The needle on the gas gauge dipped toward the 'E' making Derek worry about where he'd find the money to fill the car up again. He should sell it, he knew that, but Laura had worked so hard to save the money up to buy it. He'd donated his tip money every Tuesday to the cause even if it hadn't been much.
And now, all he had was the car, a burnt out husk of a house, and problems bigger then he could deal with.
If he could make it to the house without incident, he'd go to sleep, and try again in the morning. Sooner or later, he'd get a lead on the Alpha. He hated the feeling of chasing his tail, watching while people got hurt. He hated feeling so … helpless.
It was only a little after eleven on a Friday night, but there wasn't much traffic in town, and fewer people walking. A few more attacks and there would be a full-blown panic. As bad as the attention was for tourism, it would be worse if a stronger pack heard about their problems and decided to move in. As a general rule, werewolves were not known for their cuddly friendship with other species. The Hales were rather unique in their low profile and willingness to help out once in awhile.
At least, they used to be.
No traffic and he still got caught at a red light. Derek growled softly, annoyed at both the wait and the waste, as he tapped on the steering wheel. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned his head. Three drunks wobbled down the street, clutching each other for balance and still stumbled every other step.
It would serve them right to end up as the Alpha's next meal. He didn't have the time, he should drive home, eat a package of hotdogs and go to bed. Instead, he rolled his window down and yelled, "Get off the streets, and go home. Don't you know it's not safe?"
He shifted the car to park and squinted into the darkness. The one in the middle walked under their own power, with another body hanging on either arm. Finally, they tripped onto a stretch of sidewalk better lit by the neon sign a fast food restaurant. Scott, Stiles, and Allison all three blinked owlishly at him.
Derek reversed into a parking spot and cut the engine. He made sure to slam the door hard, then crossed the street to the teenagers. Of all the stupid, moronic stunts he expected Scott and Stiles to pull, this wasn't one of them. He'd thought they'd finally figured out this wasn't a game, but he'd obviously overestimated them
"You must have been dropped on your head repeatedly as a child," Derek said, clenching his hand into a fist so he wouldn't grab the moron by the throat. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Having the time of my life, what does it look like?" Scott answered, shaking his head to get his hair out of his eyes. Talking to Derek distracted him long enough for Allison to slip free from Scott's arm to dance in the pool of light made from the street lamp.
Derek rolled his eyes, hoping he had never sounded so whiny as a teenager. He'd turned fourteen a month before the hunters killed almost everything he'd ever loved. He hadn't had much of a childhood. "It looks like these two geniuses decided to get drunk and for some reason you decided to take them for a late night stroll," he said, trying not to let any of his jealousy show.
"Someone spiked their drinks, jackass!" Scott yelled, his eyes going golden with anger. "So, how about instead of making fun of me, you help me for once?"
"What were they drinking?" Derek asked, instantly switching targets for his anger. He quickly walked over and steered Allison away from the curb before she broke her ankle. "And who gave it to them?"
"I don't know, I don't- Allison was drinking Coke and Stiles was drinking Trashcan Punch," Scott said, following Derek's every move while he propped up Stiles with his hip.
That sounded like Stiles. "He actually drank something out of a trashcan?" Derek asked, wincing as Allison twined her arms around his neck and giggled like mad while twirling them in a circle. He heard Scott's growl, but more importantly he felt the wave of rage battering against him. The kid would be damn dominant once he grew into his power. He gently pried Allison's hands off him and kept her at arm's length. "Maybe we should trade?"
Scott gulped an obvious breath, visibly controlling himself until Allison touched his chest and made it easier for him to draw away from the edge. He pushed Stiles at Derek and kept a tighter grip on Allison. "Trashcan Punch is mixing a bunch of alcohol together with whatever is in the refrigerator," he said, brushing Allison's hair out of her face. Then he realized something and jerked his head up at Derek, "I was supposed to drink the punch, but I told Stiles he should drink it and loosen up. This is all my fault."
