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What I Wish You Saw

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Derek was pretty sure this was going to be the end of him.  He was going to die of heartache and acute sexual frustration.  It had been years.  Years since the Alpha Pack and the Darach, years since the Nogitsune and the countless other supernatural and human threats, and yet here he was, still alone in his cold loft, still pining over a certain freckled genius.   


Derek wasn't proud of it.  He knew Stiles must have met plenty of people in his college classes, must have gone to dozens of parties with carefree frat boys and beautiful girls who were a lot less damaged and reclusive than he was.  They would dance and drink and hook up and do all the things you were supposed to do when you were young and stupid, or maybe just young and alive.


He wasn't quite sure he met any of those requirements.     


Derek couldn't do those things, and if he were being honest with himself, he really didn't want to.  He'd had enough craziness during his short stint in New York, and he'd had more than enough upheaval in his life since then.  He was 28 years old and he wanted to settle down, as trite as that sounded, even to himself.  He couldn't help it.  All he thought about when he went to bed alone each night was making breakfast for a sleepy, blissed-out Stiles who would give him a bed-warm kiss as he wrapped himself around Derek's back.  He could almost feel the man against his skin while he stood at the counter waiting for coffee to brew, but he knew it was just wishful thinking.


It was the warmth that Derek missed the most.  With his family gone and the pack growing up and finding their own paths, he wanted something stable, something to fill his life, some one to make a home with.   


As it was, Derek couldn't blame Stiles for shying away from his interest, and he definitely couldn't blame him for inching away from the casual touches he had tried to initiate the last time Stiles had been home for break.  If he were Stiles, he wouldn't want to get any closer to Derek and his dark cloud of misery either.  


Derek had tried to clean up his act, to make the loft more inviting.  He'd bought a plush rug and some curtains, he'd gotten a job with the parks service and the lady at the library even knew his name now and set aside the new mysteries for him.  He was doing his best.


Stiles was a senior at Berkeley, about to graduate with his bachelor's in computer science.  He didn't have a job lined up yet, but Derek was sure it wouldn't be long before he was interviewing at tech companies in the city, meeting some gorgeous engineer who actually knew how to use a computer, and waltzing out of his life for good.   


Pulling out the green shirt that he had a feeling Stiles liked him in, Derek took extra care styling his hair and headed over to the Stilinskis' for Stiles' graduation BBQ.  Following the sound of conversation and the smell of grilled meat, Derek found the Sheriff and the rest of his pack in the backyard.  He took in the scene and let his wolf settle at the sight of Isaac laughing at something Scott was saying, Erica sitting on his lap and running a manicured hand through his blonde curls.  Stiles was attempting to pull a metal spatula away from his father, who was swatting at him with it.   


"If you try to put a veggie burger on this grill one more time I'm going to spank you with this in front of all your friends," John threatened, waving the spatula at his son menacingly.  Derek snorted, hands in his pockets, and waited until Stiles turned around.  


He looked even better than the last time Derek had seen him.   


Over the years, Stiles had abandoned the flannel layers and baggy cargo pants in favor of skinny, brightly colored jeans and tight long sleeved tees.  The black shirt he had on was so tight, in fact, that Derek could see the outline of his collar bones and the knobs of his broad shoulders.  His gaze trailed downward, lingering over the curves of the abdominal muscles Stiles had painstakingly developed over several years of running for his life and burning off steam at the campus athletic center.   


John coughed, pulling Derek's eyes away from how Stiles' ruby red jeans were clinging to his thigh muscles.  "Good to see you, son," John said, clasping Derek on the shoulder with his free hand.


"Thanks Sheriff," Derek said, shaking his hand and then turning to Stiles.  He stretched out his hand further, ready to clasp Stiles' shoulder in congratulations, but the younger man leaned back, moving his body just out of Derek's grasp.  If Derek didn't know any better, he would say it was unintentional, but Stiles had been pulling back more and more, to the point where Derek couldn't remember the last time he saw him accept a touch from anyone, let alone him.  He withdrew his hand and clenched his fists, letting out a low breath of disappointment.


"This is for you," Derek said, trying to pretend that he wasn't hurt by Stiles' reaction.  He dug into his pocket and pulled out a gift card for the local magic shop.  There were a few books and even an expensive enchanted dagger there that Stiles had been babbling about over Skype for months now.  He had been agonizing over what to buy Stiles for weeks, and while a gift card was fairly impersonal, he couldn't bring himself to buy anything more serious when all he really wanted to give Stiles was a tangible sign of affection that he definitely wasn't ready for.   


