After putting their uneaten lunches in the fridge, Derek offered Stiles first shower, something he gratefully accepted. He didn't mess around too much, focusing solely on getting clean, scrubbing harder than usual in an attempt to wash the day away.
Once he was out and dressed in a clean pair of boxers and a plain tee, he sent his dad a text apologizing for not contacting throughout the day and explaining that he'd been busy at the ME's office and then Derek's work.
"I'm not even gonna bother explaining to you how unethical it was for you to get involved in a criminal investigation like that since I know you won't listen. But what did the ME say?"
Stiles had a moment of hesitation, of debating with himself, before gleaming over the details. "Killed by an alpha, sanguine asphyxiation." His dad didn't need to know exactly how, didn't need those images in his head, and he sure as hell didn't need to know about his son having been raped on top of it all. Stiles would bear the brunt of that knowledge, would gladly be the one tortured by those crime scene photos if it meant his dad didn't have to.
He grabbed his notepad and jotted down what he'd learned at the ME's as he exchanged texts with his dad, chuckling lowly at a story of Alpha Katashi getting in to it with Alpha Satomi, the latter one kicking his ass despite being five-foot-fuck-all at most and probably a hundred years old. The messages tapered off as he began writing notes about the computer system at the S-Dub's HQ, the new message he'd received.
"This ship doesn't have lens flares," he murmured to himself, tapping the pen on the pad as he glanced around the room, trying to figure out what the hell his brother was talking about.
But all he could think about was JJ fucking Abrams and those godforsaken lens flares in the Star Trek reboot, how it'd led to a debate between the twins when he was tapped to direct the new Star Wars movie. Stiles had loudly declared that there'd better be no lens flares in it, Stu saying there wouldn't be because Star Wars was "too dark", pointing out how the bad guys won at the end of two of the movies.
Which was what made them so fucking great and really, cynical Stu should've understood that more than Stiles.
The memory blended into another one, when Stu had told Stiles that JJ Abrams was co-writing a book about a pirate ship or some crap and Stiles had jokingly asked how he'd manage to get lens flares in that, getting a punch to the—
Wait.
Inhaling sharply, he tossed the pen and pad onto the bed next to him before hopping off it and racing to the book case. He quickly scanned the titles, finding it—unsurprisingly—beside a collection of Star Trek novels and he pulled it out of its space.
S.
Slipping the book out of its black sleeve, he took in the cover of the book itself, The Ship of Theseus, remembering Stu trying to explain that it was a book within a story and Stiles being too bored to care and spacing out. Flipping it open, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground and he crouched down to pick it up, noting it was a ticket stub for the latest Star Trek movie. He went to put it back where it had fallen from, only to realize there was writing on the back of it, turning it over to read it.
"Must've left it in my other ship :P"
"Oh fuck you, Stuart," he muttered, putting the ticket in the book, the book in its sleeve, and the whole thing back on the shelf. He smeared a hand over his face as he glanced around the room, trying to figure out what his brother was going on about now and why the hell he had to be related to an ass like him.
His eyes came across the model Enterprise on Stu's desk, the only other ship in the room, and Stiles felt hope flare up in his chest. With long strides, he made his way over and sank down onto the chair, picking up the starship and hearing a plastic rattling as he inspected it, finding a slot located along the top.
A piggy bank.
"Sneaky asshole," he grumbled as he removed it from its stand and flipped it over, finding the rubber plug to get the change out. Popping it out, he shook the bank about, trying to get whatever was inside out, only to have no success and having to try and slide his fingers inside. It took some finagling, but he finally managed to remove the objects: two small flashdrives, each with a piece of masking tape and a number on them, and a folded up slip of paper. He put the drives to the side, opening up the paper and finding his twin's handwriting once more.
"Check them out in the order they're numbered."
Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes, balling up the note and tossing it into a trashcan hidden under the desk. Fucking prick. Wasn't like he couldn't figure that one out for himself. Part of him wanted to be vindictive and check them out of order, just to be a dick, but there wasn't anyone around that he'd piss off by doing that. Besides, Stu had gone through a lot of trouble hiding them, leaving a trail of clues that only Stiles could decipher, going so far as to put an error code within the system he'd created for the town's security center. There was obviously a reason for all the madness and it would be an idiotic move—not to mention pretty douchy—to not just do as he was told with it.
Speaking of douchy, he thought, his stomach rumbling. Apparently his appetite was back, and pissed that lunch had been missed—repeatedly. With a sigh, he got up, hiding the flashdrives in his duffel before scuffing his way to the kitchen to grab his food.
His container was on top and he quickly found a plate, taking the meat off his burger to heat it up in the microwave. He grabbed a bottle of water in the interim, taking a few huge gulps. Derek shuffled his way in soon after, wearing the same mesh basketball shorts and tank as the night before, hand roughing through his hair repeatedly. Stiles completely forgot what he was doing, too busy staring at the alpha's ass as he bent down to reach into the fridge for a drink of his own, butt perfectly displayed through black mesh.
Jesus fuck, he was unfair to mere mortals like Stiles.
The microwave beeping made him jump, arms flailing as he was jerked back to reality. He put his water bottle on the island counter before he accidentally threw it across the room, smearing a hand over his face to regain his composure, then headed over to the appliance to remove his burger. The fridge door closed behind him and he absolutely refused to turn around and get a face full of pecs and shoulders and biceps and whatever other muscles Derek had that were beyond ridiculous, alpha dynamic or not. So instead, he focused solely on putting his burger back together, damn near burning himself on the nuked patty.
