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Chapter Text

October

Stiles gasps. It's like a bucket of ice water is dumped over his head, and his whole body freezes as he stares at Derek over Zac's shoulder.

Oh shit.

Of all the times he thought about how he would come out to Derek, having Derek walk in on him getting fucked in the bathroom at a Halloween party definitely wasn't one of them.

When Zac moans, Derek's eyes flash crimson, and his expression hardens.

Stiles's surroundings come into focus without the fog of lust clouding his brain. The sink faucet digs into his back, and he pushes Zac away, his fingers tingling and palms growing warm as he uses his Spark for a little extra boost. He feels bad when Zac stumbles, almost falling to his ass since his pants are around his ankles.

"What the fuck!" Zac exclaims, his blue eyes turning beta gold for the briefest moment. But then Zac must catch Derek's reflection in the mirror because his eyes go wide, and he bares his neck in submission.

Derek finally moves. He turns suddenly and is gone in a flash, like the Road Runner from Looney Tunes—complete with a dust cloud in his wake. Stiles swears there are burn marks on the carpet.

"Fuck. Shit." Stiles scrambles to pull his jeans up, almost tripping in his haste to follow. "Derek, wait!"

Zac yells after him, but Stiles will have to apologize later. He has to find Derek and explain. He has to make sure this doesn't change things between them because Derek's been his best friend for almost his entire life.

They met in elementary school. Stiles was five when the Hale family moved in next door. Their parents thought Stiles and Cora Hale would be instant friends since they were the same age, but it was her eight-year-old brother that Stiles was drawn to.

Stiles took to Derek immediately, following him everywhere like a lost puppy. Which was hilarious, considering Derek enjoyed running around outside, and Stiles abhorred the sun and sweat in general. But before long, they were inseparable. Pretty soon, they were having weekly sleepovers and walking to and from school together. The rest kind of fell into place.

Derek helping him with homework.

Tormenting Laura and Cora.

Traipsing through the preserve and sharing anything and everything they could think of.

They were best friends.

"Are," Stiles mutters, curling in on himself as he pushes through the party. Whether it’s the expression on his face or his Spark casting a protective aura around him, everyone seems to give him a wide berth.

His name is called out a couple of times, and at first, he worries it’s Zac chasing after him, but he doesn’t stop to check. Not when he can’t get the look on Derek’s face out of his head.

There was definitely shock, but it was mixed with something else.

Was it disgust?

The frigid October air slaps him in the face as he barrels through the front door, but he doesn’t let that stop him. He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks briskly through the crowded streets. Laughter and music spill from every frat house he passes as he heads downtown toward their apartment. People hang off each other, singing off-key to whatever music they hear. Some are in costumes, while others are fully shifted into foxes, wolves, and other supernatural creatures.

Stiles is pretty sure there was a wererabbit at the party.

Sigh. The party.

Stiles had been having fun earlier. He didn't have a care in the world as he drank and danced. That's the only reason he let Zac drag him out of the living room into the bathroom. It was stupid, though. Not only because, of course, Derek would go looking for him but because Zac was Derek's teammate. Stiles hopes this doesn't make things awkward during football practice or games.

“Incoming!” someone yells, and Stiles barely has a chance to throw his hands up to catch the person stumbling into him. Even without a supernatural sniffer, the scent of booze permeates his senses.

The person gives him a lopsided grin and slurred, “Thanks, man!” before wobbling back to his group of friends. He turns back to Stiles and points. “That guy is awesome!”

Stiles would laugh, but how can anyone be happy when his heart feels as if it's about to explode?

Their apartment is only a ten-minute walk from the frat house, it's the longest ten minutes of Stiles's life as he glares at everyone having fun. This is worse than when he came out to his dad this past summer. Then again, he only came out because his dad caught him coming out of Jungle, the local gay club.

Stiles could have written it off and placed all the blame on Jackson. It wasn't far from the truth. They'd only been there because Jackson dragged him along to spy on Danny, but he couldn't throw his friend under the bus. So he clasped his hands together and said, 'Well, dad, there's a conversation that we—'

But his dad cut him off, stating, 'You're not gay,' with such finality that the contents of Stiles's stomach threatened to spill.

What if Derek has the same reaction?

No.

No, Stiles isn't ready for Derek to know yet. He wants more time—needs more time—especially after his dad's initial reaction.

Stiles and Derek have always been closer than most, never hesitating to cuddle or share a bed. But what if this changes things? What if Derek pushes him away?

What if Derek hates him?

Stiles isn't sure he can handle that.

Not when Derek's his whole world. His safe space and happy place. Derek's been for Stiles, standing by him—with him—through all the good times and comforting him through the bad.

He was there when Stiles won the science fair three years in a row.

When Stiles got his driver's license.

When Stiles finally made the lacrosse team.

When Stiles's mom died.

When Stiles's dad damn near drank himself to death.

Derek was the one who helped Stiles build the Collector's Series Millenium Falcon Lego set his dad paid an obscene amount of money for.

The one who read both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings to Stiles when he was younger.

The one who watched every single Star Wars film with him, tossing popcorn back like there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

It's no wonder Stiles is in love with him.

Stiles lets out a humorless laugh, the little puff of breath warming his face. His feelings for Derek aren't something he consciously thinks about, considering nothing will ever come of it.

"Tale as old as time." The classic story of a gay guy falling for his straight best friend.

By the time Stiles gets to his building, he's sure he's either going to throw up or shit himself. Maybe both at the same time because why not? It'd be the perfect way to cap off the night.

As he rides the elevator to his floor, it's tempting to mask his scent, knowing he smells like Zac and sex—and probably anxiety, sadness, and longing. But the few times he's done it, Derek's gotten all rawr, and 'Don't do that!' as if it's a personal affront not to be able to smell his mood.

Besides, since Stiles figured out all the fun he could have with his dick, he's been told on more than one occasion that he smells perpetually horny.

Plus, Derek already saw him with Zac, so it's a moot point.

The elevator dings, its doors whooshing open as if they're delivering him to his doom.

Wow, dramatic much? Stiles rolls his eyes, annoyed with himself. But his fingers shake as he tries to insert his key into the lock once, twice, three times before it finally slips in. He pushes the door open, hating how his heart lodges in his throat and the way his stomach plummets as if he were on a roller coaster.

With the exception of the soft snick of the door closing behind him, everything's quiet when Stiles enters. He takes a second to compose himself, hanging his keys on the hook and flicking his wrist to lock the door.

At first, Stiles doesn't see Derek anywhere. The lights in the living room are on, but the rest of the apartment is dark. There's no sound down the hall from their rooms, and Derek's door is wide open with the light off. Part of him is relieved; the part that says ignoring his problems until they go away is the best idea in the history of ideas. But mostly, he panics.

