#sterekfics

The ones out in the city are faint but discernible; somewhere out there, there are other survivors, people that they might be able to band together with. But, more importantly than that, there are heartbeats behind him, on the other side of the loft’s massive window, more than a dozen of them, the pack and their family, safe and secure, sparks of light in the overwhelming gloom.

After a moment, Derek realizes that one of the heartbeats is moving closer. Even before he tunes in to the distinctive gait of the footsteps and the scent that he knows every note of, he knows that it will be Stiles coming out to see him. Stiles rarely sleeps well when Derek isn’t beside him, and he usually ends up wandering outside before Derek’s watch shift is done. Sometimes, he falls asleep out on the balcony, wrapped up in a blanket, nail-studded bat inches away from his fingertips. Sometimes, he stands at Derek’s side, arms crossed on the ledge, and watches the world with him in silence.

Sometimes, like tonight, he shuffles out onto the balcony, yawns expansively and presses the warm line of his body against Derek’s back, drapes over him like a blanket. His bat drops to the ground with a clatter of metal nails against concrete before he winds both arms around Derek’s waist and presses his cheek against Derek’s back, right over his tattoo.

“Any movement out there?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. Derek shakes his head. While there is plenty of movement, it’s all of the reanimated corpse kind. The faint heartbeats that he can hear in the distance, the survivors they’ve yet to make contact with, are steady and slow with sleep.

“Nothing.” He drops his hands and curls his fingers around Stiles’ forearms, where they’re criss-crossed above the waistband of his sweatpants. “You should be sleeping. You’re not supposed to be on watch for another hour.”

“I just love this view so much, I had to come admire it a little early.” It never fails to amaze Derek how Stiles is capable of sounding so painfully sarcastic even when he’s sleep-deprived, and he pinches his arm fondly. Stiles jumps slightly. “I meant it as a compliment!”

“Are you saying I’m the view?”

“Well, I’m certainly not talking about that,” Stiles replies, waving one hand out at the buildings marching away from them before he tucks his arm back around Derek. Derek can’t help but smile at the compliment, even though every smile feels inappropriate, feels like it should be saved for some kind of distant future where they actually manage to take back Beacon Hills.

(Of course, he knows all too well that if he were to reserve his smiles for that future only, it’s all too likely that he’d never smile again.)

He feels less guilty about closing his eyes and letting himself relax back into Stiles’ arms than he does about smiling. There’s nothing out of the ordinary happening in the streets below, no massive herd coming their way, no fires that might threaten the loft. Letting his guard partially down for a few moments isn’t going to do any harm, so he redirects his senses away from the city and towards Stiles. His scent has changed over the last few weeks, gained notes of weariness and fear that never seem to wane, but his base scent, mint and sugar and the barest spark of electricity, is nothing less than comforting. By focusing on the all too familiar, unique rhythm of Stiles’ heartbeat, he can make the rest of the world fall away, at least for a few moments.

What makes him come back to his senses is Stiles swaying on his feet and nearly toppling over. His heartbeat suddenly spikes, as does the sour scent of confusion. Derek flicks his eyes open; before he turns around to face Stiles, he notices that the edge of the horizon has grown a shade lighter, from black to navy blue, a precursor to the sun.

“You need to get more sleep,” Derek says, absently rubbing a thumb along the bags under Stiles’ eyes. “I can take your shift. I’m not tired.”

(It’s not wholly the truth – frankly, Derek doesn’t think he’s ever felt so exhausted, right down to the marrow of his bones – but Stiles doesn’t need to know that.)

“I’m fine,” Stiles answers. The jaw-cracking yawn that immediately follows the words reveals them to be a lie, and Stiles’ cheek flushes hot underneath Derek’s hand. “Okay, fine, I can feel you judging from here. But you’re not taking my shift. Come get me in half an hour.”

“I will,” Derek replies, even though he has absolutely no plans on doing that. Sliding his hand from Stiles’ cheek up into his hair, which is almost on the shaggy side now, he leans in for a kiss. Stiles sighs into it and curls a hand around Derek’s hip, squeezes lightly before he backs away.

“Come get me. I mean it,” he calls back over his shoulder as he picks up his bat and heads back into the loft, pulls the door closed with a soft click. While Derek turns back to the city, he doesn’t pay any attention to it until he can tell that Stiles has climbed back into bed, until his breathing and heart slow back down. Only then does he pull his senses away from the inside of the loft and direct them back to the outside world, towards the corpses shuffling through the streets as far as the eyes can see.

