#sterekweeklyflurry

Fucking ogres.

Stiles grumbled under his breath as he and Derek trudged through the snow, heading back to…well, he hoped they were heading back to town, but it was dark and, at the moment, he was wholly relying on Derek's sense of direction since they were deep in the woods.

Why couldn't the evil supernatural creatures ever live somewhere conveniently located? Like a lovely suburban cul-de-sac? But no, they always had to choose the creepiest, most inaccessible places.

The snow was getting heavier by the minute, and Stiles could barely feel his toes. Seriously, it felt like they'd been walking for-fucking-ever. They had to be lost.

"We're not lost," Derek growled as if he could read Stiles's thoughts—which, who knew, with all the weird werewolf mojo, maybe he could. Plus, Derek was all evolved now or whatever. "We've only been walking for ten minutes…"

Stiles's teeth chattered and he pulled his flannel tighter around him. Christ, he’d kill for one of Isaac’s scarves right now. It was far from enough in the biting cold.

"Well, it feels like forever," Stiles retorted, his breath misting in the air. He stumbled over a hidden root, and Derek's hand shot out to steady him. A surprising warmth lingered even after he let go, and Stiles couldn't help but wish for a bit more of that werewolf heat.

His wish was granted when Derek shrugged out of his leather jacket, offering it to Stiles with a gruff, "Take it."

"But what about you?" Stiles asked, even as he grabbed the jacket and quickly slipped it on. Derek's scent was strong on the leather and embarrassingly comforting—embarrassing because Stiles thought he was doing exceptionally well hiding his crush on Derek from people who could sniff out emotions. Sometimes, he thought maybe Derek might like him too, but if he did, he was even better at hiding it than Stiles.

"I'm fine," Derek replied, his voice betraying none of the chill Stiles knew he must feel. Werewolves might run hot, but it was fucking snowing. "You need it more and besides, we're almost there."

Stiles stopped, tilting his head in confusion. It had taken at least an hour to find where the ogre had holed up—a run-down cabin camouflaged by the dense forest—and then he ran, fleeing even further into the woods. And that was before all the snow. "We're almost where?"

"To the ogre's cabin."

Was that supposed to be helpful in some way? Because Stiles didn't find it helpful in the least.

"Why are we going back to the cabin?" Nonono. Stiles wanted to go home. He wanted to crawl into bed and pass out under a mound of warm blankets.

Derek's pace didn't falter. "Because it's close. We're never going to make it back to town in this storm, so it's the safest place right now."

Reluctantly, Stiles had to agree. If they kept going in this blizzard, they'd probably turn into human popsicles. Well, he would. Derek would probably be okay.

"Fine," he huffed, quickening his pace to keep up with Derek's long strides. "But I just want it known that I'm protesting this whole plan internally."

Derek merely grunted in response, and they continued in silence for a while. The only sound was the crunch of their boots in the fresh snow and the howling wind.

As they continued on, the cabin finally came into view. Despite the circumstances, Stiles couldn't quite suppress the relief flooding through him. They made it. The warmth from Derek's jacket seeped deeper into his bones, and for a moment, he allowed himself to lean into the comfort it provided.

The door was ajar, swinging slightly in the wind, its hinges creaking with neglect.

Stiles held the jacket closer to him, pushing through the increasing snowfall. "Hopefully there's firewood."

Derek nodded, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a predatory alertness. "Stay close. We don't know if he set up defenses before fleeing."

They approached the cabin cautiously, the eerie creaks and groans of the wooden building making Stiles's hair stand on end, but the prospect of shelter compelled him forward. As they stepped inside, Derek immediately went to work, checking the corners of the single-room cabin for any traps the ogre might have left behind.

The place was a mess, with overturned furniture and scattered belongings—an obvious sign of a hasty departure. Stiles, however, made a beeline for the stone fireplace dominating one wall. He crouched, hands shaking from cold and adrenaline, and scraped together the charred logs and kindling remnants.

