Stiles is at the stupid hospital with his mom, waiting to get an EEG, because he had one little episode of zoning out where he was unresponsive for a few minutes. It's no big deal, his mom didn't have to freak out and take him to the fucking doctor!

Well, okay, it may have happened a couple times before, he's not really sure. But it's still not a big deal! He doesn't get why he has to be here. It was probably just a combination of sleep deprivation and overheating. Seriously. He's fine.

And so is the man calling his name. Butchering his name, actually.

"You can just call me Stiles," Stiles says, standing up from the couch where he was sitting with his mother and holding out his hand for the – nurse? doctor? – to shake.

The man gives a sheepish smile as he gives Stiles' hand a firm shake with his own just as large and callused hand. "Hi, Stiles. My name's Derek and I'll be performing your EEG today."

You can perform other things on me anytime you like, big guy, Stiles can't help but think as he looks at Derek's – well, everything. His tan, toned arms, the way he stretches his scrubs (shirt and pants because damn is that a nice ass), his smile, his eyes, the slight scruff, like he's been on call too often to shave.

"You're welcome to come back with us, sit in the waiting room back there, or go to the cafeteria," Derek's saying to Stiles' mom, Claudia. "It should take about an hour."

Claudia smiles and raises her book. "I'm good right here, brought some entertainment."

Derek nods. "All right." He turns back to Stiles. "If you'll just follow me?"

"Sure," Stiles agrees, waving to his mom as he follows Derek.

"Have you ever had to do one of these?" Derek asks as they turn down another hallway.

Lifting his eyes from where he had been watching Derek's ass, Stiles shakes his head. "Nah. I had to go through a lot of different tests when I was first diagnosed with ADHD, but never had to do an EEG."

"Ahh," Derek nods, motioning Stiles into a room with a sheet-covered armchair before following him in and closing the door, "well it isn't too bad. I'll just be sticking some nodes to your head, and a couple heart monitors, and all you have to do is a little deep breathing and sitting there really." He sits at a little computer station and probably logs in as Stiles sits in the armchair. "There will also be some strobe lights for a few minutes, but your eyes will be closed throughout, so it shouldn't be too awful."

Stiles nods as he looks around the room. "So I'll feel like I'm at the Jungle for a few minutes, just without the awful club music and the terrible pick-up lines."

"Right," Derek snorts. "State your full name and birthday for me?"

"Przemysław Stilinski and my birthday is four, eight, ninety-five," Stiles sighs.

"So that's how you say your name," Derek muses, making Stiles laugh.

"Yeah, most people find it damn near impossible to say it," Stiles scratches at his temple awkwardly, "which is why I started going by Stiles since I was a kid. And why most people don't even know my real first name."

Derek smiles kindly. "I don't blame you. So why're you here today?"

Stiles sighs again. "My mother is worried I might be having seizures or something." He looks over and sees Derek's raised eyebrows. "I sorta zoned out last week, was all unresponsive and shit." He waves a hand in front of his own eyes in demonstrate.

Nodding as he types that in, Derek gets up and walks behind Stiles. "Well that does kinda sound like a seizure, but hopefully it's nothing to major.

"Now, I'm going to rub a q-tip with adhesive on different spots on your head, where I'll be attaching 24 nodes to monitor your brain activity during the test, okay?"

"Okay," Stiles says, trying not to fidget as he hears Derek moving stuff around behind him. Then he has to suppress a jump when he feels Derek's warm hand on his head followed by a cold, wet q-tip.

"So are you home from school during the summer?" Derek asks, probably part to distract Stiles and part to pass the time in the silence otherwise filled only by the clock on the wall over the sink.

Clearing his throat, Stiles starts drumming his fingers on his legs. "Yeah but, uh, don't get too much of a break because I'm still working on my dissertation."

