Work Text:
The windshield wipers made an obnoxious screeching noise with every swipe across the glass. The snow flakes that were wiped away got replaced almost immediately. Even with his enhanced werewolf vision, Derek could hardly see the edges of the road through the steadily building snowfall.
He glanced out of his periphery at Stiles sitting stoically in the passenger seat, arms crossed over his middle and glaring out the windshield. He had been uncharacteristically quiet since they left Beacon Hills three hours ago and started their drive north.
“Can you check the weather again?” Derek asked, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
Stiles huffed through his nose. He pulled out his phone, clicking around on it. “Wow, would you look at that? It says it’s still snowing.”
“Obviously,” Derek said, gritting his teeth. “Is it going to stop any time soon?”
“Does it look like it’s going to stop any time soon?” Stiles’ usual sarcastic tone ventured closer to acerbic.
Derek shot a glare at him before fixing his gaze back out the windshield. “I don’t know how much longer we can keep going with the roads like this.” The Camaro wasn’t exactly built for all-terrain travel.
“If we had just taken my Jeep like I suggested instead of your stupid muscle car–”
“Your Jeep is a road hazard. It would have been a miracle if it could’ve made it to Oregon and back even without the snow.”
“Don’t talk shit about my Jeep,” Stiles said fiercely.
Derek furrowed his brow as he glanced over at Stiles. Stiles was staring stonily at the falling snow, his body tense.
“Stiles–” Derek said, but Stiles cut him off before he could continue.
“We should call Scott and tell him we might need to stop somewhere until the storm passes.”
“Fine,” Derek said after a beat. “Do it.”
Scott picked up on the second ring. Derek had no trouble hearing what was said on the other end of the line even when Stiles stubbornly refused to put it on speakerphone.
“Hey, man,” Scott said. “You guys make it to the emissary’s place?”
“Not exactly,” Stiles replied. “We just crossed into Oregon, but there’s some kind of freak snow storm blowing in and they haven’t been able to salt the roads yet. Sports cars, as you might have guessed, aren’t exactly snow friendly.” Derek scowled at the obvious dig. “We might have to find somewhere to wait it out.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Like a motel or something?”
Stiles made a show of looking out the windows. There was nothing for miles ahead or behind them. They had taken a highway rather than the interstate both because it was a more direct route and also because it was less likely to be monitored by police, allowing Derek to break all manner of traffic laws.
“Or something,” Stiles responded dryly. “We’ll figure it out. Is everything still okay with the pombero?”
The pombero, a Paraguayan forest spirit according to Stiles' extensive research, had shown up a few weeks prior, as far as they could tell. It had started off harmless enough, misplacing peoples’ pets and stealing from their gardens. The pack hadn’t really clued into it hiding out in the Preserve until the women started going missing.
Unfortunately, Derek’s favorite method of problem-solving – attacking the thing from all sides until it yielded or died – had not proven fruitful. The creature had been nearly impossible to find, and tricky as hell to corner when they finally did. Stiles had finally dug up a way to hold the thing off from the kidnappings until they could perform a binding ritual to keep it in one place away from civilization.
Because lucky wasn’t something anyone could ever accuse Derek of being, the ritual required some very specific blessed mountain ash. And, of course, Deaton had chosen this week of all of them to be on a trip out of cellphone range. Fortunately, he had left them a contact in case of emergencies to help out with this kind of problem. Unfortunately, the woman lived six hours away in southeastern Oregon.
Thus, this delightful little impromptu road trip.
“As far as we can tell there have been no more disappearances since we left the offering last night," Scott said. "I still can’t believe honey, rum, and cigars was all it took to get the thing to release those women.”
“I don’t trust that it’s going to be appeased for long. Still no word from Deaton?”
“I’ve tried calling him like ten times since yesterday. He must have been serious about being out of cell range for his trip.”
“Just our luck.” Stiles shook his head. “So, I guess we’ll stick with the plan, now with a fun little snow delay. Hopefully we can still be back sometime tonight. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“Sounds good, man. Uh…everything is going okay with you two? You haven’t killed each other yet at least.”
“It’s going fine,” Stiles said tightly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Right,” Scott said slowly. “Well, that’s good. Drive safe. Keep me updated.”
