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Definitely Unexpected

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Derek isn’t sure what he expects. He hasn’t seen Stiles in more than five months between Stiles’s time at university and Derek’s trips back and forth to see his sister in South America, this year just hadn’t been syncing up right. So he isn’t sure what he expects after almost half a year, but this definitely isn’t it.

Stiles doesn’t see him in the doorway at first. He’s on the couch with Scott and Scott is going on and on about the wolf sanctuary they’d visited a couple of weeks ago and how he plans to volunteer there when he can. Stiles is wearing faded jeans and a dark red henley that fits him much better than the loose tees and plaid shirts Derek is used to seeing him in. His bare feet are tucked up on the couch with him and he looks so at ease there, as if he never left. None of that is surprising really, except the part where he suddenly looks so much older, more like the twenty two year old he is and less like the eternal teenager he still was the last time Derek saw him. No. That’s not even it. What’s surprising is the beard. And the mustache.

He should go in, he wants to go in, but instead he stands between the entryway and living room and just stares. It’s not even a proper beard and mustache, it’s scruffy and unkempt, but worse than that it’s a little on the patchy side. It should be funny. Or ugly. But somehow it just makes Stiles look soft and worn like the jeans he always wears home.

Kira sees him and waves him in, shaking him from his thoughts.

There are hugs all around, starting with Kira and going through Scott and Lydia, then John and Melissa, and finally Stiles who grins at him so brightly it hurts before pulling him in and squeezing him tight. He smells a little different too. Less like burnt sugar and Adderall. There’s something wild there that might be Stiles’s magic, but it’s tempered and it makes Derek want to chase it and explore it. He doesn’t though. He pulls back, offering Stiles a smile before taking the seat next to Lydia by the tree.

There is cocoa and catching up, and eventually Melissa and John take their leave with promises from all to be on time at their house the next day for presents and dinner. They put on a movie, but no one is watching it at all and Derek can’t even try not to hang on Stiles’s every word. Finally, finally, Lydia is the one to ask.

“Why do you look like you’ve been backpacking in Europe without a guide? Or a razor?” She leans forward over her crossed legs and sets her cup on the coffee table with a smirk.

Scott laughs and Kira giggles into her hand, but Derek is all ears. He’s been stopping himself from asking all night.

“Are we talking about the beard finally?” Stiles stroked his chin, cartoon villain style.”I thought no one was going to ever ask.” He laughs and leans back into the corner of the sofa. Derek found himself leaning forward, mirroring Lydia in his anticipation.

“My fraternity did No Shave November and I was going to shave it off after that, but then there were papers to finish and exams and by then I’d grown pretty fond of him.” Stiles scratches at his jaw and Derek finds himself helplessly tracking the movement, wondering if it’s as soft as it looks. He knows he has no business wondering anything like that. He leans back.

“Him?” Scott asks. Derek is afraid to hear the answer.

“Yeah, I named him Oliver because he’s so distinguished.” Stiles was grinning now too and everyone had to laugh at that, even Derek. Who names their beard? Stiles, apparently.

Lydia was the next to leave and as she did, Derek realized it was time for him to go as well. Technically this place belonged to Scott and Kira, but he knew Stiles had a room here and would probably be staying with them over the holiday.

“I should go too,” Derek stood, stretching.

“I’ll walk you out,” Stiles offers. Lydia is already pulling out of the drive when they make it out onto the little porch and the cold air is biting, but fresh. It’s exactly what Derek needed. Now he’ll go home, have a nice cold shower, and be more in control tomorrow for Christmas. He’s had fun seeing everyone, especially Stiles, but he doesn’t want to ruin their time together feelings he thought he’d buried years ago when Stiles moved away for school.

“You gotta get me outta here, man.” Stiles’s voice is close behind him and urgent. For half a second Derek expects imminent danger, but when he looks over, Stiles is grinning.

“What?” Derek can feel the frown pulling down the corner of his mouth and eyebrows, but he has no clue what’s going on suddenly.

“I can’t stay here with those two, you have no idea what they’ve been like since I got here. This is newlywed land and they’re all over each other. Even when I’m right there!” His voice was panicked but hushed.

Derek laughs then because he knows exactly what he’s talking about, he’s been witness to much of the same. It might be different for werewolves, or at least born wolves, because when everyone can smell your business you just get used to knowing these things, and if everyone already knows it then seeing a couple make out or tug each other to the bedroom is just one more thing going on. Like background noise.

