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Heavy Petting

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"Why don't you look like real wolves when you change? I mean, how do you expect preteen girls around the world to fall in love with you if you're not fluffy?"

There was no answer of course. The interior of his Jeep has as silent as it had been for the last five minutes. He checked his phone again, hoping maybe Scott had texted since he checked it fifteen seconds ago. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. It figured. Scott got to go hang out with his super hot, slightly slutty girlfriend, and he got the mostly dead, not very slutty at all stalker werewolf who may or may not be evil.

His life sucked.

"What's your story anyway?" Stiles asked, glancing over at his freeloading, unwanted passenger. If Scott didn't return his call soon, he'd run out of gas with all this aimless driving. He was pretty sure one of them wasn't going to make it if that happened. "You look like a refugee from GQ. What, did someone try to pluck your eyebrows and you stormed off in a huff?"

Obviously, Derek didn't reply; he hadn't done much more than groan in the last twenty minutes. Stiles wouldn't have actually dared to say any of that if Derek hadn't passed out half an hour ago. He'd rolled his window down so he wouldn't choke on the smell of rotting meat coming off Derek in waves. He idled at a stop light for a full minute and then jerked the wheel around to turn right. The momentum flopped Derek over until his head landed in Stiles' lap.

"Oh, oh," Stiles gasped, his toes curling involuntarily in his shoes while heat rushed straight to his groin. Derek's head wasn't actually anywhere close to his…his private parts, but he was so warm against Stiles' side. "Well, shit."

He pulled into the parking lot of an out of business gas station. There were enough cars there with For Sale scrawled across the windows that no one would bat an eye at his Jeep. He turned the engine off and settled in to look down at his current werewolf charge.

Derek's face was smooth without the scowl, making him look so much younger and somehow actually soft. Even though Derek's hair was damp with sweat and matted down with dust, Stiles couldn't help pushing his fingers through it. He held his breath and traced the shell of Derek's ear with a finger before going back to petting Derek's hair into a fake mohawk. The hair at the nape of Derek's neck curled around his fingers when he left them there for a second.

It was pleasant, really. Stiles squirmed a little, letting his hand wander down Derek's neck and shoulders, feeling the edges of his muscles and taking his time. This was so wrong. He was such a creeper. A bad, bad, man and he was going to hell.

Yet, he couldn't help touching Derek and soothing away the lines of pain around his eyes and mouth. It was relaxing, the repetitive motion, and he thought he saw a little of the tension fall away from Derek. Okay, so maybe Derek was kinda hot in that whole, annoyingly cryptic and superior supernatural creature of the night thing.

The next thing he knew, he looked up and the sun slipped down below the horizon. Derek breathed quietly in soft puffs against Stiles' leg and his hands had uncurled from painful looking fists. The bullet wound on his arm puffed up and leaked black ooze on the rubber floor mat. Stiles rested his hand over Derek's chest and counted heartbeats, trying not to worry when he found it slower than the average man at rest.

His phone buzzed, startling him so badly that he slapped Derek in the face in his hurry to answer it. Derek scowled and sat up, leaning heavily away from Stiles and into the door. Stiles quickly pretended that he hadn't been molesting Derek in his sleep. Hadn't been thinking about molesting Derek in his sleep, and answered his phone.

Then there was the less fun part of the night full of skanky puke, bone saws and a throbbing hand from where he'd punched Derek in the face. Not even ogling Derek with his shirt off made up for the nightmares he'd likely still have.

Scott and Derek were going to go have some wolf time or something. Stiles' wasn't invited though they just assumed he'd drive them over to Derek's car. Whatever. He didn't care. Scott went outside to call Allison to make sure she hadn't forgotten about him in the twenty minutes since he'd left her.

Somehow, he wasn't too surprised when Derek shoved him up against the wall the second the door closed behind Scott. Stiles scrabbled trying to reach the floor, but Derek held him up too high. He finally caught Derek's boots and managed to put some of his weight down on the steel toes.

