Note: A short epilogue featuring the porn I couldn't work in earlier! Whoops! If you liked the ambiguousness of the original ending, by all means, feel free to skip this part – it does spell out a more concrete ending, but by no means does it flesh everything out. It focuses more on the "real" Stiles and Derek.

Epilogue

Derek was standing in line at the post office when Stiles texted him. His phone made a loud "arrrroooooooooo! Humina humina!" because goddamnit, Stiles changed his ringtone again and Derek fought the urge to slink down while he jammed his phone to silent as fast as he could. Before the slider was all the way down, his phone went off again, though much quieter, and the women behind him snorted.

He tapped open the first text.

im in ur apt

Derek didn't feel the stab of fear that hit him the first few times Stiles was in his apartment without him, mostly because Stiles was unrepentantly curious and has already found his old photo album and that one book of poetry he wrote when he was in college.

also ur out of doritos

Package collected from the window, Derek stopped at Caseys on his way home, snagging a bag of Doritos, and after a moment of thought, a grape soda.

When he got back to the apartment, he was greeted by Stiles and Lydia lounging on the couch, Stiles' feet dangling in her lap. Lydia was painting a bright purple on his toenails while they watched America's Top Model. They burst into laughter when they saw him.

(Lydia and Stiles bonding was a recipe to ruin his life. If Lydia, Stiles, and Laura ever met, it would be the actual apocalypse, horsemen, brimstone, and all.)

Stiles' eyes landed on the package clutched in Derek's hand as he shifted it to the crook of his elbow, unwinding his scarf and throwing it over a hook. "Is that the manuscript from your publisher? Gimme, gimme!"

"No." Derek shrugged off his jacket and hung it over the scarf, then kicked off his shoes.

"But I want to know the end! That was fucking cruel, you know, not giving me the last chapter of your draft."

Derek scrunched his nose at Stiles and stashed the manuscript on top of the fridge. It wouldn't work for long, but he could keep an eye on it until Stiles left and he found a better hiding spot. "You have to have some reason to read the final version."

Stiles stuck his tongue out. But he did graciously budge over on the couch when Derek presented him with the Doritos and soda.

"Oh," Lydia said shortly, twisting the lid back on the nail polish. "I see how it is."

When Derek glanced over, still in the process of rearranging Stiles' limbs into something more comfortable and less bony, she had her best bitchface on. The one that meant he was getting an old-style dressing down.

"So you can remember to get those, but not milk? Or eggs? Or spinach? Or avocados? Or-"

Derek cringed. "I'll go grocery shopping tomorrow."

"Damn right you will."

Stiles snickered and made a whip-cracking nose in his ear. After a moment of comfortable silence, propped against Derek, he said, "They die, don't they, they totally die. You are such a downer like that."

"I'm not going to tell you. Also, Lydia won't either."

"I know," Stiles said mournfully, squirming in what might have been a resentful way. "I already tried and she told me she didn't care enough to read it."

Lydia hummed in assent, adding a coat of large hex glitter on top of the purple.

"I can't believe you actually named your characters after us."

"You know I changed them for publication purposes."

"No you didn't, you big sap, I bet Stiles is still kicking ass in your book."

Derek gave a guilty start. Stiles wasn't wrong. Something about the name fit and the alternatives he brainstormed with his agent weren't as good. He was attached to his character, dammit, and call him a sentimental fool but yeah, he kept it. His Stiles, the real Stiles, smirked at him like he knew his thoughts and pressed closer into him. It made Derek stupidly happy still, the novelty of it sparking warmth in his belly.

"Hey, we're going to – what was it? Drip?" Stiles turned to Lydia for confirmation. "Yeah, Drip. We're going on Friday."

Derek groaned. "Let's not and say we did."

"Nope! You're coming, you're going to impress Scott, and you are going to wear something slutty." Stiles paused, then added, "And put out."

(Derek, by the way, has already met Stiles' best friends. It was the third time he'd found Stiles in his apartment – before he figured out his boyfriend copied his key – just coming back from a long run.

"I come prepackaged with a Scott and a Danny, by the way," Stiles told him while Derek, shirtless and sweaty, goggled at the other two men in the room. "Sometimes there is an Erica and sometimes there is a Boyd, but mostly just a Scott and a Danny."

"Yo," Scott said. "I'm the BFF."

"I'm the gay BFF," Danny said, as if it wasn't obvious from the way he checked Derek out. He wondered if it would be more awkward to join them on the couch or disappear into his room to get a shirt. In the end, he lurked in the doorway, unable to make a decision.

Stiles just sat on the couch with his biggest shit-eating grin and giggled when Danny added, "Dammit, Stilinski, you landed a good one.")