Did Derek even come home? And if he didn't, why? Where did he go?

Most importantly, would he come back?

But then he sees movement in the kitchen—a shadow, shifting in the dark. Stiles would recognize that shadow anywhere from all the nights Derek would climb through his bedroom window.

"Hey," Stiles says, turning on the lights with a wave of his hand.

Derek leans against the counter with his ankles crossed, staring at the ground, all casual-like, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. But Stiles can see the tension in his shoulders. Can see the tiny twitches of his fingers that hang loosely at his sides.

And then Derek lifts his head, meeting Stiles's gaze.

Stiles can't read the expression on his face, which is disconcerting. He's always been able to tell what Derek's thinking with just one glance or quirk of an eyebrow.

It's unnerving, unsettling, and every other word for troubling that Derek's so quiet. It might be expected if there was anyone other than Stiles present, but with him, Derek's actually very talkative. You just have to earn his words.

Did Stiles lose that?

He steps closer, the floor creaking under his feet. Derek tracks his steps, but the silence is deafening. His expression changes, though. Derek watches him as if Stiles were a scared animal just waiting for an opportunity to bolt. It doesn't make any sense because, between them, Stiles is ready for Derek to run.

It makes Stiles antsy, so he starts fidgeting—first, picking at his nails, then shifting his weight from foot to foot while scratching his jaw in a nervous tic. When he starts pacing, Derek grabs him, gently pulling him to a stop. They stare at each other for a moment before Stiles glances away, tugging at the strings of his hoodie.

Derek covers his hands, then guides him to the living room and sits on the couch, manhandling Stiles to his lap.

"You have personal space issues," Stiles says, finally breaking the silence. When Derek still doesn't say anything, he lets out a nervous laugh. Sitting on Derek's lap is too awkward, so he tries to get up but accidentally elbows Derek in the stomach.

Derek grunts. "For Christ's sake, it's like holding a hostile little puppet."

"Oh my God, you're only like an inch taller than me." Stiles can't help but roll his eyes. Part of him still wants to get up. He's scared of Derek pushing him away, except Derek's not. So instead, he maneuvers himself to laying between Derek's legs on the couch—his back to Derek's chest. It's not the first time they've laid this way. He just hopes it won't be the last. "Is this better, you behemoth?"

Derek huffs a laugh and rubs his cheek against the side of Stiles's head. "It's always better with you here."

Stiles's heart trips over itself. That's a good thing, right? It has to be. Except, Derek's words are followed by more silence, and Stiles can't take it anymore. Usually, he's the first person to ignore his problems until they go away. But this is Derek. So, in a small voice that comes out shakier than he'd like, he asks, "Are…are we okay?"

"Why wouldn't we be okay?" Derek's voice is a little strangled.

Stiles shrugs, trying for nonchalance, but really it feels like there's a fist clenched around his heart. He knows the devastating loss of a loved one, but he's not sure he'd survive losing Derek.

Still, he swallows down the lump in his throat. "Because of what you saw."

It's a few tense seconds before Derek answers. "Is that why you didn't tell me? Because you thought I'd…I don't know, stop being friends with you or something?"

Stiles shrugs again, his heart damn near beating out of his chest. "I mean, it happens, right? Friendships end, parents disown their children…"

Derek's arms tighten around him. "Did something happen with your dad?"

"No. Not really. I mean, he caught me out at Jungle this summer and made a stupid comment, but then we talked later."

His dad gave him a patented Stilinski hug, apologizing for his initial reaction, and told him that he loved him. He, like everyone else, assumed Stiles was straight. Which was fair considering Stiles's legendary crush on Lydia Martin.

'Does Derek know?' his dad asked when Stiles finally pulled away.

Stiles's silence was enough for his dad to scrub a hand down his face. Somehow, Stiles knew his dad was wondering how he never saw it before. 'You love him, don't you?'

The silence that followed hung heavy in the air. 'Kiddo…you should tell him.'

'But what if—'

Before Stiles could finish his thought, his dad pulled him into another hug. 'Your friendship with Derek is special. He might not feel the same, but he'll always be your friend.'

Yeah. Friend.

Derek trails his fingers over Stiles's arm with a feather-like touch, drawing his attention. "You're my best friend, Stiles. You know me. I'm always going to be here for you. I love you. It doesn't matter who you love, as long as you're happy. Well, unless they're a dick. You're the best person I've ever known, so they have to deserve you."

Stiles closes his eyes to stave off the impending tears.

Derek still loves him and isn't horrified by him. Stiles should've trusted him. He should have known that Derek wouldn't push him away. Not Derek, who's always had his back.

Who growled at Jackson for stealing Stiles's crayons, even though Stiles broke Jackson's first.

Who tackled Theo for making fun of Stiles wearing Derek's football jersey at school.

Who never cared about the looks they got whenever they held hands or cuddled, or when Stiles would plaster himself to Derek's back like a koala.

Fuck, the past few years probably would've been a hell of a lot less stressful if he'd just told Derek.

"I love you too," Stiles says quietly. Though, he can't help but wonder how Derek would feel if he knew Stiles was in love with him.

"I hate that you've struggled alone with this. You could have confided in me. I would've told you that there was nothing wrong with being gay or bi or pan or—"

"Gay," Stiles interrupts. "I-I'm gay."

Derek presses a kiss to the side of his head before nosing the side of his neck. Derek's always loved his scent, saying it helped calm him. "I will always love and support you, Stiles. No matter what."

Stiles nods as he finally relaxes into Derek's arms, his traitorous heart skipping a beat. Emotions are so confusing sometimes with how he can feel two opposite things at the same time. How he can understand something but still be broken by it.

Derek loves him, but he's also straight, so Stiles knows that Derek will never be in love with him.

Chapter Text

November

The late November air is crisp, fall finally making itself known, but sweat trickles down Derek's temples as he runs down the field. Even as he tracks the ball flying toward him, dodging Jackson and Boyd as they try to tackle him, all he can think about is telling Stiles his good news.

The whistle blows, and Derek realizes he missed the catch.

"Hale! Get your ass in here!" Coach Finstock yells.

Derek hangs his head low as he jogs to the sidelines, chastising himself for not paying attention. "Sorry, coach."

Finstock blows his whistle again as soon as Derek's close. "Don't 'sorry, coach' me, Hale."

Derek's pretty sure Finstock would yank him closer by the ear if he wasn't wearing a helmet. "Yes, sir."

"You know...part of me wants to ask," Finstock says, crossing his arms. "The other part says knowing will be more disturbing than anything I could ever imagine."