Derek looked up and shook Stiles."I'm not your pet lapdog. Never pet me again," Derek snarled, flecks gathering in the corners of his mouth. "And there's nothing wrong with my eyebrows."

"You heard that?" Stiles asked, grabbing at Derek's corded forearms. He lost a second imagining other, more sexy times Derek's muscles would pop out. Derek shook him again, and Stiles' refocused on the present, "You shouldn't eavesdrop on people."

"You were talking to me, you little freak!" Derek's eyebrows dropped and nearly met as he furrowed his forehead. Stiles couldn't help watching in fascination, and Derek dropped him, reaching up to swipe at his eyebrows.

"I was talking to unconscious you, which is totally different. There's an expectation of privacy," Stiles said and tugged his shirt down, hoping Derek wouldn't notice his unfortunate reaction to Derek's strength and his own imagination. "Besides, everyone knows better than to listen to me."

Derek curled his hand over Stiles' shoulder, tightening his grip until it was barely shy of painful. "I listen to you," he said, and then shoved Stiles ahead of him to the alley. "I just ignore most of it. Now go get the car before I kick your ass."




"What happened to you? Get hit by a pack of girls who thought you were Zac Efron?"

Derek, being Derek, didn't actually twitch his expression as he shouldered past Stiles. Despite his naked chest, Derek was still warm to the touch, and a little clammy. His jeans were dirty and ripped in one knee, and he tracked mud and who knew what all in through the kitchen.

Luckily, his dad was still out taking care of a dead mountain lion that conveniently showed up in the middle of parent-teacher conference day. Stiles hoped it would distract his dad from whatever the teachers said to him for at least a day or two. High school was hard enough to manage without all the recent werewolf shenanigans, that while fun, ate into his limited focused thinking time.

He trailed after Derek who walked straight through the house to his bedroom as if he'd did it all the time. "Please come in, make yourself at home," Stiles muttered under his breath, trying to look anywhere but at Derek's ass. "Mi casa es tu casa."

"Look, I need a place to lie low for a while," Derek said over his shoulder, immediately moving to snoop through Stiles' room. He touched the books lined up on the bookcase, and checked out his posters on the wall. "The hunters trashed my house, again, and took a shot at me. A few of them. Literally."

"Why aren't you at Scott's place then?" Stiles tried not to sound jealous, unsure if he wanted more time with his best friend or the scary older guy with the mysterious past and possible heart of gold. "He told me you said there was strength in numbers or something. Some kind of wolf-only club."

Somehow, Derek's chin got squarer and he set down the photo of Stiles and his mom that he'd been looking at. "Fine," he said, heading toward the door.

"It was just a question, questions aren't illegal," Stiles said quickly, blocking the door with his body as if Derek couldn't bulldoze right through him without much of a fight. "Stay here if you want. I don't have a baseball bat to protect myself like Scott and his mom."

Derek stopped, lowering his eyebrows. "Did something happen?" he asked, his voice dropping to an even lower level of yummy goodness.

Stiles tried to lean casually against the door frame, but lost his balance and tripped back into the room. He finally flopped down on his bed and sighed at his extreme dorkiness. "Someone let loose a mountain lion at the school while the conferences were going on. Allison's dad shot it," he explained, and then squinted up at the glow in the dark stars stuck to his ceiling. "Either that or it’s the biggest coincidence ever."

"I don't believe in coincidence."

"Of course you don't," Stiles said, then shut his mouth. Then he opened his mouth, and then he shut it again.

"What?" Derek asked, clearly losing what little patience he still had left.

"I saw it."

What he didn't see was Derek blurring across the room and hauling him to his feet by his biceps. Derek moved him forcefully, but his hands were almost gentle as he checked Stiles' neck, and then jerked his shirt up to check his belly. His fingers trailed over Stiles' skin making him break out in goosebumps. When he finished that, he got right into Stiles' face, locking their eyes.

