Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Stiles leaves after breakfast the next morning. Derek busies himself cleaning up, doing laundry, puttering around the house. He gets a text from Stiles mid-afternoon telling Derek he’s home safely. After that Derek exhales.

He goes for a long run. It’s a bright blue-skied day, the fog long since burned off. He takes deep breaths and basks in the salty smell of the ocean, the sound of the seagulls, the rhythmic crash of the waves.

It’s the full moon that night, and for the first time since he left Beacon Hills, Derek thinks he might actually run. There’s a National Park not far away with enough wilderness that he could run without being seen. It’s not exactly the woods near Beacon Hills, but it will feel good to run, to answer the call of the moon.

It’s not the same as doing it with a pack, but it’s a start.

**

That night Derek beta shifts on the back deck and then runs north, away from town, toward the park. He stays off the roads and pays attention to his senses. He chases rabbits and small rodents. Not because he wants to catch them, but because the hunt itself is fun, and it answers a demand his wolf makes.

At moon rise Derek is near the top of a hill that looks out over the valley and the ocean beyond. This isn’t the territory of any pack, so when he howls he gets no response.

Derek releases a mournful howl for the packs he lost. For his family and for the pack he tried to build. It’s deep, primal. It’s the call of his heart. The muscles of his heart are relearning how to trust, how to do something other than hide. It’s sore from lack of use, and he howls with the effort.

When the moon is at its peak, Derek feels a pull from deep within him. It’s similar to the pull of an alpha or the strength of pack within proximity of each other. It starts in his soul and reaches toward the moon, searches for something to grab onto.

Derek lets it pull him, lets it change him until he’s standing in the moonlight a fully shifted wolf. His thoughts become less individual and more conceptual. His wolf mourns family, but it doesn’t understand the nuance of the betrayal that took them from him. His wolf wants Stiles, but it isn’t caught up in things like age difference or emotional baggage.

Derek runs, his wolf completely in control. He’s faster like this, sleeker. He feels free, light. He feels like he’s finally who he’s meant to be.

He runs to the point of exhaustion and then finds an outcropping of rock to rest beneath, a place where he can scent danger on the wind and see anyone who might mean him harm if they were to approach.

Then he sleeps.

**

When Derek wakes he’s human again and very naked. He left his phone and keys and wallet at home, but he lost his pants during the full shift. He has at least 10 miles to run back to his house without clothes.

Derek tries to remember the feeling he had before he shifted into the full wolf form, tries to find that same pull. It takes a few tries but he manages the shift again for the run back to his house.

When he gets back his phone is buzzing with a new text message, and he sees that he’s missed several texts from Stiles over the course of the night.

Stiles: you better be ok

Derek: Sorry. Went for a run while the moon was full

Stiles: I figured but needed to make sure

Derek drinks from a water bottle. Now that he’s back he realizes how hungry he is too.

Derek: You sleep okay?

Stiles: Not as good as with you but I used Maureens talisman and did the incantation she showed me I didnt have major nightmares or anything

Derek: good

Stiles: So a run?

Derek: Yep. And I managed a full shift

He says it nonchalantly, even though the full wolf shift is a rare ability. Most alphas can’t even do it. His mom and Laura both could. But most of the other werewolves Derek has known haven’t been able to master it.

Stiles: Wait. Really?

Derek: Yeah. It was pretty cool. I was me, but without all the overthinking.

Stiles: lol! I’m calling you

The phone rings, and Derek picks up without hesitation.

“So wait,” Stiles starts the conversation. “You’re telling me you turned into something that looks like a wolf.”

Derek laughs. “I’m telling you I shifted into a wolf. Not something like a wolf. The wolf inside me was on the outside.”

“Holy shit,” Stiles says. “Lemme see.” He tries to initiate a FaceTime call but Derek rejects it.

“I’m naked,” Derek says.

Stiles makes a strangled sound.

“I just got back from the run. When I full shifted I lost my clothes.”

“I want to see you as a wolf! Can your wolf take a selfie?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I doubt it. I was me but not. It’s hard to explain.”

“Would you have tried to eat me if I was there?”

Derek smiles. “No. My wolf knows you.”

Stiles makes an “aww” sound and doesn’t say anything else.

Derek blushes. “I’ll show you sometime. I’m just not sure how to do that on FaceTime.”

“Yeah okay,” Stiles says, resigned. “But I mean, congrats, right? You’re like the wolfiest werewolf now. You win all the werewolf beauty pageants. Well, you do that anyway. But you know. You’re special now. Hey stop me from talking, wouldja?”

Derek grins into the phone, his chest warm. “Stop talking.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says. “God.”

They chat about other things. Stiles tells him what’s happened in Beacon Hills while he was away. He and his dad are going to a movie together later, and Stiles is going to talk to his dad about going to a non-Eichen House-based therapist. Stiles is going to ask Deaton if there are any supernatural-aware therapists nearby, but if there aren’t, he will have to think of a way to discuss the guilt he feels about Allison’s death without actually talking about being possessed by a Nogistune. That would get him committed to Eichen House for sure.

**

Sleep comes easier for Stiles over the coming weeks. He still texts Derek late at night sometimes, but Derek isn’t sure if that’s because he truly can’t sleep or because he wants to talk.

Deaton finds him a therapist. Stiles hates it at first, hates the questions, hates reliving things he’s spent months trying to forget. But like Derek, he ultimately finds relief in saying some of his scarier thoughts out loud.

Derek gets a call about a month after Christmas from the Sheriff.

“Thank you,” the Sheriff says after a few awkward pleasantries.

“For what?” Derek asks and immediately feels guilty, even though he doesn’t really have any reason to.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff says and clears his throat. “He’s sleeping, he goes to a therapist now, he doesn’t look sick anymore. He’s Stiles again.”

Derek smiles. “I think it helped him to be away for a little while.”

The Sheriff hums in agreement, but the pause also feels like it’s somewhat assessing. “I know you boys are close,” he says finally. “I just want you to know how good it is to have him smiling again. I give you credit for that.”

Derek’s face heats. “Well, thanks,” he says hesitantly.

“If you miss his chatter, you’re welcome here, Derek,” the Sheriff says magnanimously. “I know you sold your place in Beacon Hills, but our house is open to you.”

Derek’s heart twists. He knows the Sheriff is a smart man, and that he’s probably guessed that Derek and Stiles have feelings for each other. He also knows Derek’s past, the age difference, everything that could and maybe should be a red flag about his son having any sort of relationship with Derek. But he’s inviting Derek into his home anyway.

“Thank you,” Derek says sincerely at a loss for what else to say.

**

Derek goes to Eunice’s book club for the first time at the beginning of February. The club takes turns picking books and this month Joan, a recently divorced retiree, was in charge of book selection. They’re reading Eat, Pray, Love at her request. Derek reads it in a day, and while he finds parts of it trite and a little oversimplified, he still likes the idea of a quest of self-discovery. He’s on a little less self-indulgent Eat, Pray, Love of his own. His just involves the California coast, an elderly friend and time spent in a library, and learning to make salsa.

He’s clearly an unexpected presence at book club. The ladies all regard him curiously for the first half, especially when he contributes to the discussion. Eunice insisted before the meeting began that men are welcome in the group too, that a few sometimes come. Based on the group’s reaction to his presence, however, Derek is pretty sure it rarely happens.

The second half of the discussion they warm up to him a bit. The novelty of having Derek there has worn off, and by the time they’re eating cake at the end of the evening, the scent of the room has changed from guarded curiosity to acceptance.

He’s not sure he’ll make book club a regular part of his routine, but it was nice to discuss a book with other people, as that’s been a solitary hobby for him over the past several months. Once in awhile Eunice will see what Derek is reading and offer her opinion of the book and she and Derek will either excitedly agree or end up arguing with each other and having to retreat to their separate corners of the library.

It makes him wonder if he’d enjoy being back in school, maybe finish his degree. When he gets home later he googles local colleges, and investigates if any of them offer classes on a part-time basis.

He may not need to work, but that doesn’t mean Derek doesn’t like to be busy. Now that he’s not looking over his shoulder and feeling suspicious of everyone around him, a college campus wouldn’t be the worst place for him to spend some time.

**

Derek finally asks Eunice about digitizing the card catalogue at the library a few days after the book club meeting.

“Why would you want to do that, honey?” Eunice asks, exasperated.

Derek smiles and tries not to let her lack of enthusiasm dissuade him from continuing to outline his idea. “I think it would make things easier on you.”

“That’s a big project,” she says as she settles on her stool behind the counter. “And there’s not money for that kind of upgrade.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Derek says. “I’ll buy the equipment, and I think I can convince Stiles to come down and help us set it up.”

Eunice gives him a smug look. “The real reason comes out.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about this since I first started coming in here.”

“And you’re just saying something about it now because…” she looks at him expectantly.

“Because I’m not good at initiating things,” Derek says honestly. His face gets hot, and he curses himself for being embarrassed about the weirdest stuff.

Her face softens into a smile. “Stiles mentioned the idea at Christmas,” she says finally. “He was surprised you hadn’t already told me.”

Derek makes a frustrated noise. “I asked him for his advice about what I’d need to set something like this up. That’s all.”

Eunice studies his face. “If you’re serious, I want to see a proposal for how you’d implement it and how you’d transition the library over before I agree. And even if you’re paying for it with your mysterious lack of a job, I still want to know how much it costs and if there are maintenance costs. If you disappear tomorrow, how much will this cost the library to maintain?”

Derek nods. “Okay. But you’re open to it?”

She grabs onto his wrist and squeezes. “It’s a really generous offer, Derek. I hate change, and computers are tools of the devil.” She laughs at herself and lets go of his wrist. “But you’re probably right, and I’d be a foolish old bat if I didn’t take your help.”

Derek laughs. “I’ll make sure to find something that’s user-friendly,” he promises. “I’ll have a proposal to you by Monday!”

She shoos him away with her hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell Stiles I say hello.”

Derek starts to protest but then realizes it’s pretty futile. He nods in agreement instead.

**

“How’d you feel if Scott and I came down to see you for the Presidents’ Day long weekend?” Stiles asks a couple of days later. “He keeps bugging me about visiting you. But if you don’t want anyone else to know where you are, I understand.”

Derek swallows, caught off-guard. “Oh. Umm.”

Stiles laughs. “It’s okay,” he says. “I just promised Scotty that we’d hang out that weekend. Kira’s gonna be in New York with her parents. And we were planning bro time. But I want to see you, and I know Scott wants to check out your place, make sure you’re okay.”

Derek smiles at the ceiling. He’d like to see Stiles again. “Will you help me order the stuff for the library?”

“Sure,” Stiles says, and Derek can hear his smile. “So it’s okay?”

Derek takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says. “Just don’t— I mean, don’t bring anyone else.”

Stiles just laughs.

**

A week later Stiles and Scott arrive late Saturday morning.

“Dude!” Scott says when Derek opens the door. He pulls Derek into a hug immediately. “Missed you, man.”

Derek makes eye contact with Stiles over Scott’s shoulder and gives him a helpless look. “You too,” he says and pats Scott’s back awkwardly.

Scott laughs. “This place!” he says as he breaks the hug and moves into the house. “This is so nice, bro. A proper home with walls and doors. You deserve it.”

Derek forgot how enthusiastic Scott could be. He’s making a big effort, though, which is nice considering their history. Derek tries not to do anything that shuts him down. “Thanks, Scott.”

“Stiles said you were doing good,” Scott says and plops down on the couch. “But you really do look good.”

Scott may not be Derek’s Alpha, but his approval still scratches an itch Derek didn’t even realize he had. The power emanating from Scott immediately puts Derek’s wolf at ease. He hadn’t noticed it had been restless, searching for something, until that moment.

Derek nods. “You too.”

Stiles laughs, delighted. “You two want to be alone?” He nudges Derek’s shoulder. “Werewolf appreciation society meeting need to convene? I can go find Eunice if I need to.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

Despite the initial overwhelming enthusiasm, the day is actually pretty easy. They walk into town and eat tacos at their favorite stand and show Scott the sights, such as they are. Eunice has the library open that afternoon, so they stop in and introduce her to Scott, and Stiles looks over the library to see where all the outlets are and if there are ethernet ports and a bunch of other things Derek doesn’t understand. Stiles crawls around under the desk and makes notes, and Eunice is charmed by Scott’s overall puppy-like nature.

“So Derek hangs out here every day?” Scott asks, eyebrows raised almost to his hairline.

“He assists me,” Eunice says generously. She’s trying to make it sound less like Derek’s the weird unemployed guy who hangs out in the library and more like he’s actually doing something valuable with his time. “And he reads story hour most mornings.”

Scott visibly starts at that. “Seriously?”

Eunice smiles. “The kids love him.”

Derek rolls his eyes and looks at his shoes. “They’d like anyone that reads to them.”

“Not true,” Eunice says. “Derek does the voices and everything. He has quite a following.”

“Dude,” Scott says, and his smile grows impossibly wider. Derek ducks his head, blushing at an Alpha’s approval.

“Of course the mothers and grandmothers and a few of the older brothers are pretty taken with him too,” Eunice says with a smirk. “I think that inflates his numbers a bit.”

Scott laughs, and Derek’s cheeks grow hotter. Meanwhile, Stiles bumps his head while crawling around under the desk and swears loudly and is shushed by Eunice.

“You’re in a library,” she says disapprovingly.

Stiles squawks his displeasure, and Eunice smiles mischievously at Derek.

“Okay,” Stiles says emerging from underneath the counter. “I think I know what we need.” He holds his notebook up triumphantly, and shoots Eunice a glare.

**

Later, while Derek makes dinner, Stiles and Scott try to figure out how to get down the cliff to the water. Scott manages it pretty quickly. It’s not difficult for a werewolf, but Stiles is human and is pissed he can’t perform the same maneuvers to yield similar results.

Stiles was at Derek’s house for a week at Christmas and never seemed that concerned with scaling the steep cliff to get to the water, but he’s there for just a few hours with Scott and they’re cheating death in Derek’s backyard.

Derek’s keeping an eye on the situation. So far Stiles has stood at the top of the cliff and shouted encouragement down to Scott.

They eat on the back deck as the sun sets later.

“I can’t believe you made this,” Scott says with wonder in his voice as he takes a big bite of the meatloaf Derek experimented with for supper.

“’s good,” Stiles agrees through a giant bite.

“I like it here,” Scott says looking around. “You like it here. It’s great.” He sounds like a proud dad.

Scott brings Derek up to date with McCall pack stuff. He keeps referring to it as “our pack,” as if Derek has a place in it. Derek doesn’t correct him, but he’s not sure that feels accurate to him either. Scott asks for Derek’s opinion about a couple of packs looking to form alliance agreements, whether it’s so their pack members are free to travel through Scott’s territory without incident or because they feel teaming up is some sort of strategic advantage.

Derek remembers a few of the names from when his mom was Alpha. But ultimately he defers to Deaton’s wisdom about most of the intricacies.

“If I need you to be part of the meeting, will you?” Scott asks carefully toward the end of the discussion.

Derek looks at Stiles, who is watching Derek carefully.

“Umm.”

“I understand if you don’t want to,” Scott says, and he seems sincere. “But these packs all had relationships with the Hale pack. It might help them take me seriously if you were there.”

Derek swallows. The bitter, angry part of him resents that Scott would never join his pack, snubbed him multiple times, was scornful of Derek’s advice, and wants to refuse. But Derek also knows how much growth it shows on Scott’s part to even ask. He’s clearly been spending time with Deaton learning about werewolf tradition and pack structure. He’s taking it seriously and wants to do right by the land and his pack. It’s hard to say no to that.

“If you think it would be helpful, I could be there,” he says finally.

The smile Scott gives him is blinding. “Thanks, man,” he says, and Derek feels a sudden rush of pleasure course through him, an instinctual thing at praise from an Alpha. “You wanna run tonight?”

Derek looks at Stiles because a run means they’ll end up leaving him behind.

“It’s cool,” Stiles says. “Leave me your credit card, and I’ll order everything we need for the library project.”

Derek gives him a look but complies.

“Plus,” Stiles says with a twinkle in his eye. “I wanna see the full shift.”

“Full shift?” Scott asks, sitting forward. “Really? Since when?”

“A couple months ago,” Derek says. It’s gotten a little easier since then. He knows what to reach for inside of himself to pull the wolf to the surface.

“Do it,” Stiles goads.

“After we clean up the kitchen,” Derek says.

Later, once the dishes are done and it’s dark outside, Scott and Derek rid themselves of their phones and keys and wallets.

“We won’t be gone long,” Derek promises Stiles. “Just an hour or two.”

Stiles waves his hand in dismissal. “I’ll be fine. Now do the wolf thing. I wanna see.” He grins at Derek, and Derek wants to touch him. His face is so open and happy. It’s such a contrast to how he looked just a few weeks before.

Derek rolls his eyes hoping to cover the swell of affection he feels. He forgets that Scott can scent emotions and mood too. He chances a look at Scott and finds him looking between Stiles and Derek with an expression of recognition.

Scott keeps his jeans on, since he’s not going into a full shift, but he removes his shirt and his shoes. Derek undresses fully and tries not to feel self-conscious. He cracks his neck and closes his eyes and then focuses on that inner pull and feels his body quickly remaking itself as his wolf rises to the surface.

“Holy shit,” Stiles says and comes toward him.

Derek’s instincts are different in this form, and he has to fight to maintain the control he needs not to just pounce on Stiles, claim him, mark him.

“Can I?” Stiles reaches his hand out like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to pet Derek.

Maybe Derek should mind, but he doesn’t because it’s Stiles. He leans into Stiles’ hand, letting out a possibly embarrassing groan as Stiles scratches behind his ears.

Stiles laughs. “Oh my god,” he says with delight. “This is the best. Do you stay like this all the time?”

Derek just looks at him hoping to infuse it with enough sarcasm that Stiles will remember he can’t actually say anything in this form.

“Oh right,” Stiles says.

Derek looks up at Scott, and he feels his eyes flash blue involuntarily. Scott smiles a little and flashes his red eyes back at Derek. His wolf preens at the attention, and they take off into the darkness.

**

Fully shifted, Derek can’t really keep track of time in the regular sense. But Scott seems to understand he needs to keep them from running too far and too long. When he’s in the wolf shift, Derek is even more susceptible to the need to obey an alpha.

They chase each other through the Park until Derek realizes that Scott is leading them back to the cottage. It feels like they were barely gone a few minutes, but when Derek shifts on the porch and looks at his phone he realizes it’s been over two hours.

Stiles left Derek’s bathrobe on the table on the deck. Derek feels a surge of affection at that display of thoughtfulness. He ties the robe around himself and looks up to find Scott smiling at him.

“He talks about you all the time,” Scott says quietly.

Derek looks away. His scent gives his true feelings away, but it doesn’t mean he wants to talk about it.

“It’s cool,” Scott says keeping his voice low. “I think you guys are good for each other. He’s been happier since Christmas. He calls me to hang out. He spends more time with his dad.”

“I didn’t do that,” Derek says truthfully.

“Well, you did something,” Scott says. “I don’t know what, but I’m grateful.”

Derek recognizes what a big deal it is for Scott to admit that Derek did something for Stiles that no one else could.“I’m glad he’s doing well,” Derek says carefully.

Scott nods and punches Derek lightly in the arm.

“Kill any bunnies?” Stiles asks as they enter the house. He’s on the couch with the TV on, but doesn’t look up from his laptop.

“No killing,” Scott says easily. “Just running. Derek’s fast as a wolf.”

“Aww my favorite puppies,” Stiles says and ruffles Scott’s hair when he sits down next to Stiles on the couch.

“We’re not dogs,” Scott and Derek say in unison.

Stiles cackles.

“I ordered all the stuff and emailed you the receipt,” Stiles says to Derek.

“Great,” Derek says, glad Stiles took care of that. He would’ve second-guessed himself. “How much was it?”

Stiles grins. “Less than I’d originally estimated, but more than we were saying the other night,” he flips his computer around so Derek can look at the invoice. “There are some cables we need and the software has a yearly support fee you have to pay.”

Derek groans. He has the money. It’s not really an issue. But it still makes him nervous to spend so much of it in one evening.

They watch a couple episodes of Arrested Development and then Scott starts yawning.

“I need to call Kira and go to bed,” Scott says stretching. “Which room upstairs?”

Derek directs him to the guest room and makes sure he has a towel.

It occurs to him then that they hadn’t worked out where Stiles was going to sleep. Derek got so used to Stiles sleeping with him he hadn’t thought through what would happen with Scott in the mix.

“So,” Derek says when he gets back downstairs after helping Scott. “You on the couch? Or… what.”

Stiles smiles up at him softly. “Or what?” he says hopefully.

“Scott won’t care?” Derek asks, because even if Scott isn’t Derek’s Alpha, Derek’s wolf still considers him Stiles’.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “He’s going to coo at Kira for fifteen minutes and then fall asleep and snore obnoxiously for the rest of the night. He sleeps like a rock. Even if he did care he’d have no idea.”

Derek still isn’t sure.

“And I’m the boss of me,” Stiles concludes when Derek still hasn’t said anything. “And it might not be my birthday yet, but I’m still gonna snuggle the fuck out of you.”

Derek huffs a laugh and looks down at his shoes. “Okay.”

“C’mon big guy,” Stiles says as he stands up from the couch and heads toward the stairs.

**

Once their teeth are brushed and they’re in bed together, Derek listens for Scott’s heartbeat slowing down, breath evening out in sleep. Soon he hears the light snoring Stiles promised.

Derek flips the light out and turns to face Stiles. “You sleeping better these days?”

Stiles nods. “The last week I haven’t even gotten up to pee in the night.”

Derek smiles. “No dreams?”

“No bad dreams,” Stiles corrects. “I dream about other stuff sometimes.”

Derek is stepping into something, but he asks anyway. “Like what?”

“He asks innocently,” Stiles says with a smirk.

Derek’s face heats.

“My birthday’s in 6 weeks,” Stiles says and scoots a little closer.

“Big plans?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Not sure,” he says. “Depends I guess.”

Derek smiles slow and easy. “Your birthday’s not a magic day for us, Stiles.”

“It’s not? Is today a magic day?”

Derek shakes his head. “Magic is negated by a protective alpha werewolf in the next room.”

“Well, shit,” Stiles says. “But just so we’re clear, that’s something you’re still into? Me. Not the alpha werewolf.”

Derek huffs a laugh and then takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He waits a few seconds before he answers in the vain attempt to appear to have a certain amount of chill about Stiles. “Yeah,” he says and tries to keep his voice steady.

Stiles scoots closer. “I’m like, super into you, PS.”

Derek laughs softly. He reaches out and rubs his fingers up and down Stiles’ arm. “Good.”

“And we’re waiting to touch each other because,” Stiles says with a little whine in his voice.

Derek pulls Stiles all the way against him then, tucking his face into Derek’s neck.

“I meant— you know,” Stiles protests into Derek’s skin.

Derek shudders involuntarily at the feeling of Stiles’ warm breath. “Because we’re both working through stuff.”

“Side issue,” Stiles dismisses.

“Well, not really,” Derek says as he tightens his grip around Stiles. “Pretty central, I think.”

“Yeah,” Stiles admits with a sigh.

They don’t say anything else. Derek isn’t entirely sure why he feels like they should still wait. But he does. His instincts tell him that he and Stiles could be something more than fleeting, and if he gives in now it could complicate things.

Stiles hums against Derek’s neck. It’s satisfied and happy, not frustrated and confused. And that’s what Derek cares about most.

“Like bein’ close to you,” Stiles says against Derek’s skin, lips brushing his neck as he forms the words.

Derek shivers, but smiles and squeezes his grip around Stiles.

Stiles sighs, content, and they slowly drift to sleep.

**

“So tell me about Stiles,” Dr. Nelson says in the session following Scott and Stiles’ Presidents’ Day visit.

Derek smiles and looks down at his hands. He’s shared bits and pieces of his friendship with Stiles over the past several months of therapy. “He’s my friend,” he says even though that oversimplifies things.

Dr. Nelson quirks an eyebrow at Derek to let him know he’s aware of that fact.

“I like him,” Derek clarifies.

“But?”

Derek sighs. “But he’s 17. And he’s had a lot to deal with the last year or two. I don’t want to take advantage.”

Dr. Nelson taps his pen against his notebook and watches Derek. “Are you worried liking Stiles in a romantic way makes you like Kate?”

There it is. Dr. Nelson pulls no punches.

Derek swallows. “Well, I mean—”

Dr. Nelson shakes his head. “Who was Kate to you?”

Derek closes his eyes. They’ve addressed the Kate issue extensively over the past several weeks. Derek has left his sessions raw and split open some days. But he’s sorted through even the darkest most embarrassing parts of his Kate feelings, and he’s still intact.

“I thought she loved me.”

“Did she?”

“No,” Derek admits.

“How do you know that?”

Derek bites his lip and stares at his hands. “Because we met in secret. She told me not to tell my parents. She pushed me for sex before I was ready. She mocked me when I didn’t want to do something. She belittled my fears. She used me to get close to my family.”

It’s taken Derek weeks to be able to articulate all of that. It took Dr. Nelson leading him through some painful memories for Derek to understand there was a major power imbalance between Kate and Derek that went beyond even just age and experience.

Dr. Nelson nods like he’s pleased with Derek’s ability to state all of that so baldly. “And who is Stiles to you?”