"Here," Derek said, offering a lighter he'd found on a shelf.

Stiles flicked it on and a small flame danced to life. He carefully coaxed the fire, feeding it until it crackled and roared, the warmth slowly pushing back the cold. With a sigh, he huddled closer to the hearth, moaning as he spread his fingers to soak in the heat. "Thank fuck. That feels good."

Derek watched him for a moment, something unreadable in his gaze, before turning his attention back to the room. Stiles, meanwhile, let his eyes drift closed, the heat lulling him into a sense of security.

The storm raged on outside, but it was surprisingly peaceful inside the cabin. The only sounds now were the fire's comforting pops and hisses, and the tromp of Derek's boots as he walked around the room.

When Stiles felt warm enough, he opened his eyes and found Derek stationed by the window, peering out into the snow-laden darkness.

"You should sleep," Derek said without turning, his voice carrying a commanding edge that allowed no room for argument. "I'll keep watch in case there are other threats."

"Do you think there might be?" Stiles asked, walking into the small kitchen. He was kind of hungry but doubted he should eat anything here.

"I don't know." Derek caught his gaze. "Probably not, but there's only one bed so it doesn't matter. Take it and sleep."

Well, that didn't seem fair. Especially when Derek had done most—read: all—the work fighting the ogre. Stiles could be useful, but he was only human. It was Derek's strength and werewolf senses that had really saved their hides. Plus, Stiles knew how draining it was to be constantly on high alert, which Derek had been since discovering an ogre roaming the forests surrounding the town.

"We can share," Stiles suggested; the words were out before he could consider how they sounded. "You need rest, too."

Derek's eyes narrowed, but Stiles could tell he was considering the proposal, weighing the options. After a moment, he nodded. "Fine."

Stiles knew that was as much of an agreement as he would get from Derek. Sharing a bed with Derek Hale wasn't something he'd expected to happen ever, let alone tonight, but given the circumstances, it seemed like the right thing to do. Besides, his inner voice had no qualms about the arrangement, reminding him there were worse things than being close to the person he harbored a secret crush on.

He moved toward the bed, trying his best not to seem too eager or awkward about it. Derek followed after a last check of the perimeter, his movements precise and efficient.

"Alright. How should we do this?" Stiles asked, taking off Derek's jacket, followed by his flannel. His pant legs were still pretty soaked, so he should probably take them off, but it would be weird, right?

"Pretty sure you get in the bed and sleep," Derek replied dryly, though his lips twitched as if he were fighting a smile.

Stiles stuck his tongue out like a petulant child. "I meant like with our clothes, jackass."

He gestured to his pants and then to Derek's, which were also wet from the snow. Damp clothes would make the cold seep back in, no matter how warm the fire was.

Derek rolled his eyes as if he couldn't believe they were having this conversation. "Take off whatever's wet to dry by the fire."

Stiles nodded, though his cheeks warmed with a blush that Derek, thankfully, couldn't see in the dimly lit room. He hoped. Instead of focusing on that, he stripped off his pants and hung them close to the fireplace as Derek did the same.

Without another word, they crawled into bed. It was awkward, to say the least, because the bed was small and cramped, definitely not made for two grown men. Stiles laid on his side, facing away from Derek and keeping a respectable distance while trying to share the small blanket.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Derek muttered before the bed jostled as he shifted, and the next thing Stiles knew, he was pulled back against Derek's chest.

Stiles went rigid in his arms, his heart thumping erratically against his chest. He hadn't expected the physical contact, the solid warmth of Derek's body pressing against his back, but he tried to relax. It was a practical arrangement, after all—body heat was a good thing in this cold.

"You okay?" Derek's voice was softer now, right by Stiles's ear, making him shiver. But if anyone asked, Stiles would blame it on the warmth Derek exuded instead.

