Epilogue

"Come on, Scott. I haven't had sex in weeks. You need to do this for me."

Scott still gets that weird look on his face whenever Stiles talks about his sex life, and he's been talking about his sex life—or lack of it—a lot lately. But it's all become too much, Stiles is going crazy. It was okay while he was home, but now that he's back at school while Derek stays home with Olivia, he's got too much time to think about it.

"Me?" Scott says, still pulling that face, but this time it's flavored with shock. "Why me? I don't know anything about babies."

"The pack," Stiles hisses. "Goddamn it, Scott. You think Derek would let her out of his sight without a frickin honor guard? No. You need to bring the pack and take her out. Saturday. All day. She hates the crib, man, she won't sleep alone and we've got a lot of time to make up, so you just come in the morning, get the baby—"

"Stilinski," Coach shouts from across the locker room. "Jesus Christ."

Stiles spins around, blinking as Finstock bears down on him. "What? What?"

Coach looks him up and down. "Most people lose weight when they're sick. What the hell were you doing? Trying to combat the itching with doughnuts?"

Stiles looks down at himself, at the skinny jeans he can get into again, at the T-shirt he's wearing, and maybe they're just a little more snug than before but he's so much smaller than he was just a few short weeks ago that he never really noticed. He looks up again, but Coach has already moved on to berating Greenberg about the fact that his shorts are on backward. "Did he...?" Stiles says, looking back at Scott. "Did he just call me fat?"

Scott bites back a grin and shrugs.

Danny appears beside them. "You look good, Stiles. Don't pay any attention to him."

"Oh, well thanks, Danny." Stiles glares at Scott. "Nice to know someone's gonna be supportive."

"What's this about a baby?" Danny asks. "Did one of you two knock someone up?"

Stiles freezes and his palms get sweaty. He's only been back at school a couple days, and he figured he wouldn't have to field these kinds of questions for a while yet. "Um, Derek's baby," he says, and it hurts to have to say it, to have to just hand over ownership like that. "Derek's baby."

"She's only a few weeks old," Scott says.

"Six weeks, three days," Stiles adds.

"And really cute," Scott says.

Stiles backhands Scott in the chest. "Are you kidding me? She's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. Admit it."

A grin spreads over Scott's face. "Yeah."

"Derek?" Danny says. "Isn't he the guy you were making out with at New Years?"

Stiles nods. "Yeah, we're together. "

Danny lifts his eyebrows approvingly. And then frowns. "And he has a baby?"

"Yeah. So?" Stiles says, feeling his hackles rising.

Danny takes a step back, puts his hands out in front of him, palms forward. "Nothing. Just... That's a big commitment. If you guys are serious, that kid's gonna grow up thinking you're her dad, you know?"

Stiles feels his eyes widen and his jaw drop. He gapes at Danny for a while, and then forces himself to remember that Danny doesn't know, can't possibly know the truth. "And?" He wants to tell Danny that he is her dad, the same as Derek is her dad, but he can't. Danny doesn't need to be dragged into all the supernatural crap, not like that, anyway. "And that would be fine," he says instead. "I am totally cool with that."

He definitely needs to chill out, though, so he turns back to Scott. "Sex, man. I need some, stat. Are you gonna help me out here, or what?"

Scott snorts and busts out laughing, directs Stiles to look behind him where Danny is still standing, looking scandalized.

"Babysitting," Stiles chokes. "Oh my god, you thought...? No. Scott? Hell no. No offense, buddy, but I've got Derek at home and Saturday, man, you've gotta do this for me."

"Okay," Scott laughs. "We'll do it. Just make sure you pack the instruction manual."

.

"Are you sure about this?"

Stiles looks up at Derek from where he's fastening the last button on Olivia's cardigan. She's wearing the outfit Lydia gave him the day she was born, and it only just fits her now. She still seems so tiny, but this was too big just a couple of weeks ago. He can't believe how much she's grown already. "No," he says. "Yes. I don't know. I trust them. I trust Scott, and everyone. I'm having parental guilt though. Tossing her out of the house so we can have sex. Isn't that, like, one of the things people talk about behind your back?"