His eyes flit over to the bleachers, and Derek clenches his jaw, knowing exactly what he’s looking at. Or rather, who he’s looking at, to be more accurate.

"Coach, I—" Derek begins, but Finstock interrupts.

"There are three rules that I live by: never get less than twelve hours sleep; never play cards with a guy who has the same first name as a city; and never get involved with a woman with a tattoo of a dagger on her body. Now you stick to that, and everything else is cream cheese."

"Uh...yes, sir? That seems like very good advice." Derek tries not to think about it too hard. Honestly, Finstock never really makes sense.

"Eh, what am I saying? It doesn't matter how you play the game, it's whether you win or lose. And even that doesn't make all that much difference." Finstock blows the whistle again, making Derek cringe. "Now get outta here, Hale."

In lieu of heading to the locker room, Derek runs up the bleachers to where Stiles sits. Where Stiles always sits when Derek has practice. It makes him insanely happy to have Stiles here, even if Stiles usually has his head in a book, either studying or doing homework.

Once he's in front of Stiles, Derek takes off his helmet and shakes his sweaty head over Stiles, making him curse.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Stiles asks, his eyes narrowed in a death glare.

God, he's so adorable sometimes. All the time, really.

Derek should probably be scared, considering the things Stiles can do thanks to his Spark, but Stiles would never hurt him. At least not intentionally. There was that one time when Stiles accidentally hurled a lamp at his head, but in his defense, Derek had startled him.

"Yeah," Derek says, beaming down at him. He sets his helmet down and plucks the book from Stiles's hands. As he skims the back cover, he says, "I got some good news and wanted to share with someone special…but you'll do."

Stiles flips him off, standing up to swipe the book back.

Derek holds it over his head, reading the title: Bite me! (You know I like it) by Fae Quin. "Huh. Sounds kinky."

"Give it back," Stiles demands, his pretty pink lips drawn in a tight line.

Derek grins, leaning down and whispering in Stiles's ear. "Ask me nicely."

He doesn't miss the full-body shudder or the way Stiles's scent turns spicy. But he ignores it because he was taught that it's impolite to point these things out. Just because he's a werewolf doesn't give him the right to use his enhanced abilities to essentially invade someone's privacy.

Plus, it's Stiles. He almost always smells aroused.

So, being the good friend he is, Derek hands the book back.

"You're such a dick. Why am I friends with you again?" Stiles asks, setting the book down on the bleachers.

Derek snorts. "You're the one who ran up to me and declared us best friends."

"I was five." Stiles rolls his eyes, but the corner of his lip quirks like he's fighting a smile. "I didn't know any better."

"You wound me," Derek deadpans.

Finally, Stiles smiles and, God, it's the most beautiful thing. It lights up his entire face and makes his eyes sparkle. "Alright, alright. Now, what's this good news you were talking about?"

"I talked to Professor Deucalion. I got an A on my exam!"

Derek nearly stumbles back when Stiles leaps into his arms, but he manages to catch him with one arm.

"That's fucking amazing! I knew you could do it!"

The air around them warms as Stiles's Spark radiates his happiness. It's almost like spring with the sun shining down on them, making everything a little brighter. He spins Stiles around in a circle, probably looking ridiculous with Stiles doing a little cheer, but then someone calls out, "Get a room!" and just like that, Derek's good mood disappears.

He hadn’t even realized Coach called an end to practice.

Derek puts Stiles down and clears his throat, taking a step back. It's not the first time the guys have given him shit about Stiles. They affectionately call Stiles his boyfriend, which Derek never bothers to correct because who gives a shit? But the past few weeks have been awkward as fuck.

His mind is a jumbled mess, filled with confusion because he's never even looked at a guy before, but now his mind is all Stiles Stiles Stiles.

Stiles blushes, and usually, it's something Derek loves, but now all it does is remind him of seeing Stiles all flushed, mouth dropped open in apparent ecstasy as Zac pounded into him. Fucking Zac. Derek grimaces because he's never had a problem with the guy before, but now all he wants to do is punch something whenever he sees him.

It's a good thing they're on the same line; otherwise, Derek's not sure he could stop himself from tackling Zac just a little too hard during practice.

Stiles sighs, then reaches down for his bag, shoving his things inside.

Derek frowns. "Where are you going?" He's still got to shower, so Stiles has a few minutes before they need to go.

"I, uh, I forgot I have a tutoring session to get to."

Even without using his supernatural hearing, Derek knows that's a lie. "But I thought we'd head home. I've had a pork roast slow cooking all day. It should be done by the time we get there."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Just save me a plate or something."

"Seriously?" Derek crosses his arms, frowning down at Stiles. They always have dinner together. "But I want to know more about your book. It looks interesting."

Stiles raises a brow, the book clutched close to his chest as he adjusts his bag over his shoulder. "It's about a guy who finds out about supernatural creatures and falls in love with this guy who turns out to be a vampire."

"Tell me more." Derek's proud of the way Stiles has been more open lately. It's like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, though Derek hates that he never noticed it before. Still, sometimes it feels like Stiles is still hiding something. He can't really begrudge him of that, considering he's been hiding some things as well. Like the fact that he can't seem to stop replaying the night he walked in on Stiles with Zac. Except, instead of Zac pounding into Stiles, it's Derek pounding into him.

"You want me to tell you about the gay vampire romance I'm reading?"

Derek crosses his arms over his chest, one brow raised at the disbelief in Stiles's voice. "Yup. Laura made me read Twilight so why not?"

Stiles stares at him for what feels like forever before hitching his bag higher on his shoulder and glancing away. "Maybe later."

As much as Derek doesn't want to, he lets Stiles pass without calling him out.

It's late. Derek and Stiles spent the day in Beacon Hills for Thanksgiving, but now Derek's ready to go home. He's incredibly horny and needs the privacy of his room to rub one out.

Somehow, Stiles made something as innocent as drinking from a bottle look downright pornographic. Inappropriate thoughts about Stiles's lips wrapped around his cock led to some uncomfortable stares in Derek's direction.

While he's grateful they're at least out of his parent's house, they're still not heading home because Stiles wants to stay the night at his dad's—going so far as to tell Derek he could go ahead and drive home after dropping him off.

"Well, when are you planning on coming home?" Derek has practice on Saturday, so he needs to be back in time for that.

"Tomorrow."

Derek sighs. It's only a three-hour trip, so it really wouldn't be that bad to come back and pick Stiles up tomorrow. Of course, he could also just stay the night with Stiles.

"Then I'll stay too."

"What? No, why?"

Derek turns his head, raising a brow at Stiles. "Well, how else are you getting home?"

"I'll just catch a ride with Jackson. He's going back tomorrow too."

Fuck. That.

