Archive of Our Own

There’s a beautiful beach right there in front of them, yet Stiles can’t help being envious of the people around him checking their phones. He must be obvious about it because it earns him a good-natured shove.

“Come on! Let go a little, we’re in Hawaii!” Rick says brightly, making a grand gesture to encompass the palm trees, the sun, the gorgeous blue sky and everything else that makes the place awesome.

“I know,” Stiles says, shoving back, but his heart’s not in it. Usually, Rick is just as surgically attached to his phone as everyone else Stiles knows, and his sudden electronic independence is a bummer.

Stiles hates not being immediately reachable if something happens in Beacon Hills. Not that he could necessarily do anything about it, being 2,400 miles away and all, but he did help remotely while in Berkeley, more than once. Being on speed-dial if the pack needs something is Stiles’ role. And he’s good at it.

Rick’s dad is filthy rich and he gave his only son an all expenses paid trip to Hawaii for two when he turned twenty-one. They’ve been friends for three years now, starting as lab partners to end up roommates, and Stiles should be grateful for the chance to be here for free and stop worrying about what’s happening at home.

The beach is crowded, but they do manage to find a nice spot for their towels. Once base camp is set up, Stiles wonders if he should go in the water now or sunbathe first. It’s a nice dilemma to have.

“Look, there’s beach volleyball,” Rick says, pointing a little way down the beach.

“Wanna go watch them play?” Ogling good-looking people being athletic is also a nice option.

“Sure,” Rick says, already bounding over. Stiles tends to be drawn to people manifesting puppy behaviour, he has accepted it by now.

As they walk closer to the game, Stiles can’t help but stare at one of the girls who’s playing with her back to them. Long brown hair in a braid, petite but incredibly toned, she’s easily the best player. He feels unsettled, the spark tingling under his skin and, yeah, it figures he'd run into supernatural beings in Hawaii. He’ll have to proceed with caution to avoid being detected himself. As he stops by Rick’s side, the girl he suspects to be more than she seems smashes a ball hard into the face of one of her opponents, and then laughs when it gives her team the point and the game. She hi-fives the blonde she’s playing with and Stiles barely restrains a gasp when he sees her profile. Could it be --?

“What a babe!” Rick says, obviously smitten. He’s a great guy, and reasonably attractive too, but he tends to fall for girls out of his league every other day. It's not that Stiles doesn't understand – he does have a similar history - but his crushes are generally on the long-term scale while Rick is more of a butterfly.

The girl hears Rick, of course, and when she turns fully towards them, she’s raising an eyebrow the way the Hales do best.

“I’d avoid saying that in her general vicinity,” Stiles says, a bit numb to have unexpectedly ended up face to face with Cora Hale. In Hawaii, of all places.

It’s been five years since the Hales left Beacon Hills. Stiles had no idea whether they were even still alive.

Cora’s smirk aimed at Rick turns into a real smile when she recognizes Stiles, and after a word to her friend, she comes over.

“Look who the cat dragged in,” she says with a drawl and Stiles laughs, relieved that she's greeting him with a smile instead of a scowl.

He’d never had the chance to get to know her, really. They’d met through horrendous circumstances, shared traumatic events and then the Hales had left without even saying goodbye, apart from a quick word to Scott. He's not going to lie, it had hurt, mostly because Stiles was more than a little infatuated with Derek at the time. Later, he'd understood that Jennifer turning out to be the Darach, plus Derek being demoted to Beta had been the last straw for them, and that leaving was probably for the best. The closet romantic in Stiles had thought about them (him) a lot, though, and hoped for years that Derek would stroll back into town.

“Hey, Cora. Long time no see.”

“You know each other?” Rick looks disbelieving as they share a slightly awkward hug. Stiles never knows where to put his hands, especially when a girl he barely knows is wearing only a small black bikini.

“Yeah, we’re from the same small town,” Cora says.

“Cool,” Rick says, though he has his confused face on. He's probably wondering if he has more or less chance with Cora now.

From the moment he saw her, Stiles immediately wondered about Derek. He can’t help but to look around for tall, dark and glowering. “Is your brother in Hawaii too?”

Her smile widens. “Yeah, he’s here, but he’s working right now.”

Before he can wonder where Derek could be working –and since when does Derek work, anyway - she points at the lifeguard chair.

Stiles starts laughing. “Derek’s a lifeguard?”

“A lifeguard,” she confirms, deadpan.

