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Stiles wakes up to feeling slightly overheated. There’s something much heavier than a blanket across his back and he freezes because what the fuck? Someone breathes against his neck, their breath warm and a bit moist. Stiles lies completely still. Is he about to be raped? The other person seems sound asleep though and if Stiles thinks about it logically (as logically as he can when he’s being pressed down in the bed by a sleeping… furnace) it’s highly unlikely for a rapist to fall asleep on their victim-to-be. Stiles hopes he isn’t a victim, maybe he got raped in his sleep? No, he’d wake up if someone did things to him, wouldn’t he?
He considers calling for his dad because his dad wouldn’t want someone to sleep on top of his very much underaged son, thank you very much. But then he remembers that John works the night shift and isn’t home yet. Stiles opens his eyes to see if he can find something to hit his… whatever the person on top of him is with. Only, when he opens his eyes he’s not met by his bedside table with his digital alarm clock and a few knickknacks or his wall, had he been facing the other way. Instead he’s met by a bedside table with a digital clock and a phone on. No school books, no 3D glasses from the last movie he saw at the theatre with Scott, no tickets for the same movie. It all seem very… adult-y. Well, for someone who kidnaps sleeping seventeen year old boys.
But there’s a phone and with a phone Stiles can call the cops, call his dad. He stretches out his hand, but he’s too far away to reach it. He seems to be in the middle of a king-sized bed. He tries to shuffle closer to the bedside table, but he’s too far away. The body on top of him moves slightly, giving him a bit more room to breathe, and Stiles tries to shuffle out from underneath it. A strong arm grips him around his waist and pulls him flush against the other body. Stiles is not proud of the sound that escapes him when he feels that the other person is definitely a man (if the strength and weight hadn’t already told Stiles this). Like, so much a man. Like, fuck, there’s a hard dick pressed against Stiles’ ass. Stiles freezes again. He’s not ready to have hard dicks pressed against his ass. He’s never even had hard dicks pressed against any parts of his body (not that he would mind) and he’d like to at least touch someone else’s hard dick before they press it against Stiles’ ass. He tries to wiggle away from the dick – from the man – but the arm tightens around his stomach, making Stiles make another embarrassing sound. Dry, warm lips are pressed against his neck and something that feels a bit like sand-paper scrapes against his skin (that’ll probably leave marks, Stiles bruises like a freaking peach).
“Relax, baby, it’s Saturday. We can spend all day in bed.”
Stiles makes his third embarrassing sound of the day and manages to tug himself free from the- the man. Only, he pulls away with too much force and ends up sprawled on his back on the floor with his feet still on the bed.
“Ow,” he mumbles and then realizes that he’s completely naked. Someone snorts from the bed and something touches the inside of Stiles’ legs and then a face comes into view, right above him. Stiles’ jaw might drop because wow, that is one fine-looking man. His face looks like it was carved by angels, sharp cheekbones and a prominent jawline that is covered in fine-looking stubble. The man’s eyes are pale and some kind of brown-green color. He has thick, dark eyebrows and his hair is dark and ruffled, which can be expected as he’s obviously just woken up. He smiles blindingly down at Stiles, who suddenly remembers where he is – and more importantly that he’s extremely naked with his junk free for anyone to see (especially sexy sex-gods that have like first row seats because they’re lying between Stiles’ legs). Stiles makes another embarrassing sound and scrambles to get up from the floor and covers himself with his hand as he backs into a wall. The man’s eyebrows do some kind of dance on his forehead.
“Stiles, are you okay? Did you hit your head?”
“How do you know my name?”
“What? What do you mean ‘how do I’…?”
The man gets up from the bed, approaching Stiles slowly, and Stiles’ eyes is drawn down to his crotch – the man is just as naked as Stiles and just as hard and god, that’s a live man-penis that’s fully-erect staring back at him.
“Should I leave you two alone?” the man asks drily, looking pointedly between his dick and Stiles. He seems totally unashamed of his own nakedness. Stiles’ eyes snap up to the man’s face as his whole body flushes (a bit from arousal but mostly from the mortification of being caught staring).
“Stay back!” he yells, flailing with his other hand at the guy who stops and frowns, actually looking concerned this time.
“Stiles, what’s going on? Is this some kind of game?”
“No, this is not some kind of game!” Stiles says – well, shrieks is probably a better word to describe it. “Who are you and what do you want? And no, you can’t have my virginity, I’m saving it for someone special.” Stiles isn’t really saving himself for someone special, he’d take basically anyone, but he can’t let the man – the sexy, perhaps sex maniac, completely naked and horny man – know that.