"You didn't have to get me anything," Stiles said, stepping to the side to allow his dad to get back to cooking.  He opened the card and then shoved it into his back pocket, rubbing the hair at the nape of his neck and looking at his feet.  Derek hadn't seen Stiles look so sheepish in years.  


Sure, the Spark had lost some of his nervous energy since his high school days, and he didn't crack nearly as many jokes as he used to, but that edge of wit and sarcasm had always been there, and right now it just... wasn't.   


"I wanted to," Derek said softly, searching Stiles' face for some sort of sign, some signal that would tell him what had Stiles looking so worn down.  This was supposed to be a happy occasion, but Stiles looked like he was dying for everyone to go home.  His body was almost curling in on itself, his limbs wrapping around his trim torso in some unconscious effort to make himself smaller.   


"I'm glad you're home.  I've missed you," Derek managed to say, hoping Stiles would take the opening to tell him what was wrong.   


"Yeah," Stiles responded, scratching his long fingers up and down his forearm in a shaky gesture.  "Me too."  Derek gave him a nervous half-smile, happy that their almost-daily texts weren’t cutting it for Stiles either.  


"Maybe we could see the movie of that book you like," Derek offered, telling himself that he had practiced this, he could ask Stiles out, it was now or never.  "It comes out this weekend."


"It's the second one in the series," Stiles pointed out.  Derek inhaled, tensing as he readied himself for whatever excuse Stiles would come up with to avoid seeing him in person.  "We should watch the first one beforehand."


Derek felt his forehead relax and his lips inch their way into a smile.  He hoped he hadn't been making too scary of an expression with his eyebrows.  That half hour practicing in the mirror that morning must have paid off, because Stiles' mouth twitched upward in answer.  "I'd like that," Derek said, smiling fully now.  "Is tomorrow afternoon okay?"


"Tomorrow sounds good," Stiles answered quickly, amber eyes crinkling a little in the corners as he grabbed a garbage bag out of Allison's hands as she passed by and rushed off the porch to start frantically collecting trash from the picnic tables, red blush low on his cheeks.


"Fucking finally," Derek heard Erica mutter under her breath as he inched his hands into his back pockets, grinning triumphantly.  The Sheriff startled him by smacking a plate full of meat into his stomach and chuckling, shaking his head as he turned off the grill.

Derek wiped his hands on his dark jeans for the tenth time since he'd gotten dressed.  They were now uncomfortably damp and sticking to his thighs even more than usual.  When he heard Stiles' Jeep pull up, he glanced nervously around the room, taking in the coffee table which held a six-pack of Mountain Dew, and bowls of kettle corn and peanut M&Ms.  Smoothing down the sides of his hair one more time, he pulled the loft's door open as Stiles came up the stairs.


"Hi," he breathed, stepping back so Stiles could come inside.   


"Hey," Stiles replied, looking a bit pale and sweatier than a quick walk to the elevator would normally call for.   


"Are you alright?" Derek asked, walking across the room and standing in front of the TV, suddenly overwhelmed by the thought that he had no idea what to do with his limbs.  What did people usually do with their arms?  He couldn’t remember and he was starting to panic.


"I could ask you the same thing," Stiles said, peering between him and the spread on the table with a curious expression.


"I'm sorry," Derek said, crossing his arms and then thinking better of it and uncrossing them, clenching his hands into fists.  "I guess I'm just nervous."


"Why?" Stiles asked, taking half a step forward and then going completely still as if he had just realized what he was doing.


"I've been wanting to ask you out for so long, and I've wanted to touch you for even longer than that," Derek admitted, closing his eyes in embarrassment.  If he was going to do this, he was going all in.  "And now that you're here, you probably don't think this is even a real date and I've already screwed everything up."


"You haven't screwed everything up," Stiles said seriously, tilting his head a little to the side and looking at Derek with an openly fond expression he hadn't seen on Stiles' face since the day Lydia mistranslated something in the bestiary and called the tail Scott had magically sprouted a "slutty fairy bottom."


"Then why does your heartbeat sound like you're about to run out of here?"  


"Because I've never done this before... and I'm dying to kiss you but I'm terrified."


"Terrified of what?" Derek asked, pleased that they were finally getting somewhere, but nervous all the same.


"Sex," Stiles said candidly, a little louder than he meant to.  Derek could feel his eyebrows creeping up into his hairline and made a pointed effort to get them back down to a reasonable latitude.   


"Sex?" Derek asked, dumbfounded.   


"Yes, sex," Stiles responded, a little tersely, as he waved his hands back and forth between their bodies in an exasperated manner.