From up here, it almost looks hopeless; it’s impossible to tell that they’ve spent weeks trying to clear the surrounding blocks, take back a tiny square of the city. But while Beacon Hills as a whole may belong to the dead, Derek will be damned if he lets the pack suffer the same fate, if he lets Stiles suffer the same fate.

“We are in a pissy mood today,” Malia says. “It’s a pool party, Lydia. You should be swimming and ogling everyone in their swimsuits.”

“Don’t say ogling again.” Lydia smiles slightly as she turns her head and looks at Malia. “Nice suit.”

“Ogling is a great word.” Malia shrugs. “And you helped me choose the suit, so you’re prejudiced. Or biased.” She yells across the pool. “Stiles! Is it biased or prejudiced?”

“Biased.” Derek looks over at them, giving Lydia a knowing look that reminds her he can hear everything they say. She just smiles serenely because it’s not like she’s forgotten she’s surrounded by nosy werewolves with ridiculously advanced hearing.

“What are we talking about?” Kira swims over and looks up at them. “Who’s biased?”

“Lydia.” Malia bumps Lydia’s arm with her elbow and grins. “Wait. Are you ogling Stiles and Derek? They’re definitely hot.” She raises her voice to catcall, “Looking good, Stiles.”

Lydia watches Stiles blush, splotches of color spreading over his face and chest even as he grins and shakes his ass at them. Scott groans and splashes water from the pool at Stiles and Derek, and Lydia purses her lips as she watches Derek step closer and move himself between the splashing water and Stiles.

“Men are idiots,” she mutters before looking at Malia. “And I’m not enjoying the aesthetically pleasing view those two oblivious idiots make, no matter how attractive.”

“That’s a lot of big words.” Kira pulls herself out of the pool and wrings out her hair before sitting on the ground by Lydia’s feet. “You always start sounding like a thesaurus when you’re plotting. Do you need help? Things have been pretty boring since graduation, so I’m in!”

“Me too.” Malia nods emphatically. “What are we doing?”

“Shh! They can hear you,” Lydia says, focusing her attention back on Stiles and Derek. Scott and Liam are tossing around a ball in the pool now, and Mason is applying sunscreen to Corey’s shoulders, so they’re definitely not going to be paying any attention. She tosses her hair over her shoulder before nodding towards the objects of her attention. “The unresolved sexual tension is suffocating, so I’d like to help it get resolved.”

Kira looks across the pool and grins. “You want to play matchmaker for Stiles and Derek? Seriously?”

“Matchmaker isn’t the right word, Kira.” Lydia looks at the men thoughtfully. “I prefer to think of it as being a supportive friend who wants to see her friends happy.”

“It’s matchmaking. I’ve seen so many movies about it since I became human again,” Malia says, licking dark red Cheetos dust off her fingers. “But Stiles wants to climb my cousin like a tree, so call it whatever you want. I’ll help because they should have lots of sex and be happy.”

“Don’t worry, Lydia. We won’t tell anyone you’re a closet romantic,” Kira teases. “We need a happy ending for them, though, not some miserable ending like some of those movies you watch.”

“We can’t really control whether their ending is happy or not.” Lydia watches Derek duck his head and smile, momentarily taken aback because she’s never seen him smile like that before.

It transforms his face, makes him look younger and carefree. His eyes are crinkled, and she swears there might even be a flash of dimples. Stiles is staring at Derek like he’s never seen anything so beautiful, and she taps her fingers against her leg as she remembers once being the subject of his admiration. Yet he never once looked at her that way because what he felt for her wasn’t love.

Oh.

While she had known there were feelings involved, she’d been so distracted by the sexual chemistry between Stiles and Derek that she’d failed to realize the feelings were already so developed. That changes things because she had been thinking of fabricating situations that forced them into close proximity assuming they’d succumb to the tension with a little outside assistance. Now, she knows it’s a lot more serious than that, and Stiles is her best friend, even if she’d never actually admit it to him because he needs something to aspire to so he doesn’t get careless, so she’s not going to do anything that put his heart at risk.

“Forget the plan,” Lydia decides. “They’re our friends, and we shouldn’t meddle in their love lives. We could make things worse instead of better.”

“That’d be awful.” Kira sighs. “We probably should just stay out of it. Guess we’ll have to find something else to entertain us until college starts.”

“Don’t mention college.” Malia makes a face before standing. “C’mon. Let’s go show Scott and Liam how to play ball.” She squeezes Lydia’s shoulder before cannonballing into the pool, splashing Lydia and Kira.

Lydia ignores it because she’s focused on Derek.  Watching the way he sits close to Stiles and listens intently while staring at his face, she suspects there’re definitely feelings involved. But she doesn’t know him well enough to be confident it’s more than just attraction. He’s only been back a few months, but she knows he’s planning to stay this time, settle down and work. 