“It’s not funny!” Stiles punched his arm as they walked down the steps and out to the street where their cars were parked. “I walked into the kitchen yesterday morning and Kira was laid out on the table in a way I’d frankly liked to have never seen. I can’t unsee that, Derek. I am so sorry my eyes have seen these things. Please, I’m begging.”

“So leave. Why do you need me?” Derek was not still smiling at Stiles’s pain. He wasn’t. He was trying not to.

Stiles looked around in a huff before shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s not like I’m going to sneak into my Dad and Melissa’s place at this hour. C’mon Derek, take pity on me, I’m practically homeless here.”

Derek was going to. It’s not as if he could say no, not when Stiles made that pouty face of his. Plus, if pouting and begging failed, he knew Stiles would just follow him home and insist. “Alright, but only because it’s Christmas.”

Stiles grinned and pulled out his phone, shooting off a text to Scott before hauling out his keys. “Meet you there, okay?”

“Okay,” Derek says, resigned. It was late though, so he could get away with going to bed when they got there. Whether or not he’d get any sleep with Stiles’s scent and heartbeat just in the other room, he had no idea.

The trip from Scott and Kira’s place to Derek’s is short. Usually. Tonight it feels just long enough for Derek to start second guessing himself. It’s not like he can’t control it. He can and he will. The real issue is his sanity. In the driveway Stiles loops his arm through Derek’s, assuring him in his own way that no, his sanity will not remain intact.

Inside Stiles makes a beeline for his fridge and pulls out a couple of beers. Derek tries to feign tiredness but Stiles won’t hear it. One is the microbrew he’s trying out and the other is Scott’s experimental brew with mountain ash in it. He hops up on Derek’s kitchen counter then opens both on his bare arm, and where did he learn that trick? Then he passes over the mountain ash brew. Before he can drink, Stiles clinks them together and smiles. He’s so fucking… there. Just there and full of something new and it feels… dangerous.

“I’ve missed you.” Stiles tells him openly.

Derek swallows around a lump in his throat. He doesn’t know the effect those words have on him. “I’ve missed you too,” Derek tells him, voice gruff. He takes an extra swallow of the beer and grimaces at the sweet twang it has on the end of it.
He backs up, leans against the opposite cabinet from Stiles who is watching him. Close. Calculating. Derek tries looking back like it isn’t hard at all to meet that gaze. Stiles hops off the counter. Steps forward, slowly.

“What’s with you tonight? I don’t think I’ve seen you this jumpy in years.” Stiles comes to a stop right in front of him and Derek realizes his mistake. By putting his back to the cabinets he’s left himself with no retreat. He doesn’t even want to retreat and he doesn’t know which thought is worse.

“Nothing’s with me.” He tries, but Stiles just furrows his brow at him

“You’re nervous.” Stiles tells him. He says it like someone says the temperature outside.

“I’m tired. I’m old. I should go to bed.” Derek can’t quite look him in the eye as he says any of this.

Stiles laughs and Derek can’t help but look at him now. “You’re not that much older than me and you’ve always been a terrible night owl. You’re not that great at lying either,” he points out helpfully.

Derek doesn’t have a good answer for any of that, but tries for an eye roll that doesn’t have nearly enough sarcastic ire behind it. Stiles isn’t moving and now he smells, Derek has to swallow against that lump again, because Stiles’s scent has taken on the earthy undertones of desire.

He doesn’t do anything as Stiles gently takes his drink out of his hand and sets it aside and he doesn’t say anything as Stiles steps in impossibly close now and reaches for his hand.

“It’s okay to be nervous, but I’m hoping you’ll at least tell me if I can kiss you or not.” Stiles is almost whispering and Derek can’t find the words. He’s not nervous, he’s scared as hell and excited and worried that this might be the thing that finally destroys him and maybe that’s okay, maybe that’s a good way to go. Now his hands are shaking, dammit.

“Derek. If you don’t want this I’ll back off. I might be reading this all wrong. I know it’s been awhile since we saw each other, but I thought--”

He’s letting go of Derek, trying to step back, but Derek hangs on to his hand, desperate not to let this fragile moment pass even if he still hasn’t fully wrapped his brain around it.

“Kiss me,” Derek says. It’s supposed to sound certain, but to his ears it only sounds needy.

