Stiles was different when he came back to Beacon Hills for the last time; came back to stay.
He was more mature. Older, of course, but also more controlled. More confident, more serious, more world-weary. The spastic teen of Derek’s memory had been whittled into something sharper by years of supernatural trouble; even more years in the FBI had finished honing him into a man as dangerous as any creature with claws or fangs.
Despite the hostage-situation-gone-bad that had left him hospitalized for months and ended his career, he came home ready to throw himself into the fight like always.
Bodies moving together to the beat. neon colors hiding the man’s moles that Derek saw earlier tonight when he just came in. a hand sliding down to his hips and pulls them so close that Derek can count the man’s eyelashes that got stained in pink glowing paint.
“Kiss me” the man shouted over the music.
“What?“ Derek blurted out heat rising up to his ears.
“I said. Kiss me” he repeated and leaned in and sealed their lips.
Some say we strayed from the path of virtue, and the gods sent the beast to teach us a lesson.
The guard’s body tumbled down the stairs, lifeless, as Derek panted for breath against the door. The stench of blood lingering in the air was dizzying, but he paid it little attention. Blood never affected him the way it had with Boyd for a time, never something so addicting that it was worth losing himself to it. His claws retracted as he took a moment to collect himself, his features shrinking back to human, but Derek kept his eyes shut for just a few seconds more as he pushed the door open.
And there he stood. After years, they were no longer apart. “Stiles!” Derek rushed forward, taking his face in his hands, scanning him intently for injuries — yet all he could find was the evidence of the years that passed and the reminder of how quickly humans aged. “Are… Are you hurt? If any of them…”
“You know me. I’d never let them hurt me,” Stiles smiled weakly, his voice wavering in disbelief. His accent was music to Derek’s ears as his arms curled around Derek’s waist, clutching onto him. “I just waited for you to come.”
“I… I didn’t know where to look,” Derek pulled Stiles into his arms without a second of hesitation, holding him as tightly as he could without hurting him, “They threatened to kill you… I…” The words caught in his throat and Derek pulled back to look at him, before his own shame took over and he could no longer meet his eye. “Forgive me. I failed you.”
“No, no you—” Stiles cut himself off as the Boyd and that witcher, Allison, ran into the room, a frown forming on his brow as he warily took them in.
theproblemwithstardust 