A/N So, looks like this is getting published same day...for reasons, like S3Ep4 hurt reasons.

Katieepretzel did RECORD turnarounds on this

I OWN NOTHING

Ohohohoh- so like, I'll figure out some super special treat for whatever commenter can tell me the name of the radio show, or the news person referenced in this chapter. Hint- new dude only did sports for a very long time.

"Lydia, why am I in Minneapolis again?" Stiles said into his phone while he juggled a stuffed-to-the-brim carry-on, his laptop bag, and a coffee. "And why the hell is it so early? I swear you book my travel at the worst fucking times just to annoy me, don't you?"

"Stiles Stilinski! I will have you know that you travel when you do because it builds much needed character! And if you'd actually bothered to read the itinerary I sent you this morning, you'd know you're in Minneapolis for the golf-charity thing. The newscaster hosts it every year, to raise money for his cancer research charity, and he brings in athletes and actors and whomever else. You're doing an interview with the local hard rock station, they have a car waiting out of courtesy because it's such an early flight and you graciously rearranged your schedule to accommodate them bee-tee-doubleyou, and then you'll be picked up, brought to the hotel where you'll meet your roomie for the night, sorry about that, the hotel literally ran out of rooms, have productive conversation with him, and then do the golf thing in the morning. I managed it so he'll be in your playing foursome." Stiles couldn't tell if her tone was bored or devious, but honestly neither was good when it came to Lyds. "After that, you'll fly home, have the now annual Wii event with Derek and we'll go from there. Your schedule is pretty set until Christmas, but we're trying to make it work for you, okay?"

He sighed. Devious, definitely devious. "Lydia, goddess among women…what are you doing?"

"Right now? Filing my nails and talking to you, why?"

"No, Lyds, I mean what are you planning? Also, you know you said B T W, right? Like actually said the letters?"

"Stiles… just go do your interview, then just…be open, okay? Sometimes people are stupid because they 'don't word good' and sometimes they're stupid because they are blind fools who don't know a good thing because they never gave it an opportunity to bite them on the ass. Just…if you're mad at me at nine tonight, call me and I'll make other arrangements, put you on the first flight home, helicopter you to Paris, whatever you want, okay? Just not before nine, Jackson and I have dinner plans." She sighed, made a kissy noise and disconnected.

The radio interview wasn't bad, actually. He hasn't done in-studio interviews in a long time, but it was really nice to get to talk about why cancer related charities were important to him, the role they'd played in his life, how much they help the families. Of course, they also covered lighter topics: his latest movie, the movies he has in the works, his lack of golf skills, no, he's never swung a golf club before in his life, not even a fake one the Wii. There was joking about 'the incident', exceedingly inappropriate questions about Erica (Lydia had texted him in advance, warning him to expect them given the nature of the show), asked if his friendship with The Wolfman gave him any insight on if the Dodgers were going all the way this year and then, the one he had the hardest time stumbling his way through, if Erica and the mysterious 'Deb' were friends. It had taken him a couple moments to get his thoughts together enough to form something coherent, and mostly he just opened his mouth and hoped the words came out while he tried to keep his heart from pounding its way out of his chest on live radio.

Goddamn he could kill Lydia and Scott for deciding the best way to handle the 'Deb' situation was to just not answer any question. Since there was no footage of Derek out with anyone who wasn't already in their group, speculation ran rampant, who was she, what did she look like, did his friends not approve? For the last month all the tabloids have had to run with are pictures of Derek looking increasingly more frustrated while checking his messages or talking on the phone, all with captions like 'trouble in paradise?"

No. There wasn't trouble in paradise; there was no paradise to speak of. Fewer texts and they rarely called just to chat anymore, fewer nights with any semblance of good sleep, at least on Stiles' end, just…fuck.

Okay, here's the thing. Stiles knows he's withdrawn from Derek a little. But what the hell! They had a moment with their newborn niece, he thought they were finally going to stop fucking around and acknowledge what was between them, what he thought they both wanted… and then Derek pulls the Death Star of relationship lines and all he had to say was 'Our schedules just don't work.'

