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The Long Way Home

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Nobody actually remembers how Scott and Stiles became friends, or when. One day, Stiles just brought home a friend from school and it’s like they were instantly attached at the hip. Like they’d always been that way. So naturally Scott’s dad Derek and Sheriff Stilinski (“Call me John,”) grew to know each other as well.

John remembers meeting Derek for the first time. He was young, single, and still kind of new to parenting. Apparently he’d knocked up some girl in high school and didn’t even know until he was turning eighteen and had a toddler thrown into his lap by a woman who claimed she didn’t want the child anymore. After a paternity test and a lot of panicking, Derek had taken Scott in (because what other option did he have?) and grew attached. Before he knew it, his carefree young adulthood filled with partying and drinking and one-night-stands was replaced with potty training and Barney movies and mac-and-cheese with hotdogs cut up in it. He was a dad. And of course John remembers how hard it was to take care of Stiles alone after Claudia had passed away, so he helped in any way possible.

To Stiles, Scott and Derek were practically family. Scott was almost like a brother and Derek was… Well, he was more like a friend than a parent-of-a-friend. He didn’t insist on being called Mr. Hale (he actually hated it) and he didn’t talk to Stiles like he was some kid. He spoke to him like he was a real person whose opinion was valid and considered. He played video games with Scott and Stiles and he let Stiles try a sip of beer when he turned eighteen (with the promise that Stiles would never ever tell the Sheriff.) Derek didn’t complain when Stiles and Scott decided to take a gap year before going to college, he listened to them and supported their decision because they were adults now and they had a right to choose. It was like Derek and Scott were a permanent fixture in his life. He couldn’t imagine being without them.

So when Stiles wakes up in the middle of the night from a nightmare, the ominous feeling of a panic attack creeping up on him, his first reaction is to find Scott. His dad is on a night shift schedule this week and the house is quiet. Too quiet. Stiles fumbles for his phone and hits speed dial two, but it goes straight to voicemail. Scott’s probably sleeping.

Now normal people would try to relax, go get a drink or wander around the empty house until the ache in his chest subsides, but Stiles instead tosses on a pair of jeans and leaves. He thinks about driving to Scott’s house, but his hands are still shaking. So he walks. It’s only a few blocks anyway.

By the time Stiles is standing in front of the familiar Hale house, his chest still hurts and his fingers are numb from the cold. He flips through his keys in the dark, trying to find the one that fits this lock (it’s not weird that he has a key to Scott’s house. Scott has a key to Stiles’ house, too.) but before he gets the right one, the front door is swinging open, light illuminating Derek as he frowns at Stiles. “I thought I heard someone out here. Stiles, it’s like two in the morning. Are you okay?”

Stiles fidgets with his keys some more, feeling a little self conscious. His lips tremble, but words escape him.

Derek’s frown deepens and suddenly he’s ushering Stiles into the warm house. There’s a lamp on in the living room, a book abandoned on the sofa next to Derek’s glasses. “You’re freezing,” Derek comments. He sits Stiles down on the couch, shoving his stuff out of the way before claiming the cushion next to him. “And shaking. Did something happen?”

Stiles forces himself to take a deep breath. He closes his eyes. Shakes his head. “No,” He says and then commends himself on forming words. There’s still the ache in his chest and his fingers tingle. “Yes. I just… I had a bad dream. I didn’t want to be alone. I tried calling Scott. Is he asleep?”

Derek retrieves a throw blanket tossed over the back of the couch, handing it to Stiles. “He’s in New York for the week, remember?”

And then Stiles does, and he sighs heavily. “The college visit. Shit, I forgot about that.” Scott isn’t here. Stiles puts his head in his hands and groans. There’s a hand on his shoulder then and he’s forced to look up at Derek again. Derek, who’s watching him with sincere concern in his green eyes. Or they look kind of brown in the dimmed light. Stiles realizes with a sudden jolt just how gorgeous Derek is. He’s always had a distant admiration of the older man’s looks, sort of objectively recognizing that he’s attractive, but right at this moment Derek is absolutely breathtaking.

“Was it your mom?” Derek wonders. His voice is soft. Of course he knows about the recurring nightmares that have haunted Stiles since his mother died. He knows how to deal with the panic attacks that sometimes overwhelm Stiles at the slightest trigger.