As soon as he pulls up in front of the Sheriff's house, Stiles is out of the Camaro, calling out a goodbye before Derek even shuts it off.

When the engine cuts out and Derek opens his door, Stiles glances back at him. "Uh...what are you doing?"

"I told you I was staying too." The duh is implied. Derek rounds the hood but then stops when he realizes— "Unless you don't want me to."

What if that's it? What if Stiles really doesn't want him to stay?

Derek's fine with that. Of course, he is. They're close, maybe a little codependent, but if Stiles wants space, then Derek will give it to him.

"Shit." Derek rubs a hand down his face and turns to get back in the car. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assu—"

"Stay."

Just that one word makes him sigh in relief.

"Are you sure?"

Stiles rolls his eyes and stomps over, taking Derek's hand and dragging him inside. "Don't be stupid. I always want you here."

Derek grins as he follows.

When they get to Stiles's room, Stiles lets go of his hand and Derek immediately misses the warmth.

"I'm just gonna take a quick shower," Stiles says, grabbing some clothes before stalking off to the bathroom.

The shower starts and Derek kicks off his shoes, takes off his jacket, and undresses down to his boxer briefs before lying back in Stiles's bed. It's only a twin size, so it's a bit small for two full-grown adults, but they'll make do. It wouldn't be the first time they've cuddled in bed.

He tucks one arm behind his head while the other rests on his stomach, staring at the faded stars on Stiles's ceiling. The memory of them sticking the glow-in-the-dark stars up there makes him smile. Stiles was ten and Derek had just celebrated his thirteenth birthday. Because of their age difference and Derek's werewolf genetics, he was significantly taller than Stiles. So instead of using a ladder, Derek hoisted Stiles to his shoulders. He held Stiles's legs as Stiles painstakingly placed each star exactly where he wanted.

A muffled groan from the bathroom draws his attention, and Derek sits up, ready to charge through the door in case Stiles is hurt or something. But then that groan turns into a familiar whimper, and Derek's cock jumps in his boxer briefs. He knows that sound after living together for months.

Stiles is jerking off.

It's never affected him before, not really. But now all he can see is Stiles's head thrown back, his face flushed, and eyes glazed over with lust.

The porn Derek watches doesn't even get him worked up like this. And it's not even listening to Stiles's soft, strangled groans or the sound of skin-on-skin as he strokes himself that does it. It's the fact that it's Stiles.

And yes, Derek's been watching a lot of porn lately, trying to figure out if his confusion is about guys in general or just Stiles.

He felt ridiculous at first. Porn never really did anything for him before, and gay porn was the same. That is until a guy popped up on the screen that kind of looked like Stiles with his messy hair and mole-speckled skin. Then it was an instant boner as his cock took notice.

Not even his past girlfriends turned him on as much as watching the Stiles look-a-like cry out in pleasure. But sex had never been that important to him. In fact, the only people he'd ever been attracted to in that way were Paige and Jennifer.

He'd dated Paige in high school; she was his longest relationship. It was…fine. She was pretty and snarky and didn't put up with Derek's bullshit. She reminded him a lot of Stiles, actually.

Then there was Jennifer. He met her during his first year at university. Their relationship fizzled rather quickly, but there had been something about her that drew him in. Maybe it was how expressive she was when she talked, her hands always moving, telling their own story.

Shit.

Kind of like Stiles.

Now that he's thinking about it, both Paige and Jennifer were basically female versions of Stiles—at least in looks and mannerisms.

His family often joked that he had a type.

Hell, even a few hookups looked like Stiles. And then after, Derek always went home and cuddled with Stiles.

Fuck.

Derek lets out a strangled laugh as his mind spins and things click into place.

Stiles. It always comes back to Stiles.

Even the guys on the team even give him shit about their relationship. Over the past three years, Derek always went home whenever he could just to see Stiles. And now they live together. Derek never even asked Stiles if that's what he wanted. Maybe Stiles had wanted to live in the dorms with the other freshmen. Instead, Derek had gotten an apartment just for them, no questions asked.

It probably isn't healthy to be joined at the hip, but Derek doesn't care. He loves Stiles, loves being around him. And it's not like they don't or can't spend time apart. There were the three years when Stiles was still in high school and Derek was at university. And with football, sometimes Derek's away games are overnight stays, leaving Stiles at the apartment alone.

Sometimes, Stiles hangs out with the people he's met since school started while Derek stays home.

Sometimes, Derek's out with Boyd or Isaac while Stiles stays home.

Sometimes, they take separate trips to Beacon Hills because—contrary to popular belief—they can function without the other.

But mostly, they prefer to hang out together, and there's nothing wrong with that.

Right?

And, sure, they're more touchy-feely than anyone Derek's ever seen. It's not something he'd paid attention to before. But now Derek notices how often they cuddle. He notices that whenever Stiles is near, he has to touch him in some way—usually pressing up against him or placing a hand on the small of his back.

That's definitely not something most friends do, not even close ones.

They eat dinner together, clean up after each other, and are all around very…domestic.

Holy shit. Derek's basically in a relationship with Stiles.

The only thing missing is sex.

As if on cue, a soft moan comes from the bathroom, and Derek rubs his cock. He can't help but wonder who Stiles is thinking about. His dick goes soft because what if Stiles is thinking of Zac? Of that night in the bathroom and whatever other nights they were able to sneak away.

Was that the first night they hooked up?

Are they dating? Is it a friends-with-benefits thing?

Derek drags a hand down his face. He really is a horrible friend for not asking Stiles more about this. For essentially ignoring everything after they talked that night. But it was clear the conversation made Stiles uncomfortable. Hell, Derek was kind of uncomfortable, too, because the idea of someone else's hands on Stiles made him sick.

It should have been him with Stiles, not Zac. Stiles is his.

Oh.

Oh.

Holy shit, he's attracted to Stiles. But, more than that, he's pretty sure he's in love with him.

Looking back on it, Derek feels like an idiot. Of course, he's in love with Stiles. It's so simple but also scary because what if Stiles doesn't feel the same way?

Just because Stiles is gay doesn't mean he's attracted to Derek. Especially if Zac's his type, with his dirty blond hair and pale blue eyes.

He's also short.

Okay, maybe not that short. Like Stiles, Zac's probably only an inch or two shorter than Derek. He's just being salty now.

No. Actually, that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach is dread. Derek’s scared.

There’s a lot that he can handle, but the idea of Stiles rejecting him? He’s not sure he could take it. His future has always involved Stiles, and this could change things.

It might not change the bond they have, but it could make their relationship awkward. More awkward than it already is.

Part of him wishes he could go back to before he found out Stiles was gay. After all, isn't the healthiest way to deal with uncertainty and confusion to squash it deep down and pretend it doesn't exist?