“Last time I checked, I’ve already taken your virginity.” The man’s tone is dry but he still looks worried. Stiles quite sure he’d remember if he had had sex, especially with someone as gorgeous as the man in front of him. “Did you hit your head? You’re acting weird.”
“I’m acting weird? I’m not the one with the- the penis!”
The guy snorts and rubs at his forehead.
“Last time I checked you had a penis too, Stiles.”
The guy’s eyes drop to Stiles’ crotch where he’s trying to cover his erection (because it just won’t go away!) with his hands.
“Don’t look! Eyes up here!” He points to his face with his hand and the guy looks amused as he slowly raises his eyes until they lock with Stiles’. “Good. Now, could you please give me some clothes or something to cover up with?”
The guy points to Stiles’ left.
“Your clothes are over there.”
Stiles nods as he walks sideways towards the chair with his clothes, his hands covering his junk.
“Could you like, turn around or something?” he asks as he reaches the chair.
The guy sighs and turns around, showing of amuscled back with a black tattoo with swirls, a round, tight ass and muscled thighs and calves covered in dark hairs (yes, both ass and legs have hairs. Stiles didn’t know he had a thing for hairy legs and butts but god, does it look good on this guy).
“You do know that there’s a mirror behind you, right?” the guy says, waking Stiles up from his staring at his ass. He swirls around only to come face to face with himself in a mirror that covers most of the wall. A closet, Stiles realizes. His face is beet red and- what the fuck is that? Across his chest there are a few bluish red markings. He looks down on his chest and yep, he has one, two, three, four, five hickeys on his chest.
“Are you a freaking vampire or something?” he hisses.
“I thought you liked it,” the man says, suddenly almost pressed against Stiles’ back, his eyes fixed on the marks in the mirror. Stiles shoves at him at the same time as he’s trying to get away, which proves quite hard; he falls against the mirror and then stumbles against the chair, the clothes falling off but the chair (and Stiles) stay upright.
“Don’t look!” he shrieks, scandalized.
“That’s it, I’m calling Scott,” the man says and leaves the room. Stiles sags in relief at finally being alone. He quickly pulls on a pair of jeans (there are no underwear on the chair and he really doesn’t want the man to get another eyeful of his junk) and a t-shirt. He considers calling his dad on the phone that still sits on the bedside table, but the man had said he’d call Scott and Scott’s Stiles’ best friend so that has to be a good thing, right? Maybe Stiles and the mystery man hooked up last night at a party? Not that Stiles remembers drinking anything that could alter his memory or even the he went to a party. The last thing he remembers is sitting in his car, cursing Scott for abandoning him yet again to hang out with Allison, hitting his head repeatedly against the steering wheel… Maybe that’s why he can’t remember anything else? Maybe he got a concussion?
The door to the bedroom opens again and the man steps inside, this time dressed in dark jeans and a white tank top. His biceps look quite… edible in that tank top.
“Scott’s on his way.”
“Good,” Stiles says and hugs his body. The man walks up to him and reaches out a hand as if he’s about to touch Stiles’ cheek. Stiles flinches away and the man’s face falls, his eyes look as if Stiles had slapped him in the face and killed puppies for fun, then the man blinks and he looks just neutral, as if he doesn’t care if Stiles flinches away from him or not. But he does, Stiles saw it in his eyes, even if it was just for a moment. For some reason this man – this unknown man – seem to care about Stiles.
“You don’t remember me at all?” the man asks quietly and Stiles shakes his head, he feels a bit as if he’s breaking the man’s heart.
The man’s eyes flick over Stiles’ face and then he nods, as if deciding something, before he turns his back to Stiles.
“I’ll make us some breakfast; Scott’s probably hungry when he gets here.”
“Hey,” Stiles calls after the man when he reaches the door. “What’s your name?”
“Derek.”
His tone sound sad, defeated, and Stiles wants to pull the man into his arms.
Stiles has just entered the kitchen when there’s a knock on the door.
“Could you-? Never mind.”
Derek bypasses him, not meeting his eyes, and Stiles stands there awkwardly, shuffling his feet. He can hear whispering from the hallway but he can’t make out any words. After a few moments Derek returns and behind him is Scott. Well, it looks like Scott but much older. Stiles stares at him.
“You remember me?” Scott asks in a kind tone, kind of the same tone he uses when he talks to the hurt animals at the vet clinic where he’s working extra. Stiles nods, not knowing what to say. Scott exchanges a look with Derek and when Stiles looks at Derek, the older man averts his eyes away from him.
“You want coffee?” Derek asks and Stiles makes a face. For some reason this makes Derek’s eyebrows draw closer together in a frown. Stiles looks at Scott, intending to ask what Derek’s problem is, only Scott looks at Stiles with his forehead wrinkled with worry.
