notthequiettype:

rubdown:

igaer:

(by Rubén A. Montecino)

Derek Hale Visits Stiles’ First Apartment and Doesn’t Leave

Stiles isn’t the kind of person to get weird when he wakes up next to someone. Well, that’s not totally true, Stiles is always the kind of person to get weird about any and every thing he could possibly get weird about. But he’s in college and he’s an adult and sometimes he has sex and even if he has to excuse himself to go to the next room sometimes to kind of… jump up and down and shake out the extra energy before they actually do it – because he’s about to have sex and screw you if you’re too cool to not get excited about it every time – he’s still totally responsible and cool about it. It’s sex. Stiles Stilinski has sex and is totally not weird about it.
But waking up next to Derek Hale is not like waking up next to Chris from his econ class or Elena from world lit. First, they didn’t have sex and second, Derek’s a werewolf and third, there are faint lines crisscrossing Derek’s back where he was attacked by an Omega in the woods outside the campus. He’s healed, but Stiles knows the marks can take a while to disappear.

Derek’s stirring a little, rubbing his face against one of Stiles’ pillows and pressing his knuckles against his mouth. Stiles freezes, balls of his feet against the floor, legs tense, trying to decide if he should get up or stay there or maybe stretch back out and pretend to sleep some more. 

He didn’t expect to see Derek last night and he definitely didn’t expect to have him show up outside his apartment, bleeding and exhausted. Stiles had just gotten back from a late lab and there Derek was, sitting next to the welcome mat that Scott’s mom had given him at his apartment warming party. 

He’d put his arm out and Derek had taken it, resting his weight against Stiles’ side, and they’d walked in together. Stiles cleaned his wounds and gave him a clean shirt to wear with his boxer-briefs then settled him in bed. When Stiles had tried to leave for the couch, Derek wrapped strong fingers around Stiles’ wrist and pulled him down next to him. Stiles didn’t ask any questions.

Derek looks up at Stiles on the edge of the bed and smiles a little. It hits Stiles low and hot and unexpected. Well, not entirely unexpected. “Does your heart always beat that fast?”

“Only when I’m terrified.”

“The Omega’s handled, you’re not in danger by harboring me.”

“Not scared of an Omega.”

Derek smiles again. “All these years and you still think I want to hurt you? You put me in your bed last night and you think I’m just going to wake up and murder you? For what, fun?”

Stiles shrugs. “Constant mortal danger is the cost of being friends with you people. I’m used to it.”

Derek’s fingers find their way to Stiles’ wrist again, thumb pressing to the place where the bones join and his pulse beats. “You’re not in mortal danger right now.”

“You’re not getting an accurate pulse anyway. Your thumb has it’s own. You’re getting a false read.”

“I’m listening, not feeling.”

Stiles swallows and tries to will his heart to calm down. He’s still tired and deeply, deeply confused about every single thing that is currently happening in and around him. “How… are your wounds?”

“Fine. Thank you again.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Derek shakes his head, fingers pressing at Stiles’ wrist. “Not to me.”

Stiles tries not to start freaking out. The touch of Derek’s hand is doing truly alarming things to Stiles’ genitals. This is normally the part where he runs in the other room and expends some energy, but instead he is trapped next to Derek with his pounding heart and the sinking feeling that he really, really wants to have sex with Derek Hale. He manages about a deep breath and a half.

Derek tugs once, gentle, at Stiles’ wrist and it’s all over. He’s sliding into the bed with him, against him, stretched along the length of his body as Derek turns on his side to pull him in closer. Derek palm’s Stiles’ hip under his t-shirt and leans in, their mouths so fucking close Stiles’ kind of wants to scream. “When did this–?”

Derek shakes his head. “Shut up, Stiles.” And Stiles can’t argue because Derek’s mouth is on his and there’s no more space for his questions.