But Stiles wanted Scott and Derek to be bosom buddies or something, setting up play dates and, with the addition of Lydia's evil mind, clubbing.

Derek lowered his face and growled in Stiles' ear. "Or, I could hang with Scott next week, you wear something slutty and put out, and then we both come. Multiple times." He leaned back, propping his arms behind his head. He smirked when Stiles tracked the stretch of the shirt across his chest, before snapping his attention back to Derek's face. "But I guess we could go to a shitty club and fend off unwanted advances of the male and female persuasion."

"You snark back now, do you? I think I liked you better when you made wide, lovestruck eyes at me all the time. You looked so scared and uncomfortable and asked a lot of awkward questions or just stared at me in silence." He sighed, looking into the distance. "Those were the days."

"Like you didn't almost strain something flirting with me." They danced around the subject of Stiles' almost fiancée. Derek knew virtually nothing about her. Uncomfortable, absolutely, and a conversation they needed to have. The only way Derek staved off guilt on that particular subject was to remind himself he never made a move on Stiles, never imagined a scenario in which they were together, while Erica was still in the picture.

If he had, though, it would have looked a lot like this.

Suddenly grateful, he pulled Stiles in tight against him and nuzzled into his neck. "Glad you saw past my Bambi eyes," he said, pressing a kiss to Stiles' temple.

"Oh, gag me," Lydia groaned, rolling her eyes.

"Shush, enough from the peanut gallery," Stiles said. He batted at Derek's arm. "Come on. Get up."

"Why?"

"You are ravishing. And I must have you!"

Derek raised a brow. "What does that even mean."

"Sex, dude, we're going to have sex!"

"Ugh," Lydia huffed, hand reaching for her iPod. "Have fun. I hate you. And don't mess up your toes."

Derek let Stiles pull him up, fingers digging into his. His palms were sweaty, anticipation already making his heart jump. Sex was still new and scary and wonderful, figuring out the different ways they fit together, discovering secret spots and sensitive zones. Stiles released his hand only when Derek's door slammed behind them, and crowded him against it.

Derek's breath hitched when Stiles grabbed his other hand, threading their fingers together, slowly bringing them closer. Their kiss was soft, a little hesitant as they sunk together. It made butterflies flurry wildly in his stomach. Derek shook a hand free and curled it in Stiles' hair, bringing their lips together more insistently. Stiles teased at the seam of his lips, then, when Derek parted them, teased at his tongue.

"You need to do laundry," he said, pulling back to catch his breath.

"I'm a writer," Derek mumbled into his mouth. "Don' do laundry."

He hauled Stiles back to him and slotted their mouths together again. Their kisses went deeper, languid and heated. They slid together, hands restless against skin, until Derek was making needy noises in the back of his throat. He was hot all over and couldn't seem to settle on one part of Stiles, nipping at his swollen lips and tracing the line of his jaw with his tongue while Stiles panted and moaned hotly against his forehead. His hands worked their way to Stiles' ass, dragging down the back of his jeans to grasp it firmly.

Stiles groaned. "I think you should get on the bed."

"Fuck yeah," Derek said, but he didn't let go. He walked them over to the bed, pressing kisses to Stiles' lips, and let himself be pushed down. He sprawled on the covers, and made no move to hide the obvious tent in his jeans.

"Hmm, what to do with you all spread out like that?"

Derek grunted, which could mean a myriad of different things, but in this case definitely meant that Stiles should hurry the fuck up on the sex part of the evening. Stiles complied, rucking his shirt up to trace his stomach.

"I love that you get all nonverbal when you're horny," Stiles said, waggling his eyebrows. His hands outlined Derek's hipbones. Derek grasped them and urged him down until Stiles was straddling him. "Gets me all hot and bothered."

While he spoke, his hips ground against Derek's at the perfect angle and pressure, until Derek had a white knuckled grip on the sheet, hot bursts of arousal curling up his spine. Stiles was panting and flushed above him, legs spread wide and mouth loose with pleasure. Derek wanted to worry his ears with lips and teeth until the flush spread everywhere. But as intoxicating as the friction was, there were four too many layers of cloth between them to be satisfying.

"Stiles," he ground out. "Do something before I rip your dick off. With my teeth."

"Hmm," he said, rolling his hips in a way that made Derek's eyes cross. "You have a weird fascination with teeth, don't you? I think you're – ah! – all bark and no bite. Why don't you put those teeth to better use?"

It was simple enough to turn them, Stiles spread on his back and adjusting easily to the new position. Derek squirmed down his body, pressing down just so, enough that Stiles had to turn his head into the pillow to muffle his curse.

