Chapter Two

Right

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And when they say it's all touch and go,
I wish I could make it go away.

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When Derek wakes up, early morning sunlight is drifting in through the window, casting its rays along the worn hardwood floor while little dust motes float softly through the air, like glitter. He can hear the tick of a clock somewhere in the house, the constant hum of a refrigerator, the passing of a car out on the street. For a moment he's completely forgotten where he is, but then there's movement as the person lying on top of him shifts, and he finds himself staring straight into sleepy hazel eyes—eyes framed by long lashes and a sprinkling of little moles and freckles.

That's when everything comes rushing back to him in stark relief.

He remembers the night before, remembers the anger he'd felt as he'd climbed into Stiles' bedroom window.

Remembers the fear that had taken him over once he'd learned of Stiles' illness, and the desperation in Stiles' voice as he'd asked him to stay the night.

"Derek, stay? Please stay."

He remembers falling asleep with Stiles in his arms, holding him close.

Then, abruptly and without warning, he's brought out of his thoughts by a warm set of lips on his, and they're kissing.

He's kissing Stiles, and it feels so good, and so right, and because of that he thinks maybe he's still asleep, still dreaming.

It makes sense.

He has to be dreaming, so he just goes with it, opening up and licking at the seam of that mischievous mouth, imploring, possibly even begging for entrance. He's always wondered what it would feel like to do this, to kiss Stiles; but when those sweet lips part and a warm, smooth tongue slides up alongside his own he pulls away as though he's been physically burned, his foggy, sleep-addled brain finally kicking into full gear. He's pretty damn sure he's not dreaming. "We shouldn't be doing this," he gasps, carefully pushing Stiles off him as he sits up in the bed.

"No no no, come on," Stiles argues, voice thick with sleep, "Please don't stop. I need to feel this, Derek." He leans back in, hands coming up to cradle Derek's face, one on each side, pulling him closer. "Just once," he says, and he sounds fucking wrecked, "Just this once, with you. I need this. Can you understand that? I—I need something real. Just this once...please, just...just once before I—before I...I—"

"Stiles," he breathes, grabbing Stiles' wrists and gently pulling his hands away, "Your vulnerable right now." And to himself he silently adds, it wouldn't be 'just this once'. If he gives in now, he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop. Doesn't know if he's strong enough to even try.

"Derek, I'm dying."

And that word—fuck, that word feels like a punch to the gut, a serrated knife ripping his heart out, a bucket of ice water being poured down his spine.

"Do you honestly think I care about vulnerability right now?" Stiles continues, a small laugh bubbling up and out of him, "Because fuck that, okay? I don't care. I really don't. I told you, I need something I know is, is real. Something I can feel. And I wanna feel it with you. I don't wanna die a virgin...I, I wanna be with you, Derek..." he sighs, his lips quirking up ever so slightly, "I've...fuck, I've wanted you since the day we met out in the woods. You know that, right? You've gotta know that; you can hear my heartbeat. You know I'm telling the truth. So please, do this for me." He stops there, a look of uncertainty flitting across his face, his smirk dissolving right before Derek's eyes, "I mean, unless you, um, you don't—you don't want to? You don't want me. Unless you aren't..."

"Hey, shhh." Derek's finger comes up to press gently against Stiles' lips, halting his rambling, "That's not at all what this is about, okay?" He looks at him carefully, studying him. He wants this, too. He can't deny it. He's wanted this for so long, but Stiles is young. He's a teenager.

He's too young.

But then, that's the thing now, isn't it?

That's the crux of it, the situation, their new reality.

Stiles is always going to be too young. Or too sick. Or too different. Once the symptoms of his illness truly hit, Stiles may not even be Stiles anymore, and that thought...that thought terrifies Derek like nothing else, leaves a gnawing, gaping, cloying pit in his stomach.

So if Stiles wants to feel something real, then Derek will give him something real.

He can do that.

He'll give Stiles what he needs, what he wants, and maybe he'll get the same thing in return...if only for a moment. If only just this once.

Maybe that's selfish.

Better yet, maybe that's fucking illegal.

Maybe that makes him a terrible person.

He leans forward and meets their lips anyway, putting the troubling thoughts out of his mind.