Well, no shit, Sherlock. They both lived insanely chaotic lives for at least half of the year, but if you really wanted to have something significant with someone, you wouldn't let that stop you. Granted, he could've, should've said ANYTHING in reply other than 'alright then'. He should've argued his case, made Derek see that they could make it work, that he'd to whatever it took, but really what was the point? Derek obviously didn't want that, otherwise he would've said anything other than 'our schedules don't work'. What a fucking brush off.

Of course, this all occurred to him as he was drinking water and opening the door to the SUV that was waiting outside the studio for him, leading him to spit a mouthful of said water all over the interior of said SUV. He's smooth like that.

"You gonna get in Deeb, or just stand there like looking like a fish?"

Stiles decided to get in, but it wasn't an easy decision. It wasn't easy to walk straight into what he now knew was all Lydia's doing, to set himself up for the possibility that whatever happened inside that car was going to hurt a thousand times worse than every day had since Charlie was born. And that's the excuse he has for what came out of his mouth next, and the steely tone that accompanied it. "You know, I'm not certain what you're doing here at all."

"Well, it's my understanding that you flew in ass-early to do an interview, and now we're going to the hotel where we can talk and sleep and eat, those last two are interchangeable and the first and third can be done together, and then tomorrow, we golf." Stiles was taken aback by how very deadpan Derek delivered that, especially given Stiles' coldness.

"Yeeeeeahhhh…Lydia?"

"And Allison, Erica and Melissa, and Stiles, word of advice? Don't get Mel drunk when you need to talk serious things with her."

"Could've told you that a long time ago. She's oddly loving and fierce at the same time, and she starts sneaking in Spanish words and I'm never certain if she's calling me nice things or bad things. If you'd asked I would have told you. If you'd asked, I would have told you anything. Had you just asked me, Derek."

Derek was silent after that. Stiles looked out the window, played with his water bottle, and did his best to pretend he was anywhere else on the drive to the hotel. Derek had already checked in, so they were able to park near a side entrance and get into their room without seeing anyone else.

"Stiles, I know Lydia told you you had to talk to me…well, knowing Lydia, and after seeing your reaction, she didn't so much tell you it was me, but I know, for a fact that you were instructed to talk. I didn't want to do it this way, but I couldn't figure out another!" Derek said, as soon as the door to the room was closed. Stiles wandered around, looking through the bedroom and adjoining bathroom and oh, was that a kitchen and living area? Lydia might be conniving but at least she's generous with the accommodations. He set down his bags, kicked off his shoes, and flopped back on the big bed. (just one bed, because Lydia's not that generous.)

"Alright then, talk."

"That's it? just…talk?"

"What do you want me to say, Der? You made it clear you didn't have time for anything so I haven't pushed for anything. What do you expect?" Stiles was having a hard time keeping his voice level. He stared at the ceiling above him because if he didn't look at Derek, this wouldn't hurt. "I just…dammit! In my head, you know, I...you made me think I was enough."

"Stiles, Deeb, will you just look at me please?" Derek shouted. "I don't want you? Is that what you honestly think? I spent hours in YOUR HOUSE with four of the five scariest women I know, being lectured on everything I did wrong, on everything I should have said and done, and why what I did say was categorically awful. I rearranged my schedule outside of games and mandatory practices to get Lydia to set this up, I agreed to be in a golf tournament when I don't even like the game just so that I could have you to myself for a night and try and explain. Plus Lydia made me promise her a favor and god knows how that's gonna come back and bite me in the ass.

"You are more than enough, and so much more than I deserve, and you terrify me because you have, more than anyone, the power to break me. Hell, Stiles, you already have. Not having you these last few weeks killed me. I can't keep my head in the game; I can't sleep; the only reason I manage to choke food down is because Allison would skin me otherwise.

