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Derek steps down onto the beach, his dogs already far ahead of him. The wind is biting, and grey is settling in but he’s not going to let the weather stop his daily routine. Sand moves under his feet and he notices a man wandering over the beach, hands in his pockets and his whole body shivering.
His dogs rush around the man’s ankles, excited for some human contact other than Derek. Not many people come to this place and he’s not even sure how the man got here. Derek watches as the figure bends down to pet his dogs and as Derek drifts closer he smells the breath of magic on the man.
It hits him hard and his own eyes start to burn with colour involuntarily. The man freezes, standing straight, and his pretty pink lips part in terror. His face goes pale and waves of his scent hit Derek’s nose. It’s flooded with the prickle of magic and anxiety. Then the man is gone.
Derek’s dogs rush up and bark at his heels, moving around excitedly at the man’s sudden disappearance. He feels like he should be worried. No one comes to this part of the coast and the closest town is two hours away. The last time he was around something supernatural his family died, but now Derek doesn’t have anything to lose or the energy to care. The man seemed to think Derek would do more harm to him, anyway.
++
It’s another month before he sees the man again. This time he’s scrambling through sandy bush, swearing whenever his hands swipe against the cutting grass. Derek clears his throat. The man darts his head up and his warm, amber eyes stare back. He slips and falls on his backside.
“What are you doing here?” Derek says, unfriendly.
He licks his lips, and his heart is thrumming. “Are you – are you magic too?”
Derek’s eyes threaten to glow blue again. He’s anticipated the dance of magic that falls off the young man so he has a better grip on his control. Derek steps forward, his eyes narrow. He doesn’t want anyone falling into his territory and he curls his lips, revealing his fangs. Derek lifts his hands, his claws lengthening and blue pierces the man. Hair begins to cover his face and Derek smells a bit of fear, hears a small squeak, and then the man is pulled into the air and is gone.
++
“I’m Stiles,” he says, and this time he’s right by Derek’s small cottage, hidden behind rows of trees. Derek snarls at him but the effect is lost when one of his dogs runs to Stiles’ legs and starts trying to lick his hands and knees.
“Go away,” Derek tells him.
“I can’t, not by will,” he says, inching closer. Derek would’ve hoped that because he’s got an axe in hand that the guy would be wary and hopefully run away. He’s a sweaty, angry, lonely man, and though he’s chopping wood he probably satisfies the image of an axe murderer.
Stiles doesn’t run away.
“I’ve never met anyone,” he clears his throat. “Different.”
Derek has a burst of sympathy start up inside him but he tears it down instantly. He goes back to throwing his axe against the log and he only stops when he hears a loud chuckle.
“Didn’t think you’d be the kind of person to have pink flowers on their window sill,” Stiles says at him.
Derek glares. The flowers had been his mother’s favourite, and he’s only ever seen them grow in this part of the country. “What do you want?” he snaps.
Stiles shrugs, looking away. His lips look cracked. “Answers.”
“Well I can’t give them to you,” Derek says gruffly. He turns back to his small cottage and hopes by the time he’s used his pathetic little shower that Stiles will be gone. When he goes back outside, his dog is whining at a spot that smells like magic and smells like Stiles.
++
He returns from the grocery store, his beat up truck trailing up the dirt of his driveway. It’s dark by the time he gets back and when he steps inside all of his lights are on. Derek smells him everywhere, like he’s gone around and poked in all of Derek’s things.
His kitchen is even emptier than when he left it and the larger of his two dogs comes down the stairs and immediately starts to press its side against Derek’s legs. Derek bends down and runs his hands through his dog’s coat, accepting a wet kiss from the only company he gets these days, and then he moves down the hallway. He’s surprised to find that Stiles didn’t step into his bedroom.
It takes more than a few days before his scent has left the cottage completely.