"Oh yeah? What's it on?" Derek's hand parts Stiles' hair on the top of his head to rub on some adhesive and place the node. His hands pause on top of Stiles' head. "Wait, hold on. How are you working on your dissertation already? Aren't you only -"

"Twenty, yeah," Stiles interrupts, used to the surprise. "I'm kind of a genius? Not as much as my friend Lydia, she already has doctorates in mathematics and chemistry, and she's working on her doctorate for physics because she's also insane, nobody likes physics, c'mon. Plus she has a bachelor's in multi-language - like, archaic Latin, Greek, and Sanskrit.

"But yeah, I have a bachelor's in multi-language too – mine's on Old Norse, Russian, Scots Gaelic, and Japanese because I grew up speaking Polish and that just wouldn't be fair – and a doctorate in criminology. And my current dissertation is on mythology and folklore, focusing on the commonalities that can be found in Norse, Russian, Gaelic, and Japanese folklore and mythology – which, makes sense you'd find commonalities between Norse and Gaelic, right? Since the Vikings came to the United Kingdom before it was a kingdom, when Gaelic was still a common language throughout the whole island and everything. And it also sorta makes sense for there to be commonalities between Russian and Japanese, since they're, like right next to each other and everything. But for all four to have common threads is really just – it's really fascinating."

Stopping to breathe – he always forgets to breathe when he gets excited about something, probably goes along with talking so fast and gesturing a lot – Stiles realizes he went off again and probably gave Derek more detail than he wanted. He looks back at Derek. "Sorry, got carried away there," he says sheepishly.

"It's fine," Derek laughs, picking out the wire for the next node he needs. "You're really passionate about your dissertation, that's good." He gently but firmly pushes Stiles' head back forward so he can go back to placing the nodes.

"Yeah, I guess…" Stiles says quietly. "I just don't get to talk about it too much because Lydia's busy with her own dissertation, and my buddy Scott tries to follow along but he doesn't really get my fascination and he's focusing on his schoolwork so he can become a partner or whatever with Deaton eventually, and my parents try too, but my dad's the Sheriff, so I stick to trying to get case info out of him, and my mom's a high school English teacher. So," Stiles shrugs, "I tend to get really excited when someone actually listens to me, whether they follow along or not."

"Oh, your dad's the Sheriff! I thought your last name sounded familiar," Derek says, which Stiles gets often. "But don't worry about it, I get it; I'm from a big family, lots of siblings and cousins all in the same house, so growing up I didn't have a lot of people who would listen to me when I got excited about something and actually wanted to talk for once."

Stiles raises his eyebrows. "When you wanted to talk for once? You were a quiet kid?"

"I was the middle child between two sisters, so when I tried to talk I was heard. So yeah," Derek huffs, "I ended up the 'silent, broody one' all through high school and most of college."

"Silent and brooding? Please tell me you wore a leather jacket and drove a motorcycle or a muscle car or something while you scowled at people," Stiles pleads.

Derek clears his throat. "I may still have a leather jacket, and still drive a black Camaro… and a Ducati…"

Stiles chokes on his laughter. "Oh my god…"

"Shut up…" Derek grumbles as he keeps placing nodes, and Stiles can tell he's blushing.

He raises his hands in front of him, knowing Derek will see from behind. "Hey, I'm not judging. I drive my mom's shitty old baby blue Jeep Wrangler that I got when I was sixteen so I could visit on the weekends from university, and I still sometimes where plaid shirts over geeky t-shirts. And when I was sixteen I had a buzz-cut because I thought it was cool, when really it just made my head look weird."

It's Derek's turn to laugh, and Stiles loves that sound.

"Seriously," Stiles continues, "it made me look younger than I already obviously was and when I tried to hit on anyone they would just coo at me and say I was adorable for even trying. It was embarrassing, so I grew my hair out."

"I'm sure you weren't that bad," Derek tries to reassure him. Before Stiles can protest and prove how wrong he is, Derek says, "This is the last node, then I'll just put on the two heart monitors, and we can get started."

"Okay," Stiles says, and the next few minutes pass in comfortable silence as Derek places the last few things, turns off the light, and then sits down at the mobile computer station.