Stiles feels soft and warm, new and exciting. There's a sweetness to him, sugary like candy; but there's also a slightly medical undertone dancing on those beautifully parted lips that Derek imagines has always been there to some degree. It's not a hindrance, it's just...there. It's chemical, a mixture of salts and stimulants, but it's all still purely Stiles. He deepens the kiss, chasing the taste as he delves into wet heat, mapping every contour he comes to. When their tongues slip together this time he doesn't pull away, and a moan escapes Stiles' throat, the sound of it spurring Derek on. He gently pushes Stiles back to lie on the bed, and his hips move of their own volition, grinding down into the inviting cradle of warm thighs curling around him. Sparks ignite deep in his core, pleasure thrumming through him as he feels the evidence of a clothed arousal, a hard and heavy line of heat, pushing against his own...and he wants.

God, Derek wants.

He wants more.

He wants to make Stiles forget about everything else—everything outside of this room, outside of them—and just be here, in this moment, together.

He lifts up and hooks his fingers below the hem of Stiles' shirt, pulling until it's over his head, then divests himself of his own as well before looking down to drink in the sight laid out before him. Moles litter Stiles' skin, a plethora of constellations covering the smooth, pale expanse of his chest and abdomen, soft and golden in the morning light.

Beautiful.

Stiles is fucking beautiful, and his scent has grown sweeter still, luring Derek in like a siren. He leans back over that warm skin and they kiss once, twice more; then he's breaking away, mouthing down along a sharp jaw to the creamy column of Stiles' neck, breathing in deep, scenting him, surrounding himself with the smell. He kisses Stiles' clavicle, then his chest—his tongue following every freckle and mole and beauty mark on his way. When he takes a nipple into his mouth, Stiles hisses, arching into the touch as blunt nails scratch across Derek's scalp. He nips and sucks the little pink nub, feeling it rapidly harden into a fine peak under his ministrations. Then his tongue laves at the reddened flesh, soothing the sting away before moving to the other side to lavish the same affections there.

He commits every curve and slope of skin to memory.

Every taste.

Every smell.

Every sweet sound that's drawn from Stiles' mouth.

He wants to remember it all, wants to make everything permanent.

When he reaches a warm navel, he fucks into it with his tongue; and Stiles instantly bucks his hips, his erection rubbing up against Derek's chest, kissing his bare skin through damp fabric. The titillating contact stops him in his tracks, and he pulls his mouth away as his hands come to rest on those greedy hips, a firm pressure keeping them still. His fingers curl around the elastic band of Stiles' sleep pants. "Are you sure?" he asks, voice raspy, throat tight.

He prays Stiles doesn't say no.

"Y-Yeah, Derek. Yeah, I want this. I wanna feel you in me, fucking me. Please...please, just, come on. Let me feel you."

He can't rein in the low growl that rumbles out of him at the declaration, breathy and erotic as it is, so he gives in and let's his wolf surge forward, pulling the flannel pants in his grip down with one quick sweep. Stiles' boxers follow after, black with a bright yellow Batman symbol across the crotch.

Again, he can't help the huff of amusement that escapes him at the sight.

"What?"

"Batman?" he smirks, "Really, Stiles?"

"Yeah, Derek, Batman," Stiles answers, looking massively affronted, "You got a problem with 'em, big guy?"

A warm heat settles in Derek's chest, affection and fondness. "No," he smiles, shaking his head, "No, not at all."

He hears a muttered reply of, "Damn straight," as he leans back down to kiss Stiles once more. Then, without breaking contact, Stiles is speaking against his lips, "Derek, I'm pretty sure you still have way too many clothes on if you're actually planning on fucking me."

His cock jerks at that, straining inside his too tight jeans, and he lifts up, humming in agreement. "You're right about that," he simpers, "Do you have any lube?"

"Well, duh." Hazel eyes sparkle as Stiles smiles up at him. "Dude, I'm a seventeen year old male. 'Course I have lube." His gaze darts over to the side of the bed, "Nightstand drawer. Uh, under the Twizzlers and the Pop Rocks."

Derek quirks a brow at that, but gets up and pulls the drawer open just the same, searching through an impressive pile of junk food before coming away with a half full bottle of lube and an entire box of condoms—unopened. He shoots Stiles a questioning look.

