Naked and still wet from showering, Derek shuffles to his bed to find a stunning work of art: Stiles, his extraordinary, unbearably beautiful Stiles, sound asleep. He’s sprawled out on his stomach with his face buried in Derek’s pillow, wearing nothing but boxers.
Derek is surprised to see him; he hadn’t expected Stiles to return from his conference in Tampa until later tonight. Stiles has been out of town for six days, the longest stretch of time they’ve spent apart since they met and started whatever it is they’ve been doing for the past four months. Derek smiles down at him, his chest blooming with happiness and affection, thrilled that he’s back.
He’s missed him terribly, and he can't wait to welcome him home.
Heart pounding with anticipation and excitement, Derek tosses aside the towel he was using to dry his hair and drops his knees to the bed, running his hands up Stiles’ calves. They’re thin but muscular, pale, dusted with dark hair. Derek knows the exact curve and feel of them quite well by now – after all, he’s drawn Stiles countless times, painted him over and over, snapped hundreds of photographs. Derek has memorized every detail of Stiles’ gorgeous body, but he still can never get enough of exploring him; each touch, each kiss, feels as wondrous and new as it does familiar.
It’s a heady thing, the way Stiles makes him feel, like he’s more awake than he’s ever been but also like he’s caught up in the most wondrous of dreams. It makes sense, Derek supposes, because Stiles is nothing if not a gorgeous study in contradictions and juxtaposition: fierce and biting wit that belies his sensitive heart; nervous energy that he can channel into terrifyingly intense focus; lithe, slender body capable of impressive strength; a sweet, tender smile beneath devious, mischievous eyes.
Stiles begins to stir when Derek drags his hands up to his thighs, dipping under the hem of his boxers and teasing at the tender skin. He’s still on his knees, hovering over him, eyes wandering up his back, hungry for the sight of his milky, mole-dotted skin. “Hey punk,” Stiles mumbles, cracking one eye open.
“You’re back early.”
“Caught an earlier flight,” Stiles explains, too-sweet smile curling at his perfect, pink mouth. “I missed you,” he says, arching his hips up so Derek can slide off his boxers.
“What did you miss,” Derek asks, biting his bottom lip at the sight of Stiles’ ass. He leans to kiss the small beauty mark the swell of his left cheek, brushing his beard over his pale skin.
“That,” Stiles sighs. “I didn’t realize how much I liked being covered in beard burn until I had to go without for so long. I don’t know how I survived.”
Derek snorts a laugh into his lower back and kisses up his spine, making sure to scrape his cheeks roughly. Stiles groans and half rolls to his side, tugging Derek up by the arm and pulling him into an awkwardly-angled kiss. His mouth is soft and warm and Derek groans and deepens the kiss, hungry for him. He reaches up to cup Stiles’ face, running his thumb over the sharp edge of his jaw, and rolls them so he’s on his back and Stiles is on top.
“Missed that too,” Stiles says, breathing hard, when he finally breaks the kiss. “Pretty much all of you,” he adds, leaving a trail of tender bites along Derek’s jaw that make him shiver.
“I missed you, too,” Derek tells him, exhilarated by the confession, small as it may be. It feels like something, maybe everything, to admit just how much he loves having Stiles in his bed, in his life.
Stiles thrusts gently so their rapidly thickening cocks rub together, making them both groan into another languid, sloppy kiss. Without breaking the kiss or the steady, slow rhythm of their rolling hips, Derek reaches over to the nightstand and fumbles with the drawer until his hand finds the lube. Stiles smiles into his beard. “You want me to get myself ready or do you wanna?”
“Well,” Derek starts, biting his lip, his cheeks going hot. “I was, um, actually hoping that maybe we’d try something new tonight.”
Stiles sits up, long legs straddling Derek’s waist, and looks down at him with an utterly adorable smirk and a crooked up eyebrow. “Oh yeah, big guy?” He trails his fingers over Derek’s nipples, tugging gently on the barbells. “What do you have in mind?”
Derek takes a deep, steadying breath. “I want you to fuck me,” he says, heart racing with anticipation, with curiosity for Stiles’ reaction, with the overwhelming swells of affection, and yes, love, he thinks it’s love. Stiles responds by lunging down to kiss him, sloppy and hungry, hands petting his beard. “Is that a yes,” Derek asks with his best Stiles-smirk.