"All right, first you're gonna close your eyes and do your deep breathing," Derek says from behind the computer, his beauty disappointingly blocked from view again. "Then we'll do the strobe light. It will turn on and off rapidly, the pace increasing each time, for ten second intervals. After that you sit, with your eyes still closed, for a bit as I monitor your brain activity. You can relax, sleep if you want."

Stiles snorts. "It all sounds so thrilling, I don't know if I'll be able to relax enough to sleep."

Derek laughs again. "Well relax as best as you can."

So Stiles goes through all the necessary steps – and they're as boring as they sounded. The sound of Derek's voice speaking once in a while, to tell him what to do and to check up on him, is the only saving grace – especially with the annoying clicking of the strobe light turning on and off during that part of the test, and then the ticking of the clock on the wall. He couldn't be happier for the test to be over when Derek says he can open his eyes and then gets up to turn on the light.

"That wasn't so bad, right?" Derek says, coming back around to take off all the nodes and the heart monitors.

"I wanted to beat the strobe light and the clock with my baseball bat they were so annoying, but sure."

Derek snorts. "Yeah, those are pretty annoying." He takes off the last of the nodes. "I'm going to wet a washcloth and wipe off some of these adhesive for you, okay? If I miss any you can get the rest off in the shower easy."

Stiles tries not to think of Derek and the shower. "Okay." It doesn't help when Derek starts wiping off the adhesive, his fingers carding through Stiles' hair as he does so. Stiles actually feels like he's being groomed – and oh man, does it feel good. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from purring in contentment or something. His feelings are conflicted when Derek stops and says they're all done.

"Oh cool," Stiles says awkwardly, standing up and following Derek back down the hall. When they get back to where they left his mom, Stiles turns and smiles at Derek. "You have a good day."

Derek smiles back. "Thanks, you too. And good luck with your latest dissertation." He walks into the office with a wave.

Sighing, Stiles walks over to his mom, hands in his pockets.

Claudia looks up. "All done?" Stiles nods and she closes her book, puts in her bag, and stands up, pulling out her keys. "Let's go back home then."

As they're walking back up to the out-patient lobby so they can get to Stiles' Jeep – which Claudia is driving because he's not allowed to until they're sure he's not having seizures – Claudia says nonchalantly, "He was cute. Did you ask him out for coffee or anything?"

"Mom!" Stiles sputters. "I can't just – ask for him out!"

"Why not?"

Stiles huffs and crosses his arms. "Because he's my – my nurse or doctor or whatever. I don't actually know if he was a nurse or a doctor…"

Claudia sighs. "You really do take after your father in the romance department. Shame too because I've heard good things about the only Hale boy."

"What d'you mean, I take after dad?" Stiles grumbles and Claudia just hums as they get in the Jeep. "And wait, that was Derek Hale?"

"She means you're a coward," Lydia says later when Stiles is hanging out with her and Scott, her eyes on her notebook as she writes notes.

Stiles moves his gaze from the ball he and Scott were tossing back and forth and looks at Lydia. "What d'you mean I'm a coward?"

"You never make the first move, bro," Scott says, motioning for Stiles to throw the ball back already. "When we were seventeen it was Heather at her birthday party, then it was Danny at the Jungle when we were eighteen. And you haven't really been with anyone at school as far as I know because you're too busy."

Shrugging, Stiles tosses the ball back. "I've had a few quickies here and there at some parties I've been dragged to."

Lydia hums. "My point stands."

Stiles throws his arms up in the air. "So what d'you want me to do, go find him at the hospital and ask for his number?"

"Yes," Scott and Lydia say at the same time, looking at him with twin expressions of duh.

"Ugh," Stiles groans, throwing his head back and hitting it on his mattress. "Fine, I'll go see him at the hospital. God, you two are so bossy."

The next time Stiles sees Derek it is at the hospital – but it's not because he went to get Derek's number or ask him out for coffee.

"Stiles," Derek says, his eyebrows raised expectantly and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Derek," Stiles says in the same tone, wishing he could cross his arms too. He can't, though, because he broke a couple ribs and it kind of hurts to do that even with the pain meds.

