Author's Note: I sincerely hope that this chapter (and the next) have been worth all the build up. I'm always a wreck when I post these kinds of chapters so I would really, really, really appreciate any feedback you guys have!

Gah, I hope you enjoy it!

"What..."

"Hey Son." the Sheriff greeted, glancing up with an amused quirk to his lips at where Stiles had skidded to an abrupt stop in the kitchen doorway. "Derek and I were just thinking about ordering something to eat. Any requests?"

"What." Stiles tried again, sure that his brain had to kick in and help him out at some point.

It wasn't his fault, really. Who in their right minds would ever consider the possibility of entering their kitchen only to find Derek Hale having a beer with their father, sitting across the table from one another like that was a perfectly normal, every day occurrence? That wasn't the kind of thing anyone would ever be prepared to see. It was just so normal, so... Domestic.

It made Stiles' heart ache a little, a dull throbbing feeling that told him, without a doubt, he was in way over his head.

"Chinese it is." John was flat out grinning as he shoved away from the table and grabbed the menu from the drawer beneath the coffee pot, walking out of the kitchen and patting Stiles heartily on the back as he went.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at a smirking Derek, who only smirked wider, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Don't blame me." He shrugged. "It would have been rude to turn him down when he offered me a drink."

"It also probably would have saved my sanity." Stiles grumped without conviction, crossing the kitchen to rip open the refrigerator just so he could have something to do with his hands.

"I think that's a lost cause." Derek said, eyeing Stiles as he poured a glass of apple juice.

"You're funny when you're not being a mangsty, homicidal dickhead." Stiles grinned around the lip of his glass and tried to will his heartbeat even.

It was a hard feat to accomplish with Derek's eyes feeling like a physical weight as they looked him over, lingering at the still damp, floppy mess of hair on top of his head with a tiny smile that had Stiles' belly fluttering wildly.

"Mangsty?" Derek asked, green eyes sparkling with laughter.

Stiles couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled in his chest as he sat in the chair his father had vacated, throwing his feet up in Derek's lap beneath the table. "You heard me." he said. "I'd repeat it in another language for you, you know, to help you really grasp the concept, but I don't think mangsty exists in any other languages."

"Stiles." Derek deadpanned. "I'm not entirely sure it even exists in English."

Stiles choked on a sip of juice when he tried to laugh and swallow at the same time, sputtering and coughing as he wiped a few stray droplets from his lips. "Does the rest of the pack know that you're funny?" he wheezed. "Or am I the only one privy to this information? Have you been amusing this whole time?"

"I've always been funny, Stiles." Derek rolled his eyes, a mischievous smile beginning to curl his lips. "You were just too busy staring at my ass to notice."

Stiles narrowed his eyes across the table, poking Derek hard in the thigh with his bare toes. "You can't hold that against me." he protested. "It's a great ass, dude. Really fills out a pair of jeans."

Derek's teasing smile turned into a full blown salacious grin, a glint of something full of promise and hot like burning shining in his eyes. "Wait until you see it out of them."

Pure, undiluted lava poured into Stiles' gut, scorching his insides and setting fire to his skin. "I hate you." he all but whimpered, squeezing his thighs together and shifting in place in an effort to slow the rush of blood to his cock, quickly filling up against his thigh.

"I know." Derek winked.

Derek Hale fucking winked at him, okay? Stiles was willing to admit he'd completely lost control of his life.

"Food will be here in half an hour." John announced, reentering the kitchen.

Stiles and Derek averted their gazes from where they'd been simply staring at one another. Derek's eyes fell back down to the bottle between his palms and Stiles cleared his throat as he looked to his father.

"Good, I'm starving." Stiles tossed out, glad to hear his voice come out relatively level and even despite the inferno raging beneath his skin and the erection tenting his sweatpants under the table top.

John looked between the two of them, rolling his eyes.

So much for subtlety, Stiles sighed to himself.

Crossing the kitchen, the Sheriff replaced the menu in its drawer before leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "When's the last time you ate? Either of you?" he asked, pinning both younger men with a hard look.

"How'd that lead pan out?" Stiles asked, hoping to distract his father from a lecture about them taking care of themselves, and how just because they were werewolves didn't mean that they no longer needed to worry about sleeping and eating, keeping themselves healthy.