Christ. Derek definitely spends too much time with Stiles if his first idea is to run away from his problems.

Derek's thoughts are interrupted when the shower cuts off.

Stiles comes back into the room a few minutes later, stilling when he notices that Derek's still awake. His hair is damp, standing in spikes from running a towel over it. There's a flush to his skin that could be from his orgasm or the hot shower.

It's awkward for a moment. Stiles is probably wondering if Derek could hear him, but then Stiles crosses the room and slides into bed. He faces the doorway, and that just won't do, so Derek loops an arm around his stomach and drags Stiles back against him.

"I'm not a toy you can manhandle, you know," Stiles says, though Derek can hear the smile in his voice.

Instead of answering, Derek closes his eyes and drags his nose along the back of Stiles's neck. He smells like Irish Spring, but there's also the lingering scent of his arousal.

Derek lets out a pleased rumble-purr and buries his face in the crook of Stiles's neck as he wraps himself around Stiles like a protective blanket.

No matter what, at least he has this.

Chapter Text

December

Stiles tosses his keys on the kitchen counter and roots through the pantry, looking for something to eat. His last class ran a little late, and he's starving. It's his day to cook, but he needs something now, or else he'll be on the warpath, and it's better for everyone if he isn't hangry.

His phone chimes with an incoming text—Zac reminding him of a party his frat is hosting.

Stiles chews on his bottom lip as he debates whether to go or not. It'd be nice to hang out with some friends before the holiday break and let loose from all the stress of finals.

But a quiet night in with Derek is almost always preferable.

As if on cue, Derek steps into the kitchen. His hair is wet, and the towel slung low on his hips leaves little to the imagination as far as his assets go.

Stiles swallows thickly as he stares at Derek's drool-worthy naked chest.

Fuck. Do not pop a boner. Do not pop a boner.

It's seriously so unfair that Derek's so fucking hot. And straight. And far too damn comfortable with Stiles that he gives zero fucks about walking around half-naked.

All. The. Time.

Doesn't he realize that he's a walking wet dream? Stiles's, to be specific. Doesn't he realize that he's the star in every single one of Stiles's very vivid fantasies?

Probably not, because Derek's one of the most humble guys Stiles knows. He might know he's attractive, but he doesn't realize the sheer power of his smile. It brings out his dimples, and Stiles would commit murder for them.

Also, his abs. Rock-hard, solid muscle that Stiles wants to lick.

Stiles does his best not to perve on Derek, though. But he's not a saint and—fuck—Stiles can't help but wonder what it would feel like to rub himself against Derek's body. It's bad enough that he knows how it feels to have Derek wrapped around him like a blanket.

"Who's that?" Derek asks, walking behind him to grab an apple from the counter. He takes a big bite; the crunch is loud in the quiet apartment.

"Oh, uh, it's Zac. There's a party at the frat, so he was wondering if I was gonna go."

"And are you?"

Stiles shrugs, ignoring the hard edge of Derek's voice. It gets like that whenever Zac is mentioned lately. "I don't know. Maybe. You wanna come with?"

"Why don't we stay in and watch a movie?"

Stiles wants to retort, 'Why don't you put on a shirt?' but he manages to bite it back. It would raise unnecessary questions that Stiles absolutely does not want to answer.

"You're hungry, right? We can order in," Derek continues.

"I don't know. We're gonna be leaving for break soon. Might be fun to hit up one last party." Stiles opens the fridge and leans in, letting the frigid temperature cool him down. Seriously, are their towels shrinking? And does Derek have to tie it so low on his hips?

All it would take is for Stiles to flick his wrist or snap his fingers and that towel is gone.

It's so unfair.

Especially because now he's horny.

"Actually, you know what?" Stiles slams the fridge shut and stands up straight but then startles because—holy shit!—when did Derek get that close? "Jesus-fucking-Christ, Derek! I'm buying you a damn bell for Christmas!"

Derek's breath ghosts over his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Fuck.

Stiles shivers. His cock twitches and his hole clenches, wanting to be filled.

"What were you going to say?" Derek's voice is a lot huskier than it usually is.

Or maybe it's wishful thinking on his part.

Yeah, Stiles definitely needs to get laid.

"I-I," Stiles clears his throat and steps to the side, putting some distance between them. He hates that he's probably blushing if the heat creeping up his neck to his cheeks is anything to go by. "I think I'm gonna go to the party. Y-Yeah. I-I'm gonna do…that. The party."

Derek raises a brow and fuck if that doesn't infuriate and turn him on. The bastard.

"Alright. Just give me a few to get ready."

Wait. What?

"What?"

Derek leans close, making Stiles gasp because it almost seems like Derek's going to kiss him or something, but then Derek reaches past him to toss the apple core into the trash. "I said just give me a few minutes to get dressed, and then we can go."

"You're…coming with me?"

Derek crosses his arms over his broad chest, making his pecs pop out. He asks something, but Stiles doesn't hear it. In fact, he's two-point-five seconds away from dropping to his knees and embarrassing himself.

"Stiles?"

He blinks at Derek in confusion. "Huh, what?"

"I asked if that was okay."

"O…kay?" Stiles asks, because what were they talking about again?

Derek huffs in amusement and grips Stiles's arms, ensuring Stiles looks him right in the eyes. "Is it alright if I come to the party with you?"

An unreadable expression crosses Derek's face at that moment as if he's just realized something. He lets go of Stiles and takes a step back. "I mean, if you don't want me to, it's fine." Then his voice goes quiet, almost vulnerable. "You're probably meeting up with…him. It's...okay. You know you don't have to hide that from me, right?"

What?

Derek wants to talk to him about…guys?

"That wouldn't make you uncomfortable?"

"I mean, I know we don't usually talk about that stuff, but you can. It doesn't have to be…awkward."

Uh, yes. Yes, it would be extremely awkward. So thank God that it's not something they've ever really talked about before because while, yes, Stiles knows that Derek has dated and hooked up with girls, he'd rather live in ignorant bliss.

A sour expression crosses Derek's face, like he just bit into a grapefruit, so Stiles puts him out of his misery.

"Er, I'd rather not talk about that. With you. You're my best friend, but maybe some things…"

"Right. Okay." Derek looks one part relieved but also disappointed. "And, actually, you know what? Forget about the party. I shouldn't have asked."

Crap.

Sure, hooking up with Zac was one of the reasons Stiles had considered going to the party, but Stiles would be damned if he ever made Derek feel like he wasn't wanted. Bros before…other bros that might potentially suck your dick and all that, right?

Before Derek can take another step back, Stiles grabs his arm. "I'm just gonna take a quick shower first, alright? Just gimme fifteen minutes."

