Stiles blows a huge pink bubble at him and when it pops, Derek barely manages not to flinch. Stiles grins.
His head is just starting to pound, just like it always does after his appointments with Stiles. Fortunately, the young man seems ready to leave, but just before he does, he leans across Derek’s desk a little, shoving Derek’s stuff aside. His skinny arms are bare all up to his shoulders, because his sleeveless, silvery crop top leaves very little to imagination.
Derek strongly suspects that Stiles comes to the appointments in his working attire on the sole purpose of making Derek’s life a living hell.
"Well, Doc," he keeps his voice deep and sultry, pouting a little. "You know where to reach me when the results are done."
He laughs at Derek’s obvious discomfort and keeps chewing his gum loudly.
"See you next month, Doc." He winks and finally leaves. Derek can’t help but stare at his pants, which look more like ladies’ tights to him, really; plastered to his pert little butt like second skin.
When the door closes behind him, Derek sighs and presses a button on his secretary. "Is that all for today, Mrs. Stone?"
"Yes, it is, Dr. Hale. Would you like me to call a cab for you?" his receptionist’s tinny voice echoes through his office.
Derek never takes a cab; he always walks and then takes the subway, and she knows it. He sighs in annoyance. Why all women in his life refuse to accept it is beyond his comprehension.
"No – no, it’s fine, Mrs. Stone. Thank you."
Derek takes off his white coat and hangs it in the closet. He takes a quick look in the mirror, avoiding his face. His crisp white shirt still looks impeccable. He adjusts his tie and puts on his grey jacket, buttoning it up. It’s chilly outside and there are four blocks to the first station.
Derek remembers Stiles’ skimpy outfit and shivers at the thought of him practically naked in cold New York streets.
Derek takes a shower, scrubbing himself until his skin goes red. Then he shaves himself closely and carefully styles his unruly hair, parting it on the side and pressing gel into it until it stiffens like a cardboard.
When he gets outside of the bathroom, his suit for the day is already waiting for him, hung on the door of the bedroom. Today, it’s dark grey. He dresses himself quickly and goes into the dining room.
Jennifer is waiting for him next to the table, dressed in a pencil skirt and a white blouse. She even has her shoes on. Derek knows she won’t leave the apartment today – she doesn’t work. He thinks the shoes she has on have never touched asphalt.
Derek sits down at the table. In front of him, there’s a cup of tea in an elegant white porcelain cup and a plate with an egg-white-only omelet.
Derek doesn’t feel hungry. He stares at the shiny surface of their table.
"You might want to take a taxi today. It’s forty degrees outside," Jennifer suggests, holding her cup in front of her mouth.
Derek coughs a little. "It’s fine. I’ll take my coat."
His wife frowns. "You can’t wear your coat. I haven’t had it dry-cleaned yet."
Derek looks at her. "Why would you take it to the dry-cleaner? It’s not dirty."
Jennifer huffs through her nose. "Of course it’s dirty. Considering where you wear it, on the trains and streets and god knows where else, it must be contaminated. It needs thorough cleaning."
Derek gets up, his omelet half-eaten. He leaves without his coat.
Stiles’ test results are negative.
Derek feels thankful that he is doing his checkups regularly, considering his profession.
Today, he is wearing a long sleeve jumper and Derek is pleasantly surprised until he sees what he has, or, to be more precise, hasn’t, on his legs. It’s a really short, shiny pair of shorts. They’re shorter and tighter than boxers.
When he sits down across from Derek, he spreads his legs shamelessly and starts jiggling them. He seems unable to sit still.
"What’s up, Doc?" Stiles’ lips grin mischievously.
Derek flattens his hands over Stiles’ file. "Your results are negative again, which is excellent. You are clean and not pregnant. We need to renew your contraceptives, though."
Stiles stretches in the chair and Derek frowns at the huge bruise on the soft skin of his thigh’s inside.
"Do – did your… did someone… hurt you?" Derek drops his cold façade for the first time in six months since Stiles has been seeing him. He won't allow it. If Stiles' clients hurt him, he is going to do something about it.
Stiles laughs. "Oh, man!" he shuffles in his seat a little, crossing his legs like a girl. They’re smooth and long and really elegant. He starts stroking his thigh.
"Well, Doc, if I can be frank with you – I can, can't I? - I like it a little rough. I have this john; he’s an alpha, who really does a number on me every fucking time. After a session with him, I have to take three days off. So worth it, if you ask me." Stiles winks at him, a naughty smirk on his plump lips.
Derek’s eyes widen at Stiles’ directness, certain that their doctor-patient relationship should not include Stiles'... kinks.
But Stiles continues, unperturbed. "I could sing odes to his dick alone, Dr. Hale. It’s a thing of beauty." Stiles’ gaze drifts off, glazing a little.
Derek chokes on his tongue. He is shocked. He has never met anyone so openly sexual, someone who loves sex so much and speaks about it so brazenly. No wonder Stiles has chosen prostitution as his profession.
But still, Derek strongly disapproves. He clears his throat. "Mr. Stilinski… "
Stiles’ hackles rise immediately. "I fucking told you not to call me that a million times."
"Stiles…" Derek raises his hands in conciliation. "It is my duty to inform you that under the law, you can file a report against him. Any injuries to omegas are punishable by law. And I have to report this myself. As your doctor."
Stiles changes tactics immediately. He stands up and circles around Derek’s desk, planting his ass on Derek’s patient files. He crosses his arms, his eyes hooded and seductive, and lifts one leg on the armrest of Derek’s chair.
Derek sits back in panic.
Stiles ignores him and bites his lips. "Dr. Hale… I’m not sure we’re on the same page here. We don’t need to report anything. I love when guys manhandle me a little. I like getting fucked within an inch of my life. A few bruises here or there are normal. Especially because I bruise like a fucking peach. Capisce?"
"Please, return to your seat," Derek pants out. He tries to regain his control back.
Thankfully, Stiles goes back to his chair.
"I’ll still file it. It’s nonnegotiable. If it happens again, I’ll report."
Stiles scrunches his nose, but a sweet smile still graces his lips. He is very charismatic. "You’re so – so frigging uptight, Doc. You’re an alpha; don’t you have a pretty little omega to bang at home?"
Derek covers his face with his hands. He’s lost control over the situation. Stiles keeps pushing all his buttons. He puts his hands down. “I’ll see you next month, all right?”
“You got it, Doc,” Stiles smirks and sticks his pink gum on Derek’s desk in retaliation. Derek feels like he’s back in high school.
As soon as he leaves, Derek tries to pick it up and realizes his mistake when the gum sticks to his fingers and stretches into a thin line, refusing to leave his antique mahogany desk. Derek curses.
And no, Derek doesn’t have a pretty little omega at home. He has a beta wife who he fucks once a week, avoiding jerking off so that he would be able to get it up and perform his husbandly duties. Sometimes, he skips a week or two. His wife doesn’t seem to mind, so there’s that. She’s very understanding.
Derek enjoys the two hours he spends every day commuting. He loves walking to the subway, he loves sitting in trains and staring outside the window. It’s the only time when he is able to breathe properly. Between his home and his work, it’s his only free time, the time which belongs to him, when he is alone with his thoughts.
He looks at his reflection in the window, sees his perfect, clean-cut suit, his tamed hair and clean-shaven cheeks, and he doesn’t recognize himself.
He’s a stranger to himself. He looks photoshopped. A lifetime ago, he used to run through the preserve almost naked, his hair wildly flapping in the wind. He had a huge beard, too. Jennifer makes him shave it every morning. She thinks it makes him look like an animal.
But, five years ago, he also had a family and a huge house in the middle of the forest. Five years is a long time.
Stiles bursts into his office in a fur coat and bell jeans this time. Derek is satisfied because there’s so much snow outside, but when Stiles takes off his coat and throws it over the chair, he has a sheer tank top under it. Derek can see his nipples. They are small, pink and pointy. One of them has a barbell piercing through it.
He grins at Derek and stretches his arm towards him immediately, since Derek always starts their appointment by drawing his blood for tests. Derek does it in silence and sits back in his chair as soon as he’s finished. "Your last month results are negative."
Derek looks at Stiles and realizes that he looks a little out of sorts today.
"How are you?" Derek asks against his better judgment. It’s not that he’s uninterested; it’s just that he dreads Stiles’ answers. Stiles leads a very colorful life.
Stiles wiggles in his chair a little, picking at the leather armrests with his bony fingers. Derek’s going to charge him if he drills a hole through the leather. "Fine, fine, everything’s a-okay."
Derek nods. "Good."
Stiles looks at him, biting his lips again. It must be a nervous tick, Derek thinks.
"Actually, I’m not – not that I’m not fine." Stiles switches to biting his nails. "I just had a little dispute with my best bud, Scott, that’s all."
Derek frowns. He is sure his question was clearly health-related. He has no idea who Scott is and surely he doesn’t have to listen to this.
"He doesn’t like my job," Stiles huffs, rolling his eyes.
Of course he doesn’t like that Stiles is selling his body. What normal person would, Derek thinks.
He tries to keep his face expressionless.
He is just about to come up with a nice little segue, when Stiles chirps sweetly. "What about you, Doc? Do you have a problem with what I do?"
Derek clears his throat, bracing himself. "Speaking as your doctor, considering it’s a high-risk… profession, I have to say that I wish you did something else. As your doctor. Strictly health-wise speaking." Derek is flushed a little when he finishes.
Stiles smiles. "Well. It’s a good thing I have you, then, isn’t it."
Derek is relieved that he didn’t get upset.
Stiles’ mouth looks very rosy. He must be wearing lipstick, Derek thinks. His lips can’t be that rosy naturally.