Stiles finds himself nodding. “I can leave if you want.” He silently wants Derek to say no. He doesn’t want to be left alone after the nightmare. He usually doesn’t sleep after he’s had one, so maybe he can take the long way home, perhaps go on a walk through the preserve and wallow in his misery until the sun comes up.

Derek rests a hand on Stiles’ arm. A sad smile forms on his lips. “No. You don’t want to be alone and I’m here. If you want to stay, I mean.”

Stiles doesn’t really know what compels him to do it-- it’s honestly pretty stupid if he stops to think about it-- but without conscious decision, Stiles realizes he’s leaning forward. There’s a spark-- more than a spark. It’s fucking dynamite. Stars exploding. Worlds forming. The faint taste of Derek’s mouth on his. Closed lips at first, but Stiles presses deeper into the kiss before he has a chance to think better of it. Derek moves to pull back, opening his mouth probably to say something important, but Stiles simply leans farther into it and slips his tongue just past Derek’s lips. The words he was trying to form turn into a soft moan instead.

“No talking,” Stiles mumbles. He reaches his hand around the nape of Derek’s neck, holding him there with enough force to make his intent known, but not enough that Derek can’t move if he so wishes. “You’re going to tell me we can’t do this.” Stiles is almost breathless, his words just exhales of air against Derek’s cheeks, his lips, his tongue. “Or that we shouldn’t. But I want to. I really fucking want to.” Stiles pulls back abruptly, his eyes latching onto Derek’s, holding the intense gaze. “I want you, Derek.”

Derek doesn’t say anything. There’s a lust clouding his eyes that makes Stiles desperate for the older man’s touch. But Stiles can’t do this, not if Derek wants to say no. Maybe he’s just trying to find a way to reject Stiles nicely. But a long second passes before Derek surges forward, reconnecting the kiss.

Somehow they make it from the couch to the hallway, then most of the way up the stairs, and ultimately the bedroom. Stiles has been in here before, grabbing a pen from Derek’s desk drawer or a spare shirt that one time he and Scott made a mess with spaghetti, but it feels different this time. It is different. Derek’s hands are on him, pressing back and pulling closer and just clinging tightly like he’s afraid Stiles might disappear any second. And Stiles is moaning his name, tugging fingers through his hair, demanding fewer articles of clothing. When his back hits the mattress and Derek hovers over him, Stiles’ mind goes blank. There’s nothing but pure desire between them. Stiles forgets that this is his best friend’s dad. He forgets that the man in front of him is sixteen years older. More than anything, he forgets the nightmare that brought him here in the first place. Nothing but warm mouths and pressing fingertips, needy gasps and heated moans.

Derek knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t hesitate, except to ask Stiles’ permission before slicking up a few fingers and inserting them into Stiles one by one. He moves swiftly, confidently, gracefully. And Stiles is no awkward virgin, but he’s nowhere near as experienced as Derek seems to be. He feels desperate for Derek’s touch, his warmth, his presence, and maybe he’ll be embarrassed in the morning by all the pleading whines that are escaping his throat, but for right now Stiles is happy to enjoy the pleasure rushing over him. And with all the noise Derek is making, Stiles is pretty sure he’s enjoying himself as well.

And when Stiles comes with Derek still buried deep in him, it’s all white noise and static. It’s the best orgasm of his life, that’s for sure. He’s aware of Derek pulling out, moaning his name, collapsing into a heap next to him. Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s lips and tosses an arm over his waist, nuzzling into Derek’s chest. They’re both a mess, but neither of them seem to care much as Stiles drifts into a pleasant sleep.


The next morning, Stiles wakes up feeling well rested. He blinks a few times before his eyes get used to the steady stream of sunlight coming from behind the closed curtains and he makes out the shape of a body next to him. Derek’s still asleep, his lips parted slightly. Stiles thinks there’s some dried come in his stubble. Either that or drool.