Derek joined him at the island, transferring his own burger patty and fries onto a plate, quirking an eyebrow at Stiles reconstructing his inside the styrofoam container. "You not heating up your fries?"
"Nope," Stiles answered, popping the "p", before putting three right in his mouth. He grinned wide up at the alpha as he chewed, amused as hell at the disgusted look he got in response.
"You and your brother are so fucking weird," he muttered, taking his plate over to the microwave. "Assuming he really was into cold fries, because so far, he's lied about coffee, pickles, and ketchup on eggs."
"Ketchup on eggs is disgusting and only done by heathens," Stiles repeated his words from breakfast, shuddering at memories of Stu pouring the red crap all over his eggs. At least that way he was guaranteed to never have them stolen by Stiles.
Their dad on the other hand...
"But no, he was being honest on the cold fries front," he concluded, lifting his burger and taking a big bite.
"Fucking weird," Derek repeated, hitting buttons on the microwave and making it start up.
The twosome sat side by side at the island counter as they ate their reheated lunch for dinner, discussing foods they both loved and hated. Both agreed on meat lovers pizza—although Stiles admitted to not having had it in a while, ordering veggie lovers more recently for his dad—and ice cream as the best dessert—it was a tie between moose tracks and cookie dough as to the best flavor, but Derek put in a good argument for regular chocolate—but disagreed on style of fries—curly for Stiles, Derek being a freak who preferred thick cut—and chicken—nuggets for Stiles, grilled breasts for Derek, which Stiles actually requested Derek try to talk his dad into enjoying more.
Which promptly brought conversation to a standstill when they both realized that would never happen. Derek was never gonna meet the sheriff because there was no reason for him to. Meeting the in-laws of a Mate that was no longer living would only hurt everyone involved, a slap in the face reminder of the mutual relation they once had. And it wasn't like Stiles could introduce Derek as his own Mate, because as far as anyone else on the planet was concerned, they didn't have that connection.
Well, anyone except Lydia, but she was always the exception.
Clearing his throat, Derek rose to his feet, taking his plate to the dishwasher, back to the younger man. His every move was stiff, muscles tense, features hard. From his seat at the island, Stiles caught the scents of upset and agitation and his wolf began whimpering as a result.
Crumpling up his napkin, Stiles threw it in his styrofoam tray with as much force as he could given it was a flimsy paper product, done eating despite still having half a meal left. But his appetite had disappeared again, replaced with a heavy ball of regret and disappointment taking up too much space in his stomach. Although he wasn't sure what he regretted more: his words for ruining the easy companionship they'd fallen into, or the fact that he wouldn't be bringing Derek home to meet his dad.
He closed the styrofoam container, shoving it away from him, then winced as he scratched his forehead with a finger. "Yeah, I'm sor—"
"Sleep with me."
What the—what? Really? What?
Stiles gaped at the older man, watching as he turned and leaned back against the counter, arms folded over his chest nonchalantly. Like he hadn't just dropped a bomb like that, hadn't just asked Stiles to sleep with him, out of seemingly nowhere, during an incredibly awkward pause where they'd been reminded that they couldn't be together like their instincts were telling them to be.
What the hell?
But it wasn't like Stiles was opposed to the proposition. Fuck no. At those words, his cock had twitched and his hole pulsed and his mind became inundated with countless flashes from countless Dreams, ideas forming of what exactly they could do together, images he wouldn't mind recreating in real life. He licked his lips as his eyes went half-lidded, whiskey orbs drifting down and taking inventory of the man standing across the room from him, all muscles and whiskers and strength and alpha and Mate and Derek and yeah, Stiles had no issue taking him up on that offer.
The alpha's nostrils flared, eyes flashing red before widening and he shook it all off. "No, Stiles. Fuck," he grumbled, rubbing at his closed eyes. "I meant sleep as in share a bed, not—" He moved his hand from his eyes to gesture about in the air. "That."
Oops.
Stiles felt his face heat up as embarrassment flooded him, killing his arousal. Squirming in his seat, he let out an uneasy laugh, shaky grin on his face as he faked lightheartedness and pretended it was all good, when really, he was kind of dying inside of mortification. "Right, yeah, totally," he agreed, giving the other man a thumbs up. "Totally knew that's what you meant."
Derek simply rolled his eyes, but he didn't take his offer back, so Stiles couldn't have screwed up too bad.
He picked at a hangnail as his hands rested on the counter, frowning down at them in uncertainty. "You think that's a good idea though? Us sharing a bed?" He scratched at a sideburn, shrugging. "I mean, you said that—" he pointed to the counter he'd been hoisted on the night before, knowing the hint had been taken and understood by the way the tips of Derek's ears went red "—couldn't happen again and I feel like sharing a bed would more than likely lead to that happening again."
Derek's eyebrows bobbed in concession, hand rubbing at his jaw, the rasp of his whiskers hitting Stiles' ear. "If it'll make you feel better, we'll put pillows between us and create a barrier."
Right. Like that ever worked. And Stiles opened his mouth to say just that, only to be cut off.
"I just—" the alpha started then paused, turning his head to his left and staring unseeing at the laundry room. "I didn't sleep last night. My wolf was pissed that you were on the other side of the house and not next to me, then I had the Dream—we had the Dream, then what happened in the kitchen happened, so I wound up spending the rest of the night wide awake convincing myself that going to your room to finish what we started was a terrible idea."
Stiles scowled down at his hands, internally wincing at the blow to his ego. "So you want me in the bed with you so you can get some sleep?" he concluded, voice flat and not giving away the hurt he was feeling inside.
Which was a lot.
"No," Derek was quick to argue, turning back towards him. "I don't care if I never sleep again. I just wanna know that you're right next to me and that you're safe and okay and getting some rest of your own."