“Man, I’ve got to go annoy him. Right now,” Stiles declares. So this is happening, Derek is right here on this beach and the prospect of seeing him again makes Stiles almost giddy.

“I expect nothing less from you,” Cora grins. “Go, he’ll be happy to see you.” She turns to Rick. “So, what’s your name, cutie?”

Stiles leaves a beaming Rick with Cora but as he walks toward the lifeguard chair he gets nervous. What if Derek isn’t happy to see him at all, and meeting Stiles again just brings back horrible memories? Also, he can see Derek now, up there on his chair, and he’s just as gorgeous as Stiles remembers. Frankly, he’d started to believe that his sixteen year old self had, maybe, embellished his memories over time.

Stiles stops ten feet from Derek’s station, puts his hands on his hips in a desperate attempt at casual – his palms are sweaty, it's terrible - and then calls out, “I’m wondering… Would it be horribly cliché of me to chat up the lifeguard?”

Derek immediately zones in on him; a light frown that turns briefly into shock before morphing into a genuine smile. The way it changes his whole face is spectacular, enough to make Stiles’ heart beat faster. Oh, he's seen Derek smile before, but never like this. If he looks this happy to see him, it must mean he didn't stay away all that time because he hated them, after all.

“I’ll be damned,” Derek says, still smiling. “Stiles Stilinski.”

Stiles curtsies. “The one and only.”

Derek darts looks around, curious. “Are you alone?”

“No, but not with anyone you know. Just me and Rick,” Stiles says, looking towards the volleyball court where Cora has roped Rick into playing with her. Just then Rick dives in the sand and misses his shot, making Stiles grimace. Yep, no werewolf grace there.

“Where are you guys staying?” Derek asks.

Stiles gestures towards the hotel. “The Hilton. We arrived today.”

“I can see that,” Derek says, managing to convey with his eyebrows that it’s obvious by their somewhat pasty, white skin (the labs; Stiles chooses to blame the labs for everything).

Derek suddenly turns towards the ocean, body tense, and Stiles wonders what he heard. There are a lot of people in the water but Stiles doesn’t see anyone clearly in trouble. Thankfully, Derek relaxes almost immediately but when he looks back at Stiles he’s not smiling so widely anymore.

“I’m sorry, but it's a crazy day. Lots of kids aren't watched properly.”

“Of course, sorry I distracted you,” Stiles says, heart sinking.

Derek’s eye-roll is achingly familiar, even though Stiles hasn’t seen it in half a decade.

“Nothing new there.” Derek breathes in deep and Stiles almost expects a ‘well, it’s been cool, have fun in Hawaii, say hi to Scott from me’, but what he actually says, if a bit hesitantly, is: “Maybe... I mean if you want, we could have a drink at the Hilton's lobby bar tonight? You are old enough to drink, right?”

The relief that Derek wants to catch up as much as he does is heady. That the offer to meet later comes from him is even better.

“I am!” Stiles agrees with a double thumbs up. Way cool, Stilinski. “What about at nine? Is that too early?”

“Nine is great,” Derek says, smiling again. Good lord, Stiles’ heart is doing weird things. He needs to get that under control.

“See you later, then!” Stiles says with a small wave, and before he makes a fool out of himself and climbs the chair, he runs back to Rick.

Holy shit. Derek Hale. Who is now a lifeguard? Stiles hates not having his phone on him even more, since he can't take a picture for posterity. He's definitely bringing it tomorrow.

***

“This is an utter disaster,” Stiles grumbles as he rifles through his suitcase . Every t-shirt he brought screams 'I'm a moron college student, ask me how!'

"I don't get it," Rick says, draining his fourth beer. They filled the mini fridge earlier, because they are college students after all.

"Of course you don't get it!" Stiles replies as he finishes his own.

"You haven't seen the guy in a while, so what?"

"It's Derek Hale," Stiles says, windmilling a little. "Also known as one of my most persistent spank bank heroes! I don't want to look like a moron."

Rick's face scrunches. "I'm not sure I wanted to know that."

"Did you see him at all? I mean Cora is gorgeous, I’m sure you noticed, but Derek? That's a 97th percentile at least."

"Okay, so maybe he was drawing attention on the beach," Rick admits. "And yeah, sure, I get that in theory the dude's good looking."