"I want to make it work, Deeb.

"I want there to be us.

"I want to know that when I come home you're there, because it's our home, I want to know that I can call you when I'm on the road and you'll be there, and I want to sleep next to you and…Stiles, goddammit, I want to eat your heavenly fluffy pancakes every morning after waking up tangled with you!"

Stiles sat up and looked at Derek. He carefully took in how wrecked the other man looked, bags under his eyes that were glistening with unshed tears, thinner, hair standing on end.

"…oh."

"Oh? That's it Stiles?"

Still to this day, Stiles has no real clue how he managed to get out of the bed and in front of Derek as quickly as he did. No clue how his arms wrapped tightly around Derek's neck, fingers caught in his hair. No idea at all how neither of them fell down as he pressed himself tight against Derek, inhaling the scent of home and right and good.

"Bear…okay…yes…I want, I need that too. Just, it's going to be hard, we're never in the same city and my schedule is booked through the holidays and you…you can't come out yet, that would be horrible for your career and just" Stiles pulled back and looked into Derek's eyes. "Never, ever doubt that I want you and that you deserve this." Stiles wiped his cheeks on Derek's shoulders, not caring if he felt his tears. "I want what our friends and family have, or will have…the fences and the babies and the weddings, goddammit the weddings, and maybe not right away, because I also want to have the sex they're having…no, no I don't, there are vaginas in their sex and my parents and oh my god stop me now." He could feel Derek laughing against his chest and under his cheek. It was heaven.

"Let's slow it down some, okay? God, how I missed being called Bear." Stiles could also feel Derek's smile against his head. "We still need to talk some more about this, about what we want, and in what timeline. As much as it absolutely kills me to say it, I don't think we should have sex right now."

"No sexy-times? But Stiles wants sexy-times!"

"One, never say sexy-times again while referring to yourself in the third person, that's just creepy, two, not right now. I fucked up saying it way back when, but you're right, we're booked until the holidays, so for right now, our schedules don't work." Derek started rubbing Stiles back, something Stiles had to stop himself from purring about. "I don't want to rush into anything, which I know is stupid because apparently we've been together for months, unknowingly, but I want to be able to take my time, to break you and put you back together just to do it all over again." Derek's voice got noticeably lower, one of his hands spread over the small of Stiles' back. "I want to be able to bring you to that point where you're sweating and panting and begging me to give you more, to touch you, to lick you, kiss you or fuck you just anything that will let you come just to ease you back down and bring you to that point all over again, and again…and again.

"I want you wrecked, Stiles.

"I want you trembling.

"I want you drunk on lust and satiated and then, God, and then, I want you to do the same for me."

Stiles cleared his throat. "You now, for someone who just gave a really good reason for us not having sex, you're not doing a good job convincing me."

"Stiles," Derek laughed, fond and amused.

"Okay yeah, but…what do we do now?"

"Well…wanna go to bed?"

"I thought you said that was out of the question?" Stiles pulled his head off of Derek's shoulder to smirk. Derek placed a small, chaste kiss on his forehead.

"Sleep, Stiles. I can tell you need it, and I do, too." Derek pulled away, eliciting a whine from Stiles.

"But Bear…you promised food?"

"Alright, order up something for breakfast. But remember Allison will kill me if there are yolks in my eggs, and I need to have a bunch of fruit, I have a list somewhere she sent me with, and-"

"Okay, that sounds super complicated… so how about I take a shower and you order food? I'll just eat whatever you can have to make it easy. When I get out we eat, and then sleep, and then we go from there." Stiles didn't even give time for Derek to answer, just grabbed his carry-on and headed towards the bathroom.

Would masturbating in the shower be awkward with Derek right outside the room? Did he care?

Yes, it would be awkward, and no, no he most certainly did not care.

He washed the airplane grime off of himself and he rested his shoulders against the tile, hands running down his stomach, over his hipbones collecting water and suds.

