
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/591266.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Nightmares, Cuddling, Hand_Jobs, Episode:_s02e04_Abomination
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-13 Words: 1542
****** pull me under ******
by medusacascade22
Summary
     Stiles has a nightmare. Derek comforts him.
Notes
     title from "drowning" by avicii
     set directly after s2e4: Abomination
     warning for nightmares involving drowning?
     many thanks to tehcrzy1 for fabulous editing
     enjoy! ♥
See the end of the work for more notes
 
 
 
He’s cold. It’s dark. All Stiles can see in any direction is water; calm,
black, endless.
Stiles can’t feel his body, just a dull numbness radiating from where his limbs
should be. He can’t help but try and kick blindly, trying to keep his head
above the water. He succeeds, but barely, feels the water lick up his neck,
towards his chin.
“Stiles! Stiles!” he hears, whips his head around to find the source. “Stiles!”
It’s Derek. The realization hits Stiles like a stone dropped down his throat
and into his stomach. He starts moving immediately, searching, calling Derek’s
name back, only to find that his voice is nothing more than a strained whisper.
“Stiles!” he hears again, and finally, finally Stiles spots him; just a tiny
head bobbing in the distance.
Stiles moves as fast as he can, though the water becomes thicker with each inch
of progress he makes. Upon getting closer, Stiles can see Derek thrashing,
struggling to stay above the water. Stiles pushes himself faster still,
anything he can do to get closer, to save him.
And then Derek is slipping, slipping away, nose level with the waterline, and
Stiles stretches his hand out as far as he can, reaching for Derek. His
fingertips almost touch Derek’s, but he’s too late, and Derek is gone.
 
Stiles wakes in a cold sweat, thrashing around in his bed and still screaming
Derek’s name.
And then Derek is there, right in front of Stiles’ face, grabbing his shoulders
and asking, “What? What’s wrong? What happened? Stiles, talk to me!”
Stiles can’t respond, too glad to see Derek, that he’s dry, he’s alive, he’s
here. Stiles just sort of clings onto Derek, unable to do much else, and Derek
somehow allows it, rubbing Stiles’ back just this side of too hard.
Stiles has never touched Derek like this before. Sure, he spent hours holding
him up in a pool earlier today, but this is different. Derek is warm, solid,
all-encompassing. Stiles can’t feel anything, smell anything, think about
anything but Derek.
“How are you here?” Stiles asks, puffing hot air onto Derek’s collarbone where
his shirt has ridden low.
“I was… uh,” Derek starts. Stiles has never heard him hesitate before. “I was
just… checking up on you,” Derek says, resignedly. “I was worried,” he adds,
slightly softer.
On any other day, Stiles would snark him out, call him a teddy bear instead of
the big bad wolf he pretends to be. But, well, Stiles didneed checking up on.
He keeps his mouth shut, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply to soak up Derek’s
scent.
Derek doesn’t say anything for a while, barely even moves. Stiles realizes that
Derek must be monitoring his heartbeat, because once Stiles has calmed down
enough that he thinks maybe he’ll get some more sleep tonight, Derek starts to
pull away and says, “I can go, I mean, if you--”
“Stay,” Stiles says, so quiet it almost gets lost in his throat. He realizes
how much he wants, needs,Derek to stay once he’s said it. Stiles needs to know
that Derek is safe, and there’s no safer place in Stiles’ mind than his bed.
And, well, Stiles is pretty sure he’d have a panic attack if Derek left him
alone, and that’s the last thing he needs tonight. He tightens his arms a
little tighter around Derek to express this, as if Derek couldn’t break out of
his grip in less than a second.
Derek shrugs Stiles’ face out from his neck and stares at him for a long
moment, only slightly softer than his usual glare. Finally, he gives up,
exhaling slowly. “Okay,” he says.
Stiles pulls Derek down to the bed with him, arms still locked around his
waist. It’s sort of an awkward configuration, but Derek rearranges their limbs
gently, seemingly content to serve as Stiles’ body pillow.
Once Stiles has settled, blankets pulled up to his chin and nose reburied in
Derek’s neck, Derek starts trailing his fingers up and down Stiles’ spine, and
just like that, Stiles is sound asleep.
 