"D'oh!" Stiles sits down on his bed and kicks at the suitcase. He just wants to make a good impression, show that he's not sixteen years old anymore. Doesn’t everyone have a fantasy where, years later and having grown into their potential, they see their former high school crush and make them regret not liking them back at the time?

"There’s nothing wrong with your clothes. But if you want, take one of my shirts."

"Thanks, man, it's appreciated," Stiles says, immediately going to the dresser where Rick unpacked.

Most of his things are brands that scream 'I’m a rich white boy', but they look good. He chooses a plain blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt, and if it's a bit tighter than Stiles usually wears, especially at the shoulders, it still fits him.

A bit later, Rick leans on the bathroom's doorframe as Stiles is desperately trying to fix his hair. "Weren't you supposed to meet your guy at 9?"

Stiles' stomach drops when Rick holds up his phone and it's five to nine.

"Shit!"

"Come on, let's go," Rick says, giving Stiles his wallet and one of the keycards when he almost leaves without them.

It's in the elevator - that stops way too often, it's infuriating – that Stiles realizes Rick is tagging along. He loves the guy like a brother, but he was really looking forward to catching up with Derek; that means talking pack, and Rick is still in the dark about the supernatural.

"Don't take it badly," Stiles says. "But you are not invited."

Rick laughs. "Oh, I know. I'm going to say hi, and then I’ll check out the pool bar. No way I'm staying in like a loser on my first night in Hawaii."

A thought dawns on Stiles. "You're hoping Cora will be there, aren't you?"

The reddening of Rick's ears is a total giveaway, but before he can confirm or deny, they're finally in the lobby. Teasing forgotten, Stiles hurries towards the bar, Rick on his heels.

"Geez, relax! You're five minutes late," Rick says.

Stiles wishes he could calm down, because his heart is hammering and Derek is bound to notice. On the other hand, getting there in a hurry gives Stiles plausible deniability that it's because he's stressed from being late instead of being pathetically affected because he's seeing his long lost crush again.

Derek is leaning on one of the bar’s high chairs and chatting with the barmaid, a gorgeous brunette who is eating him up with her eyes. And who could blame her? Derek still favors painted on jeans and he’s wearing a tight black short-sleeved button-down shirt that does wonders for his shoulders and arms. Stiles has seen Derek flirt before, or, to be exact, he's seen Derek use his looks to charm, but it was always with purpose. Right now he's simply a very good-looking man having a pleasant conversation, or so it seems, relaxed and at ease. It's a sight to behold, and Stiles is mesmerized until Rick speaks up.

"Well, damn. Okay, I get it," he says and Stiles laughs because of course Derek has the potential to sway one of the straightest guys he’s ever known.

Derek turns towards his laugh with a smile and it's a punch to the gut again, how gorgeous he is. Derek's expression dims a little when he sees Rick by his side and Stiles vows to get rid of him ASAP.

When they reach the bar, Derek offers his hand to Rick.

"Hi, I'm Derek," he says and Rick shakes his hand enthusiastically.

"Rick," he answers with a smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Same," Derek says and when he offers his hand to Stiles next, it won't do.

Fuck it, Stiles hasn't seen the guy in years. He’s pretty sure that he can get away with it, so instead of shaking hands he goes in for a hug. Almost without a pause, Derek hugs back tightly, and feeling him solid and warm in his arms makes the reunion suddenly real. Something Stiles isn’t sure how to name bubbles up in his chest and he’s hard pressed to let go of Derek at all. When he does he feels strangely off kilter, something at the core of him, that indefinable ‘spark’ that binds him to the pack, and home, screaming at him to hold on tight.

"Okay, so I'll leave you two to catch up," Rick says, looking amused. Stiles barely can take his eyes off Derek – who looks a little confused to be honest - to make shooing motions at Rick.

"Fine, see you later. Don't wait up."

"Bye," Derek says as Rick leaves after a squeeze to Stiles' shoulder. "He could have stayed to have a drink with us," he tells Stiles.

Stiles shrugs. "Nah, he'll be fine. He’s going to the pool bar. He'll probably get drunk and make a fool out of himself with the poor women there."

Derek frowns. "You don't mind?"

"Nah, I'm used to it," Stiles says. "It's just the way Rick is."

It's the first disapproving expression Stiles has seen on Derek's face today.

"Have you and Cora been in Hawaii for long?" Stiles takes the chair next to Derek’s, ready to steer the subject away from Rick.

It does bring Derek's attention back to him and he nods. "About a year. We moved a lot, before. It's been nice enough here."