John was already shaking his head, admitting defeat and allowing the change of subject. "Parrish is still on it, but we haven't got much of anything yet."

"Malia and Kira tracked their scent from the cabins to a motel outside our border, but they lost it." Derek informed him, reciting the information from what appeared to be a text message on his phone before he tucked back into his pocket.

"We don't actually believe they're gone, though, right?" Stiles balked. "I mean, what are the chances that they're giving up that easily? If Carrick has as much riding on this as Lochlann and Argent say? There is no way in Hell he pulled his men out of BH. Especially when the pack has already killed one of them."

"We don't think so, either." the Sheriff agreed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Unfortunately, until they make another move or one of the pack picks up their scent again, we don't have a lot to go on."

"Everyone is on high alert." Derek assured, wrapping a hand around one of Stiles' ankles where it rested in his lap. "Scott doesn't want anyone out looking for the Kearney's until tomorrow, after we've all had a chance to rest and regroup."

Stiles dragged a hand through his hair, inactivity making him antsy. "I just feel like we should be doing something." he sighed.

"You are. I know it doesn't seem like much, but taking a little time to recharge is just as important as anything else you could be doing right now." John gave him a sympathetic smile. "You're no use to anyone if you're dead on your feet, kid. Rest up tonight and tomorrow we'll hit the ground running."

Stiles nodded absently, yawning again as he settled more comfortably in his chair. "Shower's free." he noted, nudging Derek's belly with his foot. "Better get cleaned up before dinner gets here."

"Oh, right. I mean, if you don't mind." Derek agreed, casting a sideways glance at the Sheriff who was watching them with barely concealed amusement, his gaze seeing more than Derek was strictly comfortable with.

Stiles snorted. "Since when is mi casa not su casa, dude? What, you don't mind hiding out here when you're on the run from my dad, but a shower and a change of clothes is asking too much?"

A smile tilted up one side of Derek's mouth at the same moment the Sheriff said, "I'm sorry, would someone please elaborate on the whole 'hiding out while on the run' thing?"

The three of them had just finished eating when Parrish called, needing the Sheriff back at the station. Stiles didn't bother protesting the extra shift, knowing full well his father would work three or four days without sleep if he needed to, if the town needed him to. Instead, Stiles filled a thermos full of coffee and handed it wordlessly to the Sheriff on his way out the door.

"Behave yourselves, will you?" John asked, shrugging into his uniform jacket as he stepped out onto the porch.

"Why, what ever do you mean, Father?" Stiles snarked, pulling the most innocent face he could manage while his words dripped sarcasm.

The Sheriff rolled his eyes, a fond smile tugging up one side of his mouth. "Yeah right, Kiddo. I haven't bought that act since you were five and flooded the entire upstairs hallway."

"What part of dinosaur car wash continues to evade you?" Stiles chuckled after his father, who was halfway to climbing into the cruiser.

"The part where I had to replace more than half a house's worth of carpet." John called back.

Stiles felt Derek come up behind him and couldn't resist smiling, unconsciously angling his body toward Derek as he said goodbye to his father. "Be safe, Dad."

"Goodnight, Sir." Derek called, leaning in the doorway beside Stiles.

"Always am." the Sheriff dipped his chin in acknowledgment to Stiles' daily reminder to come home in one piece, sans bullet holes. "See you boys in the morning. Try and get some sleep, will you?" he added, tossing a significant look Derek's way before ducking into the car.

Back inside, Stiles set about cleaning up the kitchen, starting with the dishes sitting in the sink. He was wrist deep in soap suds when he realized what his father said and snorted to himself, shaking his head as he rinsed a cup and set it down.

"What's funny?" Derek asked, glancing over his shoulder from where he was wiping down the table.

Stiles' shrugged, his fingers slipping on the soapy plate he was attempting to wash. "My dad already thinks we're sleeping together."

"Caught that too, did you?" Derek quirked a brow, a lazy grin curving his mouth.

Returning his attention to the dishes, Stiles said, "At least we know he won't shoot you."

"With wolfsbane, anyway. I wouldn't discount a regular bullet just yet." Derek rebutted, tossing a wad of paper towels into the garbage can. "I'm going to call Boyd, check on Isaac." he informed Stiles as he headed into the dining room.