 
Stiles wakes up again with his face mashed into Derek’s shoulder. His left arm
is trapped under Derek, feeling as asleep as Derek looks. Derek’s arm holds
Stiles in a death grip against his chest, and Stiles can feel his breath
against the top of his head.
Stiles glances down, sees that Derek ditched his jeans at some point during the
night (which Stiles can’t blame him for, he’s sure it’s next to impossible to
sleep in jeans as tight as your own skin,) and oh, look at that, Stiles has the
world’s most massive morning wood.
Derek chooses this moment to grumble in his sleep and shift his leg forward,
pressing his upper thigh against Stiles dick, and fuck.
It’s not like Stiles hasn’t thought about this before; he has, at least once, 
imagined having sex with basically everyone he’s ever met, and Derek a few more
times than that. Okay, maybe many, many more times than that. He doesn’t fault
himself; what else is he supposed to do when a smoking hot werewolf with
possession issues shows up in his life when he’s at the height of puberty?  But
he’s never imagined this,and really has next to no clue what to do about it.
It turns out that isn’t a problem, because Derek shifts again, rubbing against
Stiles’ dick, and then he fucking moans,eyelids fluttering slightly,and Stiles
is 99.9% sure that he’s going to die. If these are Stiles’ last moments on
Earth, he figures that he might as well enjoy them, so he moves his hips
minutely, getting the tiniest bit of friction against Derek.
Derek just moans again, low and dirty, so Stiles throws all the fucks he could
possibly give out the window, grabs Derek’s hip, and starts thrusting in
earnest. He estimates that he’ll get about three seconds of this before Derek
fully wakes up and claws him to death, so he puts his all into it, biting his
lip to hold back the moan building in his chest.
Maybe Stiles gets a little bit lost in it, thrusting into the V of Derek’s hip,
because the next time Stiles looks up, Derek is staring at him, eyes blown
wide. Stiles freezes for a moment, terrified out of his skin, which isn’t
helped when Derek grabs the back of Stiles’ neck.
But then Derek is pulling Stiles closer, pressing their mouths together, and
sliding his tongue between Stiles’ lips.
Stiles opens his mouth immediately, swallowing Derek’s moan. Derek kisses him
surprisingly gently, like he doesn’t want to break Stiles, but that isn’t want
Stiles wants. Stiles pushes for more, digging his nails into Derek’s bicep and
hooking his leg over Derek’s waist. He can feel Derek’s hard dick pressing into
his stomach now, which only fuels his mouth, gets him kissing Derek as dirtily
as he possibly can.
Derek responds, giving back at least as good as he gets. Stiles starts to think
they’re on even ground until Derek sneaks a hand between them and reaches into
Stiles’ boxers. Stiles breaks away from Derek’s lips to gasp, because holy
fuck, where did Derek learn to do that with his wrist, and is he giving
lessons? He’d ask, but he’s having trouble making thoughts other than
yesmorethatplease, which apparently he’s saying out loud, because Derek is
grunting against Stiles’ throat, “Yeah? Like that? C’mon, God, Stiles.”
It’s an absolute miracle that Stiles doesn’t come right there. “Slow, slow
down, just a sec, yeah, just—” Stiles pants. Derek starts to look concerned but
before his eyebrows can draw together all the way, Stiles is tugging Derek’s
boxers down and getting his hand around him.
Derek throws his head back and gasps. Stiles is pretty sure his eyes flash red
behind his eyelids. When Derek comes back, it’s to catch Stiles in a bruising
kiss and move his hand again, somehow even better than before.
It’s all Stiles can do to try and keep up, trying to match Derek’s rhythm,
kissing him back with as much energy as he can muster. It’s hard to focus on
any one thing when it’s all almost too much; Derek’s hand stroking him hard and
good, Derek’s tongue against the roof of his mouth, and the solid weight of
Derek’s dick sliding in and out of his hand.
Stiles knew he wasn’t going to last long when Derek kissed him, but Derek
surprises him by coming first. It’s only by about a nanosecond, but it counts.
Derek lets out the filthiest moan of all time when he comes, a sound that
Stiles is sure he’ll be replaying in his mind for the rest of his life, and
it’s physically impossible for Stiles not to lose it right along with him.
Stiles doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Derek pulls him closer up against his
neck, pets Stiles’ hair with his clean hand, and makes soothing noises at him.
“Are you okay?” Derek asks after a while, sounding genuinely concerned in a way
that Stiles doesn’t want to hear ever again.
Stiles pulls away just enough to look Derek straight in the eyes when he says,
“Never better.”
 
 
~fin
 
End Notes
     this has technically been my second ever venture into fan fiction
     about fiction. i feel like this is monumental. thanks for reading!
     comments are more than welcome! ♥
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