Chapter Text
Derek doesn’t shift often, but when he does, it’s magnificent.
Bones snapping, skin rearranging, form changing and warping into a giant beast of an animal. Stiles is stunned every time, gazing open-mouthed and wide-eyed at the charcoal black wolf in front of him.
Derek looks at him like, “Well?” as he motions with his large head towards the woods for Stiles to follow him.
Stiles shakes his head a second to clear it, and gathers up Derek’s clothes from the forest floor, tossing them in the trunk of his jeep before he grabs his baseball bat and follows. They set off to check the perimeter.
After their shift (ha) is over, Derek hops into the front seat of the jeep without changing back. He’s comfortable in this form, and there are fewer thoughts to think and emotions to experience.
Stiles can feel his hazel eyes on his face as he drives them back to the loft, and he can’t help but smile over at him at a stop light, meeting Derek’s gaze with a soft grin.
“Love you, wolfy,” he says fondly as he leans over and kisses Derek on his snout. Derek huffs in agreement and licks Stiles’ face with his long, wet tongue, and Stiles’ face crumples up in fake disgust, his wide smile betraying him.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You love me too. Glad to hear it, big guy,” he winks, and Derek snuffles.
*
When they get home, Stiles is expecting Derek to turn back immediately, like he usually does. They’ll get in the shower and hose off before they fill up the tub and laze about for a while until they recover. Derek will be the big spoon like usual, and hold Stiles to his chest while he nuzzles at his neck in the bath, and Stiles will close his eyes and enjoy the feeling of Derek’s warm arms around him. It’ll be nice, and predictable, and well-deserved after the night they’ve had.
But as it happens, none of that occurs at all.
Derek bounds out of the jeep and up the many flights of stairs to the entrance of the loft, still in wolf form, and Stiles huffs and puffs behind him, trying to catch up. He slides open the door, but instead of Derek making for the bathroom like usual, he hops up onto the sofa.
The wolf turns around roughly three times before planting himself down on his belly and staring at Stiles with the equivalent of wolfy puppy dog eyes.
Stiles doesn’t know what to make of this. Derek clearly wants something, but can’t say what in this form. He’s obscenely cute, and the thought of snuggling up to him on the couch instead of going to the effort of showering sounds like heaven right now.
In fact, he can’t think of a reason why not to. They’re not covered in monster guts or anything, just a bit of dirt and stray twigs, and Derek’s coat is as shiny as ever.
Slowly closing the door behind him, Stiles is lured over to the couch by a rare whine from the wolf. He almost sounds… needy can’t be the right word here, Stiles would never use that to describe Derek. Except….
Derek gives a strange sort of quiet bark, almost a huff with more intent behind it, and it startles Stiles into falling halfway onto the couch. Derek curls up to him immediately, tugging him down the rest of the way with his teeth in his shirt until his butt is planted firmly on a cushion.
The wolf arranges his furry body into a tight ball, as small as a large wolf can get, and drops his head heavily into Stiles’ lap. Stiles’ long fingers thread into Derek’s coat on instinct, and he’s suddenly overcome by feelings of surprise and overwhelm at the display of affection.
Derek’s never usually like this, not in wolf form or human form. Sure, they cuddle all the time, but it’s usually with Stiles wrapped up in Derek’s arms and not the other way around.
“You okay, puppy?” Stiles gets out around a sudden lump in his throat. It’s small, but it’s there, and for a moment he worries Derek got injured or something during their patrol, something, something to warrant this new affection.
Derek’s response is to lift up his head and lick Stiles’ cheek again, then down to his jaw and against his neck, until it tickles, until Stiles is laughing against his fur and wrapping his lanky arms around his lupine neck. He guesses he deserves the tickling in exchange for the petname.
“You’re just glad to be home?” he asks, mouth pressed against Derek’s furred skull, and Derek bites gently at his earlobe in response.
“Me too. It was a long day, huh?”
Derek makes an agitated wolfy noise and settles down again, head in Stiles’ lap, but this time he snuffles around the bottom of Stiles’ t-shirt, smelling, sniffing. He then noses his way under the soft fabric until he reaches Stiles’ belly, and Stiles squirms, grin taking over his face again at the tickling feeling.
Derek doesn’t lick, but just treats Stiles’ shirt like a cave. He hides half his head against Stiles’ abdomen while the fabric covers him, pressing himself against the warmth and comfort of Stiles’ familiar body.
Stiles sighs fondly but his smile still doesn’t leave his face. He pets Derek anywhere he can reach, and feels the wolf settle more fully onto him, his paws draped over his legs and his weight grounding and anchoring him to the couch.
They breathe together, decompressing, just being with each other, and it’s nice.
