A/N: If you've gotten this far, you likely understand that this series isn't purely Sterek, and it isn't purely Stydia. I've said before that ultimately it will become Sterydia, and in my mind that was pretty clear, but for those of you who didn't make the connection, that means Stiles+Derek+Lydia. This chapter is almost strictly Sterek (Stydia is mentioned, but Lydia doesn't appear), so if you aren't interested in reading the next story in which Sterydia becomes a thing, this is it for the Sterek alone.
Stiles avoided Derek for the next three days. He knew the wolf in him would be able to scent out the changes in his body, possibly even still smell the traces of Lydia on him, and he wanted to make sure that Derek didn't smell it before he was ready to tell him. Not that he was going to lie to Derek. He just didn't want to walk in and have his scent tell the story before he could even open his mouth.
When he felt prepared for the conversation slash possible argument slash maybe even fight, he steeled himself and aimed his Jeep in the direction of the loft. This time he didn't hesitate, didn't even bother to knock. He pulled the door open, stepped in, and slid it shut. When he turned around he nearly jumped out of his skin to see Derek standing there in nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips, smirking at him while he toweled his hair dry. He didn't need wolf senses to smell the distinctly masculine essence that Derek had always exuded. Stiles swallowed, fighting the desire that wanted to take him by the throat and make him surrender.
"So you do still know where I live," Derek remarked, his mild tone belying the bite behind the words.
"Yeah, of course. I've just been a little busy the past few days," he explained, knowing even as the words came out of his mouth that they were lame and Derek would see right through them.
Whether he did or not, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he smiled, and the beauty of it felt like a sucker-punch to Stiles' gut. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to seeing that grin directed at him-and after today, he was afraid he'd never see it again, period. "I'm glad your schedule cleared up for an afternoon, then," he said lightly, and Stiles nearly winced.
"I'm actually not here to have sex," he started uncomfortably, and Derek's grin broadened.
"Really?" He turned as if to walk away and Stiles groaned when the towel dropped to the floor, baring the world's most perfect ass for his viewing pleasure.
"Jesus, Derek. When did you turn into a flirt?" he muttered in exasperation. "What happened to the grumpy, scowly wolf who would just as soon growl at someone as tolerate their presence?"
Derek turned to face him and shrugged. "He's still there. But I think we're past that now, don't you?" Stiles was still staring at his gorgeous body, trying to remember why he was here. Derek chuckled. "You can't lie to me, Stiles," he reminded the younger man gently. "Your body is telling me right now how much you want this."
"Of course I want it!" Stiles burst out. "But I can't. Not now."
Derek advanced on him and Stiles stood his ground, fighting the urge to swallow again. He knew the slightest motion would betray him. "Why?" Derek demanded. He worked his fingers through Stiles' hair, which Stiles had learned he loved to play with, and leaned in to feather light kisses below his ear and down his jaw line. "Is it because we aren't actually together yet? Because if that's the case-"
"I slept with Lydia!" Stiles blurted out, and Derek jerked back, his eyes expressing his hurt before turning ice cold. "I know we aren't together, but I had to tell you."
"In an effort to clear your own conscience," Derek surmised coolly.
"No. Because you don't deserve to be lied to," Stiles shot back. "Maybe we haven't made any kind of commitment to each other, but you know damn well we actually care about each other. Just because you want to pretend it's just sex doesn't mean it's okay for me to screw around without at least being upfront."
Derek took a step back, leveling a hard glare at him before turning around to stare sightlessly out the window. Stiles came up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder apologetically. "I love her, Derek, you know that. I always have."
Derek whirled on him, pushing him back until he hit the curio cabinet so hard that it shook. Several of the more fragile items fell over and Stiles could hear the sound of them shattering through his utter shock at Derek's violent reaction. "Of course I knew!" he seethed. "But Lydia wasn't the one you were begging to fuck you senseless. She wasn't there."
"She is now," Stiles replied softly, and Derek's anger deflated immediately, to be replaced with an air of what could almost be called sorrow.
"I always knew she would be, eventually." He rubbed a hand over his face. "She's not a stupid woman. It was only a matter of time before she figured out what she had."
Stiles was touched by the admission, which was the closest Derek had ever gotten to expressing any real feelings for him. Tenderly, he allowed his hand to slide up Derek's chest and then curve over his cheek. "For what it's worth, I'm not a stupid guy," he said simply. "I figured out a long time ago exactly what I have."
Their eyes locked for a long moment, which felt like an eternity but was in reality mere seconds. Then with a muttered, "Fuck it," Derek grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him forward, crushing their mouths together. Their tongues crashed into each other, both of them desperate to win, each of them knowing this would be their last time together and wanting to make it the most memorable.