Derek sighs. "You weren't supposed to be driving until you found out whether you were having seizures or not. And guess what? You had a seizure while you were driving and crashed your Jeep, breaking your arm and a two ribs and giving yourself a concussion."

Widening his eyes, Stiles looks around, mock-shocked. "Is that why I'm in the hospital?"

Derek rolls his eyes so hard his head rolls with the motion, making Stiles snort and then groan in pain when it makes his ribs hurt.

"Ow… don't make me laugh," Stiles groans, holding his lower ribs on his left side.

"This isn't something to laugh about, Stiles," Derek says, voice stern as he sits in the chair next to Stiles' bed, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped between them. "If you hadn't been driving out to the Preserve, you could've seriously hurt someone else, or more seriously hurt yourself when you seized, instead of just crashing into a few trees."

Stiles leans his head back on the pillows propping him up. "I know…" He picks at a loose thread on the sheet over his legs, not looking at Derek. "I just – I honestly didn't think it would happen again, y'know? I mean, it only happened the one time before, what were the odds?"

It's quiet for a few minutes before Derek offers, "I'm sure your friend Lydia could tell you those odds, since she has a mathematics doctorate."

When Stiles looks over, he sees the soft, worried smile on Derek's face. "Were you worried about me?" Stiles asks, honestly curious, not teasing at all.

Derek rolls his eyes again as he snorts, "No," but Stiles can see the blush barely being covered by his scruff.

"Sure," Stiles says, drawing the word out with a smirk.

Stiles has to stay in the hospital for the next twenty-four hours because the doctors have to make sure he doesn't have any internal bleeding or that he doesn't lapse into a coma due to the concussion. Plus they want to do another EEG and MRI tomorrow to compare the results and see if they can figure out why he had either of his seizures.

So he's bored since visiting hours are over and Melissa has shown the nurses how to tell when he really needs something or when he's just bored and wants to bug somebody. Luckily, he got a couple different nurses to each bring him a couple pillows – because he can't sleep with just two – so he's built himself a pillow fort on the tiny hospital bed. There's even a little window at the top for him to breathe through and see the TV.

He's all nice and cozy in his fort, watching a rerun of Archer, when someone comes in, probably to check on his vitals or something. But it's hard to see his form under all the pillows, so he calls out in his best Batman voice, "Fight me."

There's a snort before the pillows around Stiles' head are removed and he's able to see Derek, raising a judgmental eyebrow at him. "Maybe later," Derek says, rearranging the pillows, "when you can actually do a good Batman voice."

"Please," Stiles huffs, "I've been honing that voice for years, it's perfect."

"Uh huh," Derek hums, taking a penlight out of his pocket. "Focus on my shoulder?" He shines the light in Stiles' eyes individually, checking his pupil response probably. "Follow the top of pen?"

Next time Derek comes in, a couple hours later, it's the middle of the night and Stiles is now watching old '90s cartoons.

"Fight me," Stiles tries to say again, but he's rudely interrupted by a jaw-cracking, throat-croaking yawn. When he opens his eyes again, wiping at the tears that leaked out during the yawn, he sees Derek smiling softly at him.

"You see, I would," Derek says as he checks the stitches in Stiles' forehead and temple, "but I know you'd win." He puts a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Sit up straight for me? I'm going to check your lungs."

Stiles does as asked, too tired to pretend to protest or make a joke when Derek lifts the back of his shirt. "I don't know what you've been smoking if you think I'd win a fight against you."

"Take a deep breath?" Derek requests, end of stethoscope over Stiles' right lung. He moves it to the left once Stiles finishes. "And another?" He pulls back and drapes the stethoscope around his neck. "You're good.

"And to answer your question: you seem like your good with strategy and knowing your strengths and weaknesses, so sure, you could win a fight against me." He points at Stiles as he moves toward the door. "But only if you get some sleep."

Huffing, Stiles gets comfortable again. "Unlikely to happen tonight." He smiles sheepishly. "I can only fall asleep with my own pillow and I forgot to have someone bring it for me."

Derek shakes his head with a smile. "Well at least no more picking fights, then."

