Work Header

Royal Pains

Work Text:


Derek almost fucking falls out of bed at that, and you know what? He deserves it. He deserves every goddamn painful way of getting ub because he’s not going to be particularly happy when Stiles socks him in the face. 

Like, twice.

On the contrary, he listens as his fiance (though, the title is teetering right about now) frantically recovers from his tumble and runs to the living room, stopping in his tracks when he sees Stiles sitting cross-legged on the sofa, bared with boxers and his glasses and nothing else, laptop resting on his lap. And very much not hurt. 

“What, Stiles, what is it?” he asks urgently, eyes roaming around their apartment. And Stiles could bark with laughter if he wasn’t fuming. And Derek must finally notice it on his face, because he starts to cautiously makes his way over. 

“Stiles, wh-” but he’s cut off, of course, because Stiles doesn’t even warrant him words. Instead, he turns his computer towards Derek, browser open to what seems to be a news website article. 

Derek hears Stiles huff, and if Stiles wasn’t actually fuming, he may have smirked at how Derek’s eyes widened when he read the headline from the link that Lydia had sent him over Facebook message with just the comment ‘You should read this.’:

Prince of Denmark Derek Hale, Son of Queen Talia II of Denmark, Rumored to be Wed!

Stiles wasn’t sure why, but he was buzzing. It’s pretty rare that him and his boyfriend could get time together, but that was primarily his own fault. Derek didn’t have a job because his family had owned large plots of land when he was a kid. But Stiles doesn’t take hand-outs, nope, so he works full-time. Mostly, it’s for his sanity. Working in advertising forced him to travel to clients more than he would like, and his companies largest account had him flying back and forth between Toronto and California. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves traveling. Stiles comes from a small family, no distant relatives, so it was just his mom, dad, and him. And then when his mom passed, there was no time or money, or reason for that matter, to travel at all. Now, his passport is filled with stamps from all over the world, and he collects all of his tickets and stubs. 

The only (yet biggest) downside is Derek. More importantly, the lack there of. Stiles usually has to leave on whim, and Derek, the wonderful boyfriend he is, will smile and give him an understanding nod, kiss him senseless until he has to leave, and promises to call him every night he’s gone. 

So, fuck you, they deserve this. They deserve these nice reservations at the most famous Thai place in Los Angeles that Stiles had to make at least three months prior. They deserve a night out, even if it’s on a Thursday night. And Derek deserves to know that Stiles still loves him, whole-heartedly and forever, even if he’s crap at showing it. 

They are sitting across from each other, the twinkled lights around the patio making the feeling of tonight just something special, causing Stiles to buzz all over. They order their drinks (white wine for Derek, champagne for Stiles) and Stiles reaches over to take Derek’s hand in his, causing a soft smile from the man. 

“You know,” he starts, his thumb swiping over the back of his hand. “I’m sorry. That I’ve been a terrible boyfriend these past few weeks.” He’s apologetic, and he really feels the sinking feels. But Derek squeezes his hand, and he can’t help but smile. I mean, have you seen that face? It’s impossible not to smile at it!

Derek shakes his head. “Why would that make you a bad boyfriend? You’re doing what you love, and I love that about you. As long as you come home to me.”

And Stiles gawks, really, because what’s the luck he gets to be with someone like Derek Hale? And, of course, he decides that’s a good time to tell him.

“No, but, seriously? You are so perfect. Like, maybe too perfect? Though, in this context, I would never be against that. And I honestly can’t figure out how someone like you ended up with someone like me?” he rambles, arm flailing as he does. But his expression softens when he meets Derek’s eyes, and he lifts his boyfriend’s hand to press his lips to. 

“There’s no one else I’d rather come home to.”

Stiles likes to recall the next five minutes of his life as the Worst Moments of His Life, because it’s pretty much when his body shuts down. Because Derek fucking Hale stands from the table, and a wave of panic rushes over Stiles. Is he leaving, did I say something stupid?  But, no, fuck, he’s kneeling, and Stiles really cannot handle this, not today, not ever. 

Stiles is almost sure he blacked out for what, the rest of the night? Because how could his brain even process Derek Hale, on one knee, in front of his chair. The chatter around them dies as the focus is now so clearly on the two of them, but Stiles doesn’t even bother. 