Derek nosed at the hem of Stiles' shirt, fabric soft and smelling lightly of detergent and a musky, heady scent that was all Stiles. He clamped the hem between his teeth and dragged it up, baring centimeter by centimeter of pale skin. Stiles jumped and twitched where Derek's stubble rubbed.

He reversed directions when the shirt refused to go any further. Derek took his time working his way down, counting each hitch, each breathy moan, each mumbled curse. He loved finding every single one of Stiles' moles, worrying gently at them and tracing patterns between them. Derek licked and sucked until his lips ached and Stiles stomach and hipbones were red and slick, until he couldn't ignore the restless press of Stiles' cock against his chest.

"Fucking fuck you," Stiles moaned when Derek opened his jeans. With his teeth.

It only took a handful of firm strokes and Derek mouthing at the spot just below the head of his cock while Stiles slurred into his arm before he came all over Derek's face and fist.

"You broke my brain," Stiles groaned into the arm slung across his eyes. "Seriously."

"But not your mouth," Derek replied. He was trying not to let on just how much Stiles' pornstar worthy dirty talk almost had him creaming his pants. God, if Derek ever wrote a sex scene for a novel, all he needed to do was record Stiles during sex and he'd have the filthiest scene ever. Move over, E.L. James.

"Take your pants off," Stiles said, not moving.

Derek broke his personal record in getting naked, taking a second to wipe the come off his face with his Henley. In the meantime, Stiles had gotten to his feet and shucked his pants (in both the American and British sense).

He raised his eyebrows at Derek, who probably made quite the sight – come in his stubble, cock swollen and bobbing with every motion. It twitched self-consciously under Stiles' scrutiny.

"On the bed. Legs open."

Derek complied. Expediently. He arched his back just to see the heat bloom in Stiles' eyes.

Stiles moved, settling on his knees between Derek's legs. "You've been a bad, bad man, not letting me read the end. That was a cliffhanger, dude. Not cool. So I've decided to punish you."

He let a smirk mask his face, the one he knew drove Stiles crazy, and circled his nipple lazily with a finger, watching the dip of Stiles' eyes and the dart of his tongue to wet his lower lip. "You can try," he challenged, voice like crackling flame.

It was all Stiles needed to snap back to attention. He braced his arms on either side of Derek until he was leaning over him. Derek was panting, resisting the urge to grind into Stiles, thinking, desperately, wildly, finally. They were so close that their breath mingled and lips bumped when Stiles whispered, "Let me phrase it like this, then: you don't get an ending until I do."

Derek bit down a laugh; one, because Stiles was only the paragon of self control if it was opposite day and two, because laughing at his boyfriend was not conducive to orgasms. Some of his disbelief must have bleed through anyway, since Stiles narrowed his eyes and bit down on Derek's lower lip, hard enough for the sharp sting to send his nerves singing and his hips seeking friction, an aborted whine torn from his throat.

"That's what I thought."

He took his time exploring Derek's body, mirroring his earlier actions and by the time Stiles settled between his thighs, Derek was embarrassingly close, trembling and straining, the tip of his cock leaking and gleaming with pre-come. The sight of Stiles' lush lips stretching over the head of his cock had his eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

It was not fair, because Stiles knew how much Derek loved his mouth, fixated on it and obsessed about it (and may have even written a slightly pornographic short story about it). Stiles sucked cock like it was going to be taken away from him, enthusiastic tongue and filthy noises. He was greedy, too, taking in as much of Derek as he could until he was choking on it, throat spasming around him even as he moaned, pulling off and diving right back in for more.

He wasn't sure if it was relief or embarrassment he felt when his balls started to tighten only moments after Stiles set to work. He exhaled hard, conscious of Lydia in the next room, and nudged his knee against Stiles as a warning.

Stiles pulled off completely, his lips bee stung and saliva trailing across his chin. "Wha-?" Derek asked, hips jerking into empty air.

"How does it end?"

"Wha-what? No."

Stiles traced a finger down his thigh, scribbling invisible swirls into his skin. "You know the rule. You don't come unless you tell me what happens."

"I didn't agree – oh holy fuck!" Stiles' glorious mouth wrapped around his dick again, making the most lewd slurping noises. His tongue flicked across the slit every time he pulled up and Derek clenched the sheets to keep from grabbing Stiles' face.

And yeah, he was maybe two strokes from glorious orgasm when the little shit pulled off.

"I hate you," he growled and thought fuck it as he tried to get a hand around his dick so he could jerk himself off. He didn't get far before Stiles caught it, then the other, and pushed them down to the bed. His fingers were sharp starbursts against his wrist.