He’s spent a lot of time with Stiles since he moved back, but it might just be friendship between them. Fortunately, there’s still two more months before she’ll be moving into her dorm at Stanford, so there’s plenty of time to find out how he feels and to make sure he understands the consequences of breaking her best friend’s heart.

“No,” Stiles says, tightening his grip on the soft material in his hand. Thinking quickly, since he definitely doesn’t want Derek to realize why he likes how it smells, he adds, “It’d be pointless to dirty up another sweater when I just need to wear it home. I’ll even wash this one for you before I give it back.”

“I can do my own laundry, Stiles. I’m not living in an old train car anymore,” he points out, his eyebrows doing their weird communication thing that Stiles still can’t translate even after five years of trying. “I even have my own washer and dryer now.”

“I know! I’m so proud of you for being a real grown boy now.” Stiles watches Derek huff a laugh and totally doesn’t get butterflies in his stomach watching Derek’s lips curve into a small smile. Nope, not at all. Butterflies would be stupid, after all, and he’s really smart. Not smart enough to avoid falling for yet another unattainable gorgeous creature totally out of his league, but, well, nobody’s perfect.

“I’m a man, not a boy,” Derek says, studying him intently for a moment before turning around to head back downstairs. “You can borrow the sweater, but, next time, check the weather forecast. You’ve got finals coming up, so the last thing you need to do is get sick.”

“Definitely all man,” Stiles mutters after Derek’s left the room, inhaling the scent of cologne and Derek that still lingers on the sweater. He might not have super werewolf senses, but he can still smell the unique combination of scents that makes him think of Derek. It’s his own version of Amortentia. Shaking his head, he leaves Derek’s bedroom, sliding the sweater on as he walks downstairs. While he isn’t leaving yet, it’s cool enough in the loft to justify putting it on now. “I already had the lecture about the weather, Derek. That’s the reason you sent me upstairs to grab a sweater, remember? Because I was bitching about how cold it is in here. Anyway, I don’t need it a second time in half an hour.”

“I’ve learned that repetition works best for you. You always ignore things the first time, but you eventually start listening after the fifth time.” Derek is in the kitchen scraping remnants of baked ziti into the trash can. “It’s like teaching a dog, which you should enjoy considering your fondness for dog jokes.”

“Ha-ha. You aren’t funny. Whoever told you that you are was lying.” Stiles shoves the sleeves of the sweater up past his elbows and picks up one of the plates. “Tonight’s recipe is definitely a keeper, by the way. It was delicious.”

“I figured that after you ate two plates full,” Derek says dryly, handing him the second plate. “I put leftovers in a container for you so you can take them home with you.”

“I know what I’ll be having for lunch tomorrow then. Jordan’s going to be so jealous.” Stiles runs water over the plate before putting it into the dishwasher. “You kept enough for you, too, didn’t you?”

“There wasn’t that much left, Stiles.” Derek rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that look. I still have leftover chicken from the other night that’s going to go bad if I don’t eat it soon. You’ve got a long shift tomorrow, so you need a good lunch.”

“You need to stop giving me all the leftovers. That’s not fair at all, especially when it’s your food I’m always taking.” Stiles moves out of the way so Derek can rinse the pans that are dishwasher safe. “Next time, I’m cooking, and you’re taking all the leftovers.”

“Okay.” Derek looks at him. “Just tell me when. You can use my kitchen since your apartment is ridiculously small.”

“It’s what I can afford on a deputy’s salary, so don’t get all judgmental. I know you hate me living in that neighborhood, but it’s not that bad. I’ve faced far worse supernatural shit than anything in my area.” Stiles rubs his face against his shoulder, enjoying the soft sweater material that probably cost more than anything he owns. To be so low maintenance, Derek has some expensive clothes.

“I’m not judgmental. I just don’t like you living there. The thought of you getting hurt worries me.” Derek ducks his head to put the silverware in the bottom of the dishwasher. “You’re pack, so I want you safe.”

“Pack. Right.” Stiles sighs and grabs his bottle of beer before heading into the living room. Every single time he foolishly starts to think maybe Derek actually is interested in him beyond the strong friendship they’ve developed in the two years since Derek came back, he’s quickly reminded that it’s not ever going to happen. He really needs to get over it, push this infatuation aside and focus on finding someone who might actually want him, but he’s too stubborn to let go this fast. He pined for Lydia for years, after all, and his feelings for Derek are a lot deeper and more real than anything he felt for Lydia.