Stiles nodded his understanding, rinsing the last plate and propping it up in the dish drain. After wiping down the counters, Stiles went into the living room and plopped down on the couch, picking up the remote to flick through the program guide in search of something worth watching. He'd just settled on old reruns of Friends when Derek came in, carrying with him the renewed scent of worry.

"How is he?" Stiles questioned, rolling his head to look at Derek as he sat beside him.

"Boyd said he seems restless, but he's still out." Derek was frowning, a deep ridge forming between his brows as he stared down into his empty hands.

Stiles slid sideways on the cushions and tucked himself into Derek's side, propping one arm against the back of the couch so he could card his fingers through Derek's hair. Eyes slipping closed, Derek leaned into the touch, let it ground him.

"We'll go first thing in the morning." Stiles promised, his voice soothing as his fingertips gentled their way across Derek' scalp and he rested his cheek in the slope of Derek's shoulder. "Stop and grab breakfast for the pack, and sit with him until he wakes up. Okay?"

Derek turned his head just enough that he could press a kiss to the top of Stiles' head. "Okay." he agreed, inhaling deeply and letting himself soak in Stiles' scent. "You know..."

When Derek hesitated, the words seeming to lodge somewhere in his throat, Stiles nudged him with his chin, lifting his head so he could look up at Derek. "Know what?" he encouraged.

"I don't think I would have gotten through all of this shit with Isaac if it weren't for you." Derek admitted softly, almost shyly, his eyes open and unguarded.

Stiles made a scoffing sound, abrasive to cover the warmth unfurling inside him to see such an expression on Derek's normally closed-off face. "You mean if you didn't have me to worry about."

"No." Derek was already shaking his head, slipping one hand around the outside of Stiles' thigh and tugging until both of his legs were draped across Derek's lap. "It's more than that, Stiles. Yeah, looking out for you gave me something else to focus on, but... Just knowing that you were there, that all I had to do was reach out and touch you, kept me together. I know part of it is because you're my anchor, but it's mostly because you're you."

"Do you really believe that?" Stiles asked, scraping his teeth over his bottom lip, twisting a few strands of Derek's hair between his fingertips. "You don't think that me being your anchor effects the rest of it?"

"Like what?" Derek queried, leaning away so that Stiles' chin slipped out of the indent of his clavicle and they could look each other in the eye, his arms falling into his lap between them.

Stiles, feeling absurdly exposed under the intense gaze, shifted to try and pull away but Derek's fingers at his chin stopped him.

"Are you seriously worried that the anchor thing effects how we feel about each other? It doesn't work like that, Stiles." Derek explained softly, his eyes warm and earnest. "My mother used to say that an anchor is something you believe in more than you believe in yourself. For me, that's you."

"You said it yourself, though." Stiles fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt, twisting it between and around his fingers. "It doesn't make sense for me to anchor you when I'm usually the one that sets you off."

"Sure, you drive me nuts." Derek admitted, smiling gently as he rubbed his thumb across Stiles' bottom lip, soothing the swollen skin out from between his teeth. "But, that's not always a bad thing. You wouldn't get to me as much as you do if I didn't care, didn't feel something for you. You anchor me because you make me feel human, Stiles, because you remind that I am. And because I trust that you will always see the human, as well as the wolf, and accept them both equally. A tether is built from emotions, from the connection those emotions create. We anchor one another because we care about each other, Stiles, not the other way around."

Stiles' eyes snapped back to Derek's face, his brows lifted in surprise. "Wait, you knew?!" he asked, stomach twisting uncomfortably, nerves making his skin tingle.

Chuckling quietly, Derek shrugged. "I guessed as much at the clinic." he informed Stiles. "I could see you struggling with the wolf and losing, so I took a chance."

Stiles let that sink in, remembered the way Derek put himself in his line of sight, made sure Stiles couldn't see or smell anything but him. It made sense that Derek was trying to anchor him, using himself as a catalyst even if he wasn't positive it would work. They hadn't made any declarations by then, not really. Derek had no way of knowing for sure that he could tether Stiles in that moment, had taken a pretty significant risk putting himself in the line of fire of a newbie werewolf with control issues.