“Will do, Scotty. Do the same.”
Stiles ended the call and silence filled the car again, louder than the phone call was even close to capable of.
The tense quiet burrowed under Derek’s skin, an itching sensation not unlike the need to shift. “So I guess we’re looking for somewhere to stop off,” Derek said when it got to be too much.
“Guess so.”
Derek looked over at Stiles again. His usually expressive face was flat and unreadable. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Like what?”
Derek glowered. “Like you’re pissed at me.”
“I’m not pissed at you.” Derek cocked his head, listening closely. Stiles’ heartbeat remained steady. He was telling the truth.
Frowning, Derek said, “Then why are you being so weird and quiet?”
Stiles shrugged one shoulder. “Thought you would prefer it. You’re always telling me to shut up. Since you’re stuck in the car with me, I figured the least I could do was not annoy the shit out of you more than my mere presence already does.”
Derek’s gut sank. “Stiles, I don’t–” Derek swore, gripping the steering wheel as he felt the Camaro’s tires losing traction on the road. He let off the gas, careful not to overcorrect as he eased the car toward the center line. Luckily there were no other vehicles to be seen in either direction.
When Derek got a handle on the car, he eased his foot back on the gas. The tires skidded as it struggled to pick up speed. With deeply unfortunate timing, the Camaro’s gas light also clicked on with an accompanying ding.
“Fuck,” Derek said. “We have to find somewhere to stop. Now.”
Stiles groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. "Fantastic."
It was a little over a mile later when Stiles said, “Wait, stop. Look.”
He pointed off in the distance. Derek barely risked taking his eyes off the treacherous road for a second. The falling snow had only gotten more dense with each passing minute. “What? I don’t see anything.”
“There’s something there,” Stiles insisted. “Off the road a bit. It looks like a cabin or something.”
Derek slowed the car to a stop, leaning over to peer through the passenger side window. Stiles was right, there was a cabin there. It looked abandoned, or at least empty. “I’m not sure how–”
“Right there,” Stiles pointed to a spot a few feet ahead of them. “The break in the fence. That must be where the driveway is.”
Derek gritted his teeth, hoping like hell there were no errant obstacles buried by the snow that would damage the bottom of his car at best or leave them stranded in the middle of nowhere at worst. He navigated the car slowly through the break in the fence and headed straight to the cabin in what he hoped was the most logical place to put a driveway. The Camaro struggled with maintaining traction on the snow-covered ground but was finally able to roll to a stop a few feet from the cabin.
The word ‘cabin’ to describe the place was generous. It was really more of a wooden shack. The wood on the front porch was aged and rotting away in some places. The windows were fogged over with years of grime, but none of the visible ones appeared to be broken. Snow was piled high on the roof, but there were no obvious sagging spots. With any luck, it would at least protect them from the elements.
Stiles moved to open his door, but Derek put a hand out on his arm. “Wait.” Derek cocked his head and listened closely. “It’s empty.”
“Duh,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. He climbed out of the car and jogged over to the cabin’s front door. He was severely underdressed for the weather in just a hoodie layered over his normal plaid button-up and t-shirt combo. Derek wasn’t sure if his poor wardrobe choice was because Stiles never took his well-being seriously enough or if he had just anticipated most of the trip being spent in the warm car.
Derek killed the engine, following behind Stiles to the front porch.
“Door’s locked,” Stiles said. He stood on his tiptoes, reaching above the door and feeling along the edge of the frame. “Maybe there’s a key…” It was Derek’s turn to roll his eyes as he twisted the doorknob, breaking the locking mechanism and pushing the door open. “Or you could just literally break and enter. That works, too.”
The door closed behind them with a mournful groan. The only light inside the cabin filtered in through the murky windows. It was plenty for Derek to see by with his enhanced werewolf vision, but for Stiles it was another story. He immediately stumbled into an old wooden wardrobe near the front door, catching himself on the edge of it and scarcely avoiding face-planting.
The cabin was a single room except for the bathroom on the far end. Derek flipped the light switch but was unsurprised when nothing happened. There was a small twin bed pushed against one wall, covered by a worn, threadbare quilt. A kitchenette lined the back wall, which was really nothing more than a rusty sink and some bare, open shelving. The final wall held a dilapidated black wood stove and a tiny wooden dining set with two rickety chairs. The entire place had a film of dust suggesting a prolonged vacancy.
