls again. “Show daddy what a good boy you are.”

Stiles chokes on a gasp, his body always one to react to Derek’s directorial praise. His eyes flitter as he comes one last time, back arched, toes curled, fists clenched tight.

“Oh, there you go, baby boy, just like that, so good for daddy,” Derek mumbles to him, his tone reverential and satisfied as he strips Stiles’ cock clean. Stiles spills over his fist in lazy spurts, hardly anything at all, and he thinks he might be floating, so overstimulated he’s certain he’ll need a priest to stick his soul back into his mortal vessel.

He doesn’t remember Derek pulling out, or how the mess he made got cleaned off him, or even when his skin stopped wanting to peel off his body.

“Stiles,” Derek says, his tone on the edge of concern, his calloused fingers gently smacking at his cheek. “Hey, baby, are you with me?” Derek asks, thumb brushing over his cheek as he searches over Stiles’ face. Stiles doesn’t say a word, just watches him with blinking eyes, his lashes sticking together. “Stiles,” Derek says again, brows furrowing now, thumb hooking beneath Stiles’ jaw.

“M'with you,” Stiles mumbles, licking his lips, and Derek breathes out a soft sigh of relief before pecking his lips.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, searching his face again, and Stiles nods, blinking idly. He’d like to go to sleep now.

“Me okay,” Stiles says, and Derek huffs a short laugh through his nose, stealing another kiss.

“I’m sorry, baby, I should have asked you first,” Derek says, gathering Stiles in his arms before pressing him close and burrowing into his hair. Stiles sighs contentedly, face pressed against Derek’s neck.

“It’s okay, daddy,” Stiles says, letting himself melt over Derek’s frame. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Derek huffs another laugh, this one heartier as he caresses up and down Stiles’ side.

“I mean it,” Stiles says, fighting a yawn. “I’m all yours.”

“Likewise,” Derek tells him, lips at his hairline. Stiles’ lips curl. Someday, he’ll have to return the favor.

—

Summer on the east coast is a lot wetter than the west. The few clients Stiles had towards the end of the semester don’t need him during the swampy months, and Stiles considers helping out younger kids but decides he’s not that desperate.

It’s difficult to find a job that aligns with Derek’s odd schedule—third shift starts at nine most places, and Stiles isn’t willing to shorten any time they have together, especially sleep time. He manages to find a stocking job at a nearby grocery store that’s still open 24-hours, and it’s nice because he doesn’t have to deal with many customers and can listen to music as he stocks shelves.

With his down time, and no friends to fuck around town with, Stiles ends up bothering Isaac a lot more than he ever intended. He doesn’t seem to mind Stiles hanging around all that much, and Stiles gets the feeling he’s been pretty lonely since Derek moved out, putting up with Stiles for some familiarity and company.

On an odd day like today, where Stiles and Derek’s sleep schedules have fallen out of tandem and Derek is passed out at home, Stiles kicks it at Isaac’s studio watching him paint while he sucks on the vape pen.

“It kinda looks like the bottom of a pond,” Stiles says. He’s been staring at it for so long that it’s lost its shape unless he looks away for a moment and then squints.

“I could see it,” Isaac tells him, standing back and staring as if he’s using Stiles’ eyes to see the vision. He turns to Stiles, an eyebrow raising. “How high are you?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, responding before the question clicks in his head. “Oh. Well… yeah,” he settles on, figuring that should explain it.

Isaac steps over and snatches his vape back, bringing it to his lips as he watches Stiles through narrowed eyes.

“Derek can’t smoke cigarettes, but you can vape, huh?”

Stiles scoffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms sinking into the couch. “It’s different.”

Isaac doesn’t dignify that with a verbal response, an eyebrow twitching up as he blows smoke away.

“Let’s not start with the life choice judgements,” Stiles says, pursing his lips. “Unless you want to talk about Peter.”

Isaac takes another hit before tossing the vape back over to him, spinning away to return to his painting. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh?” Stiles asks, blinking. “So if I said Peter was seeing someone, you wouldn’t have anything to say about that?”

From this angle, Stiles can only see his profile, and not the full picture of his expression. Isaac’s jaw tightens, and a particular stroke of his brush comes off a bit angry.

“Of course not,” he says, and Stiles is impressed to hear how steady his voice is.

“Huh,” Stiles says, interlacing his fingers behind his head. “Because he seems to like this new person a lot. I think he’s pretty happy.”

The studio is quiet as Stiles waits for a response.

“Good for him,” Isaac grumbles. He flicks his brushback and forth indignantly in the dirty paint water. Stiles smirks, entertained.

“It’s sweet you’re happy for him,” Stiles says. “I lied though. He’s not seeing anyone new. He’s still pining for you.”

After a pause, the tension in his shoulders visibly melting, Isaac says, “Good for him.”

Stiles huffs out a laugh, his hanging foot jiggling over his knee.

“I don’t get why you’re so intent on being unhappy,” Stiles tells him.

“You’re starting to sound like him,” Isaac mutters. He’s not painting, just brooding at the canvas.

“Really? Because that’s what Derek said, not Peter,” Stiles points out. Both of them have said that, actually.

“Yeah, well. Screw Derek,” Isaac grumbles.

“I will, thanks,” Stiles says with a smug smile. “But seriously, what’s your deal?”

“There is none. We fuck and part ways until the next time, that’s it.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“The sex is good.”

“Okay, then why don’t you lock that shit down?”

Isaac sighs. “We’ve been over this, Stiles. Just drop it.”

“I’m literally never going to drop it, so you might as well just answer me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. My answer isn’t going to be any different. Once a cheater, always a cheater.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. You really think Derek would cheat on me?”

Stiles has his creeping doubts, but at the end of the day, they’ve been through too much for him to allow them to have any real effect over him. Derek waited for him for two years. He had his chance then and didn’t take it, as far as Stiles knows, and he doesn’t want to know, either.

This seems to give Isaac pause, and Stiles takes his silence as Isaac’s answer.

“I don’t get it. Like… he’s right there. Just let yourself be happy.”

“It’s not that fucking simple,” Isaac snaps, finally turning to meet Stiles’ gaze with a cutting glare. Stiles is used to these by now. Isaac spends a lot of time glaring at him because he always says the thing out loud that Isaac likes to pretend is a nonexistent problem.

“It is, though.”

Maybe he’s being contrarian just to be a shit, but it’s true. There’s no real reason Isaac can’t be with him. This thing that they’ve had going on for years should be proof enough that Peter isn’t going anywhere, and yet, once they’ve fucked, Isaac still pretends he wants nothing to do with him.

“It’s fucking not. Just drop it, Stiles, I don’t want to fucking hear it anymore.”

“Why?”

Isaac’s jaw clenches, his eyes wild.

“Because.”

Stiles chews the skin off his lip to hide the amused smile threatening to split his face. He knows that won’t do him any good—he’s getting close to pressing all the right buttons.

“Why because?”

Isaac glowers, his jaw taut, and throws the paintbrush against the wall. It clatters and falls to the ground, dark paint staining the concrete.

“Because,” he growls, mouth pinching shut as he glowers, face going red. “If he’s always waiting for me, he’ll never leave me.”

The air is charged between them, Isaac blinking wildly, tears welling in his eyes. Stiles’ mouth hangs open, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

It makes perfect sense now that it’s been said out loud. He gets the feeling not even Isaac himself knew the reason why, not until Stiles poked and prodded the answer out of him.

Stiles licks his lips, letting the words settle before he can carefully start to pick up the pieces.

“He wouldn’t,” Stiles says cautiously, watching Isaac turn around to hide his expression. “Seriously, Isaac, he wouldn’t let you go if you gave him the time of day. You should hear the things he says about you.”

Isaac doesn’t respond or even make a nonverbal acknowledgement. He just stares at his painting, his shoulders rising and falling with his quick breaths. Stiles feels like an asshole for making a grown man cry.

Still, he should know it.

“He told me once that his favorite time with you is in the mornings before you wake up, because that’s the only time you let him hold you. But he knows you’re not really asleep.”

Isaac stills, his head turned away, and after a long moment of silence, he makes his way to the bathroom and slams the door shut.

Stiles’ lips twitch down, and he thinks he probably crossed a line this time and feels terrible now. He drags himself up and slinks over to the door, just about to knock before Isaac speaks up.

“Can you just go, please,” Isaac says, his voice quiet and broken on the other side. Stiles listens this time.    

—

Stiles stops at the skatepark, hoping to waste time before heading home to his sleeping old man while doing his best to corral his racing thoughts. His student health insurance doesn’t kick in until the semester starts, and he’s just about run out of his meds. He figures since it’s summer, he can get away without them for a few months, but in the meantime, it means his thoughts don’t cooperate with him much.

A few teenagers trundle around, as well as a few semi-professional adults, which Stiles always thinks is funny to see but in like, a cool way. He hopes he’ll stick to skating even when he’s a working professional, and he thinks of Eli and all the tricks he could do and how good he was—good enough to be pro if he wanted to—and gets sad. Sad enough to not pay attention before he ends up wiping out in front of a girl who is way too cool looking to care about some kid falling on his ass.

He sighs, planted on his back and staring up at the sky as he breathes through the pain reeling through his tailbone. His ass took the brunt of the fall, but his head still knocked against the pavement, and he blinks a few times to clear the reactive tears and the stars from his vision. The girl in question comes into view, her brows scrunched in concern, Stiles’ skateboard clutched at her side.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her dark braid falling over her shoulder. From this view she looks like an upside-down angel.

“I will be in a minute,” Stiles mumbles out. A headache is already forming behind his eyes, and he closes them and sucks in a deep breath before opening his eyes again and forcing himself to sit upright. The girl holds out her hand, and Stiles takes it, rising carefully as she pulls him the rest of the way up.

“That was a pretty gnarly fall,” she says. “I felt the ground shake when you hit it.”

Stiles offers her a sheepish smile, rubbing his eyes as he looks down, embarrassed. “Yeah, I was… distracted,” he says, his face heating. He clears his throat and meets her gaze as she hands over his skateboard.

“Thanks,” he mutters, eyeing her carefully. She’s got tattoos and a piercing on her lip and nostril, and she’s a skater. His brain is perhaps a bit fuzzy but the thought occurs to him that maybe he can make a friend. “Uh, I’m Stiles.”

The girl smiles. “Allison. Maybe you should sit down for a minute. You’re looking pretty pale.”

“Yeah, I’m just… pale,” Stiles says with an awkward laugh. She smiles tentatively and looks to the side, like perhaps she’s done her part and she’s ready to release him back into the wild, and he figures he’s bothered her enough. “I probably should, though. Thanks again,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he starts to walk away, but then she starts to follow him. He looks over with a raised brow.

“I’ll come sit with you,” she says, concerned. Stiles, pleasantly surprised, nods and makes his way out of the park. They only sit for a moment, Allison offering concerned looks as Stiles babbles on about nothing in particular, attempting to fill the awkward silence with a stranger he’s eager to know.

Allison buys him a soda despite him insisting he doesn’t need it, but she doesn’t seem like the type to take ‘no’ for an answer. They sip their drinks and walk nowhere in particular, and it turns out she’s also attending Columbia in the fall. She’s a New York native and only had two options according to her dad—Columbia or NYU. She got accepted into both and chose the Ivy League school, of course.

“So how’d you end up in New York before the start of the semester?” Allison asks, soda in one hand, skateboard in the other.

“My boyfriend lived out here, and I came out as soon as I could leave,” Stiles answers, wondering how cool she really is. Will she judge him for dating a guy twenty years his senior?

“Aw, that’s sweet. Did you meet him online?” she asks, sipping her soda through her straw.

Stiles flushes and scratches at a sideburn, nearly dumping his drink in the process before quickly readjusting his cup. “Um, no, actually. We’d known each other for a while before he moved away.”

Allison gushes over how cute their relationship sounds, and he lets her think whatever she wants for now. If they hang out like they say they will, she’ll figure it out soon enough.

Stiles is stoked to say the least. He’s met a cool person who shares similar interests and will be stuck at the same school for the next four years. What are the odds?

They exchange numbers and, rejuvenated after some sugar and the excitement of making a new friend, Stiles doesn’t feel too bad crashing into bed beside Derek when he gets home and babbles on about his day.

“Wait, you wiped out? Are you okay?” Derek asks, his brows scrunching in as he forces his eyes open and searches Stiles’ face for any sign of injury.

“Yeah, I’m fine, daddy,” Stiles says, reaching to flatten the lines between his brows. “Anyway, she’s going to Columbia, too. We’re going to try and sign up for the same gen eds together.”

Derek blinks, his lips pursed. “Why weren’t you wearing a helmet?”

Stiles wrinkles his nose. “Helmets are lame, dad.”

“So is brain damage,” Derek gruffs out. “I don’t want you skating the city without wearing one.”

Stiles makes a show of inhaling and huffing out. “Okay, whatever.” He won’t be doing that, but he’ll say it to get Derek off his back about it.

“Baby, I’m serious. Your brain cells are too precious,” Derek says, squeezing Stiles tight as he kisses his forehead as if kissing his brain. “Please wear one, for me.”

“I don’t even have a helmet,” Stiles says, exasperated.

“I’ll get you one. We can pick one up tomorrow after I get off.”

“Okay, fine,” Stiles sighs out, resigned. “Can we get pizza for dinner?”

Stiles doesn’t feel like cooking, and he knows Derek won’t want to, either. Pizza is easy and cheap-ish, and Stiles loves going out with Derek, even if it’s just to the pizza joint down the street.

“Yeah, baby,” Derek says, kissing his forehead again, his lips lingering before he pulls away to get ready.

They eat their slices at a table on the sidewalk, and Stiles chews happily as he admires Derek in his basketball shorts and plain white t and scruffy hair.

Today has been a somewhat decent day, considering. His ass still hurts, and he may have fucked up with being so persistent with Isaac, but he made a new friend—someone his age—and he’s pretty over the moon about it. It almost overshadows the remorse he has over making Isaac cry.

“So, Isaac might be mad at me for a while,” Stiles says carefully, taking a bite of his pizza.

“Why’s that?” Derek asks casually, legs parted as he sprawls back in the metal grated chair.

Stiles licks the grease off his lips with a shrug.

“Might have pushed his Peter button a bit too hard,” Stiles answers, shoving in another bite.

Derek purses his lips, his brows scrunching in minutely.

“What’d you say, exactly?”

Stiles clears his throat and licks his lips again. “I just said what we’ve talked about before. He just doesn’t let himself be happy. And basically I kept pressing and pressing until he kind of broke down and said, ‘if he’s always waiting for me, he’ll never leave me’”—Stiles uses air quotes for that bit— “and I don’t think he meant to say that out loud, and then it got sad and then he kicked me out.”

Derek sucks in a breath, like he’s tempering his disappointment. He takes another bite of his pizza before he sets it back into the paper box it came in and wipes his fingers off on a napkin.

“Oh, Stiles,” he says with a long sigh and an even longer pause. Stiles raises his brows. “I know you mean well, baby, but that’s too sensitive of a topic for him. He won’t even let me bring it up.”

“Well, maybe that’s why he’s still stuck in this weird thing with Peter. Everyone around him just ignores it because it’s ‘too sensitive of a topic for him’, but he’s a grown man. He can talk about it without imploding,” Stiles says with an unconcerned eye roll. “He’s been sad boy-ing for too long. I say we do something about it.”

Derek regards him carefully, quiet as he takes this into consideration. And then he shakes his head, just a short, subtle movement, and picks up his pizza slice for another bite, chewing and swallowing and taking more time to consider this.

“Something like what?” Derek asks, and Stiles’ lips twitch up. He was almost certain Derek would say no and tell him to drop it the same way Isaac has practically his whole life, but it seems Stiles has said the right combination of words to get him to agree.

“I don’t know, what do you think it would take for him to give Peter another solid chance?”

Derek takes more time to think as he chews.

“A vacation would probably do it,” Derek says. “Forced proximity for a prolonged period of time.”

Stiles’ lips stretch wider, pleased Derek is willing to contribute.

“Wait, I’ve got it,” Stiles says, the idea popping into his head the moment Derek said ‘vacation’.

Derek’s brows go up, waiting patiently.

“What if we take a trip to Vegas?” Stiles says with a smirk. Derek doesn’t take long to catch on to Stiles’ train of thought.

“Vegas,” he says out loud, like he’s testing the waters, seeing how it feels. Then he nods. “Yeah, that would probably do it,” he says, a fond smile curling his lips as he glances over.

Stiles grins, perking up in excitement. “Obviously, Peter is paying for it,” he decides, and Derek huffs a laugh as he takes another bite of his ginormous pizza slice.

—

They plan the trip around Isaac’s birthday in mid-July so he’s not suspicious about it, and he acts like he’s not going because he knows who’s paying for it, but shows up at the airport right on time, anyway.

“I’m only going if I have my own room,” he announces, stroll luggage trailing behind him.

“We got a three-bedroom suite at Ceasar’s,” Stiles tells him, and Isaac doesn’t look pleased with this, but he technically has his own room, so. He’ll live.

The Vegas gene skipped Stiles. Gambling never appealed to him, nor cheap sex, and if he wants to drink, he just gets Derek to buy him alcohol. They’re not here for him, anyway, but he intends to soak up the west coast while they can.

It’s the fanciest establishment Stiles has ever visited, nearly culture shocked as they approach the opulent building off the overwhelming strip of glittering lights. Their bags are taken care of, and they’re escorted to their suite where a bottle of champagne on ice is waiting for them. Peter does the honors, the cork popping off somewhere in the massive living area before he pours Isaac a glass first, then everyone else.

“To Isaac,” Peter says, and Isaac glances over resentfully, just to uphold appearances, but Stiles can see the hint of a smile curling at his lips as their glasses clink and they all toast to Isaac and his 39^th revolution around the sun.

“What do you want to do first, my love?” Peter asks him, eyebrows raised. Isaac never objects to Peter’s pet names, Stiles has noticed. He tips back his glass and chugs it down, and somehow the act is still graceful despite being somewhat uncouth, before he licks his lips and sets it down on the marble table.  

“Let’s go play sluts,” Isaac says, and Stiles snorts as he sips at his champagne, eyeing Derek over his glass. He gets the feeling Isaac will have a night worth remembering but won’t even be capable of such a thing.

Stiles can’t partake in most of the deviant activities Vegas is known for, his youthful presence strictly prohibited from the gaming floor and any bar after ten. But they start the night off doing somewhat age-appropriate things because it’s Vegas, and he can’t not partake in the bachelor party.

First, they walk the strip, sightseeing mostly, while Stiles takes generous sips of Derek’s yard-long daiquiri bought specifically for Stiles, happy to hold his hand as they follow behind Peter and Isaac. It almost reminds him of San Francisco, only because it was the one destination they went and got to be themselves, and here it’s much of the same. They have nothing to hide anymore, and no one cares, anyway. No one double takes or even pays them much attention as they exist as a real live Bonafide couple.

A gondola ride at the Venetian is a given, Stiles’ buzz wearing off by the time the line catches up to them. Derek kisses him but it’s not very romantic considering the gondola carries a few other couples.