Derek closes his eyes and pictures Stiles’ face. “My friend. The person I call when I want to share something I’m happy about. The person I like spending time with the most. He’s pa— someone close, someone important.” He opens his eyes to find Dr. Nelson watching him closely.

He nods. “What leads you to that conclusion?”

Derek smiles. “He values my happiness. He didn’t push me to move back to Beacon Hills even though that was what would’ve been easiest for him. He remembers the stuff I tell him. He’s excited when I’m happy. He made me that frame,” he adds, blushing at the memory of that special gift.

Dr. Nelson smiles.

“I told him I thought we should wait,” Derek goes on in a quiet voice. “And he’s never made me feel bad about that. I know he thinks I’m attractive, but he seems to like other things about me even more.” Derek has shared how violated he’s felt at various points of his life by people who can’t see past his looks and who think his physique gives them license to touch him, to stare, to suggest things he’s not comfortable with. Ever since Kate, his body has felt like it wasn’t his own because she used it for her own purposes when Derek wasn’t fully on board. And even when he was, she used it to confuse and distract him so she could get him to confide important things in her.

“These are all positive signs,” Dr. Nelson agrees. He rarely offers opinions about the things Derek says, so the unsolicited pronouncement makes Derek sit up straighter.

“Isn’t the age thing an issue?”

Dr. Nelson seems to carefully consider his answer. “I’m uncomfortable making judgements about a large age gap like you and Stiles share in a way that could be perceived as blanket approval or disapproval.” He sets his pen and paper on the coffee table between them and makes his fingers into a tent. Derek thinks of it as his Thinking Pose. “I do think, however, that you and Stiles seem suited to each other. He respects you and you him. Your focus seems to be on your mental health and on not violating his agency. You are careful to the point of excuse, I suggest as an aside,” he says giving Derek a look.

“So you’re saying…”

Dr. Nelson chuckles. “I will never tell you what to do, Derek. That’s not what this is for. This time is meant to help you process through your own feelings, fears, thoughts, and so on. I can guide you and try to help you to retrain negative thought patterns. But I can’t tell you what’s best for you.”

Derek swallows and waits for Dr. Nelson to continue.

“Instead of focusing on Stiles reaching an age that makes this suddenly acceptable, I would challenge you to think of it as considering if you are suited to help and enhance each other’s lives in your current stages of life. Can you enter into a relationship with Stiles in a way that won’t deprive him of important experiences? Can you engage in a relationship with Stiles while maintaining your own positive mental health? And remember, these aren’t pronouncements you can make on behalf of both of you. Only Stiles can tell you what he’s capable of and what impact the relationship will have on him. If you feel like he’s incapable of seeing it clearly or of making decisions that are better for the long term at the deprivation of short term pleasure or enjoyment, that’s a sign on its own, I’d say.”

Derek takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“I know you like to collect information before you act. But I would also caution you that nothing will ever feel perfect. Not the timing or the person. Even if Stiles was 22 years old and lived next door to you there would be reasons the relationship could fail. You’re both people, human. You will hurt each other even without intending to. The important part is making the choice to be with someone who values and respects who you are at center. You are enough on your own. A relationship should acknowledge that and build from there.”

Derek nods. “It’d be so much easier if you’d just tell me what to do,” he mumbles.

Dr. Nelson smiles broadly. “I suggest you already know what to do. You just need to give yourself permission.”

**

Stiles convinces Derek to download Snapchat, so their communication for the next week is pretty photo-heavy.

Lacrosse practice has started up again, and a lot of the snaps are of Stiles’ sweaty face or Stiles making faces at an unsweaty Scott.

Stiles takes pictures of the cafeteria food at lunch and of his least favorite teacher, Mr. Harris. There are pictures of chemistry experiments gone awry with Scott’s sheepish face peering out behind beakers. Every day there’s a photo of the mailbox, usually with Stiles’ frustrated face next to it expressing distress at not receiving word from the many colleges he’s applied to.

Derek is less Snapchat prolific, but he sends Stiles pictures of the kids at story hour. And a picture of Eunice giving him a sassy face when he delivers her lunch. He captures the small brick house that serves as Dr. Nelson’s office and the restaurant he stops at on his way back from therapy. There are, of course, pictures of the ocean and the view from Derek’s deck. He takes a picture of the two lounge chairs where they spent so much time when Stiles was there and draws a stick figure Stiles and a stick figure Derek and labels them helpfully.

Derek exchanges snaps with Cora too. The thing about Stiles and his pestering Derek to start an Instagram and get Snapchat is that it also facilitated other ways of staying in touch with his sister. Their communication has become a lot more effortless in the past few weeks. She shoots Derek texts and pictures and tags him in Instagram posts like this is what they do, like this is what they’ve always done.

At the end of the week Derek has a great day. His therapy session goes well, and afterward he spends time browsing in his favorite book store. Eunice invites him over for dinner with a few of the regulars, and it’s a relaxing evening.

He looks in the mirror while he’s brushing his teeth before bed and is surprised at the face looking back at him. He looks happy. He doesn’t look haunted anymore. He can’t point to any one thing that makes him feel peaceful, and maybe that’s what’s satisfying about it. It wasn’t just getting out of Beacon Hills. Or settling on the coast. Or starting therapy. Or volunteering at the library. Or befriending Eunice. Or getting closer to Stiles. Or the full shift. Or cultivating a better relationship with his sister.

Every one of those things was influenced by and informed another. As each of them took root in his life, he was able to let himself believe he was building a life. Not just trying to stay alive, but trying to be alive, to cultivate and nurture the things that matter to him.

He gets a snap from Stiles of him in a t-shirt propped up in bed, the glow of his laptop evident just out of the frame of the picture. Usually Stiles’ snaps are jokes or are meant to tease. But this one is just Stiles with an open, soft smile and it says “Miss you” across the bottom.

A lump forms in Derek’s throat. He takes a screenshot of the snap because it’s a good picture.

He climbs into bed and then takes a picture of himself with an arm extended over his head to capture as much of the bed as possible and then he draws a stick figure Stiles next to him with an arrow pointing to the stick figure that says “your side.”

The phone vibrates in his hand about twenty seconds later.

“Dude,” Stiles says in a whine when Derek answers.

Derek laughs softly. “Yes?”

“What about if I come there for spring break?”

Derek smiles. “When is that?”

“A couple of weeks from now.”

“Sure,” Derek says easily. “You can help me with the library project.”

“Oh, the stuff came?”

“Yeah.” The shipment arrived the day before, and Derek is overwhelmed. He either needs Stiles to figure it out, or he’s going to need to do a lot of research.

“I can do that,” Stiles says. “And then I think you and I should do something adventurous.”

That sounds dangerous. “Like what.”

Stiles laughs. “I don’t know. Like road trip down the PCH to Big Sur. Whatever.”

Derek smiles into the phone.

“You can Instagram the whole thing,” Stiles adds, as if that will seal the deal.

“That does sound like me.”

During Derek’s nomadic sojourn prior to settling down, he spent some time in Santa Cruz and in Monterey. The Pacific Coast Highway is beautiful, and it’s not like a road trip with Stiles would be a hardship.

“Alright,” Derek agrees. “We can do that.”

He can hear Stiles’ fist pump and accompanying “yessss!”

They talk about lacrosse practice and the latest pack meeting. Stiles got his letter back from Stanford and didn’t get in. He seems remarkably okay with that given it was at the top of his list.

“My mom went to Berkeley,” Stiles says in response. “That’s the one I’m hoping for. Stanford was always a long shot.”

“Well, sorry anyway,” Derek says. He doesn’t like it when Stiles doesn’t get what he wants. But he doesn’t sound too upset about it.

“I would’ve been pretty surprised if I’d gotten in,” Stiles says. “But yeah, it still sucks I guess.”

It’s quiet for a few beats.

“So you miss me, huh?” Stiles asks, changing the subject.

Derek grins. “I think you’re the one that said that.”

“And you’re the one that drew the stick figure Stiles next to you,” Stiles chides. “He looks very unspoonworthy, by the way.”

Derek laughs. He swallows around his discomfort with talking about his feelings, the flash of awkwardness he feels at the exposure, the risk of being rejected.

“I wish I was there,” Stiles says, voice quiet and serious. “For like, lots of sexy NC-17 reasons. But also just because you smell super good. And you’re always so warm. And you’re like a champion cuddler, man.”

Derek blushes, even though he’s alone and Stiles can’t see him. He wishes he was as easy with his affection, that the words came quicker, and he wasn't so tongue-tied. “I can’t— I’m not as— I haven’t changed your pillow case,” he admits in a rush when he can’t say what he really wants to.

Stiles makes an interested noise.

“Smells like you,” Derek says quietly, and then feels like a total freak.

“Dude,” Stiles says gently. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve said to me.” He aims his tone toward teasing, but Derek can tell how sincere he really is. “But wash it before I get there,” he adds, and Derek can hear the grin. “I don’t want to sleep on a dirty pillow.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but can’t help the smile that spreads across his face in the darkness.

**

The book club meets again a few nights later. Derek liked the book much more this time, so he’s a more active participant in the discussion. He sits by Eunice, and she acts as a sort of guard dog when anyone approaches with what she determines are “intentions.”

“Derek has a beau,” Eunice says imperiously to a pretty young woman Derek would guess is in her early 30s.

Derek blushes and looks down at his plate of snacks. “Eunice.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman—Amy—says. “I didn’t realize.”

Derek shakes his head. “I’m not— it’s okay. Eunice is just protective.”

Amy smiles hesitantly. “I got divorced a few months ago,” she says and sits in the chair next to him. “I’m not really trying to date,” she shoots Eunice an embarrassed glance. “I’ve got a son, Tyler, and I just needed an excuse to get out of the house.”

Derek smiles. He’s seen Tyler at story hour a couple of times.

“I wasn’t trying to hit on you,” Amy says again once Eunice turns her attention to the woman on her other side.

Derek nods and gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“We’re just the youngest people here,” she says looking around. “And I’m sure I still have a decade on you.”

Derek’s cheeks redden. “I’ve gotten used to hanging out with the older crowd. You’ll get used to it too.”

Amy nods. “I got this house in the divorce,” she says. “Greg got the house in Palo Alto. And the new girlfriend. I got the kid and the beach house.” She swallows.

Derek cringes. “Well,” he says, floundering for something reassuring to say. “I think you got the better end of the deal.”

She smiles hopefully. “I think I did too. And I do like it here.” She looks around. “It’s just always been a place we visited a few weeks a year. So it’s an adjustment.”

Derek doesn’t press, partly because he doesn’t really know what to say, and mostly because it’s not really in his nature to pry.

“Anyway,” she says with a false sort of levity. “I’m glad to see someone nearish to my age in town. So it’s nice to meet you, Derek.”

“You too,” he says and finds it’s a genuine feeling. Lately meeting new people doesn’t set off alarm bells like it once did.

They get back to the book discussion then. Eunice shoots him a few questioning looks which Derek answers with an eye roll.

“I’m not cheating on Stiles,” Derek whispers to her as they’re cleaning up after the meeting. There are a few people still milling about, so Derek keeps his voice down.

Eunice narrows her eyes at him but doesn’t say anything else, just places muffins in big ziplock bags and thrusts one at Derek to take home.

He laughs and shakes his head. “First of all,” he presses. “Stiles and I aren’t actually dating. So stop telling people that.”

“Derek—” she starts, with warning in her voice.

“No,” he says gently. “We aren’t. I haven’t felt ready to date anyone. Not just Stiles. But I can be friendly to people. It’s actually part of my therapy assignment. To start conversations with people I don’t already know. So.” One of Dr. Nelson’s latest exercises in getting Derek out of his comfort zone.

Eunice winces slightly. “Well, I didn’t know that.”

Derek laughs. “Right. So stop it.”

“I just don’t want you to forget Stiles,” Eunice says quietly, as she waves goodbye to a couple of the ladies as they leave.

“Won’t happen,” Derek says honestly.

Eunice smiles softly at him. “He texts me, you know.”

Derek grins. He didn’t know, but it’s not surprising. Stiles and Eunice are kindred spirits, and their continued communication makes sense.

“He misses you.”

Derek zips a bag of grapes and places them in the small refrigerator. “I miss him too,” he responds, even though he knows he doesn’t have to. “I talk to him every day. He knows I miss him. You don’t need to police our relationship.”

“A ha!” she crows. “It is a relationship.”

Derek rolls his eyes as Maureen enters the kitchen. “I never said we aren’t friends. I said we aren’t dating.”

Eunice sighs heavily.

Maureen glances between them. “Are you still denying our love, sugar?”

Derek laughs and lets out a frustrated sigh. “’fraid so, Mo.”

Eunice laughs and nudges Derek with her shoulder. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am,” Derek finds himself saying. “There’s plenty of time for Stiles and me.”

“You think that now,” Maureen says, popping a strawberry in her mouth.

“I’m not 75,” Derek says and both ladies scoff.

“No reason to be rude!” Maureen huffs.

“I’m not!”

Eunice laughs brightly and wraps her hand around his wrist and squeezes. “I’ll stop giving you a hard time about Stiles. I just don’t want you to keep yourself from someone who could make you happy because you’re scared.”

Derek nods. He knows her meddling comes from a good place, but it doesn’t mean he wants her pressing him about this every time they see each other.

She seems to take the hint though. It doesn’t come up again that evening, and she lays off the heavy handed looks and leading statements anytime Derek chats with a library patron or answers the questions he gets from parents and grandparents after story hour. She doesn’t stop altogether because she lives to make him squirm. But it feels less like an interrogation every time he converses with someone new.

**

Beacon Hills High’s Spring Break is two weeks before Stiles’ birthday. That date has been an excuse more than anything for Derek to not jump into something before he’s ready, before he thinks Stiles is ready. But it’s getting more and more difficult to picture waiting until April 8 to kiss Stiles and tell him how he feels, what he wants. Their texts and snaps and phone calls have grown more and more leading, leaving little room for doubt about what either of them are thinking.

Stiles calls three days before he’s supposed to arrive for Spring Break and yells something incomprehensible at Derek. He sounds excited, not distressed, but it still makes Derek’s heart rate elevate.

“What?” Derek asks.

Stiles laughs. “I got into Berkeley!” he yells a little slower. He sounds like he’s jumping up and down, and he’s out of breath.

Derek grins. “Stiles, that’s great,” he says sincerely. He knows how much it means to him, that it was his first choice.

“I knowwwwww,” he says and sighs. “I just— I don’t—Dude.”

Derek laughs. “Have you told your dad?”

“No,” Stiles admits. “I just opened the mail box like 3 minutes ago.”

Derek swallows. Stiles called him first. “Call your dad.”

“Yeah, I should,” Stiles says and then laughs again. “Can you believe it?”

“Yes,” Derek answers.

Stiles makes a small affectionate noise. “Der.”

Derek huffs a laugh. “Call your dad,” he says again.

“Are you excited?”

Derek smiles. “I’m really happy for you Stiles,” he says honestly. “You deserve it.”

“I dooooo,” Stiles says. “Okay. I’m going to call my dad. Three days, sourwolf!”

“Three days,” Derek agrees, but rolls his eyes at that stupid nickname. “Congratulations, Stiles.”

When Derek hangs up the phone he sits on the back deck. Berkeley is only an hour away without traffic. Beacon Hills is three hours away if he speeds the whole way. So Stiles will be closer. It will be easier to see him more often.

But Derek worries if Stiles spends all his time at Derek’s he won’t experience college fully. He brought that up to Dr. Nelson at their last session.

“Valid concern,” Dr. Nelson said tapping his pen against the ever-present note pad in his lap. “But it’s still Stiles’ choice to make. It’s something he should take seriously, so if he dismisses it entirely that’s a potential warning sign.”

Derek swallowed and stared at his hands.

“No more martyring yourself,” Dr. Nelson reminded him. “Your care for Stiles is a sign that your feelings for him are healthy. But you have a tendency to tip from concern for others to lack of care for yourself. If you have feelings for Stiles that you think he reciprocates, that’s worth exploring.”

“What if—” Derek stopped because it was still hard for him to articulate exactly what he was afraid of. “What if he wants to be with me now, and then a year from now it’s too much or he meets someone in college. What if we break up?”

Dr. Nelson gave him a considering look. “Okay. Well, take that to its end. What if that happened?”

Derek wanted to roll his eyes but closed them instead, leaning his head against the back of the couch. “It would suck.”

Dr. Nelson chuckled. “But talk it through.”

Derek sighed. “Yeah okay. If Stiles broke up with me it would suck.”

“And what would that mean?” Dr. Nelson prodded when Derek didn’t continue right away.

Derek let out a slow breath. “If Stiles and I broke up it would suck, but I’d be okay.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because my happiness isn’t dependent on him. I would be hurt because I care about him. He’s my— he’s my best friend,” Derek admitted and his stomach flip flopped at the realization. “I would miss him. But.”

“But,” Dr. Nelson agreed.

“But if we broke up because he didn’t want to be with me anymore, I would figure out how to deal with that,” Derek said, surprised to find it was true. “I would accept it because it would be what he needed. I would hate it, but I would be okay.”

Dr. Nelson smiled and nodded his head once decisively. “There’s always risk, Derek.”

Derek swallowed and found that the tightness in his chest from just moments before had dissipated.

“Love is always a leap,” Dr. Nelson continued. “And love is never enough to make life worth living. Love is important and an amazing supplement to a full and rich life. But it isn’t the only thing that gives meaning to existence.”

Derek closed his eyes and pictured the dozens and dozens of conversations they’d had in these same spots. How hard it was to find the words to explain his hurt at first. How much it gnawed at his stomach after he’d leave each session. There were days he barely said anything at all. And there were days where he told Dr. Nelson things he’d never said out loud to anyone before.

He honestly never thought it would work. He didn’t think he deserved for it to work. He didn’t deserve to have peace from his inner turmoil. He didn’t deserve to forgive himself.

Or that’s what he’d thought for years.

“I choose how to be happy,” Derek said, remembering the strength of those words. “And happiness doesn’t make life less difficult.”

Dr. Nelson had a smile on his face when Derek opened his eyes. “Anyone who tells you that life will be easy is lying to you. Life is hard,” he said and flipped his notebook shut. “You know that better than most. But happiness is about learning what’s important to you and pursuing it even when doing so is no longer easy. It’s not something other people do for you, it’s something you do for yourself.”

When Derek left that day Dr. Nelson told him he thought he could cut his sessions back to once a week which was a vote of confidence Derek was surprised to find he felt he deserved.

Derek can’t help but worry about how a relationship will affect Stiles’ college experience. He knows his reasons are both selfish (not wanting to get hurt if Stiles finds he has outgrown Derek) and also altruistic (not wanting to hold Stiles back from having every “normal” college experience he deserves to have).

But Derek knows that whatever happens, even if it’s painful and even if it breaks his heart, again, he’ll be okay.

**

Derek and Stiles put together a schedule for the implementation of the new library inventory system over the next couple of days. They’ll get the new hardware and software up and running while Stiles is around as well as begin the cataloguing of all the books. But it will be a long process. In the meantime, Eunice will use the old system until the entire library is ready.

Derek plans their road trip too. They’ll leave the second half of the week after they make progress in the library.

Stiles is on the road on Friday afternoon. He skipped his last period and texts updates every time he’s stopped at a light or pulled over at a rest area.

Derek goes for a run because he can’t sit still. Normally Friday is a therapy day, but now that he’s cut back to once a week he has Friday free. He cleaned everything thoroughly that morning and made a trip to the grocery store to pick up all of Stiles’ favorites. That didn’t even get him to the end of the school day when Stiles was leaving.

So Derek bakes cookies and reads his book on the back deck after his run. He’s not used to the fluttery feeling in his stomach that makes it hard to sit still.

He hears Stiles’ Jeep coming up the road when it’s still a mile away. He doesn’t stop to think about playing it cool or pretending to care less than he does. He just stands on the front porch and waits for Stiles to appear around the bend in the road.

When he does and sees Derek standing there waiting for him, Stiles’ face explodes in a smile. He parks quickly and throws himself out of the Jeep, all limbs and nervous energy. Derek is standing close enough to catch him, gather him into a hug.

“Derek,” Stiles says into his neck in a happy sort of sigh. His arms tighten around Derek.

He chuckles and pulls Stiles even closer, relieved to see that he seems just as excited to be together again as Derek is.

“You look good,” Derek says when they finally break apart.

He looks healthy. His cheeks are pink, and his skin no longer has the sallow complexion of someone not sleeping or taking care of themselves. He’s put on a little weight, so his cheekbones no longer look so painfully sharp.

Stiles grins at him. “You too,” he says and winks in an exaggerated, cheesy way.

Derek blushes anyway, and rolls his eyes to cover. “I meant healthy.”

“Me too,” Stiles says again and waggles his eyebrows.

“How do you make everything—”

“—Awesome?”

Derek laughs. “Sure.”

Stiles drops his stuff by the door and makes a beeline for the plate of cookies in the kitchen. He bites into one and flops down on a chair at the kitchen table. “God, you’re my favorite,” he sighs and takes another bite.

“I might be saving those for someone,” Derek huffs.

“Who?” Stiles asks through another mouthful of cookie.

Derek leans against the counter and tries not to blush while Stiles moans rapturously at his second cookie.

“’s wha uh thah,” Stiles says through a big bite.

Derek makes chili and corn bread for supper. It’s still brisk in the evening, but Stiles insists they eat outside. He wears two of Derek’s thermals under the flannel shirt he already had on. Derek tries not to feel too smug about Stiles wearing his clothes, and Stiles smirks at him like he knows what Derek is thinking anyway.

After supper they sit in the deck lounge chairs and watch the sunset. “I love it here,” Stiles says and smells like contentment.

Derek’s stomach twists. “Me too.”

“You should buy this place,” Stiles declares looking around.

“I don’t think it’s for sale.”

“Have you looked around for something else?”

“Not really,” Derek admits. He’s thought about it, but there’s still a part of him that is used to having one foot out the door, that can’t commit to one place like that, even if it’s a place he’s been happy.

“It’s not that far from Berkeley,” Stiles says, and brushes imaginary dirt off his jeans. His voice is casual, but Derek can tell from his scent that he’s nervous.

“An hour and 13 minutes,” Derek says and smiles.

Stiles whips his head up and meets Derek’s eyes. He grins. “Yeah.”

Derek can’t think of how to say what he wants to so he turns again and faces the water.

“You thinking you aren’t going to stay here?” Stiles prods again after Derek doesn’t say anything else.

“I don’t have plans to leave,” Derek says softly. “But if I buy a place…”

“Yeah?”

“This is a small place,” Derek says finally. “I’d want to get something a little bigger.” He’s not sure he’s ready to believe he can have the quiet, peaceful life he’s experienced over the past few months long term. But he wants to.

Stiles’ smile is shy and a little unsure.

Derek reaches over and grabs Stiles’ hand and laces their fingers together. He doesn’t say anything else, but the tension leaves Stiles’ shoulders, and his scent goes sweet and calm instead of anxious.

**

They spend the first couple of days of Stiles’ break at the library. Derek offered the option of starting Stiles’ vacation with the road trip, but Stiles wanted to use it as a reward after they did their work. Derek called him a nerd and Stiles told him the pot shouldn’t call the kettle black and so on.

Derek thinks it’s probably good that they didn’t start their time alone on a coastal drive watching sunsets and staying in hotel rooms or it would’ve been much more difficult to keep his hands to himself.

Instead, they’re in the library being observed and clucked at by Eunice and ogled and objectified (in a strangely grandmotherly way) by Maureen. Eunice brought pastries and coffee to celebrate Stiles’ Berkeley acceptance, which she apparently knew about because “Eunice and I are BFFs, Derek,” Stiles declares with a wink.

“I have emojis on my phone now,” Eunice says with a bemused expression.

“She has an old iPhone,” Stiles clarifies. “We really should take her to get a new one.”

“Why do I need a new one when this one works just fine?” Eunice huffs.

“The eternal question of a luddite,” Stiles says with a smirk and passes Derek a cable he’s trying to thread through the desk.

Eunice makes a disapproving sound and then takes the pastry plate away to punish Stiles, which just makes him laugh.

Maureen and Stiles discuss spells and wards and the talisman she gave Stiles to stop the nightmares. Derek’s always marveled at Stiles’ ability to be doing three things at once, and all of them better than it seems like he should be able to. He’s managing to piece together the networking of a computer system and cabling that Derek has completely given up on understanding while discussing advanced magic and spellwork with Maureen and hassling Eunice about being an old lady about her technology.

“You need an iPad too,” Stiles says from somewhere under the desk. “How do you not have an iPad? How do you watch Netflix while you cook?”

Eunice laughs and gives Derek a look. “I don’t.”

Stiles bangs his head. “Ow,” he exclaims and mumbles swearwords under his breath. “You just… cook? Without doing anything else at the same time?”

“I listen to music sometimes,” she offers.

Stiles scoffs but stays under the desk. “Derek, buy her an iPad.”

Derek gives Eunice a look. “It doesn’t sound like Eunice wants an iPad.”

“Maureen wants an iPad,” Maureen offers and winks at Derek.

“Maureen wants a lot of things she’s not getting,” Stiles scolds.

Maureen’s eyes twinkle in amusement. “Now, now,” she says. “No need to get jealous.”

