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Homecoming

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“Are you kidding me?”

Derek Hale glared down at the small lump that sat in the middle of his bed, completely covered in a mess of heavy comforter that had previously sat spread smoothly over the mattress. At the sound of the angry werewolf’s voice, the writhing mass of comforter stilled immediately, the animal beneath the blankets letting out a small whine before there was a flurry of movement. The next thing Derek knew, he had an armful of red fur and a cold nose being pressed into the Wolf ’s strongest scent points; behind his ear, the joint of shoulder and neck, his pulse point. Long whiskers tickled against his skin as the small Fox did its best to cover itself in Derek’s scent.

Unable to stay mad at the enthusiastic behavior of the little Fox, Derek let out a soft chuckle, hands coming up to cradle the small body so that the Wolf could rub his own face against the soft red fur. The Fox gave a bark of happiness, wriggling around in Derek’s arms so much that the stubble-faced man was having trouble keeping it from falling to the ground until, with a playful grunt, he gave up and gently tossed the Fox back onto the bed. It landed with an indignant yip amongst the previously forgotten comforter, struggling to disentangle itself from the mess of blanket. Derek watched the drama with a small smirk of satisfaction before he yanked his tight black tshirt from his torso, his jeans being shucked in the same quick manner. Derek had been away from Beacon Hills for two weeks, which was two weeks too long in his opinion, and there was some seriously overdue scent marking to conduct.

Once stripped down to just his briefs, Derek strode towards the king size bed, collapsing onto his back, barely missing the red Fox who had finally got itself free of its temporary prison. Scooping up the Fox with one arm, Derek deposited it onto his own chest, giving a sigh of contentment when the Fox resumed its nuzzling from earlier.

“Are you going to shift back now Stiles?” Derek asked quietly, as one hand began scratching behind his partner’s pointed ears. The Fox gave a huff, which Derek took for a no as Stiles settled himself further onto Derek’s chest. Derek had long since grown used to Stiles’s behaviors, especially this particular one. It happened every time Derek was forced to travel for pack or Wolf business. The Fox within Stiles would grow restless and agitated without its mate, and Derek would return home to his boyfriend in full shift, usually curled up either on Derek’s side of the bed, in Derek’s spot on the couch, and one time the werewolf had found the Fox half buried in the dirty laundry basket. However the mess on the bed was nothing compared to the war zone that was the bedroom floor, Derek’s dresser draws emptied onto the carpet and scattered around the room from Stiles’s habit of hunting for any shred of Derek’s scent. At least it was a better situation that last time, the curtains were still in tact.

Derek himself didn’t fare much better from the separation, only avoiding full-shift due to the extra years of learning control. The Wolf wished he could take his mate to the pack meetings, but it wasn’t feasible as none of the other packs would feel comfortable with a Fox in their midst.

Derek rubbed his chin absent-mindedly across the top of Stiles’s head, smiling when he felt a bushy tail wrap tightly around his wrist, Stiles’s way of physically anchoring himself to his mate. In return, Derek used the hand atop Stiles’s head to massage the tips of the Fox’s ears, taking his own enjoyment in the shudder of pleasure that runs through the little body in response to the sensation.

Stiles lifted his head, mouth opening wide as he let out a yawn, pink tongue curling between his sharp teeth, before the jaw closes with a snap and Stiles shudders again. Derek can relate, feeling his own mouth open in the sympathetic response. No matter what face it's on, a yawn is still contagious.

The werewolf can feel his eyelids drooping, both human and Wolf sides content from feeling the warmth and heartbeat of his mate.

In a few hours, Derek would wake up to a naked Stiles draped over him, and the two lovers would spend the rest of the evening rediscovering each other, their bodies would move and roll and entwine in passionate embrace until the morning sun rose and they would fall back into an exhausted sleep.

But for now, Derek was satisfied to drift off, anchored by the weight of the small Fox form resting on him, and the comforting drum beat that was synchronizing with his own heart.

It was good to be home.