++
Stiles comes and goes when Derek isn’t there for another few months. He always misses him by maybe an hour or even a minute, and Derek growls when he catches his scent. Once, he saw Stiles dancing in his living room and as soon as Stiles saw him he yelled and disappeared. Now it’s become normal to have the smell of Stiles near. He finds he can’t do anything about it.
This time, the sharp tang of blood is fresh when Derek steps onto his wooden floors. His shoulders are tense as he follows the smell of blood to the bathroom, and he sees that someone tried rather poorly to wash the browning stains away.
He only relaxes slightly when he catches Stiles’ scent. He’s sprawled out on Derek’s sheets and wearing one of Derek’s jumpers. He looks cold. A dried cut is in a sharp line over his face and arm, and something tugs inside Derek so he lets Stiles sleep.
Derek doesn’t like that almost a complete stranger is in his bedroom, on his bed, but it’s late and he doesn’t want to deal with this. He pulls out some heavy blankets from the hall cupboard and he falls asleep on his couch. He’s woken, in the dark, when Stiles stumbles down the short hallway.
“Sorry,” he stutters. “I didn’t mean, I just came here, I didn’t know what else to do. Fuck,” he looks at the clock. “I’m never gone this long, God, Dad will be worried, shit.” His blurry eyes find Derek’s and he steps forward, magic tingling over his skin. Stiles disappears just as he begins to work himself into a panic.
Derek blinks at the now empty space.
He walks upstairs, still half asleep, and collapses on his sheets. They’re still warm and Derek buries his nose in his pillows, inhaling, and he’s not sure why Stiles’ scent gives him so much comfort.
++
Derek doesn’t know he’s waiting until Stiles drops by his house wearing a pair of ratty jeans and a crisp red shirt. He gulps before smiling nervously, waving awkwardly as Derek places his cup of tea down on the bench.
“What are you?” he says, quick and fast before Stiles’ body can decide to disappear into thin air.
Stiles shrugs, rocking back on his bare feet. “It just happens.”
“What just happens, exactly?” Derek says through his teeth. He wonders if he should yell at Stiles for getting his scent so ingrained in his home that he can’t get rid of it, even when he tries. The man is here all the time and Derek hates that he’s just had to accept it.
“I travel,” he shrugs, “through spaces.” Stiles chances a look at Derek and once he realises that Derek’s not going to hurt him some tension leaves his body. “I can’t control it, but it happens more when I’m feeling panicked or something.”
Derek says nothing.
“I like your book collection.”
“You’ve been through my books.”
“And I like your old records,” Stiles cracks a grin, stepping forward. He eyes Derek’s tea saturated with milk and his smile widens. Somehow, Derek must look less threatening. “And I found your stamp collection.”
Derek’s eyes flash. That had been his father’s. Stiles doesn’t seem to care that he’s been invading personal boundaries, no matter how well he’s managed to become a permanent fixture in his life. He glowers, and Stiles takes a large step back, fumbling.
“Sorry, man,” he says hurriedly, “Sorry. I’ll stop snooping.”
Derek stares at him and hopes that the quickening of Stiles’ heartbeat means that he’ll go away. It’s awkward when he doesn’t leave. Stiles clears his throat and his pulse settles.
“Why do you come here?” Derek grits out.
Stiles laughs. “Are you kidding? I don’t get any control about where I go and I always get pulled back home, but this place? There’s only a small cottage, two adorable dogs, and one grumpy face who sometimes shows up. That’s you, by the way.”
Derek glares.
“It’s way better than ending up in the freezing cold in only my pyjamas or in the middle of a busy intersection,” he says seriously. “Here’s safe.”
Derek looks down at his feet. He’d never considered here safe before and something warms inside of him. He’s a lone, supernatural creature, hiding his whole life from hunters. Maybe, maybe it’s okay having Stiles here if he can be safe.
“Just stop eating all my food,” Derek tells him gruffly.
Stiles grins and Derek can smell the faint line of happiness coming off him.
