Drabble prompt: I’ve been waiting for you, all these years
The buzz of a notification dropping in pulled him from sleep like it did every morning, and Stiles groaned into his pillow, even though this one little ritual was usually the highlight of his day. Grumbling and snuffling a bit, he snaked a hand from under the covers to grab his phone from the nightstand.
Stiles's sleepy eyes crinkled happily, and his heart skipped a beat even as he opened the message to look at today's photo. A beautiful view of endless mountains and pine trees fills the screen, the sun just beginning to peep over the peak in the distance, bathing the forest in a soft golden glow. It was breathtaking just captured on film, so he can only imagine how much more beautiful it must be in person for Derek, wherever he was, capturing the view from his vantage point after what Stiles had come to believe were his early morning runs.
They didn't trade much other information except the picture Derek took every morning to fire off to Stiles. A proof of life, Stiles knew. Something he once almost broke his hand over by punching Derek's chest in frustration after hunting him down during his FBI internship training when the wolf had randomly appeared amid a crime, once again wanted for murder while Stiles had had no idea if he was even alive after he'd disappeared with Cora almost a year beforehand.
Stiles remembered how furious he'd been every day of that internship, sweet-talking, lying, badgering, and outright bulldozing his way into the heart of the case to find Derek and find a way to warn the idiot werewolf he was on the FBI most wanted list. Again. He remembered how he'd literally tackled Derek - easier said than done, but that was how damn angry he'd been when he finally caught up to him - and how Derek had rolled with the tackle, literally, and pinned Stiles to the floor of an abandoned warehouse and snarled in his face, blue eyes flashing before he recognized him.
It had taken a lot of threatening, browbeating, and finger-pointing at Derek while he ranted for the werewolf to realize Stiles had been afraid he'd been killed or would be caught and arrested before Stiles had demanded Derek give him his new number and answer his damn phone, and always send him a new number if he changed it again, and to damn well prove to Stiles every day that he was alive because he'd been worrying himself sick for months.
Derek had settled for proof-of-life pictures since he still abhorred words, apparently. And every day, for months and months after that, Derek had sent him a selfie, eyes always flared to hide his face lest Stiles be somehow found out by the FBI for associating with him. Stiles had loved and hated the selfie because he wanted more! He wanted a picture of Derek where he could see that smug, handsome, grumpy face and those mesmerizing green-grey-blue eyes.
It had come in handy a few times, given Derek's unfortunate habit of getting captured by hunters, but Stiles was an expert at stealing back his favorite werewolf by now, and after the first two times when Stiles rescued him within a day or two of him disappearing - denoted by the lack of morning picture - Derek had gotten used to the idea of sending them without being such an ass about it.
These days, almost three years later, pictures were usually much more random than selfies. A breathtaking view like this. Sometimes, there are pictures of dawn in the desert and a close-up of a cactus. Sometimes by the sea, zoomed in on a lump of seaweed, a broken shell, or once, a dead jellyfish. Sometimes, he encountered other live animals and sent pictures of those, like a porcupine, a red fox, and a barn owl. Once, he randomly a Ruby red Jeep in the middle of the day, too, but hadn't given any context.
Humming, Stiles scrolled up in the thread of messages, looking over the recent ones. Mostly forest, which suggested Derek was in the wilderness, far from civilization, and had been for a while. Stiles didn’t reply much anymore. He used to always say good morning and ask Derek where he was, what he was doing, and when he might visit next, but replies from the wolf that wasn't the daily proof of life pictures were few and far between unless it was to warn him about some supernatural disturbance or vague, empty words about his location or wellbeing. Once, he'd wished Stiles a happy birthday. But never anything that encouraged chit-chat. Over the years, Stiles had stopped replying, mostly, other than occasional check-ins, comments on charming views, and once when he'd been on a night out at uni after an unpleasant break-up, a pitiful voicemail message telling Derek he really missed his stupid grumpy sourwolf face and wished he'd visit because he wanted a hug.