“Come on, let’s sit down.”
Scott grabs his elbow and steers him to the kitchen table. Stiles sits down and Scott sits down next to him.
“What do you remember?” Scott asks. “You don’t remember Derek at all?”
Stiles shakes his head.
“No, I have never seen him before. And believe me, I’d remember if I’d seen him, if you know what I mean.” He waggles his eyebrows at Scott, trying to make his friend smile, but Scott only looks even more worried.
“What’s wrong?” Stiles asks. “Why do you have that face?”
“I don’t have a face.”
“Yeah, you do. Everyone has a face, but you have that particular face, as if you’re a hurt puppy or something.”
“I’m not a hurt-”
“Scott!” There’s a clash from the sink and Derek’s turned towards them, his face full of hurt and sadness.
“Jeez,” Stiles says to ease the tension because Scott looks as if Derek was right to yell at him. “What’s wrong with you, man? I don’t remember you, big deal. It’s not the end of the world.”
Derek mumbles something that Stiles can’t hear.
“What was that?”
“I said, it’s the end of my world.” Derek’s staring at him, and shit, are there tears in his eyes?
“What? Dude, it’s not like we’re married or something, right?”
There’s no laugh at how ridiculous that thought is. Scott doesn’t move or say anything. Derek doesn’t say anything, but he moves his left hand, just a tiny movement. Stiles’ eyes drop to the movement and gasps when he realizes that Derek’s thumbing at a golden band on his ring finger. Derek has a golden ring on his finger. Stiles looks down at his own hand, at his own finger, and yep, there’s a probably identical ring on his own hand.
“We’re married?” he breathes out, feeling faint. “Why can’t I remember that? And what kind of creep are you? Marrying a seventeen year old! It’s not even legal. Hell, you’ve probably done a bunch of illegal things to my non-consenting body!”
Derek looks like he might break down and cry, like he might actually fall to his knees and cry. Scott glares at Stiles as he hurries up from his chair and hugs Derek. Stiles is so confused right now. Scott always takes Stiles’ side. Well, unless he can take Allison’s side, but Stiles and Allison mostly side together so yeah. But now Scott sides with Derek, who apparently is Stiles’ husband. Derek’s shaking and Scott is holding him and Stiles has no idea where to look.
“I can’t-” Derek’s mumbling and Scott makes a shushing noise, the same one he uses for distressed animals.
“It’ll be okay, Derek.”
“Should I leave you two alone?”
Scott looks up from Derek and glares at Stiles. Stiles has probably never seen Scott glare at anyone before, he wasn’t even aware that Scott could glare. Stiles feels… well, he feels ashamed.
“I’ll just-” he motions for the door with his hand and leaves the two grown-up men in their embrace. It’s weird, calling Scott a grown-up. Last time Stiles checked Scott was seventeen, had quite a few more pimples and quite a lot less muscles.
Stiles decides to take a walk, maybe figure out what the hell is going on. The house that’s most likely his-and-Derek’s is white and has a white picket-fence and the neighborhood seems calm and family-friendly.
“Morning,” a man who’s tending to his roses calls when Stiles walks past. Stiles nods at him, but is too distressed to smile or even say hi. He walks quickly with his head down. Three more people greet him, one woman stopping as if she wants to talk to him, Stiles nods and says hi to her but keeps walking.
He makes it to the woods and is relieved to finally be away from people. He walks aimlessly, following one of the lesser used tracks until his feet hurt and he sits down on a rock. He leans his head in his hands. What the hell is going on?
The science fiction nerd in Stiles tells him that he knows what’s going on, but that idea is crazy. Because that idea says that Stiles has somehow travelled into the future, into his twenty-something year old body. But that would just be crazy.
Right?
Stiles doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but time-traveling (or whatever’s happened to him) is apparently exhausting. When he wakes up the sun has moved lower on the sky. Has he really slept all day on top of a rock? His neck and back ache as he stretches and his belly rumbles. He sighs and makes his way out of the forest. He doesn’t know if he should go back to Derek’s- his-and-Derek’s house or if he should go to Scott’s. But Scott might not live at the same place anymore. Stiles ponders going to his own house – his dad’s house – but his dad might not even live there anymore. He’s just out of the forest when the sound of screeching car tires makes him startle. The car – the police cruiser – stops right beside him with his dad behind the wheel. Before Stiles has any time to even wonder why his dad’s looking so worried or why he made that brake, someone’s engulfing Stiles in a warm, tight hug. Stiles flails for a moment before he realizes it’s Derek. He pats Derek’s back a bit awkwardly. Derek smells quite nice, he notices.
