Notes:
It had to happen. Here be the start of the explicit rating.
*********************************************************
The next day Stiles was again by himself and he was moping in the kitchen.
He and his dad hadn't worked things out during dinner last night, conversation being small and general. Stiles had gone to bed feeling rather small in general, too. He wasn't any better when he woke up, and his mood hadn't improved at all through their quiet introspective breakfasts.
His moping reached epic proportions when he tried to figure out his Derek problem. Seriously, he needed to get a handle on his feelings. He was pretty much emoing all over the poor guy every time Derek got near him. It didn't make it any easier that Derek had been physically close to him for the past two days.
Stiles couldn't recall pack bonding ever being this intense. But then, he and Scott were practically already bonded before Scott had been bitten. Liam was, well, Liam, and really didn't know anything about wolf culture, and Malia and Stiles had bonded through sexual gratification and a general need of one another.
What he'd had with Malia, while being all sorts of perfect at the time, wasn't anything like what he was experiencing now. While Derek's pack bonding method of getting all up in Stiles' personal space and giving warm hugs was awesome in the most obvious ways, it was also confusing the hell out of him. He couldn't help reciprocating, but he wanted more.
It was midday, and even after hours of inner debate, Stiles still couldn't come up with any way to stop what was happening. He was going to be in love with Derek for the foreseeable future, and he wasn't going to jeopardize their pack bonds by refusing them, so that really left him with no possible outcome but one.
At some time Stiles would make a move and everything would go wrong, because Derek would reject him and he'd be devastated.
He'd been crushed before by Lydia's continued rejection. But Stiles wouldn't harass Derek afterwards like he'd done to her, holding out hope for something more. Or become best buds with him when Stiles got over himself. It would hurt too much. He'd also be hurting Derek; destroying the newly-made bonds between them, and then how awkward would it be if Derek stayed in Beacon Hills because he'd still be part of Scott's pack. Or he'd leave and Stiles would have run him out of town.
Stiles didn't even know right now who he actually was. How was that fair? Derek had finally managed to work out his life and here was Stiles trying to drag him down into the quagmire of his. He had a history of sucking everyone close to him into his messes time and time again. Scott getting bitten. The Nogitsune. Donavan. Being fae. It just kept going. Stiles was going to screw this up. It was just a matter of when. And considering how intense it had been in only just two days of bonding, it was going to be soon.
Stiles was standing in the kitchen where the window looked out into the backyard. He placed his hands on the sink, leaning into the sun's heat, not worried about astral projecting anywhere, just wanting to feel good. After a while, there was a discomforting tingle that started in his palms. When he pulled his hands away the feeling quickly faded. He touched the sink with his fingertips again only for the discomfort to come back. He removed his hand.
"No way," he said to himself. He had to check this out and that required using his computer. Normally he'd use his phone but he couldn't remember where he'd put it.
Back in his room, he looked up 'stainless steal' and found he was correct in his assumptions. He'd been having a reaction to the iron in the sink.
"Oh, come on! Are you kidding me?" he moaned.
If this was something that was going to happen on a regular basis, it was going to suck big time. How much iron was in the world anyway?
"Fuck!" Stiles hit the keyboard and his computer turned off. When he tried to get it to turn on again, there was a smell coming from it that did not bode well. Burnt electronics. His computer had fried its brain. "Well screw you, too!"
He went into the kitchen, made himself a fruit smoothie and looked out the window. He was trying to do the right thing by his dad and not astral project without someone with him, but if iron was going to be a problem he needed to find out sooner rather than later. Mind made up, conscious relatively clear, Stiles put his smoothie down and grabbed his cane. He walked out the back door.
Stiles stepped down off the porch and tipped his face up to the sun, enjoying the feeling of the light touching his skin. He walked over to the sycamore and lay down underneath it.
The tree's branches were long and spread over a wide area. Stiles' mom had told him it was a magic tree, that all trees were full of magic. Now he was aware that magic was real, and he was part of nature himself, becoming more wild every day, Stiles believed her. Had she known about the supernatural or had she just been more in touch with what was out there than the average person? He wished, not for the first time, that she was around so he could ask her all the questions he had. She would have sat with him and answered them all day.
