Chapter 9

Stiles figures Derek's need to be close to him is some kind of instinct, some compulsion to stay near his unborn child. He's not complaining. A guy could do worse than spend his last few months with Derek Hale's hands all over him, not that anyone but Stiles knows about that.

Oh, they know about the hands part. Even Stiles' dad has decided that his underage son is dating Derek Hale. He gave Stiles the safe sex speech and everything, while Stiles' face burned and he tried—and failed—to force himself to tell his father what was going on.

Right now they're standing by the vast window at Derek's place, looking out at the approaching dark and waiting for the full moon to rise. Derek's arms are wrapped around Stiles from behind, his hands on Stiles' rapidly expanding stomach, and it's the same possessive, desperate grief that it's been since Derek came back.

"What does it feel like?" Stiles asks, his eyes on the glow over the cityscape. "The full moon rising. How does it make you feel?"

"It's exciting," Derek says. "Your heart beats faster, harder. It's hard to keep still, you want to run. Howl. Hunt."

Stiles turns in Derek's arms, so they're face to face, so his belly presses against Derek's hard abdomen. "So why are you here? Why aren't you out with Scott and the rest of them?" There's no new betas, not for a long time now, and without something to fight or anything to do but look at old books, the werewolves are out blowing off steam in the preserve.

"Plenty of time for that," he says, and the implied 'after the baby's gone' hangs in the air like the static before lightning strikes.

"Do you think she feels it?" Stiles whispers.

Derek goes still, listening. He shakes his head. "She sounds the same. I don't know."

Stiles stopped calling the baby 'it' first, and Derek followed his lead. He doesn't know why she became she, only that it came easy to him. He could go to Deaton and know for sure, or allow Scott to tell his mom so they can sneak him into the hospital for a proper ultrasound, but honestly, he doesn't care. Derek would hear if her heartbeat changed, Stiles knows she's growing, and while he's not felt any movements yet, he's got time before he needs to start worrying.

When Stiles turns back to the window, the moon hangs full and heavy over the skyline. Derek drops his lips to the back of Stiles' neck, kissing, licking, biting gently with blunt teeth. He's warmer than usual, his bare skin where it touches Stiles tingles and raises the hairs on the back of his neck and arms. There's a weird quivering down low in Stiles' stomach. "I can feel it," he whispers, then reaches back, threading his fingers through Derek's hair, pulling him down, encouraging him to sink his teeth deeper into the meat of Stiles' shoulder.

Derek moves fast then, fingers working at the button of Stiles' jeans, shoving them down his hips, just far enough to expose his ass, and then Derek's fingers are at his hole, slick with spit, one pressing inside. "I need you..." Derek breathes, his free hand tightening on Stiles' hip.

"Sure," Stiles says. "But we should go upstairs."

Derek wriggles his finger deeper, leans into Stiles' back, bending him forward so he has to put his hands on the ledge or hit the window. "No. Now."

Stiles winces. "Dude, if you try to fuck me without lube, I'm totally telling Scott. He'll pull that face he makes when he thinks about us having sex and then he'll punch you."

That makes Derek hesitate. "Okay," he mumbles, sliding his finger out, wrapping his arms around Stiles' chest and pulling him up. "Hurry."

Minutes later, Stiles is naked, his knees on the floor, bent over the end of the bed with two of Derek's fingers inside him. He's rushing, but it's okay, and Derek isn't usually like this, not before now, but Stiles understands, almost as if he feels it too. The only light in the room is the moon shining through the windows, and Stiles is tingling with barely contained energy. "I'm ready," he says, because he needs to have Derek inside him, he needs to be taken, to be fucked, to be claimed.

Derek groans in relief, slides his fingers out, then enters Stiles in one swift thrust. "Oh god," he says, doubling over, licking and sucking at Stiles' shoulder. His hands wrap around Stiles' ribs, holding him just above the bump, and he rolls his hips and shudders. "You've gotta stay with me," he says, panting against Stiles' back. "After. I won't be able to... Not without you, Stiles."

Stiles turns his head to look over his shoulder. "I will," he says, and he can feel his own heart beating faster, harder, because he's lying, and he wonders why Derek can't tell.

.

Stiles wakes when Derek gets up, but he doesn't open his eyes. He listens to the stairs creaking, to the front door opening, to low voices that get louder as they get closer.

He hears Peter, could tell that it was Peter even if he couldn't, because of the way Derek's words are clipped and impatient. He strains his ears, but few words reach him until Derek's voice rises with emotion.

"I can't ask him to do that. I've got no right."

Stiles' eyes fly open, and he wriggles closer to the edge of the bed.

"He'll do it, Derek, believe me. Stiles is his best friend, don't you think Scott would do anything he could to save him?"

"He won't have to," Derek says, and Stiles has to strain his ears just to hear it. "Stiles is going to be fine."

"At the expense of your child, Derek, the only one you'll ever have—and without whom your family will simply disappear. We're already scattered, and there's so few of us. Without that baby, we're finished, and it'll be the second time you've done something to destroy your family."

