Twenty minutes, and one quick date with the loofah in the shower later, he heard a rapid series of knocks at the door – it came fast, and furious, almost as if the person was so anxious that they couldn't do anything but knock. "Coming, coming," Stiles said, getting up from the couch and walking over to the door. As soon as he opened the door, Derek's arms were around his waist. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here," Derek said, kissing him and running his thumb over the bandage on Stiles's cheek. "Is it feeling better?"
"Somewhat." Derek's behavior was really taking him aback. Stiles wasn't used to anyone paying this close of attention to what he did and how he felt about what he did - his father was more the pragmatic sort that let him run around without worrying too much about what he did. After all, if he did anything too illegal, his father would find out before too long, and put a stop to it one way or another, and he didn't exactly have a mother to watch over his shoulder anymore. And it wasn't like Scott or Lydia were the protective sorts.
And Derek was?
This was getting stranger and more inexplicable by the second.
Derek nodded, and sat down on the couch, and took Stiles's hand in his and gently guided him down to the couch next to him. "Don't worry about it. I'll help you take care of it. How did your father take it?"
"I told him that my neighbor's dog did it." The thought of Derek making him chicken noodle soup and tucking him into bed and reading him Little Red Riding Hood or some other fairy tale to put him to sleep crossed through his mind, and he had to bite his lip in an attempt to not smile at it. He didn't see it out of the realm of possibility, what with Derek's current attitudes and all, strange as they may be.
"That little thing I saw on the way in? I don't think that dog could hurt a moth, let alone do that to your face," Derek said, attempting to bite back a laugh, and failing, as his words were tinged with the edge of a hearty laugh. "Did he buy it?"
"I don't think so, but he stopped giving me the third degree about it," Stiles said. "So, that was a good thing."
"A very good thing," Derek said, nodding his head in agreement. He slid his palm over Stiles's cheek. "You need your bandage changed. Where's the first aid kit?"
"Uh, in the bathroom?" Did this guy have like a sixth sense or something? Should he be Doctor Hale, emergency room doctor by day, werewolf by night? "You don't have to -"
"I'll be right back." Derek got up from the couch in a hurry, and Stiles patted at his cheek. Yeah, it could probably use a changing, but he was fully resigned to doing it himself. And would insist on doing it himself. Except – Derek came strolling back in the room, first aid kit in tow, and Stiles had to smile. Okay, so maybe it was a little stifling, and a lot strange, about what was going on, but he couldn't resist the fact that Derek was going out of his way to do all this.
As Derek peeled off the used bandage and applied the new one with a finesse that Stiles would not have normally attributed to Derek, his smile grew wider. Every little brush of Derek's fingers over Stiles's cheek was enough to set his heart aflutter. He could get used to the taking care of part of being maimed, if it meant that he had a hunky werewolf helping him to heal.
"There," Derek said proudly, patting Stiles's cheek and kissing the bandage softly. "All done." He rolled up the bandage and threw it over to the trash can on the other side of the room, where it landed with a satisfying clunk. "Feeling any better?"
"You could move your lips a little to the left," Stiles said. "Then I would feel a lot better." If he was given the bait, he was going to rise to it. That was all there was to it.
Derek obliged, kissing Stiles and pressing his tongue against Stiles's lower lip as he grasped the back of his head, grabbing at the tender hairs back there, holding onto him. Stiles let out a low moan as he kissed Derek back. This felt good. This was the best medicine there could be. Their bodies moved closer to each other, Stiles swinging his legs to rest over Derek's.
"Can I ask you a question?" Stiles asked, as they broke their kiss for a brief interlude.
"Sure, I guess," Derek said. "What is it that you want to know?"
"Why have you been acting like the werewolf version of Florence Nightingale? I'm not complaining, but you've been seriously -" Stiles paused for a moment, in order to search for the right word.
Derek dropped his hand from Stiles's head to rest on his shoulder, and backed away from Stiles somewhat. "I – you're right. I've been overprotective."
"Why, though? It's just a scratch. It'll heal, and I'll have a badass scar that will show that no one in this town should mess with me. Which, by the way, would be the first thing in my life to ever indicate that there could be such a thing."
"Because it's not just a scratch to me," Derek said, burying his head in his hands. "I could have lost you, okay? That werewolf wanted you dead, and I could have lost you, and I can't lose you. Everyone I love, I lose, and that can't happen to you. It just can't."
"So what you're saying is that you need me."
"What I'm saying, you dork, is that I love you, and I need you around, and that's not going to happen if rogue Omegas have their beastly little way with your face – and other parts of you – too many times."
"I didn't think this would be how I got you to admit that you love me," Stiles said, and even as he said it, he had to be happy. Sort of. His heart was all fluttery and it felt good to be loved. It felt like his heart had grown a shiny new feathery pair of wings and had taken flight. "I thought it was going to take a candlelight dinner, maybe some strategically-placed spaghetti noodles, maybe a violin quartet playing in the background -"
"You know that's not how I do things," Derek said.