“Well, it’s not the Ritz Carlton but, hey, at least there’s a toilet,” Stiles said. “We’ve got to appreciate life’s munificence, haven’t we?” Stiles didn't wait for Derek to respond. He walked over to the small table and plopped down on one of the chairs, pulling out his phone.
Derek’s answering glower at being so blatantly ignored was therefore lost on him. He walked around the cabin, looking for anything useful, though he wasn’t sure what he would even classify as useful at this moment. The air inside the cabin was cold, but not unbearably so. Derek worried they would succumb to boredom long before the temperature got to them.
He pulled out his own phone, frowning at the battery. It had less than twenty percent, and he didn’t know how long they would be there with no ability to charge it. Shoving it back in his pocket, he walked over to the sad little bed and sat down.
It wasn’t comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, but Derek had slept on worse. He peered down at something sticking out from under the bed. He reached down and grabbed it, pulling up a battered old paperback book. The edges of the cover were ripped and torn, and there was a mysterious stain that he hoped was coffee along the bottom corner. The cover art depicted a swaggering cowboy dressed remarkably similar to the one from Toy Story.
Derek thumbed it open, noticing no other discernible signs of ownership. He settled back onto the bed, resting his back against the wall as he opened it up to the first chapter and started to read.
He got surprisingly lost in the story, considering it was a mass market western from the sixties. He was pulled out of it when Stiles’ swearing became louder and more frequent. “What’s wrong?” Derek finally asked after the third time in ninety seconds Stiles had exclaimed in frustration.
“Nothing, just can’t beat this level,” Stiles murmured, his leg bouncing rapidly against the wood floor.
“Maybe you should switch to another game.”
The bright light of his phone shining in his face illuminated Stiles’ answering scowl, but he didn’t say anything else as he continued to play.
Try as he might, Derek struggled to get immersed back in his book. The cold was getting uncomfortable and harder to ignore. Another twenty or so minutes passed, during which Stiles dropped his phone twice. It clattered on the floor, loud in the otherwise quiet space.
“Really, Stiles?” Derek said when it happened a third time.
“Fuck off.” Derek couldn’t tell if the pink on Stiles’ cheeks was embarrassment at his clumsiness or just from the cold. “My battery’s about to die. Can I go charge it in the car?”
“No.”
Stiles squawked indignantly, throwing up his arms. “Derek. C’mon.”
“The gas is running low. We need what we have left to make it to the next gas station, not to charge your phone so you can play more Candy Crush.”
“Fine,” Stiles spit, throwing his phone on the table.
Derek read the same sentence three times. He couldn’t focus as he tracked the frantic energy coming from Stiles. He thought it was excessive fidgeting at first brought on by Stiles’ boredom. It took him a few minutes more for the realization to crash into him like a punch to the gut: Stiles was fucking shivering. So hard his teeth were starting to chatter.
Of course he was shivering. Derek was a fucking werewolf with a higher than average body temperature that was supernaturally good at temperature regulation. If Derek was uncomfortable, Stiles must have found the cold nearly unbearable. He was just this side of underweight on a good day, and with all the stress their lives naturally accumulated, he rarely had good days.
“Are you cold?” Derek demanded.
Stiles’ answering glare was deadly. “How could I possibly be cold? It’s pr-practically Tijuana in here.”
Derek pulled out his phone, doing a quick search on humans and body temperature. A sinking feeling filled Derek’s gut as he read the symptoms of hypothermia. Excessive shivering, clumsiness, confusion. He thought of Stiles failing levels over and over that he usually flew through and dropping his phone repeatedly.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It wasn’t enough for them to be out of the elements. Stiles needed to get warm now. Derek jumped off of the bed. “Jesus Christ, Stiles. Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”
“So you could do wh-what? Magically fix the power and heat the place up? We’re not exactly f-flush with options here.”
“One of the options isn’t to let you die of fucking hypothermia!”
“Don’t be dramatic. I’ll be f-fine.” Stiles laid his head down on the table, apparently done with the conversation.