“I was so worried. Don’t ever pull something like that again. We’ve been looking the whole day,” Derek mumbles into his neck, pressing kisses there and then taking Stiles’ head into his hands and pressing kisses to his lips.
“Derek, not in front of my dad!” Stiles hisses, face red as he motions in the direction of his dad that has stepped out of the cruiser.
“Believe me, son, I’d be lucky if that was the worst thing I’ve seen the two of you do.”
Stiles’ eyes widen and he has no idea how to respond to that.
“Derek told me what’s going on,” his dad says and pulls him away from Derek’s arms and into his own. Derek is quite reluctant to let Stiles go though and keeps his hand on Stiles’ back even if Stiles’ dad pulls him into one of his bone-crushing hugs. The moment his dad lets go, Derek steps up close, winding one arm around Stiles’ waist.
“We’ll figure something out, son,” Stiles’ dad says. “Let’s get you home. You must be hungry.”
They eat pizza for the night and when Stiles’ dad, Scott and Allison (apparently they’re married now!) have left, Stiles doesn’t know what to say.
“I can sleep in the guest room,” Derek tells him when they stand awkwardly in the hallway after saying goodbye to their guests.
“No, I’ll take the guest room.”
“You hate sleeping anywhere but your own bed.” Derek’s right. Whenever Stiles and Scott are having sleepovers they stay at Stiles’ place.
“We can stay in the same bed,” Stiles decides. “It’s big enough for the both of us. And apparently we’ve done it before.” He means it as a joke, but Derek’s body tenses at his words and Stiles remembers what he said earlier, something about Derek taking advantage of his body.
“I didn’t-”
“It’s fine,” Derek says through gritted teeth and Stiles may not know Derek that well but he does know that it’s nowhere near fine.
“Derek, I’m sorry for what I said. I was scared and- well, honestly I’m still scared. But I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sure I was consenting to everything we’ve done. Even if I don’t remember it now.”
Derek’s shoulders seem to relax somewhat at Stiles’ words.
“Let’s go to bed,” Stiles tells him softly. “I’m exhausted.”
Derek nods and follows him to the bed room. Stiles finds a pair of pajama pants at the bottom of what Derek tells him is his drawer – apparently future Stiles doesn’t seem to believe in pajama pants.
“Uh, I’d appreciate if you, you know, didn’t sleep naked,” he tells Derek and tries not to blush because he can quite clearly remember how hot Derek’s body had looked that morning. Derek nods silently. “Not that you’re not hot or anything, you’re like super-hot, like lava-hot, like-”
“I get it, Stiles,” Derek gives him a half-amused, half-sad smile, and Stiles lets out a relieved breath.
He takes the pants, a pair of boxer briefs and a t-shirt to the bathroom before showering and brushing his teeth. When he gets back to the bedroom, Derek’s nowhere to be seen. Stiles ponders if he should go look for him, but the bed with the white sheets look so alluring. He groans when he slides in between the cool sheets.
Derek doesn’t come back to bed before Stiles has fallen asleep.
Stiles wakes up to a similar fashion as the day before with a hot, heavy body on top of his. Apparently this is how they sleep. It feels kind of nice though, having Derek’s body on top of his back and his strong arm around his waist. He considers staying there but it doesn’t feel right so he nudges his elbow against Derek’s ribs, making the other man grunt and tighten his arm around Stiles’ waist.
“Derek, dude, you’re crushing me.”
“Don’t call me dude,” Derek mumbles into his neck.
Stiles can feel the exact moment Derek goes from half-awake to fully-awake and aware of what’s going on. His body freezes and then he moves away from Stiles.
“Sorry,” he mumbles and then he’s gone from the room.
Stiles wonders if he should follow him, explain that it’s okay, that he doesn’t mind, not really, not now that he knows that Derek isn’t some weird rapist or something.
He stays in the bed until he hears Derek leaving the bathroom and then the sound of him moving around in the kitchen. Stiles changes into the same pair of jeans from yesterday, but a new t-shirt before he makes his way to the kitchen. Derek’s making pancakes.
“Dude, I love you!” Stiles exclaims before thinking. Derek’s shoulders tense and then drops. “I mean… Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Derek says but Stiles feels like it really, really isn’t. Derek finishes preparing the pancakes under uncomfortable silence as Stiles finds plates, glasses and orange juice. Derek pours two cups of coffee, adds milk and sugar to one of the cups and sets it down in front of Stiles before placing the other cup in front of his own plate and sitting down. Stiles stares at the coffee, not really knowing what to do with it.