++
The Stiles he gets the next time is drenched with rain, is worried, and he can’t stop shaking. Derek pulls him inside by the collar and his flesh is burning cold. Stiles’ hands grip at him and Derek finds him a clean, dry set of clothes and a warm blanket.
“Derek,” he says through chattering teeth.
“It’s okay,” he tells him. “Try and stay until you get warmed up.”
“I wish I could control it,” his frustration shakes off his tongue. “But sometimes I get angry – or scared – and I can’t. I can’t.”
Derek looks up at him and speaks quietly.
“Sounds like you need an anchor.”
Stiles stares at him, his pink lips parting. A wet tongue darts out in consideration and he swallows. He can’t be more than nineteen, Derek decides. Stiles’ shoulders are broad and he’s tall, but with his eyes wide and full of a youthful panic Derek can’t help but see the ghost of a boy lurking on his shoulders.
“An anchor?”
Derek nods and describes his own. He tells Stiles that it used to be his pack, then his anger, and now it’s the simplicity of his parents’ cottage and Stiles doesn’t ask him why he’s alone. Derek lets Stiles fall asleep on the couch and soon he follows. When he wakes, Stiles is gone and his dog is licking his face.
++
He hears a crash behind him in the kitchen and Derek drops his ceramic bowl. He whips around to face the intruder and Derek has a hand against a chest and a body pressed against the wall before he realises it’s Stiles’ head that has banged hard against the surface of the wall.
Derek lets go instantly and Stiles’ eyes are wide and his knees buckle as he slides down to the floor. He starts to cough a little and Derek feels terrified, hastily grabbing Stiles by the shoulders and pulling him up.
“Sorry,” he croaks, pushing Stiles into the wall and stuffing his face into Stiles’ neck. He mumbles an apology again into the crease of his skin and he holds Stiles’ sagging body against his own. Stiles is quivering, and Derek holds him by the waist and he drags his nose along Stiles’ neck until the sharp smell of panic dissipates.
He feels Stiles awkwardly pat his shoulder but Derek doesn’t move away.
“I – you startled me,” says Derek.
“Figured,” Stiles’ voice is muffled against his shirt, and he begins to stand on his feet properly.
“Sorry,” he whispers again, burying his head further into Stiles’ neck. He hasn’t been here in weeks and Derek has missed this. He’s missed the spicy smell of his scent and he has to inhale until he’s sure Stiles is no longer frightened. Derek stays there until Stiles relaxes fully, a warm, beautiful, content scent leaking from him.
A hand comes up to his hair and he feels Stiles shift underneath him, inching closer until a small, delicious dart of arousal comes through.
Derek pulls back immediately.
“Were you scenting me?” Stiles asks incredulously. Derek blushes and looks down at his feet.
“You haven’t been here in a while,” he mutters. “And, I hurt you.”
Stiles cracks a smile. “Aw, you missed me.”
Then he straightens against the wall, his body arching slightly and Stiles very, very deliberately pulls his neck tight, stretching the skin until all Derek can see is the pale column of his throat. His mouth waters.
“Come on,” Stiles urges, a little too daring, and Derek’s eyes flash. He finds he can’t help himself as he throws himself into Stiles’ scent, the scent he’s been craving for a long while. He wonders if Stiles had found some means of control that’s meant he doesn’t travel so often, doesn't see Derek as often.
Stiles’ hands come up and fasten in Derek’s hair, pulling tight, and the smell of him is more than a little intoxicating as Derek’s lips pass over his throat. Fingers pull at his hair and Stiles slowly lifts Derek’s head. Without quite meaning to, without quite realising it, he lets Stiles kiss him.
Their mouths slide together and it gets a little too hard a little too quickly. Stiles shifts his hips and his heart quickens when Derek bites at his lip. Derek brushes his hands underneath the back of Stiles’ shirt before that unmistakeable scent of magic comes through and fills his nostrils. Stiles grips harder at him for a moment, and then Derek’s arms are empty.
"Fuck," he swears.