The rational part of his mind is insisting that he freak out. Lying here in the still of the morning light, the events of last night come rushing back to Stiles. He had sex with his best friend’s dad. Any normal person would be freaking the fuck out, panicking, hurrying to gather their clothes and disappear before their partner woke up. But Stiles just scoots closer, watching Derek’s sleeping form. He knows he should feel bad, but Stiles feels nothing but content. Happy, even. Not a sliver of remorse anywhere.

When Derek stirs a few minutes later, slowly becoming coherent enough to recognize that there’s someone lying next to him, he jumps out of bed and proceeds to freak out enough for the both of them. He actually makes Stiles close his eyes while he searches for a pair of pants to put on and then he begins pacing the length of the floor. Stiles waits, back propped up against the headboard, following Derek’s movements with his eyes. Derek mutters to himself (mostly curse words and self directed insults) while he pulls both hands anxiously through his hair.

“Holy shit,” Derek groans. He stops walking, closes his eyes, breathes deeply. “I can’t believe we did that.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Calm down, dude. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Derek turns to gape at him. “Not that big of a deal? We had sex!” He breathes deeply again, repeating, “We had sex. Stiles, I’m so sorry.”

Stiles frowns. “Sorry for what exactly? It wasn’t your fault, you know. It was fully consensual.”

“You’re Scott’s best friend,” Derek says slowly. “You’re the same age as my son .  Oh fuck, your dad is going to shoot me. Or arrest me.”

“He can’t arrest you,” Stiles says simply. “I’m nineteen.” He says nothing of the shooting because he’s only mostly sure his dad wouldn’t shoot Derek.

“And I’m thirty-five!” Derek exclaims. “I took advantage of you! Fuck, you’ve had sleepovers in my house since you were ten! You’re my kid’s best friend! And now… Now I…”

Stiles is sick of listening to Derek berate himself. So he stands up (no modesty whatsoever) and moves to stand in front of Derek. Then, without warning, he pushes Derek up against the wall and kisses him. Hard. He kisses Derek until he’s dizzy and needs to come up for air. He watches Derek intently. “You didn’t take advantage of me, dumbass,” Stiles states. “I wanted it last night and I still want it now.” He notices the way Derek’s eyes flash back to Stiles’ mouth, causing the corners quirk up into a smile. “We didn’t do anything I didn’t want to. In fact, I think there are a few more things I want to do with you. If you want it.”

Derek’s mouth opens and closes a few times. He blinks. Tries to breathe evenly. Stiles prepares himself to be kicked out of the house. He expects Derek to tell him no, that last night was a mistake that can never happen again. But instead, Derek reaches up to brush a few fingers across Stiles’ jaw, his voice low and rough when he says, “I think I want it.”

Stiles leans closer until his lips hover just above Derek’s, so close he can almost taste him, but not quite touching. “Good. Because I really want you to fuck me against this wall now.”

Stiles rethinks his declaration of last night’s orgasm being the best of his life because he realizes that having Derek pounding into him while his back, slick with sweat, slides against the wall might be a kink he wants to explore in depth in the future. Derek bites down on his neck and digs his fingernails into Stiles’ thighs, and Stiles can only manage keening noises and wordless moans as he pulls at Derek’s hair.


It’s not awkward when they part ways after Stiles showers and borrows a clean shirt. He thought it might be sort of uncomfortable, but it feels strangely normal. Derek gives him a ride back to his house and they separate with a “see you later” and smile. It feels the same, all but the smile. That part is new. It’s small and secretive and meant just for Stiles, and it makes his heart race in a way he doesn’t think it should.


There’s a silent agreement not to tell Scott. Obviously. Telling Scott that his best friend and dad are fucking would cause a whole shit storm of chaos. So they keep it a secret, which is kind of easier than expected. Since Scott and Allison started dating, Stiles is used to postponed plans and being left to show himself out of the Hale house while Scott runs off. Except now, when Scott gets a text and tells Stiles he’s going to meet Allison, Stiles won’t follow behind and head for his own house like he usually would. Instead, he exchanges a glance with Derek and then, as soon as Scott is out of the driveway, they’re on each other. They’ve had sex on the kitchen table more than once and Stiles never gets sick of messy handjobs in the hallway because they’re too anxious to make it up the stairs.