Derek crossed the cabin, rubbing a hand over Stiles’ face and neck. He always felt slightly cold to Derek, but right now he felt like fucking ice. It probably spoke to how out of it Stiles was that he didn’t even protest Derek’s touch. Derek remembered another hypothermia symptom he had read: drowsiness.
“Come on, let’s get you to the car so you can warm up.”
“Can’t,” Stiles’ murmured. “You were r-right. We need the gas.”
“Fuck the gas! You have to get warm.” Derek pulled on Stiles’ arm to get him to stand.
Stiles lifted his head and glared at Derek, yanking his arm away. “I said no!”
“Stiles–”
“Just le-eave me alone.” Stiles laid his head back on the table.
Derek considered lifting him bodily and forcing him to get in the car, but he worried it would make Stiles feel worse faster if he fought him. Knowing Stiles’ stubborn ass, he would jump out of the car and into the snowstorm just out of spite.
Releasing a heavy sigh, Derek shrugged out of his leather jacket and placed it over Stiles’ shoulders. He needed a Plan B. He would force Stiles into the car if he couldn’t figure something else out, but the snow looked like it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon and the car was almost out of gas, so they needed a longer-term solution, anyway.
Derek went over to the wood stove and pulled on the door. It was rusted shut. He swore, pulling on it harder, trying to apply enough force to get it open but not break it. Finally with another heave, it gave. There were some ashes in the bottom and it looked structurally sound as far as he could tell. He checked the vent and luckily it had more give than the door had. Derek didn’t really know shit about wood burning stoves, but he figured it had to be better than nothing. He looked around hopelessly, as if he might happen upon a neat pile of chopped wood ready to burn.
His eyes landed on the flimsy wooden chair opposite Stiles at the table. Derek picked it up, weighing it in his hands for a second before breaking one of the legs off. It didn’t put up much protest. He broke it in half and threw both pieces in the belly of the stove. Luckily the chair was old and didn’t appear to have any sealant on it. He hoped that meant it would burn easily. All four chair legs filled the stove nicely. Derek walked back over to the bed and dragged the whole thing in front of the stove. He opened the novel he had abandoned on the bed and ripped out the first few pages.
Reaching into his pocket, Derek pulled out the metal lighter he had taken to carrying with him constantly ever since his chances of encountering hunters armed with Wolfsbane had increased tenfold. A flickering flame appeared after the third strike. Derek lit up the book pages, tossing them in the stove on top of the wood.
It took a little coaxing, but finally the chair legs ignited. The calm embers built until a small, steady fire blazed in the stove. The stove door closed with a rusty squeak.
Derek turned to the bed. He lifted the quilt, shaking the dust off the top of it. At least the sheets beneath looked clean enough. Settling the relatively cleaner quilt back on the bed, Derek walked over to Stiles. “Stiles.”
“What?” Stiles grumbled.
“I made a fire. You need to come sit by it and get warm.”
“‘m fine,” Stiles mumbled, his speech slurred.
“Get up now or I’ll carry you.”
Stiles sighed but complied, standing up and shuffling over to the bed. As Stiles stepped into the warm glow of the fire, Derek noted with dismay that his lips had turned an alarming shade of blue.
Stiles started to sit on the bed when Derek said, “Wait. Take your clothes off.”
Stiles’ brow furrowed. “What?”
Derek yanked his own Henley over his head. “You’ll get warm faster if you use our clothes as a blanket.”
“That doesn’t m-make sense–”
“Just do it or I’ll do it for you.” Derek slid his jeans off of his legs, hissing as the cold air hit his bare skin.
When Stiles didn’t move, Derek scowled and took a step toward him. “Jesus, f-fine. Okay.”
Stiles took off Derek’s leather jacket, laying it on the bed. He pulled off his hoodie, and then yelped as he took off his shirts. Derek looked away pointedly, not letting his eyes linger on the lithe, pale skin of Stiles’ abdomen.
“Pants too.”
Stiles’ face flushed a pretty pink as he muttered, “Jeez, Derek. You could at l-least buy me d-dinner first.”
His fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans, and Derek almost reached out to help him when Stiles got them unfastened and taken off.
“There,” Stiles grumbled. “Now I’m n-naked and c-cold. That should be a b-big help.”
“Shut up and get in the bed.”