Derek blushes in spite of himself, because he is apparently determined to make it easy for everyone to tease him.

“Derek behaves himself, Stiles,” Maureen says and gives him a little smirk. “Eunice makes sure.”

Stiles bangs his head again. “Can everyone make themselves useful instead of standing around heckling me while I work?”

Derek laughs and ducks under the desk while the ladies move across the room, even if they keep their eyes on the proceedings. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to,” Derek offers. “But I have no idea what you’re doing, and I’ll probably mess it up.”

“I’m almost done with this part,” Stiles says as he connects wires and does important looking things with the costly equipment Derek bought.

Eunice and Maureen leave for a while and come back later with lunch. They eat outside on the little patio because the sky is bright and cloudless.

“The weekenders will start coming soon,” Eunice remarks.

Derek is both dreading the influx of people the warmer months will bring and also interested in seeing how it changes the town. There are a few seasonal cafes and outdoor markets that pop up once the tourists and vacation home owners start their pilgrimage back to the ocean.

“You guys are townies!” Stiles says delightedly. “Are you suspicious of outsiders? I feel like I’ve seen this movie.”

Derek laughs and nudges his foot under the table. Stiles grins at him and keeps his foot pressed up against Derek’s.

“Is Derek a townie now too?” He asks as he takes a big bite of his BLT.

“I think everyone more or less accepted he was one of us when he stopped glaring at everyone on his morning run,” Maureen says mildly, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

Stiles laughs. “That’s just how his face is. That’s not actually a glare.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m sitting right here.”

“Oh, he glared,” Eunice says, chiming in. “But then he started coming by the library and Gawain liked him, so I figured he had something under the glare worth seeing.”

Derek smiles and looks down at the table.

“He’s a softy,” Stiles says and nudges Derek with his shoulder. “The first thing he said to me was ‘this is private property’,” Stiles says affecting what Derek’s sure is supposed to be his gruff voice. “But all I heard was ‘I own a thumb hole sweater and need someone to make me soup.’”

“That is not what you thought,” Derek says and gives him a look. Derek remembers that day, and Stiles was practically dripping with hormones and fear. Derek knew Scott was a werewolf, wasn’t sure how that had happened and if it had anything to do with why Laura was dead. He was guarded and defensive and numb with grief.

“No,” Stiles agrees. “You’re right. I was pretty sure you were a murderer at first.”

“Was it the glaring?” Maureen asks innocently.

“The glaring,” Stiles agrees. “Among other things.” He smirks at Derek, the less-than-friendly relationship they had when they first met goes unexplained.

Derek blushes and looks away. He’s not proud of how he acted in those first few days. But he didn’t know who he could trust, didn’t understand why Scott was so determined not to cooperate with Derek’s attempts at helping him gain control before the full moon. Stiles was infuriating, intriguing and somehow Derek kept ending up gravitating toward him anyway.

Derek’s fear may explain why he behaved the way he did, but he’s still not proud of it. Although he imagines Stiles has some regrets about those days too.

The conversation drifts to town gossip and a retired widowed military officer who recently purchased a house south of town. Stiles’ eyes light up as the ladies discuss strategies for wooing him.

After lunch they return to the library project, Derek still bewildered about how to be helpful and Stiles teasing him because that’s what Stiles does.

“Sorry you’re having to do all the work,” Derek says as he drives them back to the house later.

Stiles smiles and glances over at Derek. “You can make it up to me. We still taking a road trip?”

Derek nods. “Yeah, if you want.”

“I want,” Stiles says. “Definitely.”

Derek feels almost embarrassed by the amount of thought he’s put into Stiles’ request. “I thought maybe we could drive down to Berkeley first,” he says after a few beats of silence. “Since you know for sure you’re going there.” He bites his lip. “And then,” he swallows. “And then I kind of made a plan for the rest.”

Stiles’ smile spreads. “Yeah?”

Derek nods. “We can go other places if you want. But I’ll show you what I’ve planned.”

Stiles reaches his hand across the center console and squeezes Derek’s leg. “See? Softy.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “How does this make me a softy?”

Stiles’ expression has grown impossibly smug. He doesn’t answer except to squeeze Derek’s leg again. “Is there a spread sheet? Have you made a power point presentation for me?”

“I’m sending you on the trip by yourself,” Derek grouses. “Which requires more planning.”

Stiles laughs. “Are not.”

Derek blushes and finds he can’t even keep up joke anger at Stiles these days. “Yeah,” he says, resigned.

**

Stiles didn’t bother with the pretense of the guest room this time. They sleep close, wrapped up in each other, but so far nothing else has happened.

Derek isn’t sure if he’s still resisting because he’s trying to be respectful and wait until Stiles is 18, or if it’s more that he’s just not ready for physical intimacy with someone who matters so much.

Since Kate, Derek’s forays into sex and romance have been infrequent. Kate was his first, and every encounter after her gave him the sinking sick feeling he’d experienced when he realized just how badly she’d played him, that his family was dead because he was too young and stupid to know the difference between love and whatever it was he had with Kate.

But Derek got lonely, and there was a guy in New York Derek liked enough to see more than once, and a woman he worked with at the grocery store. Those were the closest he’d had to relationships, unless he counted Jennifer and her spell to bend him to her will, and really, Derek didn’t count that, and mostly tried not to think about it.

But otherwise there was just a handful of people Derek picked up in clubs, people whose names he didn’t catch. He wasn’t looking for a connection. He didn’t need to know anything about them other than that they didn’t smell like hunters or something supernaturally dangerous. They smelled like lust and want and like they’d give him (willingly) what he needed.

But with Stiles it’s different.

They lay in the dark that night, Stiles pressed close, his cold toes wiggling underneath Derek’s leg, chin digging into his chest as he tries to find his perfect spot.

Derek chuffs a laugh into Stiles’ hair. “Be still.”

“Easy for you to say,” Stiles grumbles and mashes his face into Derek’s chest.

Derek runs his hand up and down Stiles’ back in a way he hopes is soothing. “Your heart is beating really fast.”

Stiles barks out a muffled laugh. “Duh.”

Derek pauses the movement of his hand because he’s not entirely sure what’s happening or what Stiles is trying to say. But Stiles squirms around more and it becomes clear he’s trying to get Derek to resume his earlier movement. So he does.

“I’m missing something,” Derek says.

Stiles makes a frustrated sound. “No,” he says sheepishly. “I’m just. I’m being dumb.”

“Probably,” Derek agrees, trying to lighten the weird mood that seems to have overtaken them.

Stiles smiles against Derek. “You’re just. You. You know? And being close is, like, great. Duh. I sleep better with you. And so, I’m not saying I don’t want to be in here.”

Derek’s heart kicks up in rhythm, and he feels a sense of dread.

“I just. Like it’s not a secret, dude,” he mumbles. “I like you. And so, you know.” His hand comes up in a gesture meant to convey something.

“I like you too,” Derek says slowly, because he does. He thought Stiles knew that.

“Yeah, but, it’s different,” Stiles says in a quiet voice.

“How?” Derek says, hand stilling while he waits for Stiles to explain.

“You could walk out of here and pick up anyone, anywhere, whenever,” Stiles says propping himself up a little so he can look at Derek’s face. He bites his lip and then looks down again, dragging his thumb nail across Derek’s chest in a nervous sort of pattern. “And you’re older than me. And you’ve done more stuff. Stuff with dudes. My ‘stuff doing’ is pretty limited.”

Derek huffs a surprised laugh. He starts to respond, but Stiles makes a noise that suggests he’s not done talking.

“So you know,” Stiles continues. “I just, I’m back in Beacon Hills, like, thinking about you and how much I like you, and like, how much I want to be close to you. Not just because I’m hot for your bod—”

Derek winces at the ridiculous phrase. “Hot for my bod?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Shut up. You know.” He gestures up and down Derek’s body like this explains everything. “Like this is all great, but mostly I just. You're you. And that makes this” another full body Vanna White type gesture “even more attractive. Cause you’re the person I want to talk to most. And you’re funny, and like, that feels like a secret I know that other people don’t. And then I come here, and you smell so good. Seriously, what is that?”

“Soap?”

Stiles makes another frustrated sound. “So unfair. Seriously.”

“You smell good too,” Derek says in a soft voice and resumes his soothing strokes down Stiles’ back.

“Oh, whatever. Probably like dirty socks and spunk.”

Derek laughs. “Yeah, there’s some of that,” he admits. “But you just smell, uh. Safe.” It’s so hard to explain scent to humans. They think of only the top layer of how scent relays information. They smell “clean” and miss the scent underneath the soap and detergent that says “I’m nervous and trying to make a good impression.” Or they smell “sweaty” but they miss the effort and satisfaction of a big win.

Stiles smells like a normally hygienic teenage male whose family laundry detergent choice is Tide and who owns an inexpensive cologne he applies more liberally than he actually should. But he also smells like safety, comfort, truth. Derek doesn’t know how to unpack that and explain it to someone who would just smell the Tide and the cologne.

“Safe,” Stiles groans after a few beats of silence. “That’s like telling me I smell boring.”

Derek swallows. “Not to me,” he says firmly. “Nothing used to smell safe to me. This house does now. The library does after months of spending time there. But you have from the beginning. It bothered me at first because of how much you seemed to hate me, how determined you were to work against me. But then I’d be in your room or stuck with you in a pool or on the floor of the Sheriff’s station, and I’d breathe in and know that you would do everything you could to take care of me. That you had my back. No one else smells like that. Boyd and Erica and Isaac smelled like expectation and disappointment—everything I wasn’t doing and was supposed to be doing to make things better for them. Cora smells like sadness, like hurt and grieving and cautious trust. That changes a little the more I get to know her again.”

Stiles swallows. “Why do I smell safe?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says honestly. “But it’s not something you can control, really. It’s who you are and who you are to me. It’s this mix of your home and your dad and your past. It’s your effort and diligence and need to prove yourself. You smell sad sometimes, and right after the Nogistune you smelled scared, hurt. But you still smelled like you. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Stiles seems unsure what to say. “Well, that’s not—I mean that’s not what I meant, really. The smelling good thing is just a part of it.”

Derek smiles. “I know. But to me it is the bigger point. I’m not just attracted to you. You’re important. And I’m not sure if I’m ready to balance that with sex. It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex with someone I cared about.”

“It’s not just because I’m not 18 yet?”

Derek wraps his fingers loosely around the back of Stiles’ neck, rubbing the warm skin there with his thumb. “No,” he admits finally. “I talked about it with Dr. Nelson.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, like he’s surprised that Derek has spent time thinking this over at all.

“Yeah,” Derek says and squeezes his neck gently. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has died or been taken from me in some way. And I’ve been used, raped—Dr. Nelson says that’s what Kate did to me—manipulated. Spelled into feelings. Loving and trusting people hasn’t worked out for me the way it does for most people.”

Stiles props himself up on his elbow and searches Derek’s face, his eyes wide with concern.

“We’ve both been through a lot,” Derek says when Stiles seems, for once, to be at a loss. “I just want to make sure that when we have sex it’s for the right reasons, and that we know how we feel about each other. And that you don’t think it’s something you have to do to keep me interested.”

Stiles smiles and then chews his lip nervously. “So what you’re saying is you like me.”

Derek chuckles. “Yes.”

“And you’re hot for my bod.” Stiles grins and waggles his eyebrows.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Yes. But I’m not saying those words out loud, at least not like that.”

Stiles smirks, but then his face settles into a more serious, thoughtful pose. “Can I kiss you?”

Derek’s stomach flip flops. He nods slowly. “But I’m— still not ready for more.”

“Derek, Derek, Derek,” Stiles says and scoots closer, so their lips are within mere centimeters of each other. “I’m easy to please. Making out will be pretty fucking fantastic.”

Derek smiles slow and easy and uses the gentle grip he has on the back of Stiles’ neck to draw him closer. “Just a kiss.”

Stiles nods.

He’s so close, and Derek can feel his breath, smell his toothpaste. Derek presses their lips together. Stiles makes a pleased noise, small but triumphant. The kiss is a gentle thing, chaste and cautious. Derek pulls away after a few seconds, just enough to see Stiles’ face.

“Oh my god,” Stiles murmurs and licks his bottom lip with a quick dart of his tongue.

Derek tracks the movement and leans back in, unable to stop himself. It’s deeper this time, their lips parted a little. Stiles tastes minty and like something unrecognizably sweeter. Derek hears a moan and realizes it’s coming from him. He’s the moaner.

When he pulls away they’re both breathing heavily.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says again, this time with a little more weight. He rests his forehead against Derek’s shoulder and then presses his lips into Derek’s neck.

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ back, holding him in place, keeping him close. Derek’s heart is beating fast, but it’s no match for Stiles’ rabbit heartbeat.

Stiles laughs and kisses Derek’s neck again.

It’s overwhelming, but it feels right. His wolf is satisfied having Stiles so close, and now that they’ve kissed, the wolf is sitting up, waiting for the next step, urging Derek on, to take, to claim, to have. But he takes a deep breath and squeezes Stiles tightly in a hug instead.

“You’re stuck with me now,” Stiles says against Derek’s skin.

Derek smiles up at the ceiling and rubs his fingertips along the strip of exposed skin along Stiles’ lower back.

“And that was just a kiss,” Stiles says, excitement prompting his signature stream of words. “Imagine if we have sex. I’ll be like a barnacle you’ll never get rid of!”

He says it like it’s something undesirable. It’s meant as a joke, to lighten what has been an emotionally charged moment. But Derek has no objections to Stiles being around constantly.

“I’m sure I’d manage,” he says, heart and head full of Stiles.

Stiles props himself up so he can see Derek again. “Good,” he says and kisses Derek again.

This is a thing they do now. They kiss. Derek gets to wrap his arms around Stiles, gets to sleep pressed against his warm body. He gets to hear the sleepy thoughts and ideas Stiles shares into the darkness. He gets to press his lips against Stiles’ full mouth and feel the life and promise that vibrates from it. He gets to hope, to believe, that maybe affection can be had without peril following closely behind.

Stiles shifts slightly, and Derek can feel the hard length of his dick pressed against Derek’s thigh. He shudders involuntarily, the force of his own desire a surprise.

“Sorry,” Stiles says and shifts again so it’s not in contact with Derek anymore. He seems embarrassed, his scent changed from ecstatic happiness to something laced with worry.

“It’s okay,” Derek reassures, pulling him as close as he can. “It’s not that I don’t want that. You know that, right?” He swallows thinking of how much he wants it. “I just want to make sure we’re ready for that. So I mean, I know you have a dick. It’s fine.” He flushes in embarrassment at the bold acknowledgement.

Stiles smiles and it spreads across his face like a rising sun. “I do,” he says, smile turning into a smirk, angling his body again so Derek can feel the hard outline against his thigh again. “I’m okay with waiting. I may have to go take care of this in the bathroom in a few minutes,” he adds, kissing Derek quickly. “But I can wait for you to be ready to be part of that.”

Derek smiles and rolls his eyes at the smug look on Stiles’ face and kisses him again, this time letting it deepen.

**

By Tuesday the new library computers are up and running. Stiles has trained Derek on how the software works and how to input books and print labels, and they’ve catalogued the children’s section entirely.

It will be slower going once Stiles leaves, but Derek is confident he can manage the project on his own, and possibly train a couple of the patrons who have expressed interest in the process over the past several days.

But it’s Stiles’ spring break, and Derek doesn’t want him to have to spend the entire thing in a library doing work. So on Wednesday after breakfast, they start their road trip.

Stiles has seen the plan and approved Derek’s suggested stops and activities, even as he teased and made fun of him for how seriously he took Stiles’ request.

“It’s great,” Stiles says when they look over it one more time. He kisses Derek until he forgets that Stiles had been making fun of his detailed itinerary and reservations. “I like that you did this,” Stiles murmurs against Derek’s lips.

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ low back, grabbing fistfuls of Stiles’ t-shirt as he deepens the kiss.

“I tease because I love,” Stiles says and then freezes. “I mean, you know.” His cheeks are bright red, and he pulls back.

Derek isn’t sure what to say. And it seems like Stiles didn’t mean to say it, so Derek isn’t going to make a big deal out of it and make Stiles uncomfortable, so he doesn’t push.

Stiles insists they stop at the grocery store on the way out of town so he can stock the car with snacks and “road trip essentials.”

“I don’t want to smell corn nuts all the way to Berkeley,” Derek says as Stiles combs the snack aisle.

“Corn nuts are amazing,” Stiles protests and tries to put them in the cart.

Derek shakes his head and pulls them back out.

“You already vetoed jerky,” Stiles pouts.

“Things that smell like salty feet are out.”

“I didn’t veto that trail mix you insisted we buy!”

“It doesn’t smell like a gym sock after a double header,” Derek says firmly. “And I’m not going to make you eat it. I don’t want to only eat chips and candy.”

Stiles rolls his eyes dramatically. “Fine. No corn nuts. No jerky. May I please purchase Twizzlers, your grace?” He bows deeply at the waist because he’s ridiculous.

Derek pushes the cart farther down the aisle and chooses to ignore Stiles’ theatrics. “Twizzlers are fine. Get whatever you want in the non-feet-smelling category.”

“You eat woodland creatures!” Stiles says, a little too loudly, if the reaction of the older gentleman in the aisle with them is any indication.

Derek waits until Stiles is closer with the cart to lean over and reply. “I have no idea where you got that idea, but no I don’t.”

Stiles grins.

“And even if I did, they’d smell better than corn nuts.”

Stiles laughs. “Fine, fine.” He throws a can of Pringles into the cart.

“It takes an hour to get to Berkeley,” Derek reminds him. “How much of this are you going to get through?”

Stiles shakes his head imperiously. “We’ll be gone several days, Derek. And what if every restaurant is booked up or closed for some reason, you’ll be glad we have supplies.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Yeah okay. You’re a wonderful provider. My hero.” He keeps his tone flat.

Stiles laughs and peers down into the cart. “Okay. Gatorade, Mountain Dew, Pringles, Twizzlers, Hot Tamales, disgusting trail mix, Cheetos, Pop Tarts, bird seed granola bars, water, Rolos, Junior Mints, a book of Mad Libs, Cosmo, book of inspirational quotes, a Jackie Collins book on tape, and license plate bingo. I think we have everything.” He looks up at Derek with big, smiling eyes, and Derek’s heart twists.

“I think like three fourths of that is unnecessary, but okay.”

“We’ve noted that for the record,” Stiles says as he places their items on the conveyer belt and winks at the check out clerk, “let the record reflect Derek is against road trip frivolity.”

The checkout clerk looks between them and then down at the items and smirks at Stiles.

“He wanted to get corn nuts too,” Stiles says nodding his head toward Derek. “But I was like, ‘eww gross Derek, they stink.’”

The girl screws up her face. “They do stink,” she says to Derek, like she’s disgusted with him on Stiles’ behalf.

Derek groans and steps out of the range of Stiles’ reaching hands. He swipes his credit card to pay for everything while Stiles talks about how Stiles only eats trail mix and never junk food because his body is a temple, goddammit, and flexes his muscles for the checkout girl while Derek growls menacingly, but only loud enough for Stiles to hear.

“You are what you eat,” Stiles says sagely as she bags the last of the items. “This guy is just one big Mountain Dew flavored Cheeto.”

“You are ridiculous,” Derek says as he scoops up the bags, heading for the door while Stiles gives one last charming smile to his new best friend.

Stiles jogs to catch up.

“You’re the Cheeto,” Derek mumbles as he opens the car and places the bags in the backseat.

Stiles laughs. “Well, obviously. And you’re the temple.” He gives Derek a once over. “Clearly.”

Derek blushes as Stiles steps into his space.

“Is it okay if I get my Cheeto dust in the temple? Or…” he leans in close to Derek, lips almost touching his.

“Cheeto dust, okay,” Derek says and pulls Stiles’ lower lip in between his. “I draw the line at corn nuts. No corn nuts in the temple.” He kisses Stiles slowly, letting it get deeper than he probably should in the parking lot of the grocery store.

“I’ll never eat corn nuts again,” Stiles says breathlessly when they pull away.

**

They have not scheduled a Berkeley campus tour or anything formal. Stiles and his dad apparently did that already at the end of the summer last year. So they just wander around, duck into buildings, peek into classrooms. It’s bright and sunny and a good day for aimless tourism.

Stiles is nervously excited. His scent is engaged and a little anxious. He alternately grabs Derek’s hand and drags him places and then seems tentative and embarrassed to intrude. Derek resists the urge to direct or make suggestions. He lets Stiles set the pace.

Berkeley has a definite college town feel, patchouli and pot in the air as they pass dorm windows. After his months in the small, sleepy oceanside town he lives in, Berkeley is much busier, full of students and aimless wanderers. People play Frisbee in parks, study on benches, group noisily on patios. It’s frenetic and crowded, and it takes some adjustment. But Stiles is engaged and interested so Derek swallows down the slight panic that pulls him toward their hotel.

“Are you wooing me?” Stiles says as they set their bags down in the room. He bounces on the big King-sized bed. “I’m already pretty wooed.”

The room is nice. Derek did some research and found a hotel very close to campus that was also quiet and comfortable. There’s a big bath tub and a ridiculous shower, and it smells clean and well cared for.

Stiles pats the bed next to him. “What’d you think?” He asks as he reclines back on the bed, hands resting on his stomach.

“Of?” Derek asks as he follows him down.

“The campus? Berkeley!” His smile is broad and satisfied.

“I like it,” Derek says truthfully. He keeps his thoughts about how jarring it is for him to be in big groups of smelly students. He’ll get used to that for Stiles if he needs to. “It’s a nice campus. It suits you.”

Stiles smiles and nods. “And it didn’t take that long to get here.”

Derek’s stomach flips. “You mean after the 30 minutes we spent buying snacks?”

Stiles laughs and rolls onto his side. He runs his fingers up Derek’s chest. “Not too bad. Right?” His face looks so hopeful.

Derek smiles and rests his hand on top of Stiles’. “It’s not too bad,” he agrees. “Scenic.”

Stiles grins and rests his head on Derek’s chest. “I want you to be part of this,” he says quietly.

Derek swallows and reaches his other hand up and cups Stiles’ head, scratching his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “You may change your mind about that,” he says, voicing the fear that has gripped him since he realized his feelings for Stiles. “You’re going to meet a lot of people, make a lot of friends.”

Stiles makes a noise of protest. “What? So?” He tries to sit up, but Derek keeps his fingers in Stiles’ hair. It’s easier to have this conversation if they aren’t looking at each other. “I may make friends, but I’ll still want you.”

Derek squeezes Stiles’ neck. “You can’t know now how you’ll feel then.”

“You think I’ll change my mind?” Stiles asks, challenge in his voice.

Derek focuses on keeping his voice steady. “I think you’re at the beginning of things. And there’s no way for you to know what’s going to change or what you’ll want in a couple of years. I don’t want you to make a commitment right now that you can’t keep. I’m not asking you to.”

Stiles struggles to sit up, propping himself on an elbow and keeping his hand on Derek’s chest. “What are you saying?”

Derek swallows. He thinks of Dr. Nelson’s advice, that he can’t make choices for Stiles. He can’t decide how Stiles feels and what he’s capable of. That’s not fair to Stiles even if it makes everything feel more tenuous to Derek. “I’m just saying I want you to be with me because you want to be, not because you made a promise when you were a senior in high school, and you think I’ll be devastated if you change your mind.”

Stiles’ brow furrows. “I know how I feel,” he says indignantly.

“I know,” Derek says carefully. “I know you care about me. I’m not saying otherwise.”

“But you think I’ll get to college and see something shiny and forget about you?” Stiles asks, voice rising. His scent changes to something sharp and defiant.

Derek closes his eyes briefly and tries to center himself. “I don’t want to fight, Stiles,” he says finally. “Only you know how you feel. I just know how much college can change things. And I don’t want to hold you back from experiencing things.”

Stiles’ mouth sets in a hard line. “It’s not going to change how I feel about you.”

“I’m not saying it will,” Derek says, keeping his voice even.

“Seems like you are,” Stiles says and sits up farther, looking out the window. “Because what, I’m just a kid, and there’s no way I could know what it feels like to love someone? To want to make them a part of my life regardless of how my life may change?”

Derek doesn’t know what to say.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Gotcha.” He stands up and goes into the bathroom and slams the door.

**

The shower turns on after a few minutes. Derek stares at the ceiling and tries not to feel like he’s ruined everything. He remembers the things Dr. Nelson said. He can’t make Stiles’ choices for him, but Derek has a right to his own fears and concerns. If this is going to work Stiles can’t freak out every time Derek suggests a potential issue.

After several minutes the water turns off, and he hears Stiles’ heartbeat. It’s steady; calmer than it was when he went in. He appears in the doorway in one of the thick hotel robes a few moments later.

“Sorry,” Stiles says softly. “I’m kind of proving your point when I act like a douchey kid.” He looks down to the floor and when he looks back at Derek his expression is hopeful.

“I understand why you’re hurt,” Derek says.

Stiles sits down next to Derek. “I get what you’re saying, though. You’re not saying you think I’m going to break up with you, but that if I want to, you want me to know you’ll be okay.”

Relief floods through Derek. “Yeah,” he answers, voice rough. “I mean, it’ll suck. But I’ve worked hard to figure out what I want and what makes me happy. And I want you, yeah. And you make me happy, yes. But you aren’t responsible for my happiness. I’d be sad if you decided you wanted to be with someone else or whatever, but I’d be okay.”