"You've never had sex before?" Derek had to ask.  True, he'd never heard Stiles mention anyone in particular, but he had been away at college for four years, there had to have been a few drunken fumbles, a few flings.  Stiles had been working out so much at the gym, he had to know what he looked like.  People must have been throwing themselves at him every chance they got.


"No," Stiles said quietly, rubbing one of his biceps and lowering his eyes to his shoes.


"Well that's not a big deal," Derek said in what he hoped was a comforting and non-judgemental tone.  "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for.  We can wait."


"That's really sweet and I love you even more for saying that, but I don't want to wait," Stiles told him, meeting his eyes with a serious look.


"Well I don't see how sex is going to happen if you don't even want me to touch you, but I'm sure we can work on it," Derek babbled.  "I haven't been—" he grimaced at the word, "intimate with anyone in a long time but there are other ways to show affection and we don't have to—wait.  You love me?"


Stiles licked his lower lip and then sucked it into his mouth the way he did when he was fighting a smile.  Then he started laughing.  It started small, but once he got going, he couldn't stop, and soon his whole body was shaking with it.


"You're such an idiot," Stiles chuckled, cheeks and ears going pink with the motion.  "I've loved you for years.  I just thought you weren't interested."


"I've loved you since the day you saved Cora's life," Derek said, remembering how Stiles had done everything he could to protect the pack once they realized Jennifer was the Darach.  He had been a goddamn hero in that hospital, running head first at every threat with just a baseball bat to defend himself with.   


"How did you find out about that?" Stiles asked, narrowing his eyes at Derek.


"You think I missed the smell of your mouth on my sister's?" Derek said, raising his eyebrows at Stiles.  "I nearly ripped her hair out before she explained why."


"You're going to be a possessive boyfriend, aren't you?" Stiles mused as Derek bravely took a step forward.  He didn't miss the way Stiles' entire body tensed, ready to pull away the moment Derek got too close.


"Are we going to talk about this?" Derek asked, letting his eyes drop to Stiles' clenched fist.  He itched to take Stiles by the wrist and ease his hand open, trace the long, bony fingers with his until they relaxed, but he held himself back.  He wasn't going to push when Stiles already looked like he was ready to bolt.   


"I want to, I just—"  


"You can tell me anything," Derek prompted, knowing he was never going to get anywhere with Stiles unless he was patient.


"The wolves," Stiles struggled to find the words as his eyes roamed across Derek's body, taking in every detail, from the breath of his shoulders to the curve of his ass, "all of you, you're all so unfairly attractive, with all the muscles and the perfect bodies, and I'm just—not," he finished lamely, eyes falling to the ground once more.   


"I don’t think you’re seeing yourself clearly.  You are perfect to me," Derek said, holding his hand out like a lifeline, praying that Stiles would finally accept the offer of his touch.  "I don't want anyone else.  Please believe me."


Arm shaking in anticipation, Stiles slowly extended one hand and gently ran one finger over Derek's palm.  Derek shuddered, that one little touch giving him a thrill of hope.  Sparks ran down his spine as Stiles exhaled shakily and traced the lines of his palm, one by one.   Stiles took a step forward, reaching his other hand out to barely brush Derek's forearm.   


Derek could feel the tension in Stiles' body.  He hadn't relaxed yet, in fact, he seemed to wind even tighter the more he touched Derek's skin.  Derek kept himself perfectly still, letting Stiles take whatever he wanted.  He closed his eyes as Stiles' fingers left his palm and reappeared on his cheek, cupping the side of his face as Stiles leaned in.   


Breath caught in his throat, Derek let his mouth fall open and licked his lips.  He could almost taste Stiles' exhale on his tongue, but still, he didn't move.  Stiles swallowed, throat clicking dryly as he took the plunge.  


Derek's eyes snapped open the moment Stiles' lips met his.  It was soft, and all too brief.  Stiles immediately retreated, leaving a few inches between their noses.  Hazel eyes flicked between Stiles' mouth and his eyes as Derek checked for permission to continue.   


Stiles' head bobbed minutely, and that was all the answer Derek needed.  Still gentle, Derek leaned forward to capture Stiles' mouth again.  This time, a warm, wet tongue found his.  Derek groaned low in his throat, choking on a gasp at the sensation.  Soon it was all hot breath and panting noises as their mouths locked together.  Heat curled in Derek's stomach as Stiles brought a tentative hand up and tangled it in his hair, tilting his head until the angle was just right.   