Stiles smiled up at the tree. He could imagine his mom being a part of it, part of the wind through its branches, part of the earth beneath where he lay. If so, she was still supporting him, still propping him up, pushing him forward, helping him be.
The sun managed to warm him enough that Stiles started to nod off. It pulled at him, wrapped around him, flowed into him. There was nothing but a certain kind of relief in letting go.
***
Stiles was at the Nemeton again.
There were clouds covering most of the sky. A wind was blowing through his clothes and the sepia-toned atmosphere of his first visit had changed to a muddled gray. The air wasn't as vibrant as it had been before, with no electric flashes on his skin.
The entire area had a lonely feel today, but Stiles found he liked the brush of the wind on his skin. It was energetic and lively. He pushed his hair back, only for it to do as it wanted as the wind pulled and teased it into wilder than normal snarls.
He called out, "You here?"
The air condensed in front of him so quickly and so closely, he yelped and stepped back. The legs on the Fae were more solid this time and there was almost a face, too. A flash of nose and a pointy chin.
The Fae floated forward so they were next to each other. "Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles. We were worried." Its words were in Stiles' ear, a whisper of mist that flickered over his cheek.
"Worried? Oh! No, I'm okay. I was hurt." Stiles put a hand on his chest where the mark from the iron rod was. "But I'm okay now."
"What transpired?" There was a fleeting touch to his chest.
"Someone put an iron rod on me."
The Fae hissed in fury and its mists grew darker in shade. "Who dared?!"
"It was a druid." Stiles didn't want to name him.
"Druid!" The Fae sounded like it spat the word out. "They are nothing but trouble and pain! Stay away from them!"
"I am. I despise him." Stiles hadn't told anyone else just how much he loathed Deaton. "I'm not even sure exactly why. I mean, he burnt me, so yeah, hating because of that, but I know it was there right from the minute I started becoming Fae."
"We can show you. You must know. Now is the time. We will take you back."
The Fae slipped closer, its form moving until it was twined about Stiles. He could feel it pressing against him. Stiles shivered, sensing its intentions. The Fae wanted to be close to him, to touch him, wanted to share knowledge with him, for him to learn and understand. It desired to help him turn more Fae than he was right now. To push him further from his humanity and into its own reality. To have Stiles be like them. To have Stiles be with them.
Stiles rubbed a hand across his mouth. "Okay. Show me."
The Fae's form covered Stiles completely; slipping over his head and face, wrapping around his shoulders and back, clinging to his legs. Stiles was falling, but standing at the same time. Time changed, but stayed the same. He moved, but stayed still. He was surrounded by the Fae and welcomed. Safe. There was a sense of belonging. Anticipation.
Stiles started to see flickers of something in the fog. In his mind. A memory; one of the Fae's. He slipped inside it.
***
It was dark, with no moon to shine light on what Stiles was witnessing.
There were torches bobbing and dipping in hands as the people who held them moved around a great wide tree that rose up and up into the night.
Stiles put a hand on its trunk, and the tree's magic immediately blossomed inside him. It was glorious, full of life and energy. The entire clearing was seeped in its magic, everything saturated, the very air alive with the magic of chance and truth and balance.
Stiles was in the Nemeton's grove, witnessing the Tree in its prime. He was undone by the feeling of peace that surrounded him. He understood then the Nemeton was a part of his history, a part of his future. Just as it had been for hundreds of Fae for hundreds of years. This place was home in a way that was more than just family. It was home because it was a part of him. It was him. He could feel the very essence of the Nemeton beating within him.
Stiles laughed and it was full of joy, acceptance and wonderment.
The torches suddenly flared and he held his free hand up against the glare. He could see the people better now and they were many. More than the torches had implied. They'd walked around the Nemeton until they had it enclosed in a circle. They began to chant.
The words were unknown to Stiles but their effect was almost immediate. The magic in the air shrunk away, pulled and stretched in all directions. Stiles felt it like it was his own skin being split open. He cried out, and only his grasp on the Nemeton helped him stay upright.
He yelled again, and tried to remove his hand from the trunk as he started to feel the Nemeton's pain. These people were using magic to pull at the Tree. To twist and rip up its magic. To rend and tear at its very fabric of being. To sever its life. To cut it down.
Stiles wanted to retch as the Nemeton screamed inside his head. The people were raising their arms and Stiles could feel the Nemeton react; it was beginning to break. He couldn't release his hand.
