There’s nothing out there. A vast expanse of clear, perfect blue, no land, no ships, no people. Ocean as far as the eye can see, still and smooth but for the tiny ripples as the water meets the sand.

The light breeze coming off the sea serves to cool the thin sheen of sweat that coats Derek’s skin. When he sighs, it’s with contentment.

“You okay there, buddy?” Stiles says.

Derek smiles, leans into Stiles’ shoulder just a little more. He scrunches his toes, digs a shallow ditch in the sand where they sit. “Yeah.” He draws the word out, long and slow, and it suits the place, suits the comfortable lethargy that comes over him whenever he falls asleep now.

Long moments pass in which the only sound is the soft tinkling, like tiny bells, as the white ripples roll up onto the shore.

“We could go somewhere else, you know.”

Derek drags his eyes away from the never-ending blue. “You want to go somewhere else?”

Stiles’ lips stretch into an approximation of a smile, but there’s something there. Something tense in the way his head shakes from side to side. “No. I’m good.” He drops his eyes, starts scooping sand out of Derek’s trench with his toes. “I’m totally good. It’s just…” He takes a breath, lets it out slow. “I gotta tell you something.”

Derek’s heart starts to beat just a little faster. He bites down on his lower lip, works to control his breathing as his lungs tighten.

Stiles’ head jerks up. “It’s nothing. You’re safe here, okay?” It’s been a long time since Derek’s guilt and fear bled through, but Stiles remembers. Of course he remembers. “I just…” He drops his eyes back down again. “I have a confession to make.”

There’s a knot in Derek’s chest, a lump in his throat. “I don’t need you anymore.” It’s a statement of fact, something he’s been aware of for a while. “There’s no reason for you to stay.”

When Stiles lifts his head, there’s a deep crease between his eyebrows, and there’s tension in his eyes.

Derek works hard to keep his expression blank. “You haven’t had to pull me out in weeks. You know that as well as I do, but you keep coming.”

Stiles swallows, hard. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Derek locks his jaw to keep his emotions in check.

Stiles shakes his head. “It’s not. I kept coming back because…” He huffs out a self-deprecating laugh. “Because I wanted to. Not because you need it. Because I do.”He looks down at the sand, arms wrapped around his knees, knuckles white as they grip his shins. “Falling asleep with you,” he says. “Being here with you. Waking up with you.” He looks up, and his eyes are almost black, pupils blown wide. When he smiles, it’s a little sad. “I like it. I like you. A little too much.”

Derek finally gives in to the urge to smile, turns back to the wide expanse of blue. “You’re an idiot, Stiles.”

“Yeah, I know. Derek, I’m sor—”

“There’s no guilt here, remember?” Derek gets to his feet, brushes the sand off his palms onto his shorts, then holds one out to help Stiles up. “Walk with me.”

Like the ocean, the beach here goes on forever. At first, it came from Stiles’ mind alone, and was all breakers and rolling dunes, but as the nights passed, palm trees appeared to give them shade and the surf became calm and still. Fluffy white clouds roll through the sky now, cast slow moving shadows on the water.

“I don’t need you to pull me out of my nightmares anymore,” Derek says, sand crunching beneath his bare feet. Stiles’ hand is warm, a little slick in his own. Their pace is perfectly matched, each step in sync. Slow and easy. Nowhere to go, nowhere to be. “But I want you here. And I want you in my bed.”

Stiles looks over, eyebrows raised, eyes wide. “Why?”

Derek stops walking, holds tight to Stiles’ hand as he keeps going, then Derek pulls him back. He smiles, and it feels good. “Do I need to draw you a picture?” He takes a step, right into Stiles’ space, inhales. The scent of Stiles here is part of the construct, part of the dream, but remarkably similar to the scent Derek wakes up surrounded in, every morning, the hint of something that at first he couldn’t place.

Stiles blinks. “Whoa.” His eyes flick down to Derek’s mouth, and he slides his tongue out between his lips to wet them. “Whoa.”

“I’d be happy with this,” Derek says, moving his arm to indicate the beach, this place, without ever taking his eyes from Stiles’ face. “Having you with me when I go to sleep, when I wake up. I’m okay just being with you, even if there is nothing else between us. I’d keep you all to myself. Stop you from getting on with your life. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.” He slides his hand onto Stiles’ cheek, threads his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “But I’m not sorry, Stiles.”

Stiles leans into Derek’s hand, and his eyelids grow heavy. His chest rises and falls as he takes quick, shallow breaths. “Oh.” He closes his eyes, seems to drag them open with difficulty. “Good. I mean, that’s—” He drags his lower lip through his teeth, then tips his head to the side and lifts an eyebrow. “Is this the part where you kiss me?”

Derek grins, showing all his teeth. Then he slides his hand from Stiles’ face and takes a step back. “I was thinking about going for a swim,” he says, turning away, peeling off his t-shirt. He drops it on the beach and walks slowly toward the water. He can feel Stiles’ eyes on him, raising the hair on the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

He feels it when Stiles’ shirt hits the sand, when Stiles enters the water behind him. He turns and holds out his hand.

Stiles doesn’t take it. A smile slowly spreads across his face, and his eyes glitter. Then he bends, scoops up a handful of water, and sends it flying through the air. Thousands of tiny silver droplets rain down on Derek’s face, his chest, fall into his open mouth.

He doesn’t see Stiles coming until it’s too late, and the weight of Stiles’ body sends them both into the warm, salty water, and when Stiles kisses him, he tastes of the ocean.

When Derek wakes, it’s to sunlight spilling across the floor of the loft and a careful separation of space between Stiles’ body and his own. “You’re an idiot,” he whispers.

Tension melts away as Stiles presses close, drags his lips down Derek’s neck to his shoulder. “I wasn’t sure,” he says, his mouth moving, damp and warm, over Derek’s skin. “I mean, what if I woke up and it was only a dream?”

Derek rolls over, cups Stiles’ cheek in his hand, traces Stiles’ lower lip with his thumb. “It was,” Derek says, can’t help but smile at the concern that appears in Stiles’ eyes. “Doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

Stiles still tastes of the ocean, a hint of salt that slowly fades before Derek pulls away. “We could go somewhere else,” he says, his eyes on the way Stiles tugs at kiss-swollen lips with his teeth. “Somewhere with a little less sand.”

Stiles grins. “For when we’re naked?” He sits up, peels off the shirt he slept in, drops it over the edge of the bed. “Here’s good.”

fin