“I’m sorry,” Derek groans. “I forgot that you…” He gets up from his chair and makes a grab for the cup, but Stiles grabs it quickly before Derek can reach it, pulling it to his chest and spilling some on his jeans.
“No, it’s fine, I can drink it. Mm!” He takes a large gulp of it, burns his tongue and almost gags at the bitter taste. Derek stares at him for a moment before getting out of his seat, leaving the kitchen without another word. Stiles sets down the cup, contemplating if he should follow Derek or leave him alone. He gets up from his seat and walks out of the kitchen. He finds Derek in the living room, facing the wall where a large picture of the two of them hangs. They’re both in tuxedos, holding each other and smiling broadly and brightly. Stiles understands that it’s their wedding picture.
“I’m sorry.” Stiles takes a tentative step into the room. “Look, I’ll-”
“No. I’m sorry.” Derek turns to face him, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I’ll just… You usually drink coffee…”
“Yeah, and I love that you apparently know how I usually take my coffee,” Stiles gives Derek a small smile. He has no idea what to do to cheer the other man up, he only knows he really wants to try, he really wants Derek to be happy.
“Of course I do,” Derek tells him. “Stiles, you’re… I love you. You’re the love of my life. I’d be lost without you.”
Stiles doesn’t know what to say, but takes a step closer, showing Derek through his actions that he’s not afraid of Derek.
“If my memory doesn’t come back,” Stiles says slowly and takes Derek’s hand into his, “if I don’t ever remember meeting you or our wedding or- or- anything we’ve done, will you stay with me anyway?”
“I made a promise,” Derek tells him seriously, “through better or worse, and I intend to keep it.”
Stiles sniffs a bit at that because no one have ever said anything as romantic as that to him before.
“I think I could fall in love with you again,” Stiles tells Derek. “You’re not exactly hard on the eyes, you know,” Stiles winks and Derek snorts at that, “and you’re kind. You care about me and- Scott likes you and my dad likes you. So, I’m pretty sure I’ll fall in love with you again. If that’s enough for you? If you can be patient with me?”
Derek nods and pulls Stiles into a hug.
“I could wait forever,” he whispers into Stiles’ ear and kisses his cheek. When they lean back from each other Stiles hesitates for a moment before he presses his lips against Derek’s. Derek makes a surprised sound and presses right back, one of his hands pressing softly against Stiles’ back and the other going to Stiles’ cheek to hold him there. It’s Stiles’ first kiss ever and his head is spinning as he opens his mouth and- oh, dear lord, Derek’s tongue touches his and Stiles might faint. Derek’s stubble scrape against his chin and it makes his skin tingle pleasantly, he wonders how it would feel on other parts of his body (not that he’s ready for that just yet, but most likely in the future). Derek’s tongue grazes his lips, licks into his mouth and Stiles tries to give just as good as he gets. It’s sloppy and wet and amazing. They break away and lean their foreheads against each other. Stiles is panting as if he’s run a mile.
“Dude, that was awesome.”
Derek kisses him softly, lips lingering.
“Yeah, it was.”
Stiles jerks awake at the sudden tapping on glass. He’s inside his car that sits parked on the resting place that overlooks Beacon Hills. He must’ve fallen asleep after he drove up here to brood about Scott leaving him for Allison again. Right outside the window of his jeep a man is standing, his thick eyebrows are frowning worriedly.
“Are you okay?” the man calls. He’s a deputy, Stiles realizes, in the usual uniform of the sheriff’s department. He’s younger than most other deputies though and Stiles doesn’t recognize him, which is weird because Stiles’ dad is the sheriff and it’s Stiles’ job to keep track of all of his dad’s deputies. The deputy moves out of his way as Stiles gets out of the car and stretches.
“I must’ve fallen asleep,” he tells the deputy. “Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before and I know all the deputies. I must say you look a bit younger than the others, what are you twenty-two? Twenty-three?”
“Twenty-two,” the deputy answers with an eye-roll, he opens his mouth as if to say something else but Stiles is quicker.
“I hang around at the station quite a lot so I think we’ll see quite a lot of each other. I’m Stiles by the way. My dad’s the sheriff, which is why I’m at the station. I’m not some nut-job or some felon or something.”
The deputy’s eyebrows move on his forehead in what clearly is amusement.
“John’s told me about you. I’m quite new here, just moved into town,” he explains. “It’s my first shift driving around alone, trying to get to know the town. I saw your car and I got worried.”
“Yeah, well, I was stargazing and fell asleep, but I’m awake now. Totally awake.”
The deputy rolls his eyes, but Stiles can see a smile tugging at his mouth.
“What’s your name?” Stiles asks.
“Derek. I’m Derek Hale.”