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Stiles hesitated while pulling his pants back on. “Well, I’ve got, you know, things tomorrow, and I’m sure you’ve got things tomorrow, so it would probably be better if I just, you know, stayed at my own place. You know?”
God, how many times had he said “you know” in the past thirty seconds?
Derek propped his head up on his hand and regarded him steadily. He was still naked, the bed sheet pulled up to just over his waist. “You don’t have to stay,” he said quietly. “But you also don’t have to leave.”
That wasn’t true. He had to leave. He had to get out of here before Derek realized how freaking gone Stiles was on him, before Derek realized that Stiles could not, in fact, handle a one-night stand like a goddamn adult. Or at least, he couldn’t handle a one-night stand with Derek like a goddamn adult.
But Derek was still just…looking at him. While Stiles was familiar with a lot of Derek’s looks, this one was different. And he couldn’t quite figure out how.
“Do you want me to stay?” Stiles asked before he could lose his nerve.
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t,” Derek said. “But it’s up to you.”
Stiles closed his eyes. He wanted to stay so badly. But… “Are you sure? I’m not a quiet sleeper. Like, I’ll probably kick you off the bed.”
Derek smiled. “I’ll heal.”
Stiles slid his pants back off. “There might be nightmares.”
The smile faded, replaced by solemn empathy. “Same.”
Yeah, Stiles didn’t know why he’d thought nightmares would dissuade Derek in any way. He sat back on the bed. “I…” he started, but he couldn’t figure out how to end that sentence.
Derek lifted the sheet and raised one eyebrow, as if to say Are you joining me or not?
Stiles sighed and nestled under the sheet. There was one last thing he had to admit, and the best thing to do was to just throw it out there. “I don’t think this is a one-time thing for me.”
He whispered it, even though he knew damn well the only way Derek wouldn’t hear was if he didn’t say it at all.
Derek’s arm settled around him and pulled him close. “Me neither,” he murmured into the back of Stiles’s neck.
Stiles shivered, both at the words themselves and the way Derek’s beard scraped along his neck. “Oh. So, uh, does that mean–”
Derek kissed his neck. “It means we’ll talk about it more tomorrow morning, over coffee and breakfast.”
Stiles put his hand over Derek’s. “And maybe after round two?”
Derek’s laugh ghosted along his skin. “I think that could be arranged.”