"Yeah, just...wasn't expecting that," Stiles admitted, hoping his voice didn't betray the nervous excitement fluttering in his stomach. Derek's breath was steady against his neck, a grounding presence that somehow made the cabin feel smaller, more intimate.

"Your heart's beating fast," Derek said without a hint of his usual gruffness. His arm stayed in place, firm and protective, and Stiles couldn't deny the comfort that came with it.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" he asked, trying not to focus on how good it felt to be held like that.

"Yes. Yeah, this is okay." Derek paused, and for a moment, Stiles could almost believe he heard hesitation in his voice.

"Just, you know, warn me before you go all werewolf-cuddle mode on me in the future."

Despite the gravity of their situation, Derek let out a short, unexpected chuckle—a sound Stiles filed away in his mental archive of 'rare Derek moments'.

"Will do," Derek promised, the warmth in his tone wrapping around Stiles just as securely as his arm.

Stiles wasn't sure what prompted him to say it, but the words slipped out regardless. "Does that mean this is something that could happen again?"

His heart beat rabbit-fast, waiting for Derek's answer. There was silence for a moment, long enough that Stiles thought he might not get a response. But then Derek shifted, his hold tightening just a fraction.

"Is that something you'd want?" Derek finally asked, and Stiles could hear the uncertainty mingled with something else, something that sounded suspiciously like hope.

Stiles flipped over, needing to see Derek's face. To make sure he wasn't reading into it. But Derek was looking at him with an intensity that made Stiles's breath catch in his throat.

"Yeah," Stiles breathed out, the honesty of the moment stripping away any pretense. "Yes, it's definitely something I'd want."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Derek seemed to search his face, as if he were looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But there was none to find. Stiles's gaze was earnest and unwavering, though he definitely had questions. Like how long had Derek had feelings for him? And why didn't he ever say anything?

Finally, Derek's expression softened, a rare vulnerability showing through his usual stoicism. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—a genuine smile that lit up his features in a way that made Stiles's heart skip a beat.

"Good," Derek said simply before closing the distance between them with a slight shift, their faces just inches apart now—their noses almost brushing. It was intimate and terrifying and perfect all at once.

Stiles wondered if his feelings were written as clearly on his face as Derek's were now.

"Stiles," Derek whispered, something vulnerable in his voice that Stiles had never heard before. It made him want to close the gap, to press his lips against Derek's, and end the torture of this proximity. But he didn't want to assume. Didn't want to push Derek away with his own desperation.

"Yeah?" Stiles managed to reply, his voice barely above a breath.

"Kiss me."

So Stiles did. He closed the distance between them, fingers gingerly cupping Derek's jaw as their lips met. It was a soft, hesitant kiss at first, as if they were both still questioning the reality of the moment. But then Derek's hand slid into Stiles's hair, anchoring him, deepening the kiss with a quiet intensity that sent a surge of heat through Stiles's veins.

Stiles pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against Derek's.

"This is really happening, isn't it?" he asked, his voice laced with wonder and a hint of amazement.

Derek's response was a gentle nudge of his nose against Stiles's, a silent affirmation that yes, this was real, this was them—together in a way they hadn't been before.

And then Derek kissed him again, this time with a confidence that spread warmth through Stiles's entire body. Each move felt like staking a claim, each touch a promise of more to come. The kiss grew deeper—hungrier—as if they had all the time in the world and yet couldn't get close enough.

Stiles traced the lines of Derek's back, feeling his muscles tense and relax under his touch.

Derek growled against his mouth, rolling them over and pressing Stiles into the mattress. God, Derek felt so good above him—their bodies aligning perfectly.

"Stiles," Derek broke the kiss, his voice a gruff murmur as he looked down at him. "Are you sure? Because once we start this—"

"I've never been more sure about anything," Stiles interrupted, his words a fervent whisper. Derek's eyes held his for a moment before they softened, the last trace of hesitance melting away.