Stiles snorted. "Yeah, I don't sleep all that well either. Stu's not the only one with insomnia."
"Then I'll stay up all night keeping you company, I don't care. I just." He paused to sigh, shrugging and shaking his head. "I just want you next to me. You."
Fucking hell.
And fuck if Stiles didn't want the same damn thing.
He even opened his mouth to agree, to tell him he wanted to lay down next to Derek, stay up all night next to Derek, finally crash from exhaustion next to Derek, wake up next to Derek. But that couldn't happen, and not just because Stiles' self-restraint was minimal at best, but because everyone would know. There were no secrets among wolves, not when lies were detected through heartbeats and scents were used to tell where someone had been, who they'd been with, and what emotions they were feeling. A select few had the ability to mask their scent, hide themselves and what they were feeling. Stiles wasn't one of them.
Wringing the back of his neck, he grimaced, lips twisting to the side as he tried to gather the courage to actually say what needed to be said. "We can't," he said lowly, hand moving to scratch the top of his scalp in comfort. "Lydia already caught your scent on me and is suspicious. Anyone else smells it and everyone's gonna think you're sleeping with me—like, sex sleeping with me—as a replacement for Stu."
Derek smeared a hand over his face as he breathed out a swear. Obviously that little factoid had slipped his mind and put a damper on his plan. Arms folded, he worked his jaw in thought, glancing about the room as though he could find a solution taped on a cabinet door or hidden in the grains of the wood floor. His eyes suddenly lit up, brows raising, his scent shifting from disappointed upset to hopeful excitement as he turned back to the other man.
"We'll lie," he stated, as if it would be that simple. "If anyone asks, we'll tell them that I couldn't sleep alone after having my Mate next to me for so long and you, as an omega, needed physical comfort during this hard time after having lost your twin."
Stiles tugged at his hair, contemplating it. It sounded pretty damn believable, and it was just enough of the truth that they'd get away with it. Still seemed like a bad idea, way risky, but the reward of being able to lie next to his Mate more than outweighed it. And besides, it wouldn't be the first time he did something dumb and at least in this instance he had better reasoning than curiosity, boredom, and "it seemed like a good idea at the time, how was I supposed to know that would happen?"
And really, it wasn't like Derek's fake reasons were actually fake or lies. As much as Stiles was loathe to admit, some stereotypes about omegas were true—after all, the rumors had to start somewhere, right? And the one about them seeking physical comfort during times of duress and upset? Definitely true. He and Stu had spent more time in each other's beds during their mom's illness and after her death than they had apart and after Stu's disappearance, Stiles had spent a great amount of time snuggling up to Scott and Lydia both. Telling people he'd spent the night in Derek's bed because he needed the physical comfort wasn't all that far-fetched. And considering how everyone believed Stu and Derek had been Mates, the cuddling would be seen as nothing more than just platonic touches between technical brothers.
With a sigh, he dropped his hand, mind made up. "Okay," he agreed, rising to his feet. "Just lemme grab my pillow."
Derek quirked an eyebrow at that, watching him cross the room to throw away his box.
"Can't sleep without it," he murmured with a shrug.
A single nod was the alpha's response before he pushed away from the counter. "I'll meet you in the bedroom."
Stiles nodded back, smoothing down his hair at the back of his head before scuffing his way with bare feet to the guest bathroom. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, used the facilities one last time, all without looking at the mirror. Because he knew if he did and if he really took a good look at himself, he'd manage to psych himself out of it. Better not to look himself in the eye and wonder what Stu would think of all this.
Nope, no way, nuh uh. No thinking of Stu. Stu would be glad the man he loved and his twin were getting along and comforting one another, that was it. That was all Stiles was gonna let himself think.
Back in the office-slash-guest room, he checked his phone for messages and found none, then plugged it in to be charged. He snatched his pillow off the bed and after a moment's hesitation, grabbed the borrowed ones, too. Better for the barrier, he reasoned. With one final glance around the room to double-check he had everything, he headed out, flipping off the light on his way.
The door to the master bedroom was wide open so he invited himself in, glancing around the room. The wall opposite him was home to the biggest bed Stiles had ever seen in his life, no frame to be found, fluffy comforter rolled down to the end of it, flat sheet folded down in an inviting manner, the linens all white to match the walls. An oak nightstand was on either side, both with a lamp on top, each one turned on to provide a soft, relaxing light in the room. The wall to his right held side-by-side windows covered with beige black-out blinds, an oak trunk underneath, covered with throw pillows that'd most likely just been removed from the bed. The wall to his left held an open doorway leading to the bathroom, presumably where Derek was at the moment, getting ready for bed judging by the sound of running water. White louver doors were on the left side of the door, most likely the closet, an overstuffed white armchair tucked into the corner on the opposite side. The final wall featured a tall oak dresser, Derek's wallet and cell phone sitting on top, a handful of change in a small metal bowl to the side, a metal wolf set on a slice of what Stiles was pretty sure was tiger's eye in the middle. A framed print of a wolf painting was above the dresser, a similar piece above the bed, the art impersonal and found in every home and every furniture store and every thrift shop. Nothing special and nothing that spoke of who lived in the room.
He looked around the space, hoping to find a knickknack or a framed photo or anything really to find any clue as to who lived in that space and found nothing, just a docking station for an iPhone on one nightstand and an alarm on the other. Fucking hell, it was almost depressing really. More of their personalities showed through in their office, the place where work was done, than their bedroom, the place where one could display whatever mattered the most to them.