"Aye aye," Stiles says, mocking saluting Derek as he leaves.

By the time it's seven in the morning and Stiles is forced to watch either Charmed or Good Morning America, he's thanking his lucky stars that he's more than used to functioning on little to no sleep.

He's just decided witches are definitely better than the depressing ass news when Derek comes in wearing street clothes, carrying two coffees, and looking just as tired.

"I'm guessing sleep didn't happen?" Derek asks with a yawn, sitting down in the chair next to the bed and setting one of the coffees on the moveable tray.

Stiles hums a response as he takes off the lid and picks the coffee up, closing his eyes to enjoy the smell. "Peppermint mocha." He opens his eyes to look at Derek. "How'd you know?"

Derek shrugs, though Stiles can see another one of those adorable blushes. "Lucky guess."

Deciding to let that go for now, Stiles takes a sip of his coffee before setting it down. "Finally done with your shift?"

"Yeah," Derek smirks, "now I don't have to check on annoying assholes like you who challenge me to fights."

Stiles laughs softly as he can, so as not to disturb his ribs too much. "Oh shut up, you know I made your long night more enjoyable."

"You keep telling yourself that," Derek says from behind his coffee, and then standing up with a small groan. "Well I'm headed home to get some sleep. You try not to annoy anyone else the last few hours you're here."

"I would never," Stiles calls after him as Derek leaves. "No one's as fun to annoy as you." He smiles as he hears Derek's laugh echoing down the hall.

It's not until he's finished his coffee and is fiddling with the cup when he notices Derek wrote something on the side.

'Fight me?' followed by a phone number.

Stiles bites his lip on a huge grin.

"Wow," Claudia hums as she drives home after picking Stiles up and asks why he has a big grin on his face, "maybe you got some of my flirting skills after all."

"Why," Stiles huffs, "because I got a guy's phone number by having seizures and then getting injured because of said seizures?"

His mom laughs as she turns onto their street. "Well you know how your father and I met."

Stiles snorts. "Yeah, you hit on him when he arrested you for vandalism."

"Gotta take the opportunity when it presents itself." She winks before getting out of the car.

Sighing and shaking his head, Stiles gets out of the car and follows her, standing straight and holding his ribs. "I sometimes wonder how you ended up being allowed to teach teenagers."

Stiles puts Derek's number in his phone and calls Derek that night, hoping he's not on call. And his luck is with him, because Derek picks up on the second ring.

"This is Derek Hale," his voice says, all official sounding.

"When you say 'fight me'," Stiles says, leaning back against his pillows carefully, "you really mean 'fuck me', right?"

On the other end of the line, Derek groans before hissing, "Stiles, I'm at my parents' house – with my niece and nephew right here."

Stiles snorts. "Well it's not like they can hear me. And even if they can, it's not like they know what exactly I'm saying." He makes a face. "Wait, how old are your niece and nephew?"

"They're four, and no they can't hear you, but that's not the point."

Rolling his eyes, Stiles says, "Well, I'm sorry I didn't know you were with your family."

"It's okay," Derek sighs. "So were you calling for any particular reason, or did you just want to embarrass me in front of my sisters and uncle?"

He smirks. "How'd I embarrass you, Derek? Did I make you blush by asking if you wanted me to fuck you?"

Derek grumbles, making Stiles laugh. "Shut up and just tell me why you called."

Holding his ribs because laughing at Derek made them hurt, Stiles fights down a wince. "I called to ask you on a date."

"Is that right?" Derek hums. "Well, as long as it's just a date because I don't think your ribs could handle much else. Plus you still shouldn't be driving."

"Yes, dear," Stiles sighs, making Derek laugh.

Stiles and Derek go on a few dates – and they all go really well. Sure, Derek stops Stiles whenever he tries to start anything, but that's just because he cares and doesn't want Stiles to hurt himself any further.

By the time he's gotten the cast off his left arm, though, Stiles is itching for more.

"Hey, Derek?" Stiles asks one night when they're at Derek's house, cuddling on the couch while watching a movie.