He hadn't gotten a visit or a hug, but Derek had sent him a grumpy-faced selfie without eye flare ruining the shot, and Stiles had cried and sent him a teary voice note telling the werewolf he loved his stupidly expressive eyebrows.
Today, a pang of missing the werewolf clanged through him as he drank in the image, and without really thinking too much about it, Stiles angled the phone to take a sleepy selfie, all doe-eyed and rumpled, his hair a mess, his mole-dotted skin pale where he laid in his bed in his Dad's house in Beacon Hills.
Stiles: .jpeg... Wish you were here, sourwolf 🐺. I miss you 😔
He sent it off before he could think about it too hard. Yawning, Stiles put his phone down and rolled over, planning on going back to sleep, but before he could, his phone buzzed again, and Stiles grumbled, thinking about ignoring it.
Sourwolf: Are you in Beacon Hills?
Stiles blinked because Derek usually only responded when he was in trouble.
Stiles: Yeah. College is finally over, so I came home.... no idea what I'm going to do with the rest of my life 🤣😅😨😰😭
He was almost asleep again, thinking Derek wouldn't reply when his phone buzzed insistently on his chest. A call. Stiles definitely considered ignoring it since Derek hadn't called him since the last time a hunter had been about to snatch him, blurting his coordinates to Stiles and the hunter's family name before the growling started at the line went dead. Stiles was in no mood to talk when he could be asleep, especially since a call was more likely to be his persistent ex, whom he wanted nothing more to do with.
Checking anyway, he dropped the phone on his face and flailed when he saw it was Derek calling.
"Derek?" Stiles gasped into the phone. "Oh my god, are you about to be snatched again? Where are you? I can save your ass. Again."
A beat of silence came down the line but for the whisper of wind in the pines and the occasional chirp of a bird.
"Did I miss your graduation?" Derek's low, rough voice slides into his ear, and involuntarily, Stiles’s eyes slid closed, his back arching at the sound of it.
"Ummm, yeah," Stiles managed past the unexpected visceral reaction. "It was last week. I didn't tell you since I didn't think you'd care... Dad came to see me in my silly gown and cap."
Silence came from the other end of the phone.
"You okay, Sourwolf?" Stiles checked. "You need my help?"
"How long will you be in Beacon Hills?" Derek asked, ignoring the question.
"I dunno. Forever, probably. Dad's here. My degree is... well, I can set up something online from here to make money, I guess."
If he was being honest with himself, his computer programming degree wouldn't serve him too well, career-wise. Still, he hadn't known what else to do after being kicked out of the FBI Academy when his involvement in Derek's case was called into question after he'd helped the werewolf escape justice (read: been shot in the toe and carried to safety by a disguised Derek whom he'd later gotten exonerated).
"Nowhere else to go," Stiles defended since college and all the supernatural shit had been a great way to dismantle the pack and send his friends scattering to the wind, so he hadn't heard from any of them in months. Years! "Dad will always be here, and he's not getting any younger - and needs me to bully him into eating healthy again because he's been cheating on his diet while I've been at school, the idiot - and I don't mind it here. After New York, it's... peaceful."
More silence stretched on the other end of the phone but for Derek's soft breathing. Stiles just breathed with him, not wanting to yap too much lest Derek hang up to shut him up.
"You'll stay?" Derek asked quietly.
"I think so. Someone needs to keep my dad in line. And... well, the pack's scattered to the wind, and everyone's left except Parrish. I figure someone should stay and keep an eye on things. Wouldn't want evil finding another foothold here, you know? I went by the nemeton yesterday... it's started to grow again now that the evil of the nogitsune spirit isn't poisoning it anymore."
Derek hummed a curious sound, more canine than human, but Stiles continued.
There's a sapling sprouted from the center of the stump, almost as tall as I am, with leaves and branches all over it," he confided. "It felt... right. The tree, I mean. The glade. It felt magical, but the good kind, you know what I mean? I want to protect it and make sure nothing else comes along to corrupt it again. I dunno why, but... feels like something I need to do."