Stiles lets out a slow breath. “Okay. But you have to promise to believe me if I say I’m happy with you and not put words in my mouth if I tell you I want to come see you or want you to come to campus. You don’t get to tell me what I want.”

“Fair,” Derek says.

“Also,” Stiles says, swallowing and looking away again. “I feel like we skipped the step where we decided that we were dating.”

Derek’s stomach drops. “Oh.”

Stiles looks at him again. “I want to be,” he clarifies and the buzzing in Derek’s ears stops. “But you’ve said stuff about waiting, and I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Do we have to have sex to be together?” Derek asks carefully.

Stiles shakes his head emphatically. “Nope. I just didn’t want to assume.”

“I want to be with you,” Derek says quietly.

“Me too,” Stiles says with a big smile. “And someday maybe we’ll have sex, too.”

Derek huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Someday we’ll have sex.”

“But no corn nuts,” Stiles clarifies.

Derek grabs him around the waist and pulls him closer. “Never.”

**

They sleep in and eat a late breakfast.

“Anything else you want to see in Berkeley?” Derek asks as he pays the bill.

“Nah,” Stiles says as he tries to give Derek cash. “I’ll have to come back again with my dad, and I’ll make appointments to talk to financial advisors and stuff then.” He slips $20 into one of Derek’s pockets.

“I told you, I got it,” Derek says and passes the bill back to Stiles.

“You don’t have to pay for everything,” Stiles says.

“You spent the first four days of your break helping me out with the library stuff,” Derek insists. “This is your reward for that. Stop it.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You mean helping you with the volunteer, totally optional project you’re taking on because you are trying to win citizen of the year?”

Derek blushes. “Well, still. Just let me.”

Stiles sits back in his chair. “I guess I’ll let you spend money on me and take me to nice hotels and drive me around. If I must.”

“You must,” Derek agrees. “Alright. Next stop Half Moon Bay?”

Stiles grins at him and nods.

**

Highway 1 hugs the coastline, and Stiles makes Derek stop the car several times so he can take pictures. Even though Derek lives on the water and sees the ocean every single day, he has to admit that the view is breathtaking.

“Where are we staying?” Stiles asks again.

Derek hasn’t told him that yet because he’s sure Stiles would insist it’s unnecessary.

“You’ll see,” Derek answers.

“Are we camping or something?” Stiles asks, staring out at the ocean. “Is that why you’re scared to tell me?”

Derek laughs. “No. Not camping.”

The truth is, when Derek was younger his parents would drive down to Half Moon Bay when they wanted to get away for a weekend together. They always came back with pictures of this beautiful, serene spot. Of course, Derek’s dad liked to golf, which was the reason they chose their resort. Well, that and the spectacular view.

It seemed like such a luxurious treat. Derek and his siblings always begged to go with them, but of course the point of the trip was for them to be alone together, something Derek, Cora and Laura didn’t fully grasp when they were younger.

When Derek left Beacon Hills the last time moving from place to place along the coast, he was tempted to go to that hotel his parents had always found so rejuvenating. But it seemed like something he wouldn’t want to experience alone, and at that point his trip was more about hiding and running than it was about discovering and enjoying.

“Wait,” Stiles says as they pull onto the road leading to the hotel. “This is where we’re staying? What?”

Derek smiles. “That okay?”

“Dude,” Stiles says. “Is this, like, our honeymoon or something? Holy shit.” He breathes out a low whistle. “And you don’t even expect me to put out.”

Derek laughs. “I’ve always wanted to stay here,” he admits. “My parents used to come here, and we were never allowed to come with them.”

Stiles bites his lip. “I didn’t bring clothes for this,” he says, his scent changing to nervous and uncertain.

Derek smiles. “You’ll be fine,” he reassures. “And if you want we can just get room service or go eat in town if the hotel restaurant is too stuffy.”

“How rich are you, anyway?” Stiles asks as they pull up to the valet station.

Derek laughs. “Don’t worry about it.”

Derek rarely spends money on anything but necessities. His parents were wealthy, and their pack was old and established. Derek, Cora and Peter were the last Hales left to inherit the fortune. Derek’s only spent the insurance money he received from the fire. He’s never touched the investments and other wealth associated with his family.

The room is ridiculously nice. It’s oceanfront, and the private terrace has a fire pit and deck chairs. Stiles laughs out loud when he first walks in.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” He asks and throws open the sliding doors leading to the small terrace.

Derek smiles. His parents stayed in the rooms with the fire pits overlooking the ocean. He remembers their pictures. It’s why he booked this room, and now he feels an overwhelming sense of missing them.

Stiles steps closer to him. “Dude you are full-on wooing me now. I thought the Berkeley hotel was nice! I had no idea.” He kisses Derek’s cheek and wraps his arm around his waist. “I would’ve been fine with camping.”

Derek nods. “I know,” he says and leans into Stiles. He knows Stiles doesn’t care about a fancy resort. He doesn’t expect five star accommodations. But that makes it more fun to surprise him.

They rent bikes for the afternoon and choose a path that winds along the ocean. It feels nice to be out of the car and away from crowds for awhile. When they get back to the hotel, Derek goes to the fitness center to work out, and Stiles goes to the steam room.

“I’ve always wanted to say that,” he says and kisses Derek when they part. “I’m going to take a steam.”

Derek rolls his eyes. Stiles poured over the hotel amenities before they left the room and read various features to Derek with excitement. “Just don’t go into the candlelit, co-ed Roman mineral bath with someone else.”

Stiles gives him a wink and finger guns. “I only go in candlelit Roman mineral baths with you, sourwolf. No worries.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m relieved.”

Later once Derek has finished his workout, he finds Stiles back in the room, sprawled out on the bed.

“Dude,” Stiles says glancing up at him when he comes in. “The BBQ Bacon Cheeseburger is $22.” He looks up from the hotel information booklet with wide eyes. “What can a burger possibly have on it that makes it worth $22.”

“Is that the room service menu?”

“No,” Stiles says. “This is just that ‘casual restaurant’”—he uses air quotes around the words— “off the main lobby. I assume a room service cheeseburger requires a small loan and possibly comes with a blow job.”

Derek laughs. “So are you saying you’d rather go into town?”

Stiles shrugs. “To be honest,” he says setting the book down again and making grabby hands at Derek, “I’m all relaxed and kind of want to stick close.”

“So room service?”

“Or maybe the $22 casual burger,” Stiles admits sheepishly. “Is that okay?”

Derek laughs. “Yeah, of course. I don’t care where we eat, I’m just hungry.” He plops down next to Stiles and leans over him.

“Hi,” Stiles says with a goofy grin. “You smell good.”

“I showered.”

“Did you go into the candlelit Roman bath with any of those scantily clad people in the workout room I saw eyeing you when I left?” Stiles reaches up and cups Derek’s jaw with his hand.

Derek rolls his eyes. “No one was eyeing me.”

“Everyone eyes you. Literally everyone. Everywhere. Always. Have you seen you?”

Derek blushes.

“Are you going to go into the candlelit Roman baths with me?” Stiles asks, eyes wide, lip slightly pouted.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard the words ‘candlelit Roman baths’ said more times in my life than they’ve been said in the last two hours.” He leans down and kisses Stiles gently.

Stiles makes a pleased sound and kisses back.

Derek reaches around him and grabs the hotel notebook while they kiss. He breaks away so he can read the menu, earning an indignant grunt from Stiles.

“Salmon,” Derek reads from the menu. “Pork chops. Roasted Chicken. Oh, steak with applewood smoked bacon. Yeah let’s go.”

Stiles laughs. “Steak wins over kissing, eh?”

“It does right now,” Derek says and jumps off the bed and out of the way of the pillow Stiles throws at him.

**

The restaurant, like everything else at the hotel, has a postcard-worthy view. The sun dips lower in the sky, and they eat ridiculously overpriced food. Stiles takes pictures of everything and texts pictures to his dad and Scott.

Stiles has insisted his dad is fine with their road trip but Derek still wonders just how okay with it he’ll be when he realizes how nice the hotel is, if the Sheriff will worry Derek expects things from Stiles.

Stiles looks up at him and laughs. “Scott wants to know if you robbed a bank.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “And your dad?”

Stiles smiles. “Told me to behave.”

“Maybe I should give him a call,” Derek says as Stiles takes a giant bite of his burger.

“You gonna tell on me?” Stiles asks, through a full mouth of burger.

Derek makes a face. “Gross.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and swallows his bite. “This burger is fucking fantastic.” He pokes at Derek’s plate with his fork. “How’s the steak?”

“Good,” Derek says, pulling his plate away from Stiles’ wandering fork.

When they’re done with their supper they wander down to the beach and listen in amusement as a bagpiper plays what they assume is a celebration of the completion the sunset.

“It could be like a ‘this dude ordered his 10th super expensive burger and gets his card punched and a bagpipe plays to celebrate’ kind of thing,” Stiles suggests.

Derek smiles. “Could be. That sounds like a thing.”

“What do bagpipes have to do with the beach?”

“No idea,” Derek admits.

“I saw on the room service menu that we can order a s’mores kit for our fire pit,” Stiles says and waggles his eyebrows at Derek.

“Did you memorize that thing?” Derek asks with a chuckle.

“Maybe. Possibly,” Stiles says. “I like to know my options.”

Derek smiles and draws Stiles closer by looping his arm around Stiles’ waist. “Okay, sure. S’mores and a fire sound good.”

“Does the bagpiper come to light our fire pit?”

“God, I hope not.”

**

Later, Derek and Stiles sit on their patio and watch the fire and listen to the ocean. Stiles makes messy marshmallow sandwiches for them and chatters periodically to break the silence.

“My mom had a picture by her bed of she and my dad sitting on one of these chairs together with the fire pit in the background,” Derek says after awhile.

“Yeah?”

Derek nods. “They looked so happy.”

Stiles reaches over and squeezes Derek’s hand, his fingers sticky with marshmallow.

“They loved each other,” Derek says. It’s easier to talk about them now than it was before therapy, but it’s still hard to know how to bring them up. He spent so many years keeping the memories from bubbling to the surface, that now when they pop up naturally his inclination is to stuff them back down even when he realizes he doesn’t have to anymore.

Stiles doesn’t say anything, just squeezes Derek’s hand again. He stands up and then transfers himself to Derek’s chair, squirming his way into the V between Derek’s legs in the oversized chair. He leans back against Derek’s chest and rests his head on Derek’s shoulder.

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles and kisses his neck. “I think the way they loved each other made me more vulnerable to Kate,” Derek admits after a long silence.

Stiles makes a surprised noise, but doesn’t say anything, waiting for Derek to continue.

“I didn’t have a lot of examples of manipulative relationships,” Derek says. “My parents were affectionate with each other and with us. And so when someone told me they liked me, offered me closeness, attention, I just assumed it was genuine.”

“Makes sense,” Stiles says quietly. “But that doesn’t make affection a liability.”

“No,” Derek agrees. “I know. But in therapy I’ve had to think about why it was so easy for me to trust Kate. Part of it was that I didn’t really have many examples of how horrible people could be to each other. My mom warned us about hunters, so I knew in theory there were people who would want to hurt us just for being what we are, but my life had been pretty safe and happy up until that point.”

“Kate’s craziness wasn’t your fault or your parents’ fault. She’s the one that had something broken inside of her. Not you,” Stiles says and leans more heavily against Derek.

“I know,” Derek says in a small voice. And he does now. He knows he’s not to blame. But he’s still getting used to the idea, and the words feel foreign on his tongue.

Stiles pulls out his phone. He holds his arm out to snap a selfie of them together. They take a few. One smiling, one kissing, one where Derek is looking at the camera and Stiles is kissing his cheek. Stiles makes the kissing one his lock screen photo, and Derek declares him sappy.

“Hey,” Stiles says defensively, “If your boyfriend looked like my boyfriend does, you’d want everyone to know it too.”

Derek’s stomach twists. Boyfriend. He hadn’t let himself label them that way before. “He does,” Derek says softly and kisses the back of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles makes a pleased sound and turns his head so he can give Derek a kiss. “What’s the plan tomorrow?”

“Monterey,” Derek says. “But if you’d rather we can stay here another day.”

Stiles smiles and kisses him again. “This road trip needs more road,” he says against Derek’s lips. “Not that I don’t love this,” he adds. “Cause I do. But we should stick to the plan.”

Derek nods. “Okay. Then we get up, eat breakfast, drive to Monterey, see what there is to see. We can go to the aquarium or whatever you want to do, and then Saturday we drive all the way back to my house.”

“And then Sunday I leave,” Stiles says sadly.

“Yeah.”

Stiles sighs. “Will you come up to Beacon Hills for my birthday?”

Derek smiles. “I think that can be arranged.”

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to come back there,” Stiles says quickly.

“I can handle it,” Derek says and finds he means it. “It’s your birthday. I want to be there.”

“When the magical sex clock strikes legal?”

Derek rolls his eyes.

Stiles cackles and lays his head back on Derek’s shoulder again.

**

They take their time driving down the coast the next day, stopping for lunch in a little town halfway between Half Moon Bay and Monterey. Where their Half Moon Bay hotel had been expensive and over-the-top, their Monterey hotel isn’t even on the beach. It’s a small bed and breakfast-type place a couple of blocks from the ocean. But the room is clean and comfortable, and it’s a welcome change from the $22 hamburger and valet parking.

“So no candlelit Roman baths, then?” Stiles asks as he checks out the room.

“Did you actually use the candlelit Roman bath at the other place?”

Stiles shrugs. “No,” he admits. “But once you know you have access to candlelit Roman baths, it’s hard to go back to a regular bath.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“Oh, sure,” Stiles says dramatically. “I’ll manage. But should we merely manage?”

“What are you even talking about?” Derek asks, lowering himself down onto the comfortable bed covered in a quilt that appears to actually be quilted by quilters. That’s the sort of luxury Derek can get behind.

Stiles smiles. “I’m not even sure anymore.” He climbs on the bed next to Derek. “Sometimes I just get going and forget why.”

Derek chuckles. “That is not a surprising revelation.”

They take a nap, and when they wake up, the sun is setting. It’s disorienting, especially since Derek didn’t actually mean to fall asleep. He wasn’t especially tired. He’s slept great since Stiles has been around again, and the bed at the Half Moon Bay hotel was incredibly comfortable. Stiles is octopussed against Derek’s side, limbs clinging to him, face pressed into Derek’s neck, drooling on him slightly. He tightens his grip around Stiles and kisses his forehead.

“Let’s go eat,” Derek says quietly, shaking Stiles just a little.

He mumbles and snuffles into Derek’s neck.

Derek slips a hand inside of Stiles’ t-shirt and rubs his hand along the sleep-warm skin of Stiles’ back. “I’m hungry. Stiles.”

Stiles wakes up a little at a time. “Me too,” he murmurs against Derek. “Hungry.”

“C’mon then,” Derek says gently. “Let’s walk down to that place we passed on the way in.”

Stiles makes an interested noise. “Th’ lil’ Mexican place?” He mumbles as he shifts against Derek.

Derek smiles and nods. “Yeah. That sounded good to me.”

“’kay,” Stiles says and slowly rolls away from Derek, stretching obscenely.

Derek watches as his shirt rides up and exposes his pale stomach and the little trail of hair Derek wants to scritch his fingers through.

“H’long did we sleep?” Stiles asks, smiling at Derek.

“A couple of hours.”

Stiles sits up and stretches again. “Guacamole sounds good.” His voice is still slowed by sleep. He looks cuddly in a way that makes Derek want to pull him back to bed. But Stiles is already up and in the bathroom, splashing water on his face and waking up enough to start a commentary on why you can always tell the quality of a Mexican restaurant by the quality of the guacamole. Derek doesn’t know what it says about him, but he actually finds himself agreeing. There’s nothing worse than shitty guacamole.

**

The guacamole passes the test. Derek buys Stiles a margarita, only one, and gets himself a beer. The restaurant is small and nothing fancy, but the food is good and for a tourist-filled town, pretty cheap.

Roman bath jokes aside, Stiles seems just as happy with a $10 combination enchilada and tamale platter as he did with the expensive burger. And when Derek thinks about it, the burger was the cheapest thing on that menu. Derek’s steak had been close to $50.

“You’re a cheap date,” Derek says out loud.

Stiles laughs loudly. “Where’s this coming from? And should I be offended?”

Derek smiles and drags a chip through the guacamole bowl. “Just thinking about how you are easy to please.”

Stiles scoffs, ready to argue the point, as if that’s somehow a negative quality.

“It’s a good thing,” Derek says before Stiles can work up too much steam.

“Hey, this tamale is amazing,” Stiles says through narrowed eyes.

Derek smiles. “This is my point.”

“Is your burrito not good?”

“My burrito is just fine,” Derek reassures him. “I’m telling you I like being around you, dumbass.”

The waiter comes up just as Derek says that and gives him a look.

“He’s a charmer,” Stiles says to the waiter. “I complete him.”

The waiter refills their water glasses and the chip bowl and then scurries away.

“Stop making strangers uncomfortable,” Derek chides.

“You stop giving me weird compliments that seem like they could be insults!”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I take back anything I said about you being easy.”

A different waiter walks by their table just as Derek says that and shoots him a disapproving look.

Stiles laughs, delighted. “Well, the feeling’s mutual, by the way. Anyone who can live in an abandoned train station and a half-house despite apparently having unlimited amounts of money is pretty low maintenance.”

“Nothing a candlelit Roman bath couldn’t cure, I’m sure,” Derek offers.

Stiles barks out a surprised laugh. “No doubt.”

**

There’s no fire pit or ocean view at their inn, but they take the long way back, stopping to get ice cream and detouring to walk by the beach.

“I see why you want to live on the water,” Stiles says. It’s almost completely dark, but it’s still beautiful and the sound of the waves hitting the sand is soothing.

“I didn’t think it’s where I’d end up,” Derek admits. “I thought I’d end up in the woods somewhere.”

Stiles nods. “When you first left, and we didn’t know where you were, I looked for you a little.”

Derek raises his eyebrows at Stiles.

“Yeah, I mean, we had no idea where you’d gone. Scott contacted Cora and she swore you weren’t there with her. And we knew you wouldn’t go to France with Isaac and Argent. I figured Mexico was out. So I looked in places like Yosemite.”

Derek furrows his brow.

“I mean,” Stiles continues, as if he can sense Derek’s question. “I didn’t physically go. But like, calling local Sheriff offices, using my dad’s database to see if there were any hits on your license and stuff. Sorry.”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s okay. I actually thought you would. I was surprised when you didn’t hassle me more about it.”

Stiles grins. “Cause you missed me?”

Derek rolls his eyes. He’s not sure he understood why he was disappointed Stiles didn’t chase after him at the time. But now he does.

“What’d you do,” Stiles asks after a bit. “When you first left.”

“I didn’t stay anywhere very long. Just went from place to place. I still felt like I was running for awhile. Until I realized no one was really chasing me anymore. And by the time I figured that out, I was renting the place by the ocean and decided to stay.”

“Did you ever think of going back to Beacon Hills?”

“Yeah,” Derek says honestly.

Stiles nods like he understands. “Scott refused to believe you were really gone.”

Derek smiles. That sounds like Scott.

“I think he didn’t realize how much he relied on you until you weren’t there anymore,” Stiles says staring out at the ocean.

Derek doesn’t respond to that. He wanted nothing more than for Scott to trust him for so long, and somewhere along the way Derek earned Scott’s begrudging respect.

“What made you go into the library the first time?” Stiles asks after a long silence.

Derek smiles. “My mom.” He glances over at Stiles. “She loved libraries. We spent a lot of time in the Beacon Hills Library when I was young. And I kept hearing this voice in the back of my head telling me to stop shutting myself off like a hermit.”

Stiles laughs softly.

“I was tired,” Derek admits. “Of running and living on the defensive. I just. I wanted a normal life. Something my parents would’ve understood and been proud of. And I don’t need to work, but I hate just sitting around. So I went in there to read, and started to think maybe there were ways I could help out. I liked Eunice. It seemed safe there. And I was lonely.”

Stiles makes a small noise and leans his head on Derek’s shoulder. “For weeks I kept expecting you to drop into my bedroom window,” Stiles admits.

“You hated when I did that,” Derek reminds him.

Stiles makes a dismissive noise. “I thought I did. I thought it wouldn’t make any difference to me if you were gone. And then you left, and I kept waiting for you to come back.”

Derek’s heart twists. His feelings for Stiles have always been complicated, even when he refused to acknowledge them.

“The first bad guy we fought without you was a total disaster,” Stiles says with a laugh. “Not that it always worked out great with you either. But it felt like we were just kids stupidly fighting the forces of evil on our own. Like an episode of Buffy or something.”

“If you say I’m Giles, I’m leaving.”

Stiles laughs loudly. “You’re not Giles. You’re Angel and Spike and obviously Oz mixed together.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m Willow and a much cooler Xander and maybe Giles.”

Derek smiles. “I hate Xander. You aren’t Xander.”

Stiles grins. “I can’t believe you watched Buffy.”

“Didn’t everyone watch Buffy? My mom and Laura used to watch it together.”

“My mom liked it too,” Stiles says, voice smaller. “I wonder sometimes what she would’ve thought of all this. If she knew about all the supernatural stuff.” He shivers slightly and Derek wraps his arm around Stiles’ shoulders to draw him closer.

“You think she did?”

Stiles shrugs. “My therapist was asking me,” he says. “She knows about all the werewolf stuff. And she knows about my magical spark. And she said usually a spark runs through bloodlines. And since we know my dad doesn’t have one, and I don’t really know anyone else in my mom’s family, it seems likely maybe I get it from her.”

Derek tries to remember back to when his mom was alive, if she’d ever said anything about Claudia Stilinski, if Deaton had ever mentioned her, but he comes up blank.

“It doesn’t matter, really,” Stiles says quietly. “I just wonder sometimes what she’d think about my life now. If she’d be proud of me.”

Derek squeezes his shoulder. “Of course she would.”

Stiles makes a noncommittal sound that breaks Derek’s heart. He still bears a lot of guilt for so much of what has happened, still feels so responsible.

“Your dad is proud of you too,” Derek says firmly.

Stiles doesn’t respond.

“I’m proud of you,” Derek says after a long silence.

“Awww,” Stiles says and kisses Derek’s shoulder. “So sappy.”

Derek rolls his eyes and nudges Stiles’ shoulder. “Let’s walk back.”

Stiles slots their fingers together and lets Derek tug him toward the inn.

**

They go to the aquarium Saturday morning and then drive up the coast toward home. Stiles insists they listen to their Jackie Collins audiobook on the way back. Derek rolls his eyes, but ends up getting drawn into the story, blushing during the surprisingly explicit sex scenes.

Stiles cackles. “Your face!”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I just didn’t expect to hear such a detailed description of his, uh, member.”

“Member!” Stiles wheezes.

“That’s what she kept calling it!”

Stiles grins. “I know. It’s amazing. ‘Throbbing member’.”

It probably shouldn’t turn Derek on, this over the top sex scene with throbbing members and “dripping sex” and a bunch of other vaguely disturbing descriptors. But he’s also spent over a week sleeping next to Stiles, waking up pressed close to him yet keeping everything very PG-rated. So the smutty book is making the car a little warm for Derek.

“I’m gonna write you some Stiles/Derek fan fic,” Stiles teases after he pauses the audiobook. “Members will throb, chests will glisten. Your ‘love wand’ will magic my ‘sex’.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but his cheeks flame anyway. He’s not good at joking about sex, not when it’s something he wants to be having but has decided he shouldn’t, not yet.

Stiles wraps his fingers around Derek’s knee and squeezes. “I’m just teasing,” he says contritely. “Sorry.”

Derek smiles. “It’s fine. I’m not— I’ve just never really talk about sex with people. It’s something that happens, but I don’t really analyze how or why. You can talk about it, I just— will probably be awkward about it.”

Stiles smiles softly at him and rubs his fingers into Derek’s thigh. “How ‘bout I write Stiles/Derek fan fic and don’t make you read it?”

Derek snorts. “At least don’t make me talk about it. Also, what is fan fic?”

Stiles eyes light up. “Oh god. Fan fiction. Written by fans of shows and movies about pairings people like or want to see. Some of it is horrible and some of it is amaaaaaaazing.”

“It sounds horrifying.”

Stiles laughs and flips through his phone. He finds what he’s looking for and then spends the rest of the ride back to Derek’s house reading Sherlock fan fiction. Thankfully he chooses one that isn’t full of throbbing members. Derek isn’t sure he could take it. But the story is actually pretty good.

“So there are people that watch Sherlock and think Sherlock and John love each other?” Derek asks when Stiles finishes a chapter of the story.

“Oh yeah, dude,” Stiles says. “Also people who think that Harry and Draco Malfoy are hot for each other in Harry Potter. If there’s a movie or a book or a TV show, there are people ‘shipping characters with each other. And if there are people ‘shipping someone is writing them fan fic.”

Derek shakes his head.

“I ship us,” Stiles says, opening the can of Pringles and taking out a stack of salt and vinegar chips.

“You are ridiculous,” Derek says, accepting the chip Stiles pushes to his lips.

“Yeah, but you dig it.”

Derek smiles and chomps down on the chip.

