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Stiles woke up, the pale white curtain fluttering in the breeze. The light from the nearly full moon giving the room an ethereal appearance. He sat up, the sheet pooled around his waist as he looked around, honey-hazel eyes clouding in disappointment. He hadn't shown.
He shoved the sheet to the side, standing up and moving to the window. He gazed out, hoping that he would see a too deep shadow. Hoping he would see Derek. No such luck.
He sighed and pulled his head in. His hand rested on top of the frame as he wondered whether or not it was worth it to shut the window. Whether or not his wolf would understand the significance of the gesture. He chuckled bitterly, rubbing his face with a shaky hand. Who was he kidding? Derek wasn't his. All he was, was a fuck toy. Something to be used when Mr. Broody-pants got bored. He went back to the bed, the window open like it had been for the last three weeks.
He lay in the gloom, burying his face in the pillow that no matter how many times he washed it, it still carried Derek's scent. Musk and forest, safety and comfort. Love and desperation. He closed his eyes, trying to get back to the peaceful oblivion of sleep. Fate wasn't with him that night.
All he could do was toss and turn, thoughts a jumbled mess. Why hadn't he shown? Was something wrong? Had he done something to drive Derek away forever? Maybe he was too talkative, too hyperactive. Too scrawny for the were's taste. Not good enough.
'Stop that, Stilinski' he scolded himself. 'You're not Bella-fucking-Swan. You're not going to judge your worth by a broody stalker with a penchant for sneaking in your window.' he turned away from the window, feeling oddly better after his impromptu speech. Who needed Derek Hale? He was fine by himself.
He counter-acted himself by burying his face in his pillow, pretending Derek was there with him; his arms wrapped around him and holding him close. He sighed. He was pathetically in love with Derek Hale. He dozed off, thoughts focusing on color changing eyes.
Warm, strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him close. Stubble grazed the back of his neck as the owner nuzzled him. Soft lips pressed against his temple; it was a good dream. He opened his eyes, fully expecting the feeling of shelter, of home, to disappear.
He was surprised when turned his head and felt the back of his head bump a cheekbone. “Derek?” he whispered into the dark, hoping beyond hope that this wasn't an achingly wonderful dream.
“Yeah.”
Stiles melted at the familiar voice, this wasn't a dream. Derek was here. After three weeks he was-.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded angrily. He felt a surge of pride when he turned around saw shock and surprise dancing across Derek's features. “You sorry son of a bitch?! You think that you can just avoid me for three fucking weeks and then just waltz in here and climb into my bed without a-” he was cut off by eager lips pressing his own. He let out a soft sigh, tangling his hands into surprisingly soft black hair. God, he'd missed this.
When Derek pulled away, he was out of breath.
“I'm sorry.” Derek murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “I was thinking through some things.” A kiss to his pulse, “And I can't think when I'm around you.” Stiles felt a grin against his neck.
“Oh yeah? Like what? The next position to fuck me in?” he asked bitterly. He felt affronted when Derek chuckled
“That has been on my mind,” he agreed, “But, I mostly thought of different ways of asking you to go out with me.” he said kissing his shoulder
“W-what?” Stiles asked, blown away by Derek's confession.
“You heard me. Will you be my boyfriend?” he asked, looking up and meeting Stiles' eyes.
“Uh...yeah...yeah. I will.” he stuttered out, dazed.
Derek smirked, “Good.” he pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Go to sleep, Stiles. We can talk tomorrow.” Stiles listened, closing his eyes and burrowing his face into Derek's neck. He fell asleep and didn't dream.