Derek moves behind Stiles, wraps his arms around his waist and rests his chin on Stiles' shoulder. "It was always tainted," he says. "Not just the sex. Everything. Every moment we spent together before she was born. We had this big scary threat hanging over our heads. We couldn't relax. Ever. We need to take some time. I don't resent her for a second, Stiles, and if we couldn't do this, if we had to make do with five minutes in the bathroom while she sleeps, I'd be okay with that."

From the very first day Olivia refused to sleep without one of her parents close by. Stiles just assumed she had to sleep in the crib, and he was tired and stressed, walking the floor with the baby asleep on his shoulder until Derek finally got fed up with him and dragged him into bed, baby and all. "She can't smell you, in the crib," he'd said. "She can't sleep without your scent around her." And that was that. She might not be an actual werewolf, but she was close enough in some respects.

So, when, a week later, she actually stayed asleep when Stiles rolled off the bed while Derek was in the shower, Stiles standing in the middle of the room, just staring at the marvel of a sleeping baby as Derek opened the bathroom door, it seemed to hit them both at the same time. "Quick," Derek had said, yanking Stiles backward into the bathroom and closing the door. A moment later his jeans were around his thighs and Derek was on his knees and it was a good thing Stiles was frustrated and came not two minutes later, because Olivia's mewling cry drifted through the door right then. Stiles hiked up his jeans, gave Derek an apologetic glance because he was obviously hard, his towel having slipped off his hips and fallen to the floor, and went to see to the baby.

After that she was onto them, and every time Stiles tried to slip out of bed without jostling her, she'd wake, like the warmth of his body disappearing was immediately evident. "No," he says, lifting the baby onto his shoulder, cradling her head in his hand as he leans back into Derek's arms. "We've got to do this. But what if she doesn't sleep all day? What if—"

"She fell asleep on Scott last week, remember?" Derek reminds him. "And Cora wore her around the apartment most of the day yesterday while you were at school, and she was asleep the whole time. She sleeps on your dad all the time—"

"So it's not just werewolves," Stiles interrupts.

"Or he smells enough like you to make her feel safe," Derek says. "She'll be fine. They'll be fine. And if they're not, they'll bring her home. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Except that I'm one of those parents that fills the shopping cart with beer and cigarettes instead of buying diapers and formula," Stiles whines. "Derek..."

Derek laughs. "Did you never stay with your grandparents when you were younger? Never get left with a babysitter?"

"Not so my parents could have sex," Stiles insists. He pulls away, and, one-handed, lifts items of clothing out of drawers, packing them carefully into the diaper bag alongside change mats and sterilized bottles and careful measures of powdered formula in a partitioned Tupperware container. "Pass me the wrap."

The five yard length of fabric was Derek's idea. He remembered his mother carrying Cora hands-free with the use of a vast length of fabric alone, but not having been anywhere near babies since then, he had to look it up on the internet. Olivia was less than a week old when the wrap was delivered, and once he learned to tie it, Stiles had hands again. He didn't have to sit on the couch with her in his arms while she slept, or carry her around the house, unable to use his hands for anything else, or lie down on the bed beside her while she slept. It wasn't up to him all the time, he knew that, and Derek spent just as much time with Olivia in his own arms, but Stiles liked having her close, even when he was studying madly to make up for the time he spent out of school, or researching the potential threats that could be drawn to Beacon Hills.

He takes it out of Derek's hands, squishes it into the bag, and zips it closed. "Okay. We're ready. We're doing this."

"Good," Derek says. "Now let me have a cuddle before they arrive."

When the pack spills through the door, Stiles is back on the couch, diaper bag upended, diapers and baby wipes and clothes in little piles everywhere as he repacks it to make sure everything's there. He glances up quickly, does a quick head-count, sees Scott and Cora, Isaac and Allison, Lydia and Aiden, Ethan and Danny. He wonders if it was curiosity, or the fact that the rest of their group was coming, that brought Danny today. He wonders how long it's going to be before they can't keep werewolves and the supernatural from him any longer. He blushes as Danny looks over, his eyes scanning the little piles on the couch, then flicking back up to Stiles' face.