Stiles strokes behind the wolf’s ears, and down his neck and back, and swears to the nemeton that Derek begins purring at some point. His own lips are still spread wide where they press to Derek’s head and it’s the best end to a patrolling shift he’s had in a while. They’re safe, and together, and curled around each other, and in love.
Some time later, when Stiles is close to falling asleep on the couch with his own personal wolfy weighted blanket on his lap, Derek moves.
Stiles expects him to get up and tug him into bed at last, but Derek only shifts to his side, his head still buried underneath Stiles’ shirt and his belly partially exposed. He looks so cozy, and Stiles is melting, and loves him too damn much to know what to do with himself.
So he reaches out before he can stop himself and think of the consequences, and starts to rub Derek’s belly.
When he gets a hold of himself, he suddenly thinks of multiple ways this could end. One, Derek would rip his throat out, literally. It’s like that thing with cats, Stiles mulls, where they show you their tummy and you think they want you to pet them, but instead they claw and hiss at you and you feel like you’ve just offended their entire lineage by your misstep. Classic bait and switch.
Another possibility is Derek growling at him and sulking off to the corner to sleep either in the kitchen or under the bed. It’s happened before. He’s probably not opposed to the bathtub, either. Derek’s slept in worse places, and is potentially the most stubborn man Stiles knows, other than himself.
Thirdly, in his favorite made-up scenario, Derek would feel so overcome by comfort and security by Stiles rubbing his wolfy tummy that he would just relax and let it happen. This third scenario happens in an alternate universe, though — Stiles isn’t that lucky. He’ll probably come away with a few gentle bitemarks or scratches on his arms as a warning, maybe a cautionary growl from the wolf, before he learns his lesson and retracts his hand.
What Stiles doesn’t expect, though, is for Derek to start rumbling again.
It’s some kind of deep purring, and he will bet all his measly savings that Derek isn’t aware he’s doing it.
Stiles creeps his hand more firmly onto Derek’s soft wolfy belly, petting him gently and giving him a tentative belly rub. Derek sighs, sounding utterly content, and rolls onto his back instinctively. His head stays tilted to the side and buried under Stiles’ shirt, where it smells like Stiles’ grounding, spicy, and sweet scent, and suddenly Stiles wants to cry again.
Derek’s giving him this; Derek’s letting his guard down, letting Stiles in, letting Stiles take care of him for once. Giving into his wolfy instincts and accepting this part of him, accepting that an alpha is allowed to be taken care of, allowed to relax and rest, to feel good, to not be on guard all the time. Stiles is honored, and touched, and is going to make this damn bellyrub the best bellyrub of all time.
He rubs Derek’s tummy for a couple more minutes, half-holding his breath like Derek’s going to awaken from his semi-nap any moment and snap at him. But Derek only sinks further against him, his own breathing slowing, and Stiles can’t help but press kiss after kiss into his soft fur, treasuring each second he’s allowed in this position, to see Derek with his defenses down, to take care of him.
After a while Derek shifts once again, head falling out of Stiles’ shirt and back onto his thighs. He opens his eyes and gazes up into Stiles’, his look soft and heavy-lidded and relaxed. He’s so precious, Stiles thinks with a flutter of giddiness in his chest, so fucking adorable.
“Hey,” he whispers to the love of his life, cupping his wolfy head in his hands and stroking his fingers down the soft fur of Derek’s cheek. “I love you.” He doesn’t care if he says it too much; it’s true, and it’s what he feels.
Derek turns his head to lick Stiles’ fingers in response, and his paw comes up to hook around Stiles’ wrist.
Stiles is done for. It can’t get any better than this. It’s officially the cutest sight he’s ever seen. Nothing can top this.
“You are my whole world, Der, you know that?” Stiles murmurs just to Derek, with barely-contained emotion, keeping his voice low so it melts into the wolf’s ears.
Derek only signs contently and shuffles a little closer.
*
At some point, they head to bed. Derek hops onto his side still in his wolf form, and Stiles washes up quickly before he strips down and joins his mate. Stiles is the big spoon for once, and he slides up behind Derek to wrap both his arms around the wolf, swinging a leg over him as well.
They’re bonded together both physically and spiritually, and Stiles pushes his face into the back of Derek’s neck, with his soft fur and everything. He nuzzles a bit there, and feels Derek sigh against him again in serenity, pressing back minutely into Stiles’ body.
“Night, wolfy,” Stiles whispers, and Derek huffs out his own goodnight in response.
*
It’s a few days later when they’re watching TV and lounging on the couch. Stiles can’t say cuddling because Derek Hale doesn’t cuddle, okay. They’re… resting. Together. Overlapped.
The strange but very-not-unwelcome thing is that Stiles happens to be the big spoon again.