Stiles hastily slid under the blanket, and laid down facing the wood stove. Derek arranged all of their clothes like patchwork blankets over Stiles, hoping desperately that the added weight would help conserve his body heat. When he was finished, Derek lifted the edge of the blanket and climbed in behind Stiles. He kept an inch or two between them at first, but Stiles’ violent shivering had him closing the space until his front was pressed up against Stiles’ freezing cold back.
“What–” Stiles said, starting when he felt Derek touch him.
“You’ll warm up faster.”
Stiles' lack of response said more about how cold he must have been feeling than any words could. The rigid lines of Stiles’ body softened as he released a sigh, burrowing deeper into Derek’s warmth.
They were touching at every point of contact possible. Stiles’ angular shoulders pressed into Derek’s collarbone. Stiles’ ass firmly cradled by Derek’s groin – something he was definitely not going to think about at all, not when Stiles was fucking hypothermic from Derek’s abject negligence. Stiles' calves were pressed against Derek's shins. Even his socked feet were touching Derek’s ankles. Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles' middle, trying to exude as much warmth as possible. He pressed his face into Stiles’ neck, breathing in and out. Stiles’ scent was so thick there, a concentrated mix of earthy cinnamon and brown sugar and something else that was just distinctly Stiles.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when Stiles’ shivering slowly started to recede. The light filtering in through the grimy cabin windows had faded from midday to early evening. The tiny fire cast the two of them in a warm glow. Stiles’ scent had started to bloom as his body and the cabin warmed up.
“Thank you,” Stiles whispered.
Derek shook his head. “I should have realized sooner that it was too cold in here for you.”
Stiles scoffed. “Do you ever get tired of being a martyr? It’s not your job to look out for everyone all the time.”
“It literally is my job. I’m the Alpha.”
“Not of me.”
Derek huffed angrily. “Right. So you love to remind me.”
“Fuck you,” Stiles said. He tried to put space between them, but Derek held on to him tighter.
“Stop. You’re still not warm enough.”
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“Derek. You don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m not one of your fucking betas. Let me go.”
Derek gritted his teeth and let Stiles go. Stiles climbed out of the bed and started digging through the pile of clothes for his shirt, now warmed by the fire and their combined body heat. Derek stood up, too, crowding in on Stiles’ space as he faced off with him.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. Are you in the pack or aren’t you, Stiles? Because you stay up all fucking night for days on end researching and then throw yourself head first into danger any chance you get all for the pack, but when it comes time to benefit from us and have us look out for you, suddenly you’re not a beta. So which is it?”
Stiles grabbed his hoodie off the pile, pulling it over his head violently. “That is such fucking bullshit.”
“Which part?”
“All of it! You’re the one who doesn’t treat me like–” Stiles cut himself off, looking away from Derek with pursed lips.
“Doesn’t treat you like what?”
“Like you want me around! You avoid me as much as possible unless you hit a dead end researching and you’re forced to ask me for help.” Stiles’ laugh was bitter and humorless. “And only then will you tolerate me at best.”
Derek crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not true.”
“Right.” Stiles shook his head. “You must think I’m a real fucking idiot.”
“I don't think–”
“You think I haven’t noticed that you’ve stopped inviting me to most of the pack meetings? Sure, I’ll get an invite to movie night. But when discussions are being had about whatever new monster of the week is plaguing us, my invite gets lost in the mail. When I do manage to squirrel my way in when shit’s going down, mostly by forcing Scott to tell me what’s going on, you fucking bitch and growl at me to stay out of the way while the pack takes care of it. Admit it, Derek. You think I’m a nuisance and a liability. You’re never going to treat me like one of your wolves.”
Anger filled Derek’s body, energetic and hot. He flung his arms out. “Because you’re not a wolf, Stiles!”
“Exactly! You’re always going to treat me differently because I’m human.”
“It’s not because you’re human.”
“Bullshit!”
“It’s not! It’s because you’re a human who wants to act like he’s a wolf. You’re not. You’re not as strong or as fast as we are.”
“Fuck you,” Stiles said, backing away. “That’s so–”
Derek continued, talking over him. “You can’t heal like we can. Yet you’re always the first one to run headfirst into whatever fight we’re in, like you have something to prove.” Derek jutted his chin up. “You’re right. I have been excluding you. I did it because I can’t trust you.”