Stiles quickly starts repacking the bag.

He dumps it by the door alongside the baby capsule, and joins the cooing mass of werewolves and their significant others, just as Danny reaches out to a reluctant Lydia. "You've got all day to play pass the baby," Stiles teases her, but intercepts the pass for one last squeeze. He kisses her hair, so soft and fine, and dark like you'd expect, and inhales her sweet, milky baby scent.

"She's gorgeous," Danny says, a faint note of surprise and confusion in his voice. He sounds like he wants to ask something else, like he sees more than he's been told.

Stiles just looks up at him, gives Danny a conspiratorial smile, because he can't bear trying to fake that Olivia's not wholly his, that she didn't come from his own body. He smiles wider when Danny blinks like he's been given confirmation of whatever he's thinking.

Whatever it is, Stiles doesn't think he's even close to the truth. It doesn't matter. He'll find out at some stage, and he'll probably be pissed, but Stiles knows that Danny knows that Olivia belongs to him—as well as Derek—now, and it takes a little of the anxiety away, a little of the voice inside him that tells him he should be shouting from the rooftops to anyone who'll listen, that he made this child, that he's proud of her and what he had to go through to get her and to keep her.

He's earned that.

Senses full of Olivia's scent, he looks up at Derek. He's earned this, too, he decides. She'll be safe with the pack, with her extended family. He shouldn't feel guilty for wanting some time alone with Derek. It'll be better for her to have both her parents relaxed and happy and secure in their relationship.

So with one last kiss, he buckles Olivia into her car seat, puts the handle into Scott's hand. "Have fun," he says.

"You, too," Scott replies, and then his cheeks turn pink as he realizes what he's saying.

.

As soon as the hum of many voices fades, Derek presses him against the closed door, slipping a thigh between Stiles' legs as he reaches out and slides the bolt to lock it. "That was very brave," Derek says, sliding his fingers through the hair on the back of Stiles' head, leaning in to ghost his lips over Stiles' mouth.

"No it wasn't." Stiles is hard already. He didn't jerk off in the shower this morning like he usually does, choosing instead to savor the anticipation of a few hours alone. "I trust them. So does Olivia. She'll be fine." He tips his head up, opens his mouth, licks at Derek's tongue. "Also, I fucking need this. Let's go upstairs."

Derek shakes his head. "We're staying right here." He gets a hand between them, tugs at the button of Stiles' jeans until it pops open. "I can't decide how I want to make you come first."

Stiles moans at the feeling of Derek's warm hand on his dick. It's both familiar and not, it's been so long and things are so different now. There's an element of abandon to what they're doing that wasn't there before. The entire lack of desperation, of hurry to get as many touches in as possible before they lose the chance altogether.

"With my hand?" Derek says, fingers playing over the length of Stiles' cock, still trapped in firm cotton knit. "Bet it wouldn't take long, I know you didn't come this morning."

"Goddamn werewolves," Stiles says, smiling against Derek's lips. "Can't a guy have any secrets?"

Derek smiles back, shaking his head. "Should I get down on my knees and suck you off?" He slides his hand down, cups Stiles' balls as he leans in to whisper in his ear. "D'you wanna fuck my mouth, Stiles?"

"Holy fuck, Derek." Stiles lifts his hand, traces Derek's lips with one finger, trying to remember how those lips felt around his cock. He can't, it's been too long and there was either too much else on his mind or they were in too much of a hurry for Stiles to have consciously imprinted the feeling on his memory. "Yeah," he says. "I really really want to fuck your mouth. Can I?"

Derek's smile widens. He pulls Stiles away from the door, backs himself up to it, and drops down to his knees. He looks up at Stiles from beneath dark eyelashes. "Come on. Fuck my mouth."