Derek gives him a smile so small that Stiles has to squint to see it. Still, it's breathtaking.

"Knowing you, it'll be more like thirty," Derek says.

And just like that, the tension's gone.

"Oh, fuck you, dude."

They're out the door forty minutes later, finally heading to the party. Stiles is surprised that Derek doesn't give him shit for it, but Derek's hands are shoved in his pockets, and there's a sour expression on his face.

Stiles wants to call him out on his crappy mood and how he doesn't have to go to the party, but Derek's a big boy. In fact, he'd insisted, so instead of letting Derek's mood bring him down, Stiles skips ahead of him. He turns to Derek with a smile plastered on his face. "Did you know that every C in Pacific Ocean is pronounced differently?"

Derek huffs out an annoyed breath. Even with a scowl, he's beautiful.

Stiles hates how weird things have been between them lately. They still cuddle and stuff, but Derek's been more growly and possessive.

Don't get him wrong, Stiles likes it. But at the same time, he knows this is just how Derek is. Though, this is maybe a bit more…extreme than usual.

Still, it's not as if Derek actually wants him or anything. Derek's straight, after all.

But.

Then there are moments like earlier in the kitchen. Or times when he catches Derek watching him a little more intently, and Stiles can't help but wonder.

What if?

What if Derek felt the same?

Stiles shivers, and it's not from the cold. The idea of Derek wanting him is ridiculous, but still. Being the first man Derek ever touched and tasted—the first man Derek ever fucked—sends a jolt of arousal through his veins.

Warmth envelops him as Derek wraps his leather jacket around his shoulders. Stiles would protest that he's not cold, but then he'd have to give Derek's jacket back. Right now, if he closes his eyes, maybe he can pretend that things are different between them.

Besides, with how close they are—Derek's arm slung around his waist, so Stiles is pressed against him—they could be mistaken for a couple. It's happened before.

They get to the frat house, and at first, Derek doesn't let him go. Stiles blushes as people glance at them, but it's nothing they haven't seen before. Derek's usually touching him in some way.

But then Zac calls out his name. "Stiles!"

Zac brushes the hair back from his eyes, sweeping it to the side as he eyes Derek warily. "Hey, man."

"Zac," is all Derek says before dropping his arm. But then gently grips the back of Stiles's neck, bringing him close to whisper in his ear. "I'm gonna grab a drink. You want anything?"

Stiles turns his head, swallowing thickly at how close Derek is. "I, uh, I—"

"I've got him," Zac says, holding a cup out for Stiles.

Derek grabs it, taking a sip. Stiles would protest because Derek can't possibly think that Zac would drug him or something. Still, he supposes a person can never be too careful.

Zac scowls, seemingly understanding why Derek took his drink. "I wouldn't do that."

"Then you have no problem with me checking," Derek says, a brow raised in challenge. "He's mine. My pack. And I'll protect him from anyone. Got it?"

Zac throws his hands up with a heavy sigh, but he relents.

Then Derek hands Stiles the drink, nodding that it's fine, and Zac glances at Stiles. "Wanna dance?"

"Hell yeah." Stiles chugs his drink, needing the buzz to chase away the awkwardness before shrugging off Derek's jacket. He hands it back to him and follows Zac to the living room, where music pumps through the speakers.

The main lights are off, but there are party lights, casting the room in an eerie glow of pinks, purples, and blues that swoop along the walls.

Stiles gets lost in the music, arms flailing as he bounces to the rhythmic thumping of the bass.

Zac flirts with him, dancing close, but Stiles notices Derek glaring at them from across the room. He feels guilty, like he's betraying Derek by paying attention to another guy, even though he shouldn't. It's not as if he and Derek are dating—even though he wishes they were.

He's unsure how much time passes as he drinks and dances the night away, but then Zac palms his ass and kisses him.

After a moment, Zac breaks the kiss, dragging his lips to Stiles's ear. "Stay tonight? My roommate left early, so we'll have the room to ourselves."

Before Stiles can turn him down—because as much fun as he has with Zac, it's not fair to lead him on like this—Derek's there, sliding his arms around Stiles and pulling him back against him.

Stiles laughs as he spins in Derek's arms. "I swear to God, I'm not kidding about that bell!"

"Buy me whatever you want, baby. You know I'll wear it." Derek holds up his wrist, showing Stiles the friendship bracelet he still wears. Stiles made it for Derek when he was maybe seven? Honestly, it's been so long that he doesn't even remember.

"You're a dork," Stiles says fondly. He gasps when Derek's arm snakes around his waist and practically encourages Stiles to grind against him as they move to the beat of the music.

"Is this okay?" Derek asks. For all that they do, they've never done this.

Well, except for school dances. Derek never hesitated to pull Stiles in his arms during a slow song.

But the grinding? Yeah, that's new.

It makes Stiles giddy. Or maybe it's the alcohol, but Derek's so close and smells so good.

Stiles smirks as he dusts his knuckles over Derek's stomach.

There's a hitch in Derek's breath that shouldn't be audible over the music, but at this moment, the world is narrowed to just the two of them.

Filled with a sense of false confidence, Stiles slips his hands under Derek's shirt, pressing his palms against the hard ridges of Derek's abs. Derek might only be an inch taller than Stiles, but it feels like Derek towers over him as Stiles cranes his neck to look up at him. Derek's eyes flare with…something. Stiles would say it's interest, but he refuses to read into things. Even as they breathe together.

Even as Derek leans down, dragging his nose along Stiles's jaw.

Stiles's breathing grows ragged the closer Derek's lips get to his, but then someone knocks into them. Derek lets him go in favor of helping the person get to their feet.

Instead of pulling Stiles against him again once they stumble off, Derek shoves his hands in his pockets and clears his throat. He won't meet Stiles's eyes, and by the look on his face, it's clear he regrets what they were just doing.

And just like that, the moment is broken, and the high from having such a good time is gone.

"I wanna go home," Stiles says, wrapping his arms around himself. He let himself get too lost in his head and the idea that Derek could want him, too, and now it’s as if his entire being is an open wound.

His skin prickles as he imagines everybody staring at him.

Do they know how much Stiles wants Derek? How much he wanted that kiss?

Do they see the way Derek won’t even look at him?

It’s like an anvil dropping into the pit of his stomach as his anxiety rises, making him stone-cold sober.

Without giving Derek a second glance, he shuffles past everyone on the makeshift dance floor, needing air.

He can't be here anymore.

Stiles steps out onto the porch, gulping in the cold night air. He takes a few deep breaths, trying his best to push away the lump in his throat.

After a few more shuddering breaths, the tightness in his chest slowly releases. But then Derek’s there, a familiar warmth at his back, and Stiles hates the way it simultaneously brings him misery and comforts him.