Sometimes they settle for lazy kissing on the couch, just exploring with their tongues without ever really reaching an end. No climax. Just trailing lips and tongues across skin until they’re content before putting on a movie or reading in comfortable silence.

It continues this way for almost six months. Sometimes Stiles and Derek will go a week or two without seeing each other or getting time to themselves, and other times Derek will spend hours on end watching Stiles come undone beneath him, using nothing but his tongue (like when Scott went up north a few counties to visit another college and they spent the entire weekend in Derek’s bed.)


By early July, things are going as normal. Stiles crashed in Scott’s room last night after binging on video games and too much pizza. By the time they both woke up, Derek was making pancakes. The three of them sit at the table, eating and bickering about if the latest COD game is better than the original, when Scott’s phone goes off. He glances at it, types back a quick response, and then scarfs the rest of his breakfast. “Allison,” He explains, throwing his dirty plate in the sink. “She wants to know if I can help her sort through some stuff she’s packing for college. I’ll be back by dinner. Bye, Dad. Later Stiles.” And then he’s gone and Stiles and Derek are left alone.

Stiles points his fork in Derek’s direction. “I’m blowing you when I’m finished,” He states simply. “These pancakes are fucking delicious.”

Derek smirks, cocking an eyebrow. “Are you gonna put your mouth on my dick every time I make good food?”

“Are you offering to make me more food?” Stiles laughs. “Because the answer is totally yes. Food and sex with you are my two favorite things.” Stiles stops and turns to Derek, his face suddenly very serious. “Why have we not combined those things yet? I want you covered in syrup right now.” He grabs the bottle of maple syrup and holds it out, but then pulls it back. “No. Fuck, do you have whipped cream? I really wanna lick whipped cream off your nipples.”

Derek thinks about it. “I don’t have whipped cream,” He says sadly. “But I think we have Cheez Whiz. The kind in the can.”

Stiles snorts. “That is definitely not as sexy.”

“You know,” Derek says, reaching across the table to retrieve the syrup. “I think you were onto something with this. Personally, I want eat this off your body. If you’re up for that.”

Stiles wastes absolutely no time in tossing his plate into the sink (maybe too hard, he thinks he heard it crack. Derek doesn’t seem to care.) and then he’s being pushed back onto the table. Derek peels off Stiles’ shirt, dropping it onto the floor, and then moves to straddle his thighs. Making a thin line of syrup from his navel to his throat, Derek leans down and follows the strip with his tongue. Stiles has no shame in moaning like a whore, twisting his hands in Derek’s hair. When he reaches the end of the syrup trail, Derek presses their mouths together in a sweet (literally) and filthy kiss. His stubble is sticky and Stiles chest (thankfully hairless. He will never insult puberty again for his lack of body hair) is sticking to Derek’s shirt. The shirt needs to go, Stiles decides, and tugs on the hem of it. When it’s gone, Stiles allows his hands to roam over Derek’s stomach, his chest, his back, to rest on his ass.

With all the moaning going on, it’s not really a surprise they didn’t hear the front door open. They don’t hear Scott’s footsteps enter the room. All they hear is the deafening sound of Scott’s voice, higher pitched than Stiles thought even possible. “What the hell!?”

Derek jerks back and Stiles sits up and the combination of those movements ends with Derek sprawled on the tile floor, mouth agape, while Stiles meets Scott’s wide eyes. And Stiles is speechless. He can’t think of a single thing to say. I’m sorry? Can you give us a few minutes? It’s not what it looks like?

“I can’t fucking believe you!” Scott yells and whoa, he is furious. He’s glaring at Derek, his hands clenched into fists. “You fucking pedophile! How could you do this!? Stiles,” Scott turns to him with hurt puppy dog eyes. “It’s okay. I’m gonna call your dad, okay?”

Stiles jumps up, terrified all of a sudden. He flails uselessly and then races forward to grab the phone from Scott before this situation gets even more fucked up. “It’s not what it looks like,” He says because apparently it looks like Stiles is being molested. And really, he’s not.

Scott frowns at him, glares at Derek (who really needs to get up off the floor and help Stiles defuse this situation.) “What are you talking about? Stiles, if he hurt you--”

Stiles is shaking his head. “Scotty, your dad didn’t hurt me. He’s… We were…” Stiles rubs a hand over his face, trying to remember how to speak. And then he just blurts out, “We’ve been having sex. For awhile now.” He pauses. Then unnecessarily adds, “Together.”