Stiles steps forward, spreading his legs to skirt Derek's knees on the floor as he pulls out his dick. Derek leans back, until the back of his head hits the door, grabs Stiles by the hips and pulls him in, tongue darting out and dragging up the underside of Stiles' cockhead as he opens up. Stiles' mind is blank, nothing clogging up his thoughts except for wanting to get in there, wanting to fuck until he comes.

Somehow, his fingers find their way into Derek's hair, twisting into the strands, pulling Derek's mouth onto his cock as he pushes in. All he can do is stare down, wide-eyed. Stiles could get lost in Derek's eyes, he already is. "Fuck," he says, and his voice is thick and hoarse, as if he's been screaming for days, and he feels wrecked already. "I love you so fucking much," he says, and watches as Derek smiles around his cock and his eyelids slowly close.

Derek was right, and it takes almost no time at all for Stiles to come, thrusting maybe half a dozen times before he's spilling down Derek's throat.

Stiles' dick is still jerking when he drops to his knees, needing to feel Derek's lips on his again. And this is shockingly familiar because he gets this every day, the warmth, the softness, but so rarely now does he get to kiss until he's breathless, feel the rasp of three-day beard on his chin, taste his own come on Derek's tongue. Still lost in the kiss, he reaches for Derek's dick, slides his hand over the hard length straining behind denim. "We need to go upstairs," he says, the words muffled against Derek's lips. "I need you to fuck me."

"Fuck upstairs," Derek says, and with a few deft motions, flips Stiles onto his back on the landing.

Stiles blinks. "That was the idea, but, you know, whatever. We're really wearing too many clothes, though. Also, lube. You know it's been a while—"

Derek grins and reaches behind him, pulling a pocket sized tube out of the back of his jeans. He tosses it at Stiles' chest, and then starts tugging his jeans down. "Are you okay?" he says, when Stiles' bare ass hits the bare floorboards and he hisses.

"Cold." Stiles sits up and peels his shirt off over his head, chucks it away. "I'm fine." He reaches out, slips his hand around the back of Derek's neck, pulls him down for a kiss. "God, Derek. I want you in me. Just... It's different now. Fuck, it's going to be so different."

Derek sits up to peel his own shirt off, then gives Stiles a quizzical look. Then his face softens. "We've never done it like this before."

Stiles feels his lips stretch into a smile. "We've done it on the steps."

Derek shakes his head. "No." He lowers himself back down, drops soft, slow kisses to Stiles' jaw and throat. "The first time. It was your first time. You were scared."

Stiles scoffs. "I was not."

"You were scared of dying. That's why you came to me. But you were nervous, too. And then the knot—"

Stiles is hit with a sudden memory, as clear as if he can feel Derek locked inside him all over again. He lets out an involuntary moan, and arches up off the floor. His cock tries to get hard again, and he can't catch his breath. "God, Derek."

"I knew. That I'd never want anything else, anyone else. It was supposed to be just that one night, so I took as much as I could get. It was so good, but it hurt because I didn't think I was allowed any more than that."

"I know," Stiles whispers. He tilts his chin, closes his eyes, feels as if he might melt into nothing when Derek kisses him. "I was scared," he says. "But I think about it sometimes. Your knot... How full I was. So fucking full of you—"

"Stiles." Derek's voice is hoarse as he reaches for the lube that's slipped onto the floor.

"Sometimes I wish it would happen again— No, I know, I know it can't." Stiles shakes his head and whimpers as Derek's slick fingers press into him, shivers with the stretch because it's been months. "I can think about it though. About being so fucking full of you we can't separate. About maybe..." He writhes as Derek's fingertips graze his prostate. "She's so fucking beautiful, Derek, so perfect, and I sometimes think that if it were possible, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if it happened again—"

Derek twists his fingers deep, and then slides them out. "I spent months thinking I would lose one or the other of you. I couldn't do that again."

Stiles blinks up at him. "Right. I know." He takes a deep breath, lets it out slow. "Sorry." He closes his eyes and nods. "'Cause we've had all the emo sex already. This is the happy sex." He grins. "Will you please put your dick in me now?"