Derek hums in response, his chest vibrating against Stiles' back.

Rolling so he's facing Derek, Stiles cups Derek's jaw to get his full attention. "I really care about you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Derek says, his brow furrowed. "Stiles, where is this coming from?"

Stiles chews his lip and looks at his free hand where it's playing with the front of Derek's shirt. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that - despite the fact we don't really talk about our feelings because we're not good at that. That you knew I wasn't in this only to get in your pants or something."

Derek puts a finger under Stiles' chin to get Stiles to look at him again. "Stiles, I know you're not that shallow, that you could never be that shallow." He moves his hand back into Stiles' hair and starts kneading his scalp gently, making Stiles hum with a smile and lean back into it. "And if it makes you feel better, rejecting your advances was one of the hardest things I had to do. I just -"

"Didn't want me to get hurt, I know," Stiles interrupts with a smile, fighting not to close his eyes and melt into Derek as he keeps kneading Stiles' scalp. "But my arm's all healed now and my ribs are pretty good."

"I know," Derek says quietly with a soft smile before leaning in and kissing Stiles, who finally lets himself close his eyes and melt.

As they kiss, Derek rolls them so Stiles is lying on his back and Derek is crouched over him on his forearms and knees. Stiles needs more contact, though, so he tickles Derek's sides, making him lose his balance as he squirms and fall on top of Stiles.

"Okay, that wasn't a good idea," Stiles groans as Derek's weight lands on his still healing ribs. "Ow…"

Derek sits up on Stiles, putting his hands on either side of Stiles' face. "Stiles, are you okay?"

"Fine, Derek," Stiles says after catching his breath. "I promise. Please," he jerks his hips up despite his ribs, his semi rubbing against Derek's ass.

"You're going to be the death of me," Derek huffs, even as he grinds down, making Stiles moan. With a smirk he keeps grinding down and leans back in to kiss Stiles again.

Grunting, Stiles breaks off the kiss. "Wait," he pants, "we should move this to your bed, where we'll be more comfortable. And I'm guessing where you have your lube and condoms."

Derek gets up with a sigh. "Who'd think you'd be the practical one." He grabs Stiles' hand and pulls him up to lead him back to his room.

"I have my moments," Stiles says with a snort as they hurry down the hall. He laughs when Derek pushes him gently onto the bed. "Somebody's eager all of a sudden."

"Shut up and strip, Stilinski," Derek orders as he starts taking off his own clothes, "or I won't ride you."

Stiles scrambles to do as he's told. "Fuck, I love when you get bossy, you know that?"

Smirking, Derek eyes Stiles' erection as it springs free of his boxers. "I do."

"Fuck you," Stiles huffs, rolling his eyes.

"That's the plan."

"Oh my god!" Stiles throws his arms up. "I thought I was the one that was supposed to make horrible jokes."

Laughing, Derek steps into Stiles' space, grabbing his hips to pull them flush together. They both groan as their hard cocks rub together. "Well I can't let you have all the fun," Derek mumbles, their lips brushing before he leans in and kisses Stiles, licking into his mouth.

His arms around Derek's shoulders, Stiles reaches a hand back and tugs on Derek's hair as he steps back until the backs of his legs hit the edge of the bed. Then he moves up toward the pillows without looking, too busy kissing Derek. When they come to a stop, his head propped on the pillows, Stiles shoves a hand between them to wrap around both their cocks. He jerks them off slowly, both of them moaning into the kiss.

Stiles is sure Derek's hand is going to join his own when Derek shifts onto his knees and he reaches out a hand, that he's going to grab lube – and Derek does add lube, but not to help jerk them both off.

"Fuck, Derek, are you prepping yourself?" Stiles moans after breaking the kiss.

"Yep," pants Derek, rocking forward into Stiles' hand and back onto his own. "Didn't seem like you were going to any time soon."

Laughing, Stiles squeezes his hand around their dicks. "Sorry, I didn't know you were so fucking impatient."

"That's funny," Derek groans, probably adding another finger, "considering you're just as fucking stubborn.