Derek pulled impatiently at Stiles' t-shirt, their lips still doing battle, and eventually he grabbed it by the collar and yanked downward. The sound of the material shredding didn't register with either of them, but Stiles was dimly aware that he was now able to shrug the torn shirt from his shoulders, letting it slide down his arms to drop and pool at his feet. When Derek seemed determined to do the same to his jeans, Stiles pulled back with a breathless laugh.
"Hold on," he gasped, fumbling with the button and zipper, struggling to get them down before Derek ruined the rest of his clothing. Derek growled, and Stiles shook his head in amusement. "I can't go home naked, and while I can borrow a shirt, your jeans wouldn't stay up around my narrow hips."
"There's nothing wrong with your hips." He slid his hands inside the waistband and pushed Stiles' jeans and briefs down. His palms were immediately full and he squeezed, making Stiles moan in return. This time when Derek slammed him into the cabinet he hardly felt it, as frantic as he was to divest himself of the remainder of his clothing. He kicked off his jeans and looped his arms around Derek's neck, pulling the wolf flush against him and grinding their erections together. Derek swore into Stiles' mouth and reached down to close his fingers around the younger man's cock, stroking roughly.
A guttural groan burst from Stiles' throat when Derek suddenly hit his knees, sliding his mouth over Stiles' hard length and pumping his fist as he bobbed his head up and down. Stiles wound his fingers through the ebony strands, tightening them into fists and yanking none-too-gently. Derek growled again and Stiles thrilled at the sound of it. He watched hungrily as Derek continued to swallow him over and over again until he began to tremble.
"Jesus, Derek, I'm going to come," he panted, loosening his grip on Derek's hair and moving his hands to the other man's shoulders. "You have to stop."
Derek shook his head gently so as not to hurt Stiles, but the message was clear. No way in hell. Stiles fought to resist, but the pleasure was too intense to hold back for long. With a hoarse shout he erupted, his orgasm tearing through him and spilling down Derek's throat. He blinked in amazement when Derek swallowed without batting an eye. They'd had any number of experiences together but he'd never come in Derek's mouth before, and his willingness to do it now was oddly touching. When Derek stood up, the look that passed between the two of them communicated everything they both knew they couldn't say.
Then Derek pulled him back in for another kiss, this one as demanding as all of their previous ones. Stiles always loved the primal, raw need between the two of them; it was heady and intoxicating. This once, though, he wanted something a little more emotional. His eyes flickered over to the area of the loft that served as the "bedroom", and Derek immediately read his mind. "Bed. Now," he whispered fiercely, and Stiles led the way with Derek close on his heels.
As they approached the bed Derek advanced on him, pushing him back toward it. He tumbled backward into a cocoon of luxuriousness, consisting of burgundy silk sheets and a dark gray mink blanket. It was one of Stiles' favorite things in the loft, and Derek always made sure it was clean for him. "I'm going to make sure this night stays with you for the rest of your life," Derek murmured, and Stiles felt himself begin to harden once more.
"I will never forget," he returned, his voice equally as quiet. "I couldn't forget."
Derek visibly fought to maintain his composure, his eyes briefly flashing an electric blue. Stiles thought, not for the first time, that this was when his friend was the most beautiful. When that unguarded emotion slipped through and he reminded himself and everyone else that he was as human and capable of love as anyone else, it was truly like seeing the sunshine through the storm.
"Come here," he demanded throatily, and Derek immediately complied. His larger body covered Stiles as he slid forward, his fingers trailing up the younger man's ribs until they curved around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Stiles eagerly accepted it, tugging Derek's lower lip in between his teeth and biting firmly. Derek groaned and rubbed his erection against Stiles' before rising up onto his hip and nudging him to roll over.
Stiles was always the bottom, which never bothered him. Derek was his alpha in every way and he loved the way it felt having the wolf inside him. This time, though, he didn't want to be taken on his hands and knees; despite having no clue what Derek would think of his request, he was determined for their last time to be different. Hesitantly, he spread his legs and tilted his hips up, waiting for Derek to understand what he was asking for.
Derek's eyebrows drew together when he made the connection. "Are you sure?" he asked softly, and Stiles nodded. Fire leapt into Derek's eyes and he reached for the bedside table where he kept a bottle of lube, squeezing out a generous amount and spreading it liberally over his cock. He prepped Stiles as he always did, using his fingers to smooth it over the puckered ring of muscles.