Derek groans and pushes forward, filling Stiles in one smooth thrust.

Stiles arches his back off the hard floor and cries out. It's sudden and intense, and he clings to Derek's hips, trying to keep him there, right there, just until he can think again.

"This is the first time I get to be inside you, without believing I'm going to lose someone," Derek whispers. "I don't know how I survived before. I feel like it should have killed me, Stiles, and it would have if I'd lost either one of you." He pulls back, so slowly, and just as slow, pushes back in.

Stiles shudders and moans, because it's too much already. "Happy sex," he rasps. "Remember? We're fine. We're both fine."

Derek drops his head to Stiles' shoulder, nods and says, "I know," as he grinds into Stiles with slow intent. "I love you."

His thrusts pick up pace, and his lips search out Stiles' mouth, and it's just as desperate as it ever was, and maybe that's just the nature of it, that they came so close to losing what feels like everything, and they can never forget that, like it's left a scar on their hearts or their souls.

Derek keeps fucking into him, the sounds he makes growing increasingly desperate. Stiles holds on, because he's hard, but his dick is trapped between them, and he doesn't need to come again just yet.

"Come on," he whispers, canting his hips so Derek can get deeper with each thrust. "Fucking fill me up." His thoughts drift to the knot, how stretched he felt, how full, but also, how possessed, like he belonged to Derek. "Ahh, fuck, Derek. Come in me."

Derek moans and fucks Stiles into the floor until he thinks every single one of his vertebrae will be bruised, then Derek stills, his face buried in Stiles' throat, and Stiles can feel the pulse inside him.

.

Finally, they get upstairs. Derek collapses on his back on the bed after finally stripping off his clothes, leaving a trail of them from the top of the stairs. Stiles follows him, crawling up and over him, because he rarely gets to see Derek like this, and he just wants to look, and touch, and lick the sweat off his shoulder.

Derek lets out a happy sigh, squirming under Stiles' tongue, wraps his arm around Stiles' neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

"Do you wanna sleep?" Stiles whispers against Derek's lips. Derek's so relaxed beneath him, his eyes are closed and his breathing is slow and even.

Derek shakes his head. "No." He opens his eyes, and there's a smile on his lips. "Come here," he says, wraps an arm around Stiles' waist and pulls him down on top of him.

Stiles can't help but squirm, giving a tiny thrust to rub his cock into the hollow of Derek's hip. "But you're so sleepy," he says. His own eyes are heavy, but there's no way he can sleep. He feels as if he's got to get as much of Derek alone as he can, before Scott and the pack get back with Olivia.

Again, Derek shakes his head. This time he stretches beneath Stiles, extending his body, tipping his head back to expose his throat. He wraps his legs around Stiles' hips, gripping tight. "I don't wanna sleep."

"Whoa," Stiles breathes, as his cock aligns with Derek's and Derek's still soft, but this posture has Stiles giving an instinctual thrust of his hips. "This is nice."

Derek's hands move down, grab hold of Stiles' ass, pulling them together as he rocks up. "Could be. You want to?"

Stiles lets out a shocked huff of breath. "Uh. You mean—"

Derek arches up, captures Stiles' mouth in a kiss that only fuels the heat building in Stiles' belly, and by the time it ends, Derek's hard again between them. "You wanna fuck me, Stiles?"

Stiles blinks down at Derek, has to shake his head a little to clear it enough to speak. "Uh. Yeah? Yeah, I would like to do that. That's a thing I— Oh yeah."

Derek grins up at him. "Good. Get the lube."

Stiles blinks for the few more moments it takes him for Derek's words to sink in, then he moves, scrambling over to the bedside table, rummaging amongst tubes of diaper cream, packets of baby wipes, a discarded pacifier and other baby paraphernalia, many of which he didn't know existed until just a few short weeks ago. He looks up. "Dude, this is so wrong. Where the hell is the lube?"