“That’s a hell fucking yes,” Stiles declares, grabbing the lube from Derek’s hand. “You’ve never before, right?”
“I’ve explored on my own,” Derek tells him. “But I’ve never been with anyone who I’ve trusted enough to ask,” he admits quietly, hoping Stiles gets what this means to him, to them.
Stiles’ kiss is gentler this time, but no less passionate. “I’m thinking you might be in love with me,” he whispers, resting his forehead on his, smiling.
“Guilty as charged, officer,” Derek smiles back, arching up for another kiss.
Cock leaking precome on to his stomach, worked to a near-frenzy by Stiles’ abundantly talented tongue on his neck, his chest, his abs, his heavy, aching balls and his throbbing dick. He hasn’t even touched Derek’s ass yet and he’s already trembling and shaking with pleasure.
It’s exhilarating, giving up the control he’s so aggressively clung to all his life, that’s been slowly fading away as he’s fallen head over heels for Stiles. He feels like he’s melting under his touch, as relaxed as he’s ever felt, utterly at Stiles’ mercy and secure in the knowledge that he’s going to be well cared for, safe.
Stiles is on his knees between Derek’s thighs, and he stares up at him, marveling at the awestruck expression on Stiles’ face as he looks down at him, surveying the wreck he’s made of him. “I see why you like this so much,” Stiles says with a smirk, spreading Derek’s legs and pulling him forward so they’re splayed wide and his ass resting on the top of Stiles’ thighs.
“I was gonna say the same thing,” Derek smiles, his skin lighting up even more, his ass twitching in anticipation while Stiles drizzles a small drop of lube between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing them together to warm it the way Derek is always sure to do for him.
He chokes out a sound that’s something like relief, but also surprise, even though he’s expecting the touch. Stiles smiles and continues running his slick thumb over his entrance in slow, teasing circles, his other hand cupped around Derek’s ass, spreading him open. He slips the tip of his thumb into him gently, so tender and slow Derek gasps not from the sensation, which does have him spinning, but from the sweetness, the love, with which Stiles touches him.
His body is pliant and eager, opening for him easily, and Derek bites his lip, breath coming harder, as Stiles pushes his thumb farther into him, the intrusion wildly new, even though Derek’s fingered himself countless times before. It’s something else completely, the feeling of Stiles inside of him, exploring him. It’s a warm, mild stretch when Stiles slips a second finger into him, the sweet burn sparking slow waves of heat that lights him up from the inside out.
Stiles continues to stretch and tease him open with utmost care, hand stroking the inside of Derek’s thighs, his stomach, his eager cock, murmuring appreciation and telling Derek how much he loves him.
“How do you feel,” he asks, when he’s got four fingers in him, his cock hot and leaking against the inside of Derek’s thigh.
“Like it’s time for you to fuck me,” Derek huffs, clenching his ass around Stiles’ hand.
Stiles laughs and slips his fingers free. “Of course you’re a bossy bottom.” He spreads more lube over his cock and lifts Derek’s right leg up to rest on his shoulder, kissing his calf. “This okay?” he asks, voice soft. “I want to see you.”
Derek nods and rolls his hips up, tucks a pillow under his ass. “I want to see you too,” he whispers, heart racing.
The tip of Stiles’ cock is warm and insistent against Derek’s wet, stretched hole, and he eases into him slowly, one hand steadily stroking Derek’s dick, thumb teasing his slit.
He wants to watch Stiles too, wants to see the exact curve if his mouth and the shimmer of his honey gaze but fuck, his eyes flutter shut because he’s falling apart as Stiles pushes into him, ever so smooth, maddeningly slow.
“Look at me,” Stiles orders, and Derek whimpers, his eyes snapping open and locking on his, hands twisting in the sheets. Stiles shoves his hips just a bit harder, and then he’s buried completely inside of him. They both gasp, and Derek focuses on Stiles’ face, how his mouth his hanging open, how he’s looking at him with such open lust and wonder as he begins to slowly, tenderly, slide in and out of him, one hand still working Derek’s cock, the other clutching at his leg, still slung over his broad shoulder. “Not gonna last long,” Stiles pants. “Fuck, Derek, you feel so fucking good.”