Derek suddenly realized that his hands were empty, and that seemed horribly wrong to him.  Stiles had one hand fisted in his hair and the other arm wrapped around his neck, pulling them together, but he was just standing there, hands at his sides, as he traced his tongue along Stiles' cupid's bow.  It all felt oddly disconnected to him, like his mouth was involved but the rest of his body hadn't been invited.  He struggled to pull away, even as Stiles followed him with his mouth, dragging him into a few more kisses before he could find his words.  


"Stiles," Derek gasped, pupils blown wide, expression hopeful, "may I?"  He held out his palms, one hand a scant inch away from Stiles' hip, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off of his body.   


Stiles looked torn, like he was dying for Derek's touch, but had just realized why he couldn’t have it.  He released Derek's hair and pulled his arm away with a pained crease in his forehead,  looking down to where Derek's hand was hovering over his waistband.  Stiles swallowed audibly and looked back up, taking in the open, desperate look on Derek's face.   


"You can keep your clothes on," Derek offered, searching Stiles' face for some sort of answer, "I just want to know if I can touch you back."


"God," Stiles breathed, leaning forward until his forehead rested on Derek's collar bone.  "You don't know how badly I want you to touch me.  No one has touched me for—" he lost his words, bringing a shaking palm up to rub over Derek's chest, "it's just..."


"You don't have to say anything," Derek told him, lowering his hands until they were at his sides again, content for the moment to just let Stiles cling to him, "it's alright."


Stiles pulled back until he could see Derek's face again.  His eyes were pleading with Derek to understand, to not make him say it, but even werewolf senses wouldn't reveal this secret for him.  Stiles needed to say the words himself.   


"Can we," Stiles asked, looking around the room at the open space of the loft, eyes narrowing when they landed on the large wall of windows, "go upstairs?"


"Of course," Derek said, smiling when Stiles actually took his hand and led him there himself.  


Once they were in Derek's bedroom, Stiles closed the door behind him and exhaled loudly, shaking out his arms like he was trying to psych himself up for something.  Derek's forehead crinkled as he struggled to piece together Stiles' behavior into something that made sense.  Stiles loved him, he wanted them to touch, but somehow, he didn't?  Derek needed more information, and it looked like Stiles was finally ready to give it to him.


"If I shut the lights off, you'll still be able to see, won't you?" Stiles asked, sighing like it was the worst thing in the world.


"I can close my eyes if you want," Derek offered, still confused.


"No, it's alright," Stiles said, running an nervous hand down his stomach until it stopped at the edge of his long-sleeved tee.  He toyed with the hem, and then closed his eyes tightly, gathering his resolve.  Derek sat down on the edge of his bed and watched, eyes drawn to where Stiles' fingers were about to show just a sliver of skin.  "You should know," Stiles said finally, hooking a long finger in the bottom of his shirt and pulling it up.  He shed it quickly before he could stop himself, and then took a step forward.   


Stiles' entire body was stiff, like he was physically forcing himself to keep his arms at his side, to not cover up, and Derek finally understood why.  It was dim in his bedroom, but Derek felt like he was finally seeing Stiles clearly for the first time.  His eyes didn't know where to go first.  There were marks everywhere.  More scars than he could count, some dark with age, some shiny and pink, new, like they must have happened within the last six months.   


Stiles didn't look like the carefree teenager he once knew.  He looked like a veteran.  When Derek looked at him he saw someone who had lived a life full of horror and pain, but also someone who had survived.  He suddenly felt fiercely protective.  


It wasn't that Derek didn't think Stiles could protect himself, because clearly that wasn't the case, he had managed to live this long.  But Derek still couldn't shake the feeling that he should have done more.  He shouldn't have let it get this far.  Stiles was just a kid when he was thrown into the supernatural world.  Derek had been the adult.  He should have protected him better.  With a sigh, Derek rubbed his forehead wearily.  Now that he finally understood what Stiles was hiding, he had to know everything.   


Derek leaned forward, away from his perch on the edge of the bed, getting as close as he could without Stiles backing up in fear.  "What happened here?" he asked, stretching out a hand to point at the largest scar in his vision.  The three lines were jagged with raw edges and stretched from Stiles' right hip bone in a wide arc to land above his belly button.   


"That Omega, three years ago," Stiles said quietly, looking down his body and sucking his stomach in a little to see the scar from a different angle.   


"And these?" Derek asked, pointing to a series of long, thin lines that traveled from below Stiles' right nipple to his waistline.   




"This one?" Derek asked, leaning forward even more until he was just barely keeping himself on the mattress.




Derek growled, a low, half-strangled thing that sounded like it was causing him physical pain to stifle.  Stiles shifted his weight onto his heels.  