“I was going to wait until after dinner, but it feels right.” Derek smiles, and he reaches to take Stiles’ shaking hand in his, only stilling his nerves slightly. “You are everything to me, Stiles. When I first met you five years ago, I never expected that the high-strung guy who spilled his ice tea on my suit would be the same guy who I’d want to wake up next to every day.” And Stiles blushes, because he remembers that day. He was late for his last final to finish college, and was pushing it by getting a caffeine dose, and as he was leaving, bumped into a very angry-looking, jacked man with dark hair and eyes to get lost in. He had even offered to pay for his suit, but almost cried when the man told him it had cost over $2,000.

“This is a once in a lifetime love, and I don’t want to miss out on it. I don’t care if you have to be gone every day for 364 days. As long as you’re with me on the last day, it’s worth it.”

And fuck, Stiles is pretty sure he’s crying right now, and he does not cry. Like, ever. He’s pretty sure the last time he cried was when his mom passed away, and ever since then he’d been desensitized. But now, here he is, and there is some strange liquid coming out of his eyes and his nose is runny and his breathing is getting heavy, and he’s pretty sure his smile is disgusting. 

Then Derek reaches behind him with his free hand, and there’s a black box in his hand, and Stiles’ breath hitches. Because this really can’t be his life. Who would want to marry him, really?

Apparently this asshole. 

“Adam Stiles Stilinski, will you do me the honor of being my husband?”

And Stiles forgets about the ring, because he couldn’t give a fuck when he has a gorgeous as fuck man to kiss the crap out of in front of him. He leaps out of his chair with a yelp and wraps his arms around Derek, kissing him senseless, mumbling ‘yes, yes, a hundred times yes’ into his lips.

The restaurant around them erupts in applause and cheers. 

“You want to explain this, or you just going to stand there like a fish out of fucking water with your mouth open?” Stiles hisses, turning the laptop back around into his lap. The only reason he’s not more shocked is because he currently has six other tabs up with the google search ‘derek hale denmark’ to confirm the news article.

Derek falls into the couch next to him, and Stiles glares at him incredulously. The man has the nerve to sit next to him, amazing. “This is not how I wanted you to find out,” he groans, rubbing his hand over his face. 

And, woah, no. “So, this is true?” his voice rises in shock, whipping his head, eyes sharp. “When were you going to tell me? When we would have to have a royal wedding in Denmark?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” he sighs. “They would perform it here.” 

Stiles is pretty sure his eyes fall out of his head. 

“So this is a real thing? This is true? You, my fiance, who’ve I’ve known for five years, is somehow been living a secret life as a prince?” he practically yells, a mess of huffiness and arms, abandoning his laptop beside him.

He finds it appropriate to storm into their bedroom. He even justifies how hard he slams the door. 

It doesn’t take Derek long to follow in suit, it never does, and when he jiggles at the door handle, Stiles is face-planted into their abundance of pillows, body taking up most of the bed. 

“Get the hell out,” he muffles into the bed, grimaces when he feels the bed dip.

“Can I explain myself? And then you can be mad at me.” 

And seriously? Actually, it’s a good idea. Yeah, explanation, because he really needs one at this fucked up situation. But Stiles, of course, takes longer than he needs to mull it over before he groans and moves to sit up. He sees now that Derek is already facing him, eyes concerned and distraught.  

“Yes, I’m royalty,” he starts, and when Stiles open his mouth for a rebuttal, he puts his hands up. “But, but! I’m not in line to rule, nor will I ever be. My mother is the Queen of Denmark, and yes, a lot of people believe that because I am her only son, I am the prince that will take her place. But I decided long ago to give that power over to Laura.” 

“Your mom. Laura..” Stiles recites, and he cannot actually believe his life. “Your mom, whom I’ve met multiple times, and has visited us constantly for brunch dates, is a goddamn queen? Oh my god.” he says incredulously, eyes going to the wall beside them. “I’ve met your entire family.” 

He slaps Derek’s shoulder, earning a yelp from the man. “You told me your family’s wealth came from the land they owned!” 

Derek tries to smile, but it’s shot down by Stiles’ glare. “They do own land... Denmark.”

Fuck this fucking fuck, honestly. 

“Stiles, please. When we first met, I didn’t want to tell you about it because I didn’t want you to like me because of it. I wanted it to be real. And when time went on, well. I knew I wasn’t going to take the throne, so it wouldn’t really be an impact on us.” 

Derek has his Puppy Dog Eyes on, and wow, what a low blow, because he knows it’s Stiles’ weakness. “No,” Stiles warns. “You do not get to give me that look. You lied to me, Derek!” 

“I know, I’m sorry. But, everything I’ve told you, about my life, my memories, my feelings, they were real. Everything about us, is real. I just never explained that one detail.” 