"Don’t you… have family?" Derek realizes how stupid his question is as soon as it leaves his lips. If he’s avoided upsetting Stiles with the previous statement, he certainly messes things up now.
Stiles gets this really annoyed look on his face and bites out, "No."
"I’m sure your friend is just worried."
"What’s there to worry about," Stiles erupts. "He should mind his own fucking business."
Derek doesn’t say anything. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Stiles biting his nails and looking everywhere but at Derek.
"Stiles… May I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to."
Stiles grabs his own knees, restraining himself from biting his nails to the quick. "Shoot, Doc."
Derek flushes a little. "What kind of a… prostitute are you?"
When Stiles looks at him strangely, Derek rushes to explain. "I mean, do you pick up your customers on the street, or, or…"
Stiles throws his head back and laughs, his whole body shaking. Derek stares at his long, pale throat.
"You’re such a freak, Doc. You sound like an alien." Stiles wipes his eyes. "I’m not some street hooker. I’m a specialist. You know," Stiles wiggles his eyebrows at Derek.
Derek doesn’t know.
"I’m an omega," Stiles looks at Derek in question, waiting for the light bulb to go off in Derek’s brain. "Who mostly works with alphas. Who likes to be manhandled. Who can take… alphas’ dicks. Jesus, Doc, do I have to spell it out for you," Stiles huffs.
Stiles gets up, turns around in his chair and wiggles his butt at Derek. His shorts are so short that Derek sees half of it. "I love taking it up the ass, Doc. When they stretch me nice and wide."
Derek blinks. Stiles is going to give him a heart attack.
He looks… so young. Derek’s throat constricts a little. He looks so full of life. Derek just doesn’t understand.
Stiles takes pity on him and sits down. "Johns rent a room in a hotel. I never take them to my place, and never go to theirs."
Derek frowns in confusion.
Stiles clarifies. "They’re all married. Their places are usually not an option. As it happens, their cute little suburban wives don’t let them fuck them with their knots. Or in their asses. Or in their mouths."
Before Derek’s mind even ventures on the path of morality of the entire thing, Stiles chirps in. "I’m basically doing them a huge service. I’m saving their fucking marriages. I help them satisfy their nature and don’t expect anything in return but good old cash. And, they help me satisfy mine."
Derek still doesn’t understand. He's never knotted, he doesn't know if he can. But, he decides he’s done enough questioning.
"Are you taking your contraception?"
"Of course. Last thing I want or need is to get knocked up by some married alpha that is stupid enough to have to get it elsewhere," Stiles scoffs.
Derek nods. "Right. Yes. Well…" he fiddles with the pencils on his desk. "We should do a physical exam next month. Just in case. It’s been three months. You should… get ready."
Meaning, Stiles should come squeaky clean, everywhere. Derek tries to deliver the message via his eyebrows. Stiles understands, of course.
"Okay, Doc." Stiles jumps on his feet and wraps himself in the coat, stroking the fur and looking across his shoulder at Derek. He winks."See you next month."
Derek smiles a little at him. "Take care, Stiles."
When he gets home, Jennifer is angry with him. "I don’t understand why it is so difficult for you to remember. A monkey could remember it. We only use the off white towels in our bathroom, Derek. The ivory ones are for the guest bathroom. I must have told you a million times."
Her hair is perfectly styled and straight. She’s wearing a beige dress and beige high heel shoes.
Derek doesn’t know the difference between off white and ivory. He must be worse than a monkey.
When Derek takes the train to work, something happens and it stops between two stations. It must be a malfunction or something; they get stuck there for forty minutes.
Derek’s mind is empty at first, but then he starts thinking about his marriage. He is certain that he would be so lost without his wife. Because, Derek doesn’t have a fucking clue about color schemes and furniture and apartments and clothes. Jennifer takes care of all of it. Their entire apartment and their clothes are in shades of neutral colors that Derek doesn’t differentiate between.
More importantly, Jennifer has taught him all about controlling his instincts; he was such an animal before.
He hopes she isn’t still upset about the towels.
It’s just that Derek’s mind and body seem to function on different levels. He isn’t attracted to her even though she’s very beautiful. That’s the problem. There must be something very wrong with Derek.
He manages to perform sexually, thanks to a few secret tricks he has up his sleeve. He doesn’t masturbate, and he gives his dick some attention in the bathroom while he showers before sex. Jennifer insists on it. She hates when Derek doesn’t smell like soap and isn’t squeaky clean.
She always waits for him, on her back. She finds other positions demeaning. When Derek approaches her, taking care not to press down onto her body because he’s too heavy and she says he’s suffocating her, he plunges in and starts fucking her immediately, so as not to lose his erection. He kneels, focused on his dick the entire time.
It’s fine, because Jennifer usually doesn’t look at him either. Her head is either turned on the side, or her eyes are closed, so she doesn’t notice.
Looking at his hard dick disappearing inside helps. Derek likes that. When he can come, he does it inside, which is good, because he can't always and that way Jennifer doesn't notice.
Jennifer wants a baby. They’ve been trying for a year.
When they finish, she takes a shower first and Derek has to change the sheets. Derek doesn’t know why since they never dirty them.
Derek isn’t even sure if Jennifer comes at all. He is not an expert in female orgasms.
She never complains, so she probably does.
Stiles is his last patient for the day.
He bursts into Derek’s office wrapped in what looks like three hoodies and an oversized jumper. His eyes are puffy and swollen and his nose is red.
"I’m fucking sick. My head is about to explode," he starts whining immediately. "I had to take an entire week off and this cold just doesn’t seem like it’s going away any time soon."
He plops into the chair with a sigh.
"Are you taking anything for it?" Derek is worried.
"Just about every cold medicine I could find." Stiles sniffs. "I’m bored out of my mind, Doc. I’ve watched every goddamn show on Netflix. I’m desperate."
Stiles flails his arms dramatically. "You’d think I’d enjoy some time off, but no. That’s not me. I need some dick, pronto."
Derek listens to his ramblings with fondness.
He doesn’t know when that happened, when Stiles transitioned from this annoying, jittery, headache-inducing hot mess to someone Derek finds endearing. An endearing hot mess, but still.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Derek offers.
"That’d be nice. I froze my balls off coming here. Why does your office need to be so fucking far away, in this fancy-schmansy neighborhood…" Stiles trails off, rubbing his hands together.
Derek presses the button. "Mrs. Stone, could you please bring a cup of tea for Mr. Stilinski? "
"Of course. Mint, hibiscus, ylang-ylang?"
Stiles makes ‘what the fuck' face at the phone. Derek thinks it’s because of the ylang-ylang.
"Mint, please," he says.
Derek turns the heat up a little. He opens Stiles’ file. "All right. So. Your results are back, they’re perfect. Today we’re going to do a physical examination if… that’s all right with you."
There’s a knock on the door. Mrs. Stone brings the tea in and leaves without a word.
Stiles wraps his hands around the warm cup gratefully. "Why wouldn’t I be all right with it?"
Stiles takes a sip and sinks even deeper into the chair. Derek is pleased.
"Because you’re sick?"
Stiles giggles, his nose stuffed and voice nasal. "I’m not sick down there. Believe me, the only reason I’m taking a break from work is because of my clients. And, I probably wouldn’t be able to give blowjobs." Stiles wiggles his eyebrows comically. "They’re my specialty. I give great head."
Derek looks at his mouth, red and moist from the hot tea, and bows his head down in embarrassment. No one has ever given him a blowjob. Derek can’t even imagine it. He tries to chase away his unprofessional thoughts.
"Well. All right then. You can change behind the screen. Then please get on the examination table."
"Sure.” Stiles hops up and does what Derek said.
Derek hears him making a ruckus behind the screen. He shakes his head fondly.
Derek stands up and starts preparing. He washes his hands thoroughly and puts on latex gloves. When he turns around, Stiles is already on the table.
"Put your feet in the stirrups," Derek instructs.
Stiles lifts his legs and giggles when he aims for the stirrups but misses.
Derek smiles. He takes a little stool and sits in front of the examination table, between Stiles’ legs.
"Move down a little, please," Derek says. Stiles wiggles down.
Derek can see his genitals now pretty well, but he needs him even closer. "A little bit more, please."
Derek checks his rectum first. It looks nice and healthy outside. It’s tight and pink, with no visible injuries.
Derek can see everything clearly because Stiles is completely hairless down there. He doesn’t know if Stiles shaves or if he is naturally like so.
Derek takes the lubricant and smears some over his index finger. "Try to relax, please."
He touches and circles Stiles’ hole a little and then pushes inside. "Bear down a little, please."
He feels for the prostate. It’s smooth and of normal size, normally sensitive judging by Stiles’ gasp. He circles his finger inside several times, feeling for any tears, lacerations or unusual bumps. There aren’t any.
"All right, Stiles. Everything is fine here. Just a little more patience, please."
Derek takes off the gloves he used for the anal exam and washes his hands again. He puts new gloves on and returns to the chair.
He picks up the speculum and lubes it up. He looks at Stiles’ tiny vagina between his anus and tight little balls.
It looks good. Male omega vaginas differ from female ones only in the size of their labia. They’re much smaller.
He gently pushes the folds apart and inserts the speculum inside.
"Shit," Stiles hisses.
"Is it uncomfortable?" Derek asks.
"I hate this part the most. I’m so sensitive down there."
"Sorry," Derek apologizes. "I’ll be as quick as I can."
When he spreads the speculum, Derek focuses his lamp on it and looks. His cervix is of normal shape and color. There are no unusual spots, growths or discoloration. Derek picks up his kit and does a Pap smear with a cotton swab.