Scott is silent. Derek finally gets to his feet, only to fall back into a dining chair. Stiles looks between them. Nobody speaks and after a few minutes the remnants of the syrup and saliva are starting to dry on his skin. “Okay,” He finally says. “Scott, text Allison. Tell her you’ll be over later to help. I need a shower. And then we need to talk. All of us.”

Stiles wants to hide from his problems in the shower forever, but he knows that he shouldn’t leave Derek and Scott alone together for too long. They were both shocked and if they start talking, they might say some hurtful things. No, Stiles wants to be there as a mediator of sorts. Maybe Scott will listen to Stiles, listen to his reason, and then freak out and start yelling.

The Hales have moved to the living room when Stiles comes down the stairs in a borrowed pair of sweatpants and shirt. They’re across the room from each other. Scott is glaring and Derek refuses to meet his eyes, but there’s a frown tugging his lips down.

Stiles sits on the floor between them. He doesn’t want to act like he’s choosing sides in this, so he figures the floor is neutral territory. He sighs when no one says anything and figures he’s going to have to be the one to get this conversation going.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” He says to Scott. “But I know it’s a really fucked up situation.”

Scott looks at Stiles with a blank expression. “You’re screwing my dad. I think “fucked up” is kind of an understatement.”

Stiles nods. “You’re mad. I get that.”

Scott snorts obnoxiously. “You’re screwing my dad,” He repeats. “Dude, I’m not mad. Or I am. I’m really mad. Because that’s my dad. And you’re my best friend. But why? When? How long has this been going on?”

Knowing where Scott’s mind is going, Stiles starts shaking his head fervently. “No. Dude, I know what you’re thinking and just no. That’s fucked up. You really think Derek has been sexing me up for years ?”

With a grimace, Scott just shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“A few months.” The answer is from Derek. The first thing he’s said so far. He’s still not looking directly at Scott, or Stiles for that matter, but he’s talking. “That’s it. Just a few months.”

Scott’s hard gaze is back on Stiles. He throws his hands up. “So you were into this? You were willing?”

“Yes,” Stiles says honestly. “One hundred percent. Look, we’re both to blame for this.” Then he sighs and lowers his gaze. “I’m the one that initiated it. The very first time. I’m the one who asked for it. It’s not like he pressured me into anything.”

“But he should have said no!” Scott shouts. He jumps to his feet, towering over Stiles. For a second, Stiles thinks Scott might honestly hit him. And he’s not sure he doesn’t deserve it. But Scott doesn’t hit anyone, he just gestures wildly to Derek. “He should have fucking said no! Because you’re a kid! And he’s an adult!”

Stiles scrambles ungracefully to his feet to match Scott’s glare. “I’m not a kid, Scott! I am an adult! And maybe we went behind your back and maybe you’re pissed about that, but don’t fucking turn it around like your dad raped me or some shit because that’s not what happened! We both wanted it! So how about we talk about what’s really bothering you, huh? Is it the fact that we didn’t tell you? Would you rather I came to you after that first night and said “hey Scott, your dad just boned me, is that cool with you?” Would you have been happy that way?”

“You didn’t have to fucking lie to me!” Scott’s face is red. Nostrils flared. He looks livid.

Stiles nods, backing down a bit. His throat feels raw. “Yeah well I’m sorry. But these past few months…” He pauses, chuckling. “Scott, I’ve been happy. Did you even notice? Did you notice that my panic attacks have gotten better? Or that the nightmares about my mom have practically stopped? Did you notice any of that?”

And the look on Scott’s face is answer enough; No, he didn’t notice.

“Scott, I’m not mad at you,” Stiles says. “I know you’ve been wrapped up in Allison and that’s okay. I don’t complain when you cancel bro-night because she wants to go see a movie, or when you run off in the middle of video games because she snapped her fingers. So can you just please try to understand this? Try to understand why we didn’t tell you.” Scott offers a small nod. “This is between me and Derek,” Stiles says. “He’s your dad and I get that, but this doesn’t involve you. We didn’t want to involve you if we didn’t have to.”