They stop for another drink and keep walking since Stiles can’t really linger around an establishment without someone asking for his ID. Peter pays off the security guard to let them into a bar, and Stiles is free to drink as much as his heart desires, but it's clear Isaac is ready to have the full Vegas experience, which he can’t quite do with an eighteen-year-old dragging them down. By the time the fountain show ends at the Bellagio, Stiles tells them he’s ready to go back to the hotel.

“I’ll just get room service and watch cable,” Stiles insists, licking his lips after downing his last drink. It’s very fruity and not all that much alcoholic-tasting, but he’s found that doesn’t mean it’s not there—quite the opposite, in fact. “Just get me an Uber, you go have fun with them.” He nods, as if this should finalize the decision.

Peter gives him an incredulous look, eyeing Derek before his eyes settle back over Stiles as he blinks. They all know Derek is not going to allow that.

“Uh, absolutely not. I’m not leaving you alone anywhere, but especially here,” Derek tells him, big hand squeezing Stiles’ sweaty palm.

They decide on the next plans, which include Derek and Stiles returning to the hotel, and Peter and Isaac continuing their night of debauchery. There’s no way it doesn’t end in matrimony—Stiles would bet on it.

While Peter and Isaac run off for whatever future awaits them, Stiles and Derek take advantage of the bar and room service. After a bath in the giant tub, tucked between Derek’s legs as Derek bathes him, they lie in their soft robes over their bed and watch cable, and Stiles enjoys the best tiramisu he’s ever had in his life in between sips of the champagne left behind—legit champagne from the specific region in France and everything.

Stiles is drunk and all the more handsy, intent on taking full advantage of the empty penthouse suite. He’s never had drunk sex before, but Derek has no complaints of his sloppiness as Stiles fucks him over the bed and comes way too soon.

“Keep going, baby boy,” Derek tells him, and Stiles obliges, picking up his pace, watching his dick disappear and reemerge into the glistening soft heat. Derek takes him so well, opens up perfectly just for him, the puffy ring fluttering around his throbbing cock. “There you go, angel, fill daddy up.”

And he does, fucking into him, assaulting his prostate, only coming once Derek spills over the pristine hotel comforter with grunts and more praises that light the fire in Stiles’ loins.

Stiles is always so mesmerized watching his cum slip out in sticky beads over the glossy pink hole he just filled, unable to resist latching his lips there when Derek clenches the muscles shut to retain all he can.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” Derek gasps out, groaning as his face presses into the downy comforter.

Stiles never has any intention of getting Derek off this way—he’s truly happy to just place his lips there, to savor his musky taste after marking him up, to have access to the most intimate parts of him. He likes the way Derek’s silky insides feel against his tongue, the way the muscles tremble and flutter as he pushes out Stiles’ seed with half-shocked whimpers at the tail end of his deep groans.

Face coated in his spit and semen, Stiles sharpens his tongue and dips inside, simply happy to keep his mouth occupied all while Derek writhes beneath him. He tends to get incoherent as Stiles swirls his drooling tongue over the puckered skin, blathering out curses and praises—fuck, baby, your fucking mouth, such a good boy, oh fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make daddy come—his low groans and tight gasps punctuating the air.

It's honestly a dream come true eating Derek out, hands over his hairy ass cheeks, thumbs keeping him spread apart. The tip of Stiles’ nose dips within the shallow ring as he sucks a testicle into his mouth, and Derek stills, choking on a moan as he shoots another load over the comforter forever marked as theirs.

He wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand, satisfied with his work as a smirk curls his lips. He thinks he’s done as he lets himself fall back over the bed, until Derek’s mouth covers his dick and his briny gaze locks Stiles in place. Stiles comes down his throat, frantic hands grasping his dark hair, and Derek is quick to seal their lips together and share what’s left on his tongue.

Gazing up at the ceiling, fully sated and still a bit tipsy, Derek drags him into his embrace and nuzzles into Stiles’ neck with a contented sigh, the tv chattering in the background.

Stiles’ fingers run through his hair, wondering just what Peter and Isaac are up to in this moment.

“Derek?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you gonna marry me?” Stiles asks quietly, and Derek’s hand squeezes at his waist, thumb brushing at the last rung of Stiles’ rib cage.

“Someday, yeah, baby,” Derek says easily, and Stiles drifts to sleep with a smile.

—

Derek takes longer to wake today, and Stiles’ suspects it’s all the whiskey he drank last night even though he didn’t get half as drunk as Stiles. Stiles is feeling just fine, perhaps a minor headache from dehydration, but nothing to complain about.

Stiles attempts to snuggle him awake but gives up when Derek’s arms grip him in a vice before he falls right back asleep, nose buried in Stiles’ hair. Eventually, Stiles manages to slip away and order breakfast, and Derek pads out into the opulent dining room as Stiles pours him a cup of coffee.

“Morning, daddy,” Stiles says, watching Derek take the seat beside him. He ordered ibuprofen with the decadent spread and shoves the bottle towards Derek with a glass of water.

Derek grunts back in response, popping a few pills before leaning in and kissing Stiles’ cheek. Stiles turns to capture his lips instead, smiling proud before he passes Derek a plate to help himself, and they eat in silence as Derek’s hangover begins to subside.

It’s nearly noon, and neither Peter nor Isaac has made an appearance yet. Derek is feeling well enough to agree to the pool, and just as Stiles gathers everything they’d need at the poolside into a tote, Isaac emerges from his room looking somewhat frenetic. His shirt is on inside out, the same one he wore the night before, his hair a mess with bags under his eyes. Even in the brief period of them living together, Stiles never saw him look so disheveled. He glances between the two before settling on Derek.

“I need to talk to you,” Isaac says, his voice hoarse. He doesn’t wait for a response, just grabs Derek’s hand and snatches him away.

“What about the pool?” Stiles asks, feigning innocence as he blinks between the two. He’s working overtime to keep his smile in check.

“I’ll meet you down there,” Derek tells him, sending the subtlest wink as he allows Isaac to drag him away. Stiles lets his mouth twist into a grin once they’ve disappeared, dropping his tote as he makes his way to Peter’s room. He pokes his head in and notices the unslept in bed before spotting Peter, awake and already showered, buttoning up his shirt as he meets Stiles’ gaze through the mirror.

“Hey Peter,” Stiles starts, letting himself into the room. “How was your night?”

Even as he maintains a calm demeanor, there’s something underneath it all that would suggest he’s about as anxious as Isaac.

“I honestly don’t remember much of it,” Peter shares, finicking with his hair. On his left hand, a golden ring flashes under the morning light.

“Oh yeah? Must have been a good night, then,” Stiles says carefully, sidling up to him with slanted lips. “What’s this?” he asks, grabbing Peter’s hand to get a better look at the ring.

Peter regards him, analyzing every one of his movements, his head tilting as his eyes narrow like he’s reading right through him.

“You planned this,” Peter says, and Stiles can’t help it anymore, his face breaking out into a proud smile. He presses a hand to his heart, taking a melodramatic bow, and Peter bursts out laughing.

“I should have known,” Peter says, shaking his head in a manner that would suggest he’s not at all mad—he’s proud, even, a tender edge to his expression, the lines at his eyes wrinkled as he laughs under his breath and regards Stiles in awe.

“We figured something needed to be done,” Stiles says, offering a short nod as emphasis, his smile lingering. “Is he mad?”

“Oh, he’s livid. Threw his ring at me like I did it all by myself,” Peter says with a light scoff. “I’m pretty sure he was the one who suggested it.”

Stiles shrugs, pleased. Of course he was. “The heart wants what it wants.”

“Indeed. He’ll likely try to get it annulled, but I doubt that’ll happen. He’ll have to divorce me, and something tells me that won’t happen, either.”

“He got stuck with you,” Stiles says, huffing out through his nose. “Poor guy.”

Peter smirks. “He’s not so poor anymore, is he?” he says, reaching up to cuff Stiles’ shoulder and shake him affectionately as he glances down at his bright red swimming trunks. “Pool day?”

“Pool day,” Stiles confirms with a nod. “Come with us.”

Peter stretches his lips into a tight smile. “I’d love to, but I’ve got to do some damage control.”

“Suit yourself,” Stiles says with a shrug. He ends up at the poolside by himself, planted under an umbrella as he slathers on sunscreen.

“You need some help?” some random guy asks from two spots away, peeking over his sunglasses like he’s just discovered the lost scrolls of Alexandria. Stiles wrinkles his nose, eyebrows raised as his eyes scan the man up and down. He’s about ten years too young for Stiles’ preferences, and not at all attractive.

“I’m good, thanks,” he calls out, turning away as he smears what he can on his back.

“The sun is closer here, you don’t want that pretty skin to burn up. Let me help you,” the man says, raising from his chair. Stiles grimaces, his upper lip curled.

“I’d rather burn. Fuck off,” Stiles snaps, just as a familiar hand rests at the back of his neck. He can’t decide if his comment or Derek’s presence makes the man shut up and sit back down, but either way, he’s glad.

“Hey, daddy,” Stiles says, tilting his head back with a smile as he offers up the bottle of sunscreen. “Can you help me?”

“Of course, baby,” Derek says, his tone smooth as he takes a seat in the chaise lounge behind Stiles, thick thighs pressing him in. The bottle snaps open, and cold lotion is brushed over the skin Stiles couldn’t reach. He glances over at the man with a shit-eating smirk, and the man grumbles to himself before snatching up his items and moving elsewhere.

“How’s Isaac?” Stiles asks, savoring Derek’s hands rubbing the sunscreen in.

“He’s in a state. He wants to go home, but I convinced him to stay for another day, at least. He’s already talking about divorce.”

“Do you think he’ll go through with it?” Stiles asks, peeking over his shoulder.

“Honestly…” Derek starts, squirting out another glob of sunscreen before rubbing it between his hands and smearing it over Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles already got that part himself, but Derek’s hands feel nice. “I doubt it. I think he’s realizing it wouldn’t do him any good, and I don’t think he truly wants to. But he’s still coming to terms with that.”

Stiles’ lips curl, pleased their plan actually worked as well as it did, though it’s not like they really did much besides suggest the Vegas trip and understand the inner workings of Isaac’s psyche. The rest fell into place, as if any other conclusion was as likely as diamonds falling from the sky.  

“Do you think he knows we planned it?”

“Not at all,” Derek says, big hands rubbing up and down Stiles’ back.

“Peter figured it out,” Stiles says, letting his head drop forward and his eyes close.

“You know Isaac can never know about this,” Derek says, his voice stern with a hint of remorse underlining his words. “Not until everything has settled, at least.”

“But we did the right thing, right?” Stiles asks hopefully, chewing at the skin inside his cheek.

“It was questionable at best, baby,” Derek offers with an amused huff through his nose. “One day, he might thank us. But until then,” he squeezes at Stiles’ shoulders, his beard tickling the back of Stiles’ neck as he kisses him there, “not a word.”

“Yes, daddy,” Stiles says sweetly, a smirk playing at his lips. “Your turn.”

Stiles applies sunscreen over Derek’s back, admiring his freckles as he rubs the lotion in. He wrangles Derek into the water for a bit, hanging off him any way he can manage just to have some fun messing with him, careless to the on-lookers and their judgements. It’s easy to forget about them in their own little world.

Derek entertains him for a while, dunking him under water, racing Stiles across the pool and back, until he inevitably ends up drying off while reading his book under the shade of the umbrella. He occasionally glances up at Stiles floating in the pool, and Stiles smiles and shoots him a quick ‘love you’ sign before returning to his daydreaming while squinting at the cloudless sky through his polarized sunglasses.

Without Eli, being in the pool is kind of boring, and now he misses Eli.

It’s not long before he follows Derek’s lead, taking surreptitious sips of the piña colada Derek ordered for him. The staff are strict here, but no one has said anything, and he gets the feeling Peter could get him out of trouble if necessary.

“You think it’s cooled down enough?” Stiles asks after a while, fully dried off since dragging himself from the water half an hour ago.

“They’re either bickering or fucking,” Derek says, turning the page. “Isaac will probably text me when he’s had enough.”

“Maybe we should take them out. Like, for a reception,” Stiles says, glancing over. Derek’s brows go up, and both of their lips curl when Derek turns to meet his gaze. 

It’s obvious Isaac wants everything to do with Peter, but because it wasn’t an active and fully coherent choice, he has to act like he hates the idea of being married to the literal love of his life.

By dinner, most of his rage has been discharged through their activities of the day, and calmly, collectively, Isaac clears his throat and says, “We’ve decided to see how it works out.”

Stiles can’t contain his grin as he glances back and forth between the happy couple. Peter is pleased, obviously, gloating as he sips from his flute. Isaac is tentative but agreeable, a lot more put together compared to earlier. He still looks exhausted like he’s been hungover and crying all day as he came to terms with the very real fact that if they’re already legally bound… they might as well make it work. It’s really the easiest decision of the limited options available to them.

Isaac could keep up the arduous façade, go through with the divorce, get most of Peter’s money if not all of it considering Elvis didn’t have a prenup for them to sign at the altar, but perhaps he’s finally realized… what would be the point in that? He’d be rich but he wouldn’t have Peter, and isn’t that what he’s wanted all along?

It’s almost like he didn’t think having Peter was possible, until there was no other option.

In the span of eight hours, Stiles reckons Peter finally got through to him, and he wonders what that looked like—if he got on his knees and begged, if he cried as much as Isaac did, held his hands and looked into his eyes in an attempt to alter the neural pathways in Isaac’s brain that had him convinced Peter would leave him again.

Nothing is above or below Peter when it comes to Isaac. Stiles has seen the man follow Isaac around like an indentured servant, bound and committed to cleaning up the mess he made years ago. He never wavered, never gave up, never even let the thought occur to him. Peter is a man who will go great lengths to get anything he wants, and now that he’s finally got Isaac, he’d be remiss to ever let the younger man out of his grasp. 

“Wait, really?” Stiles asks, laughing incredulously. It’s his turn to put on the façade, but internally he is screaming. Peter and Isaac finally get to be happy.

Stiles really should get paid for his cupid services.

“Yes,” Isaac says indifferently, sipping his champagne. He acts as though it was his decision all along.

Stiles laughs heartily, his cheeks hurting as he meets Derek’s gaze, safe in a secret once again. Except this time, no one gets hurt.

—

Before he knows it, Stiles has started class, successful in registering for a few with Allison. They got to hang out a few times over the summer, mostly skating and eating junk food before she took a trip to France, but she has yet to meet Derek despite how much Stiles talks about him.

Today seems to be the day. Their first day of class lets out, and since Derek toured the campus with him and helped him pin down where all his classes are, he knows exactly where Stiles is at any given point of the day, as if sharing their locations with each other wouldn’t be enough. He’s standing at the bottom of the steps when Stiles exits the building, eyes bright once he catches Stiles’ gaze.

Stiles is always so dazzled by him literally just sexily standing there in his regular outfit, thumbs tucked in his pockets as he waits for his boyfriend to get out of class because he simply has nothing better to do. Stiles pauses, his heart flittering as his lips curl. He refrains from running into his arms, glancing over at Allison before jumping off the last couple steps only to assault Derek in a hug instead.

“Hey daddy,” Stiles mumbles softly at Derek’s ear, their cheeks grazing as his arms wrap around Derek’s shoulders.

“Hey baby,” Derek returns, smile heard in his voice as his arms squeeze tightly around Stiles’ torso and lift him off the bottom step before setting him down.

“Hi,” Allison says carefully as she approaches, eyeing them as they pull apart. “Is this your dad?”

Stiles huffs a laugh. He hasn’t gotten to introduce Derek to many people, and letting people assume who Derek is to him is possibly his new favorite thing.

Derek clears his throat.

“Yeah, he’s my daddy,” Stiles says mischievously, witnessing the flush creep up Derek’s neck. Derek’s eyelids drop idly in place of an eyeroll, already so done with Stiles for the day, and Stiles laughs, grin wide as he slips his hand into Derek’s, their fingers automatically interlacing as he leans in to kiss Derek’s cheek. He trimmed his beard, careful to leave behind a decent amount of his peppered scruff Stiles loves so much.

“Oh,” she says, turning pink, her lips pressed in a tentative smile as she glances between them. “Stiles,” she says under her breath, exasperated.

For a moment Stiles thinks she’s judging them, and perhaps she is in the way most people do when they see a young guy and an older man walking down the street with their hands grasped tightly between them. Stiles can’t blame them, because he has his own thoughts when he sees such a thing, but his probably run in the other direction. He knows enough about Allison by now to know she doesn’t care, but it’s still scary to reveal this part of himself after all they’ve been through.

“Allison, this is my… Derek.”

Using the term ‘boyfriend’ feels too juvenile, and ‘partner’ feels inadequate, while ‘daddy’ too inappropriate after already using it playfully. Derek is so much more than that—Derek is just his, and that’s all he should have to explain.

Allison’s expression softens, dimples shining as her face splits into a gracious smile.

“Sorry. Stiles has talked about you nonstop, but he didn’t tell me you were…” she starts, hesitating on the last part, her cheeks still blushed. Derek laughs, entirely unoffended.

“Older? Yeah, funny how he failed to mention that,” Derek says, releasing Stiles’ hand as he wraps his arm around Stiles’ waist and tugs him in closer. “Excuse him, he ran out of his meds over the summer.”

Stiles scoffs incredulously, lips curling regardless as his arm settles at the small of Derek’s back.

“How else am I supposed to have fun?” Stiles says, turning to meet Allison’s gaze, “He’s actually so mean to me—he never lets me do anything.”

This earns him a wild look from Derek, like that’s only half true.

Allison giggles softly, amused as she adjusts her bag over her shoulder. A few other students ogle them as they walk by, some Stiles recognizes as classmates, their silent judgements an aside.

Caring what people think was something Stiles decided to give up a long time ago. They’re going to look like an odd couple until Stiles can grow full facial hair, at least, so until then, what people see is what they get. They can take it or leave it.

Allison takes it pretty well, smiling between the two as Derek kisses Stiles’ temple, and Stiles’ heart unlocks in relief.

“Stiles has told me plenty about you,” Derek says, and Stiles’ alarms go off, like maybe he said something damning about her even though he knows he didn’t. “He talks about your tattoos and piercings all the time.”

“That’s sweet,” she says with a sly smile. “My dad hates them, so I get them as often as I can.”

Stiles snorts, flushing a bit that he’s been exposed—her tattoos are really cool and it makes him want to get some too, he just doesn’t know what to get aside from like, Derek’s name, and he’s too superstitious to ever follow through with that.

“See? Told you she’s cool.”

With a laugh, Allison nudges him with the back of her hand and adjusts her bag again, and Stiles can sense she’s ready to get on with the rest of her afternoon. Derek can, too.

“You hungry?” Derek asks as he turns to him, and Stiles nods automatically, an easy smile stretching his lips. Derek glances at Allison, hand squeezing at Stiles’ waist. “We’re meeting friends for dinner. Would you like to join us?”

Stiles knows he’s only asking to be polite—they have a double date with Erica and Boyd tonight, and Allison would be the odd one out.

Allison is astute enough to recognize this, offering a polite smile in return. “Oh, thank you, but I have plans, actually,” she says, meeting Stiles’ gaze knowingly. “Let’s plan for something, yeah?”

