There's a hint of light on the horizon. Derek's mood should have lifted when the rain eased, when the first birds began to sing. Instead, there's something around his heart that seems to grip even tighter as the world starts to wake up.

He hasn't slept at all.

It was pouring with rain when Derek and Stiles got separated from the others. They found themselves in a dive bar not far from Derek's building, found the demon they'd been chasing there. Derek and Stiles came off second best, limped back to the loft to lick their wounds.

Derek healed faster than Stiles did. Derek touched him, and black lines of pain leached up his arm, making him shudder with the intensity. Stiles sighed, finally relaxed a little.

"Just keep your hands on me," Stiles begged.

Nothing was broken, nothing was out of place. Stiles wasn't in any danger, but it hurt him to breathe, hurt him to lie down alone. So Derek kept his hands on him, on his warm, bare skin, and pulled the covers up over the both of them.

He waited for Stiles to fall asleep, but he never did. Just kept panting softly against Derek's neck until there was no pain left to take.

Derek pulled back his hands, whispered to Stiles. "Go to sleep."

Stiles grabbed him by the wrists, brought his hands back to his skin. "Keep touching me, please," he said, lifting his head so his lips moved over Derek's cheek, and then his mouth.

Derek shouldn't have returned the kiss, shouldn't have explored Stiles' body with his hands. He should have pushed Stiles away when he touched Derek back.

He shouldn't have let it go as far as it did. The sound Stiles makes when he comes echoes through his memory, plays counterpoint to the early morning birdsong as the sun comes up.

Stiles fell asleep afterward. Derek waited until his breathing was deep and even, then he sat by the window and looked out at the rain and the darkness. He watched over Stiles, listened for him as he slept. He tried to decide how to apologize for the things he did when Stiles was vulnerable.

When Stiles wakes, he sighs and stretches, then winces and curls back in on himself. "Derek?" His voice is still thick with sleep.

"I'm here," Derek says. He doesn't move from the window, stays in the first rays of early morning light.

Stiles sits up, wraps the sheet around himself as he gingerly eases to the end of the bed. The bruises over his ribs are purple-blue, fresh and painful looking, but they'll fade. "About last night," he says.

"I'm sorry." Derek's lungs are tight, he can barely breathe. "I shouldn't have—"

"Don't be sorry," Stiles says. "Please. I've wanted that for months. The kissing, and the falling asleep with you, and the other stuff." He drops his eyes and smiles as his cheeks color. "I meant the sex, not the getting my ass kicked by a demon part." He lifts his head. "I don't want to just carry on like that never happened."

He grips the sheet with one hand as he stands. He's warm as he presses himself against Derek's back and wraps his arms around Derek from behind, the sheet trapped between them.

"I don't want that either," Derek admits. He looks out at the sun as the last part of it pulls free of the horizon, then he turns in Stiles' arms. He slides his hands over the bruises, watches the pain trickle up his arms and fade to nothing.

"Then don't stop touching me," Stiles says, and shifts to let the sheet fall away.

fin

Translation into Polski available: Co do ostatniej nocy... by Pomyluna