“It’s weird,” Scott states. He’s still frowning, but he doesn’t look angry anymore. “You’re my best friend and he’s my dad. That’s fucking weird, Stiles. What about your dad? Does he know? Have you told anyone? Are you planning on telling anyone? Did you ever plan on telling me? Are you guys like a thing? Is it just sex, or is it more than that? Because if you marry my dad, I’m not calling you papa. That’s fucking weird.”

Stiles laughs softly. He wants to answer all of Scott’s questions, but eventually he just shrugs in response to it all. “I don’t know,” He admits. “I think that’s between me and Derek. Right? Obviously I care what you think, we both do, but ultimately…”

“It’s weird,” Scott says again. “Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay with it.”

Stiles looks down, nodding slowly. That doesn’t surprise him. And if Scott is against it, they have to stop. The shower sex and the quickies in the hall. All of it has to stop, because Scott is more important than all of that.

“But you’re happy, right?” Scott wonders. He’s not looking at Stiles anymore. Over his shoulder, Stiles sees where Scott is watching Derek. “I change my mind,” He sighs after a moment. “I don’t want to be involved. You’re right. This is between you and my dad. You guys can sort your shit out and I’m going to see Allison.” But before he leaves, he steps around Stiles to go to Derek. Derek stands, looks like he’s preparing for Scott to kick him in the balls. Scott just says, “I’m sorry for what I said. I know you would never do that to anyone, Dad. I never should have accused you of something like that.”

Derek says something in return and pulls Scott in for a hug.


When Scott is gone again, things get awkward. For the first time ever, Stiles is uncomfortable in Derek’s presence. It’s not because he’s afraid or scared. Derek would never hurt him. He’s nervous because it’s time for them to talk. And Stiles talks a lot, but he never really says much. This time needs to be different because he thinks he only has one chance at this.

Before Derek can speak, Stiles blurts out, “I want it to be real.”

Derek meets his eyes slowly, confusion creasing between his eyes. “Everything was real,” He says. “All of it.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods. Takes a breath. “But I want more. Than just sex. I want you .” Derek doesn’t reply instantly and Stiles is pressing on, rambling like he does best. “I love the sex. It’s incredible. But I want you, too. I don’t want Scott to call me Papa because he’s right, that’s weird. I just want something more than handjobs on the couch. I want to really make love to you because I think we’ve reached that point, right? At least I have, and there’s a very real chance that I’ve read everything wrong and we’re not even on the same page. But I think I love you, Derek. And not in the way that I love Scott or my dad or those ice cream cookies you always buy when I’m coming over, but real Love with a capital L. Because I know you as more than just Scott’s dad; I know you like to read the last page of every book before you even start the first chapter, and I know you love when I call you pretty even though you hate to admit, and you’re self conscious of your bunny teeth but you let me run my tongue over them just because I want to. And you know me, too. I’ve noticed the way you put extra chocolate chips in your pancakes when you know I’m coming over because you know I like them that way. And you recorded an entire week's worth of Survivor to watch with me even though you don’t even like that show. And you know exactly what to say when I have a panic attack, or wake up crying about my mom. And I’ve never felt like this before, Derek. About anyone. And maybe I’m just some stupid kid who has convinced himself that you love me too, even though all I am is a convenient fuck but--”

Stiles’ words are cut off (thankfully. He was kind of running out of air) when Derek presses their mouths together. It’s hard at first. Stiff. Unmoving lips against lips. But then Stiles melts into the kiss and it tastes the same as every kiss they’ve shared before, but it feels so different. But all too soon, Derek is pulling back. “There’s nothing convenient about you,” He says. A smile plays around the corners of his lips. “You go out of your way to push my buttons and you talk too much and you take too long in the shower so the water is cold by the time I get a turn. You leave your clothes everywhere and you put my socks in the dishwasher because you thought they would be clean faster.” Stiles readies himself for the heartbreak he knows is inevitable. He prepares for it. Takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. And then he feels Derek’s forehead resting against his own. Their noses bump together. He can feel the smile on Derek’s lips when he kisses Stiles again, whispering, “And I think I love you, too.”