THEM BEING MARRIED FOR SO LONG. IT BECOMING MUNDANE AND JUST ‘MEH’. THEY LOVE EACH OTHER, THEY DO, BUT THERE IS JSUT SOMETHING MISSING.
“How is your sex life?” The therapist asked, looking up at them both.
Derek had a pensive look on his face, while Stiles looked dumbfounded.
“I don’t understand the question,” Derek plainly answered, not afraid to call the therapist out on a lousy question.
“Yeah, is this a 1 to 10 thing? Like, 10 being the best, or 10 being how frequent it happens?” Stiles questioned as he leaned forward.
“Because technically 0 would be the lowest,” Derek added. “Because that would be nothing.”
“Yeah,” Stiles gestured towards Derek, giving validation to his observation.
“Whatever you think,” the therapist offered. When neither made a move to answer, the therapist continued, “How often this week, then.”
Stiles stared at the therapist. “Does … does this weekend count?”
Derek narrowed his eyes, trying to think what Stiles was referring to.
Derek being so bored with his cover life. Everything that was fun between him and Stiles just seems … vacant. There’s a space where they used to be attached at the hip. There’s such a gap. He almost can’t stand being there with their so-called friends. He just wants to shut off his cover persona and fall fulltime into his job. But then there is Stiles.
Sweet, comical, beautiful Stiles. Who Derek can’t live without. But Stiles has been so different these past few years. It’s just become the question of “when?” When does a marriage fall apart? Is it the way Stiles almost rarely is home lately? Was it how Derek almost always has to lie to Stiles about cooking–of course he doesn’t cook, and he thinks it is terrible food anyways, which makes him question how Stiles has managed to eat five plus years of it without complaining. Is it when Derek starts to realize Stiles isn’t wearing his wedding ring when he comes home? Is it when Stiles notices that Derek is lingering around the house longer than normal?
Or is it when Stiles looks over at Derek during the dinner party and notices Derek holding Erica and Boyd’s baby? Is it Stiles thinking that maybe they never tried having a baby because … because they found that they started to fall apart themselves. Stiles remembers wanting a baby with Derek, from the moment they said ‘I do’, that was what Stiles wanted, because there was nothing he wanted more than to spend the rest of his life with Derek–Derek was everything he could manage to think he’d ever want. And to think that they’ve just let this rift fall between them.
But then Stiles and Derek botching each other’s jobs. Not knowing it is the other one until they get the order to clean up their messes. Derek being pissed at this amateur asshole who managed to destroy his weeks of methodic planning. Stiles being annoyed with this high to do assassin who seems to be so anal about his (or her) work that he managed to stumble into a cluster fuck.
Discovering that it was each other. Planning out the mind games during supper. And then Stiles just thinking about it–praying it’s not actually true, his eyes tracking Derek’s every moment. The wine bottle being only so heavy in his hand before he just decides “Fuck it” and let’s it go. How he hoped and prayed it would fall to the carpet and that he’d get in a fight with Derek about a stupid fucking bill for dry cleaning. But Derek’s hand flies out and catches the bottle without even looking–complete and total reflex.
And Derek’s eyes say it all when he looks up at him. Everything he said he was–everything they said they were–was a lie. It doesn’t matter that the wine bottle falls to the ground afterwards–it’s just another lie, an attempt to buy more time before it all just comes crashing down around them.
Derek pretending to be so cold after they keep meeting without finishing each other off. Trying to hide behind his demeanor of not caring–pretending he doesn’t care when the whole team rips apart his life trying to find something on Stiles. He just lets Stiles take his hand and pull him onto the dancefloor, because he doesn’t want it to end.
Stiles hating Derek more and more for how nonchalant he’s acting. How much he seems to not care that their marriage–their lives–have fallen apart. Wishing it hurt Derek as much as it hurt him.
“You want to know the truth, Derek?” Stiles pushed as he moved the calculated steps, his eyes watching the other couples dancing. “You killed our marriage.” He felt Derek tense a little before pushing back into Stiles. “You approached it like a job. Things to be planned and executed according to your methodic desires.”
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Derek snorted. He kept his eyes ahead of him, avoiding looking at Stiles. “You’re the one that never wanted to be bothered with it.”
“Why bother if I was just a cover, right?” Stiles snapped.
“Who said you were just a cover?” Derek countered, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. It sounded how he always did around Christmas–the way his voice would be wound tight, waiting to snap under the weight of something unknown.
Stiles never pushed him, it was the one part of their marriage they seemed to get right–they could be there for each other, despite not knowing the cause. He did it for Derek then, and Derek returned the favor on the anniversary of his mother’s death.