"How long have you known?" Derek asked, curious but not at all judgmental as he pulled Stiles out of his thoughts.

Stiles cast his eyes down as though desperately entranced by the way his legs rested across Derek's lap. "A while." he admitted guiltily, glad that Derek didn't seem angry but feeling slightly ashamed that he'd hid something so important from someone who trusted him so implicitly. "Since before you came back."

Derek considered that, let the information roll around inside his head. "It's not all that uncommon for wolves to act as anchors for their..." he trailed off, unsure how to finish that particular thought. The word Mate dangled from the tip of his tongue, heavy and meaningful, but he was worried how Stiles might react to a label of that magnitude.

"Yeah, I know. Our pack kind of proves that theory." Stiles sighed and let his body fall back against the cushions below him, sprawled out horizontally across the couch. "I have to admit, though, I was worried. I mean, I've always been attracted to you, and there's always been a part of me that wondered if maybe we could be more than what we were... But then I turned, and it was like everything got so much more intense. I was afraid that it was my wolf more than it was me."

"You worry too much." Derek told him, spreading a palm wide across Stiles' thigh, smoothing it up toward his hip.

Stiles laughed hollowly, his lungs going tight in anticipation as Derek's hand moved up, sliding beneath his t-shirt to skim up the gentle curve of his side. "You, surprising as it might be, are not the first person to tell me that."

Derek moved out from under Stiles' legs, kneeling between them to crawl, predatory and breathtaking, up his body, hovering above him. Stiles let his legs fall open barely wide enough for Derek to fit between, bent at the knee so they dug into Derek's sides, a solid affirmation that he was there, that Stiles got to have this, have Derek like this.

"Are you still worried, Stiles?" Derek asked throatily, both forearms propped beside Stiles' head to hold himself up, their faces so close together their noses almost brushed. "Because I can tell you again."

Stiles, chest heaving slightly as his heart pounded in his throat, nodded fervently, unable to tear his eyes away from the overwhelming chasm of Derek's eyes above him. "Tell me again." he croaked.

Derek's smile was slow and wolfish, his eyes glinting sharply in the low light from the lamp beside the sofa. He put all of his weight on one arm, used the other to drag a hand down Stiles' side, too slow and not nearly heavy enough. He curled a hand around Stiles' hip and dragged him up, his ass fitted into the cradle of Derek's lap.

Fingers skating down Stiles' thigh, Derek leaned in, so near that his breath warmed Stiles' skin, and said, "I have feelings for you, Stiles. Feelings that have nothing to do with you being my anchor, or me being yours. Feelings that make me wonder how I ever survived this long without being able to touch you like this." He punctuated that by pushing his hand into the space where the round globes of Stiles' ass pressed into his lap, palming one of Stiles' cheeks through his sweatpants. In the same moment, Derek rolled his pelvis forward, rocking into the spread of Stiles' thighs, pulling a low groan from Stiles' lips.

Stiles' stomach flipped over, heat rippling across his skin as he arched into Derek's body, hard and scorching above him. "Me too." he babbled, straining into Derek's touch as it moved down his thigh, hooking behind his knee where it was pressed into Derek's ribs. "Have feelings. Extremely intense feelings. All the feelings, okay? Jesus, Derek, please."

Derek laughed low in his chest as he lowered his head and dragged his nose along the side of Stiles' neck, inhaling deeply as he went. "All the things you've learned over the last couple of years and patience wasn't among any of those lessons." he tsked, pressing an unhurried, open-mouthed kiss to Stiles' jugular.

He was teasing, trying to give himself a moment to revel in Stiles' words, to let the honesty in them wash over him. Stiles had feelings for him. Feelings that were more than lust for his body, feelings that had nothing to do with a desire to use him for his own nefarious purposes. Stiles cared about Derek, maybe even loved him a little, wanted him and trusted him. Stiles knew Derek, knew every deep dark secret he'd ever tried to hide, tried to run from, and yet saw something in Derek that was worth caring about, worth maybe falling for.

"Patience is overrated." Stiles sniped, hands persistent and searching as they moved over Derek's back, dragged Derek out of his own head and into the present. "I'm tired of waiting." Stiles growled, digging his hands into Derek's hair to pull him back, meeting his gaze with stormy, glazed over eyes. "Aren't you?"

