Sterek(oneshots)

I never existed(part 2)

A low moan in Derek's ear, that closely resembled his name, made him bite down on the neck his face was buried into. A pleasured hiss told him it was enjoyable. His hands slid down the body hovering over him, his fingers digging into soft flesh as they went.

"Derek," Stiles whimpered, lifting himself off Derek's lap slightly before pressing back down slowly, dragging an agreeable sound from the other man's throat.

The pressure building in Derek's abdomen had him gripping harder at the man on his lap.

"Shit," Derek bolted up, his breaths heavy and his eyes struggling to adjust to the dim lighting.

Another dream. Derek dropped his head. He felt the wetness in the sheets. That was the second time this week and this was the third week of this.

Derek threw the covers back, glaring at his clock on the side table before padding off to the bathroom. It wasn't even seven a.m. Guess he was up for the day. He always had a hard time falling asleep after a dream like that.

It had felt so real, even after all this time. He'd memorized the way Stiles had felt and sounded so well he sometimes forgot that they were just dreams.

Derek stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the disappointment from his body. He only wished it could wash away the disappointment inside too.

"He's not worth it, Derek," he told himself. He often found talking about it out loud to himself helped. "He wouldn't be good for you."

Only part of him believed that. Another part said that he was the one not good for Stiles. But then there was the tiniest sliver that said that maybe they were exactly what the other needed. He shoved that part down deep, pretending it didn't exist. It was easier not to think of it.

-

Stiles plopped down on the couch, grabbing the remote off the table on his way. He'd spent all day at work and then spent the evening having dinner with his dad. To say he was worn out was an understatement.

The station was understaffed as of late, so he had an extra work load and he just wanted to rest. So when someone knocked on his door, he couldn't help but let out a small groan. It was almost ten o'clock at night, who could possibly be at his door at this hour?

He didn't even bother putting on a shirt as he traipsed over to the door and swung it open.

His breath hitched.

"Stiles," Derek breathed out almost in relief. He hadn't expected Stiles to answer.

Stiles remained frozen in the doorway.

Derek's eyes raked over Stiles. He had always found Stiles incredibly attractive and right now in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, Derek was reminded of his attraction.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles demanded, finding his voice finally. He felt nervous under Derek's gaze. He was suddenly very aware of how naked he was.

"I...miss you," Derek admitted quietly.

Stiles rolled his eyes, anger washing over him.

"Not like that," Derek added hurriedly. "I mean, not only like that."

This caused Stiles to frown.

"I miss talking to you. I miss your smile. I miss hearing about work. I miss listening to you complain about Scott. I miss spending time with you," Derek found himself admitting things he never imagined saying out loud.

Stiles' frown deepened. "How drunk are you?"

"What? Not at all," Derek shook his head. Sure, he'd had a drink before coming over, but it was just to give him the courage to say these things. He was far from drunk though.