“Okay, sure,” Stiles says, knowing she’ll have many questions the next time they’re alone. They wave goodbye, and Derek takes Stiles’ messenger bag for him as they start walking to the subway.

“How was your first day, baby?” Derek asks him, their hands interlaced between them.

“It was alright. I missed you,” Stiles says, bringing Derek’s hand up to kiss at his knuckles.

“I missed you too,” Derek says, hand squeezing, and Stiles asks him about his day despite already knowing every single thing he’s accomplished within the six hours of their separation.

“Did some laundry, went to the gym, read,” Derek says, and Stiles nods in affirmation. That’s just a regular day for him. They decided Derek does laundry, the bane of Stiles’ existence, and Stiles does dishes, Derek’s least favorite chore after working in a kitchen all night. Stiles is curious to see how they’ll manage everything now that classes have started and his pupils will be taking up his time outside of his own homework, but he tries not to get too worked up about it, instead focusing on their night ahead.

Erica chose a hot pot restaurant for their date tonight, and Stiles eats like he hasn’t all day, only now realizing he in fact hasn’t as he stuffs his face and tells them about his classes they seem so interested in.

“They’re just gen eds, plus a computer science class just to see how much I like it,” Stiles says through a mouthful.

“Good idea. Then you can hack the mainframe and clear the national debt,” Erica says, taking a bite of her food. Beside her, Boyd raises a brow with a fond half-smile, and then he nods as if deciding to wholeheartedly agree with her.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Stiles says seriously, and Derek snorts beside him as he shoves a bite in with his effortless grip over his chopsticks.

Stiles loves Erica. He knew he liked her the first time he talked to her over the phone, answering every question Stiles had for her. At first it was basic stuff, like what part of the neighborhood the bar is in, and how long it’s been there, and what the staff is like. He told her he was looking to move into the area, which wasn’t a lie, and he was looking for a bar to call home because he’s an alcoholic who needs to know these things before making any big decisions.

It was an entirely lame excuse, and they both knew it was total bullshit, but she was eager to answer his questions because he was asking them for some reason and seemed harmless, and who is she to deny anyone’s curiosity? (“Do you have any lonely hot guys working for you?” “Why, yes, I do. That’s all I employ.”)

The archetype of strong and silent did not skip over Boyd by any means. He pulls it off well and is the right amount of obsessed with his wife, which is to say he looks at her like she hung the moon. They met when she was managing someone else’s bar with dreams of owning her own because she hated anyone telling her what to do, and Boyd supported her while she figured it out. Erica, in turn, supported him when he wanted to leave the oppressive bakery he was working at to start his own. A match made in heaven.

When Stiles made his first appearance, he was worried Derek’s friends wouldn’t accept him, or that perhaps Derek hadn’t been entirely truthful about his age. Derek assured him over and over they knew their situation, despite his original hesitation to share with them he was, and still is, in love with a teenager.

“I think teens are perfectly capable of making their own decisions,” Erica said, sipping her drink as they sat in a booth at the bar. It was his first time meeting them and she could tell how nervous he was as he kept swiping his sweaty palms over his knees. “Our society is so adamant about treating them like adults, it’s no wonder they end up falling in love with one.”

Stiles didn’t feel so nervous after that. She gave him a drink and said, “I trust you to keep your mouth shut, for once.”

Boyd cuffed him on the shoulder and said he’s not one to judge, and it’d be stupid to, anyway, after seeing how idiotically in love they are.

“Once he told us, he couldn’t stop bringing you up all the time,” Boyd said, and Stiles laughed and glanced over at Derek amorously. “Like, even the most inane thing would remind him of you, and he couldn’t hold himself back to save his life. I swear to god even a worm on the sidewalk reminded him of you.”

The worm story in question was when Eli dared Derek to eat a worm off the sidewalk, and Derek pretended to eat it so well that Eli started crying, which made Stiles start laughing because he saw right through Derek’s farce. Ever since then, any time he sees a worm on the sidewalk, he thinks of Derek, too.

“He about had a meltdown when that nasty bracelet fell off,” Isaac said, amused. Stiles’ bracelet fell off too, and he was very familiar with the feeling.

Derek flushed and brushed a hand over his face, hiding a sheepish smile. Stiles knew then he had nothing to worry about, welcomed into their pack with open arms before he even knew of the Boyd’s existence. A weekly dinner with them has been standard since then.

“I’m thinking of opening up a second location,” Boyd says after placing his chopsticks down, taking a long moment to share a communicative look with his wife before glancing between Stiles and Derek. “Actually, I am opening up a second location, and I’d like you to be the head baker.”

Stiles halts mid-chew, eyebrows shooting up as he looks to witness Derek’s reaction. Derek blinks, his eyebrows weaving together in disbelief.

“Are… you sure about that?” Derek asks after a long moment.

“Positively,” Boyd says, offering a short nod before picking up his chopsticks and returning to his meal. Like he didn’t just offer Derek a significant promotion or anything. “If you want it, that is.”

“Of course I do,” Derek says immediately, and Stiles knows that’s what he really wants because he wasted no time declaring it. He beams, arm falling around Derek’s waist.

“That’s fucking awesome,” Stiles says with a laugh, leaning in to kiss Derek’s cheek.

“I know, right?” Erica says excitedly, as if she were just now finding out about the news, too. “Congratulations, Der-bear.”

Derek beams, and Stiles beams right back before he's pulled in for a pressing kiss as if Stiles had anything to do with all the hard work Derek put in to earn such a promotion.  

At home, they celebrate with a joint and a heated make out session that turns into a celebratory blow job. Stiles is adamant over keeping tonight all about Derek, but Derek refuses to let Stiles fall asleep without getting him off. They lie in bed, Stiles’ cheek pressed at his chest, his fingers stroking over the coarse hair, and he still can’t believe this is their life. It’s all falling into place, and he can only hope that one day, Eli will fall in, too.

Chapter Text

The Sisyphean task of laundry is interrupted when Derek’s pocket starts vibrating. He usually doesn’t answer unknown phone numbers, but this one is local and says ‘healthcare’ underneath, and something tells him not to let it go to voicemail. His veins burst with adrenaline the moment the nurse tells him they have Stiles in the emergency room after getting hit by a car, and the clothes are abandoned midcycle. Peter lets him borrow one of his cars, and Derek attempts to maintain his regular driving composure to prevent another accident.

On the way there he thinks of all the things that could be wrong, thinks Stiles might not ever be the same Stiles that Derek has known nearly his whole life—perhaps his brain is shaken up enough that he’s a completely different person, or he’s so injured that he’ll be disabled for the rest of his life, or that he’s even on his deathbed and Derek’s not there and he’s all alone, and that one freaks Derek out enough that tears sprout in his eyes and his vision blurs. He loses his breath for a moment, his hands shaking as he clenches the wheel and climbs higher up the parking garage and searches for a fucking spot.

Somehow, with his arm in a sling and his leg raised, Stiles beams when Derek breezes into the curtained cubicle Stiles is tucked in among the several beds within the emergency room bay.

“Damn, I must have died and gone to hell, ‘cause you were made to sin,” Stiles says, eyes glinting as he markedly checks Derek out. Derek huffs out a broken laugh, relief swelling in his chest as he takes Stiles’ free hand in his own.

Stiles is doped up on whatever takes away bone and bruise pain, smiling at one side of his mouth as he blinks dreamily up at Derek.

“Hey, I’m taken, dude, you can’t just come in here and hold my hand,” Stiles says, half exasperated but clearly smitten, and Derek’s eyebrows go up, his lips quirking.

“Stiles,” Derek says, huffing out another short laugh as he leans down and kisses his forehead. “I’m so glad you were wearing your helmet.”

“Mmm, yeah, my daddy got it for me,” he says. “Don’t tell him you kissed me, though. He’ll kick your ass.”

Derek can’t help but laugh despite his nerves still on edge, shaking his head and reaching up to brush his hand over Stiles’ hair as he regards the damaged man in the hospital bed. He’s got forming bruises and scrapes on his arm and an imprint on his head where the helmet did its job, and his body is probably a lot more worse for the wear underneath the hospital garment. It’s clear he’s broken a few things, his skateboard included.

A nurse walks in with an iPad without glancing up, searching over Stiles’ chart before meeting Derek’s gaze.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” she says, her expression a bit confused. “I thought it would take a lot longer, he kept saying his father lives in California.”

“He does,” Derek says, lips a tight line.

“Yeah, but I live with my daddy,” Stiles chirps up with pride. “Told you he’d be here soon.”

Derek heaves a sigh, his skin warming as he offers the nurse a remorseful look. It’s not that he cares what people think of them, it’s that Stiles just loves to make people unnecessarily uncomfortable, and Derek feels the second-hand embarrassment.

The nurse blinks, schooling her features as quickly as she catches herself letting her half-shock, half-disgust appear. She clears her throat, glancing between the two, before clutching the iPad to her chest.

“We’re just waiting for radiology before we can figure out a treatment plan. Are you comfortable?” she asks, training her gaze on Stiles.

“I think so,” he says before raising a brow. “Are you?”

She purses her lips and shoots a glance over at Derek and back.

“Just press the call button if you need anything,” she says, quick to exit.

“You’re a menace,” Derek breathes out, exasperated as he shakes his head. “And you’re never skating again,” Derek adds, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“God, you sound just like him,” says Stiles, waving his hand off as he looks off to the side, annoyed.

“It sounds like he loves you very much and doesn’t want you to get hurt again,” Derek says, pursing his lips.

“Well, he can be unreasonable like that, but I’m gonna do what I want, anyway.”

Derek sighs, taking the seat beside his bed, holding his hand tightly. Stiles will inevitably do what he wants, and realistically, Derek can’t keep him from doing what he loves.

Perhaps it’s a way for him to feel close to Eli, and Derek gets it. Witnessing Eli become a proskater from afar has inspired Derek himself, though he knows he’s too old to pick skating back up at this point. Even with keeping himself in shape, baking has taken a toll on his body, and he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to keep doing it. He’d rather destroy his body doing something he loves, and he loves baking a lot more than he once loved skateboarding.

“Have you talked to your dad?” Derek asks, regarding Stiles as his glazed-over eyes stare at the hanging television on the other side of the bay.

He doesn’t acknowledge Derek’s words, quite entranced by the 90s sitcom rerun, just as Derek is entranced by his face—his patchy layer of short scruff covering his slim cheeks, the grown out buzzcut in need of a clean-up, the speckling of moles over his milky skin. He no longer looks like the boy that Derek fell in love with, but now a suggestion of the man Derek will spend the rest of his life with.

“No,” he says dully, letting Derek play with his fingers. Usually Stiles is the restless one, wired and stimming at some part of Derek to keep himself grounded. “He’ll flip out for no reason. What’s he gonna do, fix my bones for me?”

Derek sighs.

“You should call him, baby,” Derek says, thumb brushing over the back of Stiles’ palm.

“Eventually,” he says, disinterested.

Their relationship has become more strained in recent years. Derek assumes the Sheriff thought Stiles might grow out of his love for Derek, but it’s been five years since he’s moved in, and they’ve only grown stronger. Stiles has visited him a few times since they’ve lived here, but not once has the Sheriff stepped foot on New York concrete.

Stiles squeezes his hand lackadaisically before they roll him away to radiology. If he were in his right mind, he would not be as chill as he is right now.

He’s got an avulsion fracture at his ulna, a closed transversed fibula, and a few cracked ribs with a minor concussion. The doctor said he’s lucky he doesn’t have any spinal injuries. Usually people struck by cars going forty miles an hour sustain a lot more damage. Derek doesn’t want to think about his outcome had he not been wearing a helmet.

He’ll need surgery to pin his fibula back into place, and then he gets to wear a cast on his arm and leg for the next six weeks at minimum, though they suspect it’ll be a lot longer.

“We should try sounding,” Stiles says through a grimace when the nurse inserts his catheter, and Derek turns about ten shades of red as he breathes in and closes his eyes.

“Stiles,” Derek says, exasperated.

The nurse laughs, like he’s heard that one before, and Stiles smirks, pleased he’s embarrassed Derek and made an awkward situation even more awkward. Derek kisses him the moment the nurse steps away, just grateful he’s here and still him, and Stiles indulges him, taking it way too far for a hospital setting. Derek expects nothing less.

When he’s pushed away for surgery, Derek takes the time to make the calls informing everyone of Stiles’ predicament. Peter is pissed, and Lydia is already asking legal questions, and Boyd tells him to take as much time as he needs. They all insist on stopping by, but Derek convinces them not to when Stiles isn’t even present.

“You don’t have to wait all alone,” Isaac tells him. It warms Derek’s heart, his insistence falling on deaf ears.

When he calls Kira, she’s extremely sympathetic and reassures him she’ll let his professors and the rest of his cohort know, and Derek thanks her before he hangs up and stares at his phone wondering if they’ll let a teaching assistant take a leave of absence.

There’s no way Stiles will be able to work for a while, wheelchair bound since he’s incapable of using crutches with his fractured arm and ribs. If it were up to Derek, he’d be bed bound until he recovers, but he might as well tell spring flowers to stay underground after a dreadful winter.

He’s worked so hard to get where he is, with so much more to go considering the track he’s on to become a bona fide English professor. Derek knows he’ll be crushed if the university tells him he can’t continue, but hopefully they will work with him as he heals.

Saving the most daunting call for last, Derek brings up the Sheriff’s contact and debates sending him a text to avoid an actual conversation with him, knowing it’d be entirely inconsiderate to do such a thing. It’s not like the Sheriff has been very considerate of him, but then again, Derek can’t say he blames him.

It rings twice, and Derek hopes it’ll just go to voicemail, but he answers on the third trill. He clears his throat and scratches at his beard, gathering his courage.

“Sheriff,” Derek greets. It’s the first time Derek has directly spoken to him in seven years—since he was kicked out of town, to be exact.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, likely figuring Derek wouldn’t be calling for any other reason outside of Stiles and his wellbeing.

“Stiles was in an accident,” he says, and immediately the questions start sounding off, his tone distraught as he demands every single detail, and Derek does his best to keep up with him but he’s digging for answers that Derek simply doesn’t have.

“I think you should just get here as soon as you can,” Derek ends up telling him. “The nurses can answer your questions better than I can.”

“What, you mean you don’t know what’s going on with him?”

Derek purses his lips. “Yes, I do. He’s in surgery getting pins in his leg right now. I’m sure he’ll want to see you when he wakes up.” That’s probably not true, but he’s certain the Sheriff will want to see Stiles.

The Sheriff pauses before he gruffs out, “Fine,” and hangs up without saying goodbye. Derek glares at his phone before shoving it in his pocket.

Everyone ends up visiting for a few hours in shifts while Derek waits and sips on stale coffee. Peter and Isaac are the first, bringing Derek’s charger and a book to stay occupied like his mind isn’t already running a million miles a minute. Peter paces the waiting room while Isaac sits with him quietly, and it only makes Derek more anxious, so he sends them both away.

Erica and Boyd come next, delivering fresh bakery items for Derek and the medical staff, sitting with him quietly and expecting nothing in return. Allison and Lydia stop by, and Lydia insists on reviewing Stiles’ chart like it means anything to her, while Allison insists her dad the politician can do something about the careless driver. Derek instantly dismisses it. He hates that guy, and he’s certain Lydia can take care of the prosecution just fine.

It’s six hours before Stiles is rolled back into the room they stuck Derek in after he refused to go home. He’s as delirious as Derek thought he was when he first got here.

“I should break my leg more often,” Stiles declares. Derek scowls at that, not charmed by that statement no matter how cute he is while reaching full clarity.

“Everyone stopped by while you were out. They’re worried about you,” Derek tells him, sat by his bedside as he holds up the water cup for Stiles to sip through the straw.

“You mean you’re worried about me,” Stiles says groggily.

“Well, yes,” Derek admits, reaching up to swipe water from his mouth before leaning in to kiss him.

“I’m okay, daddy,” Stiles insists when he pulls away, and Derek offers a terse smile. That’s yet to be seen, but Stiles will lie like a rug if it means placating Derek.

Ensuring his comfort, Derek fusses over him, holding his cold fingers between his palms, adding another layer over him, bothering the nurses when the meds start to wear off and the button won’t release any more of them. They watch TV while he eats applesauce and complains about the shitty hot chocolate, and Derek feels more at ease as he babbles.

Stiles ends up drifting for a while, and Derek watches him sleep, still grateful he’s alive and breathing. He kisses his cheek and murmurs, “I love you so much, baby boy.”

“Love you more,” he mumbles back drowsily.

When the Sheriff shows up, Stiles’ eyes narrow at Derek like he’s been betrayed.

“You’re not skating anymore, ever,” the Sheriff gruffs out, squeezing his son tight despite his aches and pains, and Stiles winces but accepts the assaulting hug as he glowers at Derek over his father’s shoulder.

“Since when have I ever listened to you,” Stiles scoffs, retraining his glare at his father once the Sheriff has pulled away to properly examine him.

“You’re a damn professor, Stiles. Do you see professors skating to work?”

“Yes,” Stiles says, incensed. “You wouldn’t know that though, since this is the first time you’ve visited me in five years.”

The Sheriff pulls in a deep breath, likely to feign a calm composure, and sends Derek a furtive glance before returning his gaze back to his son. He’s been here all of five minutes and it’s the first time he’s made notice of Derek’s presence.

“I’m gonna go get a coffee,” Derek says, attempting to give them some privacy as they reconnect.

“Don’t leave me with this mad man,” Stiles whines, Derek’s transgression forgiven, and Stiles makes his eyes wide with a hint of a pout. Derek glances at the disgruntled Sheriff. It’s clear he wants some alone time with his son, and Derek’s the only one who can give it to him.

“I’ll get you one, too,” Derek says, kissing Stiles’ forehead before nodding curtly at the Sheriff as he leaves. By the time he returns, the Sheriff has taken Derek’s place at Stiles’ bedside, but Derek doesn’t say a word. He passes out their coffees, and the Sheriff mutters a ‘thanks’ under his breath, still unwilling to acknowledge Derek otherwise.

“Can you stop acting like he doesn’t exist,” Stiles snaps. “He called you, didn’t he? You wouldn’t even know I was here if it weren’t for him.”

“Stiles,” Derek tries, his distress apparent, but the Sheriff cuts him off before he can start scolding.

“I damn well know that, Stiles,” the Sheriff gruffs, face pinched. “Can you be patient with me, please? I’m still getting used to it.”

“It’s been seven years at this point!”

“Stiles,” Derek says through grit teeth. Any energy he’s got stored in his nervous system should be saved for healing, and getting worked up at his father is counterintuitive. Derek didn’t call the Sheriff here for them to hash out their resentments—he called him because if Eli were hurt, he’d want to know, too, god forbid anything happened to him.

Stiles’ jaw clenches, his gaze piercing, but Derek offers him a helpless look, like please just accept this circumstance for now and we can talk later, and Stiles, in his impaired state, concedes with a sigh as he rests back in his propped-up bed.

The three men end up staring at the television, grateful for the excuse to not have to talk. Occasionally Stiles will mumble something, breaking the tension before it builds back up, until eventually, when he’s certain the Sheriff will be sleeping vigil at his bedside tonight, Derek heaves in a breath and stands up.