“I’m pretty sure Scott ships us too. Maybe he’ll want to read the fan fic.”

“Don’t you dare,” Derek warns, shooting him a look.

“I won’t, I won’t,” Stiles promises.

Derek reaches over and threads his fingers through Stiles’ salty chip-crumb-covered fingers. “Keep reading.”

Stiles smirks and advances to the next chapter.

**

They take their time getting back. They stop in little towns so Stiles can purchase his dad, Eunice and Scott souvenirs. He makes Derek look away from a transaction at a shop at one point, so there’s probably some kitschy knick knack in Derek’s future too.

In the car Stiles reads Derek “Johnlock” fan fiction and they eat Stiles’ stash of snacks. Derek has no idea when he lost control of his car and his life.

When they get back to Derek’s house a few hours later, Derek changes into his running clothes. Being cooped up in a car for several hours necessitates exercise, as does the mountain of junk he’s eaten over the course of the day.

Stiles sits on the deck and calls his dad. He waves to Derek as he sets out on his run.

Derek runs his usual route. He’s missed it. It’s been a couple of days since he’s pushed his body, and it feels good to run until his muscles burn.

When he gets back, Stiles is hunched over his laptop on the deck. Derek can’t tell if he’s Skyping someone or just reading one of the dozens of websites he seems to check constantly. Derek doesn’t bother him. He just runs upstairs and jumps in the shower.

Stiles requested a homemade dinner for his last night, so when Derek gets out of the bathroom he puts on sweatpants and a soft henley. Stiles’ arms wrap around him from behind, and he places a kiss on the back of Derek’s neck.

“Smell so good,” Stiles murmurs against his skin. “I didn’t know you were back.” His hands slip under Derek’s shirt and stroke his stomach.

Derek’s eyes slip shut. “You seemed busy,” he says softly. “How’s your dad?”

“Good,” Stiles says with a shrug. “Misses me, obviously.”

Derek smiles and leans back into Stiles’ embrace. “Obviously.”

“You’re gonna come for my birthday, right?” Stiles says and drags his teeth down the side of Derek’s neck.

Derek shivers and bites back a groan. “Yeah.”

“Mmm,” Stiles says and drags his tongue down the same path his teeth just followed. “Good.”

Derek swallows. “I’m going to make lasagna for supper,” he says to try to distract himself from how much he wants to turn around and push Stiles toward the bed.

Stiles chuckles. “I love it when you talk foodie to me,” he teases.

Derek smiles. He feels warm all over. Stiles is solid and steady behind him, holding him close. He’s struck by how much he likes Stiles—his nerdy puns and his sarcastic comments. He likes how Stiles makes jokes when he’s nervous and rambles when he’s unsure of himself. He likes that Stiles knows trivia about almost every topic. He feels so fond of him it’s overwhelming. If Stiles could read his mind he’d tease him for being so sentimental. It’s not something Derek would know how to articulate anyway.

He turns around in Stiles’ arms, earning a surprised noise. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist and leans closer and kisses him, tries to make him understand what he can’t seem to say out loud.

“What’s that for?” Stiles says against Derek’s lips as he pulls away slightly to breathe.

Derek smiles and kisses him again, slowing the kiss down until it’s a languid, lazy sort of thing.

Stiles moans softly into the kiss. “You’re killin’ me, Smalls,” he says, resting his forehead against Derek’s.

Derek laughs. “You’re too young to know that movie.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “It’s a classic. Everyone’s seen that movie.”

Derek kisses Stiles again quickly.

“So lasagna?” Stiles asks breathlessly.

Derek chuckles softly. “Yeah.”

“We gotta do that then,” Stiles says stepping back a little. “Or I’m going to need to be alone for a little while.”

Derek’s cheeks heat, and he looks down.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Stiles says quickly. “I’m just new at all this, and it doesn’t take much.” He rubs his hands up and down Derek’s sides.

Derek smiles and studies the earnest longing in Stiles’ big eyes. He’s so trusting and it makes something primal and protective swell within him. Derek’s wolf may want to claim Stiles as his own, but even more than that everything within him wants to make sure he’s safe, cared for, loved.

Derek still isn’t great at translating deep emotion into words so he leans over and gives Stiles a chaste kiss and nods, to show he understands. “Lasagna and salad and garlic bread. You can help me chop things.”

Stiles smiles and pushes Derek gently toward the bedroom door.

**

Derek has two weeks until he promised to be back in Beacon Hills for Stiles’ birthday. Two weeks to figure out a gift for Stiles. Two weeks to throw himself into the library project so Eunice stops shooting him worried looks.

He does story hour every day he’s at the library. He’s chided by a couple of the kids for missing the few days he was gone on his trip with Stiles.

“There was no one to read stories, Derek,” one little boy says to him while holding up his favorite book.

“Maureen read to you,” Derek says, because he knows at least one of the days Eunice had enlisted her friend.

“She doesn’t do the voices,” another girl chimes in. “You’re better.”

Derek smiles and tries not to feel too proud that the kids prefer him to Maureen. Eunice laughs from her perch at the desk, probably taking notes to taunt Maureen later.

Story time is extra long that first day he’s back.

“No one brought me lunch either,” Eunice says to him when he’s at the desk after finishing with the kids. “I had to close early.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m sure Maureen or any of your gentlemen friends could’ve brought you something.”

“It’s not the same,” she sniffs. “Now, are we going to continue the cataloguing project? Or are you going to abandon me again?”

Derek huffs a laugh. “Did you take a course in guilt while I was gone?”

“We left off in the gardening section,” Eunice says instead of answering him.

She’s ridiculous, but it’s still nice to feel like he has a place he belongs. Derek tries to make his absence up to her by bringing her a lobster roll and a brownie for lunch.

“It’s a start, Derek,” she says, unwrapping the sandwich and giving him a little smile.

**

Derek wants to get a hotel room when he visits Beacon Hills but Stiles insists the Sheriff wants Derek to stay with them. Probably so he can keep an eye on things, but it’s still nice to feel like he’s welcome in their home.

The downstairs guest room is made up for him when he arrives. Derek notes the creaky stairs in between Stiles and him, and the Sheriff’s repeated reminders that he took the whole weekend off for Stiles’ birthday, complete with pointed looks.

“Subtle, right?” Stiles says as the Sheriff leaves the room with the door open announcing that he’ll be in the kitchen making dinner. “We’ve had ‘a talk.’” Stiles uses air quotes.

“Oh good,” Derek says, and wonders when he’s going to get the warning about treating Stiles right.

“He’s okay about it,” Stiles says. “Just kept saying we couldn’t have sex in the house and did I want him to have a heart attack?”

Derek’s cheeks heat.

“I told him it wasn’t like that,” Stiles insists. “That you were being a gentleman and leaving room for the holy spirit and all that.”

Derek laughs and sits on the edge of the bed.

“No kiss?” Stiles whines and plops down next to him. “It’s been two weeks!”

Derek leans over and gives him a dry peck.

Stiles makes a face.

“Hey, you’re the one that just brought up your dad and his ‘no sex in the house’ rule,” Derek says and nudges Stiles with his shoulder.

Stiles rolls his eyes but doesn’t press it.

They join the Sheriff in the kitchen a few minutes later. He’s apparently used Derek’s visit as an excuse to make burgers and steak fries, like he’s daring Stiles to say something in front of Derek.

“Scott’s coming over for dinner too,” Stiles says after he’s given his dad a disapproving look. “Melissa has to work tonight.”

“Already set him a place,” the Sheriff says, gesturing toward the table where there are four places set.

“I just assumed that was a buffer spot so Derek and I couldn’t sit next to each other,” Stiles says with a smirk.

The Sheriff rolls his eyes. “No need for a buffer spot when an alpha werewolf is coming to dinner.”

Stiles sputters in response. “Scott is my bro.”

“Yeah, I am,” Scott says as he enters the kitchen. “Why?”

The Sheriff hands him a plate of burgers with melted cheese smothering them to set on the table. “Because you’re going to keep Derek and Stiles from putting me in an early grave.”

Derek’s cheeks heat.

Scott laughs and pats Derek on the back. “Derek’s a gentleman.”

“Derek wants everyone to stop talking about this,” Derek says and sits down in the chair opposite from Stiles, hoping to put an end to the conversation.

Stiles narrows his eyes at him. “Traitor.”

The Sheriff shoots him a smile and pulls the pan of steak fries out of the oven. “Let’s eat while it’s warm. We’ve made Derek uncomfortable enough for the time being, I think.”

It’s easier after that. Stiles and Scott talk about the party Lydia has planned for the following night. Derek is not looking forward to the party. He’s in Beacon Hills because Stiles wants him to be. But a loud party full of strangers is definitely not Derek’s comfort zone.

He wasn’t sure what it would be like to be back. He felt the heavy sort of veil that surrounds the town when he crossed the county line. The wards give off a charge of magic, and Derek felt the buzz under his skin as they crossed the boundary. He’s not sure how the spell works. It doesn’t keep anyone out, but it disguises the pull of the Nemeton, and it’s powerful magic.

Other than that new buzz along the borders, Beacon Hills is the same. Derek was surprised to discover that isn’t a good or bad thing anymore. He expects the swell of sadness upon the sight of the familiar. He anticipates how his heart twists when he passes the library, when he sees the diner where his dad took Derek for milkshakes. He feels anger when he’s near the hospital, and he’s sure if he drives out to the old house, he’ll feel the ache of memory, and the echo of anger, bitterness, consuming revenge.

Later, with Stiles upstairs in his bedroom, grumbling that he’s 18 tomorrow and he should be allowed to sleep in the same room as his boyfriend if he wants to, Derek’s in his room down the hall from the kitchen, reading the latest book club selection. He gets up to get a glass of water and finds the Sheriff sitting at the kitchen table, going over a case file with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Derek,” the Sheriff says and motions to the chair across from him. “Have a look at this,” he says and slides the file over toward Derek. “This sound supernatural to you?”

Derek reads the description of the crime scene. It was a stabbing, but there is a ritualistic pattern to the wounds. “Could be part of a ritual?”

“Witches then?”

“Maybe,” Derek says. “What does Deaton say?”

The Sheriff sighs. “Nothing quickly.” He smiles ruefully at Derek. “He’s not the most forthcoming with information, especially if I’m in a hurry.”

“Have there been others?” Derek asks, looking over the rest of the notes.

“So far just this one,” the Sheriff says and swallows the last of his whiskey. “Hoping to catch whoever it is before it becomes a pattern.”

Derek nods. “I don’t miss that,” he says honestly.

The Sheriff leans back in his chair. “It’s been better since the wards went up. This is the first murder I’ve seen in awhile. I sent it to Argent, and he doesn’t think it looks like hunters. Scott has grown a lot as Alpha, but he still isn’t a well of supernatural wisdom.” He smiles at Derek. “Stiles is good at researching this stuff, but I like to keep him away from it if I can.”

“He’ll do it anyway,” Derek says gently.

“Oh, I know,” the Sheriff says with a sigh. “But I have to at least try to keep him away from instability.”

Derek nods and looks at his hands.

“He’s doing good, though,” the Sheriff says. He watches Derek for a few moments, gaze steady. “I didn’t necessarily mean I wanted you to date him when I called you and asked you to invite Stiles to visit over Christmas—”

“That’s not—”

“I know, Derek,” the Sheriff says with a small, tired smile. “I think a part of me always knew he felt that way about you. It’s why I knew you could get through to him.” He scrubs his hand over his face and fixes Derek with his considering gaze. “I think you’ve been good for Stiles. And he’s been very forthcoming with me about his feelings for you. He told me when he got back after Christmas how he felt, what he wanted.” He shakes his head and smiles. “He told me way more than I wanted to know, to be frank. But at least he was talking to me. And he agreed to therapy, he started sleeping through the night, his grades picked up again. He started running a few mornings a week.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say into the silence that lingers between them after the Sheriff pauses. But his scent isn’t sharp with anger or frustration. He smells resigned, maybe even accepting. Derek’s afraid if he says something he’ll ruin it.

“You’re too old for him,” the Sheriff says, and Derek’s stomach sinks. “On paper you’re too old for him, and on paper I have to wonder why a 24 year old wants to be with someone not yet out of high school.” He lets out a slow breath. “But.”

Derek’s heart skips a beat.

“But,” the Sheriff says and smiles softly. “You have both lost a lot and view the world from a similar angle. I know you’ve looked out for each other. I want Stiles to be happy, and I think he’s happier since you have been part of his life than he was before. You respect him, and I know you’ll protect him.”

Derek nods. “He’s important to me.”

The Sheriff smiles. He taps the table and then gathers his papers into their folders. “Stiles is almost old enough that this won’t legally be my business anymore.” He stands up. “But he’ll always be my first priority. As long as you prioritize his welfare, you and I are on the same team.”

Derek swallows and nods. It wasn’t exactly a glowing blessing for their relationship, but it wasn’t a warning to stay away from his son either.

Derek fills a glass of water and turns out the kitchen light and heads back to the guest room. There’s a text from Stiles on his phone when Derek climbs back into bed.

Stiles: omg. is my dad shovel talking you?

Derek: it wasn’t that bad.

Stiles: did he get out the gun?

Derek: haha no. I think he’s okay with it.

Stiles: by it you mean us having loud sex in the house?

Derek: lol no. By “it” I mean respectfully dating and never mentioning anything sexual to him ever.

Stiles: prude

Derek: If talking about our sex life with your dad is a relationship deal breaker, you may need to find someone else to date.

Stiles: gasp! On my birthday? You’d break up with me on my birthday?

Derek: Only if you keep bringing up all the sex we aren’t having in front of your father.

Stiles: Come up here

Derek: No

Stiles: You bein close and not bein w me is super uncool

Stiles: Im coming down there

Derek: Could you wait 15 min for your dad to go to sleep?

Stiles: Hes not gonna do anything

Derek: Stiles.

Stiles: fine see you in 15

**

Stiles crawls into bed with Derek awhile later. He waits much longer than the promised fifteen minutes, long enough that Derek is dozing when he finally appears.

“Suh?” Derek croaks out when he feels a cold foot touch his.

Stiles laughs softly and scoots closer, wrapping himself around Derek. “Go back to sleep,” he says and kisses Derek’s neck.

Derek wraps his arm around Stiles’ back, pulls him closer and kisses his temple. “’s your dad asleep?”

“Think so,” Stiles murmurs. “It’ll be okay though. Our clothes are on.”

Derek rolls his eyes. Derek wants to be respectful of the Sheriff’s boundaries. He made it clear he knows what’s going on and that he reluctantly accepts that Stiles and Derek are dating, but Derek still doesn’t think he’ll be thrilled to find his son in bed with a 24 year old, clothed or not.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Stiles says against Derek’s skin. “Thank you.”

“‘course,” Derek says and rubs a slow circle against Stiles’ back.

“Sorry about my dad.”

Derek smiles. “He loves you. He’s just looking out for you.”

“Cora’s already hassled me about you,” Stiles says after a few moments of silence.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep,” Stiles says. “After she saw the Christmas pajama picture I think she realized there might be capital F feelings.”

“What’d she say?” Derek asks, genuinely curious, and a little surprised.

“Just that I better be sure how I felt about you, because you deserved for me not to treat you like an experiment.” Stiles’ hands slip under Derek’s shirt and rub the skin above the waistband of his sweatpants. “She said you deserved to have someone put you first for once. She loves you.”

Derek makes a surprised noise. He knows Cora loves him, but he’s not used to people sticking up for him.

“You should go see her,” Stiles says.

“When?”

“This summer? I don’t know. I think she’d like that.”

Derek lets out a slow breath. “Yeah maybe.”

“I am sure by the way,” Stiles says quietly.

“About what?” Derek asks, confused.

“About how I feel about you,” Stiles says and lifts his head Derek can see his eyes. “So sure.”

Derek’s stomach flip flops. The small part of him that has trouble believing good things can happen to him nudges him and tells him there’s no way Stiles can be as sure as he sounds. But he’s learning to ignore that doubter. Derek rubs a thumb across Stiles’ cheekbone as his eyes flutter shut.

“Me too,” Derek says quietly, ignoring the fear that pools in his stomach and tells him that loving leads to heartbreak, leads to tragedy. That loving Derek is dangerous for Stiles.

Stiles’ smile is warm and earnest, free from his normal smirk or teasing. “Yeah?”

Derek nods, and Stiles surges forward and smashes his lips into Derek’s before pulling away, smile still firmly in place. “You should come down to visit soon,” Derek says and pushes his hands under the back of Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles’ smile turns into a satisfied grin. “Oh?”

Derek nods.

“You need help with the library project?” he teases.

Derek pretends to think about it. “It’s not quite done,” Derek admits. “Although I have made good progress.”

Stiles leans in again and presses his lips to Derek’s, gently this time. Derek loves kissing Stiles. He says so much with his kisses. And this one is unhurried, a slow roll of tongues. Content.

“But you should come,” Derek says again when they pull away. “So we can, you know, be alone.”

Stiles’ eyes brighten. “Is that my birthday present?”

Derek chuckles. “No,” he says and lets his fingers dip down the back of Stiles’ pajama bottoms.

Stiles shivers as Derek slides his fingers across the top of Stiles’ ass. “You have no idea, do you?” he asks and arches into Derek’s touch.

“About what?”

“How much I think about you,” Stiles says as he kisses Derek again slowly.

Derek smiles into the kiss. “Same.”

“You think about yourself?” Stiles asks pulling away a little. “Cause honestly if I were you I think I would be all I needed to get hot. I’d be like, ‘look how muscly my stomach is’ ‘look how perfect my ass is’ ‘feel how nice my hands feel sliding all over my own body.’”

Derek snorts. “Yeah, I don’t think I have the same effect on myself as I do on you.”

“And I’m saying that’s such a waste,” Stiles says. “I would literally never stop touching myself if I were you. I’d always be half mast and ready to go.” He waggles his eyebrows at Derek. Derek is disappointed in himself that it makes his stomach flip flop.

“You’re already always half mast and ready to go,” Derek says with an eyebrow raised.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You only see me around you, though. Bad example.” He runs his fingers through Derek’s hair. “Okay fine, so what gets you revved up then?”

Derek smiles. “You.”

“Riiiight,” Stiles says like that’s a big joke. “Me doing what?”

“Just you,” Derek says. “Doing whatever. You.” He knows Stiles’ self-esteem hasn’t always been the best, that he thinks of himself as the goofy sidekick to Scott’s True Alpha, and that he assumes he’s the Ducky of every romantic subplot. He runs his thumb across Stiles’ plush lower lip.

“You’ve been Stockholmed, maybe,” Stiles suggests, but his face looks hopeful, and his eyes are so bright. Derek is completely gone on him. He doesn’t remember what it’s like to look at Stiles and not feel a clench in his chest and a flutter in his stomach.

Derek shakes his head and squeezes Stiles’ ass. He’s not good at the effusive praise thing like Stiles is, but he wants Stiles to understand. “You’re my Derek,” he says and then winces because that’s ridiculous.

Stiles’ forehead wrinkles in confusion.

“I mean, how you say you think I’m hot or whatever,” Derek mumbles because just saying it out loud is embarrassing. “That’s how I feel about you.”

Stiles flushes, and Derek has no idea how he doesn’t know how attractive he is. How his smile transforms his face, how his eyes are lively and intelligent, the way his nose is kind of turned up at the end. Derek doesn’t know if that’s a thing most people find attractive, but Derek does.

“What, nah,” Stiles says and rests his head back on Derek’s chest.

“I think about you when you’re not around,” Derek says and tries to be brave. “I think about you, you know, touching me. Stuff like that.” It’s about as close as Derek’s going to get to dirty talk, and Stiles seems to know it.

He kisses Derek’s chest. “So when I come see you in a couple of weeks, if I wanted, say, for you to not be wearing these pants, you’d be okay with that?”

Derek huffs a laugh. “Yeah.”

“And just so we’re clear, you’d be cool with me also going pantsless and for my dick region to possibly touch your dick region.”

“Well, that takes all the appeal out of it,” Derek jokes and pushes Stiles’ face away gently when he looks up at Derek with a smirk.

“I just want to be on the same page, is all,” Stiles says with gravity. “And you get all blushy and embarrassed when I say things about how I want to suck your dick and let you come on my chest.” Stiles winks at him. “So you know.”

Derek swallows. “Not embarrassed,” he clarifies. “Just not really used to doing play by play analysis.”

Stiles laughs softly. “I’m warning you now, I will probably talk about our sexy times before, during and after we engage in them. Talking’s kind of my thing.”

Derek smiles. “I know.” He rubs the shell of Stiles’ ear and trails his fingers down Stiles’ neck. “Luckily I’m kind of a fan of your thing.”

Stiles waggles his eyebrows again obnoxiously. “Yeah ya are.” He brushes their lips together. “But the pants stay on now?”

Derek swallows, head full of Stiles, ears ringing with the want of him. “Yeah,” he says but it sounds much less sure than it should. “For now.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, and tucks his head back into Derek’s chest. “But I’m sleeping in here.”

Derek smiles. “Alright.”

**

There’s a knock at Derek’s door the next morning.

“Derek?” The Sheriff’s voice is muffled a bit by the door.

Derek sits up, jostling Stiles and earning a dissatisfied grunt in response. “Yes?”

“Breakfast is ready,” the Sheriff says. “If Stiles is in there will you wake him up and tell him if he wants his birthday pancakes he better have pants on right now?”

Derek flushes and looks down at a slowly awakening Stiles. “Pants are on,” he says somewhat desperately. “We’ll be out in a minute.”

The Sheriff sighs and walks back to the kitchen.

“Wake up,” Derek says, running a hand down Stiles’ back.

“Don’ wanna,” Stiles says and squirms closer to Derek.

“Your dad is out there,” Derek says. “Breakfast is ready.”

Stiles groans. “So scared of m’ dad,” Stiles mumbles, but rolls away from Derek and struggles to sit up.

“It’s your birthday,” Derek says and kisses Stiles’ temple.

Stiles makes an approving noise. “‘m legal.”

Derek laughs softly. “You are.”

Stiles pops an eye open and grins at Derek. “Smells like pancakes.”

They make their way to the kitchen.

“Yo daddio,” Stiles says and plops himself down in his chair.

“Hey kiddo,” the Sheriff says with a smile. “Happy birthday.”

“Whatdja get me?” Stiles says and then grins.

“A roof over your head and apparently me ignoring the fact that you slept in Derek’s room last night.” He gives Stiles a look Derek imagines intimidates suspects.

“I waited ’til midnight,” Stiles says cheekily. “It was a legal co-sleep.”

The Sheriff sighs loudly while Derek chokes on his coffee.

“You’re lucky it’s your birthday, kid,” the Sheriff says and slides three pancakes onto a plate and hands them to Stiles.

Stiles grins at him. “I won’t even say anything about the bacon you’re going to pretend not to eat.”

“How benevolent.”

“It’s my maturity showing through, I think,” Stiles says with faux sincerity.

The Sheriff looks at Derek and shakes his head. But the expression is exasperatedly fond. Derek understands the feeling.

**

The party is loud. Stiles keeps declaring that he doesn’t know half the people there, but he’s tugging Derek around and introducing him to people who smell like hormones and beer.

“Nice party,” Derek says conversationally to Lydia while Stiles drunkenly yells across the backyard to where Scott and Kira are sitting.

Lydia raises her eyebrow at him. “I don’t have to be a werewolf to hear that lie,” she quips. “But it’s nice you’re here anyway.” Her face softens, and she leans closer. “I called this a year ago, by the way.”

“Called what?” Derek asks.

“This. You two together.” She runs her fingers through her long hair. “When you left last year Stiles was pretty shaken up. He kept bringing it up at pack meetings. He was convinced we should go look for you. He researched spells to track people and spells to determine if people were in peril.” She waves her hand around to suggest that was just the start of it. “He was way too concerned about you for there not to be feelings. Feelings clearly reciprocated.”

Derek smiles and looks toward where Stiles has wandered off to talk to someone on the lacrosse team.

When he glances back at Lydia she’s watching him intently. She nods once and then smiles. “Watch out for him next year,” she says, more gently than Derek thinks he’s ever heard her say anything. “He’s doing so much better than he was, but—“ she looks off to where Stiles has finally made his way across the party to Scott. “But I’ll worry about him anyway.”

Derek nods. Stiles is laughing with his head thrown back, hand braced against Scott’s arm.

Lydia squeezes Derek’s arm and moves off to check on the drink supply and make sure there aren’t “drunk teenagers getting body fluids on my mother’s Egyptian cotton sheets.”

Stiles searches the crowd and when his eyes land on Derek he grins and starts moving toward him.

“Havin’ fun?” Stiles asks, and waggles his eyebrows inexplicably.

Derek smiles because he can’t help it. “Sure. A kid puked near, but not on, my shoe a few minutes ago.”

“It’s all you can really hope for,” Stiles says gravely and slides his arms around Derek’s waist. “Let’s go make out in a corner.”

Derek laughs, surprised. “Are you drunk?”

“I always want to make out with you,” Stiles grouses. “I don’t have to be drunk for that.”

“That doesn’t answer the question, really,” Derek says, but leans closer and presses a kiss against Stiles’ lips.

Stiles smiles into it. “My boyfriend’s hotter than everyone else’s boyfriend,” he smarms, pulling away slightly.

“You are drunk,” Derek decides. “Your dad is gonna kill me.”