"Only you would use 'nice enough' to describe Hawaii," Stiles jokes.

It makes Derek laugh, which is frankly earth-shattering. He has eye crinkles and laughs by throwing his head back, mouth wide open, and Stiles is insanely proud to have caused it (he's pretty sure Derek never laughed in Beacon Hills, not like that).

"True enough," he says, still grinning.

"And you thought: mmmm, let's put my super-senses to good use… Hey, why not become a lifeguard!" Stiles teases.

Derek shrugs. "Why not? It’s outside, beats getting dirty in an auto shop. It's a lot more boring than you'd think, though."

"The pretty girls must make up for it," Stiles says with a wink.

He doesn't expect to get a thorough once over for that.

"Some days," Derek answers, with a smirk. There's always been some kind of tension between them, and just like that the atmosphere is suddenly suggestively charged. Derek's never been this forward, which throws Stiles for a loop, but immediately Derek cuts his eyes away, gesturing to the barmaid. "What do you want?"

A big neon 'you' sign crosses Stiles' mind, blinking wildly. Since Derek is tilting his head towards the bar, Stiles answers the question as it was intended.

"Beer, a blond. Thanks."

Derek nods and orders for them, the lovely barmaid more than happy to serve him two Wailuas right away. It's clear as day that he could get her number, or leave with her at the end of the evening, and Derek is all smiles when he pays. The charming persona is great and looks good on Derek, but Stiles enjoys it more when it’s aimed at him. He isn’t proud of feeling jealous, but he’s also curious (and a masochist).

"So, does she have a chance?"

Derek almost chokes on his first mouthful of beer.

"Nah," he says, once he gets his composure back. "Pretty sure she hasn't killed anyone lately."

Stiles is shocked, but the wry comment still startles a laugh out of him. He should have appreciated Derek’s sense of humor more, back in the day. "Oh jeez, harsh. I've missed you, man."

It comes out against his better judgement, but it's one hundred percent true. Derek looks pleased, and his face softens.

"Same. To my utter surprise."

Stiles beams.

"What about you?" Derek asks. "How long have you been with Rick?"

Which, what?

"Rick?" Stiles says, confused.

"Blond guy, was here ten minutes ago?" Derek snarks.

"I'm not with Rick," Stiles says with a head shake.

Derek doesn't look convinced. "You smell like him."

Damn werewolves and their habit of sniffing people.

"Probably because I'm wearing his shirt. And we're roommates back in Berkeley, so we do spend a lot of time together," Stiles explains. "Rick is straight, and anyway, he's not my type."

"Oh," Derek says, and his attitude shifts. He's suddenly a bit closer, focused. "And what's your type?"

Okay, so this is getting intense fast, and Stiles' heart stutters. Derek is definitely his type, and right now it seems as though, if Stiles plays his cards right, he could fulfill some bucket list fantasies tonight. But there's also the chance that he’s just reading too much into things, and he'd prefer not to crash and burn.

"Unattainable people. I always had a thing for them. Remember Lydia?"

Derek nods. "How's she? And the others? Is everyone okay?"

The problem is that Derek might be asking the right questions, normal questions, but he’s moved closer still and is all but staring at Stiles mouth, waiting for the answers. Their thighs are brushing and he can't be unaware of how much it's affecting Stiles.

"She's in Boston, studying there. Being the best, of course. Scott works for Deaton, and Isaac's at Cal State Northridge, in marketing. Allison and Chris are still in Beacon Hills but the twins moved away a couple of years ago," Stiles babbles, and then takes a long gulp of his beer. He's not imagining how Derek follows the way he swallows, and it sends a shiver down his spine. Derek has to be very interested back.

"How's your Dad?" Derek asks, pressing his leg more firmly against Stiles’, who would not move away for the world. Oh my god, he’s going to spontaneously combust any second, this is definitely intense flirting.

"Great, he's doing great; married Melissa." Derek nods, looking pleased. But enough of him talking, Stiles wants to know more about Derek, too. "What about you?"

"Cora and I rent a small house. When I'm not working, I surf a lot."

And wow, that's a very nice mental image.

"Surfing, huh?" Stiles says. "Cool."

That earns him a smile. "I could teach you, if you want."

Stiles can't resist. "Private lessons?"

"If that's what you want," Derek easily answers, the rise of his eyebrows saying clearly that surfing lessons aren't the only thing offered.