In lieu of an answer, Derek dove down and crushed Stiles' lips with his own, practically inhaling him in his urgency. Stiles surged up to meet him, fingers wrapped tight at the nape of Derek's neck, thighs clenched around his sides. The kiss was near frantic, nothing like the slower, lingering kiss they'd shared earlier. This one was a clash of teeth and tongues, all gasping breaths and desperation. They devoured one another with lips and hands, a push and pull of venturesome touches and furious caresses, bodies writhing against one another, the sweet burn of friction making Derek dizzy and Stiles whimper.

Stiles fought to free himself from the trappings of his t-shirt without breaking the kiss, but gave up when his shirt snagged around his chin. With a frustrated growl, he ripped the shirt off and grabbed for the hem of Derek's, tugging it up and away more viciously than necessary.

Rather than letting Stiles pull him back in, Derek bent at the waist and rasped his stubble through the shallow dip between Stiles' pecs, his tongue sweeping out to soothe the reddened skin while Stiles wriggled about below him, his long and skillful fingers scrabbling at Derek's hair, his neck and shoulders, any part of Derek he could reach.

Chin scraping deliciously at the sensitive skin of Stiles' abdomen, Derek stilled, a faint sheen of silver catching his attention. "What's this?" he asked concernedly, brushing the pad of his thumb over the stretch of skin that extended from just below Stiles' ribcage all the way down to his left hip, taking up most of the left side of his stomach.

Stiles shivered, glancing down to watch Derek's hand smooth over his belly, the scar tissue practically glowing against the normal pale complexion of the rest of his stomach and the slightly darker shade of Derek's skin. "It's, uh... It's where the Catoblepas impaled me." he said, swallowing thickly as he watched Derek's fingertips trace the jagged, twisted outline of the mark, the edges where Stiles' skin had knit itself back together.

"I thought werewolves didn't scar." Derek muttered, slightly awed, chest aching with the knowledge of how painful the injury must have been, how much Stiles must have suffered.

Derek's hand, even spread as wide as it could go, didn't cover the whole of the scar. Silver skin still peeked out from between his fingers, encircled his hand with a thick, gnarled, shimmering border.

Stiles' eyes pricked with heat, emotions welling up and threatening to drown him in their depths. Derek was being so tender with him, so careful. It made Stiles feel precious, protected in a way he hadn't ever felt. Combined with memories from the day he all but died, Stiles struggled to tread water as wave after wave of tangled emotions crashed around him.

"Yeah, not typically." Stiles agreed in a choked voice, grinding the heels of his palms against his eyelids in an effort to force away the burn. "Deaton thinks it's because the damage was so extensive, and because I was still human when it happened."

Thumbing at the bottom-most bump of Stiles' ribs, Derek marveled at the satin smooth skin. The scar wasn't raised, wasn't embossed or textured in any real way. It was as though someone had simply spilled metallic paint over one half of Stiles' belly and done an awful job of cleaning it up.

Stiles' hand wrapping around Derek's wrist startled him, so intently had he been committing the scar to memory.

"Does it bother you?" Stiles asked, his tone unsure and his scent interwoven with something that made Derek's gums itch, made his wolf whine and had his instinct to protect rising up. "I know it's a little weird, but I think it's actually kind of pretty. If it makes you uncomf-"

"No." Derek denied quickly, leaning forward to press his lips to the top edge of the scar. "It's a part of you, Stiles." he murmured into Stiles' stomach, warm vibrations humming along the skin beneath his lips. "There is no part of you I'll ever want you to hide from me."

Stiles wanted to laugh, wanted to call Derek out for being sappy and romantic, but he couldn't seem to find the breath in his lungs to do so. The moment, this single, solitary moment in time, felt raw and significant, too perfect and too intense to interrupt with sarcasm or emotionally stunted quips.

Derek didn't seem to mind Stiles' silence, just continued to decorate Stiles' belly with kisses that felt like brands, another layer of beautiful scarring that marked Stiles' skin, embellished his hide. Derek nuzzled his nose into the dip of Stiles' hip, breathed in and out in deep, shuddering breaths as he shuffled backward on his knees and let his tongue slip out to taste the scar.