"Would you kill a small animal and drag it to my doorstep like a dog?" Stiles agreed with Derek's sentiment. He'd probably glare daggers through the violin quartet and only eat the meatballs on the spaghetti.
"Not unless you really wanted a bird carcass as the first present I ever gave you," Derek said. "In other words, no. I would have told you just the two of us, maybe – maybe after the first time we had sex, or some other time when it was just the two of us. Now actually wasn't a terrible time, come to think of it. Just unintended."
"I love you too, by the way. It's been nice, if unexpected, for you to do all this for me," Stiles said. "Making sure that I'm okay, watching over me, changing my bandage...all of it. Thank you."
"Only for you," Derek said, closing his lips back over Stiles's. His one hand regained its former position on the back of Stiles's head, and the other found its way to the small of his back, and he held him like he never wanted to let go – like if he was to ever let go, he would lose Stiles forever, and that that was the last thing he ever wanted to see happen. Stiles combed his fingers through Derek's hair, tangling his fingers around tendrils and holding on to him – he wanted to stay close, because maybe if he woke up, he'd find out that this was all a fever dream. Could scratches induce hallucinations?
He slid his free hand down to his thigh and pinched the skin through the fabric of his jeans. Nope. Definitely not dreaming. Derek was definitely kissing him with all the fervor that he could imagine – tongues swiping along the course of each other's mouths, lips meshing against one another, and there were tiny little gasps of breath coming from Derek that he found incredibly hot.
Derek dipped him low against the couch cushion, so that he was suspended just above it. "When's your father getting home?" he asked, hovering above him.
"Uh, sometime tonight? Unless it's paperwork night, and then he'll stay later so that he can finish, but I'm not really interested in the work life of a small town sheriff, so I never ask him about these things?" Stiles said, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, if it's just you and me and this big, empty house of yours for hours..."
"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting? I thought you'd want to wait," Stiles said. "I mean, I'm not saying no, because I want to, with you, but I thought you'd -"
Derek interrupted Stiles's train of speech. "I almost lost you, okay? I'm so glad that I still have you, but I don't – I'm not so good at expressing my emotions with words. I'd rather show them to you with actions."
"Is this your way of sweeping me off my feet? Werewolf romance is so strange to me," Stiles said, his eyes twinkling with a laugh.
"Yes," Derek said, swinging his arms and taking Stiles up in them: one arm was tucked under his knees, and the other rested in the middle of his back, and Stiles folded his legs over Derek's arm and grinned up at him. "I guess you could say it is."
And he hadn't expected Derek to take him literally on the whole sweeping him off his feet thing, he really hadn't – but as Derek carried him toward his bedroom, he couldn't help but admit that it was kind of nice. More than kind of, really. He ran the palm of his hand up and down Derek's spine and held on, but he knew that Derek would never drop him. If someone else hurting him was cause for this much alarm, then he could only imagine what would happen if Derek was the one to hurt him. He'd probably never actually manage to forgive himself.
"Left or right?" Derek asked, interrupting him from his Derek-focused train of thought. Funny how that worked: distracted from his distracting thoughts by the subject of his distraction.
"Uh, left. It's the door that's open."
Derek strode through his doorway and laid him down on his bed, and then laid on top of him. They continued to kiss, and Derek's hand dropped to caress a patch of skin by Stiles's hip, while the other brushed over the bandage on his cheek and traced the contours of his jaw. Stiles threw his head back on his pillow and ran his hands down Derek's back, landing at the curve of his ass. He felt Derek thrusting his hips upward, and he wrapped his leg around Derek's and pulled him in closer. His fingers darted under the waistband of Derek's pants and skirted around the skin that was exposed to his questing touch.
Derek broke the kiss and tugged his shirt off over his head, and motioned for Stiles to do the same. As he did so, Stiles planted his hands on Derek's abs and felt them course under his touch. It felt so good to be this close to Derek, especially now that their shirts were somewhere on the floor and not separating them.
There was still the matter of pants, of course, but those could be easily taken care of as well, and with a little shuffling of their legs and some strategic button snapping, their pants were strewn at the foot of Stiles's bed, and Derek's lips were back on Stiles in a flash.
Stiles looked up at Derek and let out a tiny gasp as he felt Derek's lips move against the pulse point of his neck. He felt like his eyes could roll back in his head at any point now, and he would be totally fine with that. Totally, completely, fine with that. He rubbed up against Derek and tried to pull him in closer; they only had the thinnest of fabric boundaries separating them now, but Derek didn't seem keen to fix this disparity like he had the rest. Instead, he rubbed against Stiles in return, in slow, languid strokes. Almost as if every stroke was Derek telling him in actions how much he meant to him. How much all this meant to him, all in the words that he could never hope to find.
