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Stiles wakes up warmer than usual and wrapped in someone’s arms. It’s not a normal occurrence. In fact, in the last few years it’s only happened once or twice. Most concerning of all is that he doesn’t know where he is or why he’s with some dude in a hotel room instead of at the beach house he and Lydia had rented for their long-awaited vacation.
And not even a nice hotel room, based on the death rattle the air conditioner is letting out and how poorly it’s doing its job. In fact, he suspects motel is probably the relevant term. Figuring out where he is should probably come second to figuring out who he’s with, though.
Before he has a chance to figure out anything about the guy who’s currently breathing on the back of his neck and cuddling him like Stiles is his favorite teddy bear, the door to the bathroom opens and another man steps out. The light in the room is dim, but he can tell the man isn’t wearing anything but a pair of briefs.
“Jesus, just how much did I have to drink last night?”
The guy behind him snorts, then mumbles something unintelligible against his neck. Bathroom guy just laughs.
“Don’t worry, darling, your virtue is intact.” He pauses. “Well, as intact as it was before the evening began, anyway.”
Stiles knows that laugh. He recognizes that voice. Mostly, it’s the creepiness that clues him in.
“Peter?!”
Unless Stiles is hallucinating a mostly naked Peter Hale, the person behind him just might be—
“Shut up, Stiles. Go back to sleep,” Derek grumbles against the back of his neck.
“Shut—no, I will not shut up! Why are you guys here? Why am I in bed with you? Why are we all naked?”
“Now, Stiles. Don’t exaggerate. I assure you we will make sure you are awake and fully cognizant before we all take our clothes off.”
“I see you haven’t gotten any less creepy in the past decade,” Stiles says.
He’s not touching the idea of them all taking their clothes off with a ten foot pole. He’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating. He feels too awake for this to be a dream and he can’t imagine any way this is actually happening.
Peter leers. “Whereas you are even more delectable than you were the last time I saw you.”
Derek lets go of Stiles and rolls onto his back.
“Stop being weird before you completely fuck this up, Peter.”
“My dear nephew, I’m hardly—”
“I’ll tell Lydia.”
Peter’s mouth shuts with a snap and Stiles’ falls open.
“You’ll tell Lydia? Lydia Martin? My best friend Lydia? That Lydia?”
Derek laughs.
“I know, ‘Lydia’ doesn’t even sound like a word anymore,” Stiles says, but he says it quietly, because he’s never heard Derek laugh that easily.
“Yes, Stiles, that Lydia,” Derek says, unaware of the crisis Stiles is having.
Stiles pushes up to a sitting position where he can give both of these strangely relaxed Hale men an incredulous look. He snaps on the bedside lamp so he can do it properly.
“When did you talk to Lydia?”
Derek and Peter look at each other. They both look like they’re trying to come to a decision.
“Most recently, I spoke with her yesterday evening when we realized we would have to stay…here…overnight.” Peter looks around the shabby room in distaste.
“Yeah, why are we wherever this is?” Stiles says, surprised he forgot about the weirdness of their location. “And why don’t I remember getting here?”
“Because you work too much and were basically sleepwalking,” Derek says with a glower.
OK, Stiles can see that. Most of the past week has been fuzzy.
“I distinctly remember getting on a plane.”
“I’m not sure ‘distinctly’ is the right word, given that you passed out on Derek’s shoulder without recognizing him.” Peter’s voice is dry, but his face is pinched and there’s a note of concern.
“I didn’t,” Stiles breathes.
He looks at Derek. The werewolf nods in confirmation, his eyebrows scrunching together. He doesn’t move, but Stiles still has the sense that he’s huddling in on himself.
“Derek, I’m so sorry. I have no idea how I didn’t recognize you. And oh my god, I fell asleep on you? Did I drool on you? Man, I’m really sorry. I can’t believe I did that!” Stiles knows he’s babbling, but he can’t seem to stop.
Derek does this ridiculously hot crunch maneuver and sits up. He reaches towards Stiles’s face. Before Stiles can even move, he cups his jaw and runs his thumb over Stiles’ lips.
“I missed hearing you talk like this.”
Stiles’ jaw drops, and Derek slips his thumb inside slightly, tugging on his lower lip.
“What the fuck is happening right now?” Stiles asks, trying to ignore the fact that his tongue brushes against Derek’s thumb while he’s trying to talk.
“There was a storm and the plane had to land at a tiny airport, which is why we are at this…accommodation,” Peter says, looking around the room with distaste.
Stiles narrows his eyes. “That’s not what I meant and you know it, Creeperwolf.”
Peter throws back his head and laughs. Stiles stares, shocked at how light it sounds. Derek slides his hand away from Stiles’ mouth and curves it around the back of his neck.
“This isn’t how we planned to do any of this,” Derek says softly, drawing Stiles’ gaze away from Peter. “We weren’t even supposed to sit together on the plane. You just sat down next to me and fell asleep on me. Fortunately, Peter had bought the ticket to that seat so neither of us would have to sit in the middle.”
Stiles stares at him. He still doesn’t know exactly what is going on, but there’s a tiny kernel of hope inside of him that’s threatening to explode into something much bigger. He has no idea what to say. He’s still not sure any of this is real.
Peter comes closer and sits on the side of the bed, angling his body towards Stiles.
“What do you know about werewolf mates, Stiles?”
Stiles just stares at him.
“Really? Me? With you? With both of you?” he squeaks.
Derek laughs again. Stiles is pretty sure he will never get tired of hearing that sound. He turns his head to look. Derek is grinning at him, laugh lines radiating out from the corner of his eyes.
“But—what? How?” Stiles splutters.
“I’m ashamed to say Ms. Martin figured it out before we did,” Peter says wryly.
Stiles turns to stare at him, completely confused.
“We ran into her at a coffee shop when she was in Chicago for a convention several months ago. She realized that Derek and I are in a relationship almost immediately—not that we tried to hide it. When we asked about you she very cleverly drew out enough information that denial would have been pointless when she asked if we thought you were our mate.”
Stiles wants to be mad at Lydia for not telling him, but he knows why she didn’t. He doesn’t know how he would have reacted, but he’s pretty sure he would have been skeptical to say the least.
“That’s why she planned this trip,” he says slowly. “Is she even going to be there?”
“She rented the house across the street,” Derek says. “She wanted to be there for you if things went poorly.”
That definitely sounds like Lydia.
“I guess she couldn’t have predicted things going down like this,” Stiles says with a laugh. “So, what happens now?”
“That is entirely up to you, sweetheart,” Peter says.
“We’re willing to do whatever it takes, but only at a pace you’re comfortable with,” Derek continues.
Stiles looks back and forth. He can’t quite believe he’s even with them, let alone that he has a chance to be with them .
“I think you should both kiss me, then we should have breakfast. We’ll see how it goes from there.”
They both smile, then they do.