“Eh,” Stiles says and tugs Derek toward the kitchen. “I’m pretty sure he knew this was inevitable.”

**

The next morning, after a breakfast where Stiles tried to pretend he wasn’t hung over, but winced at every purposefully loud noise the Sheriff inflicted on them, Derek gives Stiles his birthday present.

“I wasn’t sure what to get you,” Derek says, sitting next to Stiles on the bed.

Stiles makes an “aww” sound. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Right. That would’ve gone over well.”

Stiles laughs. “You came for my party and didn’t complain.” He pauses to rethink that. “Didn’t verbally complain, although your eyebrows did a lot of judging for you.”

“My eyebrows just sat on my face,” Derek protests. “Being eyebrows.”

“Sure,” Stiles says slowly.

“Anyway,” Derek says over the top of whatever Stiles was about to launch into. “So here.” He hands him the envelope.

“A card,” Stiles says. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Open it,” Derek says and nudges his shoulder.

Stiles does and laughs at the two howling wolves on the front. Cheesy wolf art is one of Stiles favorite things. He reads the card and then looks up at Derek. “Wait. Really?”

Derek smiles and looks down at his hands. “I didn’t know what to get you. But I figured since you were going to be going back and forth a lot from here to Berkeley and from, uh, Berkeley to the, uh, beach, maybe—”

“Dude,” Stiles says and launches himself at Derek. “It’s perfect. Better than if you’d got me a new one.”

Derek flushes, pleased. He arranged to have Stiles’ Jeep essentially rebuilt. A new engine along with a complete workup, anything that needs to be replaced will be. The guy at the shop had looked at him like he was nuts. “This will cost as much as buying something new,” the guy had said slowly, like Derek was possibly simple.

But Derek long ago learned that the Jeep was special to Stiles, had been his mother’s and was an extension of himself the way Derek’s dad’s leather jacket was a part of him. Derek had briefly considered buying him a new car, but also knew the Sheriff would balk at the outlandishness of such a gift and that Stiles would feel guilty about leaving the Jeep behind.

“Well at least I won’t have to come pick you up from the side of the road,” Derek mumbles while Stiles clings to him like a monkey.

Stiles kisses Derek’s cheek with a loud smacking noise. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”

Derek flushes. “Glad you like it.”

“Love it,” Stiles says and straddles Derek’s lap. He presses himself closer. He smiles at Derek, a small, earnest thing, nothing like the big, suggestive smiles he gives half-jokingly. This is something quiet, something real. “I can’t believe I get to have this. You,” he says softly.

Derek brushes his lips against Stiles’. He still doesn’t know quite how to tell Stiles just exactly how much he agrees. That Stiles thinks he’s the lucky one, when Derek can’t stop counting his fingers and making sure he’s actually awake.

**

Derek’s in the library after he gets back from Beacon Hills. He’s inputting the fiction section, alphabetically, then printing the labels and bar codes when he completes a letter. When he has the stack done, he hands them to Eunice and Maureen and then they add the labels to the spine and the inside cover of the books.

They also heckle him. Lovingly, or so says Maureen. They’ve been teasing him about his visit to Beacon Hills. Maureen has told him at least a dozen times that his “aura stinks of affection” and that she senses residual traces of Stiles’ magic all over him.

Derek knows if he didn’t blush and act embarrassed they’d stop. But he can’t help it. He keeps picturing Stiles’ face after Derek gave him his present, the soft look of disbelief, of hope, of devotion. He thinks about how his stomach twists every time Stiles touches him, how it feels to be close, and then he feels like that’s written all over his face. Which then makes him blush. It’s a vicious, annoying cycle.

It delights Maureen because she loves to make Derek blush. And it delights Eunice for nicer reasons, as she loves Stiles and wants Derek to be happy.

“Stiles says he’s coming to visit, sugar,” Eunice says the next time Derek brings a stack of books and labels to them.

Predictably, Derek blushes. But his back is turned toward them when she says it so he escapes their teasing. “Yeah,” he says and fiddles with the scanner. “In two weeks.”

“Let me throw him a little birthday party,” Eunice suggests. “If you boys don’t have big plans.”

Derek blushes again, and unfortunately this time is facing them. Maureen giggles, and Derek ignores her. “We could come over one night,” he says mostly to keep them off the topic of ‘big plans’.

“Good,” Eunice says. “I’ll make his favorites. And we can play poker or that game Stiles keeps talking about.”

“Which game?”

“Cards for Humans? Something like that.”

Derek laughs. “Cards Against Humanity.” He somehow can’t imagine playing that with Eunice and her friends, but he’s sure Stiles will find it hilarious.

“Yes,” Eunice agrees. “He says we’d love it.”

Derek shakes his head but doesn’t disagree. He doesn’t want another lecture about how they keep up with popular culture, Derek. They know about Tom Selleck and Tony Danza, Derek. He didn’t have the heart to point out that there have been a lot of developments in pop culture and, well, men, since Tom Selleck and Tony Danza were considered lust-worthy.

“Cards Against Humanity with Eunice, Stiles, really?” Derek says later on the phone when he’s walking home from the library.

Stiles laughs. “Why not?”

Derek doesn’t even try to answer that. “Eunice wants to throw you a party while you’re here.”

He can hear Stiles fist pump through the phone. “Yesssss,” Stiles says. “Ain’t no party like a Eunice party cause a Eunice party ends at 10:00!” Stiles sings/raps at Derek.

“She wants you to text her a list of your favorite snacks and cookies. And any other requests you might have.”

Stiles cackles. “Male strippers and cookies with Eunice! My life is the best.”

“I have no idea why you get so much joy out of uncomfortable situations,” Derek says, but smiles anyway. “You’re sort of a younger, male Maureen.”

Stiles squawks. “Oh yeah? Well. Maureen is a powerful witch. So. That’s a compliment!”

Derek nods hello to one of his neighbors as he turns down the stretch of road leading to his house. “I didn’t say it wasn’t. But you do both seem to get a lot of pleasure out of making me squirm.”

Stiles makes a turned on noise.

“That wasn’t meant to be sexy!” Derek protests and rolls his eyes.

**

The closer Stiles’ visit gets, the more restless Derek is. He’s nervous and trying not to second guess himself, trying not to let old fears creep in. He spends a couple of sleepless nights and has a therapy session that leaves him unsettled and doubting himself.

Derek full shifts the third night. He wants to run, and running is the simplest, least complicated thing when he’s a full wolf. He can let himself go without having to overthink. Everything is instinct.

It’s pre-dawn when Derek finally shifts back to his human form, the sky just starting to streak with light. He’s exhausted, barely stumbles into the house before falling naked into bed.

He’s tempted to sleep the day away. But Eunice is expecting him. They’re getting close to finishing the cataloguing project, and he knows Eunice is anxious to have it completed. Derek is too, and if they get it done within the next week, Stiles can help test the system before they take it live.

So Derek drags himself out of bed just a couple hours after he originally crashed. He showers in a daze, and forgoes his normal walk into town for the easier drive.

“You’ve been distracted all morning,” Eunice chides when she has to repeat a question to Derek three times before he even realizes she’s talking to him.

“Sorry,” Derek says and stifles a yawn. “I was up most of the night.”

She gives him a considering look. “Everything okay?”

Derek nods. “Couldn’t sleep. So I went for a run.”

She makes a vaguely disapproving noise.

Derek makes more of an effort after that. He doesn’t want to trigger Eunice’s concern or for her to text Stiles and make him worry. Gawain keeps a close eye on Derek, letting out deep sighs periodically.

When Derek finally leaves for the afternoon, Eunice pats his arm. “I stay up late,” she says. “If you can’t sleep, come by and I’ll make us tea, and we can watch a movie.” She smiles and squeezes his wrist.

Derek’s stomach clenches at the kindness of the gesture. There’s no way he’s calling an old lady in the middle of the night or dropping by her house late to watch movies, but the concern exhibited settles something in him, steadies him.

“Thanks,” he says honestly. “I’m sure tonight I’ll be fine.”

He’s not going to tell Eunice that two of the women he’s slept with ended up being manipulative murderers and that Derek has trust issues. He’s not going to tell her that he and Stiles are getting closer to having sex and that Derek is worried he’ll do something to mess everything up. It wasn’t that Derek couldn’t sleep the night before, it’s that he didn’t want to. He wanted, needed, to run. To shut his human brain down and let instinct take over.

For the first time in a long time, Derek has people who care if he gets enough sleep, if he’s taking care of himself. And even if he’s not going to bare his soul to Eunice, he still appreciates the consideration.

It’s nice, and somehow knowing that Eunice is going to notice if Derek’s sleepy again the next day keeps him from another restless run. Instead he sits on the back deck and listens to the waves, texts Stiles and Cora until he’s calm enough to take a hot shower and read his book until he falls asleep.

**

“I’m thinking of coming up there in June,” Cora says the next night when they’re on the phone.

“Really?” Derek sits up from where he’s reclined on the couch. “I mean, sure.”

“I’d bring Manny with me,” she says with some warning in her voice. “And, like, he wants to see San Francisco and maybe drive down south to LA. Maybe go to Disneyland. But, you know, we’d use your place like home base?”

Derek swallows and a smile spreads across his face. “Sounds good.”

“Yeah?” She says, voice hopeful. “I think you’ll like him. Just no grilling him and being tough and all that macho BS.”

Derek chuckles. “I already know you threatened Stiles.”

“Not threatened,” she clarifies. “Just. Needed to be sure he wasn’t having a gay experiment phase or something.”

Derek huffs. “I think he’s bi.”

“Well, whatever,” she sniffs. “Just lookin’ out.”

“I know,” Derek says. “Thank you.”

There’s a stunned sort of silence, like Cora expected more back and forth, more fight. “So, uh, June then?”

“I’ll be here,” Derek says. He hasn’t discussed whether the landlord is willing to lease him the cottage for another summer and off-season, but if he’s not, Derek is willing to start looking for a place to buy.

“And I can meet your librarian BFF?”

“I don’t think I’d be able to stop that from happening even if I wanted to,” Derek admits. “I’m sure she’ll have a little party for you. She enjoys any pretense for a party.”

“Awesome,” Cora says brightly. “Stiles loves her. He says she keeps a tight watch on you, so she’s already good in my book.”

“Yeah,” Derek says and feels a swell of affection for the people who matter in his life.

“Okay,” Cora says, and the room she’s in fill with other voices. “My friends are here. But just wanted to make sure it was cool with you if I was around for awhile this summer.”

“Definitely.”

**

“I thought it was time I made you a food delivery,” Eunice says, standing on his front porch a couple evenings later. Derek had taken the day off after another long night.

Derek wasn’t expecting her, but stands aside and lets her in, trying not to betray his surprise.

“Sorry about today,” he says and follows her to the kitchen, a casserole dish wrapped in beach towels carried in front of her like a sacrifice.

“Mo and I did a few shelves out of Home Improvement, and one of Mrs. Crawford’s older grandkids read for story time,” she says as she unpacks the canvas bag she had slung over her arm. She fiddles with the dials on the oven and bustles about the kitchen like she owns the place. She’s actually never been over at all, so Derek watches her in a certain kind of amazement.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” Derek admits, embarrassed.

“That’s the last few nights, right?” Eunice asks as she slides the casserole into the oven to warm.

Derek shrugs.

“Did something happen?”

“No,” Derek says. “Just been thinking.”

Eunice nods, and remarkably doesn’t press him into further explanation. She pulls plates out of the cupboard and chops vegetables she brought along with her into a salad. She hasn’t bothered to ask if Derek is hungry or if he has plans. She seems determined to feed him regardless.

“Frank wasn’t the first man I loved,” she says after several minutes of silence. “When I was in high school I fell hard for the attendant at the corner service station.”

Derek is used to the storytelling and the random subject changes by this point. There was a point it would’ve annoyed him, but now he finds it soothing.

“His name was Butch,” she goes on, not waiting for a sign Derek is paying attention. “He was 28 and I was almost 18. My parents did not approve. They wanted me to go to college, and Butch wanted me to move in with him. He was handsome, and all the girls at my school would stop by the station to buy packs of gum and ask ridiculous questions about cars, just to get his attention.”

Eunice hands Derek the salad bowl and pushes him out toward the back deck, following behind with the plates and a bottle of salad dressing. “Get the noodle casserole,” she instructs.

Derek obeys, pulling the now-bubbling noodle bake from the oven and carrying it outside.

“Butch had a temper,” Eunice continues as Derek settles into his seat. She nods her head toward the salad, and Derek takes a pile from the bowl while Eunice serves him a huge helping of the cheesy casserole. “I was young, and I didn’t know much about love. He was my first everything, and I wanted him to be happy. So when Butch told me I couldn’t go to college, that I needed to stay home to take care of the house, that he needed me to help at the station, I didn’t question it. When he started drinking more and slapping me around when he got angry, I just assumed that was part of a grown up relationship.”

Eunice pauses the story to take a bite of salad.

“This is not a short story,” she admits after awhile. “So we’ll skip all of the parts where Butch wouldn’t let me see my friends and stopped letting me visit my family. Where he isolated me and made me feel like that was my fault. Where the bruises never seemed to heal. The point is, one night my older brother knocked on the door. Butch was out, and before he left he’d pushed me into a wall and punched me hard. I was lying on the couch with ice on my face, trying to convince myself that it would be better this time if I’d just do like he said. Butch wanted to have a baby, and he kept accusing me of sabotaging that. It sounds ridiculous now, but I was young, and I thought maybe I was. Like maybe I didn’t love Butch enough, or I didn’t want a baby bad enough and God had heard that somehow. Butch said I was cursed.”

Derek hasn’t seen Eunice like this. Her face is a mask of seriousness. The ease has gone out of her tone.

“So that night my brother knocks on the door and he says, ‘Grab a bag. We’re leaving,’” Eunice continues the story. “He saw my face, the swollen cheek and the split lip and the way I winced when he hugged me. He started walking around the house and pulling my things off hangers and throwing them into a small suitcase he found in the garage. And the whole time I’m trailing after him telling him that it’s not as bad as it looks, that Butch gets mad sometimes but usually because I’ve forgotten something important and that it will be better this time. And as I’m saying the words, I realize how utterly untrue they are. That I haven’t talked to any of my friends in weeks, that no one in my family has been to my house in months, that up until I bumped into my brother’s friend in the grocery store I hadn’t seen a single person from my old life in a year. I was anxious and scared and had no focus in my life other than making sure that Butch was happy, that Butch had what he needed, that I’d been nice enough to Butch that day so I didn’t get shoved against the dresser.”

Derek’s anger rises, bile forming, and he wonders if he could track Butch down and push him around just so he knows how it feels.

“It’s been fifty years, Derek,” Eunice says, reading his mind. “More than, come to think of it. If he’s still alive he’s an old man. But thank you.” She reaches out and pats his hand, squeezing his fingers briefly. “I’m just trying to give the story context. I told you it wasn’t short.”

Derek smiles sheepishly and waves his hand so she continues while he eats the chicken casserole.

“I left that night with my brother. I was scared. Butch always told me if I left he’d come get me. I think he assumed I’d go back to my parents, and he’d just show up and drag me away. But my brother drove us from San Diego to San Francisco that night. He gave me $250, which was a decent amount of money back then, and rented me a room in the attic of an older lady’s home. The next day he helped me enroll in college. He told me not to call Butch or any of my friends back home, but that he would check in on me and relay messages to our parents for me. And then he drove back home.”

Eunice wipes her mouth with her napkin and takes a big sip of wine.

“My brother and I weren’t particularly close before that night. He was always good to me, but he was several years older and hadn’t been around much when I was younger. But that night he helped me save myself. He gave me a fresh start. I found out later the money was from my mother. That she’d been scrimping and saving for that whole year to give me that life line. That my brother added what little he could to it and then when his friend saw me in the grocery store and told him I’d looked frightened and jumpy, my brother decided to act.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say. Eunice has opened her life up to him in so many ways, but until this moment he hadn’t really known much about her past.

“This is getting longer than I intended,” she says apologetically.

“You don’t have to tell me any of this,” Derek says, in case he’d done something to make her think she had to bare her soul.

“There’s a point, Derek,” Eunice says wearily. “But I’m an old lady, and I’m prone to ramble.”

Derek nods in deference.

“For five years after I got to San Francisco I didn’t date or talk to men at all,” she says finally. “I made friends in my classes and played bridge with my landlady’s friends. But after that fifth year I met Frank. We started as friends. He walked me home from my job at the library sometimes, never tried to get fresh. He brought me lunch, left me little gifts. I knew he was sweet on me, but I wasn’t interested. Not yet.”

Derek smiles, picturing Eunice as a younger woman.

“We were friends for five more years before I finally kissed him,” Eunice says finally. “And in that time I got a degree, a job, rented my own place, started a book club, made friends. I wasn’t running anymore by the time Frank and I fell in love. Frank didn’t save me. My brother got me out of Butch’s house, but I saved myself. And ten years after I left with my brother and drove to San Fransisco, Frank and I moved here.”

Derek looks out over the cliff to the waves crashing against the rocks.

“Frank’s parents had a store here,” she says and leans back a bit. “A magic shop, although I didn’t know about that at the time. His dad was sick, and he needed help. Frank needed to move down here. And the town had a small library that needed a librarian. So I came with him.” She shrugs and smiles at Derek.

He has no idea what to say. Or why Eunice baked a chicken noodle casserole and felt compelled to come and share this story with him.

“I know enough about your past to know you are complicated,” Eunice says when Derek doesn’t respond. “Our situations aren’t the same. It simplifies both of us to equate them. But I do know what it feels like to be trapped, to start over, to make a life for yourself, to fall in love when you didn’t expect to. I know that love at its best is improbable, nearly impossible. It’s frustrating for rational folk. And it will never make sense on paper.” She smiles like she’s remembering something private. “It would’ve made the most sense for me to stay single forever. I didn’t need Frank. I had learned to take care of myself. I’d made a way for myself. Trusting someone that way was a disruption, could potentially open me up to hurt.”

Derek bites his lip and looks down at the table.

“Frank and I never married,” Eunice says with a smirk. “I didn’t want to be tied like that to someone, and because he loved me and wanted me on whatever terms I felt comfortable letting him close, he never pushed me. But oh, I loved him,” she says reverently. “He was brilliant, kind, funny. I learned about his magic once we got here, was witness to him building his coven, sharing his gift and nurturing young practitioners. He was always bringing home strays. Stray people, stray animals. We almost always had someone staying in our guest room, and we had a Noah’s ark situation with cats and dogs and birds. For awhile we even had a raccoon.”

Derek thinks of his own family and the cacophony that surrounded their home. A lump forms in his throat, tight with longing.

“Being broken isn’t a life sentence,” she says in a quiet voice.

Tears threaten to spill suddenly down Derek’s cheeks, and he nods.

“It’s okay to move forward,” she says and grabs the canvas tote off the deck and pulls out a tin of cookies and offers one to Derek. “I wasn’t the same after Butch. It’s to be expected, I suppose. I’m not glad it happened, that seems twisted. But I am proud of who I became after. Leaving Butch marked the BC/AD moment in my history. Things didn’t stop, I just marked time differently.”

Derek smiles and takes another cookie. They’re his favorite, oatmeal chocolate chip. Warmth spreads in his stomach at the thought of someone in his life knowing what his favorite cookie is and baking them for him because he matters.

“Thanks,” he says finally, but it feels inadequate after Eunice shared something so personal with him. “It, uh, helps. I’m, I’m figuring it out. How to move ahead. I’m. I’m trying.”

She smiles and nods. “I know. It’s okay not to have it all figured out. Just keep moving in the right direction, and you’ll be fine.”

Derek swallows. They stare out at the sunset, Eunice surprisingly still and silent, just letting the sound of the waves fill the conversation gap.

“Stiles said you might be looking for a house,” Eunice says suddenly. She slides a card across the table. “Stan has his real estate license. Give him a call.”

Derek takes the card and holds it by its edges.

“I like this place though,” Eunice says. “I remember the people who used to come here every summer to stay. They moved to Oregon I think, right? That’s why they rent it, I guess.”

Derek smiles. It figures Eunice would know his landlord.

Eunice slaps her hands on the table. “Now,” she says with a big smile. “Let’s talk about Stiles’ party.”

Derek huffs a laugh and nods as he slips the business card into his pocket.

**

It’s just a couple of days now until Stiles arrives. Derek gets a text in the middle of the afternoon, presumably while Stiles is still in school.

Stiles: things I’ve been thinking about:

Stiles: one

Stiles: are you paying attention?

Derek: Yes. Are you? Aren’t you in school?

Stiles: [picture of Stiles rolling his eyes like an asshole]

Derek: …

Stiles: lol. Okay so things I’m thinking about. One, how all your shirts are so soft. What’s that about?

Derek chuckles to himself and earns a hawk-eyed glance from Eunice.

Derek: Fabric softener?

Stiles: Nah I think it’s like your essence infused into your shirts

Derek: My essence?

He makes a face as he sends the text.

Stiles: hahaha not dirty asshole

Derek: I didn’t make it dirty.

Stiles: Also you smell super good. Like constantly. I wake up thinking about that.

Derek bites back a smile, glad that no one is reading over his shoulder.

Stiles: Also the look you have on your face right now

Derek narrows his eyes and looks up, looking around to see if somehow Stiles is watching him.

Stiles: I’m not there. I just know you and I can picture the look on your face right now. Like you want to smile but you’re worried if you do someone will see.

Derek smiles, big and cheesy and snaps a quick picture of it and sends it to Stiles.

Derek: Like that?

Stiles: lol no but that ones not bad either

Stiles: all the Derek faces are pretty great

Derek: Two days

Stiles: dude TWO DAYS. I don’t care if you think I’m cheesy, I miss you and your stupid handsome face and your soft smelling goodness and just you

Derek grins and glances around to see if anyone is watching. Eunice, predictably, is.

Derek: So cheesy.

Derek: I’m looking forward to you being here too.

He even sends an emoji along with that, a rare Derek texting addition.

Stiles: whoa you must miss me. emojis

Stiles sends a string of emojis. Hearts, boys holding hands, heart eye face, an eggplant for some reason.

Derek: Now pay attention for the rest of class so your dad doesn’t ground you.

Stiles sends a picture of him sticking his tongue out.

Stiles: it’s study hall Derek. Nerd

Derek chuckles and pockets his phone. He ignores Eunice’s smug satisfied smile.

**

When Derek gets home from the library on Friday afternoon, Stiles’ car is in the driveway. The hood is still warm, so he must’ve just arrived. Derek smiles, and his heart skips a beat. He is a walking cliche, and he doesn’t care.

He finds Stiles sitting on the back deck staring out at the ocean. He turns a little when Derek opens the back door, and his smile is so big and genuine Derek feels a little lightheaded with how much he loves him.

“Hey,” Stiles says and reaches out his hand to beckon Derek closer. He pats the empty space on the big deck chair. “C’mere.”

“You’re early,” Derek murmurs as he settles himself between Stiles’ legs. The chair isn’t really quite big enough for both of them, but Derek doesn’t care.

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s waist and squeezes. “Ditched after lunch,” he admits and kisses Derek’s neck. “Kept thinking ‘bout you.”

Derek leans into him, lets himself go, doesn’t even try to hold himself back. He strokes his fingers along Stiles’ wrists as Stiles kisses down his neck.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathes against his skin. “I’m so into you.” His teeth drag along his neck and he slips his fingers under Derek’s shirt and strokes his stomach. “Please, Der.”

Derek smiles and closes eyes, submitting himself to the scent of want and affection and safety. There is no place in the world he’d rather be. There’s no one he’d rather be with. It hits him like a force, how much he wants this with Stiles.

Stiles’ teeth tug on Derek’s ear lobe. He’s murmuring things, about how he was half hard most of the drive from Beacon Hills, stuff that would usually make Derek blush, but this time he just lets himself be covered in Stiles’ desire. He knows it’s for all of him, not just his body. Stiles wants Derek, just Derek. Not because he needs him for something, because he’s trying to get something else. But Derek for his own sake.

Derek lets it wash over him, being cared for that way. He doesn’t give credence to the nagging thoughts that letting Stiles closer will cause pain. Love is always a risk, but he knows Stiles. He loves Stiles.

He guides Stiles’ hand lower and unbuttons his jeans, lowering the zipper slowly.

Stiles groans into Derek’s ear.

“How embarrassing would it be if I came from touching you? Is that a thing that happens?” Stiles asks as he slips his fingers into Derek’s jeans, following the trail of hair on Derek’s lower abdomen into his underwear.

They both groan again when his fingers bump into Derek’s erection, already straining in his stupidly tight pants.

“Damn baby,” Stiles murmurs, probably trying for a joking tone, but it sounds almost reverent. Stiles’ throat clicks as he swallows, his fingers tentatively wrap around Derek’s dick.

Derek turns his head until he can get his lips on Stiles’. The kiss is heated, intense, yet somehow easy. Like both of them know the other isn’t going anywhere.

In the annuls of great hand jobs, this one probably won’t get ranked. Derek’s jeans, even unbuttoned and unzipped are tight, and even once Stiles has freed Derek’s dick into the open air he seems frustrated by the fact that he can’t touch everything, that most of Derek is still covered up. His stroke doesn’t ever completely find a rhythm, it feels a little desperate and rushed. And yet it’s somehow exactly what Derek wants and needs. Stiles keeps up a steady stream of often nonsensical commentary, kisses Derek, laughs, mutters about a sea gull who he swears is watching them intently.

