Chapter 11:

The next morning, like every morning, Stiles' alarm went off at 5:15am. He found himself pressed uncomfortably to the wall, wearing only his boxers, and the journey out of bed would require treading somehow over Derek.

Derek, who had said he's wanted to join in on his runs, and who ought to be woken up, except Stiles wanted to get ready first. He stretched one arm carefully over him to reach for his phone, by Derek got to it first; he picked it up, squinted against the bright light, and fumbled two times before managing to hit dismiss.

"You're awake," Stiles helpfully informed him, and Derek murmured incoherently in response; he slumped back on the bed after placing the phone on the bedside table, showing little promise where jogging was concerned.

"Right…" Stiles said, slowly proceeding to maneuver one of his legs over him, delicately placing his hands at his side on the mattress, he stumbled gracelessly on trying to access the floor. Derek watched as he rubbed his hands on his arms to warm up, unaccustomed to wearing so little to sleep; he was aware he should jog with him, but his body felt like lead and the air seemed very cold outside the blankets.

"Wake me up when you're done in there," he murmured, Stiles was at his dresser and picking out clothes. "You sure?" he asked, and Derek slurred back, "I just need to mmph…"

He finally made his way into the bathroom when Stiles was brushing his teeth, eyes squinted, hair in a mess. "Don't know how you do this every morning," he said, reaching for his toothbrush, yawning while putting the toothpaste on. Completely naked and shivering.

Stiles, who was dressed, regarded him momentarily and chuckled around his toothbrush, "I think you should put something on."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you."

The run had done them both good; they were amicable on their return, wide awake, scrambling in the kitchen to salvage whatever partly-prepared food might still make for a reasonable meal that evening. They had just enough time to shower and dress before heading out, and found themselves consumed with the work of the day to think of anything else; they returned home exhausted at the end of the day, and collapsed in front of the TV. Stiles passed out on the couch with his legs hung awkwardly off the armrest.

Derek had almost forgot to tell Kate about what they'd done, he commented on it matter-of-factly, like it were a backyard football game or an argument about the remote; he'd only remembered to be excited about it when she was, but he was really really tired, and Stiles was fast asleep in the living room, so he couldn't tell her his part.

She asked Derek what Stiles was like naked, how big it was, whether or not he was cut or uncut, he knew Stiles was aware he thought so.

It would be another two weeks, before they'd tried anything again; it was raining really hard outside, a Saturday afternoon that felt more like evening, Derek was sat at the kitchen table filling out paperwork.

"What do you wanna do for dinner?" Stiles asked from the living room, he was checking fantasy football scores on his phone.

"Don't know," Derek replied, chewing on the end of his pen while he read through these forms. "Is there any chicken left?"

"I think there might be some."

Several minutes passed as they each went back to what they were doing before.

"Do you wanna do it again?" Derek asked spontaneously.

"Do what again?"

"You know…it…"

"Oh…you wanna do it…"

"Well you know. It has been a while, hasn't it?"

"What's 37 divided by 12?" Derek was still filling out forms, mouthing numbers as he did the calculation in his head. After a moment, he added, "Yeah, it's been, what? A week? Two weeks?"

"Two weeks, yeah. Poor Kate."

"Poor, poor Kate."

"Waiting so patiently while we take our sweet time."

"How does she manage?"

They had meant to fuck properly two weeks before, but they'd been more overwhelmed than they expected by the experimenting they'd done, and the reality of what fucking a guy really meant was daunting. Kissing and fooling around was one thing, but there was immense social stigma about actually having another guy's dick inside you. That was too much.

They each tried to time if they could actually do it, and felt an aversion to the idea straight away. But what if it felt really good? Like, what if it stopped mattering that you had some guy's dick up your ass, and it just felt really good?

But could they actually do it?

"If you think you're on top, you better think again," Stiles said without looking up from his phone, "Just because everybody seems to think that…"

Derek's brow furrowed; "I…wasn't thinking that…" he murmured onto the end of his pen, he added quietly, "I also wasn't not thinking that…"

Of course, they wanted to be tolerant. They wanted to be open-minded, but when faced with the reality of it, neither of them could imagine actually taking it.

"Maybe we should just forget the whole thing," Stiles said.

"Yeah, can't really imagine going through with that."

"I kind of want to, though."

"Well, make up your fucking mind."

"Alright; let's just forget. No, let's—argh, I don't know…!"

Derek was almost compelled to give up and say he'd be willing to take it, but he couldn't bring himself to actually offer.

"Can't we just do what we did before and that's that?" he asked; be he knew they were both as curious as they were opposed.

"If it was like—" Stiles began to theorize, now lain on the couch with his hands midair to demonstrate, "—like a woman, right, with a strap-on…"

"AHH! Shut up…!

"No, listen, listen—and it was—but it's a woman, right? Would that be so bad?"

"Yes! Or—I don't know…!"

Derek laughed and held his head like it hurt from thinking too much.

"I don't think I would mind," Stiles said, arms crossed over his chest, deep in thought.

"No! That's—alright, maybe…" Derek was squinting, trying to picture it.