Pixies.  Kanimas.  Demons.  Vampires.  One threat after another, and these were just the wounds that had left scars.  There must have been countless others, scrapes and bruises, not to mention the pain of it all, the heat and prickling of torn skin knitting itself back together that Derek was all too familiar with.  Humans were much stronger than the wolves ever gave them credit for.  They didn't just have to live.  They had to endure.


Eventually Derek made a twirling motion with one finger.  Stiles frowned but turned around to  reveal his back.  He looked at Derek over one shoulder, watching the wolf's expression carefully as he found that there were even more marks littered across Stiles’ shoulder blades and licking down his obliques.   


Hesitating slightly, Derek made to stand.  Only after Stiles gave a quick, affirmative jerk of his head, did Derek unfold his legs and move closer.  He stopped mere inches from Stiles' skin, taking in the way his muscles were still tight, but much less so than when they were downstairs.  Stiles could feel the heat of Derek's breath brushing over his shoulder blades as Derek raised a hand, eyes flicking back up to Stiles’ face every few seconds.   


Stiles closed his eyes in acquiescence, giving Derek the green light to brush soft fingertips over the ugliest of his scars.  The skin was red and jagged, raised in a painful looking starburst across Stiles' left shoulder.  Derek traced the mark with his middle and pointer fingers, breath catching when Stiles' head brushed his own skin as he tilted his head further to the side.  Derek couldn't tell if Stiles was moving into or away from his touch and that infuriated him.  There was so much about this man that he didn't know, still so much he had yet to learn.   


"Stiles?" He asked, hand drawn back but still hovering over Stiles' shoulder.   


"An arrow," Stiles answered, definitely pushing his body back into Derek's hand this time.  "That hunter from Mesa with the giant crossbow bolts."


"I remember," Derek whispered, leaning into Stiles' body and letting his other hand fall to cup the curve of Stiles' hip.  Stiles groaned, a high and broken noise, like his body was aching just from the small brush of skin.  "Why didn't you say?" He asked, letting his forehead fall against the back of Stiles' neck.


"Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd," Stiles hesitated for a moment before adding, "you."  He rolled his head, letting Derek rub his nose into his hairline.  "You're unmarked.  You're perfect.  I couldn't let you see me.  I don’t even look anymore."


"What can I say to make you believe me," Derek pleaded, taking Stiles' wrist and turning him around.  He pulled back a few inches to look into Stiles' eyes.  "You are perfect.  You're more than perfect.  These marks," he said, trailing a finger down the slash on Stiles' chest, letting his thumb brush over one nipple.  Stiles shivered, letting his eyes fall closed for a minute before meeting Derek's gaze again.  "They make you a survivor.  Christ, Stiles," Derek hissed, letting his hands drift to Stiles' biceps to rub comforting circles with his thumbs, kneading the muscles, "you look like a fucking veteran."


Stiles chuckled darkly, thinking of his father's time in the Gulf.  "I don't think you're using that word right."


"I think I am," Derek muttered, looking between Stiles' eyes and his lips, wondering if he could just kiss some sense into him.  "How many battles have you fought in?" Derek asked, squeezing Stiles' arms a little in emphasis.  "How many?"


"I haven't been keeping count," Stiles told him, eyes darting down to where Derek's thumbs were still moving on his biceps.


"Exactly," Derek said, hooking his finger under Stiles' chin to bring his eyes back up to his.  "It's been too many.  But you're still here.  And you're still just as beautiful as you were when I first saw you."  Stiles fought to bring his view downward again, but Derek kept a firm hand on his chin, meaning Stiles' eyes could go no further than Derek's lips.  "I love you, and I'm dying to touch you."


Stiles' eyes looked wet when they came back up to meet Derek's.  He searched those hazel rings for any sign of a lie or placation, but he found none.  "How long has it been since someone's even touched you, Stiles?" Derek asked, letting his other hand trail up Stiles' arm and cup the side of his neck, rubbing a soft thumb across Stiles' jaw.   


"How long?" He asked again when Stiles didn't answer right away.   


Stiles inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, steeling himself to give the answer that embarrassed the hell out of him.  "Never."


Derek fought to keep his eyes from widening.  He had been so sure there had been others, so sure that there had been other hands running over the man that his wolf knew to be his.  To hear that he was wrong from Stiles' own lips was nothing short of a miracle.  Stiles had said he was a virgin, but to have never been touched at all?  Not even an ounce of kindness or comfort?  That was too much for Derek to comprehend.  Stiles must have been starving for it, and Derek wanted nothing more than to give him everything he could.


"You've been alone for too long," Derek whispered, leaning in until his lips were just barely brushing Stiles'.  "We both have.  Will you be mine, Stiles?  Please say yes."