“You’re leaving me?” Stiles asks with a frown. Derek offers a curt smile.

“I have to go make sure the apartment is ready for you,” Derek says, though they both know that’s a bullshit excuse to get out from under the Sheriff’s domineering presence. Plus, after being here for nearly twelve hours, Derek could use a shower.

The injured man acquiesces, likely figuring spending time with his half-estranged father is more important while he’s here, but insists on a full-on kiss before Derek departs. He attempts to deepen it, but Derek pulls away with a flush as he purses his lips and ducks his head.

“Be good,” Derek reminds him as he glances back up from under his brows. Stiles eyes him with his patent mischievous glint, and before he can open his mouth and make Derek and the Sheriff uncomfortable, Derek stares him down as he presses another kiss to his lips to shut him up before turning to the Sheriff.

“We have a bed for you if you’d like to stay with us,” Derek tells him. The Sheriff clears his throat with a nod.

“Thank you, Derek,” he says politely, and Stiles beams as he makes a show of glancing back and forth between them, head perked up in exaggerated pride.

They share their ‘I love you’ sign before Derek is out the door.

They’ve since moved from their starter apartment near campus, now in the Gramercy Park high-rise Peter purchased—yes, the entire building—as a wedding gift to Isaac. Both Hales insisted Stiles and Derek move into the second penthouse, and Derek pushed back on it for as long as he could until all three of them hounded him into submission. His excuses were moot—it’s too far from campus, it’s too far from work, it’s too expensive, I can’t ask that of you, knowing damn well Peter wouldn’t accept no for an answer, or any money from Derek or Stiles for that matter.

Isaac wanted Derek nearby, and Peter will stop at nothing to give Isaac what he wants. So they live here now, with a cityscape view and a balcony and three rooms that feel unnecessary but somehow suit everything they had at the West Side apartment and more. They moved once Stiles graduated his undergrad program, settling in during the summer months off before he dove right back into his master’s degree.

It’s nice not lugging twenty pounds of laundry down to the musty basement, and it’s nice not having paper thin walls or the occasional cockroach scurrying away once a light switch is flipped on. Stiles tempered his complains over handwashing since he never wanted Derek to worry about dishes after working in a kitchen all night, but ever since they moved in with the dishwasher, it’s all he fawns over.

Living here for free was uncomfortable at first, but Peter reminds him all the time there’s no point in having all this money if he can’t take care of his kin. And Derek gets it. If he were the billionaire, he’d do the same.

Having his uncle and his best friend as neighbors isn’t something Derek ever wished for, but now that he has it, it’s hard to imagine life without them so close. They are essentially the only family Derek has aside from Stiles and the medley of characters they’ve collected in their time here in New York. Derek’s parents and Laura have been distant with him for some time, though they still check in every now and then at least. Cora doesn’t acknowledge Derek’s existence, period. 

“How’s our boy?” Peter asks, reading the New Yorker as he waits for Derek in the dining room of their apartment. That is the downside of living here. Peter lets himself in whenever he wants, though it’s not any different from when they lived in Beacon Hills.

“He’ll survive, but he’s going to complain about it the whole time,” Derek says, his keys clattering on the labradorite countertop that Stiles picked out before they moved in.

“I’d be very concerned if he didn’t,” Peter says, sipping his coffee. He nudges a paper cup towards Derek, and Derek accepts it gratefully as he nods, quietly agreeing, his mouth twitching in fondness. The day Stiles stops complaining is the day they should start worrying about the oncoming apocalypse.

“Where’s Isaac?”

“Painting,” Peter answers, setting down his magazine as he eyes Derek and sips his coffee.

Isaac, in all his free time, spends most of it painting or sculpting now. Derek supposes he would be more creative, too, if money were no longer a worry, though it’s not like he can complain much. With the privilege of knowing they’ll never be homeless, money really isn’t much of a concern, anyway.

Derek chooses to work doing what he loves, knowing Peter would take care of them if he asked, but he never would. Derek likes taking care of Stiles, and it’s not as satisfying if someone else is funding their lifestyle.

Living for free is a consolation to keep Stiles—and Isaac, apparently—happy. What Derek earns covers the rest and more.

“Nervous?”

Sitting down across from him, Derek sucks in a breath. “Mostly just… uneasy.”

“Don’t be. You’ve taken good care of him—it’s obvious he’s happy.”

“Stiles takes care of me, too,” Derek insists.

Yes, Stiles is his baby, but ultimately, they have a true partnership, and Stiles fusses over Derek just as much. He’s gotten much better at cooking, or at least preparing food, and likes to make sure Derek has a meal when he gets home from work. And since going down the cleaning content rabbit hole on YouTube, Stiles has gotten pretty decent at cleaning the spaces in between, so Derek doesn’t do the heavy lifting in their relationship as much as he used to. Just buys him anything he wants and makes him orgasm as often as possible. And does the laundry, and most of the cooking.

Regardless of whether Stiles is happy or not, Derek gets the feeling it’s not really about that. The Sheriff’s trust was broken once he found out the man who had taken care of his son when he couldn’t would also be the man who stole his son away from him.

He seemed more open to the idea of their relationship years later in the hospital room, but there’s a chance he’s only saving face to make Stiles comfortable in his current state. Who knows if they’ll actually be able to settle their differences and come together as the family Stiles so desperately wants them to be.

With all the space in their apartment, there’s not much Derek really has to do to prepare for Stiles’ homecoming. After Peter leaves, he changes the bedsheets in the guest room and finishes up the chores he was interrupted by, already bored and lonely by the time he falls into bed simply because he has nothing better to do.

Stiles will be back tomorrow. Derek’s sleep is restless in the meantime.

Boyd told him to take as much time as he needs, but Derek doesn’t like the idea of being away from the bakery he helped build, and he likes to stay busy, anyway. Boyd is there waiting for him when he shows up at 3am on the dot, only to send him home as soon as he steps through the backdoor threshold.

“Come on, Boyd, I need something to keep me preoccupied,” Derek pleads, gripping his apron as Boyd herds him back outside.

“You need to sleep. You look like shit,” Boyd says, and Derek sighs as his shoulders drop. He is exhausted, but sleep doesn’t come for him when Stiles isn’t home.

It’s useless fighting him. Boyd’s already made up his mind and gotten Derek’s shifts covered for the foreseeable future, and though he tries not to show it, it feels like he’s easily replaceable.

“The bakery isn’t going anywhere. Stiles needs you right now,” Boyd says, cuffing Derek at his shoulder with a tender squeeze. “Go home. Erica and I will come visit later.”

Derek spends the rest of the early morning deep cleaning the kitchen and bathrooms to keep himself preoccupied, hyper aware of any preemptive judgements from Stiles’ father. He wants to make the best impression he can, even if in vain. He doesn’t sleep.

Using Peter’s SUV, Derek collects the prescriptions the doctor ordered and goes grocery shopping for Stiles’ favorite meal tonight. When he pulls up to the pick-up drive, Stiles is there waiting for him, sat in the wheelchair he’ll be living in for the next six weeks at the very least. The Sheriff is right behind him, his grip tight on the handles, eyes following the black vehicle until Derek parks directly in front of them.

“Hey, baby,” Derek says, ignoring the Sheriff’s presence as he holds out his hand. Stiles grips it tightly, raising himself up and balancing on one foot as his arms wrap around Derek’s neck. He plants an eager kiss on Derek’s lips.

“Hey, daddy,” he murmurs, sighing out as he supports his weight against Derek. The petname comes easy, as if it were Derek’s given name. It means the same as Derek’s ‘baby’, said colloquially because that’s just who Derek is to Stiles, and he will be for the rest of their lives.

It’s only a little awkward in front of Stiles’ actual father, but he doesn’t let it bother him. It’s not like the nature of their relationship is unknown, and Derek gave up worrying what others thought of them a long time ago.

Derek sighs out, relieved to have him back in his arms. He would squeeze back, but he’ll be unsqueezable for the foreseeable future while his ribs heal. For now, his hands fall to Stiles’ spine as they linger in their homecoming hug.

The Sheriff clears his throat and makes himself busy folding up the wheelchair, sticking it into the trunk while Derek helps Stiles into the passenger seat. He buckles Stiles in like precious cargo, stealing a quick kiss before he shuts the door and slips back into the driver’s seat. If the Sheriff is miffed to be sat in the back, he doesn’t make it known. Derek suppresses any hint of a smirk as he drives them home.

The car ride is quiet save for the radio, and the elevator ride, too, save for Stiles’ gabbing to cut the silence.

“Check it out,” Stiles says, waggling his eyebrows as he tips his wheelchair back and balances precariously on the back wheels once they’re in their apartment. It makes Derek nervous, and he reaches out with his foot and pushes him back safely to the quartz floor. Unfortunately, Derek can’t force a helmet on him indoors.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack,” Derek gruffs, secretly pleased to have some sense of control over Stiles and his wild energy as he grips the handles on the back of the wheelchair.

“Hey,” Stiles scoffs, glowering as he crosses his arms. Derek doesn’t hide his amusement as he pushes Stiles down the hall. They show the Sheriff his room, and with everyone tired and on edge after a night of terrible sleep, the Sheriff declares he’s going to take a nap. Derek is relieved to get rid of him for a while, content to have Stiles all to himself again.

“I bet you just love pushing me around,” Stiles says once they’re in the living room. Derek moved the coffee table out of the way, and now the vast space feels even bigger with it pushed against a wall.

“Yeah, I do,” Derek tells him smugly. He sits on the couch facing Stiles, dragging his chair in close as he leans in for a kiss. Stiles obliges, his working hand twisting into Derek’s shirt, their lips smacking softly as they make up for the days’ worth of lost kisses.

“Missed you,” Stiles mumbles between their locked lips. Derek does not ever want to part from him again.

“Missed you more,” Derek says, careful to drag Stiles into the V of his parted legs, but Stiles still winces in pain as he’s shifted into place. The pain meds can only do so much for his cracked ribs, and Derek feels like he kicked a dog when Stiles squeaks out a whimper and clutches close to him.

“Shit, baby, I’m so sorry,” Derek says, kissing his temple with a frown. Stiles sucks in a few recalibrating breaths before he shakes his head and lets it rest at Derek’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, daddy,” he murmurs, and Derek does his best to hold him without pressing on a bruise, but it’s quite an impossible feat. “I wanted you to hold me all night.”

“I’ve got you now, baby,” Derek tells him softly, cupping his head close, fingertips brushing over his scalp as he kisses his hair. Stiles’ free hand grips at Derek’s shirt, his body melting in Derek’s lap as he breathes out. “You okay?”

“Better now,” he says, kissing at Derek’s collarbone. Derek smiles, letting his eyes slip shut.

“How’s your dad?”

“He’s alright. Just worried is all,” Stiles answers, his warm breath ghosting over Derek’s neck. “He’s gonna stay for a few days, is that okay?”

“Of course,” Derek says, rubbing up and down his thigh. He’s not looking forward to living with his partner’s father, but given the circumstances, Derek can bear it.

“Will you attempt to get along with him, please?”

Derek takes a deep breath. It’s not like he’s got anything against him—the Sheriff is the one who despises Derek’s existence. There’s nothing Derek can say or do to shift the Sheriff’s opinion of him. He already did that by falling in love with his son, and it’s unlikely to change again.

“You know I’m not the one who has a problem,” Derek says, hand steadily brushing up and down Stiles’ thigh. He doesn’t know who he’s comforting more—himself or Stiles.

“I know, just,” Stiles sighs out. “It would be nice if you two could get along like before.”

He means when they were buddies and drank beer and watched football together after one of their weekly dinners.

“I know you’re on drugs, but let’s be realistic, baby. I doubt it’ll ever be like that again.”

Stiles sighs again. “He’s so fucking stubborn.”

Derek’s lips twitch. “I know the feeling.”

—

Erica and Boyd come over with a week’s worth of meals, and she dotes on Stiles the whole time. He’s humble about it, pretending her attentions are unwarranted despite the evidence of his broken body right in front of them.

“Seriously, I’m fine, it’s fine, guys. I’ll be good as new in a few months,” he insists. Derek rolls his eyes.

If the casts, the sling, and the wheelchair don’t say it enough, the pain he attempts to hide in his expression sure is. Derek can read him better than he can read himself, and he knows Stiles is in an incredible amount of pain. He won’t take more than the prescribed dose of his meds for fear of becoming too reliant on them, and Derek understands, but he’d much rather his baby boy not be hurting.

“You poor thing,” Erica coos with a frown drawing her features, petting at his shoulder. “You tell me if he isn’t taking care of you, okay? We have plenty of room.”

Stiles sighs woefully. “I suppose he’s doing his best…” he says, embellishing his misery as he glances over. Derek blinks idly, lips a tight line as he shares an incredulous look with Boyd.

Allison and Lydia show up unprompted, likely invited by Erica when she told them she was dropping off sustenance. Instead of food, they have flowers and weed. Peter and Isaac let themselves in, and their weekly gathering proceeds on the wrong day, nonetheless welcome.

Everyone fawns over Stiles for a bit, signing their name and well wishes on his neon green casts, rubbing his head like a good luck offering to get better soon. He remains modest but soaks it up, exulting over the signatures like collected treasures and the overabundance of love hemorrhaging from his chosen family.

“So, are you going to tell us how it happened, or are we just to assume you did this all by yourself?” Allison asks, taking a bite of her food beside Lydia. Stiles introduced them when Lydia came to visit and coincidentally ended up transferring to CUNY to finish out her doctorate. They’ve been inseparable ever since.

“I got hit by a car while riding my skateboard,” Stiles recaps with a shrug, awkwardly holding his fork in his left hand. He could hold it in his right, but the cast makes that just as awkward, and Stiles is adamant about becoming ambidextrous again since giving up drumming ages ago.

They all stare at him with bated breath, Lydia’s brows going up.

“I honestly don’t remember much. I think it was a red car,” he offers, his mouthful. “The dude was an asshole about it though. I do remember him jumping out to yell at me. And I lost my shoes.”

“Don’t worry, we’re suing him to hell and back,” Lydia says as she refills her plate. Peter raises his glass and tips his head forward proudly.

“Hear, hear,” Peter says, sipping his drink with a gloating smile. “I’ll buy you a new pair of shoes, Stiles.” Isaac’s mouth stretches into a fond sneer, side-eyeing Derek expectantly.

“I’ll be buying the shoes, thanks,” Derek insists. The group snickers, and under the table, Stiles’ hand finds Derek’s, fingers squeezing as well as they’re able.

“I’ll bet daddy took away your skateboarding privileges,” Allison teases, lips quirked as she sips her drink.

“I’ll let him think that,” Stiles says, glancing over at Derek with a smirk.

“If he doesn’t want me in an early grave, he’ll do what he’s told for once,” Derek says, and that earns him hearty laughs from around the table. He didn’t mean it as a joke, but it becomes one since they all know Stiles will do whatever he damn well pleases.

Derek’s lips twitch, squeezing Stiles’ hand back just as the Sheriff makes an appearance, treading carefully into the dining room. The conversation pauses as everyone glances over, and the Sheriff’s eyes trail over everyone’s face before settling on Stiles.

“Oh, hey dad. Come eat with us,” Stiles says easily, waving him over. All at once, chairs are shifted, and one is set in place between Stiles and Lydia. As he takes a seat, a plate is passed to him, and Stiles starts introducing him to the people he’s unfamiliar with, who all greet him with warm smiles. For a steep moment, it’s quiet as the group adjusts to this outsider, but Lydia speaks up first.

“How’s Beacon Hills, Sheriff?” she asks, one hand hidden under the table at Allison’s thigh, the other gracefully holding her fork.

“It’s a lot quieter these days,” the Sheriff answers, and from there, the conversation returns to easy laughs when Isaac jokes about the dwindling population of their sleepy hometown thousands of miles away.

The whole time, Stiles’ fingers stay intertwined with Derek’s, and each time he glances over with a sated smile, Derek melts a little, unfazed over the Sheriff’s lingering observations.

Over the next few days, the Sheriff stares at them like that a lot, to the point where Derek feels uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He refuses to let Stiles’ father’s presence dictate how Derek treats him in the safety of their own home, continuing to dote on him, making sure he’s resting as much as possible. Stiles makes that a difficult feat, already so antsy with just a couple days of r&r under his belt.

He is adamant about doing as much as he can, and Derek gets it, but they have very different ideas of what that is. While he should be moving to prevent atrophy and healing incorrectly, he insists on doing way too much. When returning from the store, Derek finds him unloading the dishwasher, stretching to put plates away in the upper cabinets. He balances on his working leg and leans against the counter, wincing in pain as he bites through it.

The Sheriff sits in the living room with the TV on and does nothing about it, which infuriates Derek to no end, though realistically he knows Stiles will continue doing whatever the fuck he wants and the Sheriff, or Derek, can’t do anything about it.

“Baby, why do you insist on hurting yourself,” Derek asks, exasperated as he marches over and snatches the plate from him.

“I can fucking do it, just let me,” Stiles snaps, snatching it right back with a glare. His hand falters when he winces in pain again, moving too fast for his own good.

“I know you can do it, but you shouldn’t be. You’re only extending your healing process. Do you want to be stuck in the wheelchair all summer?”

“I want to do my regular fucking chores,” Stiles huffs out, grimacing as he barely stretches to set the plate on the shelf. Even the smallest movements cause him pain, and Derek for the life of him can’t understand why he is so adamant on accomplishing such a menial task when any other time he’d be procrastinating and complaining about it.

He reaches for another plate out of the dishwasher, and Derek stops him, pushing into his space, setting the plate back down before cupping his face and searching his gaze.

“Stiles, baby, please listen to me. You need to rest. You can be lazy now. I will wait on you hand and foot. Just please stop hurting yourself, it’s not even necessary.”

Stiles’ brows pinch in, his gaze searching right back, lips drawn in a defiant frown. Derek kisses him, just a quick peck, before pulling back to regard him again, hands still holding his precious face.

“You have one job right now. You need to rest and heal. Don’t make it worse.”

“But I want to do it,” he says woefully, his pouting frown and his big eyes pulling at Derek’s heart strings. His hand comes to hook around Derek’s wrist, thumb resting at the back of Derek’s palm.

“I know, sweetheart, but not right now. Aren’t you hurting? Would you want me to keep working if I was in pain?”

Stiles blinks recurrently, lashes fluttering over his warm eyes, his expression drawing into one of despondence as if the thought brings him a different kind of pain. He shakes his head.

“No,” Derek affirms for him, tone soft and doting as he swipes his thumbs over his scruffy cheeks, leaning in to steal another quick kiss before he rests their foreheads together. “Just let me take care of you, okay, baby? I’ve got you.”

Stiles heaves in a breath so big that his features twist in pain once again, sighing out with the faintest whimper as his arms wrap around Derek’s waist.

“Fine,” he grumbles, face pressing into Derek’s neck. Derek hugs his shoulders, kissing the top of his head, palming up and down his spine as he breathes out in relief. When he meets the Sheriff’s gaze over the counter separating the kitchen from the living room, he holds it briefly, the Sheriff’s expression unreadable before he returns to his television program.