"You saw the Alpha? Did he bite you?" he asked, shaking Stiles a little. His eyes weren't as dark as before, blue creeping in toward his pupils. "Did he say anything?"

"Jeez no," Stiles wiggled uncomfortably aware of how turned on he was by the manhandling. He hadn't really thought instant death was much of a turn on. "I think I'd be smart enough to tell somebody if I got bit. Like he would."

"But you said you saw him," Derek continued, pressing them backwards until Stiles hit the wall.

Stiles tried to match Derek blink for blink, but then his eyes started watering and he had to squint hard to clear his vision. Praying that Derek wouldn't actually squash him like a bug, he choked out, "A video. The girl at the store the other night took a video on her phone and caught the Alpha running past her. I found it and got a good look at it."

"His human face?" Derek asked. He went completely still, not breathing as he pressed their chests together.

"No, only the face that's going to haunt my nightmares for the next ever," Stiles said, suddenly upset that he couldn't have helped more. He knew how much it meant to Scott to find the Alpha before something bad happened. "I deleted the video from the phone. There shouldn't be any evidence that it wasn't a mountain lion."

"Good. Stiles-" Derek cut himself off and quirked his head. "Someone just pulled up."

Stiles ducked under Derek's arm and went to the window. His dad's cruiser sat in the driveway, and his dad was halfway to the front door. "I'll go make sure he doesn't bother me before he leaves for work in the morning," Stiles said fast. He reached into a basket of clothes on the floor and snagged a shirt. He sniffed it, declared it clean enough, and tossed it at Derek's chest. "I'll be right back."

'Right back' turned out to be an hour and a half later after Stiles cleaned up the mess Derek had tracked into the kitchen and listened to lectures about focusing in class, living up to his potential, and wildlife safety. Thankfully, then his dad told him not to expect him home before dinner the next day, so he knew Derek wouldn't get found out.

He was pretty sure that his dad wouldn't be amused to find Derek in Stiles' bedroom even though he'd given Stiles the 'everyone deserves the same rights and consideration' speak when Danny came out. Not that Stiles had ever particularly cared who anyone chose to love or sleep with. However, the age difference and unsanctioned sleep over would probably put Derek on his dad's kill list permanently.

When he finally walked into his room, Stiles found Derek barefoot, wearing a faded Beacon Hills high school shirt, and sacked out on his beanbag chair. A strip on his belly showed where the shirt rode up. He breathed deeply, sighing a little and smacked his lips when he turned his head to the other side.

Stiles pulled one of the throws off his bed and covered Derek with it. Then he turned the light off and crawled in bed sure he wouldn't mange to sleep at all. When he woke up, he found the throw tucked under his chin and Derek long gone. With Stiles' shirt.




"Maybe it's Lydia," Stiles said, bending over to pick up a rock, which he promptly threw at the nearest tree. Mindless destruction wasn't his first choice, but it beat out letting his mind be a hamster running on a wheel while trying to figure out all these new shiny … feelings.


Feelings might be too strong of a word for the way Derek sucked the air out of the room just by entering it. Everyone knew to hide their breakables whenever Stiles showed up, but lately it had been so much worse. He woke up with his sheets sweaty and his shorts sticky more often than not. He'd tried to talk it over with Danny, but that conversation took a strange turn and he'd backed away slowly until he ran down the next hallway.


"Well think about it," Stiles continued, ignoring his momentary swerve into Derekland. He was getting better at slipping back and forth without the telltale trace of drool on his chin. "She always seems to be where the trouble is, and she's pretty freakin' scary when she's on the warpath. Or when she's sitting, minding her own business for that matter."

Scott rolled his eyes and said, "She filmed the Alpha, remember? It can't be Lydia, not unless there are two of them."

"Okay, what about Coach? He could be a raging nutball tearing through town on a path of twisted vengeance and nachos," Stiles was only half paying attention to the conversation. They'd been through all the usual suspects a dozen times, but he still thought something might pop out at them eventually.