"I'm yours," Stiles said into Derek's mouth, surging forward to kiss the breath out of his lungs.   

Once Stiles said the words, it was like the floodgates were finally open.  He clutched at Derek’s shoulders, fisting his hands in the sleeves of his tee.  Derek let his hands trail down over Stiles’ hips as he panted into his open mouth.  He felt Stiles’ muscles tense again, all the way down to the floor as Stiles lifted one leg to wrap it around Derek’s waist.  All Derek had to do was bend his knees and lift, and suddenly Stiles was in the air, bracketing his hips with strong, cut thighs.  


Spinning around until he was facing the bed, Derek buried his face in Stiles’ collarbone, rubbing his chin back and forth until the skin prickled and pinked up.  Stiles had his arms wrapped around Derek’s neck and long fingers tangled in the dark brown spikes he found there.  Derek groaned as his tongue flicked over the thin skin of Stiles’ clavicle.  


Stiles’ vision shifted abruptly when he found himself on his back, Derek’s heavy frame pushing him down into the plushness of the comforter, the wolf’s hips slotting between his open thighs.  “Fuck, please,” Stiles panted, needing more than Derek’s hot mouth burning lines across his peaked nipples.  


“What do you want?” Derek asked, sitting back on his heels to look Stiles in the eye.  His pupils were blown and his hair in soft tangles, gel loosened by Stiles’ roaming fingers.  He looked like he had already been blown within an inch of his life and they hadn’t even done anything yet.  Stiles didn’t know where to start, but looking at Derek, whose eyes looked pure green in the dim light of his bedside lamp, he knew they’d have time for everything.  They’d have time for forever if that’s what Stiles said he wanted.


“I want everything,” Stiles spoke his own thoughts aloud, leaning forward to capture Derek’s lips in a fierce kiss.  He sucked on Derek’s plump bottom lip, running his tongue across the roof of his mouth and surprising himself with how loudly he was moaning.  “I want your everything,” he said, when he finally pulled away, mouth wet and swollen.


“It’s yours,” Derek insisted, pushing Stiles down on the bed, then leaning back once more to pull his shirt over his head.  Long fingers skirted up his ribcage, fluttering over each curve of his stomach as Stiles finally got to touch the muscles he had been fantasizing about for years.  


“Off, off, off!” Stiles hissed, slipping his fingers down into Derek’s waistband and pulling.  The elastic of Derek’s briefs snapped back against his hip bones and Derek laughed, smiling at the unabashed look on Stiles’ face.  He wasn’t sure that he’d ever see a look like that from an exposed Stiles, but somehow, there it was, writhing on his bed.  


He hopped off the bed for a few seconds to shimmy out of his tight jeans while Stiles watched, head propped up on one hand.  “This is quite the view,” he said as Derek’s gaze landed on his belt.  “I could get used to it.”


“Your turn,” Derek said, raising his eyebrows like Stiles’ still-covered legs were personally offending him.  Stiles hesitated long enough for Derek to say “if you want to stop here, we can.”


“No,” Stiles protested, flicking his belt open with a serious expression.  “I want to, there’s just, more on my legs.”


“Oh,” Derek said simply, crawling back up to Stiles as he pulled his pants off, revealing the strong thighs that Derek had only seen in his dreams.  In reality, they were more cuts than the ones his quads made.  There were dark puncture marks circling his ankle from the Nogitsune’s trap, and purple claw marks marring one thigh, twisting around like tree rings.  Derek rubbed his thumbs over the sharp edges of Stiles’ hipbones and slipped under the legs of his black boxer briefs, leaning down to drag his nose up each scar and up into the cut of his hip.  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, rubbing his stubble over the sensitive skin of Stiles’ inner thighs.  


“Show me,” Stiles beckoned, sighing so sweetly when Derek dragged his underwear off his body and tongued the crease of his groin.  He bit down lightly, taking the thin skin between his teeth and pulling back ever so slightly, getting a hiss from Stiles for his trouble.  He lapped at the purple spot he made there and smiled, happy to be leaving his mark.  Even if it was one among many, none of them were quite like this, made by pleasure instead of pain.  Looking at it was giving Derek all sorts of ideas.


“Would you flip over for me?” Derek asked earnestly, and was immediately met with the most beautiful view he had ever seen.  Pink, round, perky cheeks swayed in front of his face, Stiles’ balls hanging below, just waiting for his touch.  


“Your ass is perfect,” Derek muttered against his skin, bringing a hand up to cup Stiles’ package as he trailed his tongue over the small of Stiles’ back and downward.  