++
His whine is desperate when he gets a hint of Stiles’ scent but he’s already gone. Stiles has left him a note, though, stuck to the door of his fridge in a messy print. He doesn’t mention their kiss but he tells him about home and how Derek should get a computer or a phone.
He scrawls onto the edge of some paper that there’s no reception out here. Nothing changes in Derek’s life but he mentions his dogs and fixing his leaking roof. The paper he writes on stays there until one day it’s gone and another replaces it.
Derek hates that he misses Stiles being here so frequently, but he can’t stay cooped up his cottage, waiting. He can’t, and the notes will have to do.
++
Stiles is in his bed a few weeks later and this time he doesn’t seem hurt. Derek’s body is aching and sore from his too long run and when he gets in his dogs find their own corner to sleep in. He feels something like relief when he spots Stiles sleeping and he goes and showers. Derek collapses on the edge of his bed, too tired to wake Stiles, and body too uncomfortable to go sleep on the couch.
Stiles’ scent is inviting and Derek falls next to him, curling his body around the outline of Stiles.’ He feels Stiles shift beside him, snuggling closer, and he runs his warm fingers over Derek’s wrist before clasping their hands together.
He doesn’t understand how it ever got to this, but it’s the first time in years he’s felt grounded.
++
He wakes up and Stiles is by the door way, two cups of coffee in hand. “Hey,” he says nervously. Derek rubs his eyes.
“Hi.”
Stiles inches closer and holds out the coffee to Derek. He’s a little eager and it sloshes over Derek’s fingers but he saves it and takes a sip.
“Next time a little less sugar,” he manages, swallowing it down. He spots Stiles beginning to smile and Derek glowers because he thinks he’s being laughed at.
“What?” he snaps.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Next time,” he says, like it means something, and Derek frowns. Stiles pulls the mug away from Derek and he tackles him to the bed, knees straddling him and he finds Derek’s lips with his own. Derek is surprised but he doesn’t complain, finds that even though he’s been alone in his life, he isn’t now.
He feels Stiles’ tongue slip against his own and when they both start to get too lost in the feeling of their bodies together Derek pushes him away. Stiles frowns.
“Want you to stay,” Derek mumbles, “need you not to be worked up.”
Stiles bites his reddened lips and he rolls over onto the sheets. His hand finds Derek’s and he smiles.
“You, you haven’t been here as much,” Derek whispers.
“I can’t control going back to where I came from, but,” he says, “but I’ve found away to stop leaving, sometimes.”
Derek waits.
“I think of you,” breathes Stiles, trying to sound teasing. Derek stares at him, his eyes wide and full of hesitance. Stiles shuffles closer, his hand reaches out to cup Derek’s cheek. “I,” he swallows. “It’s safe here. You make me feel safe.”
“If you stop it then you come here less,” he says.
Stiles shrugs. “I don’t get to choose where I go, Derek. And it’s so fucking inconvenient and it scares the crap out of me and my Dad and I only get to see you less than a quarter of the time I travel.”
Derek doesn’t tell him how much he misses Stiles being here, but he thinks it must be obvious in how heavy the air is. Stiles strokes his thumb over Derek’s stubble and then he sits up and he pulls off his shirt. He bundles it into a ball and stuffs it under the pillow he had been sleeping on.
His scent is going to stay.
++
The more Stiles comes the longer he’s able to stay but the less frequent his visits are. Derek feels lighter, happier, when he comes and he’s starting to think that maybe he shouldn’t rely so much on Stiles for his happiness.
He drives to the next town and sits in a bar. A couple of people who aren’t thrown off by his glower try and offer him drinks and it’s not until he’s gone there half a dozen times that a girl with blonde hair takes pity on him and asks to him to join their group.
Her name is Erica and she’s with a man called Boyd.
“Divorced?” she asks.
Derek shakes his head.
“Single?” she flirts. Boyd sighs next to her.