"Yeah, but he wouldn't need to be a werewolf to do that," Scott growled, but Coach had always put his teeth on edge, from before the bite and aggression fueled rage.

"What about Mr. Harris? He's suspicious with his clean shirt and punctual – nah, it couldn't be him," Stiles said, zipping his hoodie up. It was almost sunset, and the nights were getting colder. Perfect for cuddling, his mother used to say. "Hey, maybe it's me!"

"Look, Stiles, I thought we were out here in the middle of nowhere to test my senses?" Scott groaned and kicked through a pile of wet leaves. "You know, the ones I can't focus on if you won't shut up?"

"All right, all right," Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, and pulled out his phone. The new app that let him change him mp3 player remotely had kept him entertained for days. Making his dad listen to Glee Volume 2 while in the shower would never get old. "Try to focus on the system in the car and tell me what song is playing."

Stiles watched while Scott forced himself inward first, and then began to change slowly. First, his hair grew and sprouted down his face. Then, his eyes started to glow a campfire amber and his lips curled over his teeth. It was almost equal parts fascinating and terrifying, though he was confident Scott could control himself enough not to kill anyone.

He wished he could see Derek like that in circumstances where Stiles wasn't about to piss his pants. They weren't the prettiest monsters, but there was something compelling about their animal side. He tried to keep still while Scott listened, but eventually, he couldn't help himself, "So about Derek."

"Shut up."

"Well, you're definitely starting to sound like him," Stiles said, stung by his best friend's tone. It wasn't as if he was always asking about Derek or anything. He did have some small measure of control.

"Shut up, Stiles. There's someone between us and the car," Scott said, explaining while he grabbed Stiles' jacket and hauled him to the ground.

Stiles coughed leaves out of his mouth and tried to will himself the ability to see through solid objects. Unfortunately, it didn't work. "You know," he said, studiously ignoring the increasingly angry sounds coming from Scott, "just once, I'd like to take a sunset walk in the monster infested forest without getting nearly killed by werewolf politics."

Then came the less fun part of the evening where they got caught in the middle between the Alpha and the hunters. Derek nearly got wasted and Stiles took a header over the side of what was either a very small cliff or a very steep hill.

On the plus side, Derek carried him back to his Jeep, only to find his mp3 player had been playing Hungry Like the Wolf for the last thirty minutes. Stiles was never going to try to be ironic again.




He woke when the bed dipped behind him and a warm body curled up behind him. Stiles wasn't worried, he could smell the forest and a specific mix of aftershave, woodsmoke, and cheap bar soap. He felt the sharp pinpricks of beard stubble on his neck, and soft puffs of breath on his ear. A hand came up and settled on his forehead before rubbing against the short fuzz of Stiles' hair.

"How come you get to pet me?" Stiles asked, humming a little as he fought against consciousness. Being awake hurt, and being asleep meant that he could imagine that Derek was doing something nice for once instead of getting caught in some weird wolfy instincts of the moment.

Derek's fingers stilled on the back of Stiles' head for a moment, but then he resumed lightly scratching his fingernail over Stiles' scalp. "Because I'm bigger than you," Derek said, calmly, as if he were discussing the weather and not Stiles' blood squirting between his fingers. "Because you nearly died saving me."

"I wasn't trying to save your cranky ass," Stiles yawned, wincing at the motion pulled at the stitches in his chin. His body was one long skid mark left over from falling down a hill and bouncing repeatedly down the highway. "I saw something shiny and I wanted it first."

The hand in his hair stilled again and then dropped lower, carefully curling over Stiles' sweatpants. "You're a shitty liar," Derek said, chuckling so the sound vibrated through their bodies. "and I'll always be bigger than you."

"G'back to the petting," Stiles mumbled, pushing the uninjured side of his face into the chilly part of the pillow.

Obedient for the first time in ever, Derek lifted his hand up, following the bumps on Stiles' skull. It felt so good, he didn't know why in the world Derek would have objected to it in the first place. The pain meds he'd taken made it easy to zone out and he was almost asleep when he heard Derek speak again.