A rumble of sound came through the phone at his words, soft and almost contented.
"Are you purring, big guy?" Stiles teased suspiciously.
"No," Derek grunted, but Stiles was pretty sure he was lying.
"Uh huh," Stiles laughed before a yawn escaped him as he stretched out, burrowing back into his pillow with a satisfied groan. "You're totally purring like a big cat instead of a grumpy wolf. I'm onto you."
"Are you still in bed?" Derek changed the subject.
"Mmm," Stiles hummed sleepily. "I'm an unemployed college graduate now. I'm allowed to sleep in."
Derek scoffed wordlessly, and Stiles laughed softly.
"Lazy bones," Derek accused softly. "I've already been on a ten mile run."
"If you went on four paws, it doesn't count," Stiles huffed.
"Nope. Wolves are designed to run miles and miles. That's cheating."
"I'm a wolf, so it's my nature, ergo, not cheating," Derek argued.
"Ergo? You did not just say 'ergo', oh my god, dude. Only nerds even know that word. You can't just use it in a sentence."
"You know it," Derek pointed out. "Nerd."
Stiles gasped, pretending to be scandalized before he dissolved into sleepy giggles because these were more words than they'd traded in years, and Stilss might actually be having a delightful dream.
"God, I miss you," Stiles breathed, shaking his head. "Miss riding around in my Jeep with you being all serious and grumpy and bitchy at me while we tried to save the world, your eyebrows telling me off for talking too much... Snarky sourwolf."
"I was never bitchy," Derek huffed indignantly.
Derek growled at him, but Stiles could hear him smiling.
"Hmm. This is a nice dream," Stiles hummed happily.
"Mmm," Stiles murmured, already beginning to drift off. "Missed your voice, Der. Miss your face. Mmm, eyebrows..."
He trailed off, falling asleep on the phone, so he didn't hear Derek's little fond laugh or hear him say, "I miss you too."
The next day, the photo Derek sent him was a selfie. A shirtless one taken on a different mountain with the sun rising behind him, casting his bared skin gleaming gold, and Stiles might've groaned and rutted against the bedsheets at how mouthwateringly good he looked. He sent back another sleep-rumpled one. This time, his cheeks flushed pink after stroking himself to completion.
They fell back to the same routine, but all of Derek's new pictures were selfies, almost all of them shirtless, and Stiles couldn’t resist sending some back, also shirtless, still in bed, often freshly sated.
Until one morning, almost two weeks later, his phone buzzed, waking him, and Stiles fumbled for it, eager to see his newest gift. Only today's picture wasn't a selfie. It was a picture of a dark-haired man sprawled in a familiar bed, mouth open in sleep, a familiar constellation of moles on his cheek highlighted by a kiss of dawn sunlight through his open bedroom window. Stiles blinked in confusion at the image of himself while his brain fired up before realization hit, and he shouted, scrambling upright as his eyes shot to the corner of the room the picture had been taken from.
Derek Hale loomed in the corner behind the bedroom door like the absolute creeper wolf he was, and Stiles bleated in surprise even as he threw off the covers and surged to his feet.
"Derek!?" He exclaimed, stumbling because mornings were hard and gravity was a cruel mistress, even as he lurched across the room and threw himself at Derek without a second thought.
Derek caught him against his chest, squeezing him tightly when Stiles clung to him.
"You're here!" Stiles exclaimed excitedly. "Like, holy crap, you're actually here! This is so cool! I haven't seen you in so long! You came home!"
"So did you," Derek pointed out.
"Oh my god, you're really here! Hi!"
Derek laughed into his shoulder. "Hello, Stiles."
"This is so awesome! It's so good to see you!"
In his enthusiasm, Stiles lifted Derek right off his feet and gave him a happy little shake, squeezing him fiercely. Derek growled a little at that, but Stiles didn't let it stop him while he bounced a bit until Derek wriggled to be put down and dragged his stubble cheek across the sensitive skin of Stiles's neck before nuzzling into him even more, cheeks, chin, nose and forehead all scraping across his bare neck and shoulder where he stood shirtless.