"What? Seventeen year old male, remember? I was prepared for...you know...things."

"Uh huh."

He opens up the box and takes one foil package out, then promptly shucks his jeans and boxers, letting the garments pool at his feet as cool air hits his filling cock. Before he realizes it, he's giving the hard flesh a quick jerk, melting into the touch of his fist; and he hears a strangled gasp from the bed. Stiles is practically devouring him with his eyes, those gorgeous eyes that look like copper in the morning light, glittering with mischief. They're so full of life, and Derek's heart aches just a little because of it.

He tries to shake away the somber mood as best he can, though, not allowing his mind to wallow there—that's not what this is about. This isn't about the possible sorrow looming on their horizon, it's about Stiles, and what he needs right now.

So he climbs back onto the bed, his body blanketing Stiles' slighter frame as slender legs open to make room, and he fits perfectly in the space provided. Their lips brush, a touch that's already so painfully familiar to him, a touch Derek never wants to live without; and a rush of sensation washes over him when the velvety soft skin of their naked cocks meet for the first time. It's like an electric surge pulsing through the both of them, a powerful force, charging their movements and urging them on; and they each moan into the other's mouth, swallowing the rapturous sounds their movements evoke.

After a few minutes Derek pulls away again, moving back down the smooth line of Stiles' body, following the same path he took before until his tongue is lapping along the fine hairs leading to the one place where he knows Stiles' scent is the strongest. His hands find the lube he'd tossed on the bed and click the bottle open, squeezing a dollop of it onto his fingers while his breath ghosts over the engorged erection jutting up Stiles' abdomen, hard and red and angry. There's a sparkling pearl of fluid glistening at the tip like a crown, and his mouth waters with anticipation as it slowly begins to dribble down the shaft. He licks his lips, worrying the bottom one between his teeth while he lets a slick finger gently slide along the seam of Stiles' balls, then down to massage his perineum, and further still to tease at his entrance, circling the puckered hole.

"Der—Derek!" Stiles gasps, mewling and writhing under his touch, hands clenching white-knuckled in the sheets at his sides. "Please, please! Jesus fuckin' Christ..."

"Shhh, I've got you," he soothes, "Just relax for me."

"Yeah...o-okay."

Carefully he presses one finger in, slow and steady, and Stiles' body eagerly accepts him as he leans down to nestle his nose into curly hair. The smell of sex is almost overwhelming right there, in the crook of Stiles' groin, the scent intoxicating in its absolute purity; and he inhales deep against the base of Stiles' cock, his own dick throbbing, leaking his desire copiously onto the sheets below.

He can feel his eyes burning with the need to shift to alpha red, can feel the tingle in his gums as his fangs itch to burst through, can feel claws trying to grow from the tips of his fingers.

Another growl emanates from the back of his throat with the effort it takes to hold the shift at bay, and Stiles spreads his legs wide in answer, opening himself up—offering his body to Derek to do with as he pleases. His wolf hums just beneath the surface of his skin, simmering, approval rolling off him in waves as he pulls his finger out of slick heat only to push it right back in again.

The whine Stiles emits at the action—all needy and frantic—purges any remaining control Derek has left, and he flattens his tongue against the underside of Stiles' cock, following the large vein there as he licks a long stripe up to the leaking head. A kaleidoscope of flavors flood his senses, sharp and sweet and bitter, and the combination of it all bombarding him at once sends a jolt of pleasure whirring through him, settling hot and heavy in his groin. His tongue flicks out to lave at another ample bead of precum sliding down the slit before swirling around the cockhead; then he's taking the entire length into his mouth, opening up his throat and swallowing it down to the hilt as he adds a second finger alongside the first.

Every thrust into Stiles pushes a muffled string of heady curses and moans out of him as Derek continues his ministrations, systematically taking him apart piece by piece with tongue and teeth and hands. He bobs up and down over the shaft, hollowing his cheeks with every ascent while he opens Stiles up, coating his insides in slick and thoroughly preparing him to take his alpha's cock.

Two fingers swiftly turn to three, and Stiles is groaning, his heart hammering, pounding hard against his ribs—so hard Derek can feel the pulse of it thumping heavily against his tongue. "Mother fuck..." Stiles' voice is strained, breathless as he rolls his hips up to fuck into Derek's mouth and down to fuck over his fingers.