Stiles turned his attention to Derek, his eyes scanning Derek’s features. ”… Wasn’t I?“
Derek swallowed the lump in his throat, turning a heated glare on Stiles. “Wasn’t I?”
Stiles stumbled backwards when Derek shoved him, letting his hold on Derek go. He watched as Derek moved through the people, further and further away from him. He didn’t like how hopeful he felt that something could be saved from the shitshow their lives suddenly became.
BUT THE FIGHT NONNIE. THE. FIGHT. YOU HAVE NO CLUE. OH.MY.GOD. DARLING. JOIN ME ON THIS ADVENTURE.
Stiles running into the house, knowing Derek has the advantage–knowing that Derek, being the planned out insomniac that he fell in love with, most likely has guns all throughout the house. He gets his hands on his one gun that it probably left–a small handgun with a silencer, and he knows he’s screwed when the first shot of the shotgun goes off. He knew he was screwed when Derek actually called him ‘baby’, and he hated his treacherous body for loving the adrenaline rush and the fact that Derek actually sounds like he’s having fun.
Them shooting up the house and knowing that there is bound to be some neighborly complaints, but fuck their stupid neighbors who seem to be just obsessed with them–the token suburban gay couple down the way.
Derek being pissed when Stiles insults his cooking, because he’s not a bad cook, it was the fucking people the company hired. He knows how to cook–his father taught him how, and that’s crossing the goddamn line. Derek just blindly unloading the magazine into the kitchen, realizing too late that Stiles would have ripped the gas out of the oven. The explosion disorienting Derek for a second and then next thing he knows, he’s blocking Stiles’ knee from hitting him in the throat.
Anger and momentum driving Derek to dodge Stiles’ elbow and shove him into the hallway. The fucking hallway he always hated in their stupid fuckign house. It’s the stupidest hallway and he knows for a fact that Stiles hates that hallway too. Fileld with dumb trinkets they had to keep to satisfy their nosey neighbors. Just, them throwing the trinkets and blocking them.
Derek smacking at Stiles when Stiles actually grabs a hold of the ammo belt around his torso. Stiles blindly forcing Derek out of the hallway, pent up rage on both of their halves, because “damnit, Derek, you could have taken off my head with that shotgun.” Stiles throwing Derek over the dinning room table. Derek falling amongst the chairs, scrambling to get up. Hearing Stiles smugly say, “Come on honey. Come to daddy.”
Derek blindsiding Stiles and grabbing handfuls of his shirt before wrenching him forward to headbutt him. Kicking him back into the stupid fucking China cabinet that neither one of them wanted. Derek smiling as he looks down at a disoriented Stiles. “Who’s your daddy now?”
Derek running for the gun, Stiles getting up and kicking it out of his hands. Tackling him to the ground. Derek getting on top of him and just punching him him a few times–because if Stiles was just unconscious he could probably leave him. Stiles getting the upper hand. But Derek’s legs wrapped around his waist so tight, keeping him from getting away as Stiles tries to apply pressure to Derek’s throat. Stiles wanting the same thing, maybe knocking Derek out would change everything–it would save his face from another hit, at least. But damn, Derek arching his back and shoving his own hands against Stiles’ face to get him to loosen his grip, (this probably being the most physically intimate they’ve been in months).
Stiles lifting them up after Derek gets him in a headlock and starts taking body shots at him. He just slams Derek into the wall here or there, trying to get him to let go. It isn’t until he hears the grandfather clock break–fuck, Lydia is going to kill him, it was an antique–that he realizes that they are both panting like crazy, neither one of them being able to finish the other off. He thinks Derek is almost out for the count when Derek just tackles him, sending them both over the couch.
Stiles is the first one up, and he gets a few good hits in before Derek’s arm is shooting out and punching him square in the dick. Stiles folds, releasing a faint whine, because “Fuck. Low. Blow.” as he crumples against the couch.
Derek can barely breathe as he sits up, “You. Clipped me. Earlier.”
“Fair.”
And then both of them getting up and getting the guns. But neither one of them seems to be able to pull the trigger. Derek yelling at Stiles not to put the gun down when he starts to lower it.
“Come on!” Derek yelled, wanting Stiles to just take the shot and end it. They did all this–they nearly destroyed everything left in life, there was only this left. He wanted Stiles to be the one to take the shot–Stiles could keep living, he could have his life with his father and just move on. It was the least he could do for him.
“I can’t,” Stiles replied, dropping the gun into the broken couch. “I … I don’t think I ever could.”
Derek knew he couldn’t. For all his ambition, for all his planning, he couldn’t pull the trigger, not on Stiles. It was easy for him to lie to his boss, pretending that he planned on killing Stiles. It was even easier letting Stiles shove the gun out of his hand. And it was easiest to pull him into a kiss.
