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“I thought this place was scary when the kanima was running around. What kind of horror is Beacon Hills facing now that someone weighed the pros and cons and still gave you a gun?”
The lightly teasing voice makes Stiles go still, his hands beginning to shake as something wild and overwhelming pierces his heart. Looking up, he drops the pen he’d been using to fill out reports and…
And then he loses a bit of time or something because he doesn’t remember getting up from his seat or going around the big counter – or, judging by the way the various pamphlets they keep in tidy boxes are scattered across the counter and fluttering to floor, going over the counter. But suddenly he’s on the other side, his arms wrapped tight around Derek Hale.
Derek Hale who left this town nearly eight years before but is here now, whole and alive and fucking here.
“Hey,” Stiles finally says when the hug has dragged on kind of an awkwardly long time, his voice a little weak and definitely shakier than his hands.
Not that Stiles cares how long he’s been crushing Derek against him. He’s pretty sure it’s gonna take him about eight more years to convince himself to let go. So he just buries his nose a bit deeper in the longish hair behind Derek’s ear and breathes him in.
“Hey,” Derek says back, and Stiles doesn’t think he’s imagining that Derek sounds just as shaken as Stiles is feeling.
“Uh, Stiles?” comes another voice and Stiles turns his head just enough to see his dad standing in the doorway of his office, cup of coffee in hand as he watches them, his mouth curved in a sort of bittersweet smile. “Why don’t you let Derek go and the two of you can go catch up over lunch.”
It’s kind of clearly an order – from his boss as much as his dad – but Stiles’ arms spasm at the idea of letting go. Because no, it hasn’t been long enough and if he lets go now, Derek may disappear again and–
Every thought, every knee-jerk reaction going on in his head shatters when he feels Derek turn his head slightly, feels the scrape of close cropped stubble over his cheek just before there’s the faint sensation of lips pressing against his jaw before Derek pulls back.
Or, you know, tries to.
Stiles, even shocked stupid by that unexpected – but oh-so-welcome – little kiss, isn’t quite convinced to let go.
“It’s okay,” Derek murmurs, and they’re so close, Stiles could literally just tilt his head a fraction and be kissing him.
It’s tempting. Even the thought of the official reprimand he’d probably have to face for PDA in uniform doesn’t really faze him.
The sound of Derek’s stomach growling, however…
Stiles’ arms loosen in surprise and he pulls back to look down.
Derek – who hasn’t exactly removed his hands from Stiles yet either, it should be pointed out – shrugs sheepishly, his cheeks going pink. “I drove straight through when I got the invitation, so… I’m a bit hungry.”
Stiles nods, going a little cold all over as he realizes that the only reason Derek’s here is for Scott’s wedding. “Yeah,” he says, finally letting his arms fall back to his sides as he steps backward. “Let me just get my wallet and–”
A twenty slapping down on the counter cuts him off and Stiles looks to see his dad still smiling at him.
“It’s on me, boys. Go eat. I’ll catch you later, Derek. It’s good to see you…” the sheriff’s voice trails off awkwardly before he finally finishes with a, “back. It’s good to see you back.”
“It’s good to be home, sir,” Derek says, and no one can miss the emphasis he puts on that word. “It’s been too long.”
Stiles walks out of the building in something like a fog. “So,” he finally says, “where–”
“Here,” Derek says in a burst of sound, interrupting Stiles’ inquiry about where he wants to go to lunch.
Confused, Stiles looks around. “Huh?”
“I bought a house. Here. It’s where I live. Now.” Derek hooks a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing north on Maple.
Stiles swallows, that piercing feeling overwhelming him again. He thinks it might actually be joy. “You’re… moving back,” he says. “To Beacon Hills.”
Derek’s chin has barely dipped in a nod before Stiles is crushing him in another fierce hug.
Screw protocol and regulations about PDA, screw growling stomachs and time constraints. There are more important things right now.
Like pressing his own kiss to the curve of Derek’s jaw.
Clouds blotted out the sun, autumn-brown leafs rode the wind in spirals, and it was drizzling. The day was absent of sun, yet there was heat in the air: energy, billowing and looming and Derek, familiar with the omen, watched the deserted road that branched from the Hale house driveway off into the woods.
He counted.
The oncoming storm only grew stronger as minutes ticked by. By the fifth minute, Derek almost expected a tornado to materialize on that dirt path. And then something even more powerful appeared instead. Someone.
shealwaysreads 