Back in Beacon Hills, even with the biggest crush in the world and a feeling that Derek might not have turned him down, Stiles had never made a move because he instinctively knew that they'd burn hot but crash fast. Derek was too angry, riddled with so many issues, and Stiles had preferred pining from afar, building a long-term plan where he'd wait for the moment to be right. But then Derek had left, rendering those fantasies moot. This tanned, relaxed and smiling Derek? Is too good to resist, even if it's only to burn hot for a week in paradise and never see him again.

"What I want is to know what you're thinking right now," Stiles says, internally giving in.

Derek makes a pleased hum and he leans in, which allows him to murmur in Stiles' ear. "I'm thanking god you're not underage anymore."

"Jesus Fucking Christ," Stiles hisses before slamming his mouth on Derek's, who immediately pulls him closer, arm circling his waist.

Kissing Derek is overwhelming, full of intent and promise, and too soon Stiles has to break it or he'll climb Derek like a tree right there in the posh Hilton bar.

"My room?" he asks, hopeful. He needs this.

"Anywhere, as long as it's now," Derek says, still mouthing at Stiles' neck. It makes him weak in the knees.

It's in a daze that Stiles steers them both towards the elevators, and it's only because they share it with a little family - the dad carrying a sleeping girl in his arms would be incredibly cute any other time - that they don't make out all of the way up. Derek is holding Stiles' hand, though, caressing the back of it with his thumb rhythmically. They all get out on the same floor, so it's only after Stiles manages to open his door and get them inside that they can get back to the enthusiastic kissing.

"I want to blow you," Stiles pants against Derek's mouth, fingers clumsy on the tiny buttons of Derek's shirt.

Derek groans, kissing him again, only stopping to peel Stiles' shirt off. They haven't stopped moving and when the back of his calves touch the bed, Stiles sits down and noses at Derek's hard cock. His tight jeans don’t leave much to the imagination.

"Fuck," Derek curses, hurrying to open his button and fly as Stiles mouths at the material. "Jesus, Stiles, just let me…"

They do manage to push Derek's pants down - no underwear - and Stiles doesn't have the patience to tease, he wants him too much. Derek's bigger than average but not too hung, and Stiles takes him in his mouth immediately, hungry for the taste and the feel of him. Derek moans, fingers carding in Stiles' hair. It's like every fantasy Stiles has ever had coming true, and it makes him want this even more.

"So good," Derek says. "You're beautiful. Made for this. Yeah, that's it."

Stiles would have taken Derek for the silent type, but the dirty talk really works for him. It took time and dedication, but Stiles did manage to get rid of his gag reflex, so he takes Derek's cock steadily until he's got it all in his mouth and throat, making Derek curse. He pets Stiles' hair, and trails his fingers on the side of his face delicately.

When he speaks next, Derek's voice is pitched low, raw. "Of fucking course you deep throat, you fucker. I should have been the one teaching you that. I thought about it."

It makes Stiles keen, knowing he wasn't alone in his lust, that Derek wanted him too. He's close already, just from sucking Derek, but when he tries to unto his shorts Derek stops him.

"No, wait." He tilts Stiles' head up so their eyes meet. Derek looks wrecked, breathing hard, a heat in his eyes Stiles has never seen directed at him. "Can you wait? I'll take care of you."

How could he resist that? Stiles nods the best he can, then deliberately swallows around Derek, whose eyes almost roll back in pleasure.

"Fuck. I'm real close, I-"

Stiles wraps his hand around the back of Derek's thighs and groans, encouraging him to move.

"You sure?"

Well duh. Stiles looks up and rolls his eyes, grabbing Derek's ass to pull him again and Derek starts laughing, though he does finally pump his hips, taking what is offered.

"That's my Stiles," Derek says, looking so fond that Stiles can't look at him anymore or he'll come, untouched.

Stiles closes his eyes, relaxes his jaw and throat, and lets Derek do all the work. He basks in the feeling that he's pleasing Derek, who's starting to lose his rhythm and composure, using his mouth and enjoying it too. He's making the best sounds, and when Stiles feels he's just about to come, he takes a deep breath, grabs Derek's hips, goes down as far as he can, and then swallows until Derek goes over the edge with a shout.

Derek pulls off almost as soon as he's done and falls to his knees. He cradles Stiles' skull in his big hands and brings him into a kiss, thumbs rubbing soothingly at the hinges of his jaw. It feels great, even though he isn’t hurting too much, but the attention makes Stiles’ heart swoop.