From there, Stiles is a lot more compliant, resting his bones and leaning into his sloth. Derek knows he’s tired—healing is exhausting, on top of the drowsy side effects of his prescription meds. With his brain still muddled from his concussion, and his body not working how he’s used to, he falls into a funk, lazing about just as Derek’s asked of him. He smells like it, too, having not properly bathed since before the accident nearly a week ago now. Wet wipe baths are no longer cutting it.

Derek helps him undress as he sits on the toilet with the lid down, pulling off his sweatpants and underwear before slipping the cast cover over his leg. He unzips the hoodie Stiles has lived in since returning from the hospital, pushing it off his shoulders and tossing it in the laundry basket before standing back up. Stiles shoves his arm into the cast cover as Derek holds it in place, then takes Derek’s hand as he pulls himself up onto his working leg.  

His bruises look a lot worse than Stiles insists they are, but Derek still can’t help but frown when he regards his broken body, overly careful of avoiding any pain points.

“I can do it,” Stiles tells him when Derek starts to guide him to the bath.  

“I know, baby,” Derek reminds him.

He hops to the tub, jaw tight as he grits through the pain, and Derek panics internally but doesn’t say a word as he follows behind him with his arms outstretched just in case. He grips the safety bar and wobbles as he lowers into the hot bath, and as he opens his mouth to speak, his eyes already asking the question, Derek is undressing and sinking in right behind him.

As Stiles washes his hair with one hand, Derek washes where he can reach, and Stiles lets him without insisting he can do it himself for once. He’s exhausted and retaliating is outside of his realm of fucks to give in this moment, Derek can tell.

Derek kisses at his shoulder and wipes suds over his chest, and Stiles sighs as he leans back into Derek’s torso, the dripping sounds of water and their soft breathing echoing in the stone bathroom. Stiles’ body is like wax, melting over Derek as he drags the washcloth between each of his exposed fingers, down his thigh, between his legs, washing precariously before he swipes the rag back up his stomach. Derek rinses him with the extendable faucet, his head tipped back on Derek’s shoulder as the warm water washes over him.

He loves when Stiles is like this, so compliant and willing to let go. Not because he doesn’t love Stiles’ defiant nature, because he does—it’s what makes his obedience that much sweeter—but because Stiles trusts Derek so complicitly that he’s able to release his instincts and let Derek take over for him. There’s nothing to worry about when Derek’s got him.

Stiles sighs, his hand resting at Derek’s knee, rubbing soggy circles over his skin. Derek presses his lips at the cord of his neck, arms encircling him.

“What’s on your mind, baby?”

“What if I can’t catch up?” Stiles asks woefully, referring to the ever-growing mountain of reading and discussions waiting for him, not to mention the work he has to grade for his class, and the lectures he has to plan, and the ongoing research for his thesis to top it all off.

Derek’s lips twitch.

“Oh, is that the one thing you can’t do now?”

Stiles huffs a short laugh, turning to butt his head at Derek’s jaw as he relaxes completely against him. If anyone can do it, Stiles can.

—

Not for the first time this evening, Stiles has stolen the majority of the covers, his limbs entangled under the sheets and sprawled over Derek’s form. Between his casts and broken body, he’s quite uncomfortable to snuggle up to in this state, mostly for fear of causing him any further pain.

Derek would normally be at work right now, but since he doesn’t have to go in, they’ve been going to bed at the socially acceptable bedtime. Except Derek’s body does not care. He should be folding croissants right about now; instead he’s staring at the ceiling as thoughts slip by and moonlight spills on the glittering floor.

The quiet cracks in time offer too much room to think of Eli, though Derek thinks of him every day, usually right before he forces himself to think of something else. Too many things remind him of his son, Stiles included, but it’s gotten easier to train his thoughts elsewhere to keep the ache at bay.

On a night like tonight, after witnessing Stiles interact with his father all week, and when everything feels so still and impermanent all at once, the inevitable thoughts of his son build a home inside him. Tears prickle at his eyes, and he rubs them, hard, before glancing over at Stiles and debating on waking him for comfort. He reaches over and brushes the back of his fingers along Stiles’ arm, searching over his torpid features, his lashes laying over his cheeks, his parted lips, and decides against it, forcing himself up and out of bed.

Dragging his sweatpants over his hips, Derek pads out into the living room and falls into the couch, clutching a throw pillow to his chest as he snatches up the remote. He flips to the channel he pays for, the skateboarding one with live feeds and movies and all things skateboarding, and lets out a breath in hopes it’ll alleviate the sorrow standing on his chest.

Sometimes Derek catches Eli on the channel, though he knows when he’ll be on air most of the time. He monitors his career closely, finally giving in to social media just to follow his content; reading the captions in earnest, the thirsting comments in amusement. He’s good, better than good, nearly making the Olympic team the last time around.

Derek has always known this about him, and it makes perfect sense that it’s even in the realm of possibility that he’s made it his livelihood. From the sidelines, Derek and Stiles are always rooting for him. Derek doesn’t know if watching him so diligently is good for his soul or not, but it’s all he has left of his son, and he can’t not as a proud father.

Eli has not once reached out or made it seem like he is at all interested in reconnecting with them, and while Derek still doesn’t regret choosing Stiles, some days he wonders if he made the right choice coming clean. If their relationship would be different if they’d made it seem like they didn’t start dating until Stiles moved to New York. It would have been a lie, but perhaps it wasn’t necessary for Paige or Eli to know that Derek cheated on her while Stiles was underage. Clearing his conscious was for his benefit and only created more pain, and years later, that’s Derek’s only lingering regret, aside from actually cheating.

He knows he deserves this, whatever this is, some form of hell on earth where he doesn’t get to speak or know his son. That doesn’t make it hurt any less—only makes it easier to self-flagellate when he’s already feeling pretty low. He should know this pain.

Their disconnected proskater is not currently streaming, but a movie plays that Derek recalls the boys watching on repeat growing up, and the channel is successful in accomplishing what Derek purchased it for. He wipes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath, wishing the passenger from Beacon Hills in the guest room was his son he dreams of rekindling with. He lets his eyes close, comforted by the familiar sounds of the film, until he hears a door creak open and careful footsteps emerging from the dark corridor.

Sitting up, Derek glances over to see the Sheriff make an appearance, clad in plaid pajama bottoms and a white undershirt, the same outfit Stiles wears to bed. Derek clears his throat and rubs a hand over his face.

“Hey, Sheriff,” Derek says, eyeing him carefully. “Sorry, is the TV too loud?”

“Not at all. Still on California time,” the Sheriff says, taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch. Derek nods in understanding, watching him from the edge of his vision as he faces the screen.

Derek and the Sheriff haven’t been in a room without Stiles in quite some time, and he’s forgotten what it’s like to have such an officious presence close by. At one point in time, it made him feel safe. Now he’s just nervous, but he does his best to keep that to himself, maintaining a still façade as he keeps his focus on the television.

“He’s very talented,” the Sheriff says after a while, the film easing the silence between them. Derek glances over from the corner of his gaze, brows furrowing.

The Sheriff nods to the blown-up photograph mounted on the wall—the shot is taken from below through a fish-eye lens, Eli gripping the deck of his board, his stretched-out arm balancing him in midair. His face is visible under his helmet, brows furrowed not unlike Derek’s in this moment, locked in and completely absorbed in his dream come true. The photograph has become a monolith to the boy they both lost, so engrained in the design of the apartment that it’s easy to forget he’s there until Derek’s eyes settle on him and stare for too long.

“Yeah,” Derek responds, his voice low as to hide the tears threatening to spill. He clears his throat and clutches the pillow against his bare stomach. He’d really rather not have this conversation with the Sheriff, or at all. He doesn’t like to talk about Eli.

Occasionally, over the breakfast table on a drowsy morning, or on a walk with city lights illuminating their steps, he or Stiles will say, ‘I miss him’, and the other will say, ‘me, too,’ and it’ll be silent for too long as they comfort each other through a reaffirming squeeze or a kiss to the temple, and then they move on.

Derek wonders what he’s doing right now, if Eli misses them at all. Perhaps Eli doesn’t even think of them.

For another long beat, the only sounds are the film playing and his own breathing, and Derek thinks the conversation is over, the Eli shaped hole in his heart undulating without its missing piece before he throws a theoretical canvas over it.

“You should be proud of him,” the Sheriff says, and instant tears well along Derek’s lashes, his jaw tightening. “You never let him be anyone else but himself. He’s good because of you.”

Derek knows he means good inside, not just talented, and he wonders where this is coming from, if the Sheriff’s sole intention of sneaking out here this late was to make Derek cry and mourn his estranged son. He was perfectly fine doing that on his own.

He doesn’t say a word for fear of his voice cracking him open and forcing the vulnerable part of him to see the light of night. He hardly likes to cry in front of Stiles, let alone someone who despises him. Eli is a very tender subject and he has trouble controlling the surfeit of emotions that tend to come with it.

The Sheriff seems to understand this and doesn’t push on it anymore, and they share another long quiet as Derek gathers himself, swallowing his tears and the swelling ache in his chest. It never goes away, only subsides for a while, like waves drawing back into the sea only to come crashing in all over again.

“You’ve done a good job taking care of Stiles, too.”

Derek swallows, the taut tracks of dried tears softening as another rush floods over his cheeks. Again, he doesn’t say a word, just lets his silence speak for his bewilderment.

“I only ever wanted him to be happy,” Derek offers eventually, his low voice a lot more level than he’d expected. He clutches at the throw pillow and stares at the television without perceiving its images.

“I get that now,” the Sheriff says solemnly. “You wouldn’t risk losing your own son if you didn’t.”

Derek never expected or even dreamed of the Sheriff uttering such a thing. The moment he hears it, something in his chest unlocks, and he can’t control his tears anymore. He turns away, sucking in a deep breath, rubbing repeatedly at his face in an attempt to temper them.

“I miss him so much,” Derek manages after too long a beat, clearing his tight throat and blinking profusely.

“Something tells me he misses you too,” the Sheriff says, and Derek’s brows furrow as he turns to him.

“What makes you so sure?” Derek asks, almost suspicious as he eyes the Sheriff closely. How would he know such a thing?

“I just know how much that boy loved you. That kind of love doesn’t just go away,” he says, pausing as he gathers his thoughts. The Sheriff continues, “He wouldn’t be where he is if it weren’t for you. There’s no doubt in my mind he doesn’t think of you every time he steps on his skateboard.”

Derek doesn’t want to take credit for Eli’s talent and hard work, but the man does make a partial point. His first thought when Paige told him she was pregnant was how much he wanted to teach their kid how to skate. Mostly, the idea of a tiny human on a skateboard was amusing, but at the time, Derek had a burning love for skateboarding and just wanted to impart his knowledge onto his offspring. Eli picked up on it quick, like it was in his genes or something, and Stiles kept up with him.

Derek isn’t sure he can continue this conversation without turning into a complete wreck on the couch.

He clears his throat again, looking down at his lap as he swallows down the tears, breathing steady. The Sheriff has said his piece and seems content to remain quiet now, and Derek has more than enough time to recover as he stares at the movie playing and wonders if any of that is true.

—

The university allowed Stiles to work from home, a verdict he didn’t have to fight too hard for since he’s already favored in his cohort, but it’s not nearly as satisfying for him. In-class discussions are one of his strong suits—a given—and he enjoys teaching in front of a live audience. Sitting in front of a computer in their office just doesn’t do it for him. He’s bored and can’t get his energy out like he used to. With his limited mobility and lack of stimulation, plus his dad leaving after some much needed bonding time, Stiles has been understandably morose. He needs something to remind him life is still decent.

They’ve discussed it a few times in the past but never fully committed. It’s a big decision, one Derek does not take lightly, but ultimately, he knows it’s inevitable for them. They’ll be together for the rest of their lives—this is a fact Derek knows as the sky is blue. They might as well exercise their right as a couple and cement it.

So, Derek decides it’s time.

The cat Derek picks out reminds him of Stiles, and he hopes their personalities mesh well instead of clash the way similar personalities tend to. He’s a tabby, the color of orange sherbet, quite friendly and still considered a kitten, with speckled squash eyes and spidery white whiskers. He was surrendered to the shelter because the older cat the previous owner had did not like him, and he’s the only cat Derek has met that asks for and enjoys belly rubs, so. They’re the one missing out.

Derek has set up the guest room with all the items needed to sustain and entertain a kitten, keeping everything out of site to make it a surprise, which is easy considering Stiles never enters the room. Derek’s always been good at secrets, but this one was hard to maintain. He didn’t want to say anything for fear of it not working out, but he also knew Stiles would be delightfully surprised and Derek’s been looking forward to his reaction all week. Today is the day he finally gets to bring Butters home.

Butters meowed the whole way, but the moment Derek sets his carrier down in the guest room and opens the door, he’s completely quiet, scanning his new surroundings as he sniffs the air.

He’s left the door ajar, keeping the cat entertained as he waits for Stiles to finish his class and pass them as he wheels down the hall for his regular after-class-snack. It’s not long before he’s done, going through the motions as he uses his knee scooter to push himself down the hall. He doesn’t even notice Derek or the cat playing in the room, bored with it all and ready for his body to heal so he can get back to living his intended life.

“Derek?” he asks through a string cheese caught between his lips, wheeling back down the hall in search of his missing Derek, who turns to him with a smile as the door is pushed the rest of the way open.

The cat pulls on the feather toy attached to the wand Derek holds, and Stiles’ eyes go wide, the string cheese falling from his mouth where Butters is quick to abandon playtime to run off and inspect it.

“Oh my god,” Stiles gasps, and the cat’s ears perk up as Derek reaches over and snatches up the cheese before he can properly feast.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says again, this time with a shaken tone of excitement as he leans down to let the cat sniff his fingers properly, hoping for more cheese. Derek’s lips twist upwards, pleased the surprise is every bit of satisfying as he’d hoped. Stiles is clearly pleasantly surprised.

“Is this… who is this?” Stiles asks softly, keeping his voice quiet so as not to scare off the cat, though Butters has proven he’s quite fearless, already claiming Stiles as his as he brushes his scent all over the spindly fingers and steps in closer to let Stiles pet him better.

“Butters. He’s young enough that you could probably rename him, if you wanted to,” Derek says, smiling as he pets over the cat’s back all the way down to his tail before starting all over again. He’s so soft and happy to have the attention, purring as he butts his head against Derek’s hand.

“He’s ours?”

“He’s ours,” Derek confirms, glancing up at Stiles from under his brows.

Stiles, ever emotional thanks to the pain meds and his temporary sullen lifestyle, has tears in his eyes as he shifts to sit on the floor beside Derek. He gingerly pets the new member of their family, his body buzzing as he holds back incredulous laughs through his tears. Testing his luck, he picks up the cat, clutching the small furry beast close as the cat sniffs at the silver salt gleaming in Stiles’ eyes.

“I love him,” Stiles says, his voice only half-broken as the cat sniffs earnestly at this crying human holding him, and Derek lets out a hearty laugh as he reaches up to swipe Stiles’ cheek with his thumb.

“He seems to return the sentiment,” Derek muses, leaning in to kiss at his temple. Butters starts to clamor for his release, and Stiles obliges, only for the cat to hop up on his shoulder to continue his sniffing and scenting at Stiles’ buzzed hair.

“He’s our baby,” Stiles cries, and Derek snorts with a smile twisting his lips.

“He reminded me of you,” Derek tells him, and Stiles grins over at him as he rubs his eyes.

“You didn’t have enough of me?”

With another laugh, Derek pulls Stiles in for a celebratory kiss.

“I figured it was time for you to get a taste of your own medicine,” Derek says, “and no, I never have enough of you.”

Stiles laughs and kisses him again, fingers gripped snug in Derek’s shirt.

—

Sex is a precarious thing even without one being injured. Derek does his best to touch Stiles carefully, but inevitably, he ends up pressing too hard on a bruise, or crushing Stiles’ rib cage between his thighs as he sinks down over his cock. Stiles grits through it, but Derek knows he’s hurting, and he feels rotten for causing him any added pain, kissing him earnestly in apology.

Stiles is frustrated to say the least.

“I just want to fuck you,” he whines, bucking up as Derek kneels over his hips, the tip of Stiles’ cock snug inside of him but not far enough.

“I know, baby,” Derek concedes, bracketing him in as he pants over Stiles’ face. “Just relax, I’ll do the work.”

He’s lost count how many times he’s said that, and it only seems to make Stiles more frustrated. But Stiles currently doesn’t have the ability to fuck Derek the way he’s used to. His arm is not to be under pressure by any circumstances, and the bulky cast wrapped around his leg prevents him from keeping the same equilibrium he’s accustomed to in his regular rhythms. He can’t prop himself up, and he can’t stand up, and he can’t really maintain a pleasurable pace without getting winded quickly.

Despite all this, he insists. It’d be much easier for Derek to roll Stiles over and fuck him instead, but they’ve done that plenty of times since Stiles’ accident since it’s the easiest route, and it’s been a while since Derek’s bottomed. He misses how complete he feels when Stiles is inside him, and he knows Stiles misses it, too.

“Just—” Stiles huffs, free hand squeezing at Derek’s thigh. “What if you lay on your side?” he tries, licking his lips.

“We can try,” Derek says, pulling off entirely before dropping beside him.

Stiles latches to him immediately, lining himself up before slipping back inside. He spent a lot of time fingering Derek with copious amounts of lube knowing the difficult part would take a while, the slime still slick between his cheeks. Stiles’ arm falls over Derek’s waist, leg slipping between Derek’s calves as he starts to build his pace up. It feels good, but Derek can tell he’s already tired.

“Are you sure—”

“Yes,” Stiles snaps, and Derek decides to let him do whatever he wants, letting go for once as his eyes slip shut and Stiles fucks him the best way he can manage.

His forehead presses at Derek’s neck, puffs of hot air purling down Derek’s spine as Stiles breathes heavily and maintains his pace.

“You feel good, baby?” Derek asks, arching his back as he gives him as much access as possible, eyes fluttering with a low groan when Stiles’ heavy cock brushes over his prostate.

“Yeah, daddy,” he gasps out, hips jerking erratically the closer he gets. Derek reaches back and pulls his cheeks apart, clenching tight with each drag as he turns back to watch Stiles in his peripheral.

His face is pinched in concentration, lips pink and lush from biting them, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin. His dark eyes meet Derek’s, brows threaded together. He’s working overtime to keep his pace, and Derek knows he’s exhausted.

“Are you gonna come?” Derek asks, more out of curiosity than a teasing praise. Stiles shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he pants, his muscles quivering from holding himself in such a perilous position, left arm propping himself up to keep his ribs from crushing against the bed.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Derek says, finally calling it before he pulls off and twists himself around.

“No, wait,” Stiles pouts, making no effort to bring him back in. He’s still rock hard, the tip of him pink and shiny, his breath fast as he attempts to catch it without pulling in too deep and widening his rib cage. He ends up slumping onto his back, staring up at the ceiling in frustration.

“Baby, look at you,” Derek says, brows pinched in concern. “You’re exhausted. You can’t even catch your breath.”