Another red flag popped up, but Stiles didn't think it added to any sort of guilt or proved that Derek was the killer. It was more a sign that their Mating wasn't typical by any means, even when taking into consideration Dream-less couples who fall in love through not so conventional routes.
Whatever. He knew Stu and Derek weren't True Mates, that much was obvious and factual, but he'd still been under the impression that they'd been in love. After all, why would they agree to spend their lives together and exchange Claiming Bites if they didn't?
Yeah, right, okay, no more thinking about the state of his brother's Mating, not when he's about to share a bed with his Mate. Who just happened to be Stiles' True Mate, but they weren't together due to how the townsfolk would perceive it.
Which he also needed to not think about. God, things were complicated as fuck.
He shook his head almost violently to get rid of any and all errant thoughts before schlepping his way over to the bed. Judging everything by the scents embedded in the pillows and mattress, he went for the side by the bathroom door, unsurprised that was his brother's side. In typical overprotective alpha fashion, Derek chose to sleep closer to the windows and hallway door, closer to any points of entry in order to make sure his Mate was safe and secure.
Kneeling on the bed, Stiles felt the mattress give, knee practically sinking in to it, noting it was one of those fancy ass memory foam deals. Okay, cool, another reason to be jealous of Stu, got it. Guy fucking had it made while Stiles was off having nightmares and panic attacks over his well-being.
Or maybe not, given the stalker alpha and all.
Yeah, that was something else he wasn't gonna think about.
He dropped the pillows next to him then grabbed the top one from the head of the bed, laying it perpendicular to the remaining ones in the middle of the bed. The other two pillows from the office-slash-guest room were used to further the barrier down the bed, his own personal one from home laying where his head would go.
Derek came through as he was straightening the pillow barrier and making sure the two sides of the bed were equal, amused smirk growing on his face as he took in what Stiles was doing. "Seriously?" he chuckled, stepping around to his side.
The omega shrugged as he stood on his own side—or his temporary side. Borrowed side? Whatever, it was his side for the moment. Putting his hands on his hips, he stared down at his work, impressed pout forming on his face as he nodded. "You said we'd put one, so we're putting one."
Another chuckle left the older man, his hands going up in innocence at the sight of the other's glare. "Hey, if this will make you comfortable and help you sleep, by all means."
"Yeah, I told you I don't sleep," Stiles admitted. "Not well. Pillow helps though." He pointed at it, the dark blue case contrasting sharply with the all-white linens of the bed.
Derek just nodded and gave a flat "okay" before reaching down and grabbing the bottom of his tank, clearly readying himself to take it off.
Stiles stood there gaping, frozen, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do. The right thing would be turn away, give the man his privacy, especially since he was still technically taken—and by his damn twin. But Derek had also paraded around the house in his boxer-briefs the night before so it wasn't like Stiles hadn't seen any of it already.
Except Derek probably hadn't planned on being seen by anyone in the middle of the night in his own home. Plus with the low lighting it was hard to really get a good look at anything.
Not that he wanted to get a good look or anything.
Okay, he did. He so very fucking much did. And it was his fucking right as Derek's Mate to be able to look and gawk and stare and gander and all those other synonyms for feasting his eyes upon the magnificence that is Derek fucking Hale.
But he kinda didn't have that right. Not really. Not when they both agreed to not repeat the previous night's actions or actually do anything about their connection. Not when Derek still bore the Claiming Bite of someone else.
Someone who fucking shared exact DNA with Stiles.
Ah, the universe. What a douchebag.
Stiles tugged at his hair, still debating, watching white fabric lift up and cover a face that should honestly never be covered, eyes flicking down to take in broad pecs, chiseled obliques, ridged abdominals, inches of smooth, tan flesh that he wanted to lick all over and rub himself on like a kitten or some shit. A line of dark hair spread from his belly button down to his mesh shorts, a happy trail never seeming happier, and, fuck, what Stiles wouldn't give to follow it with his mouth, to slide those shorts down and find the treasure that lay at the end of it all.
Cheesy, but fuck that, he still wanted to do it.
His tongue darted out to lick dry lips, eyes still roaming the torso that had been revealed to him. Sharp collarbones he wanted to nip, rounded shoulders he knew for a fact where perfect for gripping on to, flanks he wanted to scour with his claws. Fuck, it was even better than in those Dreams, because this was real, this was happening, this was in front of him in actual time in his actual life and not some revery that would disappear the second he woke up. He could ogle and stare and gape all he wanted because it wasn't gonna disappear, wasn't gonna float away. It was Derek, and he was there, right there.
Jesus Christ, he was beautiful. He truly was a work of fucking art.
"Stiles?"
He lifted his head at the soft sound of his name, finding Derek watching him with an expected and curious look, brows raised, lips slightly twisted to the side. Shit. Busted. Oh fuck, shit, fuck.
Wait, no. He wasn't in trouble. Okay, yeah, he was clearly caught drooling over the other guy—possibly even literally considering how one corner of his mouth felt a little wetter than the other—but he hadn't actually done anything wrong. He was allowed to look, it was totally allowed, it was very much allowed. It wasn't like he was peeking in through a window or a hole drilled in the wall of the shower or something equally as creepy and illegal. No. He was just staring at a shirtless guy who was in the same room as him. A very hot shirtless guy. A very hot shirtless guy with muscles Stiles could barely remember the names of as his brain turned to mush at the sight of the chiseled Greek god of gorgeousness across the bed from him.
Yeah, he was definitely drooling.
He smeared the back of his hand across his mouth, noting how Derek had now quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head to him. Oh, shit, had he said something? Oh god, he was a moron. Busted staring and now he was looking like an idiot for not responding to whatever had been said.