"That was... so good," Derek whispers when he breaks the kiss, but it’s like he can’t stay away and he kisses him again, and again.

"Good," Stiles manages, voice scratchy when they finally separate. He wants Derek to remember this, remember him.

"What do you want?" Derek asks, working on Stiles' shorts. Just the brush of his fingers through the material makes Stiles buck, he wants to come so bad.

"Anything at all," he says, completely honest.

Derek kisses him again, and then manages to strip Stiles completely and get rid of his own pants in the process. He easily manhandles Stiles into the middle of the bed, then straddles Stiles' thighs and runs his hands across his shoulders, down his chest. Stiles pushes into the caresses, but Derek is a tease and won't touch him where he needs it the most.

"I knew you wanted me," Derek murmurs, as if he’s spilling a secret he's held for too long. "You smelled ready for sex all the time. It used to make me so angry."

That's disheartening, to say the least.

"Angry?" he asks, hurt.

"Yeah. Can you imagine wanting a sixteen year old kid?" Derek asks, one eyebrow rising.

Stiles thinks of Rick's cousin, who he saw at the airport just this morning, and can't help making a face (because, no).

"There you go. I was older than you are now, too," Derek says with a self-deprecating lift of an eyebrow and Stiles wants to wipe the expression off his face forever.

"Not fair! It wasn't the same. I wasn't a regular sixteen year old kid-"

"You were smart, infuriating, brave, and cute as hell, but still sixteen."

Stiles wants to protest some more on behalf of his younger self, but he gestures to showcase he's naked and hard (though less on edge after this almost boner-killing conversation).

"Okay, okay. And now I'm not anymore. Twenty-one, perfectly legal everywhere in the world."

Derek's expression turns, for a lack of a better term, wolfish. Fine, screw it. It's the best expression and Stiles likes the pun.

"Yes you are, but what did you want, back in Beacon Hills?" Derek asks. "Number one fantasy."

Stiles’ heart speeds up, because he has to lie: there’s no way he's confessing that he hoped Derek would fall madly in love with him. But being around werewolves for a long time means that Stiles developed skills to avoid pinging their built-in lie detectors. Derek asked specifically for a fantasy, Stiles will give him that.

"I'd jerk off imagining you were fucking me," he says and can see Derek's pupils dilate. It affects him, too. "Hard."

"Did you use your fingers?" Derek asks, a hand now between Stiles' legs.

He opens his thighs shamelessly to make space, then moans when there's a teasing touch around his hole. "Yeah."

Derek suddenly slides off the bed, to Stiles' chagrin, but everything is good because when he comes back he has the lube from Stiles' suitcase. He kneels between Stiles' legs, coating his fingers, and his next touch is firmer.

"How did that work for you?" Derek asks, bending down to nip at a hipbone, making Stiles jolt. Fuck, he's always loved biters.

"Jerking off to fantasies of you? I got off like a rocket, every time," Stiles admits, and he has to grip the sheets when Derek starts fingering him slowly. God, that feels amazing.

"Good," Derek says, kissing and biting across his stomach, with a pause to nose at his happy trail. He's so close to Stiles' dick but the bastard doesn't touch it. Stiles could cry in frustration.

"Still do, sometimes," he admits.

Derek stops and looks up at him, surprised. "Still?"

"You're that hot, dude," Stiles says, trying for levity. "Don't let it go to your head."

Derek laughs again, which makes Stiles realize just how screwed he is.

Words are harder, after that, because if Derek takes his sweet time to prep him, he does it while keeping Stiles right on the brink of coming without allowing it. While one hand is busy stretching Stiles' ass, he pinches and caresses all over with the other, learning both where he's ticklish and what makes him moan. Derek uses his mouth, too, though never on Stiles' cock because he's a sadist of the highest order. He also talks about how he's going to make this good, how beautiful Stiles is, how great he's taking it. By the time Derek deems him ready – which is a lie, he was good to go about two centuries ago, jeez – Stiles is desperate and cursing up a storm.

"Dammit! Come on, Hale!"

"Okay, fine," Derek says, looking way too smug. "How do you want me?"

Stiles shakes his head. "Oh, no no no! We're not just playing fulfill Stiles' fantasies. What about you? Ever thought about this?"

"Back then I'd mostly dream of shutting you up with my dick," Derek admits. "But later? Yeah."

"And?"