Stiles frowns, still attempting to catch said breath. It’s harder for him when he can’t expand his ribcage without causing any pain, and it makes Derek nervous watching him struggle to breathe. He starts to protest again, but Derek cuts him off, hand curling around his dick as he proceeds to jerk him the rest of the way off.

“You’re my good boy, right?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods easily, hips chasing Derek’s heavy hand. “So just let daddy take care of you, okay baby? All I want you to do is sit still and let me play with you. Can you do that?”

Stiles swallows, breath hitching as Derek swipes a thumb over his drooling slit, before he nods solemnly.

“Okay, daddy,” he accedes, whimpering when Derek settles between his legs and fondles the soft skin over his balls.

“There’s my good boy,” Derek says lowly, the ring he’s made with his finger and thumb cinching around the crown of Stiles’ perfect cock.

A low groan hums in Stiles’ throat as he thrusts forward and bites his lip, watching Derek’s face as his free hand grips the sheets. Derek smiles down at him, stroking slowly, wiggling his thumb at the frenulum just the way that has Stiles’ eyes fluttering. He could watch Stiles’ face alone and be content, but he knows how much Stiles wants to be inside him, and Derek wants it just as bad. He just doesn’t want to cause him pain while doing it.  

He decides reverse cowboy might do the trick; the only way he won’t crush any damaged part of him. He drags out a final stroke and leans down to kiss him before he can’t anymore, and Stiles kisses back eagerly, quick to slip his tongue in, grip his hair, pant into his mouth. Derek breaks the kiss with a quick peck and turns to straddle Stiles’ thighs, lining himself up before seating himself back over his cock.

“Fuck, daddy,” Stiles moans out, his hand coming to Derek’s waist as he lays perfectly still—just like the impeccably good boy that he is. Derek looks over his shoulder as he pulls himself up and falls back down over the slick length.

“Yeah, that’s the point,” Derek says, his lips curling. “Better?” he asks, and Stiles nods, lip between his teeth, brows knit in pleasure.

Derek is quick to build up his rhythm, happy to be full of him without causing him any pain. It’s hard to look over his shoulder and pay attention to his ministrations at the same time, so he lets his hands fall at each side of Stiles’ legs and fucks himself over Stiles’ cock, indulging himself now. The angle feels a lot more natural this way, his legs pumping up and down with ease, mouth salivating at the thickness filling him. While he’d love to watch Stiles’ face, it’s easy to imagine his pale skin and his plush lips, his sweet noises filling Derek’s ears and pooling into the glow spreading out from his loins.

Stiles’ hand moves from Derek’s waist to their nexus, his thumb brushing over Derek’s stretched rim, feeling himself filling up his daddy. Derek doesn’t see this angle of Stiles very often, always preferring to face him, but he knows it’s mesmerizing, watching himself spread Derek open, perfectly wrapped around him like Derek was made for him. It’s arbitrary but it’s what Derek chooses to believe when he’s filling Stiles up quite nicely, and he knows Stiles’ feels the same. He’d have to after all the times Derek has told him how perfect his cock is for daddy.  

He works his hips, falling over his thick cock, mouth dropping open with a guttural moan when he manages to get the angle right and stimulate his prostate against Stiles’ dick. Stiles’ casted hand presses at the small of Derek’s back, fingertips digging into flesh, his thumb resting at the bottom notch of his spine.

“Daddy,” Stiles says, his tone a warning, and Derek licks his lips and glances over his shoulder, arching his back and clenching tightly.

“You gonna come baby boy?” Derek asks, this time the teasing praise apparent in his tone, and Stiles nods vigorously as he bucks into the heat Derek offers him.

“Fill daddy up, baby,” Derek tells him, turning back to maintain his pace, watching as Stiles’ knees bend and his toes curl, a soft whimper leaving him as his cock pulses within the ringed muscle.

“That’s my good boy,” Derek pants out, letting himself sit over Stiles’ legs as he catches his breath.

Usually when Stiles fucks him, he can come on that alone. But it’s different when Derek is riding him, the gusto behind Stiles’ thrusts simply nonexistent. As much as he loves coming on Stiles’ cock, he wants to see his face now, and he’s close enough that he’ll come with a few practiced strokes, satisfied on the semen slipping from his hole as he pulls off.

Stiles licks his lips, face flushed and shiny as he watches Derek turn to face him.

“Sit on my face,” Stiles tells him, and Derek quirks an eyebrow, cock leaking between his spread thighs.

“Seriously, I wanna eat you out,” he insists, swallowing as if his mouth is over salivating at the thought. Derek stares at him, pondering.

He weighs over 200 pounds, and while he has decent control of his body, he’s worried about crushing Stiles’ face as he orgasms—he can’t help what his muscles do when he’s coming.

“Oh my god you’re seriously debating on getting eaten out?” Stiles scoffs, mouth gaping incredulously.

“Shut up,” Derek grumbles, pressing their lips together forcefully.

“I would easily shut up if your fat ass would—”

“My ass is not fat,” Derek grumbles, brows pinched as he covers Stiles’ mouth and glares. He knows Stiles is just goading him to get what he wants, his smirk hidden but apparent in his gaze as he licks Derek’s palm. He pulls his hand back, cupping under Stiles’ jaw, squeezing his cheeks as he leans in until the tips of their noses touch and their eyes search the other’s.

“It’s phat with a ph,” Stiles murmurs.

Derek holds back his smirk.

“You tap me if you can’t breathe, got it?”

He only considers it since he’s already close enough.

“Got it,” Stiles breathes out, the corners of his mouth upturned triumphantly.

They situate themselves into the best position, Derek’s bent legs bracketing Stiles’ head as he cups his balls and lowers himself down, gripping the headboard and watching vigilantly what he can see of Stiles’ face. His eyes darken, watching Derek right back.

Stiles hums in satisfaction, his wet tongue eager as he strokes over Derek’s used hole, hand curling around Derek’s thigh. Derek’s eyes flutter shut, breath already short, hole clamping at the intrusion as the strokes of pleasure spread up his spine.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” Derek groans out, hips jerking as he squeezes at his balls, cock leaking against his abdomen. He’s curved in, his thighs trembling as he strains to keep from resting his entire body weight over Stiles’ face, and Stiles watches him, a master with his tongue—his oral fixation has not waned, his spit soaking Derek’s rim, tongue exploring inside the stretched muscle. He once told Derek he tastes the best after he’s come inside him, craves it even, and that thought has rattled around Derek’s brain ever since.

In all their time together, Derek has routinely wondered how he could ever deserve what he has with Stiles, and then he quickly pushes the thought away as though lingering on it too long will make it all disappear. He’ll covet this as long as he has it.

Stiles’ breath is hot against him, the wetness cooling as he sucks in air before latching his lips around the sensitive skin, swollen from his previous attentions. He rolls his tongue, lapping his fluids up, sucking gently, pressing inside him, and Derek’s predictions are not far off, his ass grinding down as he whimpers out and spills over his stomach.

Stiles makes a high-pitched muffled sound, and Derek is quick to jerk himself up when he realizes what he’s done.

“Shit, baby, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Derek says, shifting off him before catching his dazed expression. He’s got a satisfied twist at his lips, and a pool of cum on his own abdomen.

“S’fine, daddy,” he murmurs, licking his lips and staring through half-lidded eyes. “You can kiss me to make it better, though.”

Derek huffs out a relieved laugh, thankful he didn’t cause any harm, and leans back in to kiss him. He tastes musky and bitter, sharing what he discovered in Derek’s hole as if Derek has never tasted himself on Stiles’ tongue before. He tastes like home.

Stiles’ fingers stroke Derek’s beard, their foreheads pressed together, noses brushing as they share the air between them after they’ve kissed their lips raw.

“You good now, baby boy?” Derek asks fondly, his hand brushing over his buzzed head.

“Of course, daddy. I’m always your good boy, remember?”

Derek huffs a laugh through his nose and steals a quick kiss. If he could clutch Stiles close to him, he would. He’ll sleep now, winded after a long day, and Derek will watch him until his consciousness slips under only to meet Stiles in his dreams, too.

—

On a dreary Sunday afternoon, each filling a corner of the couch, Stiles reads out of necessity as Derek reads by choice. Butters is contentedly sat on their entangled legs where they meet in the middle, making it difficult to shift positions, but it’s a sacrifice they are both willing to make.

Stiles’ phone buzzes on the table, interrupting their concentration and Butters’ nap. It’s an unknown number from Venice Beach, and Stiles debates on answering it before he must decide he’ll entertain himself with the telemarketer for a bit. He sits up and pulls his legs back to himself, the cat bothered enough to jump off and away for an uninterrupted nap somewhere else as Stiles answers the call and turns on the speakerphone. Derek sits up with him, their bodies pressing together by default, paperback wrapped around his finger.

“I’m so glad you called, I’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty,” Stiles says, and Derek snorts a laugh as his lips curl and he eyes his doofus boyfriend fondly.

“Uh, hey,” the other end says with a short laugh of his own, and they both freeze, recognizing that voice and that laugh on the other end even if it is deeper than when Derek last spoke to him. Derek’s heartbeat kicks into overdrive, the blood draining from his face and warming his stomach.

“It’s Eli.”

They look at each other, the shock apparent on their faces, eyes wide and lips parted as they share their incredulity. Stiles licks his lips and swallows, honey eyes glued to Derek, and Derek remains quiet, eager to listen in.

“Oh,” Stiles says, his voice wobbly from shock. He chews on his bottom lip, his previous expression of mischief quickly replaced with a nervous energy that radiates from him. “Uh, hey,” Stiles says, his tone tentative.

“Hey,” he says. “How are you?” It’s been so long since they’ve talked, but somehow it feels like he didn’t go anywhere despite the awkward tension filling the distance.

“Um,” Stiles starts, licking his lips. “I could be better, actually, but I’m not dead, so.”

“I heard,” Eli says with a soft huff of laughter, and then, “thought you could keep up with me, huh, Stilinski?”

Stiles laughs, perhaps a little too loudly, but it’s full of relief and excitement and hope, his eyes filling with tears as he meets Derek’s gaze. He reaches up and swipes them away, looking down as his cheeks flush.

“Well, I couldn’t let you have all the glory.”

“I’ll let you keep the ‘hit by a car’ glory all to yourself,” Eli says, his tone light and easy, enough to break the surface tension before the real conversation begins. 

Derek listens quietly, feeling like he should be elsewhere, unable to drag himself away as they catch up. Stiles doesn’t seem to want him to go anywhere, anyway, his fingers playing with Derek’s as he blathers on about grad school, his cohort, his friends, the cat, the city.

For Eli’s part, he says Venice Beach doesn’t really feel like home since he travels so much. He visits Beacon Hills every so often, but he and Scott fell out of touch, and he and Liam broke up a few years ago when Eli found out he had been cheating nearly the whole time. Since then he doesn’t really like going back anymore, even just to visit Paige.

“I almost reached out then,” Eli offers, sounding remorseful. Stiles has the grace and decency to bite his tongue on the I told you so lingering in the air, but Derek knows all three of them are thinking it. It’s not vindicating in the least, anyway. Derek’s heart breaks for him.

“I’m sorry, man. He was a loser. You won the life game by miles.”

“Yeah, well… it’s not perfect,” Eli starts, sucking in a breath with a pause.

They’ve talked of everything but Derek, skirting around the topic like it’ll end the call once his name is mentioned, and at this point, Derek thinks they’ll go the whole conversation without bringing him up.

Eli clears his throat, and Stiles meets Derek’s gaze. “So… how is he?” he asks, Derek’s name unnecessary.

“Um…” Stiles glances over at Derek, his face reddening again as he has a mini panic episode within the span of five seconds. “He’s good,” he says, licking his lips. “Still sexy,” Stiles adds, like he couldn’t resist, the corners of his lips upturning as his gaze washes over Derek’s face.

Surprisingly, Eli laughs, and Derek lets out the breath he’d been holding with a quiet chuckle and an incredulous shake of his head. Stiles’ shoulders slump in, relieved. And then he adds, his voice all affection, “He’s really happy, but he misses you a lot.”

The other end is silent for maybe five seconds, if that, but far too long for comfort, and Derek chews at the skin on the inside of his cheek, thinking maybe it was too much too soon. His hands feel cold, his chest hollow.

“I miss him, too,” Eli says. “I’ve wanted to reach out for a while now. It’s just… it’s weird, still. I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Stiles starts, biting his lip. “It doesn’t have to be. I mean… I guess it’s just normal for me now, but it could be that way for you, too.”

“Yeah,” Eli returns, pausing for a moment, and Derek imagines him scuffing his shoe over the pavement as he holds out. “I’m actually going to be in New York for a tournament in a couple weeks. Maybe we could meet up.”

Derek’s heart speeds up again, nearly bursting from its yawning cavern. Stiles watches him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Yeah, okay. Did you… I mean, we have the room, you’re welcome to stay with us,” Stiles says, wincing like perhaps it was too much.

“My manager already has the hotel set up, but thanks,” he says. “I think I leave like, June 15^th, but I’ll have to check. Think you’ll be free?”

“Yeah, of course,” Stiles says, chewing at his lip and fidgeting with Derek’s fingers. “You should probably talk to him before then, though, don’t you think?”

“Well, I figured he was right there beside you,” Eli says, the knowing smile heard in his tone. Stiles flushes again.

“Well… yeah,” Stiles admits, lip between his teeth, the corners of his mouth upturning shyly.

Derek is frozen, watching the phone like Eli will step out of it. Stiles holds the phone between them now, meeting Derek’s gaze with his lingering smile. “Say hi.”

Derek can’t tell if Stiles is speaking to him or not, but either way, he’s unable to speak himself, still frozen as his blood pumps too fast and oceans fill his ears.

Luckily, Eli talks first.

“Hey, dad,” he says calmly, like it hasn’t been five years since they last spoke and time hasn’t changed them, and Derek’s throat feels tight. He clears his airways, salt prickling at his eyes.

“Hey, Eli,” he says cautiously, and once the words are out, it’s easy to keep going. “I miss you, kid.”

“I miss you too. I…” he pauses, and Derek imagines he’s gathering his thoughts, though talking over the phone feels insufficient as it is. “Maybe… let’s just wait until I’m there, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Derek affirms, and it feels final, set in stone. He’s eager to keep talking to him but remains patiently quiet, nonetheless, holding Stiles’ gaze.

“Okay,” Eli says, and there’s a long moment when there’s too much to be said, but this current conversation has run its course. They’ll have the time for it later, anyway.

“Okay,” Eli says again. “I love you guys. I’ll see you soon.”

“Love you too,” they both say, and the call ends.

They turn to each other, both sets of eyes glossy as they blink away tears. Stiles tosses his phone somewhere before shoving into Derek with a tight hug, his broad smile pressing into Derek’s neck. Derek’s arms wrap around him automatically, nose pressing to his scalp, tears overflowing now.

“It’s happening,” Stiles says, wetness spilling over Derek’s neck.

Derek can’t speak, his throat tight, muscles quivering. He still can’t believe it, but in his chest, hope blooms at the thought of hugging his son again.

—

Stiles has finished his first year of grad school, though now that he has the time, he spends his days researching his thesis and tutoring summer school students. He likes to make his own money, and Derek could never fault him for that, but it does get annoying keeping their schedules in alignment now that Derek is back at work. Derek’s schedule isn’t as regular as it used to be, either, since he’s needed at all odd hours of the day, popping into the bakery whenever necessary. Which lately, since they’ve been training new bakers, has been a lot.

Eli will be here in a few days, and Derek has been a little on edge, nervous about their oncoming conversation. He knows all is not forgiven, but he also knows Eli still loves him, and both things can be true at once. He just wonders how their relationship will proceed from here on out.

He sets the pastry bag with a spinach and feta croissant and the paper cup of coffee at Stiles’ desk as he works, leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

“Hey, daddy,” Stiles says, tipping back to catch Derek’s lips before he pulls away.

“Hey, baby,” Derek murmurs solemnly, cupping Stiles’ head as he plants a series of kisses over his lips. All he wants to do is curl up with him and squeeze him close, but he’s been so hyperfocused after a long slump of no research that Derek doesn’t want to bother him, and he’s still technically unsqueezable. Excessive kisses will have to do.

Stiles returns each kiss, watching Derek curiously. His fingers curl into Derek’s shirt, holding him there before Derek can lean back.

“It’s all working out,” Stiles reminds him. “He loves you, remember?”

Derek’s lips twitch, but his face remains sullen, still worked up at the thought of seeing his son in the flesh again. What if their relationship is beyond repair? What if Eli only keeps him at arm’s length, unwilling to let him all the way back in? What if Eli changes his mind and goes another five years without speaking to him? In any scenario, Eli would have every right, and Derek wouldn’t blame him. He’d just be super sad about it.

As if Stiles can read his thoughts, his grip shifts from Derek’s shirt to the hair at the back of his head, amber eyes searching.

“It might be different, but he’s not going to leave you all over again. He misses you, too.”

Derek nods, lips pursed as he glances away. Logically, he knows this, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.

“Derek,” Stiles says, pulling Derek’s focus back. “It’s all working out.”

With another nod and a quick kiss, Derek repeats it back like he’s convincing himself of it.

“Eat your croissant,” Derek murmurs as he pulls away, and Stiles gives him a look of concern as he works through his clever brain to figure out what he can do for Derek’s anxiety.

When Derek gets out of the shower, Stiles is sprawled in bed.

“Snuggle time,” he declares, making grabby hands until Derek gives in and slumps down beside him. He tucks under Stiles’ chin, inhaling his sweet spice as he lets his arm fall over Stiles’ waist. He makes no indication he’s in any pain, so Derek clutches him close while Stiles’ fingers comb through his hair and his lips rest at Derek’s forehead, and the heaviness dragging him down is lifted.

He supposes that it is all working out. Whatever happens, at least he has Stiles.

They have a plan to meet up at a certain place and a certain time, and the closer the time approaches, the higher his blood pressure gets. It doesn’t end up working out that way.

As Derek is leaving for work the day of, gathering Stiles’ breakfast from the front before he slips out, he notices a customer in line who looks strikingly like his son. And then he notices Stiles right beside him once another customer clears his view, leaning on his scooter as the short line moves forward.

Derek blinks, a bit dumbstruck, brows raised as he glances between the two. Stiles has a goofy smile, and Eli a tentative one, hands stuffed in his pockets as they share the first glance they’ve had in five years.

His breath catches, gripping the coffee in one hand and the pastry bag in the other before he figures he should make his way out from behind the counter. His heart beats in his ears as he approaches them.

“Hey, dad,” Eli says with a careful smile, faintly hesitating before he steps in for a full embrace.

Stiles takes his treats, and Derek’s breath catches in his throat as he blinks away tears, arms wrapping around him firmly and squeezing too tight as his chin hooks over Eli’s shoulder. The hug lasts for more than twenty seconds, fearful he’ll fall apart once he lets go.

Eventually they separate, and Derek ducks his head as he pinches at the corner of his eyes. Eli laughs to hold back his own tears.