Up and down, undulating and writhing, pleading for more.

Begging for it.

Derek gives it to him with a flick of his wrist and a crook of his hand, twisting just right...and Stiles' entire body jolts, trembling as he cries out, breathy and broken, skin slick, glistening with sweat, chest heaving as he gasps for air. "Der, fuck, that's...that's—oh god, right there." He shudders, a full bodied tremor shooting through him as he loses the last vestiges of his self-control, "Oh my fucking god...."

Derek smirks, popping off his dick and pulling out of his ass, meeting his heavy gaze as Stiles whines in protest of the loss. "You like that, don't you?" he asks, voice a low growl, predatory, hungry. He's just barely managing to keep the wolf reined in. "You like feeling me inside you."

"Pretty sure that's a hell yes, Obviouswolf," Stiles rasps, panting and arching his back, spreading his legs wider, "Fuck, I want you in me."

Those words send liquid heat dripping down his spine, trickling lower, filling his cock; and he snatches the condom up, tearing it open with his teeth. His eyes never leave Stiles', though, continuing to examine him, needing to make absolutely sure this is really what he wants. "You're sure?" he asks, unable to keep the edge of desperation out of his tone.

"Oh my god, dude, yes! So fucking sure, man. So sure...but, um..." Stiles stops, looking between Derek's eyes and his hands, nervously licking at his lips, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows convulsively, "Do we, ah, really need the condom?" His cheeks turn a brilliant shade of red, embarrassment infusing the air, "I mean, it's just, um, I'm a virgin...and you, well, you know...you're all, like, wolfy and stuff, so..."

That gives Derek pause.

Technically no, they don't need a condom. He can't contract anything, and in turn, he can't give anything to anyone else; but it's still a big decision to choose not to use one. Not that he'd be opposed to going bare, of course. He's already established that his willpower is fucking shit when it comes to Stiles. "No," he shakes his head, "We don't really need one, but I want you to be comfortable with this."

"Oh I am!" Stiles vehemently nods, "I am, Derek. So comfy. Like, you have no idea, my dude. The levels of my comfyness would astound you. Truly, that's me...the epitome of relaxed, right here—"

"Stiles," he cuts him off, grinning, "Shut up."

"Oh—uh, okay. Shutting up now."

Derek tosses the opened condom to the side and instead slicks up his bare dick, giving it a few aborted tugs before leaning back over Stiles, aligning their bodies and meeting hazel eyes. Then he's pushing in, the head of his cock breaching that tight ring of muscle and slowly advancing as it gives way, yielding to his will.

"Fuck, Derek—" Stiles' breath hitches, his eyes clenching tightly shut and his brows furrowing as he groans his discomfort into the silence; and Derek instantly moves a hand down to grip around his hip, canting it up for better access while he siphons the pain from him.

Inky black bleeds into his veins, and soon Stiles relaxes, arching up to meet him, blunt nails digging into his shoulders for leverage. He doesn't stop pressing forward though, doesn't stop sliding in inch by agonizing inch—doesn't think he could even if he wanted to—not until he's fully sheathed in gloriously velvet heat, the tight channel surrounding him hugging him close, connecting them, tying them up together so completely that he wants to cry out in blessed relief.

Nothing else matters to him in that moment.

There are no obstacles keeping them apart.

No monsters or fears or illnesses hindering their union.

No threats of death looming over their heads.

There's nothing but two hearts beating a rapid staccato against one another, skin sliding across skin, warm breath mingling, sex and sweat and lust heavy in the air.

Nothing but Stiles, warm and all encompassing, filling him, overwhelming him, calming him.

He leans down, shaking, bracing his weight on his forearms as his nose nuzzles into the curve of Stiles' neck; and he breathes in deep, again and again, willing the sweet scent to linger, to become a permanent part of him—essential. "Stiles—" he chokes on the word, takes another intoxicating breath, "God, Stiles, you...you feel so good. Fucking amazing."

"Y-Yeah," Stiles stutters in response, the hum of his voice sending vibrations through his skin, seeping up into Derek's, "This is...fuck, this is good. So so good, Der..."