“What’s wrong?” Derek touches his shoulder, forcing him to face him. “You smell sad.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Derek. It’s all good.” Stiles smiles before taking a drink of his beer. It’s local, from up in Oregon, and it’s not bad. Derek likes buying different local stuff for Stiles to try, and this is one of the better kinds. “No sadness here.”

Derek frowns. “You’re lying. I know what I smell, Stiles.” He leans forward and inhales, nostrils flaring as he suddenly takes a step back. He drags his fingers through his hair, looking anywhere but Stiles.

“Guess it’s my turn to ask what’s wrong. Do I stink?” Stiles sniffs but only smells Derek’s sweater and his own cologne. He doesn’t usually wear cologne unless he’s going on a date, but, well, he likes to wear it when he comes to Derek’s place for dinner because he wishes it was a date instead of just their twice weekly friends’ dinner thing they started over a year ago.

“You don’t stink.” Derek glances at him then, lips parted and eyes a little dazed. “You smell like me. My sweater, I mean. I wasn’t expecting it, so it caught me by surprise. Nothing’s wrong with me, either.”

“Me smelling like you makes you all blushy and eye avoidant?” Stiles bites his lip and stares at Derek before he decides that it’s best to let it go. If he pushes, it could just mess up their friendship, which is the thing he’s most scared about losing. That’s why he hasn’t just asked Derek out on a date so he can find out for certain that it’s unrequited. With Scott still away at vet school and not being super close with the younger pack, Derek’s become his best friend. He’s not going to lose that over a bunch of feelings he can’t control. “So, uh, movie or more Criminal Minds?”

“Movie. Something funny maybe?” Derek relaxes, which makes Stiles realize he must have been really tense about the scenting thing. Stiles gives him his best puppy dog eyes until he huffs a laugh. “Or some superhero thing.”

“Great answer. I’m thinking Winter Solider, seeing as how it’s gotten so cold tonight.” Stiles puts the dvd in the machine before going to sit next to Derek on the sofa. It’s a little further away than usual, but he’s not sure if Derek’s feeling completely comfortable or not.

He must be, though, because he makes a sighing noise before tugging Stiles back against him. “Get comfortable. And please refrain from the usual commentary about Steve and Bucky, okay? I’ve got it memorized seeing as you’ve made me watch this a dozen times.”

“But the commentary is the best part. It’s what makes this such an awesome romance instead of just a typical superhero movie. I mean, I could have said Civil War, and then you’d get teary and blame allergies, but, noooo, I’m nice so I choose the not so sad one,” Stiles points out.

“I don’t get teary,” Derek mutters. “If it was a romance, it wouldn’t all be subtext, you know?”

“See, now you’re just trying to provoke me, asshole.” Stiles slaps Derek’s thigh and grins. “The studios are too cowardly or stupid to go there, so it’s up to us fans to see what’s really happening.”

“Provoking you wouldn’t be as much fun if you didn’t get all flushed and passionate when defending your viewpoint.” Derek clears his throat, and Stiles tenses when he feels soft beard brush against his neck. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles whispers, eyes fluttering as Derek presses his lips against the skin beneath his ear. “Derek…what…”

“I like you. A lot.” Derek’s not even whispering, his voice so quiet that Stiles isn’t entirely sure he heard what he thinks he heard. “I think maybe you feel the same way.”

“I do.” Stiles turns towards him, hitting Derek’s face with his chin, which causes Derek to pull his head back. He cringes because, wow, way to be awkward instead of sexy. “Sorry.”

“You do?” Derek doesn’t seem to care that he just got hit in the face. “I’m talking more than just friends, Stiles.”

“Duh?” Stiles smiles wryly. “I’m talking dating and making out when you’re ready because, yeah, thinking about having sex with you has fueled my fantasy life for years, but it’s not just sex. I’m willing to wait as long as it takes because I know you’ve had some issues with people using you for that, and I’m not those people. I want to romance you, like cheesy rom coms with Katherine Heigl and Hot British Guy, because it always seems to be some hot British guy, and I want to sweep you off your feet, Derek.”

“I don’t know who Katherine Heigl is, and I’d take you over any hot British guys, Stiles.” Derek’s ears are red, and he looks a little surprised at what he’s just said. Before Stiles can reply, Derek kisses him. A chaste kiss, just the press of lips together with a gentle pressure, but it still makes Stiles’ toes curl. He’s so far gone on Derek it’s ridiculous. “Dating sounds like a good start. Then we can let the sex stuff happen naturally, alright?”

“Alright. I like that plan.” Stiles kisses Derek before curling up against him and smiling because he can't believe this really happened. He's happier than he thought possible, especially when Derek pulls him closer and totally starts scenting him. “We can figure out our first date after the movie.”