"Stiles, I—"

"No." Stiles shakes his head. He’s too tired to hear whatever excuse Derek intends to give him—that he was drunk or was too caught up in the moment. "I just want to go home and sleep."

Derek doesn't protest as he leads Stiles from the party and back to their apartment, walking close beside him, their arms brushing every so often.

Still, Stiles has never felt more lonely.

Chapter Text

New Year's Eve

Stupid Zac.

Seriously, if Stiles and Zac were serious, then Stiles should have told Derek because having Zac show up at his parent's house for the New Year's Eve party is like a sucker punch to the gut.

Though…Stiles seems a little shocked by Zac's arrival, too.

Still, it doesn't stop Stiles from laughing and joking with him. From flirting.

On one hand, Derek's happy for Stiles. It really is a relief to know Stiles isn't hiding this part of himself anymore. On the other hand, Derek absolutely hates it. Hates that someone else is on the other end of one of Stiles's smiles.

But Derek can't look away.

Instead, he seethes with jealousy as he watches Zac and Stiles. They'd make a cute couple, even Derek can tell that they look good together.

But just last week, Derek and Stiles almost kissed.

They. Almost. Kissed.

And Derek wanted it so bad.

But then someone bumped into them, and when he looked back at Stiles, his cheeks were flushed and his pupils dilated. The scent of alcohol hung heavy in the air, and Derek couldn't be sure Stiles realized it was him he was about to kiss. Hell, Stiles had already kissed Zac just moments before.

If Derek were a better person, he'd walk away. Stiles is clearly happy, and who cares that it's not with Derek? But Derek isn't a better person, so he stays. He watches and growls every time Zac touches Stiles. Every time Stiles smiles at him.

He wants to march over, throw Stiles over his shoulder, and take him upstairs away from prying eyes. He wants to rub himself all over Stiles, mark every inch of his lithe body so everyone knows that Stiles is his.

But he doesn't.

Because Derek loves Stiles too much to turn him into a possession. So instead, he takes a deep breath and plasters a smile on his face even though his heart is breaking.

The closer it gets to midnight, though, the more aggravated he gets. The thought of watching Stiles kiss Zac becomes unbearable, so he pushes away from the wall and stalks upstairs to his room, slamming his bedroom door shut like a sullen teenager.

It knocks the contents of his wall-mounted shelf over, including the wooden wolf Stiles got him for his tenth birthday. Apparently, Stiles had seen it when he was out with his mom and had to get it for Derek. He'd begged his mom to let him use his savings since he'd already spent his entire allowance on a video game Derek had wanted.

His wide, pleading eyes must have worked because Stiles presented it to him in a little gift bag with a proud smile on his face.

Derek picks it up and examines the battered toy, a symbol of their friendship. He cradles it close, wishing it could give him some kind of answer.

There's a tap on his door, but before he has a chance to ask who it is, the door flies open and Stiles charges in like a raging bull. The air around him is damn near electrified thanks to his Spark.

With a scowl on his pretty face and his arms crossed, he just looks at Derek.

Nothing is said for the longest time, so Derek sits in his desk chair.

Then it starts. Stiles's jaw tics and his fingers twitch. He shuffles from foot to foot for a few moments before the pacing begins. There's annoyance written in every line of his long, lean body.

Even angry, Stiles is so beautiful.

Stiles opens his mouth several times, like he's about to say something but then changes his mind. It feels like forever before Stiles finally says, "What the hell is your problem?"

The words hit Derek square in the chest, knocking the wind out of him as if Stiles reeled back and hurled them at him like a weapon.

Derek squares his shoulders, but what is he supposed to say?

That his problem is he's never felt this all-consuming kind of…want for someone before?

Sure, Stiles has always been there, but never with the possibility of more, and now it's all Derek can think about. It's like once he realized that he was in love with Stiles, that was it for him. He hasn't even bothered checking out other girls—or guys, for that matter—knowing he would only ever compare them to Stiles.

And against Stiles, there is no contest.

But while Derek's been trying to figure out a way to tell his best friend that he's in love with him, Stiles has been out there, giving Zac those lazy, crooked smiles.

Those are Derek's smiles!

They're not for family or friends. And certainly not for Zac.

"Derek, I am so serious right now." Stiles stands with his hands on his hips, his head and shoulders hunched in defeat.

"I'm in love with you," Derek whispers, his voice hoarse with the strain of forcing himself to say the words.

This changes everything.

Derek stares at Stiles, waiting for him to say something and wishing he could take it back because Stiles is quiet.

Stiles is never quiet, so this can't possibly be good.

"What did you just say?" Stiles's voice comes out rough. He points an accusatory finger at Derek, getting right in his face.

Derek leans back in his chair when Stiles jabs that finger into his chest. "Ow."

But not even his lame exclamation of pain stamps down the ire in Stiles's eyes. "What…the fuck…did you just say to me?"

Derek reaches up, hating how his fingers shake as he covers Stiles's hand, moving it over his heart.

"I said," he closes his eyes, steeling himself for a moment before opening them again, "that I'm in love with you."

Stiles lets out a strangled laugh before narrowing his eyes. It's odd being on this side of Stiles's anger. "But you're straight!"

"I thought I was," Derek says quietly. "But then I saw you with Zac and I…" He never realized things could be different between them. That they could be more.

"You what? Do you feel threatened by him? Do you think you're going to lose me or something? Because I'm not going anywhere, Derek." Stiles's hard glare softens to something like understanding and he sighs. "You're my best friend and that's never going to change. You're the most important person in my life. I love you."

And somehow, Derek knows that it's not a platonic love. Not when Stiles's voice breaks, when it sounds like a plead for Derek to understand.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"And possibly lose you? No way." Stiles shakes his head as he straightens, backing away and resuming his pacing. "I'd rather be your friend than nothing at all."

He sounds beaten, despondent and dejected, as if he's finally coming to terms with something.

And that just won't do.

"But I love you!" Derek implores, standing. The chair rolls back, colliding with his desk with a hard thud. "Even before this, I have always loved you. You wouldn't have lost me."

Stiles laughs; it's a wet sound, like he's got something stuck in his throat. "It would have been different. Things would have changed. You'd have looked at me differently, knowing how I felt. I know you, Derek. You'd have done something stupid like force yourself into a relationship with me because you'd have wanted to make me happy."

"No, I wouldn't!" Derek might be willing to do anything for Stiles, but if his feelings weren't genuine, he'd never hurt Stiles by staying in a sham of a relationship. "I know how I feel about you. Sure, I might have only realized it after seeing you with Zac, but that's only because I didn't know things could be different between us! Hell, if you'd told me before, maybe I would have realized my feelings sooner."