Maybe it’s because he got to the couch first, and a human-Derek flopped down next to him until they eventually shifted onto their sides. But whatever the reason, Stiles is taking it as a good thing, as a thing he very much wants to participate in, so he throws a casual arm around Derek’s waist before he loses the nerve to.
It’s only a few minutes later when he feels a pressure on his wrist. He pulls his eyes away from the movie easily, pillowing his head on his free hand, elbow planted on the arm of the couch with Derek laid on his side spooned in front of him.
It’s cozy and sweet and intimate, and Stiles thinks he couldn’t be more comfortable right now, it couldn’t be any more perfect, more normal, more safe of them, until.
Derek grabs his wrist gently, and without a word, puts it over his stomach.
Stiles freezes for a second, not knowing really what he’s supposed to be doing here, but Derek nudges his shoulder pointedly with his own while keeping his head staring straight towards the screen.
When Stiles looks down at him he’s surprised to see a pretty blush coloring Derek’s cheeks, disappearing under his stubble, and it’s so rare that Stiles flails a little and would fall off the couch if not for Derek acting as a barrier.
He gets the picture, knows immediately afterwards what Derek wants from him, thinking back to the other night of bellyrubs and rumbling.
Slowly, tentatively, he moves his palm over Derek’s clothed belly, rubbing gently, feeling strange and odd and intrusive but also a bit honored. Derek’s letting him in again. Letting him do this, when it’s been completely unheard of before, not ever a thought that has entered Stiles’ mind. It’s not like he’s going around thinking, Wow, I’d really like to rub my boyfriend’s belly, I think he’d enjoy that. Stiles is weird, but not that weird, okay.
He had never expected this of Derek before. Never thought he wanted this. Stiles has petted through his hair before, stroked it back from his forehead and raked his fingers across his scalp, and Derek seemed to enjoy it, but he’s never rumbled like the other night, never specifically asked Stiles to do it again, put himself in that position. Stiles is so proud of him suddenly, he could burst.
So he gently moves his hand across Derek’s toned stomach, and Derek genuinely seems to melt into the couch, and back against Stiles. He keeps his fingers looped gently over Stiles’ wrist, keeping him close, leaning his head against his outstretched arm. Stiles peeks over his shoulder to see Derek’s eyes closed, looking at peace, and sudden tears spring into Stiles’ eyes again at the unexpected sight.
The fact that he can give this to his boyfriend, can make him feel safe and relaxed and cared for, is more than he could hope for, is everything he’s wanted, and he kind of wants to thank Derek but can’t bear to make things weird right when they’re unlocking a new level in their relationship. So sue Stiles, he plays too many video games. New achievement unlocked! +100 points for Making Boyfriend Feel Safe.
Carefully, without disturbing their position, Stiles bends his head to press a soft kiss to Derek’s shoulder. Derek turns his head after a moment to nuzzle his nose against Stiles’, meeting his eyes with a fond, but almost bashful expression. He tilts his jaw up expectantly, and Stiles leans down to meet his lips, just a soft, sweet peck that hardly makes a sound when they part.
He smiles adoringly down at Derek, not ceasing to move his hand from his belly, his thumb stroking gently over the cloth.
Then he gets an idea.
Slowly, he slips his hand under the hem of Derek’s henley, and places his palm directly over the hot skin of Derek’s stomach, and instantly Derek melts, sighing out something long and lethargic, peaceful and relieved.
Stiles himself has never had the craving to have someone rub his belly, at least not since he was little and got stomachaches from eating too much chocolate on Halloween and his mother had to rub his stomach to ease the pain. And even then, that was mostly due to his mom’s general metaphorical magic and emotional healing rather than the action itself.
For Derek he can imagine this feeling protective, like someone having him, being there for him, catching him, holding him. Here, now, he doesn’t have to be the strong man, the alpha, the leader. He can just be Derek. Stiles’ mate. Stiles’ love. A wolf at heart. A puppy. Kind and sweet and caring and earnest and loving, just as Stiles knows him as underneath all his defenses.
In some ways, this is more intimate than when they have sex, more sacred than full nudity or even sharing secrets and nightmares. This is something Derek’s probably not allowed anyone before, not even something he likely wanted for himself, and it’s really a lot of internal commotion over a fucking bellyrub, Stiles thinks, but on the other hand, it’s a big thing.
Derek lets his guard down for Stiles most of all, among everyone, but he never asks for what he wants. Never lets himself be vulnerable. It’s a big step for him, and Stiles is proud. So it’s really to be expected that he feels all gooey and emotional inside.
Derek might as well be straight up asking, “Stiles, will you take care of me?” and Stiles’ answer would immediately be a hundred percent, abso-fucking-lutely, will do it in a heartbeat.