Their lips met again, the kiss now laced with the certainty of shared intent, the previous tentativeness replaced by a fervid, mutual desire. Their minimal clothing was too much, too constricting, and it was a flurry of limbs as they worked together to remove the final barriers between them.

Derek's hands roamed over Stiles's body, every touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Stiles arched into his touch, driven by instinct and the magnetic pull of Derek's presence.

"Tell me what you want," Derek whispered, his lips tracing the shell of Stiles's ear, sending shivers down his spine.

Everything, he wanted to say. But Stiles knew that couldn't happen. They didn't have lube or condoms, and he was too impatient—too desperate—to stop and search for something that could possibly work as an alternative. Instead, he locked his legs around Derek's waist and rolled his hips, showing Derek what he needed without words.

Derek seemed to understand and responded in kind, thrusting against Stiles—a low growl vibrating from deep within his chest as their cocks rubbed together, sending a wave of pleasure through Stiles's body. Their movements became a language of their own, communicating hunger, need, and an aching sort of tenderness. The friction was both maddening and exquisite, a perfect storm of sensations that left them both gasping for air.

Stiles reached up, tangling his fingers in Derek's hair and pulling him down for another searing kiss. He lost himself to the moment. To Derek and the heat and urgency between them. Their rhythm grew more desperate, each thrust a plea for release.

Groans and bitten-off moans filled the air, along with the sound of their breaths intermingling as Stiles chased a release that was buildingbuildingbuilding. Derek's hand found Stiles's, interlacing their fingers as if to ground himself—to remind him that this was real.

As the edge approached, that sweet precipice that promised oblivion and ecstasy intertwined, Stiles panted, his voice ragged with need. "Derek."

He pressed the heels of his feet into Derek's lower back, encouraging him. Urging him on. Derek was close, he could tell. It was like an electric charge crackling in the air around them. Derek's pace quickened, his movements now driven by a primal urgency that matched Stiles's own. They were deliberate. More focused as he drove them both toward that edge.

With a few more purposeful thrusts, Stiles came, moaning Derek's name like a mantra. Derek followed soon after, giving a hoarse shout, and Stiles felt the warmth of his release spill between them.

As they collapsed together, limbs entwined, chests heaving, it was as if they were suspended in time, the only two people in existence, their connection transcendent and absolute. Or, at least, that was how Stiles felt as he melted into the mattress with Derek's face buried in the crook of his neck, nipping and sucking. Marking him. He could feel the dampness of sweat where their skin met. It was a vulnerability, a trust that Stiles had never expected to share with anyone, let alone Derek Hale.

As their breathing slowed, the silence wasn't awkward but rather full of the unsaid, the tentative beginnings of something new and infinitely precious.

Derek's voice was soft when he finally spoke. "Stiles, that was…"

"Yeah," Stiles agreed—because words were inadequate to capture the enormity of what had just happened. In the stillness, Stiles could feel Derek's heartbeat, a steady rhythm that seemed to sync with his own. He smiled to himself, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a way that felt like pure, unadulterated happiness.

He ran his fingers down Derek's back, slowly and gently, and asked his unvoiced question from earlier. "So how come you never said anything?"

Derek propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Stiles with an expression that was equal parts exasperated and fond, as if he knew the question was coming.

"Do you really have to ask? I'm not exactly great with words," he said simply, brushing a stray lock of hair from Stiles's forehead. "And maybe I wasn't ready to say it."

"But now?" Stiles prodded, his gaze locking with Derek's, searching for the answer in his eyes.

"Now, I don't want to hide that from you, or from myself. Not anymore," Derek confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want this—us."

He pressed a gentle kiss to Stiles's brow, a silent pledge. Stiles's heart swelled at the confession, knowing his own feelings mirrored Derek's in a perfect reflection.

"Good," Stiles breathed out, his fingers tracing patterns on Derek's skin, memorizing the feel of him, the reality of him. "Because I want this too—more than you know."

Derek smiled and then leaned in for another kiss, soft and sweet.