Derek might be embarrassed about how quickly he comes if it were anyone other than Stiles. But as he comes in thick ribbons of white over Stiles’ hand and his own jeans and shirt, all he can hear is the encouraging noises and turned on sounds Stiles is making, and he doesn’t feel at all self-conscious.

Just happy.

He turns his head again and captures Stiles’ satisfied smile in a kiss. “’s good.”

Stiles’ smile broadens into the kiss. He licks Derek’s lower lip and pulls away slightly. “Handies al fresco.”

Derek huffs a laugh and rests his head on Stiles’ shoulder. “That sea gull is staring at us. You’re right.”

“Right?” Stiles says triumphantly. “Told you. I can’t decide if I’m weirded out by the turned on sea gull or kind of proud that we’re hot enough to make interspecies voyeurism a thing.”

Derek grins and stares at the bird, whose head is now tilted like he’s trying to understand the situation. “Maybe he’s waiting for me to return the favor.”

“I don’t think you can give a bird a hand job,” Stiles says seriously.

Derek laughs loudly and turns around in the chair so he’s straddling Stiles’ thighs. His dick is soft now. Soft and messy and still not tucked back into his jeans. “I meant you, dummy,” he says fondly, letting his gaze settle on Stiles’ amused expression. “Look at you,” he adds, because Stiles is beautiful in the afternoon sun.

“Me?” Stiles asks with faux innocence. “Look at you,” he says with a challenging tone. “I propose you don’t tuck your dick back into your pants for the rest of the weekend. I’ll build it a little pouch it can rest in if we need to go into public.” He drags a curious finger over it lightly. “I think he likes me,” he says conspiratorially.

Derek laughs again and shakes his head. “So weird,” he says and leans closer, nipping at Stiles’ smirk.

Stiles holds onto Derek’s dick loosely, not like he’s trying to get something going again, but just like he can’t help it. “I love you,” he says, looking up at Derek, eyes bright amber in the sun.

Derek’s stomach twists, and he kisses the small, hopeful smile on Stiles’ face. He slows the kiss down and tries to turn it into words as he slips his tongue in alongside Stiles’. He’ll probably never be quite as easy with his affection as Stiles is, but he wants to try. He pulls away and swallows, drags his thumb along Stiles’ cheek.

“I love you, too,” he says finally, the weight of the words and the intensity of their meaning make the air around them feel thick.

Stiles’ smile grows, and he nods a little. “You do,” he agrees, like Derek wouldn’t have had to say it, but he’s pleased he did. He’s still cradling Derek’s dick like it’s precious, and it’s both ridiculous and touching at the same time.

Derek grins at him and kisses his cheek, trailing his mouth down until he can tug on Stiles’ earlobe with his teeth. “I wanna blow you,” he says quietly. “Here? Or inside?”

Stiles groans. “Oh fuck,” he says and his grip tightens around Derek’s dick slightly. “Here. Just. I’m gonna last about 37 seconds. Here here.”

Derek huffs a laugh and scoots backward until he’s crouched over Stiles’ knees on the bottom part of the lounge chair. “Unbutton,” he suggests when Stiles just stares at him.

“This is seriously like a sex vacation postcard,” Stiles babbles as he pulls down his zipper and shimmies his jeans a little ways down his hips to expose his boxer briefs.

Derek rolls his eyes and realizes that the sex he has for the foreseeable future is always going to include banter and nonsequitors. “Sex vacation?” He asks, eyebrow raised.

“Scenic,” Stiles says and waves his hand around expansively. “Waves and sun and a view and a perverted sea gull. You and your dick still outside of your jeans and that face you have which is just. Yeah. The face of all the faces. When God was thinking about faces and how a face should face he probably had you in mind. Is the thing.”

Derek shakes his head slightly but can’t keep the smile off his face. He rubs his fingers along Stiles’ underwear clad dick and watches in amazement as Stiles’ eyes flutter shut and his perfect pink lips part in a happy sigh.

“Shit shit,” he murmurs, and Derek reward him by leaning over and licking along Stiles’ dick through the fabric. “Oh god.” His hands find Derek’s head and thread through his hair.

Derek mouths at him through his underwear for a few more seconds and then peels them down, releasing his dick to the air.

“The bird moved closer,” Stiles observes as Derek wraps his fingers around Stiles’ dick. He’s bigger than Derek was expecting, cut and so hard it looks painful, the head an angry purplish color beaded with precum.

“Watch me,” Derek instructs. “Not the bird.” He swirls his tongue around the head of Stiles’ dick.

Stiles groans so loudly Derek’s pretty sure everyone in town probably heard it. “Oh my god,” Stiles says breathlessly. “Yeah, look at you. Shit. Fuck you, bird. Look at Derek.”

Derek laughs around Stiles’ dick and wonders how he’d ever worried about this. He concentrates his efforts on giving Stiles all his best material, all the tongue flicks and throat tricks and everything he’s ever learned about blow jobs. Not that he thinks Stiles needs him to do anything but keep his mouth on him, as he’s groaning and moaning and swearing and making sounds like he’s trying to audio dub a porno.

“This is my favorite day,” Stiles says breathlessly. “And the best chair.” He pats the arm of the chair lazily. “And you,” he says and curls his hand around Derek’s chin. “Definitely the best.”

Derek gives him a look and takes him as deep as he can gagging just a little when Stiles’ hips stutter forward. Stiles groans and rubs his fingers across Derek’s cheek.

“I’m like, oh fuck, this isn’t gonna last long,” Stiles breathes out. “Shit. Der.” He pats Derek’s head sort of desperately.

Derek looks up and finds Stiles looking at him with awe. He comes hard and suddenly, like it’s punched out of him, like it was a surprise to him too. Derek swallows as much of it as he can, but since he wasn’t quite ready, a lot of it ends up on his face and his shirt.

It’s gross and awesome in the way it usually is when sex is messy. But it’s also Stiles, which means that Derek doesn’t mind the gross part.

“C’mere,” Stiles says as Derek pulls off of him. He tugs at Derek’s shoulders, trying to drag him closer.

Derek crawls until he’s crouched over Stiles’ lap and kisses him.

“So that’s what it tastes like,” Stiles says licking his lips as he pulls away slightly. “Weird.”

Derek laughs softly and rolls his eyes. “Well, it’s yours. So.”

Stiles grins. “Fuck that was awesome,” he says sincerely. “We’re doing that again, right?”

Derek nods and leans into Stiles’ touch as he wipes errant jizz from Derek’s cheek.

“We just did that where anyone could’ve seen,” Stiles says looking around at the deck and the grassy area around the house.

“Other than the perverted sea gull, I’m pretty sure we’re safe,” Derek reassures him.

“Right,” Stiles says dismissively. “But they could’ve seen. Which is kind of hot.”

Derek rolls his eyes and shuts Stiles up with another kiss.

**

They take a shower together after they go inside. Stiles insists on showering with Derek, even though Derek’s bathroom just has an old, fairly narrow clawfoot tub/shower combo. It’s slippery and not really built for two. But Stiles seemed set on climbing into the shower after Derek, and Derek has a hard time saying no to Stiles when he’s excited about something.

Showering together results in Derek nearly falling out of the tub when Stiles’ loses his balance and has to grab onto Derek for support. Derek grabs onto the shower curtain rod and barely keeps himself upright and knocks his head into the nozzle. Hard.

Stiles laughs. “This always looks sexy on TV,” he says apologetically when Derek shoots him a betrayed look as he rubs his forehead. “But it’s a logistical nightmare, isn’t it?”

“It’s kind of a small space for two guys to be together,” Derek says once his head stops throbbing.

“Maybe your new place can have a bigger shower,” Stiles suggests, waggling his eyebrows at Derek. “Sex shower.”

Derek rinses the soap from his face. “I’ll be sure to mention it as priority one when I call a realtor. ‘Please make sure the shower is big enough so Stiles doesn’t kill me when he flails around.’”

Stiles sputters and squawks. “Listen buddy—”

“Buddy?” Derek asks, amused.

“Bucko,” Stiles amends.

“Not better, really.”

Stiles makes a face, and Derek laughs, pulling him slowly closer, no sudden movements so neither of them slips in the tiny space. “I’ll look for a bigger shower,” he murmurs against Stiles’ lips, gripping Stiles by his narrow hips, pressing their dicks together.

“That’s all I’m saying,” Stiles says and deepens the kiss.

**

They climb into bed after their shower and take a nap and fool around again. Both of them have very short refractory periods, werewolf and 18 year old as they are. Stiles is eager to “try all the things” as he said before he enthusiastically blew Derek upon awakening.

Derek offered to take him for a nice dinner in Santa Rosa once they finally got out of bed, but Stiles wrinkled his nose and said that would require Derek to wear something other than sweatpants, which he was firmly against. So they’re in the kitchen making spaghetti and meatballs.

Stiles borrowed a pair of Derek’s sweats and one of his henleys. His hair is still a little mussed from their nap, and he’s singing along, and not well, to One Direction.

Derek’s heart is full.

He encircles Stiles from behind, hooking his chin over his shoulder.

“I’m chopping here,” Stiles protests unconvincingly.

Derek turns his head into Stiles’ neck and inhales unselfconsciously. Derek’s scent is all over Stiles, and his wolf preens at Stiles smelling like he’s Derek’s.

“Such a puppy,” Stiles murmurs as he leans into Derek’s touch.

Derek laughs into Stiles’ skin. “Dog humor. High level.”

Stiles grins and turns his head enough to capture Derek’s lips in a kiss.

“You smell like me,” Derek says because he can’t help it. “Us.”

Stiles nods. “So to werewolves, true love smells like mixed jizz?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “It’s not just that.”

Stiles kisses him again. “Sure.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Derek insists. It’s not just the sex smells, it’s Stiles wearing Derek’s clothes, and sleeping in his bed. It mingles their scents until they smell less like individuals and more like something new.

Stiles bites his lip. “I like it. Even if I can’t smell it. I like it.”

Derek blushes. “Me too.”

They eat outside as the sun sets.

“This is romance,” Stiles says with a sigh. “Should we suck on the same strand of spaghetti like Lady and the Tramp?”

Derek smirks. “Pass.”

“So good,” Stiles says through a big bite of meat ball. “Back when you were living in abandoned buildings I never would’ve imagined you could make shit like this.”

“I couldn’t,” Derek admits.

Stiles swallows and stares at him for a few beats. “Why did you? You had money. Why did you live like that?”

Derek takes a deep breath. “There wasn’t just one reason,” he says finally. “At first because I wasn’t sure who was after me. Then because I was a fugitive.” He gives Stiles a pointed look. “And then because, uh, I maybe didn’t think I deserved to feel safe.”

Stiles makes a commiserating noise. “I hate that,” he says quietly. “I hate that you were alone like that,” he clarifies. “And that I didn’t to try to help.”

Derek gives him a small smile. “Not your fault,” he says. “I mean the reporting me as a killer maybe was your fault.”

Stiles squawks in protest.

“But the rest,” Derek says looking out over the ocean and letting the familiar scent of his home fill his senses, “the rest was me not knowing how to do anything but survive. To run or fight.”

Stiles nods. “I get that,” he says. “If I hadn’t had my dad, after, the uh, nogistune thing.” He stops and looks away, throat working like he’s trying to swallow down something painful. “I probably would’ve run. I felt like an asshole. And I was scared. I thought everyone hated me. You didn’t have anyone to keep you from running. But you stayed and fought anyway.”

“Poorly.”

Stiles shakes his head. “No way. You did the best you could. Sorry I was such a dick about it for so long.”

Derek huffs a laugh.

“That first time you were in my room, when you were a murder suspect, and you pressed me into that door—” Stiles stops and smirks at Derek. “Kind of confirmed my bisexuality for me.”

Derek presses his lips together and gives Stiles a look.

“You knew?”

“Well not the bisexual thing,” Derek admits. “But desire is a scent. So.”

Stiles groans. “Embarrassing.”

Derek laughs. “Well I kept coming to your house anyway. So that should tell you something.”

Stiles smiles. “Yeah?”

Derek may not have totally understood why he was drawn to Stiles, but he definitely was.

“That’s the Stilinski charm,” Stiles says smugly when Derek doesn’t respond. “Constantly reelin’ ‘em in.”

Derek rolls his eyes and eats another meatball.

**

After dinner they walk into town to get ice cream. One of the seasonal places has opened to try to capture the spring break crowd. Although it’s still full of the same ratio of retirees and weekend beach house owners as usual, so they may have miscalculated this part of California’s appeal as a spring break destination.

“My mom always got butter pecan,” Stiles says as they peer into store windows and eat their cones.

Derek wrinkles his nose. Nuts and ice-cream don’t belong together in his opinion.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “But she had some theory on how it best showed off the skill of the ice cream maker. Or something. I was a kid and just wanted ice cream so I was only half paying attention.”

Derek chuckles. “Peter likes rum raisin.”

“Ewww,” Stiles says with a disgusted face. “Figures.”

“My dad always got strawberry,” Derek says in a quieter tone. “Laura liked cookies and cream. My mom’s favorite was rocky road. And when Cora was a kid she liked bubble gum flavor. But I guess I don’t know what she likes now.”

Getting ice cream in town, sitting in the park on a nice day with ice cream dripping down their fingers, competing on the swing set to see who could get the highest, was part of his mom’s Hale Pack Integration Into Human Society Plan. She thought it was important to practice control playing with human kids in the playground (under her careful supervision), and she wanted them to understand the people their pack was meant to protect.

“Well, she’s coming this summer, right?” Stiles asks, pulling Derek out of his memories.

“Who?” Derek asks. “Oh, Cora? Yeah. Did I tell you that?”

Stiles smiles. “No, she did,” he admits. “She seems to hate me less now than she used to.”

“Not the Stilinski charm—”

“Yeah, baby,” Stiles says over top of him. “I’ve charmed both the Hales. You fell for it.”

Derek pulls him closer and wipes a smudge of his mint chocolate chip ice cream off his lower lip with his thumb and then follows it with his lips. When he pulls away, Stiles is looking at him with his big, amber eyes. They’re clear and bright, and Derek loves him. He cradles Stiles’ face in his hands and swipes his thumbs along Stiles’ cheekbones.

“Yeah,” he says finally.

Stiles’ cheeks pink up. “Aww, you’re not supposed to agree.”

Derek laughs. “Make up your mind.”

Stiles looks down at his shoes. His eyelashes are fanned out against his cheeks. “Seems too good to be true,” he says in a quiet voice.

Derek tips Stiles’ chin up with his fingers. “I love you,” he says, and tries to infuse his voice with the seriousness with which he takes those words.

“Yeah,” Stiles says in a quiet voice.

Derek realizes maybe he’s never told Stiles why. He’s been focused on his own response to his feelings and all the things they brought up in him. He’s had therapy and learned how to trust and how to be easier on himself. He’s been pre-occupied with that.

Derek smiles at him and holds Stiles’ hopeful gaze. “I’m not good at— you know. But, you’re my favorite person. You’re smart and brave and kind of an asshole. But in the best sort of way.”

Stiles huffs a laugh.

“I like you.”

Stiles makes an “aww” sound and kisses him gently.

Derek feels like he’s still not getting it. “I don’t like a lot of people,” he insists.

Stiles laughs. “That doesn’t seem as true anymore,” he suggests.

Derek supposes that’s true. But even if he’s let a few more people in, Derek’s never going to be someone that gravitates toward people easily, or trusts automatically.

“It’s a small club,” he says finally and bites his lip.

Stiles grins. “I’m president of the club.”

“You are,” Derek agrees. “And no we’re not getting shirts made.”

“What— that is not what I was going to say,” Stiles insists as Derek kisses him to shut him up.

That was totally what he was going to say.

**

Later they watch TV, and Stiles calls his dad and Scott.

Stiles’ heart rate ratchets up while he’s talking to Scott. Derek focuses on what he’s saying in the next room. Something about Liam and a fight. He sits up a little straighter as Stiles comes back into the living room.

“Everything okay?”

Stiles nods and chews his lip. “Yeah. Omega they had to run off. He attacked Liam outside of the bowling alley.”

“But they handled it?”

Stiles sighs. “They handled it.”

“You sound disappointed,” Derek teases.

“Nah,” Stiles says. “I mean, researching weird shit is fun,” he amends. “But watching people I love get hurt isn’t.”

Derek nods and holds out his hand toward Stiles.

Stiles walks over to him until he’s standing in front of where Derek sits on the couch.

Derek pulls him down until he’s straddling Derek’s lap. “Wish you were there?”

Stiles leans closer and rubs his nose against Derek’s cheek. “Nope.”

Derek buries his nose in the crook of Stiles neck. He inhales unselfconsciously and licks his pulse point. “Good.”

Stiles laughs lightly and scoots farther into Derek’s lap. “Let’s go upstairs and let our underwear places touch,” he says and winks suggestively.

Derek barks a laugh and rests his forehead on Stiles’ chest. “Why do I like you?”

Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s hair. “You had reasons earlier tonight. Should I keep those on a list in my pocket? I think they were threefold.”

Derek groans.

“So is that a ‘no’ on going to bed?” Stiles asks and squeezes Derek’s neck.

“No,” Derek admits. “No, it’s not a ‘no.’”

Stiles laughs. “Well, c’mon then.

**

They get ready for bed like they’ve been sharing a nighttime routine for years. Stiles has a tooth brush he keeps at Derek’s, and they move around each other in the small space like a surprisingly graceful dance.

Derek likes so many things about having Stiles around, but it’s quiet, mundane domestic stuff like getting ready for bed that leaves Derek smiling while he’s flossing.

“What?” Stiles asks, leaning in the doorway while Derek finishes up.

Derek shrugs and rinses with mouthwash before flipping off the bathroom light. “Just, you know.”

Stiles climbs in his side of the bed, and when Derek just watches instead of following suit, Stiles pats the bed next to him. “You coming?”

Derek swallows and nods. “Yeah.” He pulls his shirt off and tosses it in the laundry basket.

Stiles whistles softly. “You did the thing.”

Derek climbs into bed. “What thing?”

Stiles scoots closer and runs his fingers lightly over Derek’s chest and stomach. “Unveiled all this.”

Derek rolls his eyes and sets his phone on the bedside table.

Stiles throws his leg over Derek and then settles himself on top of him, propping himself up with an arm on either side of Derek’s head. “This feels very much like we’re married and tonight is Business Time.”

Derek laughs and skims his hands down Stiles’ sides. “Business time?”

“You know,” Stiles says. “Flight of the Conchords? ‘It’s business, it’s business time!” he inexplicably sings the last bit.

Derek furrows his brow. “I’m lost.”

“Dude,” Stiles says and sits up completely, staring down at Derek excitedly. “Seriously? Flight of the Conchords. They’re so good. And there’s a show. You haven’t seen the show?”

Derek shakes his head and bites back a smile. Derek has never had physical intimacy be this way. Ever. It’s like one long conversation that includes words and touching and sex acts and more talking and laughing and other Stiles-based ridiculousness. He had no idea what his sex life had been missing was narration. Or more accurately, he had no idea what his sex life was missing was Stiles.

“I have not seen that show,” Derek admits. “Or heard the… band? I assume since you were singing it’s a band?”

Stiles nods and rubs his thumb back and forth on the skin above Derek’s belly button. “It’s taking, like, every bit of my self control not to get up and get my laptop and play it for you.”

Derek huffs a laugh. “You can. I’m not stopping you,” he says and takes his hands off Stiles and holds them up in surrender.

“Nah,” Stiles says and rolls Derek’s nipple between his fingers. “I want, this. Business Time. With you. Now.”

“Do we have to call it that?” Derek asks and pulls up on Stiles’ t-shirt to get him to take it off.

“You sure have a lot of rules about what we can and can’t call sex stuff,” Stiles says as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. He collapses on top of Derek quickly like he’s trying to hide himself from Derek.

“Business time and rubbing our ‘underwear places’ together aren’t exactly mood setters,” Derek says and drags his fingers down Stiles’ back.

Stiles has his face hidden in Derek’s neck, and he mouths at it lazily.

Derek rolls them over, using a bit of his strength to coax Stiles onto his back in a swift movement. “I want to see you,” he says softly.

Stiles closes his eyes and makes a protesting noise. Derek doesn’t understand why he’s embarrassed. Stiles is lean, his limbs long and wiry. He doesn’t have the physique of someone who lifts weights, but he’s strong, and his skin is pale and perfect. He smells incredible too, and it takes a lot of restraint not to immediately stick his nose in Stiles’ armpit and his crotch and breathe him in in what is undoubtably the more animal part of his nature trying to take over.

Stiles pops an eye open. “Are we done with this part?”

Derek leans over him and kisses his chest. “Why are you embarrassed?”

Stiles groans but doesn’t answer.

Derek sweeps his tongue over Stiles’ nipple. “I’m into it,” he says and rubs his hands down Stiles’ sides. “Clearly. You just referred to this as business time, and I’m still here, right?”

Stiles grins and cups Derek’s cheek with his hand. “True.”

“But we can do this however you want,” Derek says. “If you want to wear a shirt, you can wear a shirt.” He drags his finger tips lightly over Stiles’ stomach.

“N-no,” Stiles says and bites back a moan.

“Good,” Derek says and follows his fingers with his tongue. He drags the waistband of Stiles’ sleep pants a little lower and licks the newly exposed skin.

Stiles groans. “Fuck, Derek,” he says as Derek sucks a mark next to his hip bone.

Derek noses the obvious outline of Stiles’ dick through the fabric of his pants.

“Take ‘em off,” Stiles says and scrabbles at the waistband.

Derek grabs his wrist. “It’s not a race.”

“It should be,” Stiles grouses.

Derek smirks at him and runs his tongue down the length of Stiles’ fabric covered-dick.

“Oh dear god,” Stiles groans.

Derek teases him a little bit longer and then shows mercy and pulls his pants all the way off.

“Finally,” Stiles breathes. “Touch me.”

Derek gives him a look. “Stop trying to turn this into bad porn.”

Stiles grins and winks at him exaggeratedly. “Touch my love stick, baby.”

Derek ignores him and licks the head of his dick.

“Shiiiiiit,” Stiles breathes out as Derek slowly slides his mouth over his length.

Stiles moans unselfconsciously as Derek drags his tongue up the underside of his dick as he pulls off again.

“Want you to fuck me,” Stiles says quietly, as Derek works his hand in the path his mouth just followed. “If you want,” he adds and smiles shyly.

Derek’s stomach twists at the openness of Stiles’ expression. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough.

Stiles reaches his hand out and tugs on Derek’s arm. Derek obliges and moves up his body and kisses him. Stiles kisses back like he’s desperate for it.

“Kinda nervous,” Stiles admits in characteristic honesty, centimeters from Derek’s face.

“We don’t have to,” Derek says. “Or we can do it the other way, if that’s less intense for you.”

Stiles smiles and rubs his thumb along Derek’s chin. “I want to do that way too sometime. Yeah?”

Derek nods and knows with certainty he’d do this however Stiles wants to, or wait forever. It’s not about sex. It’s about Stiles.

“But now,” Stiles continues and presses his lips quickly to Derek’s. “I want to do something with you I’ve never done before. Want our first time to be like this.” He bites his lip, and Derek is overwhelmed by how beautiful he is. His cheeks are flushed, and his mouth is red. His eyes are warm and searching.

“Okay,” Derek says. “Have you, uh, like to yourself ever?” he asks and reaches for the bedside drawer.

Stiles nods. “It’s not an easy angle, with like fingers or whatever. Porn lies.”

Derek laughs and pops the cap on the lube. “A good rule of thumb in general, I think.”

Derek slicks up a finger. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says quickly. “Just, you know. Just go slow.”

“If you hate it we can stop,” Derek offers. He’s hated sex at times in the past. Not sex in general, but he’s certainly hated specific sex moments with specific people. Hated how disconnected it’s felt, how removed he’s felt from the moment. He’s hated how he felt after, empty and lonelier than when they started. And then there were more pleasant experiences, too. It hasn’t been all bad. Derek just wants their first time together to be good.

“I’m not gonna hate it,” Stiles says sucking in a breath as Derek slowly presses a finger inside.

“Relax,” Derek instructs as he feels Stiles’ body automatically tense at the intrusion. “Look at me.”

Stiles does immediately. His eyes fly open and find Derek’s, and he smiles nervously.

“Just you and me,” Derek says gently. “You can even sing the little business song if that helps.”

Stiles laughs, and Derek feels him relax incrementally.

It’s easier but still much more stilted than things normally are between them. Derek leans over and kisses him. “We could open the window,” he says as he pulls back. “See if the seagull is around. Ask him if he wants to watch.”

Stiles grins. “He totally does,” he says and then moans as Derek crooks his finger to hit just the right spot inside. “Shiiiit.”

“Better?”

Stiles nods vigorously. “Keep— keep making that happen,” he instructs.

It’s better after that. Derek goes slow enough to get him used to the feeling of something being inside of him, even shows him how good that can feel.

“C’mon,” Stiles coaxes after several minutes of just Derek’s fingers and some messy making out. “Dicks. Asses. Do it.”

“Multiple dicks?” Derek asks as he eases his fingers back out. “I just have the one.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “C’mon,” he whines.