Stiles' mouth dropped open as his warm amber eyes blazed with fury. “You can’t trust me? Me? How many times have I saved your ass–”
“I trust you with my life, Stiles. But I don’t trust you with yours.”
Stiles stopped, blinking. His tone was less heated as he said, “I don’t– I’m not an idiot. I look out for myself just fine.”
“Oh, you look out for yourself? Like back in October when you got that concussion while we were dealing with that rusalka even though I told you to stay back and let me handle it? That was you looking out for yourself?”
“She was going to drown Scott! I had to–”
“Or how about two months ago when you got slashed across your ribs by that rogue omega? You were really looking out for yourself when you jumped between Isaac and the crazed werewolf, weren’t you?”
“It was just a few stitches, and Isaac had been hurt way worse–”
“What about two hours ago?” Derek’s voice rose into a true shout. “When you were going fucking hypothermic from the cold and you didn’t even say anything?”
Stiles crossed both his arms across his chest, not meeting Derek’s gaze. “I did ask to go to the car,” he protested weakly.
Derek shook his head, even as shame welled up in his gut. “You may not see yourself as part of the pack, but that doesn’t change how we see you. How I see you. I just want you to be safe, and you make it nearly fucking impossible. You gave me no other choice but to try and exclude you from the more dangerous shit.” Derek shrugged helplessly. “Not that it ever really worked.”
A long beat passed while Stiles’ gaze roved over the bed. He looked up at Derek. “You can’t keep me safe,” he said matter-of-factly.
Derek clenched his jaw. “Like hell–”
“It’s Beacon Hills, Derek. It’s the fucking Hellmouth. The Devil’s Gate. It’s a new hell every week. We’re lucky if we can clear up one supernatural shitstorm before another one blows in. You don’t get to push me out just because it’s dangerous. It’s dangerous for all of us. We buckle down and we take care of shit anyway.”
Derek shook his head. “It’s different with you.”
Stiles threw his hands up in the air. “And we’re back to this. It’s different because I’m human.”
“No, it’s not because you’re human. It’s because you’re you.” Derek felt his palms begin to prickle with sweat despite the bite of cold still in the air. They were getting dangerously close to something Derek couldn’t bear to say it out loud.
“What does that even mean?”
“It means I can’t fucking lose you! Not you.” Derek ran a hand through his hair, willing his voice not to crack. “I don’t think I’ll survive it.”
“Derek.” Stiles’ voice was laced with a humiliating combination of empathy and confusion. “I don’t understand.”
Derek understood why Stiles was confused. He had lost so many people, after all. Death was Derek’s shadow. It was probably unfathomable to Stiles that of all the people Derek had lost, his would be the one that finally broke him. Especially not when they were…well, they weren't anything, really.
“Just– It doesn’t matter.” Derek couldn’t meet Stiles’ too-clever gaze as he said, “I just need you to be safe. Please. That’s all I’m asking.”
“It does matter, Derek. I need to know–” Stiles’ heartbeat was pounding in his chest, a beautiful beating drum that proved Stiles was alive. “Because it sounds like…”
When Derek chanced a glance at him, Stiles’ whiskey brown eyes danced between Derek's. Derek didn’t know what his face was giving away, but he feared it was too much. He felt hollowed out.
Stiles closed the distance between them. He raised a hand like he was going to touch Derek but then stopped with it midair between them. “I need…Tell me what you want.”
You, Derek screamed in his head. I just want you.
He opened his mouth to say the words but they wouldn’t come out. He had never been any good at saying the right thing at the right time. He growled in frustration, reaching out and grabbing Stiles by the back of the neck. He pulled him in, pressing his mouth to Stiles’ in a punishing kiss.
Stiles made a sound of surprise that almost had Derek pulling away until it morphed almost immediately into a moan of pure want. The sound sent an electric current through Derek’s body. He felt himself hardening rapidly, the erection he’d been staving off since they started the torturous cuddling earlier making itself known.
Stiles’ lips were still cold from the air of the cabin, but his tongue was warm when Derek explored it with his own. Derek pushed his hand up the back of Stiles’ shirt, savoring the smooth skin he had been pressed against before.