After that, nothing else is said. It's quiet, and they just tarry there, wrapped up in the other's arms, immersed in the moment, fingers exploring, mouths tasting. He counts every beat of Stiles' pulse against his lips as he kisses down his throat, lets himself relax into the rhythm of it as it begins to slow.

He has no idea how long they stay like that, locked in pleasurable stasis while they adjust, but he's brought back from the haze by long legs tightening around his waist and a low, tremulous voice whispering in his ear.

"Der, buddy, hey...move already. I...I really need you to start moving. Like, right fucking now."

So that's what he does.

He lifts up and meets Stiles' heavy-lidded gaze, keeping those copper eyes fixed on his as he palms the soft flesh of Stiles' ass, pulling out almost completely. Cool air hits his cock, shocking him, and he pushes right back into warm pressure, savoring the exquisite feel of the greedy muscles stretching around him, drawing him in deeper. His movements are slow and gentle, careful, almost reverent as he cherishes the body splayed out before him. Arms wrap around his neck and pull him down into a kiss; then they're just staring at each other, connected from sternum to groin, skin on skin, panting, mouths mere inches apart. They rock together on the bed, bodies moving in perfect unity as they share air and space, pleasure and need.

Derek gets lost in the easy rhythm they set, the hypnotic swaying.

Sheets rustle below them.

The mattress creaks under the shared weight of their movements.

Nails scratch long lines down his back.

Teeth graze his jaw—nip along his chin, his neck, his ear.

The air around them is damp, saturated with the smell of sweat and musk, lust and longing.

Longing for something more. Something huge and important and right there. It's right in front of him. He can feel it simmering between their bodies, screaming at his wolf. It promises him things; dangerous things like love, and joy, and mate.

Things like forever.

But that's something they may not have.

Not now.

Not ever.

Not anymore.

He tries not to dwell on that thought as he continues to grind down into the gorgeous body below him, plunging deeper with every pass, drawing little whimpers and moans and gasps from Stiles' mouth. That gorgeous fucking mouth.

Derek could devour that mouth.

He tries to, too, as his arousal morphs into something a bit more animalistic. Something wild and carnal—savage. He tongues his way into wet heat, and Stiles readily opens up for him, parting his lips and meeting him half way as they share sloppy, lazy kisses, each fucking the other's mouth in tandem.

His hips thrust forward, growing stronger, pounding home again and again.

Stiles is pliant through it all, the sharp scent of his own arousal rapidly peaking, sending Derek's senses into a feral frenzy to please—to make Stiles fall apart—to fucking ruin him. He growls as his hand moves down to encircle the cock trapped between them, hot and hard, heavy and leaking; and he strokes the heated flesh in time with his hips.

The nails at his back dig in deeper as Stiles cries out.

"Come on," Derek softly rumbles, coaxing, licking a line up salty sweet skin, "I wanna feel you let go, Stiles. I wanna feel you give in to me. Just let go of everything and come for me, baby. Come for your Alpha, my sweet boy..."

The command is instantly obeyed.

Derek feels Stiles' entire body go rigid against him, head flying back, baring his throat; and then he's coming with a strangled sob of Derek's name, tears falling down his temples as he bathes Derek's fist in hot, sticky release. The wolf in him purrs at the erotic sight of his boy, lying filthy and wanton beneath him...fucked out and panting, mouth hanging open, lips red and kiss-swollen, skin flushed and eyes dark like whiskey, shivering as he empties his seed across his own stomach.

The smell of it triggers a desire in him that has his gums itching again, his mouth watering. He wants to taste Stiles, wants to swallow him down, needs it more than fucking air. It's primal, and essential, and he can't hold it back so he doesn't even try. Instead, he leans in and lets his tongue trail through the spunk pooling on Stiles' skin, hungrily lapping it up. It's sharp and bitter, but there's a warmth to it, too—a mixture of spices filling out the profile that has Derek going back for more.

Stiles' body quivers under him.

All the while, the heat surrounding his cock grows stronger as muscles clench tight around him, pulsing and undulating through the final stages of orgasm; and he can feel his own climax mounting with every beat. He lifts back up as his hips begin to stutter, pleasure buzzing through him, flooding his nervous system like an atomic blast; and with one final massive thrust, he gives in.