Scenting him, Stiles realized happily. Scenting him like a wolf would at the return of a packmate after some time apart.
"I can't believe you're actually here," Stiles prattled, submitting to being scented and even returning the actions, rubbing himself all over Derek while he clung to him. "How long are you staying? When did you get here? I have so much to tell you, oh my god."
Derek let Stiles prattle on about the town, his dad, the growth of the nemeton, and what he'd been doing to try and rustle up some business to make use of his degree - more challenging than he'd thought; it turned out. And while he prattled, Derek kept scenting him, rubbing his face all over him before he began to mouth along the cut of Stiles's jaw, his teeth just a little sharper than human but not enough to cut into him when he placed gentle bites all along his jaw and up to his ear, where he snuffled into him before biting the lobe.
"Holy fuck, dude, you gotta stop that before you start something you can't finish," Stiles warned because he'd already been sporting morning wood, but the attention had him throbbing with need. Hey, it wasn't Stiles's fault he had super sensitive ears and hadn't been laid in a while.
Derek's hands, which had found their way to his hips, squeezed firmly.
"Who says I can't finish it?" he breathed in Stiles's ear, and Stiles might actually blow in his boxers, people.
"Oh my god," he whined, though he jerked in surprise when there was a rap on his door before it opened, and his dad, sleepy and in his pajamas, wandered in.
"Stiles? Are you okay, bud? I heard you shout... aw, hell. Derek Hale?"
"Hello, Sheriff," Derek greeted, releasing Stiles when he jumped away quickly.
"What brings you home, son?" Noah asked, shaking Derek's hand and pulling him into a one-armed hug as well because Stilinksis were huggers, goddamn it. "You staying long?"
"Please stay," Stiles blurted without thinking. "Dude, you could totally stay and play with me."
Noah rolled his eyes when Stiles blushed.
"How's about I go and make us coffee?" he suggested. "Stiles, maybe a shirt before you blind poor Derek and scare him off with your pasty ass?"
"Heeey, I'm not pasty!" Stiles called after his dad before peering at Derek doubtfully. "I'm not. And as if you care about shirtlessness. You're the guy who shattered my self-confidence all throughout my teenage years with your inability to keep your shirt on for longer than an hour."
Derek dragged a heavy gaze over all his pale, mole-dotted skin, and Stiles shivered at the smoldering look the werewolf gave him.
"Don't wear one on my account," Derek said, and holy shit, was Derek flirting with him? Was Derek hitting on him? Maybe Stiles really was dreaming.
"Urgh, Dad's got a rule about shirts in the kitchen, and I want coffee, so," Stiles shrugged, crossing to the cupboard and digging for a shirt.
He paused when Derek came up behind him and started to scent the back of his neck, his shoulders, and the top of his back.
"Missed me, big guy?" Stiles teased softly when Derek rumbled a contented sound again, covering Stiles in his wolfy scent.
"Yes," Derek admitted roughly.
"Really?" Stiles perked up. "Aww, sourwolf, I missed you too!"
Derek bit the curve of his neck just hard enough to make it ache without breaking the skin and Stiles had to grip the chest of drawers to steady himself when his knees buckled a little bit.
"Are you really back in Beacon Hills to stay?" Derek asked against his skin while his hands slid around Stiles's waist to splay against his taut belly and the middle of his chest.
"Yeah," Stiles panted, unsure what was happening or if he was dreaming. "Yeah, I'm staying. I belong here. This is my pack's land."
"It's Hale pack land," Derek said against his neck.
"Exactly," Stiles agreed. "Fuck, dude, I don't know if this is a wolf thing for you, but if you keep doing that, I'm gonna..."
His hips twitched, his aching cock desperate for friction.
"You think you belong on Hale pack land?" Derek growled softly into his ear, and Stiles trembled, feeling every solid inch of Derek where he'd molded himself against Stiles's back.