"That's weird, isn't it? Why is that alright, but with a dude—"

"Be—cause—!" Derek sputtered, still laughing; he was frustrated because it was too difficult of a mental exercise. "Because it's a dude…"

"Right, you don't want to hear a guy tell you all that stuff—you know, like…"

"Like to bend over."

They laughed, because they spoke at the same time.

"Right, or, like—" Stiles made a ridiculous effeminate voice, "Relax, baby."

They both started laughing at that.

"Relax, baby?" Derek asked.

"Yeah, I don't know!"

"But from a woman, it wouldn't be so bad."

"Oh, we are so…"

"So insecure to think this way?"

"You know what? You're right. That shouldn't matter, we're just being a couple of babies."

Stiles sat up conclusively. "It shouldn't matter. Men are beautiful, and—there, I said it—as we're probably missing out on—on—"

"Yeah who knows…what we're missing out on…"

"Just because we're so…"

"Because we're being so insecure."

Several moments passed in silence; the clock ticking nearby sounded unnervingly loud.

"So you're ok with me being—you know—on top" Derek said, murmuring the last two words like they alone sequestered then in exhibit gay.

Stiles glanced incredulously; "Unbelievable," he laughed, "after all that…!"

"We take turns," Derek finally said, "but I go first."

"Fine."

They were genuinely frightened; Stiles watched as Derek made his way to the thermostat. "I'm turning it up, 'cause…it'll be pretty cold once we…"

…take off our clothes.

Stiles nodded in a desperate attempt to silence him before he explained.

"Right. Right, good call…"

There was immense emptiness in the room as they stood across from each other, some yards apart, as though waiting from something to happen. They both almost wished Kate was there to direct them specifically, so it would be her doing and they couldn't be blamed.

"Right, no need to stall, nothing you haven't seen before," Derek said as he began to pull off his shirt. Stiles smiled, he nodded and pointed one finger. "That's true," he didn't stop to think out just how much each of them would actually need to take off, because that would have them imagine too graphically the explicit mechanics of this sort of thing.

It was immensely tempting to call the whole thing off. To point out the almost suffocating awareness this was ridiculous and absurd, but they forced themselves through it.

"Ok. You should—" Derek spoke, indicating the couch. "Yeah. I'll just—" Stiles said cooperative, like an adolescent boy instructed on the sequence of obstacles with which he must contend to prize the holy grail of intimacy. He arranged his various limbs into his best approximation of what such a thing probably required, lain on his back, the surrounding layout of the room almost betraying in its casual familiarity. Like this was business as usual.

"Right," Derek said conclusively, he walked briskly to the couch and stopped in a moment of logistical planning, then he reached for Stiles' ankles, because that was the part of him that least lent itself to implication.

His first thought was that Stiles had quite nice legs; then, immediately after, he decided that he should not think such a thing, especially under these fragile circumstances, when their sole salvation was the insistence they weren't actually attracted to each other.

Stiles watched him try to decide what to do, he smiled apologetically and said, "This is going to be very profane, don't think less of me—"

He got one ankle on the backrest, the other on the floor, clearly fighting back embarrassment, he laughed and motioned with his chin for Derek to come on.

"Ok." Derek said, he raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Thanks," he knelt on the floor beside the couch with far too much gentleness.

This was just so real.

He got his hands on Stiles' thighs, aware that they felt unexpectedly human, and that human felt just as nice when it was male, so long as you were allowed to believe he was yours.

Then the fucking phone rang.

"Don't." Stiles said bravely, finger pointed at Derek. It would be too easy to use that as an excuse to back out. It kept ringing and ringing, they both were distracted and it gave them the courage somehow; Stiles got his hand on the back of Derek's head and mercifully pressed him down.

Insistently, so it would be solely his own doing without question.

It gave Derek a wonderfully liberating moment of aggravation, when he could justifiably become upset, and blame Stiles for forcing him crudely, he felt eternally grateful.

The phone was still ringing. It was someone from the retreat and now they were leaving a message on the machine, complete with enunciating every digit of a phone number, twice, and inane afterthoughts at the end.

"Ignore it," Stiles insisted, like he were instructing him on how to ride a bicycle or on the steps to a dance, curiously confident because one of them had to be.

He almost forgot this was meant to feel good, until he felt his tongue on his entrance.

He stilled at once, every part of him frozen, and stared at Derek with utter disbelief.

"That…is really good," he stammered, like his own words wounded too absurd to accept, like despite himself he was forced to surrender to something too blatant to deny.

Unexpectedly, Derek found himself somehow flattered, and somehow curious; he tried to meet Stiles' gaze from partway beneath his legs, boyishly smiling, they both chuckled with embarrassment.

"You like that?" he asked with genuine, innocent intrigue, and Stiles smiled; his eye glittered with goodness of heart. "Yeah," he said, a little shy. "Yeah, I…could you do that some more?"

Just like that, it became normal and understandable and comfortable, like an unspoken agreement that made them wonder if all the reluctance had been necessary.

None of it would have been so daunting if they could be convinced they weren't supposed to be against it.

A/N: Ok so now we're getting somewhere. I'll try to update as soon as possible. Tell me what you think.