"You humans are too fragile to run with werewolves. What am I doing?"




"You've been avoiding me," Stiles said, while he tried and epically failed to not stare at a half naked, pull-up doing, werewolf who apparently hated Stiles more than usual lately.

Not that Stiles cared. He totally didn't, and Scott hadn't threaten to kick his ass if he asked about Derek once more. It wasn't as though he was doodling Stiles + Derek = forever or anything in his econ notebooks. He knew that sparkly loners didn't come around for every socially-awkward, klutzy teenager.

He wasn't stupid.

Also? The fact that the cold air made Derek's nipples stand up like perky, little puppies completely wasn't distracting.

"Hey, are you listening to me?" Derek snapped in front of Stiles' face and growled in irritation. He grabbed a towel off the banister and wiped the sweat from his forehead before he hung it around his neck. "I can't avoid you because I don't care about you."

"You are such a dick," Stiles yelled, flinching as he expected to be shoved, or punched, or hell, kicked in the shin. Instead, he looked up again to see Derek across the room lifting what looked like a car bumper over his head and working out his shoulder muscles.

"Oh, yeah, that's mature," Stiles snorted, hoping his runaway mouth would cover the sound of his heart racing. "I'm the teenager here. I'm supposed to sulk, slam doors, and threaten to hold my breath, not be jerked around more than a yo-yo wielded by an ADD werewolf with a screw loose."

The bumper went flying across the room, taking out what was probably a load-bearing wall. Stiles grinned at getting through to Derek before he realized that also meant he had Derek's undistracted attention. He chewed on his bottom lip as he watched Derek take great panting breaths and flex his hands that were definitely hairier than they used to be.

Derek had told him not to run, not to draw attention to himself, and for the love of God not to speak when that happened. Stiles kept his eyes down, looking at the floor and thinking that next time he drove out he should bring a broom to help Derek spruce the place up. Throw a couple of curtains up and the place would be homey.

Not that he wanted to be a stay-at-home werewolf boyfriend or anything.

"Laura died because she got close to people. People, normal people, good people died because she got too close to them," Derek said, suddenly calm, scary calm. "Scott can't focus on staying alive because his head's too full of that girl. He hurts his mom, his classmates, he hurts you. He shouldn't be around any of you."

"Are we talking about Scott or you?" Stiles knew Derek was trying to get rid of him, but he couldn't help remembering Scott's sudden reprioritizing of his life, or all the stitches Stiles just got out, or how much Derek's sudden absence made him feel crappy. "Do you really think your sister would go back and change her life if it meant she'd turn out as angry, bitter and alone as you?"

Pain shocked down his body, his green and yellow bruises blooming to black and purple. The wall behind him shuddered with the impact and Stiles wondered what an entire house falling on his head would feel like. "You know, if I had a quarter for every time you shove me against a wall-" he said, probably because he had some kind of disease that wouldn't let him keep quiet.

"You didn't know her! You don't know me!" Derek snarled, his eyes completely ice blue as they darted over Stiles' body. His fingernails tore through Stiles' blazer and scratched skin, leaving behind yet another layer of pain. "She was the most amazing person I knew, and she's dead. They're all dead."

"But you're not," Stiles said softly, turning his head to the side. He'd read enough about wolf behaviors to know not to look Derek in the eye. At least, he hoped the theory was the same. "You're alive, Derek, and you don't have to be alone. Allison makes Scott stronger, she gives him something to fight for, and she'll always fight for him too. Just, I don't know, get over it all ready."

Derek roared. He roared and he shifted to an animal, lean and strong, with fur that stood up in a vicious spike down his spine. He wasn't the monster Alpha; he was amazing, and beautiful, and Derek. He left the tattered remains of his jeans behind and fled out to the forest without a backwards glance.

Okay, maybe he was stupid. And he was only slightly thinking about Derek being naked when he shifted again.