There were anguished cries and screams of fury from vague forms at the grove's edge. The forms rushed the people but couldn't get close. They were held back by something unseen and all their anger could do nothing against the might the group of people had brought to bear against the Nemeton.
Stiles tried to make out the forms who were trying to help the Tree but he could only feel their anger, their shock. They never once stopped trying to get past whatever was holding them back, even as the Nemeton's magic started to fall in pieces, float away to nothingness, sink into the ground and become stagnant.
There was an almighty groaning tearing noise, like a ginormous animal dying, and Stiles was horrified to feel the Nemeton start to crack under his hand. He could feel the wood splintering, ripping apart as the Nemeton fought to hold itself together. But its magic couldn't save it, and the Tree sunk its awareness deep into its roots and was quiet.
The trunk of the Tree kept splitting and Stiles watched as near his knees a cut began to appear. Even in the gloom of night it was glowing, lit up from the inside. The cut drew along the trunk.
When it had circled the entire base, the people stopped their chanting and moved away.
The forms which had been trying so desperately to fight their way to the Tree were quiet too. It was as if they had disappeared.
The people held their torches high and stepped out of the clearing, out from under the Tree. Everything was silent and still, until one of them intoned, "It is done."
And the Nemeton started to fall.
The top part sheered off from the bottom stump as if it was being pushed, fracturing into pieces as it fell. The sound of splintering wood was horrendous and bone-shaking in its forcefulness. The branches toppled onto the ground, thumping into the earth and raising clods of dirt and leaves.
Stiles was in shock. His hand had lost purchase with the Nemeton as it fell away from him. He was bereft and lost. Something had ripped from inside him and the space it left was hollow and thick, like a bleeding wound.
When the Tree stopped falling; when every piece lay in stillness, when the air was quiet, the people walked back into the clearing, stepping and climbing over the branches until they were in a circle around the Tree, now just a stump, once more.
Sadness and anger washed over Stiles. He had such honest and complete rage he wanted nothing more than to end these people who displayed such calm acceptance over what they'd just wrought. He saw a face that was familiar and cried out in betrayal.
He was younger, held himself with less restraint, his face more open. But there was no mistaking the man he'd grow into. Deaton turned to speak to another druid standing nearby, and Stiles fell out of the vision as he reached out his hands to grab him.
***
Stiles was kneeling on the ground with tears pouring down his face. He was gasping and hugging himself as the Fae slipped away from him. The wind was still whooshing past him, picking up and flattening his clothes against his body. He could feel the moist ground wetting the knees and shins of his pants. The fallen leaves were mush under his hands when he placed them on the ground for support.
"Druids cut down the Nemeton." He wasn't asking.
There had been a perfect magical balance. Magic from so many sources; Fae, human, other supernatural beings, and pure nature. All together, all as one. Then it was ripped apart and scattered. Gone.
Stiles stood up, brushing his hands on his thighs, and turned to where the stump was. He brushed his tears away angrily. The Nemeton's small magic was pulsing feebly outwards. He'd thought it was scary and full of power, but it was nothing compared to what it had been. This magic was dirty, sad and so alone. Cut off from being what it had once been, it was twisted and ugly.
"The druids betrayed us," whispered the Fae, sadly. "We did not understand where their beliefs were taking them. We were not able to stop the destruction of the Tree. We failed and had to leave."
"No wonder I feel like I do around him, even at the beginning." Stiles said. "It will never be forgotten or forgiven."
"No. But it may be fixed."
"What do you mean?" Stiles asked, but the Fae didn't answer him. He spared the Nemeton one more sad glance, then asked what he'd come there for. "Are you able to live in the human world?"
"Yes, but not without difficulty. We choose not to. We haven't for a very long time."
"Will I be able to? Once I'm fully Fae?"
"That is up to you. There are many things that hurt us in that world. Energies are warped and broken. The currents are damaged or blocked."
"The telluric currents?" Stiles shuddered. He didn't have good memories connected with them.
"Yes. The woods and places where nature is untouched are better for us. We find being around humans difficult."
"But I'll be able to?" Stiles was growing anxious. He didn't want to loose his dad, his friends, his life.
"You will do as you choose, be whatever you choose."