"Derek." Stiles breathed, the sound high and surprised as his spine bowed and his shoulders pressed into the cushions beneath him. Derek's tongue moved to trace achingly slow spirals around Stiles' navel until a garbled whine tore from his throat.

Smirking, Derek licked a searing stripe along the band of Stiles' sweats, gliding up the dark line of his treasure trail and then back down, teeth occasionally scraping at Stiles' skin. Derek hooked his fingers into the band and pulled both Stiles' briefs and his sweats down at once, biting and sucking at each new stretch of skin he uncovered. Stiles lifted his hips to facilitate it, settling back down when Derek caught the band of his pants under his balls, exposing the rigid length of his throbbing cock, flushed red and curving proudly up toward his belly.

Derek lifted his eyes to Stiles' face, watching his heavily-lidded gaze slide in and out of focus and his lips part on a ragged breath, his eyes glued to where Derek's tongue flicked out to lap away the pearly bead of pre-come leaking from Stiles' swollen head. Stiles flung his arms above his head, using the couch's arm as leverage to push himself closer, hips bucking up into the burning heat of Derek's mouth as it teased at his crown.

"Fuck." Stiles gasped, shuddering violently at the slick slide of Derek's lips down his length as his cock sank into Derek's throat. "Your mouth is ridiculous."

Derek hummed, sending neon sparks of sensation coursing over Stiles' skin and making his cock pulse. Derek's tongue swirled around Stiles' dripping head and he moaned low and rough as another wave of Stiles' flavor exploded over his taste buds. Wrapping one hand around Stiles' cock, slick with his own saliva, Derek gave a few firm pumps while his lips closed tight around the head and his cheeks caved in around it.

One of Stiles' hands plunged into Derek's hair, fingers fitting flawlessly to the shape of his skull as he rocked up into Derek's mouth. "God, yes. Just like that." Stiles crooned, guiding Derek into an even tempo, his weeping head bumping the back of Derek's throat with every careful thrust.

Using one hand to press down hard against his own achingly rigid cock, Derek sucked Stiles off with enthusiasm, drawing him deep into his throat and swallowing around him, rolling and swirling his tongue along the bottom of Stiles' shaft. Stiles' hips moved in shallow thrusts, never giving Derek more than he could take even as his fingers gripped Derek's skull tighter.

It wasn't long before Stiles' thrust began to stutter, his moans going hoarse and tight. "I'm close, Der." he warned, tugging roughly on Derek's hair to pull him off.

Derek reached for Stiles' hand, guided it from his hair to the back of his neck and pressed down. Stiles cursed in a strangled groan but took the hint, pushing Derek down on his cock as he shoved up. Derek's answering moan vibrated deep in Stiles' belly, pulled his balls in tight to his body.

Stiles' orgasm ripped through him like a lightning bolt across a midnight sky, bright and electric.

"Fuck!" he shouted, fingers gripping hard to Derek's neck as he came, spilling down Derek's throat in salty, bitter spurts, his eyes clenching shut as his body bowed forward.

Derek drank down every drop, humming with satisfaction when Stiles went limp beneath him, his back against the sofa cushions once more. He licked every trace of come from Stiles' skin, tonguing his wet slit to chase the taste before he pulled off with a cocky smirk.

Stiles chuckled breathlessly, running one hand through Derek's mussed hair. "Go ahead and gloat, Big Bad." he grinned affectionately. "You deserve it."

"We deserve it." Derek growled, shifting smoothly up Stiles' body to catch his lips in a deep, head-spinning kiss, letting Stiles taste himself on Derek's tongue. "We deserve to acknowledge this, Stiles. We got here. After all the bullshit, all the tragedy and loss and pain... We still got here."

"Yeah." Stiles' smile went soft and understanding, his mind running through all the ways they'd had to fight to get to a place where they were possible, a place where they could have this, have each other. "Yeah, we did."

Derek pressed another kiss to Stiles' lips and then pushed himself up from the couch, holding a hand out.

"Where are we going?" Stiles pouted, reluctantly letting Derek pull him to his feet so he could pull up his sweats and straighten them around his hips. "I though we liked it here."

"We do." Derek grinned, leading Stiles toward the hall. "But I think we'll like it even more upstairs."