"Earth to Stiles. Stilinsky. Stiles. Rhyse-"

"What?" Stiles, blinked away from the most fascinating baked ziti he'd ever eaten. Or that he'd ever pushed around on his plate for a solid ten minutes.

His dad finished chewing and narrowed his eyes at his son. He put his fork down on his plate and folded his hands in front of him. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were planning something that would get you arrested and me fired," he said, then sighed and took a drink of water. "However, I know you've been moping around the house for the past week so you've barely spent any time with that henchman of yours. So what's going on?"

Stiles forked a bit of the pasta up and bit into the lukewarm concoction of melted cheese, sausage, and wheat penne. He realized that it was his favorite meal, and his dad must be worried about him to make it on a weekday. "I'm fine," he said, and winced as he heard the least convincing lie he'd ever told come out of his mouth.

"Uh-huh," his dad leaned across the table and put his hand over Stiles' wrist. "I know Scott's been spending a lot of time with his new girlfriend, but you'll always be important to each other. Some boys bloom faster."

"Bloom? What? Geeze, dad!" Stiles felt his face flush hot and covered it with his hands. "I'm blooming, I’m bloomed."

Sighing, his dad went back to eating quietly. The sound of his fork scratching across the plate filled the silence for another couple of minutes. Then he put his fork down again. "Your mother would have been better at this. You look so much like her sometimes. I'm always here for you, you know that, right?" he asked, and then continued, "Whatever you want to talk about, I won't judge you and I'll always love you."

Stiles smiled, or he tried to smile, suddenly remembering Derek cutting into a side alley to avoid him earlier. It had been several days, and Derek hadn't so much as sneezed in Stiles' direction. He wouldn't have thought the last sixteen years of his life would have been enough to get used to rejection.

"Maybe I should reschedule my trip so I can stay home with you."

"No, Dad, I'm fine," Stiles concentrated on sounding normal and forcing a grin on his face. "You're getting an award; you don't want to miss that. I'm fine. I'm bummed about missing the first line again is all."

His dad smiled back at him, and then it wasn't so hard to pretend he didn't have a gaping hole inside. His dad was still awesome, if slightly unreasonable about Stiles' request to get a gun license. He still had Scott who would drop everything if Stiles ever really needed him. Even Allison wasn't so bad when she wasn't busy sucking face with Scott. Stiles reached for the bowl and dished more ziti out onto his plate, attacking it with new interest.

"You're going to be fine kid," his dad said, standing up and dropping a heavy hand on Stiles' head. He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a lemon meringue pie he had managed to hide from Stiles' earlier snooping. "I mean, you'll probably still in up in jail or working in a circus, but you'll be fine."




The springs screeched when Stiles bounced into the middle of the bed. He'd barely settled when Derek's body covered his, pressing him down, hot and tight unable to move. Derek kissed like he did everything, totally focused and in control. His hands fit snugly on Stiles' hips keeping him still when all he wanted to do was hump up into Derek's willing body.

At any other time, Stiles might have made a smart comment about a beta wolf being too big for his britches, but his brain had melted and dribbled out his ear about five minutes ago. Derek tugged on Stiles' earlobe with his teeth, and his fingers scratched up and down Stiles' sides. Their hips bumped every time Derek moved, and he couldn't help angling to meet hardness with hardness.

"Wait," Stiles panicked, pushing against Derek's shoulders for all the good it did. The only thing he could feel were waves of heat crashing through his body. He whined, high pitched and tried to kick with his legs before it was too late. "Stop, please. Stop. I can't…"

He couldn't hold on much longer. No one had ever touched him before, let alone kissed him and owned him. Stiles didn't know why Derek decided to be with him, but he knew that if he came in his pants before Derek even touched his dick, he'd never live it down. There had to be something in the guy code about a time-out for a breather or something.

Derek ignored Stiles' babbling, easily holding him down and continuing his assault on every inch of Stiles' visible flesh. He kissed down Stiles' throat, dragging his whiskers until Stiles twitched, barely holding in his whimpers.