When he looks back up, squeezing at Eli’s shoulder, he scans over his face like he hasn’t zoomed in on his photos to catch exactly how time has changed him. He’s still got his long hair, more tamed now that he’s figured out the right products and maintenance, and his face is more pronounced without the baby fat, but he’s still the beautiful son Derek has been missing all these years.

“I’m gonna go work over here, okay?” Stiles says, sharing a quiet look with Derek, ensuring he’s okay to abandon for the time being as he gestures to the table he’s already claimed. He glances at Eli with a smile, tapping his arm with the back of his casted hand. “Take it easy on him, okay? He’s a lot more fragile than he looks.”

Derek huffs a laugh. Without Stiles as a buffer, it feels a little awkward, but they take a seat at another table and Derek realizes too late he should have offered Eli something.

“Did you want something to eat, or a coffee or anything?” he asks, and Eli shakes his head as he folds his arms over the table.

“Right,” Derek says, clearing his throat. He’s unsure where to start, if it’s even up to him, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, or where to look. He takes in a deep breath and crosses his arms, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Eli says, still smiling. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he says. He licks his lips, searching over Eli’s face. There’s no play book on how to do this, but he supposes he should apologize first.

“Listen, Eli,” he starts, eyeing him carefully. “I know an apology can never fix what I did to you and your mom, but—”

“I’m sorry,” Eli says at the same time, biting the skin off his bottom lip. “You didn’t deserve to be called a pedophile.”

Derek’s brows shoot up, head rearing in the slightest. He did not expect an apology from Eli, nor did he feel one was required. Eli had every right to be upset with him.

There’s an awkward pause between them while Derek processes and Eli waits, the cogs in his head turning.

“I forgave you a while ago,” he starts, glancing over to Stiles working. He brings his gaze back. “I don’t think I was ever really bothered with you two. I mean, it was weird, but…” he trails off for a bit, chewing at his cheek. “I just don’t get how you could do that to mom.”

Derek’s heart sinks, his chest hollow before he remembers to pull in another breath.

“I know,” Derek says. “I wish I could do things differently. I don’t know why I thought staying with her was for the best. I—” he swallows, searching Eli’s face, pursing his lips. He knows why he stayed with her at the time, but he doesn’t know why he ever thought that was the logical answer to their failing marriage. To keep up appearances instead of just leave her like he should have ages before loving Stiles was even a thought in his mind.

“You should have left when you stopped loving her in the first place.”

“I thought it could change,” Derek tries. “I thought we’d get better again. Or maybe part of me wanted to rekindle what we once had for your sake. I can’t say for certain anymore. I just know I stuck it out because I thought it was the best thing for you.”

“Sure, maybe. But then you cheated on her,” Eli states, his brows furrowing as the memories are brought back to the surface.

“I did,” Derek confirms, heart pounding.

“You broke her,” Eli says, and Derek frowns, looking down as his face flushes with shame. What he would give to have a reset. Paige didn’t deserve that. “I’m not saying it was okay, but you didn’t have to come clean about that part. You had already left, and she was already getting over you.”

Derek can only nod, his teeth clenched tight.

“Why’d you do it?”

Derek glances back up, brows pinching in as he studies his face and gathers his thoughts. Eli waits, his expression a mirror.

“I had so much guilt. I thought I was doing the right thing, coming clean. And maybe it was to clear my conscience, but mostly I felt like you both were owed the truth after I had left so abruptly. I was just trying to make it right, but you’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Was it worth it?”

Derek blinks. “What?”

“Cheating on her. Leaving us. Starting a new life. Was it worth it?”

Derek licks his lips, the skin prickling between his shoulders. He decides, even if it’s gotten him into trouble, that honesty is the best policy.

“Yes,” he breathes out, glancing to Stiles, his heart swelling. “I should have done it differently, but yes, it was all worth it. I…” he’s not sure if he should continue, but Eli is patient, listening in carefully.

“I’m really happy, Eli. Not just with Stiles but with my job, and the city, and my life. The only thing missing is you.”

Eli regards him, scrutinizing his response. The café noise goes on overhead in their drawn-out silence, and Derek waits for him to speak first.

“Okay,” Eli says, the tension breaking as he accepts this answer. “If you ever cheat on him—”

Derek doesn’t let him finish the thought.

“I would never,” he gruffs, his head shaking in disbelief. “It’s not something I enjoyed doing. I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

“I guess only time will tell,” Eli offers, his expression grim. “Getting cheated on fucking sucks.”

“I can only imagine,” Derek says, frowning. “I’m so sorry, Eli.”

For many things. For cheating, for leaving, for lying, for keeping himself miserable for so long when he didn’t have to, thereby making his family miserable, too. For Liam cheating, though that’s not his fault, but it feels like it.

Cheating seems to be a common theme in Eli’s life, and Derek intends on shifting that narrative in whatever way he can.

“Like I said, I forgave you a while ago,” Eli says, fingers laced on the table in front of him. “I won’t ever forget though.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“Good.”

“Good,” Derek says, and Eli eyes him very seriously for a few seconds, until he’s no longer capable of it and his expression softens as a smile breaks out on his face. He’s always been completely unserious, and Derek is glad to see that’s still one of his attributes.

“So,” Derek starts, chewing on his bottom lip. “How is she?”

Eli’s smile lingers. “She’s good. She got married again. She’s happy.”

Relief lightens Derek’s heart. Paige only ever deserved to be happy. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

“Me too,” Eli says, pausing as he cracks his knuckles. Derek always hated that. “Are you coming to my tournament?”

The question has tears flooding Derek’s waterline.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Chapter Text

Stiles is getting restless. 

He submitted his dissertation and earned his doctorate a few months ago now, securing an assistant professorship at Columbia before completing his program, and while he didn’t expect Derek to propose the day of, he certainly expected it a hell of a lot sooner.

Stiles might have to take matters into his own hands, only he knows Derek wants to do it and Stiles won’t take that away from him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to be asked, anyway—he’s been dreaming about it since he was eleven, except it didn’t take anywhere near this long.

Whenever he gets the chance, Stiles calls Derek his ‘future husband’ before anyone can assume he’s his father. That happens a lot less these days, at least, now that Stiles has smiled enough to make the lines at his eyes stick and grown in the patchy parts of his scruff. There’s even a few silver bits in there that Derek fondly teases him over. 

But Stiles has no ring. No signed paper, no legal proof of their love. And Stiles doesn’t need that, but he wants it. Or maybe he does need it since it bothers him so much that he’s not tied to the one who matters most to him. If he’s not getting any younger, Derek isn’t either. If something were to happen to him—Stiles doesn’t even like thinking of it—but if something were to happen to Derek, holding power of attorney would give Stiles great peace of mind. Eli being his next of kin ensures Derek would be fine either way, but that’s not his job. That’s Stiles’ job, and he wants to be de facto bound to his person, dammit. 

At the grocery store, Stiles mostly tags along because if he doesn’t, Derek won’t buy any snacks. He would prefer to stick to his grocery list and make whatever snacks Stiles craves, but there’s really nothing like a name brand rice krispies treat. Derek would never admit it, but Stiles gets the feeling he’s jealous of the little cartoon elves printed on the harmless blue box.

Stiles drops the box into their cart as they drift through the tight aisles of their local grocery store, and Derek purses his lips but doesn’t say a word until they make it to the granola. He stands besides Derek as he inwardly considers what flavor to get this time like he won’t go with the same one he gets every time. Stiles entertains himself with Solitaire while Derek makes this Very Important Life Changing Decision. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Derek asks, and when Stiles turns to him, he’s planted on one knee with his hands behind his back, pale eyes bright behind his glasses. Because he wears those now, and looks damn good in them, too. 

Stiles’ heart jumps to this throat, mouth dropping open. He can’t believe Derek is asking him to marry him at the local super market, but he guesses it’s kind of cute and one of a kind as far as engagement stories go. How many couples get engaged at a grocery store? Probably not many. 

“Honey or cinnamon?” Derek asks, pulling the packages of granola out from behind him, smug grin dimpling his face.

Stiles’ face falls instantly, his lids dropping with an eye roll and a rumbled, “Oh my fucking god,” under his breath. His cheeks warm, annoyed he fell for it.

Derek laughs, quite pleased with himself as he rises back to his full height.

“Baby, you really thought I was going to ask you to marry me inside a grocery store?” Derek says, tossing the cinnamon granola into their cart as he pushes into Stiles’ space and kisses the corner of Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles’ lips press in a tight line, his arms crossing as he looks away. Derek has faked him out one other time, a few months ago now, so it wasn’t at the top of Stiles’ mind that this could be another one of his pranks.

“Shut up. I thought it was a unique choice but didn’t hate it,” Stiles says, playfully shoving Derek away. “I’d hate it even less if I had a ring on my finger right now.”

Another golden laugh leaves him, and even if Stiles is annoyed, he can’t help the smile twitching his cheeks and the rush of tender love brimming within him. Asshole. 

—

Savory air greets Stiles as he walks through their front door, noticing the steaming crockpot as he searches the kitchen for proof of their oncoming dinner. He slips off his shoes, hanging his messenger bag on its designated hook as the orange fuzzball yaps and scents Stiles’ leg. Stiles scoops him up and presses his face into Butters’ tickling fur as he treads lightly to the living room. 

Derek naps on the couch, an arm draped over his stomach, the other resting above his head, face slack and peaceful. A brief thought ripples through Stiles’ mind—maybe he should leave him be. He knows Derek is tired, his schedule still erratic even as a co-owner of Boyd & Co. Bakeries. Stiles had hoped that would mean more rest for him, and usually it does, but occasionally it means he’s needed at any and all odd hours. Mostly he trains and covers shifts when necessary, as well as keeps up with special orders. He won’t give up baking, but at least now he can do it more as a hobby than a way of life.

The thought is fleeting, of course. Stiles kisses Butters on his puffy cheek before setting him on all fours and creeping over to the couch, sinking down and tucking himself against Derek’s warm body. Derek stirs and inhales through his nose, his arm falling around Stiles’ shoulders as he wakes.

“Hi sleepy,” Stiles greets, arm slotting around Derek’s waist as he kisses Derek’s cheek. 

“Mmm, hey doc,” he says, voice a purring murmur. His eyes open enough to find Stiles’ lips with his own as a calloused hand comes up to hold Stiles’ face.

“Missed you,” Stiles tells him against his mouth, fingers curling into his shirt. All day long, through meetings and lectures and office hours and grading in the library, always on the back of Stiles’ mind is Derek. Coming home to him, smelling him, tasting him, curling up against him. It’s his incentive to get just about anything done—first work, then daddy. 

He can feel Derek’s smile against his own, his thumb brushing over Stiles’ cheek, the cool air as Derek breathes in through his nose and steals a succession of heady kisses. Stiles could drown in them and that’d be the perfect way to go out, he thinks, certain to drag Derek along with him. 

“I missed you too, baby,” Derek says easily once their foreheads press together. “I got you something.”

Instantly, Stiles’ eyes snap open, his lips curled. “What.”

Derek laughs lowly, and Stiles falls deeper in love with him. His smile still gives Stiles butterflies that flitter from his belly out to every tip of him, reveling in the euphoric warmth of Derek’s safety.

Gripping Stiles close, Derek reaches over, squishing him in the process—a custom highly favored—and grabs a package that Stiles didn’t spot before he snuggled up to Derek. He falls back into the crease of the couch, making himself comfortable again, a coy smile stretching his lips as he meets Stiles’ gaze. 

“Can I ask you something?” Derek asks. The brown paper bag crinkles as he dumps out the contents, a black clam shell box tumbling out between them. Stiles’ heart stops and for a very brief moment he wonders if Derek is about to ask him the question, but he’s been tricked too many times before. Still, his heart beats wildly, skin flushing in excitement. 

“Will you wear my cock ring, baby?”

The mirth is evident in Derek’s tone as he flips the box open, a wide grin splitting his face. Once again, even if it was for the tiniest of milliseconds, Derek has managed to fake out Stiles.

Stiles’ lips press together, unamused. 

“This isn’t the ring I had in mind,” he says, plucking the vibrating cock ring from its satin bed.

“Shut up,” Derek says, his voice stern but his smile persistent. “You want me to help you put it on?”

“Right now?” Stiles asks, skin burning, though he can’t imagine why. There’s no reason to be embarrassed in front of Derek, but the thought of a new toy in their sex life is grounds for shyness. It’s fresh territory, different than what they’ve played with before, perhaps even a bit humiliating, which. Is right up Stiles’ alley, if he’s being honest. 

They’ve played with plugs, and ropes, and handcuffs, gags, binds, and knotted dildos. But a cock ring has never been fit over either of their cocks, oddly enough. Derek has always liked when Stiles comes too soon, though that doesn’t happen all that often anymore. Even as a fifty-year-old man, getting it up has never been a problem for Derek. Mentally, Stiles knocks on wood and crosses his fingers that’ll never be the case for either of them. 

“Why the cock ring? Am I not hard enough for you already?”

“I know you are,” Derek starts, hand settling at Stiles’ waist with a squeeze. “Just want to watch you suffer a bit.”

Stiles’ face burns, jaw clenched tight as he burrows into Derek’s neck.

“Hmph. Like you don’t make me suffer enough as it is,” Stiles grumbles, and Derek huffs a laugh.

It’s not long before Stiles is spread over the couch, the silicone ring wrapped around his cock and balls with Derek’s slicked up fingers fondling his prostate. Derek’s tongue swipes up every bead of precum, pulling away just for Stiles’ hips to chase his hot tongue in vain, all while Derek gloats over every pitiable reaction Stiles offers him to declare his so-called suffering. He whimpers and begs, but Stiles knows better by now—his sounds only satisfy Derek’s sadist tendencies, his lips slanted as he tilts his head and massages relentlessly over the gland.

“You wanna come so bad, huh, baby?”

“Yes, yes, fuck, please, daddy, please let me come,” Stiles whines, bucking into the hand wrapping around his dick, body curved in a bow towards him. He grips Derek’s shoulder and clenches around his solid fingers, gasping through reedy whines as he desperately searches Derek’s eyes. 

Unrelenting as ever, Derek’s practiced strokes drag Stiles closer, the pad of his thumb smearing the precum around Stiles’ cockhead before he leans in and laps at the tip. When Derek says “Not yet,” sweat prickles between Stiles’ shoulders, a pathetic whimper escaping his lips as Derek releases his cock and pushes a knee up to his chest. “But I’ll fuck you. You want daddy’s cock baby boy?”

“Yeah,” he pouts, the response automatic, knuckles bone white. 

Derek’s cock fits inside him perfectly, stretching him wide, seated over the gland sending waves of want up Stiles’ spine. His pace is slow and infuriating, face pressed into Stiles’ neck, soft beard brushing at the sensitive skin as he mutters out his regular praises and fucks him good and stupid. Stiles doesn’t even know what he’s begging for anymore, just knows he’s got to babble out whatever’s on the top of his mind that Derek gets off on if it means he can come any sooner—you fuck me so good, daddy, love how you fill me up, daddy, please let me come, daddy, please please please, I wanna come.

“So pretty like this,” Derek says, disregarding all his solicits for release, ballast hand planted over Stiles’ chest as he watches Stiles fall apart. It’s a thing Derek tends to do to him—break him down into his barest, most intimate pieces, meticulously examining every shard and then inevitably, after a veritable amount of agonizing pleasure, fitting him back together again. Stiles hopes it’s not too much this time, but Derek reads him well and knows when to keep pushing or slacken the sentence. 

“Baby,” Derek breathes out, his rhythm slow and consistent, just on the edge of not enough.

“Daddy,” Stiles responds, voice high and tight, tears blurring his vision. Stiles thinks he probably won’t come by now if he hasn’t already, his cock nearly past the point and verging on overstimulation. Somehow he’s okay with that, resigned to his fate—just taking Derek’s cock, the pressure coiling up with nowhere to go. Stiles has never been so hard in his life.

“I have something important to ask you,” he says, breathless, searching over Stiles’ face. His hips are persistent, rocking back and forth, cock sinking in up to the root before the plump girth is snatched away all over again.

Stiles wants to say he can’t believe Derek is joking around when he should be coming right now, but the quirky trait is not even remotely outside of Derek’s nature. 

“Derek I swear to fucking god—”

“Will you marry me?” 

Stiles’ brows twist in, chest undulating as he searches Derek’s face right back.

“You’re asking me to marry you while you’re inside me on our couch?” Stiles squeaks out, half dubious, though some other part of him recognizes how right it feels exactly like this. Despite dreaming of this for nearly two decades, he can’t imagine it happening any other way.

“Of course,” Derek confirms, his voice strong and solid, his lips curled as he leans in to steal a quick kiss. 

Hot tears slip over Stiles’ temples as he nods fervently, his incredulous laugh surging between them. He reaches to brush his fingertips through Derek’s peppered beard, branding this moment into his brain forever. 

“Yeah, I’ll marry you, but can I come first?”

Derek laughs, hearty and replete as he leans in for a tender kiss before reaching between them to flick on the vibe.

“Come for daddy, baby,” Derek murmurs, his voice a purr felt in the static between them, the heavenly vibration raising every hair over Stiles’ skin as his breath catches in his throat. He comes so hard his vision goes white, sticky spurts reaching their necks with each twitch that halts his body in ecstasy. 

“That’s my good boy,” Derek praises, and even after all this time, it still does it for Stiles— the reinforcement of a natural reaction, the acclaim of the inherent need to satisfy Derek’s commands as if Stiles wasn’t going to come anyway. Nothing is sweeter than hearing those words, his soul heightened whenever the praise registers in his psyche. Stiles at this point can’t come without it, and he has no desire to do so, anyway. Even when he’s jerking himself off, he’s thinking of Derek’s sultry praise whispered in his ear.

The vibration is quick to become overstimulating, Stiles jerking back with a cutting shriek. Thankfully Derek has no intention of forcing another orgasm out of him, reaching to click the vibrator off before picking up his pace now that it’s his own pleasure he’s after.

Stiles takes a moment, basking in his afterglow, savoring the stretch of Derek’s cock, the feeling of being exploited for Derek’s indulgence. Derek’s eyes never part from his, strong hands gripping each ankle as he bends Stiles’ body to his will. He grunts and pants as his hips smack Stiles’ ass, and as Stiles slips into clarity, he gathers up the fluids over his chest before reaching up to press his fingers into Derek’s mouth.

“Are you gonna come inside me, daddy?” Stiles asks sweetly, his tone a teasing challenge as he clamps down with wide eyes, lip between his teeth. He knows just the right buttons to press to get Derek to finish, just what makes him seize and shudder before he’s spilling.

Derek’s moan tickles Stiles’ fingers resting over his hot tongue, his fat cock pulsing at Stiles’ insides, his moan cutting off with a grunt as he stills. His staunch gaze flutters, drooling tongue licking around the fingers filling his mouth before Stiles pulls them away. He swallows easily, licking his lips before letting Stiles’ legs fall around his waist and swooping in to seal their mouths together. 

“My good boy,” Derek murmurs between their sloppy kiss as Stiles’ hands grip his hair. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too, daddy,” Stiles says quietly, fresh tears sprouting once he remembers Derek finally fucking asked. 

His hands cover each side of Derek’s face, fingertips threading in the dark hair he’ll spend the rest of his life slipping his fingers through. “Forever.”

