Author: Sparkle Itamashii

Title: Helpless

Notes: Written with permission off of this prompt: neverafuckgiven dot tumblr dot com slash post/29370223386

Epilogue

Golden afternoon sunlight streamed in through the window, the shadow of the cross-hatch falling across the skin of Derek's bare back. One of his arms lay bent over Stiles' belly, his fingers splayed on Stiles' chest, his thumb stroking the three soft, pink scars over his heart. Stiles' cheek was warm against the top of his head, his fingers curled around Derek's elbow. Derek closed his eyes, soaking in the beat of Stiles' heart beneath his skin. This was right. This was home.

Stiles rubbed his cheek once, slowly, over Derek's hair, eyes tracing patterns on the wall across the room, lost in warm, hazy thought. His fingertips still tingled, the last lingering effect of their activities. He would have to rouse Derek to clean up in a moment... but that was still a moment away, and it was a moment he intended to fully enjoy. School would start again in a week or so and they would be hard-pressed to find time to see one another like this then.

It had been a beautiful summer in Beacon Hills. The alphas had left them alone and they had seen neither hide nor hair of Gerard yet. Deaton had started teaching Lydia as well as Stiles about some of the Celtic magics that he knew, had them drawing runes together Sunday mornings when the clinic was closed. Together they had taken an hour scribing the rune for 'truth' onto all of Allison's arrows; she had not missed a bulls-eye since.

Jackson was really the only trouble they'd had; he had skipped town last week, leaving just a note about how he would be back, that he needed some time. Stiles thought it was bullshit, but there was nothing any of them could do. Lydia was crushed, but it really only made her work harder. Deaton had told them she could scry for him once she learned enough. Stiles thought she would murder him for refusing to do it for her, but he also thought he knew why. Deaton was giving Jackson the time he wanted, and proving to Lydia what she already knew; that she was fantastic as her own person.

In all, Stiles thought as he stroked his thumb over the bone in Derek's elbow, things had turned out all right once again. If things were not exactly normal, at least they were quiet. Familiar. There was really only one thing he didn't have, and he had spent the week working up the courage to ask. There had been no pressure, no questions; he wasn't sure what Derek would think of his request, but he had decided he was going to make it anyway.

"Hey..." he said softly, shifting his shoulder under Derek's head just a little. Derek grumbled and pressed his nose into Stiles' collarbone. "Hey, c'mon, Derek. I- I have question."

Derek grumbled again, because Stiles always had questions, because Stiles always had more words to say than anyone else Derek knew. Even if they were usually relevant that didn't mean they were necessary, especially at these times, when everything was so perfectly quiet and comfortable and sleepy.

"What?" He heard the click of Stiles' throat and he lifted his head, looked the human in the eyes with concern. "Is something wrong?"

"No!" Stiles said quickly, eyes widening. "No, I just... I was just wondering if you could... mark me." His voice dropped on the last two words, thinking how silly it sounded out loud like that. "I mean, now that the other ones have healed. Mostly. I thought maybe... it's ok, you know, just forget it. I probably shouldn't have brought it-"

"Stiles," Derek said, interrupting him. Stiles' jaw clicked shut and he stared at Derek. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I mean... yeah, of course I'm sure," Stiles said, like it was obvious, like Derek could read minds and should know. "It's just you never asked..."

"You almost died," Derek reminded him. Stiles could actually hear the regret, could hear the way Derek blamed himself for that close call.

Bringing both hands up, he cupped Derek's jaw and met his gaze. "That wasn't your fault," he told him firmly. "And okay, you shouldn't have marked me without my permission, but you also couldn't have known what was going to happen. Now I'm asking. Now I'm ready."

Swallowing thickly, Derek shifted, sat up so that he could straddle Stiles' thighs, rest his forearms on Stiles' shoulders. "Okay," he said. "You remember what I told you before, about accepting it?"

"Yeah," Stiles assured him, smiling brightly. "It's totally not like I spent a million hours since then thinking about it. C'mon. Mark me."

Derek rolled his eyes, but he bowed slowly, pressed his lips to Stiles' skin over his collarbone, just above where the last mark had been, just above the scars. He licked over the intended space once, set his teeth to Stiles' skin, blunt and human, drawing blood to the surface. Stiles made a thin, reedy noise at the back of his throat.

The physical mark would last a few days before fading, but this time he threaded his heart's will into the action, felt the stirring of a bond take hold inside of him, one that would last until one of them broke it. He wondered if Stiles could feel it too, but he didn't ask. He simply sat back, red eyes fading back to blue as they locked on Stiles' golden-brown ones.

Stiles looked down, side-eyed the mark. "That's it?" he asked. "My turn?"

When Derek gave a slight, hesitant nod, Stiles smiled again. He raised two fingers to his lips, pressed a kiss onto them. He closed his eyes, imagining as Derek had told him, that there was a thread to be bound from the kiss to the mark as he pressed his fingers over the fresh bruise. It zapped like static shock when his fingers touched his skin, but he was ready for that, did not withdraw, and an instant later he felt it. A cool, pleasant presence within him that he recognized as not himself. It was Derek, happy and worried, patient and totally, completely in love.

Stiles opened his eyes, looked up to Derek. "Wow," he said, breathless.

Derek let out the breath he was holding and Stiles felt a wave of warmth wash over him. "It's pretty strong at first," Derek told him softly. "Especially when we're touching."

"Oh," Stiles replied. "Oh, I want to do all the touching, Derek."

Laughing, Derek bent to kiss him, crushing their lips together happily. His joy echoed back in Stiles, who grabbed at his jaw, drew him closer, pressed up into him so that Derek had to catch himself on the bed or topple over. "Stiles!" he chided, but it was lost in the shared smiles, in the way Stiles kissed him again, like he had never been allowed to before, like he might never get a chance again.

When he paused, it was only to press his forehead to Derek's, to smile mischievously. "Think you're up to cementing this whole bond thing with me?" he asked, wriggling his hips beneath Derek's, scraping his nails lightly down Derek's chest and relishing in the echo of pleasure that passed between them.

Derek groaned at the prospect, because yes, he really, really did think he was up to it. He was up to anything Stiles asked of him, because when it came to Stiles, Derek really was just helpless.

Notes: Thank you to everyone who stuck with this til the end! I hope that this makes up for some of the suffering and pain of the last few chapters... I'm glad you trusted me to finish it out well! If you wouldn't mind taking a moment to let me know what you thought, I would be eternally happy! Thanks again for reading!