He removes the speculum as slowly and gently as he can. "One more thing and you’re done."
Derek stands up for the pelvic examination. He inserts two fingers into the vagina until he isolates the cervix. He tests for cervical motion tenderness.
He presses down on Stiles’ abdomen with his other hand, feeling the fundus of Stiles’ uterus. Everything seems to be fine. He cleans Stiles up with a disposable towel.
"Stand up, please."
When Stiles stands, Derek examines his balls, feeling for lumps. He makes Stiles cough while he does that.
He then looks at Stiles’ penis. It’s healthy, too. "There. All done."
"Oh, thank fuck." Stiles goes behind the screen to change, relieved it’s over.
When he sits back on his chair, Derek is typing his findings into Stiles’ folder.
"How often do you have intercourse?" he has to ask, it’s protocol.
"Oh," he hears Stiles. "Three, four times a week, tops."
"A week?" Derek can't hide his surprise. He expected a much higher number, more in the range of three, four times a day.
"I told you, I’m not some cheap rent boy. I’m expensive," Stiles giggles. "I could probably afford to do it even less often."
Derek is pleased to hear that. He is still typing.
"Do you do both anal and vaginal intercourse?"
"Doc, are you sure you have to ask me all this?" Stiles squints at him suspiciously.
Derek looks at him over his computer. "I'm sure."
Stiles sighs. "Well, then. I prefer anal. I told you, I’m a bit touchy about my pussy. It’s very sensitive, and once they start, they can hardly control their freakish dicks. So. It’s butt sex for me all the way. Plus, I don’t want to risk pregnancy, contraceptives or not."
Derek nods. When he finishes with the computer, he finds Stiles staring at him.
"So, tell me, Doc, how does it look?" Stiles blinks at him innocently.
"I’ll have your results back within a week. I’ll call you if there’s anything out of ordinary. Otherwise, we’ll talk on your next appointment," Derek tells him.
"That’s not what I’m asking. I mean, how do I look down there?" Stiles is fixating Derek with those eyes and Derek fidgets. He is pretty sure Stiles is teasing him.
"You’re the expert, I wanna know. I want your professional opinion"
"You look… normal," Derek tries.
When Stiles’ face falls, Derek doesn’t know what to say. This isn’t professional.
But he indulges him. "You look very pretty down there, Stiles."
Derek can’t believe he’s just said that.
Stiles leans back into his chair, a triumphant smile on his lips. "There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?"
Derek has no idea what Stiles means.
Stiles gets up to leave, thankfully. "Tell me, Doc. Are you married?"
Derek frowns in confusion. "Yes?"
Stiles smirks at him and winks. "Okay. See you, Dr. Hale."
To Derek’s surprise, since he is so used to doing his job on autopilot, Stiles’ appointments become something Derek starts looking forward to.
He would rather die than admit it to Stiles, but their encounters become the highlight of his month. They talk a lot more. Stiles regales him with his childhood stories and other hilarious things that happen to him on regular basis. Derek laughs. He can’t remember when the last time he laughed was.
Stiles also bombards him with questions and mercilessly teases Derek about his boring life and lack of interests. Derek feels that someone like Stiles would definitely find him boring.
"Scotty and I go camping every spring. You can come, if you want. I’d really like that. Everybody deserves some fun in their lives," Stiles tells him one day.
Derek allows himself a few seconds imagining it, but then he dismisses his thoughts immediately.
No matter how much he would love that, it’s just… not professional. Stiles is his patient, not a friend.
Most importantly, Jennifer would never let him go.
Derek literally panics imagining her reaction, so, with a still terrified expression on his face, he bites out, "Absolutely not. That would be completely unprofessional."
Stiles’ smile falls.
Derek hates it as soon as he sees it. He wants to apologize, to say he is sorry and that he doesn’t mean it, but he just… can’t. He can’t hang out with Stiles. Stiles looks a little hurt, but Derek doesn’t know what to say.
Stiles stands to leave. "Bye, Doc. Take care," but he doesn’t wink, he doesn’t smile, and Derek is miserable.
Derek has to do something about this. He can’t leave it like this. He can’t feel like this. This is all so wrong. He should never have allowed Stiles to get so comfortable. They shouldn’t have talked about anything other than his health. Derek should have stopped his jokes and inappropriate language from the start. He should have demanded from Stiles to wear decent clothes. It’s not Stiles’ fault. It’s all Derek’s fault. He’s the one who allowed it, who looked, who enjoyed.
He pushes the button on his phone. "Mrs. Stone." His hands are clammy.
"When Mr. Stilinski’s results get back, call him about them and then tell him that we are sorry, but we cannot provide him with our services anymore. Recommend him Dr. Schultz or Dr. Bergman instead."
"Sure thing, Dr. Hale."
When Stiles receives the call from Dr. Hale’s office, he laughs. He should have known.
It seems to throw Mrs. Stone for a loop. "Are you all right, Mr. Stilinski?"
When he regains his breath, he manages to answer. “Yeah. Make sure you tell that idiot that I really am all right.”
“Idiot, Mr. Stilinski?”
“Yeah. Your boss. He’s a worrier. He’s going to worry himself to an early grave."
There’s a pause on the other side on the line, but then Stiles hears Mrs. Stone’s soft voice and he’s pretty sure he recognizes a note of understanding and gratefulness in it. "I’ll make sure to tell him that. Again, we’re so sorry.”
The truth is, Stiles is not quite all right. It’s not that he is offended or anything; this is far from his first time that people have wanted to eliminate him from their lives. Stiles knows he is not everyone’s cup of tea. It just annoys him that he has to look for another doctor now. It’s taken him years to find Dr. Derek Hale, the first gynecologist who didn’t make his omega guts curl up in disgust.
Also, he really liked Derek. Like, really, really liked. In the deepest corners of his mind, Stiles has always imagined different scenarios which included Derek. They ranged from completely innocent, romantic ones, where Derek confessed his undying love to him and whisked him away to Bora Bora, to utterly dirty, pornographic ones, where Derek banged him many times in many different positions, against many different surfaces.
Stiles is perfectly aware that his romantic dreams were pure utopia, the fact drilled into his mind by previous experiences, and judging by Derek’s uptightness, so were his sexual ones. Derek looks like he’s never banged anyone in his life. But, a guy can dream, right.
Stiles has a very strict rule about separating his fantasies from real life.
His disappointment in alphas in general has taught him that. They are so burdened with societal norms, so hell-bent on repressing their nature in order to escape the prejudices the society has against them, that most of them end up in unhealthy relationships that don’t do anyone any service, Stiles thinks.
Stiles is sure their brains are the size of peanuts, in opposite proportion with the size of their impressive dicks. That’s what they are only good for, their dicks and perfect bodies, and Stiles was making sure to use them just for that alone. If they have a problem with a highly sexual, flamboyant omega, it’s not Stiles’ fault; ultimately, the sheer amount of interested clients Stiles has is proof enough that they do not have any problem with him at all, quite the contrary; only, that they prefer to keep it behind closed doors.
In public, they held their cookie-cutter wives’ hands and played happy families.
Derek is the worst case Stiles has ever seen. He has never met the more repressed, unhappier alpha before.
Stiles feels sorry for him.
But, now, Derek isn’t something Stiles has to think about. He is out of his life, cutting Stiles off after a perfectly innocent offer. It’s Stiles’ fault, really. He should have known.
Derek comes home from work one day completely drenched. His pants are soaked up to his knees. It’s a downpour outside.
He stands outside the door of his apartment for a while, trying to remember the rules about entering when your shoes and pants are dirty. He opens the door and stares at the polished, pristine floor and just stands on the doormat.
Luckily, Jennifer appears in the hallway. She huffs when she sees him and goes back to the living room, telling Derek not to move. She comes back with a bunch of newspaper which she throws on the floor for Derek to stand on. "Take off your shoes and pants, immediately." Derek does.
He walks to their bedroom feeling like an idiot, in his shirt and jacket and underwear. He undresses and takes a quick shower.
When he goes out, dinner is on the table, his plate already filled with food and his glass full. Derek has no idea what’s in it. Jennifer takes care of everything. The only sound is the clicking of their cutlery.
"Who is Stiles Stilinski?" Jennifer asks and Derek feels like he’s been punched in the gut. All air leaves him.
"What," he whispers. His fingers dig into his legs under the table.
Jennifer keeps cutting her food in tiny pieces. "Dr. Bergman called. He said he was sorry for not being able to return your call and that the patient you were inquiring about, one Stiles Stilinski, had indeed transferred to his practice."
Derek feels his claws coming out. He panics. If Jennifer sees his control slipping, she will be so angry with him.
"So. Who is he?" Jennifer repeats, stony faced and calm.
Derek thinks if Jennifer knew Stiles, or saw Stiles, she would despise him with all the intensity of her hateful heart.
He remembers Stiles’ colorful, crazy outfits, his unrestrained body and language, his wild hair, the remains of his eyeliner often smudged under his eyes, his open sexuality, and then looks at Jennifer’s perfect… everything; he thinks she probably wouldn’t want to shake his hand or let him into the apartment. She wouldn't be able to fix Stiles' flaws by throwing yesterday's newspaper at him.
He frowns, realizing that for the first time ever, his brain has identified some of his wife’s opinions as hatred.
But, he is absolutely sure of that – she would hate Stiles.
Derek thinks of all the things she hates about Derek himself and wonders if she hates him, too. He wonders how it has never crossed his mind before.
"He was a patient of mine, but I had to have him transferred."