“And a day,” Derek adds, pressing their foreheads together. 

—

They’ve talked about it often enough to know what they want to do for their wedding. But as much as they’d love an easy ceremony at the courthouse with a short and sweet reception dinner to follow, their loved ones demand to bear witness and partake in this unholy matrimony. The couple isn’t given much of a choice once they announce the news. 

“I know a photographer and a botanist,” Allison says, beaming. Both would be her.

“I know a master baker,” Erica adds. Boyd sends her a tight glance, but he softens as he turns to Stiles and Derek with an easy nod. 

“I know a judge,” Lydia says, referring to herself. 

“I have the perfect benefactor,” Isaac says smugly, hand on the inside of Peter’s thigh. 

Of course they all want to take part in the ceremony. Stiles and Derek can’t deny them that. They’ve been their biggest fans from the start, they should get to see it through. They’ll be the only ones there, anyway, so it’s really just a party with an ad infinitum budget that they’re throwing for themselves.

Eli says, “I’m not calling you dad.”

Stiles snorts along with everyone else, glancing over to catch the mirth in Derek’s gaze. They knew he’d say that.

Even with Eli living in the city, their relationship has never quite returned to what it once was, and that’s okay. Stiles gets the feeling they wouldn’t be as close as they were as boys anyway, seeing as how they’re now adults with their own careers and significant others. 

They’re still good friends—brothers, even. Whenever he’s not touring or working, Eli comes around to visit, pilfering snacks, watching tv, getting high with them and taking naps on their couch. But there’s still an underlying tension, a subtle detachment that was never there before. Perhaps in time it’ll fade. All Stiles knows is Derek has never been happier now that Eli is back in his life, and they’re both eager to accept whatever amity Eli extends to them. 

“But you’re my little baby,” Stiles teases, reaching over to pinch at his cheek. Eli smacks his hand away with a feigned look of offense, his amused smile peaking through. 

“Best man will do,” Eli says, and Stiles grins as he raises his beer.

“Hear, hear,” Stiles says, taking a long sip.

On the day of, Eli adjusts Stiles’ jacket lapels and looks him in the eyes for a long quiet moment. He’s got some wrinkles, too, and a five o’clock shadow under his cropped curls, looking smart in an impeccably tailored suit sponsored by Peter. On this emotional day, perpetual tears blur Stiles’ vision, blinking concurrently with a flimsy smile. To have him in this moment is more than Stiles ever thought possible, but here they are.

“It honestly just makes so much sense,” Eli says, letting his hands drop to his sides. 

“What?”

“You and him. You two just… you make so much sense,” he says, as if that’s the only explanation needed. 

To be fair, it is. Stiles has known this since the fifth grade. It’s nice to see Eli finally catching up. 

“I’ve never seen him this happy. Not even when he was in love with my mom.”

The tears are determined to make themselves known today. The topic of Paige is usually a no-go. That Eli is even mentioning her on today of all days is a Big Deal.

Stiles clears his throat and shakes his head, glancing down at his brushed brown leather shoes. “He wasn’t happy like this until you came back.”

Eli shakes his head in return. “No, it’s different. You know what I mean, dude.”

Stiles’ cheeks twitch from all the smile-crying he’s been doing today. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says softly, face warm. He does. Stiles is a big part of Derek’s happiness. He knows this because Derek is about 90% of his own. He would not be happy without Derek, even in the fulfilling career he’s worked his ass off for. What’s it mean if he can’t share his success with the person he adores most?

While Derek finally fell into doing something he loves, taking great pride in his work and accomplishments, Stiles knows Derek would not be where he is now if it weren't for him. Not just the presence in his life, but the choices Derek has made with Stiles in mind that have ended him up here.

Perhaps Stiles can’t take too much credit for it, but realistically, without Stiles, Derek never would have left Beacon Hills. Maybe he would have eventually left his wife, and hopefully his job, too. But Stiles would like to believe Derek wouldn’t have gotten this far without him, and probably that’s arrogant of him, but logically, it’s true. Stiles just knows it. He knows Derek, and he knows he needed to leave Beacon Hills without Stiles to be who he is today. 

The man who stayed in Beacon Hills isn’t the same one he’s marrying in twenty minutes, though Stiles would love him either way. Stiles would love any version of Derek Hale.

“I’ve never seen you so happy, either. It’s actually pretty sickening,” Eli says, nose scrunching  in disgust.

“Yeah, well. Shut up,” Stiles concludes, hitting Eli’s arm with the back of his hand.

It’s sprinkling by the time they meet under the trellis. Everyone insists it’s a sign of good things to come and the show must go on, as if either of them had any intention of putting their nuptials off any further.

Derek is breathtaking in his bespoke suit, his eyes glistening jewels against the moss backdrop of the unusual but striking botanical arrangement. Rich brown angel amber kiss pansies—yeah, that’s their real name—constellate the lush stringy moss bouquets interspersed throughout the rooftop terrace, and Stiles only now recalls the stoned conversation with Allison. She asked Stiles what plant Derek would be, and he said moss for obvious reasons—because it’s soft and steady, anchored to whatever stump or rock it’s claimed as its own.

She must have asked Derek the same thing, though Stiles can’t decide if being a pansy is a compliment or not. He chooses to take it as one. 

Foregoing vows in public was an easy decision, something they’ll do by the fire when they’re alone again. Every trace of them is evident in Derek’s bottomless stare, regardless, their hands held tight between them, a spring river gushing in Stiles’ veins. 

Whatever force exists has made Stiles certain he is exactly where he is meant to be. 

By the time Lydia says, “Now kiss,” and presses them together like ken dolls, ribbons of warm sunshine rain down as the clouds roll away, and they laugh with the others as their lips meet.

The first chance they have, they slip away to the privacy of their bathroom. Bent over and panting, Derek’s hand pushes into the small of Stiles’ back, cock filling him as he watches Derek’s awed expression in the mirror.

“Fuck, I love you so much, daddy, so fucking much,” Stiles whines out, his voice breaking each time Derek pounds back into him. He grasps at their stone bathroom counter, cock dribbling into the sink below. 

“Love you too, angel,” Derek grunts out, brow set in concentration, angling himself to hit at Stiles’ prostate every time. Derek’s gonna call him that for the rest of his life, and the thought along with the crash of his hips sends Stiles’ to the edge as Derek empties into him. 

No one says a thing about the missing couple of the evening when they return, a satisfied smile twisting Stiles’ lips, hole wet and swollen. Marked and claimed until next time. 

All evening, through wedding cake and heartfelt speeches and too many flutes of champagne, Derek’s touch never leaves him, whether their fingers are laced or their bodies are pressed together, not one moment does Stiles exist without Derek’s grounding contact.

The next chance they get to sneak away, they manage to slip into a cove of the roof, and Derek proceeds to pull out a pre-rolled blunt before lighting it with one of their party favor matches. He gets the cherry rolling, watching Stiles as he puffs and holds the smoke in. His brow raises in a silent question as he leans in. 

On instinct, Stiles meets him the rest of the way, breathing in as Derek blows out. Their gazes lock, Derek’s pale gaze as unwavering as his solidity, both pairs of lips quirked like they’ve got a secret when they pull apart. Stiles blows out the imprint of Derek’s smoke, tucking against him as Derek’s arm falls around Stiles’ waist and presses him close. 

A silent moment passes between them, just the chattering of their party on the other side, faint music casting across the rooftop. Nothing needs to be said as they take their time to breathe for the first time as husband and husband. Derek takes another puff of the blunt before passing it off. 

“Mr. Stilinski-Hale,” Stiles starts, his cheeks aching as another smile carves out his face. He hits the blunt, staring at his husband. “Officially stuck with me for life.”

“Dr. Stilinski-Hale,” Derek returns wistfully, hand in his pocket. He’s so lovely in his creamy shirt and rolled up sleeves, snug in all the right places. “Until we get divorced.”

“I’d never sign the papers,” Stiles scoffs, looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind. Derek laughs as Stiles takes a long drag of the blunt and fails to maintain his feigned expression. He lives for that laugh, crisp as a late autumn afternoon with the promise of hot chocolate to follow. So earnest and pure—the best praise Stiles could ever receive. 

Stiles lets his smile return as he holds the blunt at Derek’s mouth, his lips wrapping around the rolled paper, his gaze holding Stiles in place. 

“Do you believe in fate?” Stiles asks, always mesmerized by his eyes in the fading sunlight. Derek takes the blunt between his fingers again, blowing his smoke away.

Certainly they’ve shared their thoughts on the forces that be, but it’s always an interesting topic to return to, and Stiles can’t stop thinking of how it all fell into place. 

Life was hard without Derek. Even when they finally reunited and were struggling, eating ramen, working odd hours with conflicting schedules, working their asses off in general, life wasn’t as hard as living without him, and it was exactly where Stiles wanted to be. Save for his traumatic PTSD-inducing accident and the occasional clicking in his elbow, life has been pretty smooth sailing with Derek by his side.

Derek stares back for a long time, thumbing the end of the blunt, pausing in contemplation. He trimmed his beard for the occasion, jawline sharp as ever, white whiskers bleeding into black. Stiles, as always, finds himself admiring Derek’s beard, brushing through the soft bristles, keeping his hands busy with his human fidget. His comfort thing he’s now legitimately joined to.

“I believe in whatever we have,” Derek decides on, blowing the smoke away as he cups Stiles’ rib cage. His cedar scent and the damp breeze, along with the weed clinging between them, ground Stiles in this moment forever. 

The disbelieving laugh leaves Stiles’ mouth before he has a mind to stop himself. Leave it to Derek to say the most romantic shit in his low velvet monotone as he smokes on a blunt and stares through to Stiles’ soul. 

Half-amused, Derek blows his smoke out. Stiles reaches up to pass his thumb over his manicured beard before sealing their lips together.

“You’re so pure. How’d you end up with me?” he asks softly, meeting Derek’s gaze as he pulls back.

“You wouldn’t leave me alone,” he says, and Stiles laughs again, palm pressed over Derek’s cheek, fingertips brushing at the dark hair above his ear.

“And I never will. Prepared to be bothered for the rest of your life,” Stiles insists, accepting the blunt and bringing it to his lips. Derek’s mouth twitches, hand squeezing where it rests at Stiles’ side. 

“I look forward to it,” says Derek, nuzzling his nose against Stiles’ scruffy cheek before his warm lips press there. Stiles isn’t cold, but a shiver zips through him, buzzing with the exhilaration of fulfilling this promise. 

Wherever the smoke flows, Eli goes, with no thought of letting the couple linger alone as he helps himself to their anointing blunt. Neither of them actually care—they’re high on weed and life, and Eli is here with them on the most important day of their lives, and nothing could be better than them together in this moment. 

Sneaking off didn’t work out as they’d hoped. Soon Isaac finds them, slinking up to them with a blinding smile, and wherever Isaac wanders, Peter is sure to follow. With half the party missing, the others come searching, and soon they inevitably return to the giant table passing a blunt as the Sheriff clears his throat and acts indifferent. 

It’s more than Stiles could ever expect from his dad. Not just tolerating the use of drugs but being here, being happy for him even if he still has partial reservations. Most of them include Stiles getting stuck with senior care and eventually being alone when Derek inevitably dies before him, and Stiles is quick to shut that down, refusing to acknowledge the likely scenario that has haunted his nightmares for years now. Stiles is well aware; he will be there, regardless. 

When his father manages to get them alone, he seems a bit tongue tied, staring open-mouthed between the two. They side-glance each other before meeting the Sheriff’s gaze.

“You good, dad?” Stiles asks, reaching out to cuff his arm with a squeeze. He’s been drinking tonight, but they all have. Stiles wouldn’t hold that against him if he weren’t acting so strange. 

He clears his throat, brow wrinkled in that way he gets when he’s holding onto his words. Stiles glances to Derek and back. 

“You need to talk to me alone?” he asks, thinking whatever he’s got to say, maybe he doesn’t want to say it in front of Derek. Derek’s hand weighs heavy at the small of his back.

“Dammit, no,” the Sheriff huffs out, standing up straighter. “I just. For too long I didn’t think this was a good idea, and some part of me still doesn’t—”

“Yeah, can we not get into that tonight,” Stiles grumbles, and the Sheriff grips his forearm in a near desperate attempt to get Stiles to hear him, his faded blue eyes meeting Stiles’ as he shakes his head. Stiles waits patiently for his father to get to the point.

“It was hard for me to lose you to him. To accept that I couldn’t give you what you turned to him for in the first place. I… I resented that,” the Sheriff says, the tips of his words slightly slurred. Enough for Stiles to know he’s about to lay it all bare right in front of Derek, only now realizing why his official speech at dinner was so succinct. He simply wasn’t drunk enough yet. Stiles can sense Derek is a bit uncomfortable, but he’s not going anywhere, unwavering at his side.

“I couldn’t see the relationship for what it truly is,” dad says, his head shaking insistently, “not until I saw the way he looks at you—the same way your mother used to look at me.”

The moment his mom is mentioned, fresh tears surface, and Stiles shakes his head and squeezes his father’s arm.

“Dad, you don’t have to—“

“No, son, I do. I need you to know how sorry I am, that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. But in the end we both got lucky, didn’t we? I get to see you be happy and cherished, and you get to spend the rest of your life with your person.”

The tears spill as Stiles leans in to hug his dad, the only thing left to do. Derek’s hand hasn’t strayed.

“Yeah, I get it, dad. Thank you,” Stiles tells him quietly, squeezing him tight, chin hooked over his shoulder. 

He got his wish after all—his father and his daddy living in sweet harmony. Or at least, close enough.

—

Stiles likes to view Christmas as the world celebrating Derek, which makes it a lot more bearable. Before he really correlated the two together, it was his mom’s favorite holiday, and even if it’s a day worth observing with Derek, it’s still a difficult one. He thinks of his dad back home, in that big house that once held his dead wife and his adult son, all by himself. But he chooses that. Stiles doesn’t push it, but he reminds him often there’s plenty of room in New York.

The wind whistles as Derek rests on his knees and tends to the crackling fire, adding another log and papers they’ve been meaning to get rid of for some time now. They’re in their matching flannel pajamas, with the Christmas tree lit and sparkling in the corner, and the cat purring as he stretches out towards the fires from whence he came. 

For a long time Derek didn’t want to put up a Christmas tree. It reminded him too much of Eli, and Stiles begrudgingly understood. It’s Derek birthday above all else, and Stiles just wants to make sure he has the best day possible. 

The year Eli came back was the first year the tree was allowed, welcomed even, and seeing one in their space for the first time was an emotional experience. Their first Christmas tree of many more to follow, not yet composed of the countless ornaments they would come to collect over the years—a baby Eli, and a baby Derek Stiles got from Laura one year, and a few from pop up shops and holiday markets, and some made by Isaac, with some gifted, while others were passed down from his father who doesn’t bother putting a tree up anymore.

That’s the Christmas that Stiles craves. Traditional, a bit kitsch, and highly excessive with a heavy emphasis on the nostalgia that the season tends to be known for. 

Ever since then, Derek has made sure they have a tree every year. Something about seeing the joy on Stiles’ face being a gift in and of itself. Stiles rolled his eyes fondly. 

Their first Christmas together, they stayed up late simply to remain on their standard sleep schedule, and opened presents at midnight beside a poinsettia delegated to guard their modest gifts. Through the years, holding off until midnight has fallen into tradition, with spiked apple cider and Christmas movies and the cat’s saucer eyes reflecting the rainbow lights of the tree he’s determined to raze. They learned fairly quickly to anchor the thing to the wall.

Derek scoops Butters as he rises, stretching him out before manhandling him into a cradled position against his chest, which Butters revels in. His eyes are satisfied slits, his purrs distinguishable from where Stiles reclines as Derek scratches under the cat’s chin. Butters is resigned, if not inclined, to such offerings, and lets everything Derek does to him happen without complaint. 

Butters was, in theory, meant for Stiles, but they all know who he prefers most. Stiles gets it, truly. He can’t even be jealous.

“Come on, let’s go smoke,” Derek says, meeting Stiles’ gaze with a contented smile. He leans down and kisses Butters on his pink nose before carefully placing him on the chaise of the couch, where he gladly curls into a sleeping puffball.

On the balcony, they share a Christmas joint, watching the hazy city lights at sky view as the wisps of cold smoke melt into the night air. There was once a time when Stiles fantasized of moments like these, looking over the city they’ve declared home with his daddy by his side. They’re a lot higher up than he even allowed himself to dream.

Stiles shivers as he sucks on the joint, teeth chattering comically as he totters back and forth in hopes of stirring up some heat like he can’t run inside and grab his coat. His hoodie is useless against the elements of a foggy Christmas eve, light snow collecting into soft piles within every west corner.

“Come here, idiot,” Derek says, tugging him close as his strong arm wraps Stiles in his warmth. Stiles presses in, curling his free arm around Derek’s waist under his coat with a contented sigh as he meets partial relief. The cold isn’t so bad anymore, body heat brimming between them, breath visible before Stiles leans in and seals their lips together. 

His fingers curl into the dark henley, Derek’s body like hot stone beneath—all resistance when Stiles presses into him. Immutable for as long as it matters. Stiles quivers in Derek’s arms, simply happy to be outside with him on this exemplary birthday eve even if he is freezing his dick off. 

“Says the one who married me,” Stiles quips when they part, shuddering still but less so. He takes another hit before Derek pinches the joint from Stiles’ fingers, his solid arm securing Stiles close, extinguishing any air between them.

“I guess we’re both idiots then,” Derek decides, holding Stiles’ gaze as the cherry burns bright and the paper sizzles.

“I’ll gladly die an idiot by your side,” Stiles says confidently. “You’ll be a hundred and I’ll be eighty, because I’m not living any longer than that. It’s not worth it if we can’t fuck,” Stiles muses, only half joking.

“You think I won’t get hard for you when I’m a hundred?”

Stiles quirks a corner of his mouth. “I don’t know, guess you’ll have to live for that long for us to find out.”

“Deal,” Derek says, sucking on the joint again as Stiles searches his resolute gaze. 

“You’re not gonna make a whole spiel about enjoying life even after you die?” Stiles asks.

“No,” Derek says simply, offering the joint back. It’s nearly out, just a few more hits, but Stiles pinches it between his fingers, watching Derek expectantly for further explanation as he hits the last of it.

“I don’t want to have to live without you, so I can’t expect you to live without me. I wouldn’t want you to, anyway.”

The steeped cold has made Stiles’ eyes water, that’s all the salt caught in his lashes is. Mostly, at least. 

“You’re so emo, daddy,” Stiles says, charmed. “A true romantic.”

“You know I’d do anything for you, baby. I’ll live as long as you want me to,” he says, as if he has any control of such things. The statement is affirming enough, easing Stiles’ troubled nerves. For now. 

Stiles has to resist rolling his eyes. He reigns his smile in, his hand shaped in the ‘I love you’ sign pressed against Derek’s chest.

“You promise?” Stiles asks, searching his gaze once again.

“I promise,” Derek says, sealing their vow with a sumptuous kiss, and Stiles’ heart tugs with the carnal instinct to believe him.