Stiles wasn't happy. "Can I still live a human life once I am Fae?"
"No. Because you will be Fae."
Stiles gave a frustrated yell and threw up his hands. "Will I have to live in the woods like you do?"
"Yes. No. We choose to. You will choose, too."
Stiles was feeling more worried now than when he'd first arrived. "You're not helping!"
"We help. You don't want to listen."
"Screw you!" Stiles fisted his eyes. "I didn't ask for this! I never wanted to be other than what I was! I don't want to become a supernatural creature living in the woods all alone! I don't want to leave my dad, my friends! I have a life!"
The Fae still hadn't moved from where it floated. "You are Fae. You can not change back. You have not lost your life but gained a fuller one. You will be whatever you want to be."
"Stop saying that!" Stiles wanted to punch the Fae in its floaty face area.
"You will need to be in nature because that's what we are." The Fae didn't react to Stiles' anger but he could feel it accepted he was having difficulty with things. It was trying to help.
Stiles slowly nodded. "Yeah. I have this urge to be outside."
"You will choose. You will compromise. You will learn." The Fae swayed a little, pleased.
Stiles' anger flared up again. "I don't like you," he told the Fae, and turned around to leave.
***
Stiles opened his eyes and blinked as the sunlight filtered through the branches of the sycamore and into his eyes. He'd moved from his place on the ground, or rather, he'd been moved. He was lying in Derek's lap, his shoulders cradled by Derek's thighs, his head resting on his stomach.
"Thank God." Derek scrunched over Stiles and squeezed him in a weird-angled hug. He pulled back and frowned down at him. "You need to stop scaring me, Stiles." He leant back on his hands looking up at the tree branches, giving Stiles room to move if he chose to.
He stayed resting in Derek's lap. He was a masochist.
Stiles traced the shadows from the tree across Derek's jaw and neck with his eyes. "I'm sorry." He really needed to stop having to say that.
"Why didn't you wait for me? I texted you that I'd be here." Derek looked back down at him. He placed a hand in Stiles' hair and started stroking.
Stiles allowed himself to soak up the feeling of contentment he got from Derek touching him, but didn't answer.
Derek twisted up one side of his mouth in dissatisfaction.
Stiles touched his arm in reassurance. For some reason, he didn't feel so worried about talking to Derek as he thought he would. "I needed to check something."
"You didn't wait for me." Derek sounded hurt.
"I didn't know you were coming over."
"I texted you." Derek ran a finger over Stiles' eyebrows, smoothing out a frown he hadn't known was there.
"I didn't check my phone. I don't really know where it is."
Derek's hand went back to Stiles' hair. "You lost your phone?"
Stiles was really liking the pull and tug and stroke of Derek's fingers on his head. "No? More like misplaced it."
Derek hummed at this and looked across the yard at nothing in particular. Stiles wanted to know what he was thinking. Derek kept massaging his head and Stiles let his eyes close. This was okay. He wasn't doing anything. Derek was the one touching. Stroking. Making him feel good.
They may have been there for ages; Stiles with his head in Derek's lap as Derek rubbed his fingers over his scalp and played with his hair. It may have been only minutes. Stiles didn't keep track of the time. He was warm and happy. When Derek asked him another question, he was reluctant to break the peace but opened his eyes and looked up at him.
"What did, uh. Never mind." Derek looked conflicted. He obviously wanted to talk about the astral projection.
Stiles tilted his head a little bit more. "Ask me, Derek."
"What? But won't you?" Derek motioned towards Stiles' face.
Stiles didn't understand what he meant by that, unless Derek was asking if he could talk without getting angry. He was very calm and relaxed right then, and it was just the two of them.
"Ask me."
Derek placed his other hand on Stiles' chest. The warmth flowed and slipped down around his chest, wrapping around him like a hug. Best. Drug. Ever.
"What happened?"
Stiles liked the open question. It gave him room to tell Derek what he wanted. He wanted to tell Derek all of it. "I needed to know if iron is going to be a problem for me. So I went to ask."
"The Fae?"
Stiles nodded. "It will be, but I can work around it somehow. But then the Fae pissed me off."
Derek pressed a bit harder against his chest. "Did it hurt you?"
"No. It protects me. Only wants to help me."
"Hmmm. Maker's bond. Like with Alphas and those they bite." Derek watched him intently.