Derek is surprised a little how smoothly that line comes out. He finds himself much calmer, the sudden realizations of the previous minutes changing something inside of him.
"Why would you do that? You’re losing money.” Jennifer frowns, but very subtly. She is very careful to move her face as little as possible to avoid getting wrinkles.
Derek lies to her for the first time. "He wasn’t satisfied with my services."
Jennifer snorts. She gets up from the table and carefully places her napkin next to her plate. "Why am I not surprised…, “ she mutters into her chin.
Derek tries to remember when Jennifer became so resentful. He can’t. He wonders if she was like that from the beginning.
But, every time he tries to go back in his mind at the start of their relationship, he finds only isolated parts preserved in his memory, with huge pockets of blankness in-between. He imagines what he should have felt, or should have done, but when he looks for them in his memories, those things just… aren’t there.
He doesn’t remember his own sorrow and grief after his family, and he doesn’t remember love and exhilaration about his marriage. And Derek, Derek now wonders if he maybe can’t remember because those things never really happened; he thinks that there is a possibility that he never grieved, and that he never loved Jennifer. It’s not right.
It crosses Derek’s mind, like when a sparrow flies by, that it’s not good. Perhaps, Derek’s life could be better and there is a chance for him to be happy if he lets himself mourn his losses, if he lets himself cry. If, if he admits and does something about the fact that he doesn’t love his wife.
One day, Derek enters his office and stands before the front desk. "Cancel all my afternoon patients," adding ‘please’ hastily.
Mrs. Stone looks at him over her glasses, her wrinkly hand going for her pearl necklace and clutching it.
Derek has never cancelled on his patients, ever; or had a day off, as a matter of fact.
But, Derek doesn’t care. "In fact, why don’t you have your break now? Go out and have a coffee somewhere."
Wordlessly, she picks her cardigan from the coat rack and gives Derek a final, judgmental look. But before she leaves, a look of worry crosses her face. "Is – is everything all right?"
Derek, despite the excitement he feels, calms down enough to give her a small smile. "Yes. Everything’s just fine. Don’t worry, Abigail."
As soon as she’s out, Derek opens the file register and searches for Stiles’ name. He finds his folder and goes to his office with it.
There’s a phone number, and there’s an address, too. Derek copies both on a piece of paper, and then he returns it to the register.
He knows it would be best to call him. He could say that he is just checking to see how he is. He could also apologize. Those are all good enough reasons for a phone call, he thinks.
Derek wants to start fixing things in his life. He wants to do something. He wants to stop being so passive about everything. And, he wants to start with Stiles. That obviously isn’t the most important problem, but when he thought about it, he felt that that was exactly where he should start. The Stiles situation felt the most pressing to him.
But, when he leaves his office that afternoon, he finds himself still undecided about the call and his legs carry him towards Stiles’ neighborhood almost subconsciously.
He walks and he has to take the subway, the familiar actions only making him more determined.
Forty-five minutes later, he still hasn’t made the call, but he is standing in front of Stiles’ door.
He doesn’t even know what to say. Stiles probably isn’t even home. He’s probably working. Or if he’s home, he’s going to be mad and refuse to speak with Derek.
Derek contemplates his options, but when one of Stiles’ neighbors, a tiny old lady with hunched back, opens her door and throws suspicious looks in Derek’s direction, he brings his hand up and rings the bell.
A few minutes later, when Stiles’ doesn’t answer, he is getting ready to give up and leave, the old lady's eyes burning holes in his back. But then, the door opens with a flourish, revealing Stiles in a huge t-shirt only, bare legs, a serious case of bedhead and puffy eyes.
Derek has obviously woken him up.
Stiles doesn’t look surprised to see him at all. He even smiles at Derek, like Derek didn’t do anything wrong. Stiles opens his door wider and moves aside and Derek just walks in.
Stiles grins at the old lady. "Hello there, princess. You go in now, or you’ll miss your show."
Stiles waits until she disappears behind her door, still smiling at Stiles sappily, before he closes his own.
He finds Derek staring at his apartment.
There isn’t a single square inch of the place which is uncluttered. Stiles slept on the couch, so his mother’s quilt lies bunched up there and all the decorative pillows from the couch are scattered around it. There are clothes, books, CDs on the floor; Derek sees some makeup on the kitchen counter, among various bowls and cups.
The walls are covered in paintings and photos, and next to the wall opposite the kitchen area is Stiles’ desk, overflowing with prints, post-its, pencils, crayons and markers. Derek sees Stiles’ laptop peeking under the mess.
Derek feels like an alien in his impeccable suit there.
"Have a seat," he hears Stiles, who disappears behind the counter.
Derek sits on the couch. He hears the microwave buzzing and a minute later, Stiles appears with two hot mugs of coffee. He probably made them one of those 2 in 1, or 3 in 1 Nes coffee bags which you just pour into hot water.
Derek’s whole worldview is tilted. Jennifer orders their coffee beans specially and grinds them manually in their designer coffee grinder.
Stiles curls up in an armchair next to the couch and takes a sip, sighing in content. Derek can see his boxer briefs peeking under the shirt. Stiles just doesn’t care.
Derek blinks at the official title. He realizes Stiles has never called him anything else.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Derek, please." Hesitantly, Derek takes a sip of his coffee. It tastes strange. Sweet. Derek thinks he doesn’t even have sugar at his apartment. "I came to tell you – to apologize. And to see how you are."
Stiles looks at him with a fond expression on his face. "Why didn’t you just call?"
Derek doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have one, really.
He looks around the place some more and sees Stiles’ silver shorts under the coffee table.
"Do you have work today?" Derek flinches a little, surprised by his own directness.
This really isn’t going how he expected. He expected Stiles to be mad, and to ask him a million questions, but he doesn’t. He looks happy to see Derek.
"Why?" Stiles asks, unfurling his legs from under him and putting them on the coffee table. "Is this a business visit?"
Derek blushes to the root of his hair and immediately gets up in discomfort. "I – I’m sorry. I have to go."
Stiles smiles, and doesn’t look angry at Derek because of his awkward behavior. "Hey, it’s fine. It’s all right. You don’t have to leave. It was only a joke," he speaks softly.
Derek sits back down. "I wanted to say sorry. And to see how things are… with Dr. Bergman."
"Well. I’m behaving myself, if that’s what you want to know. I don’t wiggle my ass in front of him, don’t worry."
"That’s not what I meant," Derek says, but Stiles already knows it.
"I did not like having to start all over again with the new doctor. But, he’s okay, I guess. He’s not you, but he’s not that terrible," Stiles says, but his tone is pleasant so it makes it easier for Derek to hear this.
"Would you – would you like to come back to me?"
Stiles considers it for a few moments. "No. Let’s not make a circus out of it now."
Derek understands. They sit in silence for a while, but it’s comfortable.
"Can I call you sometimes?" Derek asks. He has to. That's why he came, after all. He misses Stiles.
Stiles smiles at him. "Sure. You can call me sometimes, Derek. And I can call you."
It’s only when Derek is going down the stairs from the fifth floor of Stiles' building that he realizes that Stiles has called him by his first name for the first time ever. Derek likes it.
They start texting each other.
It begins when Derek remembers Stiles giving him permission to call, but Derek texts him first instead. It’s easier for him; he doesn’t like to talk very much.
Soon enough, it’s like the floodgates open, because after a few initial polite inquiries about each other’s wellbeing, Stiles begins to bombard Derek with the most random, awkward messages.
I’m cold, tell spring to hurry
My neighbor asked me to rub Vaseline onto her back, Derek. Vaseline. On her back. I am not okay. I need therapy.
Mets won!!!! I’m celebrating. I’m going to get so wasted.
Urgh! Why did you let me drink, you traitor! My hair hurts:///
I saw the sexiest shirt today! I’m gonna buy it, Derek. I fucking deserve it.
Did you see Kylie Jenner’s new liquid lipstick! I want it. WANT it.
Chris Hemsworth has a new movie! He is SOOOOOO hot! My dick weeps for him, Derek
Stiles' texts are the main source of his entertainment. Derek usually doesn’t respond to Stiles’ craziness. He doesn’t know what to say.
Instead, he tries to send Stiles little bits of his own life, which is way less interesting than Stiles’. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind.
They don’t talk about Stiles’ work, though. And they never mention Derek’s wife.
It’s not that Derek avoids mentioning Jennifer on purpose. He has realized soon enough that he just doesn’t have absolutely anything to say about her. What would he text, really? Jennifer bought a new set of pearl white cups today? Jennifer had the living room couches steam cleaned? Jennifer got angry because I forgot to mop up the water from the shower walls?
Derek goes to visit Stiles two more times.
Neither one of them mentions sensitive topics, such as why Derek comes at all, or what their relationship is. If hard pressed, Derek would describe it as tentative friendship. He is glad Stiles doesn’t push for answers. He just likes spending time with him. Stiles’ colorfulness, his humor, sarcastic remarks which take Derek a while to get used to, his free body movements and free speech fascinate Derek. He never sits normally. He either slouches, or he keeps his legs thrown over the armrest, or just lies on the floor. He is just… free. Uninhibited.
Derek’s so unused to it that everything about Stiles feels like a breath of fresh air to him.
The first time Derek comes, Stiles makes popcorn and they watch ‘Sherlock’. Throughout the entire show, Stiles professes his undying love for Benedict Cumberbatch, distracting Derek, and when he gets a little graphic, detailing what he would do to him given half the chance, Derek laughs at his antics and doesn’t get uncomfortable.
Derek doesn’t even like Benedict Cumberbatch that much, but he listens to Stiles’ erotic musings and he lets himself dream. He doesn’t have any person in particular on his mind, but he would like to experience that, he thinks. Some day.