"Now hurry up, grab a condom, and get inside me already."

"So bossy," Stiles sighs, removing his hand and reaching over to grab the box of condoms. He grabs one, opens it, and rolls it on as Derek continues to finger himself. Once Stiles has added some extra lube, Derek removes his fingers and wraps them around Stiles' dick to help steady it as he slowly sinks down with a grunt.

Derek stays still, and Stiles isn't sure whether Derek's adjusting to or just enjoying the feeling of Stiles inside him. Either way, Stiles waits until Derek is ready to start moving. After a few moments he places his hands on Stiles' chest, though he doesn't use them to help lift himself slowly and lower himself back down. He's still being careful of Stiles' healing ribs, even as he fucks himself on Stiles' dick.

The slow movements, the carefulness, the tenderness on his face – Derek is making love, not fucking – as cheesy as that sounds.

"Derek," Stiles says, his voice cracking as he grips Derek's hips. He doesn't try to change the pace; he wants Derek to set that however he needs. But Stiles is asking for… something. He's not sure what.

Derek seems to know though. He takes his hands off Stiles' chest, removes Stiles' hands from his hips, and twines their fingers together. He drags their hands until they're above Stiles' head, leaning down as he goes until their lips are a breath away, not stopping in his movements.

"Shhh…" Derek whispers against Stiles' lips before kissing him, firm but chaste.

They continue to kiss softly as Stiles starts to move with Derek, following his lead. Before long, he can feel himself getting close to climax. He doesn't try to rush it; he keeps moving with Derek, brushing his prostate every few thrusts to little grunts and whines out of him.

Stiles comes first with a whine that Derek swallows as his orgasm is drawn out by the sheer intimacy. It's no more than a few minutes at best before Derek follows suit, coming on Stiles' abdomen.

Even as he's cooling down, pulling off Stiles, and removing the condom to tie off and throw in the nearby trash, Derek is careful of the ribs on Stiles' left side. Once that's done, he collapses on the bed next to Stiles. Lying on his stomach, Derek smiles tiredly but happily when Stiles turns his head to look at him.

"Hi," Stiles murmurs with a small smile.

Rolling his eyes, Derek laughs quietly, "Hey."

"So that was great and all," Stiles says, making Derek raise his eyebrows. "Fantastic. Mind-blowingly perfect, even."

Derek narrows his eyes. "But…"

"But," Stiles sighs, motioning to his stomach, "you left a bit of a mess here."

"So," Derek smirks, mischief in his eyes, and Stiles knows he's in trouble, "you're saying I shouldn't do this?" And with that he smears his hand in his own cum and spreads it all over Stiles' stomach and chest.

Stiles sputters and flails, smacking Derek's hand away as the other man laughs. "Dude," Stiles groans, getting off the bed, "it's one thing to do shit like that in the middle of sex, but after it's just gross." He continues to grumble as he goes into the un suite bathroom and wipes himself off with a wet, soapy washcloth that he then throws at Derek. "Now wipe your cum-hand off or I won't cuddle with you – and I give awesome post-coitus cuddles. They're even better than my regular cuddles."

Derek rolls his eyes but wipes his hand off when Stiles remains standing at the side of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. When he's done he throws the cloth at the hamper then pats the bed next to him.

"C'mon, Stiles," he says in a wheedling tone with something close to a pout. "Please?"

Snorting, Stiles crawls back onto the bed and lets Derek arrange him so they're both comfortable and the covers are pulled up over them. His eyes closed and his head resting on Derek's chest, arm thrown across Derek's waist and their legs twined together, Stiles says, "Y'know, sometimes I feel like we switch personalities."

Derek hums. "Or maybe we're more alike than everyone else seems to think."

"Maybe," Stiles yawns, nuzzling into Derek's chest, which rocks with quiet laughter.

"Go to sleep, Stiles."

"Fight me…" Stiles mumbles.

A kiss is placed on the top of his head. "Nah, you'd win."

Stiles smiles and tries to get out, "Damn skippy," but he's not sure he does before he drifts off.