"I'm Hale pack," Stiles moaned mindlessly.
Derek's stubble scraped against his sensitive ear and the skin beneath it, and his hot breath made Stiles shiver when he purred in agreement.
"You are," he rumbled in agreement. "You always have been."
Stiles whined softly at the acknowledgment, even as one of Derek's hands trailed up to grip his chin, turning his head in Derek's direction.
"Der..." Stiles panted, overwhelmed with what Derek was doing and how he touched him. He saw when he looked that Derek's eyes were fixed on his lips. "I haven't brushed my..."
Derek cut him off with a searing kiss, and Stiles's bones melted in the heat that burned through him, another whine tearing from his throat that Derek eagerly swallowed.Twisting in his arms, Stiles kissed him back, his arms coming up to encircle Derek's neck, confused but also wildly turned on and not about to look a gift wolf in the mouth.
When they broke apart, panting, Stiles blinked dazedly into eyes that glowed alpha-crimson.
"You're an alpha again," he croaked.
"I never stopped being one," Derek confirmed. "It just went away for a little while, like the rest of my powers when I was evolving."
"You kissed me," he murmured, licking his lips.
Derek nodded, laying his forehead against Stiles. "I've been waiting for a very long time to kiss you."
Stiles eyebrows shot up at the confession.
Derek nodded, their noses brushing together with the motion.
"All these years," Derek murmured to him.
"Why'd you wait?" Stiles asked. "You had to have known I wanted you the whole time."
Derek's lips twitched at the corners like he had known, had been able to smell whatever hormonal, desirous pheromones he'd been putting out all through high school.
"You needed to live first," Derek whispered. "Finish high school. Turn eighteen."
"I did all of those things ages ago. I finished college, dude. I'm twenty-two. I've been legal for ages."
"And you'd never have gone to college - never have left Beacon Hills, maybe not even have survived, if I'd stayed here or acted on this," Derek pointed out. "So I left because I wanted you to have the choice. I didn't want you to feel tied here by starting something with you when you were too young and stupid to know what you wanted."
"You..." Stiles trailed off, lost for words because it was true.
Leaving his Dad in Beacon Hills to ship off to the FBI Academy and then to college in New York when the FBI threw him out had been hard enough. Stiles couldn't imagine having ever left if he'd also had a lover tying him here.
"But now that I've graduated? Now that I've come home?"
"I don't want to wait anymore," Derek shrugged.
Stiles had to be dreaming.
"Did you leave town so I wouldn't be tempted to stay? Is that why you left with Cora and never came home?" Stiles whispered.
Derek nodded. Stiles heart might've been melting.
"You want to stay now, right?" Derek whispered. "You said... you said the nemeton's growing back? That you want to be here, close to your dad?"
"I do," Stiles nodded. "It feels right, being here."
Derek kissed him again, and Stiles clung to him, kissing back desperately despite his confusion and overwhelming arousal.
"Is this okay?" Derek whispered when they broke apart again.
"So okay," Stiles rasped. "So freaking okay, dude. Holy crap, you have no idea how long I've waited to kiss you."
"Since the day we met?" Derek guessed. "Or was that just me?"
Stiles might swoon, actually.
"You did not just say that to me," he giggled. "Sourwolf, you hated me at the beginning. You were always snarling at me."
Derek only nuzzled back into his neck, scenting him all over again and biting him several times.
"Oh my god, wait... were you always snarling at me because you were mad you wanted me? Dude! Did you get all growly and shove me into stuff because you secretly wanted to fuck my brains out the entire time?"
Stiles cut off with a low moan of ecstasy when the next bite was hard enough to bruise and accompanied by Derek's hands sliding to his ass, squeezing it firmly, and grinding their bodies together.
"Boys!? Coffee's ready!" Noah shouted from downstairs, and Stiles whimpered because he was achingly hard and didn't want to stop.
"If I say yes..." Derek murmured into Stiles's ear, nibbling the lobe. "Will you let me?"
Stiles was fairly certain his moan was more than answer enough.