Stiles felt the head of his cock slip out from his briefs, probably from the friction of the rubbing. It slipped above the waistband, and Derek must have sensed it too – either seen it or felt it, because he turned his attention to this newest development, sliding the pad of his thumb over the swollen head, feeling the first droplets of pre-cum condensing on his finger. "Derek," was all Stiles could say, on a gasp of stolen breath, before Derek closed his lips around Stiles's once again, not letting go of his cock all the while. He dragged his nail along the edge of Stiles's cock, and Stiles felt a deliciously cold shiver run through his body. This was excruciating, but if this was how he went, then he could go with no regrets.
Okay, maybe one regret, but it wouldn't be one much longer, if he – or Derek – had much to say about it.
"Do you want me?" Derek asked, letting go of Stiles and moving both of his hands to cup at Stiles's face. "Do you want me the way I want you?"
"Yes." It was the simplest declaration he could make, and the one he knew in his heart to be the most true of all the declarations he could make. He wanted Derek. He wanted to feel Derek over him, feel connected to Derek in every sense of the word, feel Derek inside him – all of it. He wanted it. More than anything, and more than he could find the words to express. He kind of felt like that might be a bit of a recurring theme with the two of them, using this dance between them as a way of expressing emotions that would be otherwise repressed for lack of words in the English language.
Derek nodded, and with that, he looked to Stiles. "Can I?"
"Stop with twenty questions. Yes. Yes. Yes. Please. Yes." Stiles was practically begging, but he wanted to get the point across to Derek – he wanted this just as much as he did, so this didn't have to be ring around the fucking rosie, he just wanted the teasing to stop and the action to begin.
Which was a point Derek obliged him on quite well, he noticed, as Derek took his briefs and pushed them down his legs. He kicked them off, and he figured that they would land where they would – he wasn't about to look, not when he could be looking at his sexy boyfriend instead. And Derek's followed in short suit, and he had to bite back a huge grin when he saw his boyfriend naked for the first time. God, he must be the luckiest guy in all of Beacon Hills. Make that California. Make that the country, or the world, because somehow, he had managed to hit the lottery jackpot with this one. Protective and sexy, what a great combination.
He slid his hand over Derek's buttock and felt it in his hand, while Derek parted Stiles's thighs with his hands and slid his hand in between them, to touch the delicately soft skin between his cock and his hole. "You want -"
"Yes. I already told you." Stiles was growing increasingly impatient, and was about to take matters into his own hands.
And then, Derek dipped his head to brush against Stiles down there, and he tentatively reached out his tongue to flick inside Stiles. He wouldn't have to take matters into his own hands, then, which was good, because he wasn't sure what to do about it. Stiles about hit the ceiling with the sensation that he caused him to feel. It was like – he had never felt anything like it before, his boyfriend's tongue pressed inside him, moving around and making him feel like he was something worthy of being worshiped.
He could get used to this feeling, he felt. And he felt the flicker of Derek'stongue, and knew that he could get used to it. And it was nice, he thought, that Derek wouldn't be accidentally scratching his insides with a sharp nail, or something. That would be even harder to explain away than the wound on his face.
He writhed under Derek's touch and brushed his hand against Derek's skin, whimpering slightly at the sheer sensory overload that he was feeling. God, this felt so good.
Derek slid his tongue out and rested on his knees, hovering over Stiles. "You're ready," he said, and Stiles nodded, bobbing his head up and down. Because he had always been ready for this, and there was nothing he wanted to have more than this moment right then. Derek linked his left hand with Stiles's, locking their fingers together as he slid his cock inside Stiles, and he sealed the connection with a strong, sturdy kiss that held the hint of so much left unspoken: you're here with me, we're together, and nothing and nobody can change that.
Stiles stared at Derek, stared into his eyes, soaked in every bit of him that he could feel, and he thrust his hips upward, trying to change the trajectory of the thrusts as Derek bucked in and out of him. It started slow and languid, but the longer they stayed together, the faster Derek went, and Stiles timed his thrusts to match the new and increased speeds.
It could have been two minutes, or five, or ten – Stiles had a hard time telling time even when he wasn't currently being fucked into his mattress, and his skills were even worse now that he was. Not that he was complaining, not for anything. But he felt as though there was a white-hot fire burning inside his belly that ached to explode into a shower of sparks, and Derek had moved his free hand to cup Stiles's cock, and he felt the sensation of being jacked off as the fire grew in intensity.
It was over before he knew it, Derek coming inside him, his scream being swallowed up by Stiles's lips, and the feeling was enough to bring Stiles over the edge as well, coming into Derek's hand with a white, sticky shower.
"Wow," Stiles said, looking up at Derek with the broadest grin on his face. "That was -"
Derek nodded, as he slid out of Stiles and moved to lay down next to him on the bed, still embracing him as he did so. "Yeah. Wow is about right."
"Do you have any big plans for the rest of today?" Stiles asked. "I mean, I doubt that your plans involved sexing up your boyfriend."
"What do you mean? Even if I had some, I don't want to leave, especially now, unless you're going to have me leave."
"Never," Stiles said, kissing him again. "You're never leaving. I don't care what my father says."
"I like the sound of that."
Stiles let out an exaggerated yawn, snuggling in deeper. "So do I."