"Really? I guess that makes sense. I only ever get the feeling it wants to be close to me, to help me understand."
Derek tensed up at that. His leg muscles bunched up as Stiles lay against them, but he didn't say anything.
"It showed me something. I want to tell you, but it's not easy." Stiles closed his eyes as he recalled watching the Nemeton fall.
"I promise whatever you tell me, I won't tell anyone else."
Derek yet again got the words just right, just when Stiles needed to hear them. He honestly loved this part of Derek's personality. Maybe it wasn't a new thing, maybe it had been hiding under all the gruffness and fear and anger, but it was new to Stiles and it was perfect.
Stiles thought about how to tell Derek what he'd witnessed. "It showed me its history. Part of it. Derek, I saw the Nemeton being felled." He couldn't stop horror from coloring his voice. "It was horrible and terrible and heartbreaking. And it was the druids who did it. Deaton cut down the Tree."
Derek's hands fell from Stiles. "What?"
"He was part of it." Stiles sat up, facing Derek. "He stood there and helped destroy a most magical and sacred place. He tried to kill the Nemeton and almost succeeded." Stiles wanted Derek to believe what he was saying. This was huge.
"I only ever thought of the Nemeton as something that was bad. The sacrifices, your possession," Derek said, confused.
"I know. Me, too." He lowered his head, recalling the memory. "Cutting it down changed its magic so much that everything that's happened, the Darach, the Nogitsune, everything bad that's been called to Beacon Hills, it's all because of it. Deaton is directly responsible for all the crap we've been through with it."
"You were somehow sensing this, before, weren't you?"
"Yeah. Its hardwired into being Fae. At least in Beacon Hills. I don't know about anywhere else. The Fae who changed me feels hatred for the druids."
"And you hate Deaton."
Stiles slowly nodded. "Not only because of that. But, yeah." He ran a hand over his chest.
"There are lesser reasons to hate someone," Derek told him. "I'm not judging you. I understand it."
They settled back into a comfortable silence, and Stiles took the time to study Derek. His hair was curling a bit more than normal as it had grown longer than he usually had it. Stiles found the style all sorts of cute and wanted to run his fingers through it while he kissed him. He decided to tell Derek something then, while he was feeling so calm, and able to share secrets.
"You're pretty amazing, Derek. Three days in and you've proven to be as great as I thought you'd be." He took a deep breath and let the words poor out. "I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you helping me. Even if you decide being pack isn't working for you and you need to leave, I'd still think that you're one of the most incredible people I have ever met."
Derek was absolutely still after Stiles' declaration. He didn't even blink for the longest time. He just stared at Stiles until he started to feel uncomfortable.
"You can ignore all of that, if you want to." Stiles made a dismissive gesture with his hand.
Derek reached over and caught it. He held Stiles' hand in both of his own, still never taking his eyes from him. "You're the most amazing person that I know. I'm not leaving Beacon Hills, no matter what happens. Unless you need me to."
His total sincerity had Stiles panicking. "Don't give me that power, Derek. That makes no sense. This is your home. No one should be able to get you to leave, ever, not if you don't want to go."
Derek smiled at him. A true, happy, breathtaking smile, with teeth and everything. His eyes even had that sparkle that Stiles liked so much. "Then I'm staying."
"Good." Stiles wanted to remember every inch of that smile. Remember how to put that sparkle in those eyes. He sat back a bit, having leant forward at some point. He used his free hand to rub the back of his neck.
Derek raised Stiles' hand and kissed the knuckles slowly, while looking up through his lashes. He smiled a bit wistfully and let Stiles' hand go.
Stiles blinked in stupefied shock and ruthlessly tried to suppress every single sexualized thought he'd ever had about Derek. He had to make himself drop his hand from where it had frozen in the air.
"You're worth more than you believe you are, Stiles. To everyone who loves you, you're so very important. Stop thinking you don't deserve happiness." Derek stood up. "I'll see you later." He walked around the side of the house, his car starting up not long after.
Eventually, Stiles managed to shake himself out of his stunned position. He looked down at his lap and sighed. His body had definitely decided to start paying attention to stimuli again. For all that it was a good thing, he hoped Derek hadn't noticed his reaction. He wobbled to his feet and carefully walked inside. He needed a shower.