Stiles looks at him and he looks back this time. He watches the way Stiles’s mouth parts on a surprised intake of breath, the way his pupils begin to dilate. He doesn’t hesitate, but lifts a hand to Derek’s cheek, leaning in, slow, all the while slow as though giving Derek a chance to change his mind. Derek can’t hold the eye contact now that Stiles’s face is right there, almost there. He looks down, he feels overwhelmed and their mouths haven’t touched yet. It’s only a breath, only a fraction of a second, but it pulls and stretches and feels like an eternity until Stiles presses against him, lifts his face, kisses him.

At first all he can do is think, I’m kissing Stiles, which technically isn’t true because he’s frozen into non-action, passively accepting Stiles’s mouth against his own. That isn’t what he wants though; not at all what he needs. Stiles has both hands on his face and Derek can’t remember anyone ever touching him like that, like he might shy away, like he might break. He wraps his arms around Stiles’s waist and tugs their bodies flush together before returning the kiss. It goes from very cautious to heated and messy in seconds.

Stiles tastes the way he smells. Cinnamon hot, maple sweet, earthy and wild, with that bite of magic that Derek could never explain if he tried, and the beer he’d just been drinking. His hands are large and warm, his body all coiled muscle and hard plains, and his beard…

Derek hasn’t been kissed by a man with a beard since he left New York years ago. It’s so different, and on Stiles it’s such a contrast to what he’s used to thinking. Or seeing maybe, because he’s known for a long time that Stiles was grown, that he was strong, that he was larger than life, that he was a bit of all of the wild things Derek loved but had to be careful not to love too much. All of that, but more because kissing Stiles was actually feels safe, not at all risky like he thought it would. It doesn’t feel like the world is ending, it only feels like he’s cracking open and that cracking facade is opening him up to fresh air and sunlight and he can breathe.

If he could catch his breath, maybe. Stiles must sense a shift because he pulls off and for a second their eyes meet. Stiles is smiling and it’s soft and happy and Derek realizes he’s smiling back. Then Stiles dips his head to Derek’s neck and Derek stops thinking so hard about all of it and just lets himself feel. He let’s Stiles attempt to mark him, lick him, taste him. He pulls at the collar of Derek’s shirt to get at his collarbone and Derek hisses in pleasure. Stiles’s lips are soft and plush, but his beard tickles, almost. Almost too much. It feels amazing.

They move to the couch. Derek doesn’t really remember the moving, but he remembers the trusting. He remembers Stiles pushing at him gently until he sat. He remembers Stiles climbing over his lap and tangling his fingers in Derek’s hair and opening his mouth up again with teeth and tongue.

He concentrates when they move to the bedroom. He doesn’t want to lose any second of of time, even though it’s hazy and hot and he’s so fucking needy and Stiles is everywhere, in all of his senses. They walk halfway, but Stiles pushes him up against a wall, kissing him hard and fast like he can’t wait. Derek spins them around, his hands ups the back of Stiles’s shirt. Stiles hitches a leg up around his waist and Derek has to, he can’t wait either. He pulls him up, into his arms, and Stiles wraps those impossibly long legs around him and lets Derek carry him the last few steps into the bedroom where they fall together heavily, the mattress bouncing precariously under them as they tear at each other’s clothes.

It’s good, it’s so good, but it gets even better when Stiles pulls back, chest heaving, cheeks splotchy red and everything begins to slow back down. Stiles slips off the rest of his clothes, tossing them aside. Then his hands skim over Derek’s legs, over his thighs. Derek’s down to his underwear, but Stiles stops there. “Is this still okay?” he whispers.

Derek wants to kiss him again right then. He pulls him up, over him, holding him by the arms, faces close. Is it okay? No one ever asks that. “Yes, yes,” Derek tells him. His voice is tight and scratchy but he gets the words out before pulling Stiles the rest of the way into a kiss.

Stiles, naked in his arms feels amazing. They move slow, despite the urgency Derek can feel thrumming between them. Stiles gets Derek undressed too and then covers him in the softest kisses and tiniest nibbles. It’s amazing. It’s a goddamn tease. Derek loves it. The beard should be annoying, it should be scratchy, but instead Stiles uses it to draw out each sensation. Tickling his hip, scraping over a nipple, brushing soft, so soft, up Derek’s neck until he’s shuddering under Stiles’s ministrations.

He kisses Derek deep and Derek pulls him tight. It’s hot, the temperature rising between them and before Derek’s had nearly enough, Stiles is moving back down his body repeating the same teasing, tempting work over his skin. This time his teeth follow the soft brush of beard, soothed by slick slide of moist lips.