Leaning forward, he pressed the head of his cock against Stiles' ass and pushed inside easily. Stiles groaned as he took Derek's full length in one smooth stroke, and then the other man was hovering over him, his arms taut in order to hold himself up. Stiles lifted his hips, wrapping his legs around Derek's waist loosely, allowing him the necessary freedom of motion. Derek eased back and then thrust forward roughly, sliding his hand over Stiles' cock simultaneously. The pounding in his ass and the friction on his erection intensified his pleasure and Stiles' gasp was trapped in his throat; he couldn't breathe as Derek continued to drive into him punishingly.
His eyes drifted shut and his lips parted, soft noises escaping on a hiss of air, and then Derek's mouth was covering his. He tangled his fingers in Derek's hair and kissed him with all the passion he could pour into it. His lungs screamed, starved for oxygen, and still he refused to let go until Derek broke the kiss instead. Stiles' chest heaved as he struggled to inhale deeply enough.
Derek's hips pistoned forward and he reached in between their bodies to grip Stiles' cock once more. His strokes were firm and demanding, and Stiles could feel himself trembling in anticipation of his climax. "Fuck, Derek," he ground out, sweat running into the hair at his temples. "I'm so fucking close!"
Derek was, too, and he added a twist to his wrist motion to send Stiles over the edge. Stiles came with a jerk, his cock jetting out streams of sticky white fluid, and Derek immediately followed. He let out a long, low groan when his body stiffened and he spent himself inside Stiles, both of them riding out the aftershocks for a few moments until they were depleted.
Stiles leaned over and grabbed a towel from the other bedside table, wiping Derek's chest clean before attending to his own. The euphoria of the incredible sex faded into sorrow when he realized it was time for him to go, and the knowledge that he and Derek would be over as soon as he did.
The air was still and they were both quiet when Stiles rolled out of the bed and went after his discarded clothes. Derek didn't look at him as he tossed over a plain gray t-shirt for Stiles to wear home. "I'll wash it as soon as possible," Stiles started to say, but Derek cut him off.
"Keep it," he said brusquely. "Or burn it. I don't care. I don't want it back."
Stiles nodded dumbly, guiding the thin cloth over his head and feeling his chest tighten at the way it smelled so much like Derek. He watched forlornly as Derek tugged on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, the material clinging to every muscle.
Dreading the next few moments, Stiles drifted toward the entrance to the loft, Derek following behind him. His hands were shoved deep inside his pockets and he didn't lift his head until they were a few feet from the door.
"I'm sorry," Stiles began, but Derek's head shot up, his eyes flashing furiously.
"Don't you ever apologize to me for this!" he snapped. Stiles swallowed hard, nodding, and Derek softened, his eyes roaming Stiles' face as if he wanted to memorize every line, every feature. "Do you remember what I told you at first, about how werewolf sexuality is fluid and gender is almost irrelevant?" he asked, his voice wistful.
Stiles nodded. "It's the only reason that it ever made sense that you wanted me," he admitted.
Derek closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and re-opened them. "I was telling you the truth, for wolves in general. But until you, gender was always relevant for me."
The moment the realization hit Stiles was both beautiful and painful. "You mean…?"
"You're the only man I've ever been with," Derek clarified quietly. "You're the only one I'll ever be with."
Tears shone in Stiles' eyes when he stepped forward, and Derek's eyes slid closed as he welcomed him into his embrace. Stiles tipped his head up and pressed a soft kiss to Derek's lips, lingering for a moment when Derek's arms tightened around him like steel bands. Eventually Stiles had to break the kiss and Derek reluctantly relaxed his grip, his arms falling to his sides and allowing him to move away.
Stiles didn't bother to wipe away the tears sliding down his cheeks when he stepped back and escaped through the loft door, slamming it behind him. He leaned against the door for a few moments in an effort to compose himself, and the sounds of destruction followed him. An anguished roar reverberated through the walls, accompanied by what had to be the curio cabinet crashing to the floor, glass shattering and wood splintering. He could hear fabric ripping and objects being thrown against the wall, and he realized it was simply an echo of the devastation coursing through him.
Unable to stand listening to the evidence of Derek's rage and pain any longer, Stiles walked away. With every footstep the chasm between the two of them widened; he understood that the moment he stood once again at Lydia's side, there would be no finding his way back across. It nearly killed him, but he couldn't stop. So he took another step, and another.
And left half his heart behind him.
A/N 2: Okay, don't kill me. Remember what I say at the beginning of every story, every chapter? The next story is all about building Sterydia, which means that Sterek's story isn't over yet. This is just kind of an intermission. Keep an eye out for The Edge of Perfection, which should be posted next Saturday, as long as the holidays don't interfere.