Derek laughs and drops his head back down to the pillow. "I put it in the bathroom weeks ago."

"And what's really sad is that I never noticed," Stiles grumbles as he rolls off the bed and heads for the bathroom.

When he comes back, Derek's watching him, lying on his side with his cock in his hand, slowly stroking. It's a beautiful picture, one he wishes he could record for posterity and future generations and shit, but he figures that if he whipped his phone out right now that other thing might suddenly be off the table.

He's so not missing out on that.

So he climbs onto the bed, walks up behind Derek on his knees, and with a hand on Derek's shoulder, gently pushes him onto his stomach.

"You've done this before, right?" Stiles says, as he slides both hands down over the perfect globes of Derek's naked ass. His voice has gone thick and rough, and there's a lump in his throat as he worries about whether or not he's capable of doing this right. Whether he's going to be able to make Derek feel good, or if he's just going to come as soon as he gets inside. "'Cause this is a first for me. But you know that."

"It's been a while," Derek says. He shifts, pillowing his head on his folded arms, looking back and up. "We don't have to, if you don't want—"

"Oh, I want," Stiles says, dragging his eyes back down to where he's sliding into the crack of Derek's ass with both thumbs. He brings one to his mouth, wets it, and then drags it over the tight pucker between Derek's cheeks.

Derek shivers, and he lets out a shaky breath. "Stiles," he says, a hint of a plea in his tone.

"Yeah," Stiles answers, not really even sure what he's agreeing to. He circles Derek's hole with his thumb lightly, no pressure, just feeling and staring in fascination. The skin is so smooth around the edge of the pucker, so soft, and his brain doesn't even register the impulse until he's already bent down and dragged his tongue up the crack of Derek's ass.

Derek lets out a soft sound, something between surprise and pleasure, and relaxes under Stiles' hands and mouth.

Derek's so warm here, and he tastes like soap and spicy-heat and clean sweat and Derek, and he remembers wondering why on earth Derek would ever want to put his mouth on Stiles' ass when he first did it, put it down to a wolf thing, but this... He drags his tongue right over Derek's hole, teases at it, and then moans. He gets it now, at least he knows why he wants to do this himself. It's so fucking intimate, more than sucking cock, or being fucked, or putting your life in someone's hands. The noises Derek makes as Stiles licks at him with firm strokes are so raw, small, broken gasps and grunts and he's never heard Derek make sounds like that before.

He can feel Derek loosening up beneath him, even as the muscles in his thighs tense, pushing back into Stiles' face.

"Stiles," Derek groans, his voice raspy and deep. "Come on."

Stiles hums, his brain supplying the affirmative, but his mouth is busy, his tongue pointed and squirming against Derek's tight hole until it gives.

Derek lets out a soft, shaky moan and rocks his hips, probably rubbing his dick against the sheets, and Stiles holds him by the hips and goes with it, wriggling his tongue deeper until he can slide it in and out with ease.

Up on his hands and knees, Stiles strokes his own aching cock as he fucks into Derek with his tongue.

"Don't come," Derek begs. "Don't you dare come until you've fucked me, Stiles."

Stiles hums again, then slides a finger into Derek. It goes in easy and deep, deeper than he could ever get his tongue, and he's never been happier for his long fingers as now, because Derek whimpers and arches back, lifting his hips off the bed and letting out a soft whisper that sounds like, "please."

"Yes, yes, fuck," Derek grunts when Stiles pushes two fingers in, and his spit isn't going to do the job any longer. He squirts lube around the base of his fingers, and on the next stroke, pushes it into Derek's ass, and he's rewarded with a satisfying squelch and a wanton moan. "You should see this," he says, and his voice is rough, thick with lust and emotion. "My fingers in your ass, Derek. Looks so good."

"Feels good," Derek pants. "Want you to fuck me."

Stiles pushes another finger in, just to be sure, twists them in past the knuckles, because Derek's tight, but he barely shivers as Stiles stretches him.

"Now," Derek says. "Come on, Stiles, I want you inside me." He moans and arches and tightens around Stiles' fingers like thinking about it is too much. "Stiles, now."