The second time, Derek brings Chinese and Stiles squeals in delight. They sit on the floor and put the food on the coffee table. They eat from the boxes and Derek feels naughty just because of that.
Stiles makes him feel liberated. It takes a while for Derek to relax and stop looking over his shoulder like he is going to get caught.
"Okay. Sophomore year. Scotty and I are still total geeks and no one wants to hang out with us. But then, because Mr. Harris gives us so much crap in Chemistry - the guy was a total asshole, Derek, a gigantic dickwad - we steal, like, a gallon of superglue from Mrs. Greenberg’s store and we smear it all over the toilet seat in the teachers' toilet." Stiles doesn’t even stop for breath. Derek is mesmerized.
Stiles is chewing his spring rolls and talking at the same time. "We know exactly when and in which stall Harris goes to take a dump. Always between third and fourth period, and always in the last stall," Stiles giggles, bits of food hanging from the corner of his mouth. He is beaming with joy. "They couldn’t unglue him for an hour, man! They had to break the entire toilet seat and move him, pants down, to the nurses’ office."
"And that’s not even the best thing!" Stiles flaps his arms in the air. "The entire school somehow finds out that Scott and I were behind the prank. Mrs. Greenberg saw us on camera when we stole the glue, but she didn’t want to report us because her son was in our class. Plus, I think she felt sorry for me because my Dad was the Sheriff. Anyway, we became instant celebrities. And no one fucking told on us, because everybody hated Harris."
"Scotty got to date Allison, and I got… well," Stiles hesitates a little, blushing sweetly. "I got to lose my virginity to Danny, who was the hottest guy in school and who I was in love with for over a year."
Derek laughs, entertained and fascinated. He finds Stiles’ embarrassment at the final revelation cute and different from Stiles’ usual behavior. He carefully stores vital information in his mind. Stiles’ father was the Sheriff. Stiles lost his virginity to Danny, the boy he was in love with, and not to some… client.
He wants to ask, but he just can’t; things like what happened to his family, about his mother, and why he does what he does. Derek just can’t, not yet, at least.
He never tells Jennifer in advance that he is going to be late from work when he goes to hang with Stiles. The first time it happens, he says to her enraged face the truth - that he went to see a friend.
“A friend? You don’t have any friends,” she seethes.
The second time, he doesn’t even say anything to her when he passes her in the hallway.
“What is this? Some kind of mutiny? Middle-age crisis? There are rules, Derek! We agreed. I fully expect you to obey them!”
“Jennifer. I do have a friend. And I went to spend some time with him. Is that a problem?” Derek asks calmly.
Her face freezes in utter disbelief. “Of course it’s a problem, Derek! We have plans, and I expect to have dinner with you, not alone. And who is that friend? Is he respectable? What do you do? Where do you go? It’s not… responsible.”
"I’m sorry you had to have dinner alone," is all he says.
But he thinks something different.
‘I am not happy,’ Derek thinks.
He wishes he could say it out loud. He is not afraid of Jennifer.
He is afraid of… change.
Somewhere in the beginning of May, Stiles texts Derek.
Dude! I am so frigging excited! Scotty and I are going camping next month. Cannot wait:)
It is then that Derek decides he wants to go with them. Stiles did invite him, after all. Derek refused then, but he changes his mind now.
He texts Stiles back.
Can I come?
Stiles responds instantly.
Derek has no idea what it means.
Stiles’ messages keep coming.
Of course!!! I would love that!
Don’t worry if you don’t have the gear, Scotty has it covered, dude. He has at least three sleeping bags.
You’re about to have another dimension open up to you, Derek! Be prepared:)
Derek chuckles. He is excited, too.
A week later, Derek tells Jennifer they need to talk. He wants to tell her about his camping trip. He decides he is going, no matter what she says.
When they sit at the table, Derek clears his throat and what comes out of his mouth has nothing to do with camping.
“I want a divorce.” Derek’s heart is drumming in his chest, his palms sweating. But he braves through it. “I’m not happy. You’re not happy. This was a mistake. We need to not do this anymore.”
Jennifer takes the news well. She doesn’t even ask him to elaborate the few chopped sentences he manages to string together as explanation. She wants the apartment, she tells him straightaway. She wants the beach house. She wants the car.
It feels like she's thought about divorce, too.
Derek agrees to everything.
When silence stretches between them, he gets up, packs a few bags and moves out the same evening.
He doesn’t even know where to go. He hasn’t exactly thought this through beyond telling her.
In the end, he goes to his office and sleeps on the couch there. It all happens so quickly, so easily.
In the morning, he asks Mrs. Stone to find him an apartment for rent, available immediately.
He texts Stiles.
I moved out. I left my wife.
A few seconds later, Stiles texts him back.
A minute after, Stiles sends another message.
Come over tonight.
Derek’s not sure it’s a good idea, but he doesn’t want to spend the evening in his office.
He doesn’t know why, but he drops to a local patisserie and buys a cake on his way to Stiles.
When he gets there, Stiles looks worried. Derek realizes how little he’s told Stiles. Actually, he hasn’t said a word about himself. He feels like an idiot, and a little embarrassed.
He wants to tell Stiles that he doesn’t have to be worried. “It’s fine, it’s - ”, he says from the door, before he takes his jacket off. “I did it, I wanted it.”
He pushes the cake into Stiles’ arms.
It’s the cake, not Derek’s words, that clue Stiles in.
He treats him then with the most blinding smile.
“You’ve come to the right place, man. Have a seat at Chez Stilinski and lemme take care of you,” Stiles pulls him by the arm and pushes him on the couch.
Derek sinks in among Stiles’ fluffy pillows and sighs in content.
As it happens, Stiles’ idea of taking care of Derek includes a bottle of special tequila and insane amounts of Pringles and Doritos that Stiles rushes off to buy in his pajama pants and flip-flops.
They get shitfaced within an hour.
Derek hasn’t gotten drunk in a long time.
“I didn’t even want to go to medical college,” he slurs. “But, I’m not sorry, because my Mom wanted it, and now… she’s gone, you know. So I’m really glad I did it… I feel like it’s for her…” he hiccups a little.
Stiles looks at him seriously for a moment, but then he changes his voice into a childlike drawl and quotes ‘Kindergarten Cop’ to Derek. “My dad is a gynecologist... He looks at vaginas all day long!”
Derek just falls into a fit of giggles, collapsing to the floor. His shirt is a mess. His sleeves are rolled up, and it’s unbuttoned all the way to his sternum.
“I specialized in omegas,” he shares something more with Stiles.
“Why?” Stiles asks.
Derek thinks for a while. “I don’t know. My father, one sister and one brother were omegas. When I had to choose my field, they were… already gone. I wanted it.”
Stiles doesn’t ask about his family.
He claps his hand on the coffee table littered with empty Doritos bags, lemon slices and dirty plates smeared with cake. “Change of subject. Let me tell you about the time I had to walk across half of New York in only a skirt and bra…”
Ten days later, Derek texts Stiles his new address.
He wanted to call him earlier, especially when he was freaking out about the furniture.
He has never had to furnish anything in his life. But, he quickly decides against begging Stiles for help. He wants to do it alone. He doesn’t even know what he likes. So, he googles and takes his sweet time about every single piece, comparing the photos, measuring, picking the colors and discovering his tastes along the way. He orders everything online.
When Stiles comes, his living room couch hasn’t arrived yet. So they sit on cardboard boxes and order a pizza. They eat it from the box.
Stiles is wearing something Derek hasn’t seen before on him, a sleeveless mesh shirt and skinny black jeans. He looks amazing. Derek wonders why he’s dressed up.
He decides to ask. “Are you working tonight?”
Stiles chases the pizza slice with his tongue. When he catches it, he curls his tongue around a string of melted cheese and takes a huge bite. When he half chews it, he responds. “Yep. I have a session with a regular.”
“Do you- do you have a lot of regulars?” Derek wants so badly to know more about Stiles’ work. He has waited for so long to ask. He feels like he can now.
“All of them are.” Stiles seems completely unperturbed by the questioning. He demolishes his half of the pizza and steals one of Derek’s pieces. Derek doesn’t mind. He isn’t hungry anymore.
“Well,” Stiles wipes his hand with a paper napkin. “When I reached the number of guys to satisfy my financial needs, I stopped booking new ones.”
Derek wants to ask how many clients Stiles has. Something completely different leaves his mouth.
“How much money do you need?”
Stiles grins. He is so relaxed and pleasant to be around. “Not that much. The apartment is mine, I bought it when my father died and I sold our house, so I’m rent-free. And I’m not a big spender, you know. I like having nice clothes. I like to travel. Other than that, you could say I’m just worried about the future. So I spend only half of it, or less, and I put the other half on my account.”
Derek is not sure he should ask the next question, but Stiles seems to be in a great mood and he won’t mind, Derek hopes. He really, really wants to know. So he picks at the pizza box, little pieces of cardboard falling on the floor. He doesn’t look at Stiles.
“Have you- have you ever considered… another profession?”
When Stiles remains silent, Derek lifts his eyes.
Stiles is looking at him seriously. “I’ll tell you now, and you never ask me that again, okay?”
“I’ve considered many professions. And I chose this one, for many reasons. I need the money; I am all alone in this world. And I have my needs. As an omega. You keep asking about jobs, Derek, but you are missing the point. I need an alpha. After a few failed attempts at relationships, I’ve given up. Do you understand? It’s a win-win situation for me. It is what it is. Is it the best possible scenario for me? Of course it isn’t. But I’ve tried, Derek. I’ve tried so hard. It just… didn’t happen for me. Okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“In your relationships.”