Stiles pulled back to catch his breath, and Derek wasted no time latching his mouth on the spot on Stiles’ neck he had breathed on earlier. Their combined scent was like a fucking aphrodisiac. It just did something to Derek. Made him feel fucking feral. He sucked on the skin there and Stiles hissed in pleasure, craning his neck to give Derek more space.
Derek backed Stiles up to the bed, crawling over him when he lied down. He rubbed his dick against Stiles’ groin and could feel Stiles’ own hardness.
“Can I touch you?” Derek asked in Stiles' ear.
Stiles nodded fervently. “Yes,” he said breathlessly.
Derek’s hand toyed with the edge of Stiles’ red boxers, slipping his hand past the waistband and gripping his firm length.
Derek leaned back, watching Stiles’ face as he began to stroke him. His brown eyes were mostly black, his pupils blown from pleasure and the low light. His plump lips were parted, spit-slick and swollen from Derek's ministrations. His cheeks and neck were flushed pink with arousal.
“You’re so beautiful,” Derek whispered, capturing Stiles’ mouth in another kiss before he could verbalize the protest Derek could see in his eyes.
Derek felt Stiles’ hands push under the back of his underwear and grab his ass. He pumped his hips, pressing his cock lightly against Stiles’ where his hand was still stroking slowly, methodically.
Stiles bit Derek’s bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Derek pulled back from the kiss, eyebrows raised. “What was that for?”
“For being a tease.”
“Oh yeah?” Derek chuckled. “Should have known you’d be an impatient little shit like this.”
“Can you blame me? You have no idea how long I–” Stiles words cut off with a breathy moan when Derek bit down on the edge of Stiles’ jaw. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to take up his attention.
Derek used the distraction to pull his own briefs down and rub his bare cock against Stiles’.
“Fuck, fuck,” Stiles swore, his own hips moving up in aborted little thrusts. “Derek, please.”
Derek didn’t need to ask what he needed. It was what Derek needed, too. More.
He spit into his hand and grabbed them both, stroking along with the tempo of his thrusts.
Stiles keened, burying his face in Derek’s neck as Derek propelled them both towards the edge. Stiles’ legs came up around Derek’s hips, pulling them closer together and increasing the friction between them.
Stiles voice was wrecked as he begged, “Please, I’m going to–”
Derek stroked them faster. He was close, too.
With a muffled cry into Derek’s shoulder, Stiles was suddenly thrust over the edge. He spilled between them, over both of their stomachs and groins. The smell of Stiles’ come was enough to drag Derek along with him.
A few more slow strokes, and then they were both too sensitive for more. Derek released them, collapsing down onto Stiles but was careful to keep most of his body weight on his elbows so as not to crush him. They were both panting, trying to catch their breath. The golden glow of the fire was like a halo around them, a safe bubble where nothing could hurt them.
Stiles’ fingers moved gently back and forth over Derek’s back. Derek, sleepy and sated, revelled in Stiles’ tender touch. “Well that’s one way to get warm,” Stiles said, voice rough with pleasure.
“Need to get you back under the covers,” Derek murmured, pressing his face into Stiles’ neck.
Stiles hummed. “I have a werewolf blanket right now. It’s keeping me pretty warm.”
There was quiet for a long moment and then Stiles said, “So, just to clarify, you weren’t pushing me out of pack stuff because you hate me.”
“Pretty much the opposite.” Derek agreed, not thinking about what that implied until Stiles' fingers paused in their movements.
Derek held his breath as Stiles took that in. “And this is…a thing?” Stiles asked. “Us?”
Derek sat up so he could see Stiles’ face. “Do you want it to be?”
Stiles snorted. “Pretty much as long as I’ve known you. You were my bisexual awakening, dude.”
“Don’t call me ‘dude,’” Derek said automatically. He considered Stiles’ words. He bit the inside of his cheek, ignoring the hollow feeling in his chest. “And this ‘us’ thing…would it mostly be a sex thing?”
“I mean, I hope there will be more sex involved, because holy shit that was incredible.” Stiles’ face flushed as he looked away. “But I was hoping more for, you know, the whole Derek Hale package. If that was something you were interested in.”
Derek’s answering smile was soft. “Pretty much as long as I’ve known you.”