Sex. All the kinky sex. In the demolished house. Them answering the door half naked to the “concerned” neighbors and the cop. Derek’s tie wrapped around Stiles’ wrist, Stiles just in his boxers. Derek covering his dick with a pillow. Them nodding at how embarrassed the neighbors and how annoyed the cop seems. “Have a nice night,” both of them waving as they close the door.
Them getting to know each other so much. Stiles realizing that the reason Derek doesn’t usually wake up when he shakes him, is because he doesn’t have feeling in his right arm. Discovering that he can’t hear in one ear because of a grenade going off.
Derek learning that Stiles is colorblind in one eye. That he can’t bend two fingers. That he can’t have kids ;-; trying so hard to brush it off.
“I … uh,” Stiles coughed, looking down at the broken glass he was drinking his orange juice from. “Some things I can’t do.”
Derek arched his eyebrow in question, scrunching his toes as he tried to prevent the little specs of debris from sticking into the arch of his foot. “We just tried to kill each other in our home. I think I can handle it,” he deadpanned, not knowing what Stiles was thinking.
Stiles released a soft scoff. “Doesn’t really affect us, I guess. Not like it has to be me. Doesn’t have to be either of us, if we don’t want. Not saying that we’re ready for that, or that it’s even going to happen–”
“Stiles,” Derek calmly called his name, eyeing him carefully. “What is it?”
Stiles reluctantly looked up at Derek. He ran his tongue of his bottom lip, pretending the sting was the only thing hurting him. “I can’t have kids.”
Derek’s features softened some.
“They don’t know what it was, actually,” Stiles started, turning to look out the window. “I could have been born like this, nothing to do with the life. Not some Black Widow bullshit, trust me. And it’s kind of not a big deal with us, right? Because you probably still function, which means that–”
He stopped when he realized Derek had his arms wrapped around him. He leaned back into his chest, his hand moving to settling over one of Derek’s. He closed his eyes.
Derek pressed his nose just behind the back of Stiles’ ear, taking a calming breath as he kissed against his neck.
It was enough.
Derek and Stiles conflicting on how to handle interrogating the dude they need info from. Stiles trying to be charismatic and winning the guy over. Derek being so tired and just wanting to get this all over with, picking up the telephone and just hitting the guy in the face with it. Stiles being like “Babe, I know you’re grouchy, but we need him alive, and liking us.”
Derek and Stiles having one last fight against their employers in the department store place. THem being so convinced this is it, that they are going to die ;-; Stiles admitting that he was wrong, that they should have listened to Derek and ran away. Derek looking up at him, his features soft and nonjudgmental as he tends Stiles’ wound on his bicep. He doesn’t want to die, not like this. He’d rather go out beside Stiles than anywhere else, but he wants so much more than this being their ending.
“Damn. That boat in Bolivia is looking pretty good right now, isn’t it?” Stiles stated in regret. He knew Derek was right–it was a death wish to try and fight it. But he didn’t want to run; he was tired of running from who he was–from who he and Derek were.
“Well,” Derek started, a small contradiction in his tone. “It actually rains a lot, this time of year and all.” He turned his head to look at Stiles, catching the glint in his eye. “Shut up,” he partially smiled.
Stiles leaned in, placing a kiss to Derek’s lips. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Derek echoed, gently tapping his forehead against Stiles’.
But them winning. Them ending the hit teams sent out for them. Them almost not being able to believe it. Them going on vacation to Europe somewhere, bringing Stiles’ dad along. Derek telling Stiles he can’t believe he actually let him meet his real father. Stiles offering “I introduced you as the love of my life, of course I let you meet my father.” Derek kissing him stupid after that comment.
THE RETURN TO THE THERAPIST.
“You two seem … better,” the therapist offered.
“Yup,” Stiles smiled, excitedly settling into the chair, sneaking a look at Derek. “We talked it out.”
“A lot of yelling,” Derek offered as he looked at Stiles. He couldn’t help the private smile they seemed to share. “But in the end, just couldn’t seem to end it.”
“Plenty of times I wanted to,” Stiles made a motion of swinging a baseball bat at Derek. “But yeah, just couldn’t.”
Derek playfully narrowed his eyes at Stiles, shaking his head.
“Well,” the therapist smiled. “It seems that–”
“Ask us the sex question again,” Stiles abruptly interrupted.
“Stiles,” Derek lowly stated in warning.
“What?” Stiles smiled as he looked at Derek. He wanted for Derek to look away before holding up all ten fingers. He mouthed “10” to the therapist, smiling and nodding. He lowered his hands before Derek turned back to look at him.
theproblemwithstardust 