Inhaling, he wrapped his fingers around his cock and brought his hand slowly up on the exhale, twisting his wrist at the tip to flick his thumb over the head before squeezing himself on the down stroke. He thought about Derek's words, the timbre of his voice and the vibrations of his chest as he brought his other hand down to gently grab and roll his balls. Stroke and squeeze and Derek's smile, twist and pull and Derek's mouth, faster and Derek's lips and harder and Jesus what would that voice feel like humming against him, around him. Thumb under the head and being wrecked by Derek's giant fingers and a tightening in the gut and tingling in the legs and having Derek under him, spread for him, taking him deep inside and "Jesus Derek!" Stiles shouted as he came hot and hard over his fingers.

"You needed something?" A voice said from the other side of the shower curtain.

"eep?" Stiles panted.

"Fucking hell Deeb…breakfast's here. I'll just…be…out there."

Stiles slid down the tiles, embarrassed, happy, and did he mention embarrassed? After a few more minutes he crawled out of the tub, dried off, and threw on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt before walking into the room. Because he was an adult dammit, and what was he supposed to do in the shower after Derek went all in-person phone sex on him?

"So…breakfast, I'm starved!"

"Yeah, I bet you are," Derek chortled. "We have egg white omelets with turkey sausage, peppers, onions, spinach and queso blanco. We have fruit salad. You have coffee and I have a nice herbal tea…hmmmmm…herbal tea."

Stiles burst out laughing at the change in Derek's tone when he mentioned the tea. A while back Allison decided Derek needed to reduce his caffeine intake, but he didn't want to give up hot beverages so they'd compromised on tea. And thus Derek's obsession was born.

He climbed up onto the bed and situated himself against the headboard before making oh so mature grabby hands at the coffee and food. Derek handed over the coffee, set a tray in the middle of the bed, and then joined him.

"So…good coffee here, mmmm, delish. And oh by the way what does slow mean to you?" Stiles asked.

"It means that we go back to how things were before I screwed up epically and had the most poorly worded conversation ever, but we acknowledge that something's there and we start figuring out where to go. It means that I'll be yours," Stiles reached over and took Derek's hand while he listened, "And you'll be mine, and no one else will get to walk in on you in the shower." Stiles pulled his hand back long enough to smack a now laughing Derek on the shoulder.

"So, where do we stand on my making out with your cousin?"

"Hey, if Lydia is fine with you macking on Jackson…seriously, I know it's nothing, I don't like it, but it's nothing. Me and Boyd will have something else in common to chat about now."

Stiles ate some fruit and decided how best to word what he wanted to say. "Bear, if I do something that bothers you, you need to tell me. Some shit I do for my job and that's what it is, kissing a costar on screen is in the script, I do it if I accept the script. Erica? She's not a script, she's a friend, and if it makes you uncomfortable or angry, tell me and it stops." He carefully kept his eyes on his plate as he let Derek process what he said.

"For now, baby, it's a good thing. I may want to shout to the world that you're gonna be mine, but I'm not ready to risk it all yet. I need to know that this? This is permanent, and that doesn't mean I'm doubting you, or us, it just means…"

"I get it Bear, it just means I'm Erica's or 'single' in the spotlight longer, and you go back to being ecstatic about getting texts from Deb…you know, if you need a photo op, I could totally rock a dress and heels."

Derek's laughter allowed Stiles to relax, to enjoy his breakfast and coffee, coffee that was doing nothing to ease his weariness. "Bear, can we sleep now?"

"Oh god, please? I was just waiting on you." Derek jumped up, stripped the blankets down and crawled into bed, laying on his side, arm laid out for Stiles to nestle into.

He did.

Rapidly.

If anyone were to ask, it took less than three minutes for Derek to start snoring. Stiles counted. It was only one minute longer than it took for a soft 'love you' to be muttered in the skin behind his ear, for an arm to tighten around his waist, a leg to work itself in between his, and a chest to sync to his breathing, at his back.