He pushes Stiles back a little as he takes a deep breath. "Do you know that I've never even thought about seriously settling down with anyone? My parents have asked me a few times. Even my friends ask me. But do you know what I always say? I have you. I don't need anyone else. I've never needed anyone the way I need you."

Maybe he should say something about the fact that they're practically dating already, but Stiles interrupts his train of thought.

"What if you only think you're in love with me? What if you're just confused? Hell, Derek, you freaked out last week when we were about to kiss! That's pretty fucking tell—"

Derek cuts off his rambling by backing him up against the door and kissing him.

Stiles tastes like orange juice, amaretto, and lime. His lips are soft and plump, and just a flick of his tongue makes Derek groan—his entire body igniting as anticipation fills his veins.

Nothing has ever felt so right, like this is exactly where he’s supposed to be.

It’s not long before the kiss goes from sweet to molten.

Stiles moans as Derek presses impossibly close, his whole body trembling with the need to have every inch of himself covering Stiles’s body.

Derek cups the back of Stiles’s head to deepen the kiss—a kiss he never knew could be so hot. So consuming.

It's rough and hot and raw and makes Derek insanely hard.

Stiles holds his waist. His fingers digging into Derek’s hips as if he’s scared Derek will pull away.

But then he moves, just a tiny thrust of his hips and…well, hello there.

Stiles is hard too.

Derek’s never felt a dick against his own. It should freak him out, but this is Stiles, so instead of tensing up, it just turns him on even more. To know that he did that, and all with a kiss.

Stiles pulls away, his head thunking back against the door. His lips are spit-slick, red and swollen, and his hair is in disarray from Derek’s fingers.

"Derek," Stiles says in a low, gruff whisper that sends an electrical pulse down Derek’s spine. Or maybe it's Stiles's Spark, warming him as Stiles's hands trail over his back.

Derek pants, pressing their forehead together.

Stiles's breath puffs over his face for a few moments before he gets his breathing under control.

Derek gently cradles Stiles's face, kissing him—softly this time.

Stiles melts into him, hands sliding up Derek's biceps, shoulders, and neck until they slip into his hair. He pulls back and gazes at Derek with something close to awe in his expression.

"Stiles…" Derek takes a deep breath. "The only reason I didn't kiss you that night was because we were both drinking. And, if I'm being honest, I didn't think you wanted me like that. You told me you were gay, but you never said anything else. You didn't act any different with me. You still flirted with Zac. How was I supposed to know how you felt? It'd be pretty fucking conceited to think that just because you were gay, you were into me."

"God, you're an idiot. I thought you were straight, Derek." There's silence for a moment before Stiles continues, "Is this real? I feel like I'm dreaming."

Derek brushes his thumbs over Stiles's cheeks, smiling softly when Stiles gently grips his wrists, like he's making sure Derek won't let him go. "It's real. I love you. I'm in love with you."

He'll never be able to stress that enough. Never be able to explain his bone-deep yearning for Stiles. The ache in his chest that is Stiles.

There's yelling through the door as people downstairs start counting down to midnight.

"Ten…nine…eight…"

Stiles whispers, "Say it again."

"Six…five…"

"I love you, Stiles."

"Two…one!"

As the clock strikes midnight, Derek swears the room gets brighter, the warmth of Stiles's Spark surrounding them.

Derek kisses him again.

And again and again, until everything else fades away, and it's just them, lost in the moment, in love, for the first time and forever.

Epilogue - Two(ish) Years Later

Derek swallows thickly as they reach the end of the dock.

Stiles makes a pleased sound, staring out at the lake. The sun bathes him in gold as he tilts his head back, soaking up its rays. "Mmm…I'm glad we came here."

Usually, they only come to his family's cabin during the summer, but it's always a family event, and Derek wants this moment to be just them.

Stiles looks at him, a soft smile on his face. "Remember when we were younger and we'd write messages in bottles and toss 'em into the lake?"

"As a matter of fact…" Derek does remember that. How Stiles insisted on it after reading the Nicholas Sparks book. And, of course, Derek went along with it. Though, their messages were usually wishes for themselves or each other instead of others. Like the one he has today.

He pulls a bottle from the picnic basket he prepared.

"Is that…?" Stiles snorts as realization dawns on him. "You're such a romantic. So what's the message?"

"I wanna be with you," Derek whispers into his ear before kissing his cheek. "And if you start singing Mandy Moore, I'll throw you in the water instead of this bottle."

Derek's hands are steady as he holds out the bottle for Stiles. Under the folded sheet with his wish is an engagement ring. "Here. Hold this. I brought you a bottle and some paper to write your own."

Knowing Stiles, he'll shake the bottle, wonder what the clinking sound is, and find the ring.

Unfortunately, as Derek grabs the paper and another bottle, Stiles rears his arm back and throws Derek's bottle into the lake. It hits the water with a splash disappearing under the water but thankfully comes back up a second later.

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. He should have known this would happen. He really, really should have known.

He reaches behind himself, yanking his shirt over his head as he kicks off his shoes and socks. Then he unbuttons his pants.

"Uh…not that I'm complaining or anything," Stiles says, damn near eye-fucking Derek as he steps out of his pants, leaving him clad in only his black boxer briefs, "but why are you getting naked?"

"You weren't supposed to throw the bottle."

"But…" Stiles frowns. "That's the tradition."

"Yeah, but not that one."

"We put the message in the bottle," Stiles exclaims, arms flailing, "and then we throw the bottle in the lake!" 

"Yeah, well, that one has your engagement ring in it."

Stiles's mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air.

Derek shakes his head, huffing a laugh that's amusement mixed with a bit of exasperation. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Love me forever?" Stiles says, looking a little sheepish, but the fresh scent of spring fills Derek's senses. The grass behind them looks a little greener, the sky a little more blue as Stiles's happiness radiates all around them.

"Always." Derek cups the back of Stiles's head and kisses his forehead before diving off the dock.

When he comes up to get his bearings, Stiles yells, "I love you!" but his voice has a teasing lilt, so Derek flips him off before looking around for the bottle. The sun glints off the glass not too far in the distance since the current's not too bad.

Derek's back on the deck within five minutes, down on one knee in front of Stiles.

"Will you marry me?" he asks, shaking the water from his hair.

Stiles's eyes shine with tears as he nods, practically tackling Derek to the ground and almost knocking the ring out of his hand. "Yes!"

Derek slips the ring on Stiles's finger before standing. He cups Stiles's face, kissing him deeply.

"I love you," he breathes against Stiles's lips, happier than he ever thought possible.

"I love you, too." Stiles smiles, the sun illuminating the tiny gold specks in his eyes. "Forever."