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Not Exactly Wedding Tradition

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Stiles woke up with a dry throat, a boiling temperature and the urgent need to pee. He sat up slowly, flexing his neck this way and that to work out the kink that had materialised over night and realised several things. A) his mouth tasted like a septic tank after curry night; B) the room he was in was definitely not his own; and C) the reason he was burning up was because of the huge hunk of werewolf in the bed next to him.

Holy fuck. Derek Hale. He was in bed with Derek Hale. And Derek Hale was extremely fucking naked, the smooth skin all the way down to his ass on show above the silk sheet, the dimples of his back made even more prominent in his current position. He looked a little awkward, to be honest, all twisted around at the wrong end of the bed with his arm hanging off the edge.

And that’s when Stiles’ bladder problem really got out of hand. That saying about sleeping dogs suddenly seemed all the more relevant and Stiles giggled as he wriggled out of bed, taking the sheets with him because hot damn Derek didn’t need any more heat.

He shuffled over to the bathroom, trying not to trip over the mess of clothes on the floor, and went through his usual morning routine, showering using one of the little bars of soap and brushing his teeth with the toothbrush by the sink, hoping to god it wasn’t Derek’s but... To be fair, judging by the stickiness between his legs, spit exchange was the least of their worries.

As he was hanging his monogrammed towel back on the rail by the shower, the bathroom door opened and 200 pounds of sleep-ruffled, bleary-eyes werewolf walked in, moving straight over and wrapping his arms around Stiles’ torso like a needy squid.

Stiles froze. What the actual fuck.

“Morning,” Derek murmured, kissing the nape of his neck then rubbing his stubble on the same spot. “Sleep well?”

“Uhm...” Stiles said, staring at Derek pressed to his back in the mirror with a dumb expression. Mother of god, Derek was still naked. “Yes?”

“Is everything okay?” Derek said softly, lifting his head with an open expression that make Stiles’ stomach churn. He had literally no idea what happened but he would play along to the end of the Earth to see that look for a little while longer. But that wasn’t fair to either of them.

“I... I can’t remember,” is all he got out before Derek’s face closed off and the man stepped away from him, turning his head away. “No, wait. I...”

“I get it,” Derek muttered, “I was a drunk hook up, right? Wedding tradition I suppose.”

“No,” Stiles said firmly, grabbing Derek’s wrist to prevent him from moving further away. “Just because I don’t remember it doesn’t mean I didn’t mean it.”

“That makes no sense, Stiles-”

“Derek just listen to me, please.” To Stiles’ surprise, Derek actually stopped pulling away from the grip on his arm. He wasn’t delusional. He knew that if Derek really didn’t want to be convinced of Stiles’ intentions, there was no way he’d still be there. He’d be out the hotel quicker than light travels. “I don’t remember, but... I wanted this, okay? I was just too much of a stubborn ass to ask for it. I want to wake up next to you, even feeling kind of gross and sticky like I did earlier. I want you to hold me how you just did because God that was nice. I want to remember what happened last night, but failing that... We could... Crap... Wedding tradition.” He dove back into the main room, checking every item of clothing on the floor for his phone.

His whole suit was there in a tangle of material, complete with braces and bow tie. At least he hadn’t lost anything; he’d still get his deposit back, even if the suit was crinkled beyond belief. Eventually he found his phone in the inside pocket of his jacket by the French windows on the right hand side of the room. Derek was leaning against the doorjamb in stony silence, watching as Stiles looked through each of his dozen or so texts from Scott, each getting more and more panicked.

where r u?

r u in ur room?

u were pretty drunk man

shud i be worried?

k im srsly worried rn

i swear ill get them to break into ur room

im on my way to reception rn

dereks gone too

was thr an emrgncy?

shit u arnt in ur room were r u dude

im checking derek’s room now, i rlly hope ur ok dude


me n allison leave at 9 tmrw btw, guess I wont see u before then ly man see u in 2 wks!

Stiles glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room which, based on Scott’s texts, must be Derek’s hotel room. It was well past noon.

“Scott and Allison have already left. They’ll be half way to Brazil by now,” Stiles said, pushing his phone back into his pocket and looking up at Derek sheepishly. “I don’t think it’s wedding tradition for the best man to hook up with the groom’s head beta.” Derek’s face remained flat and unamused. “Okay listen, man, I’m gonna level with you. I’ve been in love with you for like six years. I love how you smile at the pack when you think no one’s looking, as if you can’t believe we’re real. I love how you worry about us. I love how you care about every single one of us, even if you pretend not to. I know it’s crazy and I never really thought I’d get you like this, so if you want to pretend this never happened and go about our lives, maybe scrub ourselves with bleach before we see our other wolfy friends-”

Derek kissed him. As in, Derek kissed kissed him, the kind of kiss that is really a prelude to something entirely more filthy. Their tongues brushed and their hands roamed all over each other, reminding them just how naked they still were. A warm hand cradled the back of Stiles’ head and held him close as he was ravished by the wolf.

“I love you,” Derek whispered between kisses, “I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too. So much.” The air pushed out of his lungs as Derek threw him down onto the silky sheets of the bed. “I promise I’ll remember this time,” he said carefully, widening his legs minutely in invitation.

An invitation that Derek accepted almost immediately.

It wasn’t perfect, not by any stretch; the silk sheets gave Stiles no leverage whatsoever, his head still kind of hurt from the alcohol, and the grandfather clock chimed halfway through and scared him half to death but it was near enough to be called exquisite.

And boy did Stiles remember it the next day.