Derek is shaking by the time Stiles starts nuzzling between his legs.

“Please, Stiles.” Derek hardly hears himself plea. His skin is tingling everywhere, burning, aching with the need for more, anything more than this balance between light and rough that never stays in one place long enough to give any kind of satisfaction. The fucker just laughs against him, the sound of it going straight to Derek’s cock. It’s good. It’s awful.

Stiles doesn’t answer, but he does stop laughing and takes Derek into his mouth without warning, sucking him down all the way. Derek’s hips come off the bed. He could come like that, he’s so close from all the teasing. He feels everything so deeply, it covers him, everywhere Stiles has rubbed him nearly raw with that beard, he’s on fire.

Derek wraps one hand in the sheet beneath him and the other goes into Stiles’s hair, shaking all the while, holding back as best he can. He feels out of control. Stiles is loud, moaning around him, slurping, licking, swallowing, and Derek just holds on. He’s never felt anything like it. He can feel his eyes trying to close, but he wants to watch Stiles. He props himself up on one elbow and Stiles, feeling him shift, meets his eyes. It’s filthy, Stiles’s mouth is so red and wet, dripping, Derek can’t watch. Once he accepts he can’t watch it without losing it then and there, he flops back to the mattress and Stiles just goes harder, faster.

He has to pull Stiles off because as good as it feels he’s not ready for it to be over, not like that. Not this first time. Stiles comes to him easily and falls over him into a messy kiss. Derek licks himself out of Stiles’s mouth with a groan.

“I want to taste you,” Stiles murmurs against his mouth.

Derek laughs into their kiss. “I think you just did,” he answers. It’s ridiculous and sexy and Stiles is so much more than Derek can even begin to handle.

“No. It’s not enough. I want to taste you everywhere.” Stiles pulls back to say this as if urging Derek to understand.

Derek understands.

He rolls over and all the while Stiles is stroking him, petting him, rubbing that beard against his side and back, then each of his ass cheeks get treated to the same teasing treatment. Stiles coaxes him to his knees and he hasn’t, not with anyone, not since forever, and it should be something other than fantastic maybe, but it’s not. He feels completely at ease, head pillowed on his arms, Stiles breathing hotly against him, licking him, tasting him everywhere, just as he’d wanted.

He should have expected it to be slow again, to be drawn out the way Stiles has drawn everything else out, but it shocks him to feel everything melting down all over again. It’s a distant shock, though, from far away, because Derek’s reality is his trembling legs, the insistent need thrumming in his gut, and Stiles licking him open as if he has all the time in the world. He only stops when Derek starts to whine, something he didn’t even realize he was doing. Like everything else it happens in slow motion, giving Derek time to feel centered again, to come down, to feel Stiles soothing his hands over his body.

Stiles urges him to lie down so he collapses gratefully onto the mattress but rolls his head to the side so he can watch as Stiles moves back up the bed. Derek is still shaking, but it’s easing off now. He wants. He wants it all, right now. Five minutes ago, but Stiles isn’t moving on. He’s slinging his arm over Derek’s back and kissing at his shoulder.

“I’ve imagined this so many times,” Stiles tells him softly. His hand never stops moving up and down Derek’s back, gentle and present.

“Oh?” Derek hates how wrecked he sounds, but only because he wants to ask Stiles things about what he’s imagined, what he wants, but he can only get out tiny sound, so he has to be satisfied with it for now.

“Though it was always your beard rubbing me down, marking me up, patches of beard burn mixed with hickies and teeth marks until neither of us could deny I belonged to you.” Stiles says this against the skin over Derek’s shoulder blade.

Derek’s imagining it now too, has imagined it before of course, but now everything is very real, possible. “Is that what this is? Are you trying to mark me?” Derek manages to ask, but he’s teasing, just a little, because they both know Stiles’s marks will fade too quickly on him.

Stiles snorts at him. “I’d never be so presumptuous. This is just me trying to make you feel good. And later if you want to talk about belonging to each other, I’m all for that.”

Derek gives in to the urge to pull him down. He rolls them over so they face one another and then he kisses him. Hard.

When they come up for air Stiles asks, “How do you want me? Because I want you in every way.”

“That’s what I want too, but right now, I just need you inside of me.” Derek says it soft, broken open, but in a good way, a freeing way.

Stiles answered him with a kiss. When he let Derek up for air he was smiling as he jerked his chin at the side table.