Stiles spreads lube over his dick and murmurs, "Yeah." Then he presses the head of his cock against Derek's loosened hole and starts to push in.

His head is sinking in when it occurs to him that he should savor it, this first time. He memorizes every sensation, the tight, velvety heat that gradually swallows up his cock, and the low, drawn out groan that comes from Derek and doesn't let up until Stiles is balls deep and his chest is pressed to Derek's back, sweat slicking between them.

He stills, his hands pressed to the mattress each side of Derek's shoulders, and he drags his lips down the line of Derek's neck, and he breathes.

Derek's eyes are closed, his breathing is slow and even. "You can move," he whispers. "I'm okay."

Stiles snorts. "Course you are. You're a big strong werewolf. Me, on the other hand, I'm only human and I'm gonna come if I so much as wriggle right now, so you're just gonna have to wait."

"Okay." Derek smiles, and he doesn't open his eyes. "You feel good, Stiles."

Stiles grunts and fights the urge to thrust. "Yeah. Fuck, so do you." Then he can't resist, rolling his hips to push his cock deeper into Derek's ass. "Holy fuck, Derek. You feel so good."

Derek's breath goes shaky and his ass clenches around Stiles' dick. His eyelids flicker, then he looks up from the corner of his eye, showing the white. "Let me up."

Stiles holds tight to Derek's hips as they move, then Derek is up on hands and knees and Stiles is upright behind him. Stiles can't help but slide his hands over all the exposed skin, Derek's muscular back, tracing the swirls of his tattoo with his palms. Down strong thighs, and then leaning over Derek's back to wrap his arms around Derek's chest.

"You can come," Derek whispers. "It's okay."

Stiles, who stilled again once they got up, gives a slow, rolling thrust. "Nah, I'm good. Just...savoring. I'm in no hurry." He pauses. "Are you in a hurry? Oh, god, is this awful? Am I doing it wrong?"

He starts to pull back, but Derek snaps an arm back, grabs the back of Stiles' thigh so he can't go anywhere. "You're doing great, Stiles. I need you to move, though, I need you to fuck me."

"God," Stiles breathes, then he pulls his hips back before pushing back into Derek's ass. "I think I can do that."

He feels Derek's low chuckle rather than hears it. "Good. Do it. Fuck me."

Stiles gives Derek a couple of quick, long thrusts, then alternates with a slow one. He notices Derek's center of balance shift, then his elbow appears at his side, moves in slow jerks that makes it obvious he's touching his cock.

"What's it gonna feel like when you come, I wonder," Stiles muses, then he realizes he's not going to get to see Derek come like this, in fact, he's missing out on a whole world of awesome not being able to see Derek's face right now.

He pulls out. "Flip over," he says, before Derek can think he's had enough. "I wanna see you while I fuck you."

Derek turns over in a flash, spreads his legs obscenely wide, and pulls Stiles back to him.

Stiles slides back in easy, deep. Derek's eyelids flutter shut, his back arches, and he tips his head back to expose his throat. Stiles can't believe that's because of him, that Derek looks like that because of him. Derek lets out a soft grunt when Stiles thrusts again, wraps his fingers around Stiles' wrist where his hand lies on his hips, and there's a barely perceptible tremor in Derek's hand.

"You okay?" Stiles asks. "Is this okay?" He pulls back, then a long slide in, watches Derek's lips as they part in a tiny gasp. "Is it good?"

Derek's lips spread in a smile and he opens his eyes. They're heavy lidded, his pupils are blown wide open. "So good," he says. "Just—" He puts his hands on the mattress, cants his hips, and on Stiles' next thrust he moans and shudders. "Yeah. There, Stiles. Like that."

"Holy fuck," Stiles breathes, and he tightens his grip on Derek's hips and increases his pace, watching Derek's face as he moans and shakes and looks more and more wrecked.