"Stiles," he gasps, and the name sounds like a desperate, pleading prayer to his ears.

"Yeah," Stiles whispers in turn, pulling Derek's face down to meet the hollow of his bared throat, "My wolf..."

Warmth fills his chest at the name and the overt show of submission, sparking a burning fire of possessiveness in his heart, and all he can think is mine mine mine.

He moves his mouth to the juncture between Stiles' neck and shoulder, biting just hard enough to bruise that beautifully pale skin...hard enough to mark him, to claim him.

Mine.

The moan that follows sends one final bolt of electric heat cascading down Derek's spine, filling his balls and pushing him over the edge.

He comes, hard, his eyes glowing red and his teeth just shy of too sharp as his orgasm is ripped out of him in a blurred and blinding rush. It's like a tidal wave, massive and devastating, crashing over his mind again and again as his cock pulses hot and deep, spilling everything he has into the writhing body below. Ripples of ecstasy shimmer through every fiber of his being, heightening his senses; and he shudders as the remnants dissipate into the air around them, amplifying their connection.

Then they just lie there, breathing heavy, soaking up the other's presence while silently enduring the euphoric aftershocks. Their hearts beat in concert, slowly calming as they come down from the high of culmination.

After several minutes—or possibly hours, Derek really doesn't know—he finds the strength to pull out and settle beside Stiles, who merely protests the loss with a weak whimper, but nothing more. He grabs the first thing he sees, which just happens to be the Batman boxers, and does his best to clean them both up; and Stiles doesn't even complain, apparently still too blissed out and dazed to care. Then they're curling into one another without saying a word, and it feels so right.

That's really the only term Derek can think of to describe how it feels to have Stiles in his arms.

Absolutely fucking right.

It feels like this is the way it's supposed to be—the way it's always been, even.

Derek and Stiles.

Together.

The two of them against the world.

"Don't go," Stiles murmurs, half asleep as his fingers lazily card through the hair at the nape of Derek's neck. The sensation sends goosebumps blossoming over his skin. "Please, don't go. Just stay here. Stay here with me, Der. Please..."

His arms tighten around the sleepy boy, his boy—the boy who'd somehow, miraculously, in the blink of an eye, become the most important person in his life.

"Shhh. I'm not going anywhere," he whispers, running his hand along the curve of Stiles' spine, lingering at the small of his back as he tucks Stiles' head against his chest. "I'm not leaving you, okay? I'll never leave you, my sweet sweet boy, so just rest now. I'll be here when you wake up." He places a kiss to the top of Stiles' head, takes a deep breath, "I'll be right here, for as long as you need me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He feels tears start to well up in his eyes, and he finally lets them fall as the promise leaves his lips, realizing then and there that he means every single word.

He won't leave Stiles.

He'll be with him through it all.

Through everything that's coming.

He doesn't really know what the future holds for the two of them, together, or how it will look. He doesn't even know if they're going to have a future. If Stiles decides against taking the Bite, there won't be much of a future to have. He's not going to pressure him, though; that much he does know. No one should be forced to endure something that traumatic against their will, no matter the consequences—even if his wolf would like nothing more than to see those pretty hazel eyes glow beta gold.

He loves Stiles too much to do that to him.

Love.

Yeah, okay.

So he loves Stiles.

He has no idea when that became a thing...when it actually happened, or when he started to care so deeply for the kid lying in his arms. Maybe it was the moment he'd realized Stiles might be taken away from him.

It doesn't really matter, though.

Stiles is a part of his life now. He's a part of his pack, a part of him. In some ways, Derek feels like Stiles has always been a part of him...the boy who runs with wolves.

His lips curve up at the thought.

Stiles is in Derek's skin and bones, in his thoughts and fears, in his joy and his pain.

He's in Derek's heart—is his heart.

He's Derek's constant in a world of ever changing flux, keeping him grounded, keeping him human.

He's right, and he's good, and he's perfect.

Stiles is Derek's anchor.

And he's permanent.

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Will you think that you're all alone when no one's there to hold your hand?
When all you know seems so far away and everything is temporary, rest your head.

I'm permanent.

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-David Cook, 'Permanent'

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Fin

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Thank you all so much for reading. If you enjoyed it, let me know!