Assuming something had been said.
Given Derek's current facial expression, something had been said.
Whoops.
"Huh?"
Eloquently stated. He deserved points for that.
"I asked if you wanted me to put my shirt back on," Derek repeated, holding up the tank in question, both eyebrows raising in expectation once more.
"No, nope, no," he replied, shaking his head, hands on his hips. "It's fine, it's cool, it's totally. Totally cool. You do you, big guy." He gave the alpha a thumbs up and a wink, clicking his tongue and smirking, pretending like embarrassment hadn't flooded his scent and that his wolf wasn't covering its face with its paws because even it was mortified at Stiles' behavior.
Derek's lips pressed together as he struggled to hide the smirk that was lighting his eyes up, nodding. "Okay then."
"Mmhmm. Yep. Totally okay. Beyond okay. Like okay-squared." Why was he talking? Someone needed to shut him up. Seriously. Even his wolf was whining for it to be over.
Clamping his mouth shut, he pulled back the top sheet and got under it, flipping off the lamp before laying on his side facing away from Derek.
"You gonna be comfortable?" Derek asked, the sound of fabric swishing accompanying it. Meaning he was taking off more clothes, most likely those shorts. Alright, so parading around in his boxer-briefs was clearly the norm for him since it was apparently what he slept in. Made sense given an alpha's higher internal temp, but definitely wasn't helping Stiles any, not with the memory of how Derek looked in them coming to the forefront of his mind.
Fuck.
No. No fuck. They agreed on no fucking. But there was no telling his body that as his cock twitched and his heart pounded. There was no telling his mind as memories of seeing and feeling Derek up against him the previous night took over and played on an endless loop. There was no telling his wolf as it rolled over and fucking presented, as though Derek could even see that.
But he was better than all that, dammit. He was in total control. He could handle the situation and handle sleeping next to Derek.
He was pretty sure he could anyway.
He hoped so.
Oh crap, he'd been asked something and he'd totally spaced again. Jesus...
"Yep," he replied, popping the "p" as he tucked the sheet under his arm, clutching the corner of it in his usual habit.
"You sure?" Derek questioned further, voice getting closer as he climbed into bed behind him. "Because sleeping with an alpha can get pretty hot."
Oh fuck...
His cock twitched again at that, his passage getting damp, both taking the dirtier connotation of those words rather than the innocent meaning behind them.
But once again, Stiles was stronger. Or at least he was trying to be and was gonna act like he was. He wasn't some weak pissant omega. He had this under control.
Shuffling in place, he arranged his features into a scowl, keeping his eyes closed to resist the temptation of turning over and seeing exactly what Derek looked like at that moment, in just his underwear in a bed with Stiles. Nope, not looking, not at all.
"It's also very loud and chatty," he grumbled, blindly reaching behind himself to clamp his hand over the other man's mouth, but instead, smearing his palm all over his face. Derek simply chuckled, playfully nipping at the mound of flesh at the base of his thumb and causing him to pull his hand back. "Go to sleep."
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, turning off his own lamp and settling down. "Night, Stiles."
"Oh my god, shut up. Good night, Derek."
Another chuckle sounded out from the alpha as he got comfy then let out a soft sigh, seemingly settling in for the night. Good. The less he spoke, the more Stiles could pretend they weren't in a bed together and he could get some sleep of his own.
Only.
That didn't happen.
Because he was still Stiles, and all he could do was think about the heartbeat next to his and the smell of the alpha filling the air and in the sheets and the body heat radiating off him that could still be felt despite the pillow barrier. All he could think about was how he was currently on the comfiest fucking mattress he'd ever felt in his entire life but because it wasn't his own bed, he just didn't feel right. All he could think about was maybe it was because he wasn't in the middle of the bed like he preferred.
Stupid pillow barrier. Whose idiot idea was that anyway?
Right. Derek's. Of course it was.
He scowled before turning over, smooshing his face right up against the barrier, moved his head so it was laying on top of it, shifted so he was spooning it, scooted over further so he was practically half on top of it.
A sigh was heard from in front of him and peeked one eye open, catching sight of Derek's rather fucking glorious naked back, taking note of a tattoo of three swirls with the same origin point—a triskele, his mind corrected—in between his shoulder blades. How the hell had he missed that the night before?
Oh. Right. Rejection and dealing with a hard on and wet boxers would make a guy miss the details.
But now that he was seeing it, he definitely would be thinking about it for a long time to come, fantasies about tracing it with his tongue or his claws scraping down it as Derek pounded—
"Stiles."
He jerked at how sharply his name was stated, both eyes flying open wide and staring as the alpha peered over his shoulder at him.
"Thought you wanted to sleep," Derek pointed out, eyebrow cocked, lips tilted in amusement.
Stiles glared, rising up on an elbow and punching the pillow he'd just been laying on. "I always sleep in the middle of the bed," he grumbled, fluffing it with more force and violence than necessary.
"We could always get rid of the barrier if you want," the older man suggested as he rolled onto his back, sheet down around his hips, hands folded on his belly. "Unless you're afraid you can't keep your hands to yourself."
He choked in offense, sitting up, rolling his entire head along with his eyes. "Oh fuck you, Der," he replied, shaking his head. "You accosted me last night, not the other way around."
The alpha turned his lips down in a pout, shrugging a shoulder. "Not the way I remember it."
"Then you need to take something for your senility, old man."
Derek snorted, rolling his own eyes. "I'm only eight years older than you. Young punk," he added the last part with a smirk, sticking his tongue out.