Stiles’ mouth fell open. “What– you mean, you’ve been wanting–” He spluttered, speechless and Derek laughed. Stiles slapped him on his shoulder. “Why are you just mentioning this now?”
Derek sighed wistfully, but he was too happy to be truly sad for lost time now. “You were too young and I was too fucked in the head. The timing was never right.”
“And now?”
Derek looked deeply into Stiles’ eyes, suddenly serious. “There’s always going to be a part of me that wants to keep you away from all of this. It terrifies me to think of what could happen to you.”
“I get that. I worry about you, too, you know?”
Derek sighed. “Stiles–”
“Don't ‘Stiles’ me. You’re kind of pot-and-kettling me here, dude.”
“Don’t–”
“Call you ‘dude’, I know. You’re just as bad as I am about running headfirst into the shit. And I know you think you’re invincible because you’re the big, bad Alpha, but you’re not. And I can’t lose you, either.”
“It’s not the same,” Derek said. When Stiles made a noise of protest, Derek continued, “And not just because I’m the Alpha. I’m a born werewolf first. I was always going to have this life. But you don’t have to. You could leave and go be a normal person, and be safe. You don’t have to stay on the Hellmouth. And it makes me feel selfish to do anything that would discourage that for even a second.”
Stiles brought a hand up and cupped Derek’s jaw. He leaned into it. “You are very important to me. But you’re not the reason I do this. I would do it with or without you. Because I can’t go back to not knowing these things are out there hurting people. I’m not capable of knowing that and not doing something about it. If I wasn’t in your pack, I would be in someone else’s. This is it for me now, too.”
Derek tried to focus on his point, but he couldn’t help the happiness unfurling inside of him. “In my pack, huh?”
Stiles rolled his eyes playfully. “Obviously. So, let’s make a deal. You keep me in the loop on the supernatural nonsense and I’ll do a better job of taking my safety more seriously. Now that we’re…together?” Stiles raised his eyebrows, eyes wide and vulnerable. Derek nodded, and Stiles smiled. “Together. I don't want to be the reason you get hurt, because you’re worried about something happening to me. We’ll find a balance.”
“Okay.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes. “I’m literally just realizing the only reason you took me along on this trip is to get me away from the pombero. Isn’t that right?”
Derek winced, nodding. “Since I had to go, I wanted to keep an eye on you.”
Stiles groaned. “I thought it was because you needed me to handle the blessed mountain ash!”
“I’m pretty sure it’s just going to come in a container.”
“It’s only kidnapping women!”
“So far.”
“You’re the worst.” Stiles’ smile undercut his words.
“You like it.”
“Just for that, you’re the one who’s putting more chair on the fire.”
“I was going to do it anyway,” Derek said, rolling his eyes.
“Well, chop chop. Get to it. I think I’m feeling a chill come on. I might need more naked cuddling. For survival.”
“You’re an idiot,” Derek said, pressing a quick kiss to Stiles lips before getting up to get more wood for the fire.
“I’m your idiot now, babe.”
…
Derek woke up to the shrill tone of his phone ringing with the last dregs of its feeble battery. He groaned, pulling it out of the pocket of his jacket that was still acting as a makeshift blanket. After glancing at the display, Derek answered the phone. “Scott.”
“Hey, man. You guys do okay in the storm?”
“We found a place to crash.” Stiles rolled over, still mostly asleep as he buried his face in Derek’s chest. Derek winced when Stiles’ cold nose pressed into his pec. “Everything okay there?”
“Everything is great, actually. Deaton finally got cell reception. He told us how to do the blessing ceremony for the mountain ash. Lydia was able to complete it and perform the binding ritual last night. We’re pretty sure it worked because the thing tried to come for us but couldn’t get past the ash barrier.”
“Nobody got hurt?”
“Nothing serious.”
“That’s great. I’m glad it worked out.”
“Yeah. Sucks you guys had to waste the trip, though.”
“It wasn’t a waste,” Derek said, smiling softly and rubbing his free hand over Stiles’ mused hair. “We’ll be home soon.”
Home to pack.
Their pack.
“See you soon,” Scott said. “Drive safe. Stay warm.”
After all, the storm may have passed but they would still need to brave the bitter cold. At least now they had each other to keep their brittle hearts warm.
“We will.”