"Oh, you love me- this! You love this and you know it!"

They weren't at the joking-about-love stage in their relationship yet, but Stiles covered by messily engulfing his dick in wet heat. Without using his hands. Derek rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, arching up into it, because the sight was seriously going to blow his mind. Or dick. Whatever.

A moan was torn out of him when he felt a slick finger rub against his ass, a moan that trailed off into a pant when the finger circled his rim.

"Where – ah, fuuuuuck – did you get the lube?"

"I'm like a boyscout. Or a ninja. Or a ninja boyscout, always prepared but never predictable."

Stiles worked the finger into him just one incremental inch. His mouth opened into a perfect O as he watched Derek's muscles clench around it and draw it in, a glazed look in his eye. Derek took a moment to see himself from outside eyes – his dick lewd, swollen, and slick from a combination of spit and pre-come, smearing against his stomach, legs spread wide and hips titled towards Stiles while he worked a finger into him.

Derek knew he was getting very worked up. (Getting? his internal voice scoffed). He kept forgetting to breathe, air trapped in his lungs until his head swam and he blew it out harshly. His lower lip ached from his teeth digging into it to hold back sighs and moans, but the minute thrusts against Stiles' fingers betrayed him anyway.

"Jesus, Derek," Stiles groaned.

He seemed content to just tease with one finger, a finger that unerringly hit Derek's prostrate. Derek arched into the touch, his back taut; he anchored himself to the bed and rolled back against the finger, forcing it deeper into him.

"Fuck, Stiles, more."

Stiles swore under his breath and then another finger was pushing in, stretching him in the most delicious way. Derek couldn't get the leverage to really fuck himself on Stiles' fingers, but he made aborted thrusts against them, pleasure building in him. He was so close, dammit, but Stiles' fingers weren't enough, just flamed him higher and higher. He needed Stiles to touch him, just one firm stroke and he'd come his brains out.

"You look like a wet dream," Stiles rasped. "Your stupidly perfect abs soaked in sweat, your eyes bright and your cheeks flushed. You look wrecked like this, you know, fucking yourself on just two fingers with your cock leaking everywhere. And you keep making these needy, gasping noises."

Derek couldn't help it. He moaned and clenched down harder on Stiles' fingers.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he bit out. "The family got out…"

"Go on." Stiles grinned wickedly. He picked up the pace, pistoning against his prostrate again and again. Derek felt the pleasure in every one of his nerves, practically vibrating from it.

"God," Derek moaned. "Left a message. For Stiles. Meets up with them – ah! in Minnesota!"

"So they don't die?"

"No."

Stiles said nothing more, just dove and attacked Derek's cock with renewed vigor. He slid deep into Stiles' mouth, tip hitting the back of his throat, and Derek moaned, "Finally!" before he came so hard, he saw white.

"You're lucky," Derek panted, when his brain restarted itself. "If I wasn't so boneless, I'd kill you."

"With what?" Stiles asked. The blankets stretched under Derek's weight, so he rolled until Stiles could pull them out and climb underneath. "Your dick?"

"I could try," he replied defensively.

They cooled down in silence, breath and endorphins evening out until the flush bled out of Stiles' cheeks. Derek swiped feebly at the mess on his abdomen.

Stiles rolled toward him, limbs tense. "By the way, I totally already knew the ending."

Derek froze. "What?"

"I read the last chapter like last week. You are shit at password protecting your files."

Stiles stuck out his tongue. Derek grabbed for him – to strangle him or kiss him to death, he wasn't sure – but Stiles bolted from the bed. Derek made a move to chase him, but his knees were still a little jellified.

"Get back here – oh my God, Stiles, you can't go out there naked! STILES!"

Epilogue

Stiles carefully beat out the 1-2-1-2-1-2-3-4 rhythm on the door, body cheated out and constantly scanning for any sign of zombies. But the Hales chose their new location at Perch Lake well, no trace of a Z for hours.

After a moment, the door swung open and Stiles darted in, easing it closed behind him. The house was dark, all the windows boarded up, so it took a moment for his vision to adjust to the figure in front of him.

"Stiles," Derek said.

"Fuck you, you didn't tell me you were this hot," he replied.

Derek tried to respond, but didn't get far before Stiles rocketed at him, wrapping his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck. Derek caught him, dipping under his weight for just a moment before straightening up. "It's not fair," Stiles mumbled against Derek's lips. "All you get is me."

End note: Thank you so much for all the love! You give me all these warm fuzzy feelings. :D If anyone is interested, my playlist for this story can be found here: extantecstasy dot tumblr dot com / post / 35616419251 / for-the-love-of-zombies-sterek-fanmix