When Stiles meets his eyes, he immediately wishes he didn’t. Because he has hunched shoulders and a defeated expression, and Stiles maybe thinks he reacted wrong to this.  

Derek is always the rational one of them. Even when Stiles had the worst temper, the craziest schedule, and the most maniac life, Derek was calm and grounding. He accepted everything Stiles gave him with genuine appreciation, and he didn’t get upset. And Stiles is lashing out at him about something that’s actually pretty fucking cool. 

“I understand if you’re upset with me. I’ll just, I’ll go.” He stands to leave and Stiles has to scramble to grab his arm and use all of his force (because Derek is seven bulls) to bring the man back down on the bed. And he can’t help it; he wraps his arms around Derek, burying his face on the side of his chest, causing his glasses to actually hurt a lot on his face, but he really doesn’t care.  

Derek must think it’s some kind of trap, because he’s still and quiet for a few minutes. “Don’t go,” Stiles mumbles. “Please don’t ever fucking go.” He must have done something right, because he’s rewarded with Derek’s arm around his waist, his broad hand lightly brushing over the skin of his bare back.  

“Aren’t you mad at me?” 

Stiles scoffs. “Well, yeah. Because what the actual fuck?” His hold on Derek tightens. “But that doesn’t mean I’d ever want you to leave, okay?”

 “I’d never want to leave you.” 

Stiles allows himself another quiet minute of nuzzling and just sitting there, holding each other, before he breaks away.  “Okay. Now I want you to explain everything to me. And don’t you dare leave anything out.” 

They spend the rest of the afternoon until nightfall sitting side by side in their bed, Derek going through the timeline that is Prince Derek Hale of Denmark. He tells Stiles about his banished uncle who tried to form a coupe to overthrow his own sister. He talks about his sisters, who were the only friends he was allowed to have growing up, and why they are so close. He talks about his mother, a wonderful ruler loved by the country, who understood when Derek realized he was interested in men, and wouldn’t be able to be in an arranged marriage, hence why he gave his crown to Laura, who was more than willing to accept.  

He explains every last detail until they realize it’s dark out, Stiles barely saying anything other to ask certain questions. By the time he decides it’s getting late, and they should go to bed, Derek’s voice is raw, and the man still seems standoff-ish with how to approach Stiles. 

While Stiles brushes his teeth, he can’t help but mull all the new information is his mind. It makes sense; why Derek wouldn’t tell them when they were first dating. Stiles isn’t sure what he would do if he had found out. Knowing him, he’d probably have avoided Derek like a plague.  

He patters back into their room, and Derek is already in bed, room dark aside from the glow of streetlights out of their window. He’s on his back, staring at the ceiling, face blank. Stiles crawls into bed, on his side, and Derek doesn’t do what he usually does when they go to bed, which is to pull Stiles closer to him, hooking his leg over and resting his chin on his head. Which, really, makes Stiles huff at that, because he really hates how much Derek blames himself for things that really are no one’s fault.  

“Oh my god,” Stiles grumbles, scooting over in the bed to throw his arm over Derek’s waist, resting his head on his chest. “I’m not mad at you, okay?” he whispers when he feels Derek’s arm come around him.  

“You’re not?” he asks, and fuck, he sounds scared, and he doesn’t know if he should pepper him with kisses or slap him across the face.  

He, instead, places a light kiss to Derek’s collarbone. “Granted, you’re an idiot. But, no, I’m not. You’re right, this doesn’t change our relationship or how much I trust you. I reckon there is very little in the world that could decrease my love for you. I’m crazy about you, what a trap.” he mutters, almost sounding annoyed, but he’s sure Derek gets his sarcasm. 

“I’m really sorry.” he mumbles, and Stiles lifts his head to meet eyes, giving him a soft smile. 

“I know you are. And it’s why I love you.” he leans in to press a kiss to his jaw. “It’s also why I’m going to marry you.” 

Derek takes the initiative to lean down so that their lips meet. It’s light, just enough to show compassion and love, and Stiles can’t help but bring his hand up to cup Derek’s jaw when he does.  

“I love you, too.” Derek says when they pull apart, and Stiles cuddles closer to him, letting the wave of exhaustion drift him to sleep.  

The next day, when Stiles is at work and Derek has just gotten back from a run, he gets a message from his phone from Stiles. All that’s in it is a screenshot of a Wikipedia page of the search ‘denmark royal wedding’ and a text from Stiles saying:  

there is no way in hell i’m wearing gold tasseled shoulder pads at our wedding you