So Stiles gazes down at his boyfriend with hearts in his eyes, and observes Derek’s eyelids fluttering as he fights to keep them open. He stares determinedly at the screen, but he’s struggling, and his grip is slack where he still holds Stiles’ wrist.
“It’s okay,” Stiles tells him softly, kissing his ear. “You can sleep.” He wants to add, I’ll watch over you, but isn’t quite brave enough.
They’re the magic words, and Derek lets out another lengthy sigh, shuffling further down onto the couch and back against Stiles. Their bodies are flush together now and Stiles presses close, tucking his head into the crook of Derek’ neck from behind and snuggling in tight.
“Night, puppy,” he whispers as quietly as he can manage, half-hoping Derek won’t even hear him, but it’s a stupid wish, with Derek’s wolfy hearing. The last thing he wants is to be demeaning, or talk down to Derek, but he’s just so precious, and Stiles wants to protect him with his entire being. So he gives into temptation and calls him the beloved petname. “Sleep well.”
*
Several days later they’re in the bathtub, and although Stiles got there first, Derek usually slips in behind him. This time, however, he sinks in front of Stiles, pressing his back into Stiles’ naked chest, and Stiles’ breath catches in his throat.
They got their bathtime at last, but it’s different than he expected, and Stiles doesn’t know what to do with all the emotions swirling around in him.
“There you go,” he murmurs, unable to help himself and pressing a kiss to Derek’s temple.
Derek just grunts as his hands go to Stiles’ thighs on either side of him. The bath is warm and bubbly and smells like cinnamon, a bath bomb that Derek picked out specifically because it smelled like Stiles, and Stiles absolutely does not get all warm and tingly at this fact.
The wolf leans his head back against Stiles’ chest, tilting his head to the side to stick his nose into the crook of Stiles’ neck. He breathes in deeply, nuzzling him a little, scenting him, and breathes out with his mouth open so his hot breath lands on Stiles’ already-warm skin.
It’s so tender, and Stiles just gazes down at the love of his life with an adoring expression, pure tenderness and love and affection shining in his eyes, but Derek’s own eyes are closed, perhaps on purpose. It’s one thing to choose to let himself be taken care of, but another thing to be observed choosing it.
“Want me to wash your hair?” Stiles offers softly, but Derek shakes his head minutely.
“Not right now,” he whispers, and even the muttered words feel loud in their dim bathroom, only battery-powered tea lights to set the room aglow.
Derek’s “Just hold me” goes unsaid, but Stiles hears it anyway.
“Okay,” he agrees, and presses another soft kiss to Derek’s skin.
So they rest and soak together in the tub, and it’s sacred and special and Stiles wants to remember this forever, wants to savor the feeling of holding Derek in his arms and what it’s like to protect him and keep him safe and comfortable like this.
He gets another idea, after a moment, and as Stiles always says — once is a mistake, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern.
So he tests his theory, however foolproof it is, and moves his hands where they’re settled on Derek’s hips to shift one over his stomach instead.
He rests his palm there for a second, just pressing Derek back into him, and then moves his hand gently, slowly, stroking the skin and soothing, telling Derek without words that all is well, that the man is safe.
He shifts his palm up along Derek’s torso, to rest over his chest and heart, thumb stroking over his collarbones, getting his scent all over Derek’s skin. His hand travels up and down Derek’s whole torso, and he can feel the man’s muscles relaxing under his touch, and it’s kind of beautiful.
Derek nestles further back against him, sighing out into his neck again, his hands gripping carefully onto Stiles’ thighs. He looks stunning like this, long eyelashes fanning over his cheeks as his eyes are closed, lips barely parted and relaxed, eyebrows softened and reflecting the peace that Derek’s clearly feeling inside.
His skin is tanned and pink where the water hits it, and his bare feet are interlaced with Stiles’ on the end of the tub, ankles interlocked. They’re all tangled together, every limb connected, touching everywhere they can, and Stiles thinks that this is bliss, that it can't get any better. They’re safe, and together, and all is well.
Derek looks so utterly at peace, on the verge of falling asleep, and Stiles brings his other hand up to play with Derek’s hair, twirling the short strands through his fingers, the locks curling up in the steam. He rakes his fingernails across Derek’s scalp and Derek nearly groans with contentment.
Pressing another kiss to Derek’s forehead, the hand on Derek’s stomach continues moving, playing with the hair on his happy trail, feeling ridiculously grateful that he gets to have this, Derek’s body bare against him, connected to him in more ways than one. That they can have this together, safe from the rest of the world and the monsters they still fight on a weekly basis and all of their nightmares and traumas and pasts and emotions.
They’re here together, in each other’s space, and Stiles can’t wish for anything else ever again.
He’s got it all right here in his arms.