“Yeah, luckily no one has managed to put a mark on it yet,” Stiles whined, pressing his ass back into Derek’s mouth until his tongue caught the spot Stiles wanted.  Derek worked him over for several long minutes, loving the flutter of Stiles’ muscle around his tongue and the sweet little noises coming out of Stiles’ throat as he writhed on the sheets.  


The thought of that made Derek’s wolf whine and his gums itch, fangs begging to drop.  “Could—” he hesitated, wondering if it was completely insensitive to ask.


“Yeah?” Stiles breathed, peeking over his shoulder to see Derek’s blown pupils and completely wrecked mouth.  


“May I?” he asked, hesitating again as he looked down at Stiles’ ass.


Stiles just nodded, mouth hanging open as he watched Derek lower his head once more, blue eyes flashing as he bit into Stiles’ cheek, not quite hard enough to break the skin, but definitely hard enough to bruise and burn.  Derek finally let his fangs drop to scrape across the red crescent shaped mark he had just left on Stiles.  


Loving the way it looked, on Stiles’ pale skin, Derek went to work sucking a ring of purple and red welts around Stiles’ hips like a belt, worrying the skin with his teeth as Stiles' hips moved in synch with his mouth.  


“Enough, enough,” Stiles panted, dislodging Derek as he flipped his body over, nearly kicking him in the head on the way.  “Where’s your lube?”


Derek groaned, flipping onto his back and grabbing handfuls of his own hair, “you can’t just say stuff like that.”


“Why?” Stiles asked, smirking as he found a tube in Derek’s side table and flicked the cap open.  “You going to come before you get in me?”


“Maybe,” Derek admitted easily, “if you keep talking, I might.”


“Come here big boy,” Stiles joked, slapping his own thigh in an effort to get Derek to climb into his lap.  “Show me what you’re working with.”


Derek rolled his eyes, but tugged his briefs down anyway, not that they were hiding anything at that point.  He shuffled his knees until he was right in front of Stiles and pressed his thumbs into the bruises he had just put on Stiles’ hips.  A hiss came out between Stiles’ teeth as he pulled Derek back by the hair so he could get some lube on his fingers instead.  


When he finally got a good look at Derek’s whole body, Stiles let out a longful moan, burying his face in Derek’s shoulder while fingers rubbed over his already loosened hole.  “I think you’re gonna have to stretch me a bit more, Sourwolf,” Stiles told him as soon as he got a hand around Derek’s dick and felt the breadth of it.  


“You’re okay with this?” Derek asked, as he slipped two fingers into Stiles and rubbed.


“For tonight at least,” Stiles agreed, licking a stripe up Derek’s Adam’s apple and letting his lips close around it, sucking lightly.  “But tomorrow, your ass is mine.”


“I like the sound of that,” Derek said, finally finding Stiles’ prostate and enjoying the full body shudder he got in response.  He spent a few minutes there until he worked Stiles up to three of his broad fingers, Stiles’ slim hips rocking down to meet his hand in a delicious roll of abdominal muscles.  “How do you want to do this?”


“I think I want to be on top,” Stiles said as Derek removed his fingers and wiped them on the sheets.  Stiles made a face, and then smirked when he rolled Derek onto his back right into the sticky spot.  He reached back over to grab the tube of lube and warmed a bit in his hand before stroking Derek with a mercilessly tight grip.  Derek couldn’t wait to see what those fingers could do inside him.  


“Please tell me you’re ready,” Derek muttered as he felt some sweat drip off his forehead and into his sideburns.  If Stiles’ hand was squeezing his dick even half as hard as his ass would, he was done for.  


“Patience is a virtue,” Stiles said, smirking as he straddled Derek’s waist and lined himself up.  


“Yeah, so is chastity.  What’s your point?” Derek ground out as Stiles slid down onto him in one fluid motion.  Derek’s eyes fell closed immediately.  He bit his lip and got a fleeting taste of copper as the skin healed around his teeth.  It was too much.  Stiles was much too much and he could barely breathe.  


“Oh fuck,” Stiles panted, letting his forehead fall to Derek’s chest as he bottomed out.  “I can’t— I just—” he moaned into Derek’s skin.  


“I know.  Me too,” Derek agreed, licking a trail of sweat off Stiles’ temple.  “Let me—”


“Okay,” Stiles whimpered as Derek got his heels up under himself and lifted Stiles off the bed with his hips.  Derek moved slowly, grinding upward as Stiles’ body weight pushed them even closer together.   He didn’t even bother to thrust.  Derek felt like one good stroke would finish him off.  He just continued to move his hips in tight little circles, burying himself as deeply in Stiles as he could.  