“Okay, okay,” Derek says and takes his underwear off. “Do you want me to—” he gestures to the drawer where a box of condoms awaits, should that makes Stiles feel more comfortable.

“Werewolf immunity, right?” Stiles asks breathlessly.

“Right,” Derek agrees. “But still messy regardless. And definitely still your choice.”

“Want to feel you,” Stiles says, flushed. “Please.”

Derek bites back a groan. He’s been hard and ready since he first eased his fingers inside Stiles, but he still tries to play it somewhat cool. He squirts more lube onto his dick and coats it stroking slowly.

Stiles bites his lip. “Hot,” he croaks, probably meaning to sound smoother than he does.

Derek smirks and spreads Stiles’ legs wider. “Like this? Or on your stomach?”

“Like this.”

Derek nods slightly and rubs the head of his dick around Stiles’ hole.

“Fuuuuck,” Stiles groans. “I just— fuck.”

Derek smiles at something actually rendering Stiles inarticulate. “I wish you could see what this looks like.”

Stiles groans again. “Me too. Put a mirror on your ceiling.”

Derek laughs and leans over and kisses him. “Ready?” he asks against Stiles’ lips.

“Yeah.”

Derek presses just the head in, just to let Stiles get used to it.

“Shit,” Stiles breathes out. “Sex is happening.”

Derek grins. “It’s been happening, but glad to see you’re still with me.”

“But now it’s really happening,” Stiles says and tips his head back as Derek slowly eases his way inside. “Oh shit, Der. Shit. God, I love you. Shit.” His fingers are scrabbling at the bed spread and reaching up and touching Derek and then back down to the bed again like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. It’s a weird feeling, Derek knows. Hard to prepare for completely, but Stiles is doing so much better than Derek did the first time he did this.

“You okay?” Derek asks, staying still and waiting for Stiles to be comfortable.

Stiles shifts around a bit and gives Derek a little smile. “Yeah. You can— you know, do stuff.”

Derek chuckles. “Moving okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says and runs his fingers down Derek’s arms. “Move.”

Derek obliges on a deliberate stroke almost all the way back out and then in again, slow and smooth.

“Jesus,” Stiles says under his breath, a low whine.

“Derek,” Derek corrects with a smirk.

Stiles rolls his eyes.

Derek laughs and thrusts harder, earning a punched out string of swear words from Stiles. It’s been awhile since he’s had sex. He wasn’t really in much of a sex head space after what happened with Jennifer. But everything is heightened with Stiles and so much better than he ever remembers it being before. He forgot about the tight, perfect heat and the feeling of being sheathed in another person, of the intimacy and closeness. He concentrates on hitting the spot that seems to make Stiles keen, tries not to bust too early from the look on Stiles’ face or the sound of his moans.

Stiles erection flagged during the first couple of minutes of adjustment, but now it’s back and straining against his stomach, purple and somewhat painful looking. He grabs onto it and squeezes.

Derek leans over and kisses him, a swell of affection in need of escape. “Love you.”

Stiles smiles. “Yeah ya do,” he says and then moans as Derek strokes into him at just the right angle. “Oh fuck, baby.”

Derek didn’t think he’d want to be anybody’s baby, and would’ve possibly made fun of Stiles if he’d tried it out at any other time. But right now, in the moment, it just makes his heart twist.

“I’m not—” Stiles says and then his head flops back as he works himself vigorously. “I’m gonna, oh shit, Derek. Fuck,” he says and then he comes, striping his stomach.

The face he makes and the sounds that come out of him push Derek even closer, as does the involuntary clench his orgasm gives Derek’s penis.

“Come on,” Stiles encourages, sweaty and breathless. “Come in me.”

Oh fuck, that’s hot. Derek whines and feels it building from his toes up into his legs and then he’s spilling inside Stiles. His wolf howling with the satisfaction of filling Stiles with his come.

Stiles moans again and reaches out for Derek as he thrusts with the last of his orgasm. “Oh shit that feels weird.”

Derek smiles, uncharacteristically out of breath. He slowly pulls out and watches in an embarrassing amount of satisfaction at the white trail that dribbles out of Stiles.

Stiles makes a face at the sensation, but smiles as Derek stares in wonder.

“I should’ve known you’d like that,” he says and pulls Derek closer, kissing him hard. “Was it good?” he asks pulling back slightly, biting his bottom lip.

Derek nods. “Yeah. Really good.” He’s surprised Stiles has to ask. “For— for you?”

Stiles lips form a slow grin. “Yeah. Of course I don’t have anything to compare it to, in the dick/ass sex genre—”

Derek bites his neck playfully earning a laugh. When he pulls back again Stiles is smiling softly at him. He swallows and turns his head to the side, looking away.

“What?” Derek asks, concern heightened by the contemplative scent Stiles is suddenly giving off.

Stiles swallows again and when he turns back his eyes are shining. Derek rubs at the corner of Stiles’ eyes with his thumbs.

“What?” he asks again.

Stiles bites his lip and shakes his head. “Sorry.”

Derek furrows his brow, worried he’s missed something that upset Stiles. “Are you hurt? Did I—”

“No,” Stiles says and grabs onto Derek’s wrist where his hands are still on Stiles’ face. “Just feeling overwhelmed maybe. It’s a lot.”

Derek smiles hesitantly.

“Last time I had sex I thought I was going to die, thought maybe I was going out of my mind. It was— it wasn’t this.”

Derek feels a flash of anger, a sympathetic surge for Stiles alone in Eichen House, scared and confused.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “But this— it’s. It’s good.” His smile wobbles a little, but his scent is sweeter.

Derek is overwhelmed by how much of Stiles he’s allowed to see. He gets the jokes, the Business Time references, the exaggerated smarmy winks. And he gets the vulnerability, the tears, the raw emotion. He’s never had all of someone before, never wanted it. He never knew it could feel like this. Never knew how deep his affection would run, how deeply protective he would feel.

He stares down at Stiles, unsure how to articulate all of that. So he kisses him, just a gentle press of lips.

“I love you,” Derek says softly when he breaks the kiss.

Stiles nods, a little of his usual bravado returning. “You gave me the business,” he says, smirking.

Derek huffs a laugh and rests his forehead on Stiles’ shoulder.

**

Derek wakes up slowly the next morning. Stiles is pressed along his side as a sweaty, hot mass. His mouth is hanging open, a little bit of drool pooling on his pillow, and when Derek slides his hand along Stiles’ waist he snuffles and mumbles something incomprehensible.

Derek grins and kisses his forehead.

“Don’ go,” Stiles mumbles and shifts impossibly closer. His voice is a croak, and he doesn’t even open his eyes. Derek’s not completely sure he’s actually awake.

“I’m not,” Derek says and rubs his hand along Stiles’ back. He was thinking of getting up and running, but Stiles in a warm bed is hard to leave.

Stiles hums and makes a clumsy sort of kissing face, like he’s hoping he’ll magically collide with Derek eventually.

Derek chuckles and closes the distance between them and kisses Stiles. “You’re asleep.”

“Nuh uh,” Stiles insists, eyes still closed.

Derek rolls his eyes, but rearranges them so Stiles is the little spoon and Derek is curled around behind him. He strokes a hand along Stiles’ bare thigh and then wraps it loosely around Stiles’ dick.

“Mmm,” Stiles murmurs.

Derek kisses his neck, dragging his teeth back up the path he just made with his lips. He starts a slow slide up and down Stiles’ dick.

Stiles smiles and turns his neck a little so he can see Derek’s face, eyes half lidded. “Hi,” he croaks and kisses Derek, stale morning breath and all.

They make out and when Stiles comes, he returns the favor for Derek, fully awake by then so there’s an uptake in conversation.

Derek comes and is lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling and breathing heavily when Stiles flops down on top of him.

“Let’s have a naked day,” Stiles suggests and bites Derek’s pec.

Derek smiles and grabs Stiles’ ass. “We’re going to Eunice’s tonight.”

“Well, okay,” Stiles says. “Until then.”

Derek squeezes Stiles’ ass. “Okay. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Not oatmeal,” Stiles says and props his chin up on his fist on Derek’s chest.

“Pancakes and bacon?”

Stiles grins. “Perfect.”

**

Derek has no problem being naked, so he stays that way a lot longer than Stiles. Derek makes them breakfast and they eat it in bed while watching things on Netflix. Stiles pulls on a pair of sweatpants when he gets up to get something downstairs.

“Oh, so naked day is over?” Derek teases as Stiles leaves the room.

Stiles pokes his head back in and sticks out his tongue.

“Naked day is just naked Derek day, isn’t it?” Derek hollers as Stiles pads down the stairs.

Stiles bursts back into the room a half a minute later, carrying his backpack. “Every day should be naked Derek day. Let’s be real.”

Derek rolls his eyes and pulls Stiles down onto the bed.

They spend the rest of the day that way. Derek reads his book while Stiles does a little homework. Derek stays mostly naked, and Stiles leaves his sweatpants on “because it seems weird to study World War II with my junk hanging out.”

They shower late afternoon and put on clothes to go to Eunice’s house for Stiles’ late birthday party.

The theme of the evening is apparently Stiles’ Favorite Things. The table is decorated with disconcerting cut outs of Derek’s head on popsicle sticks poking out of the various foods and bowls of candy, along with pictures of Stiles’ favorite superheroes, Star Wars characters, a picture of Maureen that Derek is pretty sure she added herself. There’s a banner of pictures of plaid flannel shirts with Happy Birthday spelled out, a letter per shirt. There’s Mountain Dew and curly fries and even a bowl of corn nuts because Eunice’s hobby is teasing Derek. There are vases full of red vines and pixie sticks. It’s kind of overwhelming, and it clearly took a lot of time and effort.

Stiles’ eyes widen when he sees the dining room, and that Eunice and Maureen are both wearing plaid flannel shirts and Paul and Dorothy have on superhero t-shirts.

“Holy shit,” Stiles says reverently as he surveys the scene.

He’s rarely completely silent unless he’s surprised, and he doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“This— this is—“ he swallows and grins at Eunice. “You rock.”

Eunice laughs lightly and grabs his face and kisses him square on the lips. “You only turn 18 once,” she says. She hands him a Mountain Dew and pushes him further into the room, where he gets snagged by Maureen and they move on into the living room.

“I think he likes it,” Derek says to Eunice. He feels a little emotional, and he’s not sure why.

“He deserves to feel special,” she says and squeezes Derek’s arm. “I know he already had a party back home, and you’ve probably found all sorts of ways to celebrate together—” there’s a disturbing smirk Derek ignores— “but we wanted to do something for him too. It was a group effort.”

Derek nods. “Well,” he says awkwardly. “Thank you.”

Eunice kisses his cheek quickly. “Go save him from Maureen.”

Derek smiles and complies. There’s a whole group in the living room. There are people from the library and the book club that Derek thinks Stiles has only met a couple of times. But clearly it’s an excuse to have a party, and in a quiet town that usually draws a crowd.

“Any more nightmares?” Maureen is asking him quietly when Derek approaches.

“Not really,” Stiles says. “A few bad dreams once in awhile, but nothing like before. I think what we did worked.”

“Good,” she says with a smile. “I’ve researched a few more spells we could try if that stops working, and I think when you go to college we should ward your dorm.”

Stiles nods. “Yeah okay. Thanks.”

“Any excuse to get in your bedroom,” Maureen says with an exaggerated wink.

Stiles groans. “I should’ve known. Save me Derek!” He leans against Derek and slips their fingers together.

As much as a party can be a good party, Derek enjoys Eunice’s tribute to Stiles’ favorite things. It’s slightly embarrassing that he’s the focus of a lot of the decor, but Stiles keeps cackling and nudging Derek when he comes across another “Eunice surprises Derek in the library” picture poking out of the bowl of Chex mix.

Later, after a few of the guests have trickled out, Eunice insists she wants to play the “human game” and so Stiles indulges her by helping to open the brand new Cards Against Humanity box. He hands her the rules.

“Oh honey,” Eunice says almost immediately. “If we have to remember when the last time we pooped was to start this game, I think the elderly are screwed.”

Stiles laughs loudly and takes the rules from Eunice and explains the basic premise of the game to everyone, dealing each player ten cards and showing everyone a couple of examples of how a round could go. It takes a few tries for it to click with everyone, but by the time the game ends, everyone is laughing and shouting over each other.

The house is noisy and joyful and it feels like family to Derek. Like pack, even. A year ago he wouldn’t have imagined he’d find a place with a group of people his grandparents’ age in a tiny town on the coast in northern California, yet he’s here, settled, thinking about maybe buying a house and making it official.

“I want to keep the decorations,” Stiles tells Eunice as they help her clean up after most of the group has gone.

Eunice smiles. “Sure thing, sugar. Leave me a couple of the Derek popsicle sticks, though. I want to stick them in the plants at the library.”

Stiles grins. “Obviously,” he says and gives her a tight hug.

She sends them home with a bag of her homemade Chex mix and several pieces of cake.

Stiles is quiet on the way home, and doesn’t break the silence until they’re climbing into bed and setting their phones on the night tables and taking off their shirts.

“That was—“ Stiles starts and then swallows. “I can’t believe they did all of that for me.”

Derek turns onto his side and rests his head on his arm. “She’s been planning that for weeks.”

Stiles nods and is quiet again for several moments. “It was just me and Scott for so long,” he says finally. “People tolerated me because they liked Scott. We were a package deal. Everyone— I talked too much and pushed too hard, and Scott was the only one who could take it.”

Derek smiles and strokes his fingers down Stiles’ arm. He doesn’t know what to say. That’s how he treated Stiles at the beginning too. He was always making jokes and needling Derek in life or death situations and Derek didn’t know how to handle someone who didn’t seem to take anything seriously.

Except he’s learned that isn’t why Stiles does that. It’s a defensive mechanism, a way to keep people from noticing his fear.

Stiles watches Derek, big eyes focused on him, searching for something. “And now there’s you,” Stiles says finally. “And all of them,” he says and gestures expansively toward the direction of the town. “Makes me think maybe I’ll be okay when I go to Berkeley in the fall. Maybe I’ll even make some friends.”

Derek leans closer and kisses him. “You have more than just Scott back home, though.”

“Now I do,” Stiles agrees and stays close to Derek. “But Eunice and all of them, they’re friends I made because of me. Not because we all fight evil in the evil things hub of California.”

“But that’s how most people make friends,” Derek counters. “That’s the equivalent of making workplace friends. Eunice is my workplace friend. People rarely walk up to each other and just go, ‘hey, saw you across the room. We should be friends.’”

“Ha,” Stiles says and huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Relationships change,” Derek adds. “We started out as—” he rolls his eyes but says it anyway— “fellow fighters of evil things in the evil things hub of California. And now—”

“And now we touch our underwear places together,” Stiles finishes with a smirk.

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m going to ban dick touching if you don’t stop calling it that.”

“You lie,” Stiles says and scoots closer. “You totes want to touch me in my private underwear place too much to cut me off.”

Derek shakes his head and tries to appear resolute. “My point,” he says imperiously, “is. My point is, we may have started out as people fighting the same battle, and that’s all we were. But things change. We became friends and now,” he says and stops. “And now.”

Stiles smile spreads. “Yeah,” he says softly and presses his lips to Derek’s gently.

Derek swallows. “I love you.”

“I know,” Stiles says, smirk firmly attached.

Derek laughs softly and rolls his eyes.

**

About 7 Months Later…

“I’m here,” Stiles calls out as the door slams.

Derek smiles and continues chopping onions.

Stiles keeps talking as he moves through the house, dropping his bag and coat as he goes. Derek can’t hear everything he’s saying but it’s something about his Psychology class and a paper he managed to turn in two minutes before it would’ve been late.

“There you are,” Stiles says when he finally sees Derek. “Onions,” he adds wrinkling his nose. “Sexy.”

Derek laughs. “Tacos tonight.”

“Awesome,” Stiles says and kisses Derek’s neck, crowding close.

“Eunice and Stan are coming over too,” Derek reminds him, because Stiles’ hand has traveled lower.

Stiles groans and playfully bites Derek’s neck. “Eunice is such a cock block.”

Derek scrapes the chopped onions into a bowl. “Stan has a house he wants to show us tomorrow.”

“On the water?” Stiles asks, jumping up to sit on the edge of the counter.

“Yep. A little north of here.”

“Stats?”

“Three bedroom, three bath, a study, big living room, nice kitchen.”

Stiles grins and steals a chip. “Outdoor space?”

“A deck,” Derek says and eats the chip Stiles holds out for him.

“How much?”

“A lot.”

“I just like hearing you say it. It’s like a very particular sort of porn.”

Derek washes a tomato and grabs a serrated knife and rolls his eyes. He points to his laptop on the counter. “The listing is open.”

Stiles grabs the laptop. “Damn,” he says with a low whistle, reading the page.

“You knew my price range,” Derek grouses. Stiles is teasing him, but it’s still somewhat embarrassing. He’s just recently felt comfortable spending his inheritance.

Stiles tucks his foot around Derek’s thigh and attempts to pull him closer. He cups Derek’s hips when he’s near enough. “I just like that you’re buying something you want. It’s good,” he says and leans further in. “Kiss me. I missed you.”

Derek keeps his lips just out of reach. “Maybe you just want me for my money.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Look, mister. I’ve been jerking off to thoughts of you since back before I knew if you had indoor plumbing and was completely mystified by how you smelled so good all the time when you may or may not have bathed regularly.”

Derek smiles. “Your shower when you were at school,” he says and then presses his lips against Stiles’.

“Mmuh mmmew mit!” he says, muffled against Derek. “I knew it,” he clarifies as he pulls away. “Busted.”

“Not busted if I have to tell you I did it,” Derek says and goes back to his tomato chopping. “Can you set the table? They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“It’s just Eunice,” Stiles says dismissively. “She doesn’t care.”

“Eunice and Stan,” Derek reminds him. “And probably Gawain.”

“Stan needs to get used to how we operate if he’s going to be part of the inner circle,” Stiles says, but hops off the counter anyway. “This is a grab your own plate out of the cupboard kind of household!”

“This might be,” Derek says and gestures around the small cottage. “But if I spend millions on a beachfront home things might change.”

Stiles sighs dramatically. “I knew money would change you.”

Derek laughs as the doorbell rings.

Stiles runs to answer as Derek finishes the chopping. He hears Stiles hugging Eunice and making semi-awkward chit chat with Stan, who Stiles has only met a couple of times prior, in the library and on a previous visit home when he went with Derek to meet Stan at a house showing 45 minutes south of town.

They appear in the kitchen a few minutes later, Stiles carrying Gawain in his arms. Derek shakes Stan’s hand and gives Eunice a kiss on the cheek.

“Beer? Or I made a pitcher of margaritas,” Derek offers as he wipes his hands on a towel. He puts out the salsa and guacamole along with chips and sets a water bowl down on the floor for the dog.

“I never turn down a margarita,” Eunice says while Stan settles for a beer.

It’s a good evening after a few awkward moments at the beginning where no one is quite sure of their new dynamic. Stan’s a stoic guy. It’s one of the reasons Derek chose him as his realtor. They can drive from house to house without feeling like they have to talk at all.

But Stiles is a nervous chatterer, so he seeks to fill the empty conversational spaces with jokes that are more awkward as his discomfort grows.

By the time they’ve finished their tacos and are playing cards, though, things have loosened up a bit. Stan mentions his son went to Berkeley which piques Stiles’ interest, and then they’re talking about favorite Berkeley restaurants and the best routes to get out of town without getting stuck in traffic.

Eunice teaches them a new game. Usually when Derek plays cards with Eunice’s group they play Hand and Foot because it’s a good game for a group, but they learn how to play Whist instead.

“So do you want to meet at that house tomorrow, then?” Stan asks as he and Eunice are leaving.

Derek nods. “Yes. Thank you. 1:00?”

“Works for me,” Stan says, passing Eunice the dog before he shakes Derek’s hand and then Stiles’. “Thank you for the invitation tonight.”

Derek smiles at the formality. “We’re glad you could come.”

Eunice hangs back briefly as Stiles is walking Stan to the door. “Thanks, sugar,” she says sincerely and squeezes his arm. “Will you be around for Thanksgiving?” The dog looks at him from Eunice’s arms like he’s been wondering too.

He scratches Gawain under the chin. “We’re going to Beacon Hills,” Derek says, still getting used to the idea of negotiating holidays with someone.

“As you should,” Eunice says decisively. “I’ll save you a turkey sandwich.”

Derek smiles. “You bringing me lunch?”

Eunice laughs brightly and Gawain licks her cheek. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I know better than that,” Derek says as they move toward the door where Stiles and Stan have paused to wait for them. “See you Monday.”

Eunice passes Stan the dog and then gives Stiles a tight hug and whispers something in his ear before kissing him on the cheek. “Don’t wear Derek out, now,” she says over her shoulder as they walk to their car. “He gets moony-eyed and distracted after you’re in town, and I need him sharp.”

Stan groans and shakes his head.

Stiles laughs, head thrown back. “No promises,” he says and squeezes Derek’s ass exaggeratedly. “Gotta fit a whole week’s worth of lovin’ into one weekend.”

Derek and Stan exchange sympathetic grimaces as their oversharing significant others continue to banter about Derek and Stiles’ sex life.

Once the car has finally pulled away, Stiles grabs Derek’s hand and pulls him toward the house. “To the bedroom!”

“The kitchen still needs to be cleaned up—”

“Ugh. Leave it.”

“Are you going to clean it up tomorrow? Because the taco meat’s gonna be crusted on the pan.”

“Fine,” Stiles says dramatically. “Now c’mon. Tonight we’re gonna make love, you know how I know?” he quotes an unfortunately familiar refrain. “Because it’s Friday, and Friday night is the night we usually make love. Aww yeah. It’s business time, baby.” And then he proceeds to break into a loud version of the song, doing a weird shuffle dance as he backs toward the stairs, complete with lower lip biting and an exaggerated eye brow wiggle.

It shouldn’t be sexy or endearing, but improbably it is. “Improbably Sexy and Endearing” could be the title of their relationship thesis, Derek thinks as he follows Stiles up the stairs.

Stiles is still singing about how brushing their teeth is part of foreplay as he heads into the bathroom to do just that.

Once Stiles has climbed into bed, Derek takes off his shirt and pants. “Next thing you know I’m wearing absolutely nothing except for my socks. And you know when I’m down to just my socks what time it is.”

Stiles looks up from his phone, eyebrows raised, smile growing. “It’s business time!” he finishes. “Look at you playing along. Get over here.”

Derek smiles and gets into the bed next to Stiles. “Okay but none of this only making love for two minutes nonsense.”

Stiles pulls his shirt over his head and throws it on the floor. “Oh fuck no,” he murmurs against Derek’s lips. “We’re actually good at this. Sorry Jemaine.”

Derek flips the light off and then pulls Stiles on top of him. “This week went okay though?”

Stiles nods. “Project completed and turned in. The next few weeks are gonna suck until exams though. I probably won’t be able to come next weekend.”

Derek nods. “’s okay,” he says and kisses Stiles. They’ve done pretty well with the distance. They fought at first because Derek had a hard time accepting that Stiles really wanted to come visit as much as he insisted he did. But now he tries to take Stiles at his word about knowing what he needs and wants. “I could come over to Berkeley for a night or something, if you have time.”

Stiles grins. “We could do dinner Friday night. I’ll need to study most of the day Saturday though, and I have a group thing Sunday morning. I hate group projects. Have I mentioned that?”

“You have. Repeatedly.”

“I hate group projects,” Stiles says again and kisses Derek, sliding his lips down his jaw. “And you’re okay going to Beacon Hills for Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “Your dad and Scott would be disappointed if we didn’t.”

“Thanks, baby,” Stiles says quietly, the nickname twisting Derek’s stomach like it always does. “And Christmas? I was thinking I’d like to be in Beacon Hills that first week. With you, if you’re okay with that. And then come back here for the rest? New Year’s and stuff?”

Derek smiles and nods once. He’d go anywhere for Stiles is the thing. He’s still not great at articulating that. But he hopes he’s gotten better at showing it.

“Ring in the new year with the olds?” Stiles asks. “Maybe in a new house?”

Derek swallows. “Yes to the olds. Maybe to the new house. We’ll see after tomorrow.”

Stiles smiles and kisses him again.

Derek has a good feeling about the house. He’s looked at enough so far to know what he does and doesn’t want, and this one seems like a good combination of space and location with a need for minimal updates. He doesn’t mind a few projects, but he doesn’t want to gut and redo an entire kitchen or add an entire bathroom.

He wants Stiles to like it, too. Because even though they’re still a long way from talking about forever, Derek has a good feeling about their chances. Things aren’t perfect, but nothing ever is. Derek’s proud of how they’ve managed to negotiate the boundaries of their relationship and while they fight sometimes, they’ve gotten better at fighting fair and learning about each other in the aftermath.

“I love you,” Stiles says softly, almost like he can read Derek’s mind. He’s looking down at Derek, face open and full of affection, and Derek’s heart is full.

“You too,” Derek murmurs, leaning up to kiss Stiles.

“Now,” Stiles says, pulling away slightly. “I think someone promised someone else business time. And baby, I would like to give you the business.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I guess business time is better than talk of rubbing our underwear places together.”

Stiles grins. “Growth. For both of us.”

Derek huffs a laugh and pulls Stiles closer.