Stiles scowled down at him, not appreciating the chuckle he got in response. Not that his scowl was all that intimidating or even meant to be intimidating, but still. Not cool. His eyes flicked down to the pillow barrier, idea forming in his head. The corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk he tried to fight off, but it was too late. He'd been found out.
"Oh hell no," Derek objected, rearing up and moving so that Stiles was on his back on the bed, pinned down by the alpha's hands on his wrists and chest on his chest.
That familiar electrical charge zinged through him, his every nerve ending sparking as he felt that warm tingling buzzing spread all over his body. His eyes met Derek's light ones, his own chest heaving as his breathing got shakier, tremors wracking his body. He was suddenly so very fucking aware of where he was, where they were, of the position of his own body, splay-legged and on his back, an alpha—his alpha holding him in place. It would only take a minor shift to get Derek where Stiles truly wanted him, to get him between his legs, their cocks rubbing together just like they had the night before, chests sliding together as their scents mingled.
A moan left him as his eyes drifted closed and his head tilted back on his pillow, putting his neck on display, submitting. His hips bucked up, seeking friction as his dick hardened within his boxers, his passage dampening. Fuck, it would be so easy, just pick up where they'd left off, take it further. Derek's finger in his ass and his cock against his, lips moving together as their bodies rocked. He wouldn't have to worry about any weird stains on the counter or falling off it or how to position themselves. No, it was just the two of them coming together, Stiles pinned down like he had been so many times in those Dreams.
Because despite the different setting, this was definitely starting out like their Dreams.
A low rumble vibrated up from Derek's chest, making Stiles whimper, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He opened his eyes to a flash of red that the alpha shook off, muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenched it. Hell, everything on him seemed clenched up, muscles tense, eyes narrowed, lips a thin hard line. Only his hands wrapped around the younger man's wrists seemed to be relaxed, everything else taut, like he was holding himself back. His chest was shuddering as he struggled to take even breaths, his nostrils flaring with every inhale, taking in Stiles' scent as his arousal grew.
"Derek," he breathed out, lifting his head to rub the tip of his nose against the other man's, watching how his eyes shuttered closed and hearing how he choked off a whine.
"Tell me you don't want this," Derek pleaded, begged, voice thick. But despite his protests, he smelled like want and need and alpha and Mate and Stiles had a hard time believing that Derek didn't want it just as fucking bad as he did. "Just say the word and I'll stop."
"What's the word to keep going?" the omega retorted, hips rolling with a grace and sensuality he honestly didn't think he was capable of.
The older man whined, dropping his head to bury it in the crook of Stiles' neck and he bared it once more, offering anything and everything that Derek wanted. He could have it, all of it. Hell, Stiles wasn't entirely sure it didn't already belong to Derek.
"No one can know," he huffed against his t-shirt covered collarbone and the younger man suddenly really fucking regretted keeping his shirt on. "No one can smell it. I can't come inside you, it'll never wash away."
"That's okay, that's fine. Just, just—fuck, Derek, I just need you, okay? You, you, you." He pulled against the other man's hands, testing his grip and getting nowhere. Derek wasn't even trying, was barely putting any strength into it, yet he had Stiles completely pinned down and at his mercy.
His wolf was practically howling at that, and in all honesty, the human part of him kinda felt like joining in.
Derek lifted his head, looking Stiles dead in the eye, face completely serious and grave. "No sex. At all. Fooling around, foreplay type stuff, that's okay. No sex."
Stiles nodded vehemently, all for whatever had those hands letting go of his forearms and sliding into his boxers—and hopefully into a certain part of his anatomy. "No sex, got it."
The alpha nodded back before lowering his head once more, this time to connect his lips to Stiles'. Sparks exploded behind the younger man's eyes, a soft whine leaving him as he scrunched his brow, trying to pull him in closer with his mouth. He tugged against the hands once more, relishing when they let him go, and he automatically framed the other man's face, one hand sliding back and around to tangle in his dark hair. He felt more than heard as Derek moved between his legs, lowering his body and settling on him, bodies aligned from chest to groin, a delicious half-hard bulge pressing against his. A gasp left Stiles, swallowed by Derek's smile, the older man rolling his hips in response.
"Oh fuck," Stiles groaned, pulling Derek back in for another kiss.
Warm hands cupped his hips before sliding up his sides, pushing his tee up with them. Their kiss broke, his arms automatically lifting so the shirt could be fully removed, putting his current attire on the same level as the broad frame above his leaner one.
Derek stared down, light eyes flicking about as they took in his torso. Stiles looked down at himself, not seeing anything all that special. Barely there indents of what could possibly eventually be a six-pack if he ever put forth the effort to actually get abs, small patch of wiry chest hair between his flat pecs, thick trail leading from his belly button to his boxers, spreading out as it went further down, moles speckled here and there. With a flat hand, Derek slid his palm up his flank, his skin almost burning in the most delicious way.
"Even more beautiful than the Dreams," he murmured reverently, absently, like he wasn't even aware that he'd said it out loud.
Stiles' eyes snapped up, watching as Derek slowly lifted his head to meet them, lips parted in awe and slight embarrassment. But before he could talk his way out of it, the omega grabbed him by the neck and hauled him in for another kiss.
Their hips began rocking together on automatic, Stiles gasping once again at the sensation, but keeping his lips on Derek's, tongues flicking together between them. His cock was fully hard now, as was Derek's from the feel of it, his passage wet and hole twitching open. He could feel his slick begin to drip out of him, dampening between his cheeks, being pressed into his boxers as he moved. He hitched a leg around the other man, foot resting on the swell of his ass, pulling himself even closer, needing more.