Stiles felt close to tears.  With every shift of Derek’s hips he felt more exquisite pressure against his prostate, bringing him higher and higher.  He knew once Derek finally touched his cock it would be all over.  “God Derek,” he breathed, flicking his tongue over Derek’s collarbone, “I’m so close already.”


“It’s okay,” Derek muttered right in his ear, punctuating his words with a sharp bite to Stiles’ earlobe.  “We’ll do better next time.”


“I think we’re doing pretty good this time,” Stiles laughed into Derek’s throat.  “Oh fuck,” he broke off as Derek gave a particularly wicked swirl of his hips.  Stiles felt like he was burning up, everything was so hot and tight, he almost felt faint with it.  Derek could hear the high whine in the back of Stiles’ throat and knew it was time.  


He had just barely gotten a hand around Stiles before blunt teeth were digging into his neck and muscles were rhythmically squeezing his cock, bringing him off as well.  All the tension left Stiles’ body as he collapsed onto Derek, who didn’t mind one bit.  He just rubbed his nose into the sweat on Stiles’ hairline, inhaling the scent of love and satisfaction.  


Eventually, Stiles got a cramp and had to roll off Derek, curling into his side immediately and throwing a possessive leg over him.  Derek kept his eyes closed, but used his fingers to map out the scars on Stiles’ chest and abdomen.  Now that he had finally seen all of Stiles, he wanted to memorize every inch.  


“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered into Stiles’ hairline as he traced the lines of his starburst scar.  


“Your eyes aren’t even open,” Stiles muttered against Derek’s chest, hair splayed out against Derek’s dark nipples.  


“They don’t need to be,” Derek told him, yawning as his fingers slowed down and his touch got clumsy with sleep.  


“If you say so.”


“I do,” Derek murmured, kissing Stiles’ temple as they both drifted off.  

Derek woke up warm and content in a way he hadn’t felt since his family was alive.  Stiles was starfished out on top of him, soft brown hair tickling his nose from where he had splayed, face down on Derek’s chest.  He snored lightly, apparently in a deep enough sleep for Derek to slip out of bed, pull on a pair of sweatpants, and pad into the kitchen.


It may have been 9 p.m., but Derek was craving breakfast.  Stiles had worn him out in the most satisfying way he could imagine.  He pulled a dozen eggs out of the refrigerator and set about making bacon and mushroom omelettes.  


With a bit of careful spatula work, Derek was just about to fold over the second omelette when a pair of freezing hands wound their way around his waist.  


“Mmm,” Stiles hummed into the back of his neck, hooking his chin over Derek’s shoulder to see what he was making.  “Smells amazing.”


“Coffee?” Derek asked, as he finished plating the food, shuffling over to the coffee maker with Stiles still wrapped around his back.  He smiled to himself as he poured two mugs of coffee, dumping a big tablespoon of sugar into Stiles’ before handing it over.  Grabbing two forks and the plates, he led Stiles over to the breakfast bar and settled in to eat.  


After eating a few bites, he noticed that Stiles hadn’t even picked up his fork.  “Is something wrong?  You don’t like mushrooms do you?  I can make something else,” Derek sputtered, hoping he hadn’t ruined the moment.  


Stiles stared at him with wide eyes for a minute before his mind caught up to Derek’s words.  “No, no, it’s not that,” he hastened to say, mouth hanging open while he found the right words.  In the end, he didn’t need any.  A slightly shaking hand cupped the side of Derek’s face and pushed his chin to the left so he could get a good look at the tan, slightly stubbled skin of Derek’s neck.  


Derek inhaled deeply as Stiles rubbed a thumb over his skin, reveling in the now familiar touch.  “You have a hickey,” Stiles said simply, the corner of his mouth quirked up in half a smile.  Derek beamed back at him, almost smug.  


“I guess I do,” he said, catching Stiles’ thumb in his mouth as he turned his head back forward.  


“Why aren’t you healing?”


“Wolves can control their healing if they concentrate hard enough,” Derek told him, still smiling even more when he saw his words really sink in.  “I thought you might like to see your mark on my skin.”  Stiles stared at him, dumbstruck, and Derek started to panic.  “I’m sorry, is it too much?  I didn’t mean to—”


“No, it’s okay,” Stiles cut him off, tapping two fingertips against the large purple mark.  “It’s more than okay.  It’s amazing.”


“Want to see where else you can mark me?” Derek asked, breakfast suddenly not seeming half as important as it had a few minutes ago.  


“You bet your sweet ass, Sourwolf,” Stiles grinned, pulling Derek by the hand and rushing back to the bedroom.