There's a crash downstairs, and growling, scuffling. "Get out," Derek roars, and there's noise and movement and finally the door slides shut.

Stiles climbs out of the bed, grabs the nearest shirt and pulls it on. He climbs halfway down the stairs and then sits, and from where he is he can see Derek, standing at the bottom of the steps, still staring at the door. His jeans are hanging low on his hips, and he's wearing no shirt, and his fingers are still tipped with claws.

"Go back to bed, Stiles," he says, without turning.

Stiles doesn't move. "He's right, you know," he says. "Not about it being your fault. But you can't just give her away. She's going to save your family, your pack, and my life isn't worth—"

"I'm not going to let you die," Derek snaps, and then he drops down to sit on the step. He drops his head into his hands, claws shrinking back into his fingers. "I'm not going to be the cause of that."

Stiles gets off the stairs and crosses the room. "Okay," he says, because he's not going to waste his breath. He already knew Derek would never do it. He doesn't talk about Paige. He knows Stiles knows, but he won't talk about it. "Scott would do it," he says, lifting Derek's chin up.

Derek shakes his head. "It would happen too fast. He'd be wasting his time. He'd give you all he had and you'd still die."

Stiles nods. "So nothing changes."

"We wait for them to come," Derek agrees. "And we say yes." He reaches out and places his palm on Stiles' stomach. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

Stiles knows he's not apologizing to him, but he says, "It's okay," and moves up onto the step, straddling Derek's thighs.

Derek's hands grip Stiles' waist, and he pulls him down, fits his mouth over Stiles', and the kiss is slow, and sweet, and painful. It's always going to be like this, Stiles knows. Every moment he has left with Derek is going to be bittersweet, is going to cut right to his heart, but it's worth it.

Derek breaks the kiss, tips Stiles' head back so he can look at him. "There's already an Alpha in Beacon Hills. Hale is just a name. The pack will still be here."

Stiles says nothing. He searches for Derek's lips again, needing the connection. He reaches between them and opens Derek's jeans so he can feel Derek's cock against his own.

He feels a tickle inside him as he strokes them both together and quickens his pace. "Do werewolves always fuck like bunnies on the full moon?" he asks, because Derek's already arching into his touch and gripping his hips like he wants to lift Stiles onto his cock already.

A soft huff of laughter comes from Derek. "I don't know. I've never fucked a werewolf."

"Well, I have, and it feels like it's rubbing off." Stiles grinds against Derek's cock, letting his hand fall away, rising up on his knees, pushing up on Derek's shoulder with one hand, reaching behind him with the other and positioning Derek's cock at his entrance. "Because I have this urge," he moans, and then slowly impales himself on Derek's dick. "To fuck. Like bunnies."

Derek grunts and his hips jerk upward. "Yeah." He lifts the hem of the shirt Stiles is wearing—Derek's shirt—and pulls it off over his head, tossing it away. He drops his head, licking each of Stiles' nipples in turn, sending sparks of sensation to Stiles' groin, then choosing one and sucking hard.

Stiles can barely move. Derek's holding him, an arm tight around his waist, the other bending him backward so he can get to Stiles' chest. All he can do is rock his hips and moan, tangle his fingers in Derek's hair and hold him closer, and deal with the crazy fluttering in his stomach. "Oh my god," he gasps when it hits him. "Oh my god, Derek. Oh my god."

Derek releases his nipple, moving his kisses to Stiles' throat, nibbling at his shoulder, licking his skin. "I know, Stiles," he moans, grinding his cock deeper into Stiles' ass. "Fuck, I know."

"No." Stiles clings to Derek's shoulders, gasps for breath. "She's moving, Derek. I can feel her moving."

Derek lifts his head and stills his hips. "What?"

Stiles looks down, presses his palm flat to his stomach, but that's not where he can feel it. It's inside him, right inside him, like butterflies, and he might have mistaken it for hunger or anxiety or sickness, but this is real. "There, again. God."

Derek pushes his hand out of the way and presses both hands to Stiles' abdomen. He's still, perfectly still and silent, waiting.

"There, again," Stiles says. "Can you feel it? Can't you hear it?"

Derek looks up and shakes his head. "No." He looks stricken, desperate.

"It's okay," Stiles says, taking Derek's hands and pulling them to his waist. "You will soon. Now fuck me, Derek." He lifts himself up, drops down again, keeps doing it, until Derek takes over, until Derek lifts him, still inside, and lays him on his back at the bottom of the steps and pounds into him until they're both slick with sweat.

Derek roars when he comes, eyes flashing blue, claws gouging lines into the floor, and Stiles is sure he sees a hint of fang. It's all gone by the time Derek pulls out, trailing come over Stiles' thigh as he wriggles off and sucks Stiles' dick into his mouth.

Stiles puts his hands on his belly before he comes, because she's awake, still fluttering in there. When he tightens around her, now that he's felt her and she's even more real he wonders if he shouldn't feel a bit weird about it.