The name strangled him, wrapping around his vocal chords as every muscle in his body locked. Stiles twisted up as far as Derek would let him and gasped as Derek's teeth grazed against his neck.

He came apart, and Derek put him back together.

Stiles covered his eyes and tried to catch his breath, but Derek pulled his arm away from his face and grinned down. It might have been the first Stiles had ever seen him look happy. Derek held himself up and skimmed his hand down until he cupped the front of Stiles' jeans. His smile got wider.

"Don't laugh at me," Stiles said, his voice so low and rough he wasn't sure it was actually him. It sounded as if some stranger had crawled into his body and completely wrecked him. "Not right now."

"Stiles, I'm not laughing," Derek said, using his big palm to turn Stiles' head toward him. His eyes were dark and serious, so much more expressive than the rest of him. "I'm happy. This feels good, and it's been a long time."

"But we didn't…" Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, and tentatively touched Derek's shoulder. "And you haven't…"

Derek's mouth twitched again as he sat up on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, and throwing it across the room. Stiles only had eyes for the obvious bulge in the front of Derek's jeans. He rested his hands on Derek's thighs, feeling the muscles flex under his fingers. Derek dropped his thumbs to the button on his jeans, and said, "Let's take care of that."

Stiles bit his lip to keep a groan from slipping out as Derek pushed his pants down and let his dick bounce up. He'd obviously seen his fair share of penis…penises…peni…dicks in the boys' locker room, but it hadn't been like this. There hadn't been anyone there looking at Stiles like he was prime cut beef on a buffet set for one.

Shivering, though Derek's heat kept him warm enough, Stiles watched as Derek pushed Stiles' shirt up around his chest with one hand and squeezed himself with the other. Stiles wanted to touch so badly, but he kept his hands on Derek's thigh as Derek shifted and held himself up with one arm over Stiles' body. Derek's muscles bunched with strength, but he kept his eyes locked on Stiles' face as he started stroking his hand up and down his dick.

It only took a few moments before Derek clenched his eyes shut and spilled over Stiles' belly. His come shot out in thick white stripes that cooled instantly on Stiles' skin. Derek sat heavily on Stiles' thighs rubbing the underside of his dick and down on his balls. After another couple of seconds, Derek shuddered and rolled to the side.

Derek propped his head up on his hand and inspected his work. He inched his fingers close, pressing on the soft spots on Stiles' belly to leave pink fingerprints behind, but didn't actually put them in the mess.

Stiles watched, twitching with every push and fighting the sleepiness that threatened to drag him under. As he calmed down, he became acutely aware of the skin warm stickiness in his own pants. "This is," he paused, searching for a word and finally settled on, "gross."

The laugh startled Stiles, but Derek curled closer, burying his face against Stiles' neck and jaw stifling it. His leg curled over Stiles' knees, and he kissed softly, his lips moving carefully across Stiles' skin. Finally, he pulled away and said, "You should go fix that then. I'll wait for you here."

Stiles untangled himself, curling his lip as the movement pulled at the gummy wad sloshing in his jeans. His shirt dropped in the mess Derek left on his stomach, smearing that too, though it tried to stick to his skin. He toed off his shoes, but waited until he was in the bathroom with the door closed before he pulled his over his head.

His neck and collarbones were red with tiny scratches as fine as spider webbing, and his lips looked more girly-blowjobesque than usual. Stiles splashed some cold water on his face and then grabbed a washcloth out of the cabinet to clean himself up. The water woke him up, though unfortunately that gave him a chance to think and triple guess what just happened.

His dad had left that morning, and Stiles had let Scott beg out of their usual Friday horror fest so he could spend the night with Allison. Stiles had been restlessly poking around the house and blowing up marshmallows in the microwave when Derek had about busted the door down knocking. Hopefully Mrs. Binks next door hadn't seen it, or his dad would get an earful when he got back.