Derek can’t reply, can’t do anything but moan and continue to fall apart. He’s overcome with sensation, succumbing completely to the pleasure, the bone-deep satisfaction, of being so full. There’s a quivering, searing heat radiating from deep in his core where Stiles’ cock is steadily dragging against his prostate. His awareness, his entire existence maybe, is consumed by the feeling of Stiles inside of him, spreading him open and filling him up, reaching into him to give Derek his pleasure while taking his own.
Derek’s arms are outstretched across the bed, hands twisting into the sheets, and he rocks his hips up to meet Stiles’ thrusts, clenching tight around him. Stiles groans and falls forward, pushing Derek’s leg aside, landing heavily on his chest, crashing their mouths together in a sweet, sloppy kiss. He loses his rhythm, hips stuttering wildly, and breaks the kiss and raises back up to his elbows, face hovering over his, their eyes locked together.
The change in angle lights Derek anew, and it only takes a few more firm thrusts and he’s coming, his entire body tense with electric pulses of pleasure that turn into undulating waves, searing through him until he’s gone completely lax, hot come splattering his chest and stomach.
“Fuck,” Stiles grunts, hips stuttering again and stilling, cock buried to the root inside of Derek as he comes too, crying out and panting until he finally collapses fully on top of him again, shuddering.
Dazed, delighted, body still throbbing, Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ back, holding him tightly, and hitches his legs up around his waist, carefully cradling his sharp hips against his ass, needing to keep him as close as he can.
Stiles nuzzles into his neck, biting softly and licking, kissing and sucking. “I love you, too, punk.”
two months later
“It’s our six-month anniversary,” Derek tells him casually, trying to hide his excitement, as they sit down on the couch in his loft to eat takeout Thai food Stiles picked up on his way home from work. “If you count from the first day we met.”
Stiles smiles and reaches for Derek’s shirt – the Fuck the Police tee Stiles bought for him last week – and pulls him into a spice-tinged kiss. “You’re such a romantic,” he teases.
“I got you a present,” Derek answers, pecking him on the cheek. He tosses half an eggroll into his mouth and goes to the bedroom to retrieve Stiles’ gift, complete with the bow he made out of the Sunday color comics. He sets it down on the coffee table with a smile, enjoying Stiles’ puzzled expression.
“A sledgehammer,” Stiles asks, brow furrowing adorably. “I may have spoken too soon on the whole romance thing.”
Derek laughs and ruffles his hair, which makes Stiles rolls his eyes and kick him playfully in the shin while he picks up the sledgehammer and walks over to the corner of the living room. Thor is sleeping there on the dog bed he bought for him, curled up next to Lady Sif, the black-and-white kitten Derek adopted last month that the police dog has taken to parenting.
“I’m thinking here,” he says. “If Thor and Sif let me move their bed.”
“Derek, what in the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about tearing up the floor to build a staircase between our apartments to combine them. I’m asking if you want to live with me.”
Stiles’ jaw drops adorably, a piece of chicken falling from his fork to the floor. “Are you serious? You want to live with me?” He stands and walks over to him, smile growing wider with each step.
“Yeah, I do,” Derek admits. “I know we spend most nights together, and honestly sometimes I forget that we don’t live together.” He reaches for Stiles’ hand and intertwines their fingers. “I want to make it official.”
Stiles squeezes his hand and pulls him close. “Yes,” he says enthusiastically. “I love you and I love this idea, so yes, Derek, sledgehammer the fuck outta this floor and let’s make two become one,” he says with a waggle of his eyebrows and a smirk.
“Now who’s the romantic one,” Derek laughs, pulling him into a kiss. “Combining our apartments was Laura’s idea,” he admits. “I told her I wanted to ask you to live together but I wasn’t sure how’d we decide whose place to share. She suggested building a staircase.”
“A fantastic benefit of boning the building owner’s brother.” Stiles slides his hands down Derek’s back and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans and squeezes his ass. “Remind me to thank her again for giving me such a great deal on my rent so I could afford to live here.”
Derek considers telling Stiles the truth about his low rent. How, seven months ago, he caught a glimpse of the utterly gorgeous cop viewing the available apartment below him, and he convinced his sister to offer him an absurdly low price so he would move in (in exchange for setting her up with his best friend Erica).
Instead, Derek kisses him again, smiling, his chest blooming with warmth and affection and love, so much goddamn love for this beautiful, perfect man.
He’ll wait, he decides. He’ll tell him on their one year anniversary, when he proposes.