"Please," he breathed against Derek's lips, arm wrapped around his neck to hold him near, so he couldn't get away. "Der. Please."
The alpha nodded as if he knew what Stiles was asking, yet the hand sliding down his side and around to his lower back suggested that maybe he did. Lips moving together once more, the hand slipped inside his boxers, cupping his cheek, squeezing it and making him exhale sharply. Without delay, it moved over, fingers sliding between his cheeks, tip of the middle one playing with his hole, just like the night before.
Stiles pulled away to pant, keeping his forehead to Derek's, his eyes closed as he gave over to the sensation of just feeling. His hole was pulsing, opening, trying to pull that finger inside as it rubbed and massaged the rim. He whined as he bit his lip, hand grasping onto Derek's side, finding slippery finger holds on sweat-slicked obliques. The tip of the finger slipped inside and he tensed up all over at the initial intrusion before forcing himself to relax. It wasn't anything he hadn't felt before, the alpha having had that very finger inside him the previous night. Not to mention he'd had three of his own fingers up there on occasion, the angle never quite right and his wrist hating him the next morning and making him wonder if it'd been worth it, only to decide that yeah, it totally was when he did it again.
Derek slid his finger all the way in and Stiles let his head fall back on the pillow on a long groan, rim clenching around the digit to hold it in. He felt the tip of it rubbing against his walls, more slick being produced from the stimulation, and he let out a combination laugh and moan, mouth hanging open.
"Anyone ever touch you like this?" Derek questioned, dragging his lips up the sensitive column of Stiles' throat, his every breath making the omega shudder.
He swallowed hard, lips given a messy kiss to his adam's apple, hips jerking. "No," he admitted lowly, squeezing around the finger once more. "Just me."
A low growl rumbled up from Derek and he looked up to see his eyes turning a dull shade of red. His finger began sliding in and out, causing Stiles to gasp, breathing stuttered. Fuck it felt so much better when it was someone else, Derek's fingers thicker, able to get a better angle inside of him, stroking his walls just right.
"Oh fuck," he moaned, aware that his own eyes had flashed omega gold for a brief moment.
"No one's ever done this to you?" Derek asked further, propped up on one elbow, peering down at Stiles as he continued to move his finger. "No one's ever felt your walls clench around their finger? No one's ever found that spot to make you scream?"
As if to prove a point, Derek rubbed against his prostate, dragging a rough cry from him, his back arching off the bed.
"No one's ever been inside you like this?"
Stiles shook his head vehemently, eyes locked onto the older man's. "Nope, never, no one."
The alpha growled again, lowering down to claim his lips in a brutal kiss, one that was returned just as passionately. The finger was now tugging at his rim, pulling it, stretching it, making him whine, but it was worth it when a second slipped inside and both began sliding in and out, filling and stretching him further.
He had no idea how long it went on for, his body adrift as he got lost in the sensations, in fingers and lips and scents. The air was now filled with the smells of Stiles and Derek and StilesAndDerek, sex and lust and desire all mingling with it, creating an olfactory cocktail that was making his head spin in the best sorta way. But all too soon, it felt like it wasn't enough, and Derek was slowing down, his face screwing up in pain as he pulled away from their kiss.
"Wrist is cramping," he admitted, sliding his hand out, despite Stiles' protesting whines and grabby hands at him to keep him close. He rubbed their noses together, kissed the tip of Stiles' before slinking up into a sitting position. "Don't worry. I'm not done with you," he promised, voice gravelly, grinning wolfishly down at the omega and making him groan in pleasure rather than annoyance.
Shoving the pillow barrier off the bed, he moved so he was sitting upright on his side. Stiles didn't hesitate to clamber over and straddle his lap, arms draping over his shoulders, leaning in to reconnect their lips. Only to have Derek pull away, leaning over to the nightstand.
"Wanna see you," he murmured, lamp coming on with a click, bathing the room in soft light.
Stiles stared at the alpha in awe, watching how the glow illuminated his skin, how shadows played on the indents of his muscles, the swell of them highlighted. His flesh looked warmer than usual, that tan of his clearly reaching all over, no pale lines to be found—at least not on his upper half. He was beautiful, a thought Stiles had repeatedly had since first laying eyes on him in the S-Dubs interrogation room, but no less true for its redundancy. If anything, it only became more pronounced and obvious each time it occurred to him, a fact that was right up there with blue skies and wet water.
If Stiles was staring too hard or for too long, Derek didn't care or didn't seem to even notice, too caught up in staring of his own. His fingers lightly traced the omega's face, down his nose, causing him to scrunch it up. He didn't need to be reminded of it, of the piggy nose he had, how unattractive it was.
"God, you have a cute nose," Derek murmured before leaning forward and kissing it. With a smile, he moved so their cheeks were rubbing together and Stiles closed his eyes, relishing the pleasurepain of whiskers rasping against his smooth cheek. "So fucking beautiful."
He wanted to argue and disagree, but more than that, he didn't wanna ruin this moment. Because for the first time, he truly actually believed it. His chest clenched as he remembered that it didn't really matter what Derek saw in him, whether physically or otherwise, because Derek wasn't his to keep. They just had that night, maybe one more after that, only stolen moments that weren't supposed to happen but were too weak to resist. So he wrapped his arms around his neck, pulled him in close and shut his eyes, holding on to Derek like he was holding on to that moment.
Lips pressed to his shoulders, scattering kisses, working their way up his neck. Hands slid over his hips, fingers hooking under the band of his boxers and he rose up on his knees, taking the hint. The obstructive cotton was slid off, albeit a bit awkwardly, but it didn't matter. They were gone, tossed to the side, Stiles naked and bared before Derek's eyes, still up on his knees as he straddled him.