He's so focused on Derek that when heat spreads across the small of his back and starts darting up his spine, he's unprepared. Derek's cock is leaking on his belly, slapping against hard muscle with every one of Stiles' thrusts, but neglected. Stiles needs to feel Derek come around him, he needs Derek to come first, but Derek's a mess, fingers digging into the mattress, bunching the sheets, mouth open and lips wet and eyes desperate and Stiles wants to watch him fall apart like this, doesn’t want to distract him and make him focus on getting himself off.

Stiles wraps his hand around Derek's dick, smears precome down the length, strokes him hard and fast.

It takes only seconds. Long seconds in which Derek's eyes lock onto Stiles' face and don't let go. Long seconds in which Stiles sees all the trust and vulnerability in them. Long seconds in which Stiles wonders what he did to deserve so much perfection.

Then Derek starts to come and it wipes Stiles' mind clean of anything but the sound of Derek's voice as he cries out, the tightening clench of Derek's body around his dick, the pulse of Derek's cock in his hand as it erupts, painting long streaks of come all the way up to Derek's chest.

"Fuck," he says, is all he can get out before he follows, pumping deep into Derek's body as it's still tightening around him. "Fuck," he repeats, as his dick spasms weakly at the end and he falls forward onto Derek's body, Derek's come slick between them, a little smearing against Stiles' cheek as he lays it on Derek's shoulder. "Oh, fuck."

He must doze a little, because when Derek shifts beneath him and pushes him off, he doesn't remember when his dick softened enough to slip out of Derek's body. Derek pushes him into the shower, and when he gets out, Derek's changed the bed and laid out pajamas, and Stiles falls in between crisp, clean sheets, and goes straight to sleep, rousing only long enough to twine his limbs with Derek's when he joins him still slightly damp and smelling of soap.

.

Stiles doesn't wake again until he smells baby and hears Derek's voice, soft and gentle. He opens his eyes and pulls himself up and reaches out for his daughter. "When did they drop her off?" he asks, wondering how long Derek's let him sleep. The sky is dark outside the window, but just barely.

"Not long ago," Derek says, placing Olivia in Stiles' arms. There's a catch to his voice, the tiniest crease between his brows.

Stiles looks down at the sleeping baby in his arms. She's perfect, dressed in a clean onesie, a drop of milk at the corner of her mouth that he wipes away with one finger, her tiny lower lip pouted out in sleep. "What?" he asks, looking up, because Olivia's fine. It must be something else. "What happened?"

"They found a body on the edge of the woods," Derek says. "Looks like something crawled out of the lake, and it's headed toward town. I'm gonna go help them track it."

Stiles fights the urge to climb out of bed. He would have, if he didn't have Olivia in his arms. "Okay. Okay, just give me some time to—"

Derek smiles and drops his eyes. "You're not coming, Stiles."

It's the first time the supernatural has raised it's head since Olivia was born. Stiles hasn't had to think about whether or not he'd be joining the fight again. Maybe he just assumed he would. "Come on," he says. "Babies are much more difficult than all the evil. I can do this."

Derek's smile spreads wider. "Who's gonna watch her, Stiles? Even if she was big enough, I know you're not planning to strap her to your back while we hunt this thing down."

"I'll drop her off with my dad—"

"One of his deputies was the first on the scene. Your dad's covering damage control, pitching 'animal attack' to the papers."

"Scott's mom—"

"Is working, Stiles." Derek sighs. "I know you want to help, but Olivia needs you more than anyone else right now. We just need to find it, herd it back to where it came from if we can, kill it if we can't. I'll feel better knowing you're both safe at home, okay?"

"Okay." Stiles sinks back into the pillows. "But get pictures. A description." He shrugs. "Maybe we can figure out what it is, what it wants."

Derek nods. "Good idea." He pulls himself to his feet and takes a deep breath. "Don't leave the apartment." He turns to go.

"Don't you dare turn up back here bleeding, mister," Stiles says, and Derek stops halfway to the stairs. "I'll kick your ass if you do."

Derek nods and half turns. There's a smile on his face. "I love you, too," he says.