“Long distance,” Derek replies, because it’s the truth, even though he’s not exactly sure where Stiles is or if they’re even in a relationship. Erica smiles at him though, and she invites him there for the same time next week but not until he’s been interrogated thoroughly.
++
Derek still waits. The days seem slow from the moment he wakes up, like he’s trying to battle a thick fog. He remembers holding a warm body against his own and he hasn’t seen Stiles in a month. The paper on the fridge is unchanged but Derek updates it himself and tells Stiles he’s made some friends.
He’d think Stiles didn’t exist if he didn’t have Stiles’ shirt. It’s still thick with his scent and he’s sleeping with it when he wakes to fingers prodding his face.
“Stiles,” he croaks.
“Hey,” he grins, and there’s a gash over his eye. It looks tender, and Derek lifts his thumb up to his temple and begins to draw the pain. Stiles sighs against him.
“How?”
“Wanted to see you,” Stiles mumbles. “Got caught up somewhere else.”
Derek inhales, wanting to see Stiles but not wanting him to get hurt. He presses his lips to Stiles’, ever so gently, but now that the weather is getting warmer again they decide to go for a walk on the beach. Stiles leaves his shirt before they go, and takes his old one back.
They walk hand in hand and Stiles plays fetch with the dogs.
“So, you’ve made some friends?” he teases.
Derek nods. “I think so.”
The expression Stiles returns is bright.
++
”I wish you could stay longer,” Derek whispers, dragging his thumb down Stiles’ lower lip.
Stiles clutches his hand and turns his palm so that it cups Stiles’ cheek. His skin is a little cold and he seems to shrug in closer to the warmth of Derek’s hand.
He smells the prickle of magic, feels it just over Stiles’ skin, and he hears it with the fluttering rhythm of Stiles’ heartbeat.
Stiles definitely feels it too because he shoves Derek’s hand aside only to reach for his face, kissing him fiercely before there’s an empty weight in Derek’s arms again, and he opens his eyes and still feels the ghost of Stiles’ lips.
++
The next time they don’t even wait before they get their hands on each other and god, to have another body near his is golden, it’s amazing, and when Stiles’ scent lingers around his little cottage he feels a slow smile start up on his face.
His scent disappears too quickly but he’s got a little bit more to his life now. It’s the start of summer, and a few travellers stumble across the beach and they pass through the small town. He doesn’t mind it so much but Boyd doesn’t like the increased amount of people.
“See,” says Boyd, “they can’t even read a god damn map.”
He points over to a pair of lanky boys fighting near the gas station. Derek can see the one with dark curls looking frustrated and angry, his unimpressed expression heavy. The other figure has his back to Derek across the road and he holds a map in front of his face before he leans his back against a crappy, blue jeep in defeat.
“Fucking summer road trips, man,” he says and Derek’s ears perk up. He knows that voice.
“Look, I know that you want to see this guy and everything, and that he said this was the closest town, but how the hell are we supposed to find this beach or cottage?” says the other guy. “Stiles?”
Stiles groans into the air and something tightens in Derek’s chest. Warmth spreads through his skin because this, this means that Stiles didn’t use magic to get here. This means that Stiles might be able to stay. He leaves Boyd without a word and his feet move too quickly across the uneven road, his heart beating wildly.
He comes up behind the jeep and the curly haired guy sighs at him. “Do you know where this beach is?”
Derek lets himself smile, eyeing the back of Stiles’ neck.
“I think I can help you,” he says and Stiles whips around. Derek hears his pulse quicken with his sharp look of disbelief and he throws himself around the jeep and into Derek’s arms. His laugh fills the street and Derek holds him tight.
Stiles’ friend – maybe Scott – looks a little sceptical beside them but Derek doesn’t care. He breathes Stiles in, his nose buried at his shoulder and all he can think of is how he’s holding Stiles, how he has him near and gets to meet someone from his life.
Stiles leans back and kisses him soundly. “I missed you,” he says. “But I’m here now.”