Stiles snorts. “Well. My first alpha boyfriend wanted an open relationship, which is what he told me after I’d caught him cheating. And my second boyfriend thought he was the master of me. You know, ordering me around, pushing me around a little; thinking he owns my omega ass. I told him to choke on his own dick and left.“
When Derek doesn’t say anything, Stiles continues. “I used to be such a romantic at heart. That’s how my parents raised me. They were so in love; I never once doubted that was what I’d have in my life, too. Boy, was I wrong… ” He laughs. “My Mom was sixteen when she married my Dad. When I found myself twenty-five and alone, I decided to take my own life in my hands. And this is what I’ve come up with.”
Derek sighs. “I understand the love part. I want that, too.”
Stiles chuckles. “Fools, both of us.”
Derek collects their boxes and cups and throws them into trash.
“Anyway,” Stiles emphasizes the word theatrically. “Tit for tat, dude. Why did you leave Jennifer?”
“She- “ Derek starts. “She just wasn’t for me. I think I knew that from the start. I tried to remember how I got to make that wrong choice, but I couldn’t. That entire year is a blur to me. My family… there was an accident. A fire. And she was there after. I… honestly can’t remember. We didn’t have a wedding party. Our engagement was a month long. We just went to the city hall. She… thought it was for the best. And then, then the years went by. Everything was just wrong, so wrong… I kept feeling wrong the entire time. I thought it was because of my family.”
“What changed? What woke you up?” Stiles asks softly from the floor, leaning on his hand, his other arm resting against his stomach. He doesn’t comment that that was the longest amount of words he has heard from Derek. Derek is aware. He appreciates it. He feels right. He isn’t afraid to talk about it anymore.
“I- I met you.” Derek goes for honesty.
Stiles grins. “You know it, dude,” he fake shoots Derek with his finger.
He gets up then, and before he leaves, he turns to Derek, and says: “You’re amazing, Derek. You really are. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
When Derek closes the door behind him, he thinks about Stiles’ words. He doesn’t think it’s true, there’s nothing amazing about him, but it feels nice. It feels nice to hear something good about yourself. Derek feels good.
Derek and Stiles take a plane, because last year Scott came to New York for their getaway. They went to Minnewaska State Park Preserve which is only about a hundred miles away.
So this year, to keep it fair, they made reservations in Yosemite National Park in California, at Upper Pines campsite.
They rent a car at the airport when they land and go to pick Scott up.
He’s a friendly looking guy, with olive skin, curly hair and crooked jaw; after fifteen minutes, it’s perfectly clear to Derek why he’s Stiles’ best friend.
First they hug for five minutes, while Derek stands awkwardly on the side. When they finally let go of each other, Scott goes for Derek and hugs the heck out of him, too, to Derek’s utter shock. But Scott either doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care about Derek’s aloofness. A smile never leaves his lips.
Scott hooks a small utility trailer to the car in less than a minute. Allegedly, it contains everything they’ll need.
In the car, Scott and Stiles just don’t shut up. Derek tries to listen and follow their stories, but after a while, he tunes out their chatter and focuses on the driving.
Upper Pines is located in Yosemite Valley, near Half Dome Village, at 4,000 feet elevation. When Stiles talked about their camping trips before, Derek imagined something more along the lines of pitching a tent behind Scott’s house. He just couldn’t imagine Stiles as a nature guy. But, while they keep getting farther and farther away from civilization, Derek realizes the two friends mean serious business.
They arrive at the campsite around three o’clock in the afternoon and they set up their camp in less than an hour.
Of course, Scott and Derek do most of the work, with Stiles fussing around and giving instructions. He gets quiet after a while, though; when Derek searches for him, he finds him soaking up the scenery. It is truly breathtaking.
Letting go of his nervousness entirely, Derek takes lungful after lungful of the crisp mountain air.
“You know what’s best about you coming?” Stiles walks up to him with his hands in his pockets. He looks tired; they both are. But he also looks so boyish, in his regular jeans and t-shirt, and a little on the too skinny side, Derek thinks.
When Derek looks at him questioningly, Stiles yawns and continues. “You can shift and make Scott company on his night runs. Dude, he always makes me come with him and it always ends up in tears.”
Derek frowns. Shift? He doesn’t do that anymore. He thinks he forgot how. He struggles to remember when it was the last time he shifted. “I haven’t shifted in… four years.”
He feels more than sees Stiles’ shock.
“Oh my god,” Stiles whispers. “Derek, why?” He looks genuinely worried. Derek is so surprised. He doesn’t understand why Stiles thinks it’s something to worry about.
Stiles comes closer, touching his arm lightly.
When Derek remains quiet, he continues. “You can’t do that to yourself, man. Would you like to try, here?”
“I don’t know,” Derek says eventually. “I stopped shifting when my family died. After that… Jennifer hated it. So I just… didn’t.”
“Okay. Okay. Whatever you want, Derek. Just- I’m here for you, if you want to talk. Or try. Anything you need.” Stiles’ concern for Derek is almost palpable. Derek can feel it with every fiber of his being. Derek closes his eyes and soaks it up.
When he realizes that his behavior probably only deepens Stiles’ worry for him, he turns towards him and smiles. “You’re a good person- a good friend to me, Stiles.”
Stiles’ face lights up. He treats Derek with one of his charming smiles and punches him lightly in the arm.
That evening they grill some steaks and make smores for dessert, getting a little tipsy on beer. They crawl into their tent around midnight, after they put out the fire, and giggle when they kick and elbow one another trying to get into their sleeping bags. It’s surprisingly comfortable, since there’s a huge inflatable mattress under them.
Derek sleeps like a baby.
Tomorrow evening, Derek shifts, just like that.
When Stiles sees his wolf form, he hoots and hollers, dancing in circles around Derek, waving his arms in the air. Then he promptly falls on his knees and envelops him in a hug, ruffling his fur.
Scott and he leave the camp soon after, and Derek just… lets go. He runs and runs like the wind, feeling like he is born again.
There are no words, there are no thoughts.
It’s just him and Mother Nature.
Derek runs until his legs start burning.
Scott wants to return to the camp after a few hours, but Derek remains sitting on a huge, flat rock near one of the waterfalls and looks at Scott until he understands. He remains in his full shift until dawn.
When he returns, he finds Stiles waiting for him in the milky light of the morning.
Derek sits next to him and they watch the sunrise together.
Stiles strokes his fur, raking his long fingers through it and picking leaves and little pieces of wood out of it.
“Did it feel good, big guy? I bet it did. I’m glad you got your wolfy mojo back on. Are you hungry? I’ll fix you some breakfast when you shift back. Unless you ate a few bunnies on your grand tour. I hope you didn’t. Little bunnies are cute, Derek. You have bunny teeth, has anyone ever told you that? But don’t worry, dude. They’re cute, too,” Stiles rambles, and Derek falls asleep right there, his head resting on Stiles’ thigh.
They spend a week there.
They hike, exploring different trails every day, and Stiles takes a million photos.
They go fishing, but Stiles doesn’t fish. He just lies next to Scott and Derek and soaks up the early May sun. He throws pebbles at them and sings everything from PJ Harvey to Taylor Swift. Scott threatens to throw him in the lake, but Derek giggles and tells him not to worry, he’ll save him. He likes Stiles’ voice. It’s horrible, but Derek still likes it.
One evening, Stiles falls asleep before Derek and Scott, who stay near the fire, sipping their beer.
Derek wants to talk with Scott about Stiles, but he isn’t sure how to phrase his question. After trying out different variations inside his head, eventually he quietly asks: “Do you worry about him?”
Scott huffs. “Do I worry. I’m crazy with worry, man.” He picks on the beer bottle’s label. He whispers, too. “I think he thinks he has everything figured out, but he hasn’t.”
Derek thinks about that for a while. “He is my friend, you know? I wish I could help him somehow.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Scott’s eyes widen in alarm. “He fucking hates it.”
After a while, Scott speaks again. “Did you know he was top of our class?”
Derek shakes his head.
“He is really fucking smart. Kids used to tease him for being an omega, for being a geek, for being flamboyant… you name it. He’s always found a way to shut them up. His father had really big dreams for him. College, university degrees, big jobs… “ Scott finishes his beer.
“His entire college fund went on medical bills for John. Fuck!” Scott curses, his good mood long gone, and chucks the bottle into the fire.
“I’m going to bed.”
Derek sits alone, staring into the fire, for a long time after that.
When they get back from their trip, Derek starts having trouble sleeping.
He shared a tent with Stiles and Scott for a week and he can’t believe he already got used to their sniffing and huffing and snoring.
Three nights later, he gives up on tossing and turning for hours on end and brings his laptop to bed with him.
He tries watching ‘Sherlock’ again, but ten minutes in, he remembers Stiles’ lewd remarks from when they watched it together and he kind of gets… horny. He doesn’t know if it’s because of Stiles’ words, or Sherlock, or Stiles himself, but his dick is rock hard and begging for attention.
Derek takes a second to revel in the fact that now he can do whatever he wants about it.
Not only does he shove his hand inside his briefs and starts stroking himself, but he also opens up Pornhub and finds Alpha/Omega videos with his other hand. He clicks on a random one. The couple on the screen is great, and Derek finds everything they do incredibly hot. He comes like a rocket before they even get to the fucking part.
He falls asleep five minutes later.
Yo. It’s my birthday. What are you going to do about it:)
Derek freaks out. He can’t believe he’s never asked Stiles about his birthday.
But, he clutches onto his phone, and types the reply as fast as he can.