"Beautiful," Derek repeated, staring only at Stiles' eyes, thumb reverently rubbing at the apple of his cheek, along his jaw, just like in the Dreams.
A smile formed on his face and he didn't bother thinking about how he disagreed, just let the warmth of his Mate's compliment wash over him. Sliding his fingers through dark locks on either side of Derek's head, Stiles bent down and kissed him, allowing the other man to maneuver him into position. The alpha didn't waste time sliding two fingers back inside him, free arm wrapping around his waist to keep him close.
Acting purely on instinct, Stiles lifted himself up slightly, gasping as those fingers slid out, then lowered down and was filled once more. His entire body was trembling, shaking, his every breath a shuddering thing. And Derek was in just a bad a state, mouth hanging open as he locked eyes with the omega, as his fingers were ridden, as he slipped a third one inside and made the younger man keen.
Their foreheads pressed together, sliding with the thin layer of sweat that was covering them both. This close Stiles could see that Derek's eyes weren't really green but an amalgam of greens and grays and browns, like an entire forest swirled together and poured into his irises. Stupid cliches of getting lost in someone's eyes came to his mind and he thought it might be true. Because he could seriously forget all the world and completely lose his place just staring, trying to differentiate those colors and name them.
What a way to spend a lifetime though.
He closed his eyes against the thought of never getting the chance to do just that, focusing on the physical sensations once more. He arched his back as he moved his hips faster, pulling those fingers in deeper. Derek worked them expertly, rubbing at the exact right places, grazing his prostate just enough to make him cry out but never overwhelm him. It was perfect, amazing, incredible, and so very much not enough.
"Der," he whined, reopening his eyes to the alpha's troubled look, concerned over what was wrong. "More. God, more."
"You want another finger?" he asked, pinky tracing along the edge of his rim.
He shook his head, licking his lips and pressing them together. "You. Want you. Wan' you. Fuck me."
Derek whimpered at that, ducking his head and nuzzling into the hollow of Stiles' throat. "Can't. Stiles, we can't."
And he knew they couldn't, hadn't forgotten the reasons why or the issues it would cause if Stiles walked around smelling like Derek had claimed him. They were risking enough just doing what they were.
But still, Stiles wanted. He wanted to be filled in a more traditional sense by more traditional means. He couldn't help his instincts or his desires, couldn't help what he wanted. And if he wasn't able to keep Derek the way he wanted to, he at least wanted to know what it was like to feel him inside.
"You can pull out," Stiles insisted, nodding his head when Derek shook his. "Yes, you can, I know you can. It's okay. Just don't come in me."
"I won't be able to pull out," Derek grit out, arm tightening around Stiles' waist. "If I fill you, I'm gonna knot you. My instincts and my wolf will take over and it's not pulling out until I've filled you properly."
And fuck if that wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever heard.
He groaned, head lolling back, cock jerking between their bodies. "Jus' the tip."
"Not stopping at just the tip. Want you too much."
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.
His gums tingled as his fangs tried to descend, nail beds buzzing from his hidden claws. He peered down to find Derek looking grief-stricken and upset and that shouldn't be happening. Shifting his body, he moved so their groins were aligned, his cock wet with precome and staining the already soaked front of the alpha's boxer-briefs from his copious amount of released fluids. He relished the wide-eyed gasp he got, grinding them together as he rolled his hips, still pulling those fingers inside him. He felt the digits curl in response, rubbing on his prostate full-time now and making him keen once more. His arm flew out, hand slamming against the wall, head falling onto a broad shoulder as everything became so very fucking overwhelming. Derek inside him, Derek under him, Derek in front of him, around him, holding him. Derek's scent in his nose and heat on his flesh and Derek, Derek, Derek.
He cried out the other man's name as he came, spurting in thick ropes between them, clenching around the fingers inside him. He felt his body tense up all over as his synapses fired and sparked, pleasure racing through him, making him tremble and shake. His breath froze in his lungs, coming out in small choked off gasps, intermittent with whines and moans. Fucking hell. It was the most intense orgasm he'd ever had in his life, beyond any solo stroking job or post-Dream coming. Way beyond. Like, way beyond.
He came back to himself in stages, slowly becoming aware that Derek was just as tense all over, head pressed back against the wall, hips jerking sporadically. Stiles peered down to see a growing wet stain on his boxer-briefs, wondering if that was caused by himself or...
He caught the scent of come, two kinds of come, and knew it wasn't just himself who'd orgasmed. Feeling bold, he slipped a hand down between their bodies, cupping Derek in his hand.
The alpha lifted his head, brow scrunched up in that pleasurepain mix Stiles had been experiencing, mouth hanging open, eyes glowing a steady red. Whimpers were leaving him, body shuddering, and Stiles felt another rush of wetness soak the black cotton against his palm. Twisting his hand, he carefully traced the outline of his bulge, being careful, knowing how sensitive certain parts of anatomy could be after coming. He felt the long girth of Derek's shaft, felt it twitch, the vein pulsing as he shot off another load. He stayed away from the head, moving further south, where it widened into his knot, and the older man gasped and groaned, hips bucking.
Stiles went to pull his hand away but Derek grabbed onto his wrist with his free one, putting it back and forming his fingers so he was still cupping Derek, squeezing at the base. Derek trembled all over, breathing out a shaky gasp, head falling forward to rest on Stiles' forehead as his eyes drifted closed.
"Please," he sighed out, swallowing hard. "Please."
The omega nodded, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. He held on to his Mate's knot with his hand, squeezed his walls around his fingers once more, and let them both drift off in their afterglow.