Derek takes his fingers out and climbs the bed to kiss Stiles deep and wet, pressing him down into the mattress. Their cocks are aligned and Stiles would move if he could, but he's pinned. He's rarely felt so safe, so good, the spark all but purring under his skin and all he can do to express it is loop his arms around Derek, hold him tight, and kiss back with all he has. Derek hugs him back, and suddenly the world is tilting. Using what is certainly an illegal ninja move, Derek flips them, laughing at Stiles' surprised face.

"Okay, so that was hot," Stiles admits. He loves it when Derek uses his extra strength.

"You riding me would be hotter," Derek replies with a roll of his hips.

"Agreed," Stiles says, hurrying into position. He grabs the lube, pours some on Derek, and then finally gets that pretty cock in him. And it feels amazing.

It seems their witty banter doesn't hold up when there's actual fucking going on, and that's perfectly fine. Stiles has no idea if this is the start of something or his only chance at sex with Derek, so he's going to make the most of it. Somehow, he manages to hold off coming as soon as he starts to move, which is frankly surprising considering how long he's been on edge. They soon find a rhythm that works wonders for them both, Derek rolling his hips in counterpoint to Stiles' movements.

Just when Stiles is foolish enough to think he could do this all night, Derek grabs Stiles’ dick to jack him off and he's suddenly seconds from coming.

"Oh god, oh god," Stiles groans, trying to fuck himself harder on Derek. "More."

Derek lets go of his cock, which Stiles didn't want at all, but it's only to grab his hips more firmly.

"Let me just," Derek is saying, bending his knees to plant his feet on the bed and suddenly it's on. He uses his hold on Stiles' hips to hold him in place and starts to fuck up into him fast and hard, enough to make Stiles see stars. Derek's like a jackhammer and Stiles somehow manages to close a fist on his own cock, desperately wanting the orgasm building in his gut.

"That's it, come on Stiles," Derek urges. "Come on me."

Stiles isn’t sure if Derek means to come on his dick or to spill on him - or both - but he's powerless to resist. Within half a dozen strokes, he’s coming, the sensation so intense he seizes all over before it rushes through him like a dam breaking. Derek fucks him through it and beyond, adding to the aftershocks and all but reducing him to an incoherent mess. Thankfully, before it becomes too much, Derek arches below him like a bow, crying out his release, and it's the most gorgeous sight Stiles has ever witnessed.

When Derek relaxes back into the bed Stiles flops down on him, absolutely unconcerned that they are drenched in sweat, lube and come. He has to get his breath back first, then (maybe) he'll care. Derek seems just as disinterested in moving, though he brings a hand to Stiles' head to scratch his scalp lightly. It better be the cleaner one, Stiles thinks, but he really doesn’t care for now because it feels wonderful.

"Well that's settled: A plus plus plus, would do again," Stiles declares, face smashed against Derek's throat. That was phenomenal.

"Yeah, anytime," Derek says after a huff of amusement.

Stiles somehow manages to push himself up with his elbows on each side of Derek's head and, god, it should be illegal to look so good. With a level of care that probably says more about his renewed attachment than it should, Stiles delicately kisses Derek's eyebrows, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, and then Derek captures his mouth, his kiss careful and sweet.

He really shouldn't, but what does he have to lose?

"I'm glad I found you, even if it was an accident," Stiles says.

"Me, too," Derek replies. He searches Stiles face for a long moment before speaking again. "I like it here -"

It's the worst feeling in the world to have your hopes immediately crushed. It must show because Derek squeezes his nape.

"Hey hey, stop with the face. I was saying that I like it here, but as I've been arguing with Cora, we need a pack. We made do for years, not quite betas or omegas, but it's not safe."

"Then come back," Stiles says with feeling. "I know that ‘Beacon Hills’ and ‘safe’ are words that don't go well together for you, but-"

"What about Scott?"

"He'd welcome you back with open arms." Stiles is convinced. It hasn't been easy, dealing with being an Alpha so fast plus the shit storm that hit once the Nematon was activated. Scott needs more wolves to hold Beacon Hills; they’ve been arguing about it a lot, and Derek and Cora could be a godsend.

"I'll ask Cora," Derek says, which is frankly more than Stiles hoped for.

He grins. "Yeah?"

Derek smiles back, pulls him down until their foreheads touch.

"Yes. I think I'm finally done running," he says, before kissing Stiles like a promise of much more to come.

.