“You son of a bitch!” Derek seethed. “How dare you! How dare you!” As his eyes flashed red, he wrapped his hands, no claws, around the younger man’s neck and shoulders. The tips of his nails dug into Stiles’ skin and Derek felt warm droplets of blood form underneath his touch. Normally this scared Derek, how easily he could hurt the human in front of him. But not this time. He pushed Stiles into the nearest wall, the action a mockery of how they first interacted with each other so many years before.
“How dare you,” he whined again, the anger he felt evaporating as quickly as it surged. “I saw you die,” he whimpered, leaning forward to rest his forehead on Stiles’ shoulder. “I saw you crumple to the ground and I couldn’t hear your heartbeat. You were gone!” The urge to hurt the younger man, to prove that he could be hurt, was climbing its way up again, but Derek suppressed it. Normally he was in control of his emotions but with his husband in front of him again, he felt as though he was on a rollercoaster, flying through disbelief, anger, happiness, rage and back again. His stomach twisted into knots with each loop-de-loop.
“We buried you,” Derek informed the younger man as he remembered standing next to his father-in-law, a plain casket lowering into the ground. A plain, empty casket. “We buried an empty box because you were gone. Gone.”
Witches, quite unlike the friendly ones who’d married Stiles and Derek ten years earlier, had stridden into town, eager to decimate the territory. Using every trick Deaton had taught him, Stiles for the umpteenth time, proved his worth to the pack. He was as strong as any of the wolves, just in different ways. But when one of the witches had stabbed Stiles in the back, Derek had been too far away to protect him, let alone reach him before his body hit the ground. The cry of pain Stiles had uttered still continuously echoed in the back of Derek’s mind. When the dust of the battle had settled and the witches dead, only a bit of blood showed where Stiles had fallen. No one could find him and Derek had howled with grief. He’d searched high and low, following every scent he could pick up, but his husband, his mate was gone.
Tears prickled in Derek’s eyes and he rubbed his face on Stiles’ shirt. Stiles smelled just as he should, of pack and home.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles said softly.
In retaliation, Derek barked, “You damn well should be! How could you leave me? You promised you’d never go.” Straightening, Derek pulled Stiles against him in a hug. He squeezed the younger man tightly, afraid that if he let go, he’d find that he was just hugging air.
“I wanted to keep that promise. I did, I do… I’m here now. Derek, I’m here now.”
Pulling back just enough so that he could meet Stiles’ gaze, Derek said, “You better never do it again.” Then he crashed his lips to his husband’s in a desperate kiss. Almost immediately, Stiles jumped and wrapped his long legs around Derek’s torso, his arms around Derek’s neck. Leveraging Stiles against him, Derek reached down to grasp the younger man’s ass with one hand. His other hand sought soft skin as Stiles’ shirt rode upwards. While the couch in the living room was much closer, Derek didn’t want to share any part of his husband with the rest of the pack, just yet. So, he maneuvered himself to their bedroom; he’d not slept there in weeks as the bed felt too large when he was alone. It was his rote knowledge of the house’s layout that enabled Derek to get to the bedroom. He was too wrapped up in the feel of Stiles against him to really see where he was going.
Together the two men fell onto the bed. Not sparing a moment of guilt, Derek pulled and ripped Stiles’ clothes off his body. He was not satisfied until the younger man was completely naked before him. He tasted the same when Derek licked Stiles’ neck, his chest, the insides of his thighs, and the curves of his feet. Stiles’ looked the same with the addition of his new scar on his upper back. Derek traced the raised flesh with his tongue, marveling at the scar tissue that was a parting gift from the witch. After taking off his own clothes, Derek found Stiles’ still sounded the same; he made the same soft whimpering he always did when Derek slid into him. As he came, Derek sucked a bright red mark onto the hallow of Stiles’ neck. He wanted to mark the man, ensure everyone who saw it knew Stiles’ was claimed. Stiles was the Alpha’s mate and no one should ever touch him without permission.
When they finally slid apart, Derek maneuvered the younger man to his side of the bed. Then throwing a leg and arm over him, so that they were touching but not too hot, (Stiles’ complained about Derek’s elevated body heat) the two men lay together.
“I love you,” Derek whispered to his mate in the cool darkness of their room.
Stiles entwined their fingers together before repeating the sentiment.
Light streamed into the window causing Derek to curse at his lack of forethought. He should have made sure the blinds were closed before he went to sleep. Suddenly his heart clenched and he sat up straight in his bed.
“Stiles?” he called out when he saw the other half of his bed empty. “Stiles, where are you?” Hesitantly, he reached out to touch the sheets. They were cool under his fingertips and the pillow had no dent to it. Aside from the sheet wrapped around Derek’s legs, the bed had not been slept in.
Achingly slow, Derek forced himself out of bed. He’d dreamt of Stiles before but none of those false images of the man he loved had been quite so cruel. Making his way downstairs, Derek hated the quiet stillness that surrounded him. The rest of the pack had gone to stay at Scott and Allison’s while Derek got his head on straight. He missed them, his family, but knew he couldn’t handle being around them right then. When his stomach churned with hunger, he made his way towards the kitchen.
Entering it, he was greeted with the sight of Stiles and a plate of bacon and eggs.
Stiles didn’t respond but looked at the plate and waggled his eyebrows.
“Is this a dream?” Derek asked, unsure of what was real anymore.
Stiles seemed to sag at the question and he put the plate down on the counter. After a moment he, his voice meek but sincere, said, “I don’t think it is but… I don’t know.”