If he was going to indulge himself a little, replay what had just happened and imagine Derek moving closer rather than walking away, then he was just making sure his body was back in working order. That's all.
***
Stiles was still feeling kinda loopy from Derek kissing his hand when he sat down in the shower.
He was still not strong enough to chance standing in there and, with what he had in mind, sitting was absolutely the safest plan. He'd been thankful before for the fact his shower stall was bigger than average. Having to sit on the floor made him thankful again. It was wide enough that two people could shower very comfortably together. He had found that out one memorable night with Malia. Plenty of room for movement.
The water ran down the wall behind him, angled that way because he wanted to be able to breathe through this without drowning. He leant up against the wall, feeling the water run over his shoulders and down his back. The difference between the warm water on his back and the cooler air on his front made his nipples pebble and he rolled them gently between his fingers. They weren't that sensitive but if he kept going, got them puffy enough, then every little touch and rub would go directly to his dick.
It would probably take him a while to get fully hard, if he even did that. He'd done some quick research on erectile issues during long term illness, and he was comfortable with his progress so far. He'd be happier when everything was working like it had before, but he was confident it would in time.
Stiles was normally a quiet sex partner, due to years of jerking off without his dad hearing. Malia had commented on it, but as they'd normally had sex in the middle of the night after she crawled into his bed, he wasn't about to go howling and yelling up a sex storm. He'd always liked the idea of being more vocal, but so far he'd never gotten the chance. He sometimes got a bit louder when he was home alone; hearing his own voice sounding so wrecked did something to him. But he was worried if he grew too comfortable with it, he'd be loud when his dad was home, too.
Today, Stiles needed that extra kick, and stopped holding his breath and biting his lips to keep quiet. He was still rubbing his nipples and added some liquid soap. The spike of cold had his dick twitching and he let out a soft sound. He ran a hand down his stomach and rubbed at the place where his legs met his torso. It was a spot that made him arch his hips a bit, and as his fingers travelled further inwards he let his legs splay out. He wrapped his fingers around himself, closed his eyes, and rested his head against the shower wall.
He imagined Derek in the shower with him, pressing him down onto the floor. As he imagined Derek kissing him, Stiles squeezed and pulled at his dick. It was slowly getting harder and Stiles let out a larger groan. He could hear his breathing echo in the shower as it sped up and imagined it was Derek, rubbing up against him, all hard muscle and wet slippery skin.
His moans turned deeper and more desperate as he fisted himself. He ran two fingertips down over the head of his dick and back upwards over the slit. He was so sensitive there normally, and it had him shivering and stiffening in his hand. He did it again and again, until his legs were shaking and he'd slumped down the wall. The sounds he was making were working, and with his soft cries of Derek's name he was at half mast.
Without stopping the slow squeeze and slide of his hand, Stiles used the other hand to squirt some soap on his thigh. He gathered it up and reached down under a leg and further back. He raised his leg and planted his foot on the floor, titling his hips to one side so he could reach. He got his fingers to his hole and rubbed over it. Derek could touch him like this, Stiles would let him. He never had Malia do it, she wasn't into ass play, but he'd become intimately acquainted with how good it felt in the months after they broke up.
Imagining Derek pushing his way inside Stiles, while he held him close, finding that spot that made him press down hard on the intrusion to make it go deeper, was one of his most used fantasies. He liked being full, he even got to craving it after a few days. He imagined showing Derek how good it could be, opening Stiles up and sinking into him. Into his heat.
He ran his fingertips around and around, pressing and rubbing and finally sliding in. It was Derek's fingers doing this and Stiles slid them in further. He got caught up in the slick slide of it. His hand holding his dick stopped moving for a bit and his hitched breathing filled his ears. He started on his dick again and created a lovely push and pull between both hands. Into his ass and up and down his dick.
He was rocking his hips and he slipped down onto the shower floor. He hit his elbow hard but slithered around until his feet were up on the wall. He found the angle a bit tricky to keep his fingers in himself and had to pull them out, whimpering at the pull.
He wished he'd brought something into the shower to shove inside himself, but it was too late now. He settled for rubbing his fingers against his nipples again and his back arched up and his hand flew faster and faster. He reached down under his balls and found his hole again.