“It’s over here,” Derek laughs and rolls the other way to pull out the lube which he tosses on the bed.

Stiles pulls him down, under him, kissing his neck and rubbing himself everywhere. Derek hasn’t had so much contact in, forever. Too long. It isn’t that though, not really, it’s Stiles. It’s been Stiles for a long time and now they’re here and Derek never imagined they’d be here.

Like everything else, Stiles opens him up with teasing, careful fingers. Even though they both know he doesn’t have to be so thorough, Stiles takes the time to coax Derek back into a shaky needy mess until he’s pumping his fingers in and out of Derek with ease and Derek wants to cry it’s so good.

Derek stays on his back, where Stiles puts him, pulling Stiles up to him when he really can’t take any more, when he thinks he might burst if Stiles doesn’t hurry up already. Stiles is hard against him, rubbing their cocks together as they kiss, gentling Derek back to the slow pace Stiles seems determined to maintain.

“Okay?” he asks again. Derek can only nod.

Slow. Too slow. Stiles hovering over him, dropping kisses to his cheeks and jaw until he’s seated deep inside. He gathers Derek up like he’s a precious thing, pausing to suck at his mouth, to whisper to him how incredible he feels. Derek holds him tight and close as Stiles began to rock into him.

“God, Derek.” Stiles slides his arms under Derek’s curling his hands over Derek’s shoulders in a bid to hold him tighter as he speeds up, finally. Finally he’s going faster.

Derek clings to his back, his ass, sliding his hands over whatever part of Stiles he can reach, kissing him until all they can do is pant against one another. Stiles fits him so well, fills him just right, touches him like he’s needed for so long and all the while he never once shuts up. Derek is good, Derek feels amazing. He’s made for this, they’re made for each other. He calls Derek beautiful and Derek is sure no one has ever said that about him before.

He meets Stiles with each pounding roll of his hips until Stiles is the one shaking and Derek’s toes are curling into the sheets. Then Stiles wraps a hand around his cock and pumps hard and fast in just the right way and after everything he sends Derek hurtling straight into his orgasm, swallowing his cries with more breathless kisses. His hips stutter as he loses control of his rhythm and then he too is coming, deep in Derek, moaning against his lips.

Derek doesn’t want to let him move, but he lets go eventually and Stiles only moves enough to grab a shirt and give Derek a cursory wipe down before proceeding to collapse right back on top of him. Derek’s happy to have him there, and cuddles him gently as they both come down. They are sweaty and gross and Derek couldn’t care less if he tried.

“That was fantastic,” Stiles murmurs. He props his chin on Derek’s chest and looks up at him. “You’re amazing.”

Derek huffs a laugh at him. “I was going to say that too.” He admits.

“You were going to tell me that you’re amazing? Of course you were, that’s because you’re also very full of yourself,” Stiles teases him.

Derek wants to tease him back but he’s too caught up with how gorgeous Stiles looks laying in his arms. His lips are red, his skin flushed all over, and his eyes are so bright. Derek wants to see him like this always, but he doesn’t know what Stiles will think of that. Is this a one time thing? It doesn’t feel like a one time thing. He doesn’t want that. He wants it all.

Stiles’s eyebrows draw together, wrinkling his forehead. “Are you freaking out? Did I rush this?”

Derek has to grin at that as he shakes his head. “Just hoping you think this is something that needs to happen again.”

“Are you kidding? This needs to happen on the regular. Like every time we see each other, which needs to be often. Don’t you think?” Stiles rubs his chin on Derek’s chest as his speaks. It almost tickles.

“I’d like that. I’d like to talk about belonging to each other, now, if that’s alright.” Derek tells him seriously.

“We can do that. That’s easy. Derek, we belong to each other now. In the boyfriend way. In the having sex way. In the having big feelings way too, okay?” Stiles grins, cheeky and satisfied.

“Okay,” Derek agrees. He love that look on Stiles. He can’t wait to see it more often.

He pulls Stiles up and kisses him softly. When they are settled in together under the covers, falling asleep in the dark, Stiles starts to laugh. It’s quiet at first, though it shakes the bed as though he’s trying to keep it inside.

“What?” Derek asks, snorting.

“I just should have grown a beard years ago.” Stiles laughs outright.

“Could you have grown a beard years ago?” Derek asks, which earns him a pillow to the face. It’s a long time before they sleep after that, but Derek falls asleep contented. Tomorrow they can work out the details, but for now he’s happy. Best Christmas ever.