Be ready at eight. I’ll pick you up.
Stiles responds with xXxoOoxXx.
Derek, of course, has no idea what it means.
But Derek isn’t stupid. He now knows that he is Stiles’ only friend in New York. So he decides to try and make him feel really good for his birthday.
He makes reservations at 'Balthazar' and then takes a break from his work to buy him a present.
He roams the streets without any idea whatsoever, but when a ridiculous, frilly skirt catches his eye in one of the windows, he remembers Stiles’ crazy story which included one such garment. It was a very sexy story, although Stiles tried to pass it as a fun one. Derek loves Stiles' stories. Derek loves everything about Stiles, except his job. It's the truth.
So, Derek buys him the skirt as a gag gift. No one has to know that he finds it incredibly sexy, too.
He also gets him a book when he passes a bookstore. It takes him a while to pick the right one, but when he stumbles upon ‘How to Improve Your Singing Technique’, his mind is made.
He is very pleased with his choices until he realizes that both his gifts can be perceived as gag gifts. One of them definitely is.
So Derek goes to a chocolaterie and buys him a big chocolate heart. It has a silky red ribbon around it.
He sprints up Stiles’ stairs that evening, minding not to smash the heart, and knocks excitedly on his door. When Stiles opens, he takes Derek’s breath away.
He isn’t wearing anything outrageous; it’s just a regular shirt and pants, but the shirt is tight and it fits Stiles like a glove, revealing his beautiful torso. He has a very narrow waist and hips and Derek can’t stop looking. Stiles is very handsome.
“Are those my presents? Gimme, gimme, gimme,” he makes grabby hands at the bags, but Derek swiftly puts them behind his back.
“Be patient. I’ll give them to you later. Come on, we have reservations.”
Stiles locks the door. They start going downstairs.
“Reservations? Where? Derek…, you didn’t have to. I- I was just joking about my birthday.” Stiles seems embarrassed.
“What do you mean?” Derek asks, hailing a cab. “Is it not your birthday?”
“No, it is, but, I just thought you could drop by, you know, have a drink with me,” Stiles flusters. “Not… all this. I’m sorry.”
Derek holds the cab door open. When Stiles doesn’t move, he grabs his hand. “Well, I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry I didn’t know about your birthday, otherwise I would have planned something even better.”
Stiles blushes and smiles sweetly at him. “Really?”
“Really, Stiles,” Derek smiles back and pulls him inside the car, but not before squeezing his hand a little.
The restaurant is half empty which pleases Derek to no end; probably because it’s the middle of the week.
They are sat in the far corner, a little secluded, and Derek orders half of the menu, giggling at Stiles, because Stiles couldn’t make up his mind for fifteen minutes about what he would like. Derek orders all his wishes and more.
“Derek,” Stiles whispers at him, looking frantically around. “What are you doing? Are you insane? Who’s gonna eat all that food? And the cost…”
But Derek is in such a good mood. He chuckles and shines with mirth. “They’ll pack us the leftovers, don’t worry.”
When the drinks come, Stiles relaxes. They try different cocktails, just for fun, and they get drunk embarrassingly fast. The food soaks some of the alcohol from their systems, and they find a perfect balance between sober and tipsy, feeling good and warm on the inside.
At one point, Derek pushes the bags with presents towards Stiles.
“You can look now, just don’t take the first one out,” he warns. “Only take a peek.”
Stiles puts the first bag into his lap and peeks inside. When he sees the skirt, he smiles. “Why, Derek, are you trying to tell me something about your preferences,” he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows. Derek laughs with him, not feeling embarrassed at all.
But when Stiles sees the second present, he bristles. “Har, har. You only wish you could sing like me, Derek. I’m a fucking nightingale.”
Derek laughs even harder. “More like a cat in heat,” he can barely push the words out from laughing so hard. He snorts out some of the cocktail through his nose.
Stiles is still frowning when he gets to the third present. He takes the heart out and the frown is gone; he holds it solemnly between his hands.
“Stiles.” Derek looks at him fondly. Stiles’ eyes are shiny.
“Derek,” he repeats, whispering. “I – I have to know.”
Derek can’t take his eyes off of him. He is mesmerized. Stiles has to know something. “Yes?” he asks.
“Do you – do you love me?” Stiles looks like it took him a lot of courage to ask. His face is open and vulnerable.
Derek looks at him like he’s hung the Moon and every star in the sky.
“I love you, Stiles,” Derek replies without hesitation.
Stiles puts the heart down. A few tears escape his eyelashes. Stiles wipes them off quickly. “As a friend?”
“As a friend.”
Stiles’ face crumbles, but Derek continues before he saddens him any further. “I love you as a friend. And as a man. And as an omega. And as the best thing that has ever happened to me in my life. I worship you, Stiles.”
At that moment, before they realize what just happened and manage to gather their wits, three waiters push a cart with a cake towards their table and start singing a Happy Birthday song. The cake has one of those firework candles on it.
Stiles starts crying even harder. Before the song is even over, Derek stands up and leans across the table, kissing Stiles on the lips. A few of the patrons cheer.
“Happy birthday, Stiles,” Derek whispers into his mouth.
They go back to Stiles’ place. They can’t stop touching each other, they can’t stop kissing. The whole ride home is a blur.
Once inside, they stumble their way into Stiles’ bedroom, almost breaking their necks a few times.
Clothes gets ripped off frantically and they just fall onto the mattress and into making love without any order or plan, losing their minds with desire and burning with passion.
There is no tomorrow, or yesterday; just this point in time and space, with the two of them as its only occupants. The world stops turning.
It feels surreal. They don’t speak; their gasps and sighs the only sounds echoing through the room. Their bodies are hot and their touches desperate and needy.
Stiles doesn’t want it to be over, ever, and Derek, Derek almost cries when he comes, falling on Stiles in catharsis.
They clutch onto each other, unwilling to let go. Derek caresses Stiles over his hair and arm and back, and Stiles sniffles a little in his arms, emotional and vulnerable.
Derek shushes him in comfort, rocking them slowly and not letting go.
They fall asleep when they both calm down, sated and content.
In the morning, they wake up and they’re still not letting go. It feels a little awkward; they are both afraid to speak.
Stiles wants… he wants Derek to promise him forever, but he’s afraid to ask; and Derek, Derek wants Stiles just for himself, forever, but he’s afraid to ask.
Derek cradles him in his arms, kisses his head, and gathers his courage first.
“Stiles,” he whispers into his hair. Stiles’ face is stuck into his chest. “Please, don’t go to work today. Don’t go to work… ever. Please.”
When Stiles just rubs his nose over Derek’s chest hair and kisses him there, Derek repeats, “Please. I’m begging you. I love you.”
“I won’t, I won’t, I promise. I love you, too. I’ll figure something out. I’ll get another job. I just – I just want to be with you. Can we be together?” Stiles says.
Derek wants to jump with joy. “We are together. We’ll figure everything out together. I – I have money. A lot. But you can do whatever you want; I won’t stop you. I’ll help you get a job if you want, or you don’t have to work at all if you don’t want to… as long as you’re only mine. I can’t stand it, I can’t even think about it. I love you, Stiles, I’ll love you forever… if you let me.”
Stiles starts crying a little again, raw with emotion. He kisses Derek’s face and Derek responds in earnest. Soon enough, they’re making love again, glued together from head to toe.
Derek moves in with Stiles a week later.
It takes them a while to figure out what to do with the extra furniture. They combine the best pieces and the rest they give to charity.
Stiles spends an hour clearing out his schedule, informing his clients personally that he won’t be providing them with his services any longer, and cancelling his appointments with Dr. Bergman.
Everything feels so new and raw.
When Derek comes home every evening, they can barely keep their hands off each other, still so needy and unsure.
Derek starts hating going to work. He can’t bear leaving Stiles.
So, Derek decides to buy a new car and take Stiles on vacation.
They go to Martha’s Vineyards in their new Audi and spend a week there, rarely leaving the hotel room.
Stiles introduces Derek to the magic of blowjobs and Derek practices what Stiles has taught him on Stiles in return.
He knots Stiles every time they fuck, but not when Stiles lets him fuck his pussy. He is careful then, because he knows how sensitive he is; he fingers him first, spreads his secretion to lube him up everywhere, and doesn’t push all the way inside until he fucks him open first.
Derek kisses him during, managing to gently rub his little clit with his thumb without stopping his thrusts. Stiles comes his brains out and hugs Derek with all four limbs until he stops shaking.
Derek stays still, buried inside him, and when Stiles calms down, he pushes in a few times, until he comes himself, pressing his dick into the entrance of Stiles’ cervix until it can’t go any further.
They go for walks in the evening, avoiding busy streets and crowded places.
They share their secrets, confess their deepest fears, and they bond over their griefs.
Stiles tells Derek how much money he has on his account and when Derek, shocked at the hefty amount, wonders why he worked at all, Stiles starts crying. Derek holds him in his arms until he calms down.
They call Scott and tell him everything. Scott starts sniffling over the phone. He tells Stiles he loves him and he thanks Derek, telling him he loves him, too. He magnanimously promises to let them choose their next camping spot.
Back in New York, Derek realizes he can't bring himself to go to work. He takes a leave until further notice, transferring his patients to three other doctors. He feels like a newborn, shaky on his feet, and like Stiles is his only source of energy.
They spend their time nesting, watching Netflix and fucking.
Pretty quickly, Derek learns that Stiles has only three dishes in his culinary repertoire and that all three of them include chicken. Since Derek doesn't know how to boil water, they realize they're going to have to do something about it. They watch YouTube videos and try to make various meals. Derek even ventures into making dough and when he masters it, he makes pies, rolls, and homemade bread.