Stiles had been surprised, but then he'd been shocked speechless when Derek only grumbled under his breath, slung Stiles over his shoulder and carried him into the bedroom. He'd taken the stairs two at a time, and Stiles didn't know if it was the awkward position or the fact that Derek was touching his ass that made him see stars. He kind of understood that whole taken fantasy better now, having actually lived through it.

He'd have to try to read that Fabio romance book again. Maybe he could steal a few usable ideas.

After he shucked his jeans and boxers down, and mopped away the embarrassing results of his hair-trigger, he realized that he hadn't brought anything to change into. He wasn't about to walk out there naked, not with Mr. Sculpted Abs himself in there lounging on the bed. Luckily, a not entirely dirty pair of shorts lay on top of the hamper and he pulled them over his hips. Stiles avoided catching his own eyes in the mirror and grabbed the doorknob. His heart sped up and he thought for a moment that he'd puke.

What if Derek had already left? What if Derek only came over to waste time because he didn't have anything else to do? What if Stiles had accidentally been sucked into a parallel universe featuring a hit reality show called 'Mean Werewolves and the Idiots who Loved Them'?

"Stiles, if you're freaking out in there, you could do it out here just as easy."

Taking a deep breath, Stiles pulled the door open but kept looking at the floor. He couldn't help listening to that not so tiny voice in his head telling him this was all a joke and he was about to be the punch line. The bathroom light felt too bright as it spilled out into his bedroom, and he turned it off in a hurry.

"Stiles, look at me," Derek waited until Stiles pried his eyes up. Derek sprawled on the bed, wearing a pair of tight boxer-briefs, and looking completely comfortable. "It's going to be okay. Come here."

Stiles couldn't help but obey. He crawled softly into the space left between Derek and the wall and settled down with a light arm across Derek's chest. He let out a sigh of relief when Derek didn't break it off and actually lifted his arm so Stiles could settle his head on Derek's chest too. Okay, so that probably made him the girl, but it was actually a really comfortable position, and he'd bet that werewolf arms didn't fall asleep as fast as regular ones.

"So, I'm almost afraid to ask, but what changed your mind?" Stiles asked, unwilling to listen to the silence a moment longer than he had to. He tapped his fingers on the bones in Derek's shoulder and listened to the wind bend the tree limbs into the house. "Did you finally realize there was no use fighting against uber-charm and good looks?"

"Keep dreaming, dumbass," Derek said, taking all the sting out of the words by tugging Stiles closer against his side. He flipped the blanket up to cover them and twisted a little to make them fit together better. "Don't get use to hearing me say this, but you were right. I shouldn't have made you feel so shitty. I wanted to figure some stuff out before I-"

"Before you took advantage of my youth and inexperience?" Stiles joked, knowing that if he made fun of himself first it would hurt less when other people joined in. He couldn't have been so bad if they'd both gotten off.

Derek tightened his grip until it was painful, making Stiles wonder how he'd explain away a hand shaped bruise to his dad. There was only so many 'I walked into a door.' or 'I tripped.' that he'd get away with before he was forced to seek professional therapy. Derek wasn't laughing, though.

"Relax, I was kidding," Stiles said, and felt relieved when he felt Derek let go of some tension. Of course then he had to continue because he couldn't stop picking even when he felt sleep crowding against him again, "So, I'm not going to make you weak or whatever other passive-aggressive, avoidant, mumbo-jumbo excuse you're trotting out this week?"

The light pole in the alley shown directly through Stiles' window, and usually he shut his blackout curtain when he was ready to sleep. Tonight, he was glad for the white light angling over his bed. It washed Derek out, but it also made him softer looking, something Stiles could touch and maybe hold if he were brave enough.

Derek tilted Stiles' head up and kissed him again, keeping it slow, wet, and hot. Stiles nearly lost it again when Derek slid his tongue against Stiles' lips, but while he felt his stomach drop, he didn't feel any pressing need to do something about it.

"You're going to make me happy," Derek said, quirking his head and daring Stiles to disagree with him.

"Okay," Stiles yawned, and fell asleep, confident that Derek would still be there in the morning.