He imagined Derek in between his legs, filling him up inside, pulling at the soft skin, making him stretch and burn around his length. Stiles pushed his fingers in again and curled them up and he arched his back as he came. His come ribboning out to fall against his groin and over his hand. There wasn't as much as he normally had, and his orgasm wasn't the most mind blowing either, but he wasn't worried. He'd still had a release that made his legs shake. He let it wash over him. He hadn't known how badly he'd needed it.
He lay back against the floor and pushed his ass up against the shower wall, legs folding back along his chest. The water pored over him and even though he'd just come, he wanted the feel of it over his hole. He ran his fingers back over it as well and shuddered as he slipped them back in. He still needed them. He wasn't ready for another go, but the feel of them pushing and sinking in and out had him arching up to force them in deeper.
Stiles thought about sleeping with someone inside him all night. Would Derek be the kind of person to do that? He imagined Derek fucking him until they fell asleep, using his hands to push himself back inside while he was still hard enough, or just staying, not pulling out at all after coming. Getting comfortable and falling asleep with Derek's dick up inside him. Full and surrounded.
Stiles untangled his legs from the awkward position they'd fallen into. He rolled over onto his side and then slowly sat up. He was a little light headed so he carefully reached up for the shower head. He washed down his groin and ass, sighing as the warm water fell on sensitive skin. He was relaxed, but also strangely wired.
If Derek walked into his house right now, Stiles wouldn't be able to stop himself from climbing all over him. His fantasy, coupled with the past few days, had him wanting to just go for it, damn the consequences.
He sighed and turned off the water. He reached for his towel where it sat on the floor outside the shower. He'd wanted Derek for so long, and then he came back and showed how caring and beautiful he was. And now it was that much harder not to do anything. Stiles wanted to be able to love him and show it. He rubbed his hands over his face and ground them into his eyes.
Effectively having killed his blissed-out feeling, Stiles scooted out of the shower and dried himself off while sitting on the bath mat put there for that purpose.
He stood up, using every available surface to help him do so, and wrapped the towel around his waist. He took his cane and running his hand along the wall for extra support, walked slowly down the hallway to his room. He found clean clothes and changed, before pulling back his bed sheets and snuggling into bed. He covered himself up to the top of his head, leaving a small gap between pillow and blanket to breathe out of.
Then he shut his eyes, not even caring that he was sleeping during the day again. He let the quiet of the house lull him into a doze before sleep fully pulled him under.
***
Stiles' dad come home later that night, but he didn't want to wake up so he burrowed further into his bed and ignored his dad's calls. He didn't know how much later it was when his dad pulled back the covers to ask if he was okay. Stiles mumbled an affirmative and rolled over, putting his back to his dad. When his dad dropped the window shades down, making the room dark for the night, he made a noise of thanks. He pulled the blankets back over his head as his dad walked out.
There was light when he slit his eyes open. The shades were still down and he could hear his dad moving around the house. Stiles debated getting up, but he let sleep take him again so he wouldn't have to worry about it.
His dad was shaking his shoulder and calling his name. "Stiles, are you okay?"
"Yeah," he croaked out.
"You look terrible. You sound terrible. What happened?" His dad put a hand on Stiles' forehead. "You've not got a fever."
"Overdid it yesterday, that's all. Just tired." Stiles didn't need his dad worrying about him.
"You've been asleep since before I got home last night. I was home in time for dinner! Stiles, tired does not mean a sleep marathon. I need to call Melissa."
"No! No. I'm okay. Really." Stiles sat up even though he didn't want to. "See? All good."
"Maybe I need to stay home." His dad frowned. He really couldn't afford to take any more time off.
"No! Go to work. I'm good. Really," Stiles stressed. He was planning on going back to bed but his dad didn't need to know that. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll call Lydia. If she has a free day she can come over to stay with me, okay?" He wasn't going to do any such thing.
"Okay."
Stiles could tell his dad still wasn't sure, so he made an effort to put his feet on the floor and find his cane.
His dad ruffled his hair. "Okay, kiddo. I'm going to call you at lunch time."
"Bye, Dad." Stiles even managed a smile.
He went to the bathroom as his dad grabbed his things and went out the door. Stiles listened to the sounds of his dad backing the cruiser down the driveway.
Then he flopped back into bed and covered himself up again.