It helps that Stiles finds Derek squeezing the dough with his manly hands incredibly sexy. At least once he rubs off until completion against Derek's ass while he's bent over the kitchen counter, his hands covered in flour.
Derek cooks and eats everything he has been denied for years. When he starts feeling guilty about all the extra calories, he starts working out and he makes Stiles do it, too. Stiles agrees, but he half-asses it until Derek manages to interest him in couples' yoga and Stiles takes to it like a duck to water.
They also walk every evening. It's what they enjoy the most. One evening, when they pass a little jewelry shop, Derek stops in front of it and embraces Stiles. He kisses him, deeply and wetly, and then stands behind him, cradling him in his arms.
He turns Stiles toward the window. He can see the reflection of Stiles’ face surrounded by shiny rings and necklaces. He presses his mouth against Stiles’ ear and whispers.
“Marry me, love. Be mine forever. Make me the happiest man on Earth and I promise to be yours forever.”
Stiles just grabs his forearms and kisses them, before turning towards Derek and whispering wetly, “Yes, yes, a thousand time yes!”
They buy two rings then and there, simple, white gold ones, without any ornaments, signifying eternity.
The more they fall into a routine, the more Stiles feels safe and secure.
One day, Derek gets home from work and surprises the hell out of Stiles when he tells him that he quit his job. He closed the practice.
“But why?” Stiles asks from the floor where he’s flipping through Cosmo and where Derek joins him.
“I didn’t enjoy it. Mrs. Stone has to retire, and I didn’t want to look at vaginas all day long anymore.”
Stiles jumps into his lap and hangs onto him like a koala.
“Let’s do a Cosmo quiz.” Stiles grabs the magazine and reads from it. “Which Cosmo Sex Position Are You? Are you The Mermaid or The Cosmo Cat?”
Derek tackles him onto the floor and Stiles giggles until he starts squirming and yelling at Derek that he is going to piss himself if he doesn’t let him go.
They consider starting their own business. They have more than enough money, especially after Derek sold his practice.
Stiles starts searching into ABO rights and suggests Derek they could do something related to spreading the awareness about the nature and dynamics of each typology. They both feel there is a lot of suppression in present social and political climate. Online, they find a lot of people who feel the same. They share their experiences and Derek decides to start support lines and support groups.
Derek begins searching for their office space. He feels that this would be a great direction for the two of them; especially because he thinks that both Stiles and he made a lot of wrong choices in the past just because they didn't have good enough self-awareness and understanding about their own typology.
They are quite the pair, Derek thinks. An alpha who was too afraid for his own good, and an omega who was too brave for his own good.
“Do I have to,” Stiles whines.
Derek has his ‘nonnegotiable’ face on. “Yes, Stiles, you have to. Come on. Lie down.”
“I’d rather ‘get down’ if you know what I mean,” Stiles says and crawls onto bed on all fours, taunting Derek with his ass.
But Derek just ignores him. He goes into the closet to fetch his bag.
“I can call Dr. Bergman if you want,” he shouts from in there.
“No! No Dr. Bergman. I’ll do it, calm yo' tits,” Stiles bristles, annoyed, but he starts undressing himself.
When Derek gets back, he pulls Stiles by his naked legs toward the edge of the bed and Stiles giggles.
He doesn’t wear any gloves now. Stiles is his only patient, and Derek is Stiles’ only alpha.
He strokes Stiles’ smooth legs a little to comfort him, and bends his legs in the knees, placing his feet on the edge. Derek sits on the floor. He has one of those light thingies strapped onto his forehead.
When he has Stiles nice and spread in front of him, he kisses his balls softly and looks at Stiles with a smile on his face. He smirks when he sees Stiles’ dick plumping up.
He sighs, because he has to ignore it for now. Stiles can’t miss his checkups and they both want Derek to do them.
Like always, Derek checks Stiles’ asshole first, just in case.
He knows he’s fine, because Derek always takes care when he fucks him, and especially when he knots him; he makes sure to finger him open first and uses a lot of lube.
Despite that, he does everything by protocol.
Gently, he pries his pussy open and inserts the speculum as slowly as he can. He opens it wide to see the vagina and cervix. He directs the light and looks closely.
He sees it immediately, the bluish coloration of the cervix. His heart starts beating like crazy. But, he needs more confirmation.
He takes the speculum out and gets on his knees. He inserts two fingers inside Stiles’ pussy.
“Sorry, babe. I know you hate this,” Derek murmurs.
He moves Stiles’ dick to the side and presses firmly down on his lower abdomen, pushing his uterus towards his fingers inside him. It’s soft.
Derek huffs and takes his fingers out. He is completely sure now.
He goes to the bathroom to wash his hands. He looks at his face in the mirror and smiles at himself. But, he goes to Stiles immediately. He has to. He finds him pulling his sweatpants back on.
“Satisfied?” Stiles asks.
Derek takes his arm and pulls him towards him.
“Babe,” Derek hugs him and presses his mouth on Stiles’ ear. That’s how he proposed to him last month. ”You’re pregnant.”
“What!” Stiles squeals. “No,” he says in disbelief.
“Yes,” Derek chuckles.
“But I take my contraceptives!”
“I know, babe. They don’t have a hundred percent guarantee. And I never wear a condom,” Derek kisses his hair.
“Oh my god, Derek! I’m going to have a baby! We’re going to have a baby! Oh my god,” Stiles grins like an loon.
Derek picks him up from the ground and swirls him around. “I love you, Stiles.”
Stiles’ laughter turns into sobs. “I love you, too,” he hiccups wetly, crying into Derek’s neck.
Derek carries him to bed, comforting him the best he knows how.
Stiles lifts his wet face to him. “I’m so happy, Derek.”
Derek smiles. “I’m glad. I’m so happy, too.”
September, three years later
When Derek comes home from their office that evening, he nearly chokes on his tongue.
Stiles is lying on his stomach on the floor of their apartment, writing something into a notebook.
He is wearing a skirt Derek got him for his birthday three years ago. It’s very short, his smooth, long legs in full display, and Derek can see the edges of his pink panties.
He has pink lipstick on his lips and glasses on his nose. He is nibbling on a pen, and the entire Lolita concept gets Derek rock hard in seconds.
“Where’s Emma?", he manages to whisper.
Stiles looks at him seriously through the glasses and whispers back at him. “Babysitter’s.”
As soon as he says that, Stiles gets on his knees and starts crawling towards Derek.
Derek’s eyes glaze over at the sight. Stiles unzips him, and gently pulls his dick out. Derek is already panting.
His husband licks his lips and then licks at the head of his cock, getting it all wet and spit-shiny. Then, he licks his entire shaft over and over again, not forgetting the balls.
Stiles stops for a moment to appraise his work. Satisfied, he opens his mouth and puts Derek’s dick in, starting to suck.
“Fuck!” Derek yells, and his briefcase which he apparently still held in his hand drops to the floor.
Derek lets Stiles suck on his dick for a while, enjoying every second of it.
When he can’t take it anymore, he lifts him up and gives him the filthiest kiss possible.
“I love you,” Derek tells him before placing Stiles on the couch, bending him over the back and spreading his knees as wide as he can.
He throws the skirt over his back and just looks at his perfect ass covered in pink lace.
Stiles looks over his shoulder and smirks at Derek. Slowly, he brings one hand back and moves the panties aside, revealing his already wet pussy to his husband.
“All for you,” he murmurs, and puts his own finger inside, spreading his wetness around.
Derek closes his eyes and breathes heavily through his nose. He is seconds from coming. He takes Stiles’ finger out and brings it to his mouth. He sucks on it. He slowly puts it back on the back of the couch and then takes his cock into his hand.
He brings it to Stiles’ pussy, smearing the head up and down it.
When he pushes inside, Stiles whimpers.
Derek bends over him, kissing his back and puts his hands over Stiles’, holding him tightly. He starts banging him in earnest. Stiles’ pussy splits open, clinging onto Derek’s dick and squeezing it, warm and welcoming.
Derek’s eyes roll inside their sockets with pleasure; his toes start curling and spasming. He can’t hold it off anymore. He pulls his dick out.
“Come on, babe. Ride me,” Derek sits on the couch and helps Stiles sit on his dick. He lifts his skirt with one hand, and holds his dick with the other.
To his surprise, Stiles guides it to his asshole. He smirks at Derek. “I got ready before you came home,” he winks.
He opens up for Derek so sweetly. Derek, who manages to postpone his orgasm a little by the change of position, feels it crawling up his spine again.
Stiles starts riding him and Derek grabs his ass and helps him fuck onto his dick. He sits up and tears Stiles’ shirt open with his teeth.
Stiles hardly breaks his pace, but when Derek sucks his nipple into his mouth and bites a little, he shouts out. “Oh, god, yes! Yes! Fuck!”
Derek’s hands leave Stiles’ ass and he grabs Stiles' dick and starts pulling at it in desperation. He wants Stiles to come before him. With his other hand, he unerringly locates Stiles’ clit and rubs. Stiles screams. He fucks down and moves his hips so that he gets more friction on his clit and dick, and he finally comes.
He collapses in Derek’s arms, and Derek laughs in happiness.
He hugs him tight, and then he lifts his hips with entire Stiles’ weight on him and fucks up two, three times and erupts into Stiles like a geyser.
Stiles finally lifts his head from Derek’s shoulder, his glasses crooked and lipstick smeared. “Happy birthday, babe.”
Derek laughs. “Thank you. I fucking love you to the Moon and back. Let’s clean up now and go pick up our daughter.”