"You managed to get this far without dying or killing anyone. The drugs could have reacted different with your system, so better him than you," Derek said, trailing off as Stiles wrapped both arms around Derek's waist and snuggled into his chest. The boy's temperature was so high it felt like he was cuddling a space heater. "Someone wanted to get you in trouble or out of the way."
"Jackson. Jackson gave me the drinks to give to Sott and Allson," Stiles murmured, rubbing his cheek against Derek's shirt. He kept rubbing closer, as brazen as a cat demanding attention, but hardly as innocent. "He's kind of a douche, but you smell awesome."
Jesus Christ, Stiles licked him, a warm stripe up the tendon of his neck to the spot behind his ear. Thankfully, or not, Stiles blocked the instant bulge in his jeans when all the blood in his body rushed straight to his groin. Derek would never have guessed that Stiles could do anything with his tongue besides annoy the hell out of him.
"I'll take him home," Derek said, reluctantly holding onto Stiles' waist. That Jackson kid would be lucky to keep all his limbs after Derek finished with him. Drugging a person like his was an immature prank that could get someone hurt. "You get her home, and tomorrow, I'll go have a word with Jackson."
A car turned down the street, its headlights flashing over them. Unconsciously, he pulled Stiles closer to him unwilling to chance him falling into the way. Stiles was almost bearable like this, softly quiet, warm and pliable. He hadn't just held anyone in so long, Derek felt his own rough edges soothed away for a split second before he dragged himself back to reality.
Stiles didn't really want him. Not really, and Derek needed to remember that. No matter how good it felt to let go of the anger driving him, he couldn't afford to, not with the Alpha and the hunters both after him. He pushed Stiles away, pulling his wolf around him like a coat to get some distance from what he wanted and couldn't have. All he needed to maintain was an aloof interest in what they could do for him, not the instinct to protect these annoying teenagers.
"I'll talk to him," Scott said, forcing out a burst of power that made Derek simultaneously flinch and inch closer.
He needed to go. These children were not his pack, he didn't owe them anything and they would never give him anything. Derek held on to that thought for all of five seconds before he saw Scott look at Allison, like she was his whole world. He sighed, "Be careful getting her home. Her dad already wants to kill you; this will make him want to break every bone in your body first."
"You too," Scott replied, suddenly grinning and cutting his eyes to the side. Gone was the werewolf, replaced by a teenager looking to get someone in trouble, "Stiles might have loosened up a bit too much."
Since Stiles had just slipped his hand in Derek's back pocket, he would tend to agree. He ground his teeth together, ignoring the heat that set his belly on fire. "Come on, Stilinski," he grabbed the scruff of Stiles' neck and pulled him away toward the car. "Let's go before you do something you regret."
Stiles had the reaction time of a sloth and Derek saved him from bruised knees twice of the way to the car. Derek eased him into the passenger seat, making sure the kid didn't get any more brain damaged. When he reached across to buckle his seatbelt, Stiles leaned forward and rubbed their cheeks together.
"I know I'm irresistible, but try to contain yourself," Derek said, trying to joke and keep the bass out of his voice. Stiles hated him, and all the date rape drugs in the world wouldn't change that. On the other hand, he probably couldn't hate him more once he woke up in the morning and remembered what happened.
He pulled away and walked to the driver's side, looking up to see Scott and Allison disappear past the corner towards her house. Derek shook his head; they were going to end in blood and pain, and neither one would listen to him. He only hoped the collateral damage wasn't as big as the last time he dealt with hunters.
"Are we going to your place?" Stiles asked once Derek was in the car and pulling out into the street. He twisted in his seat, flailing while he tried to order his limbs into some semblance of comfort.
"No," Derek made an illegal u-turn and headed to the opposite side of town. He'd definitely have to scrounge some gas money, or even find a job if nobody chewed on or cut him in half soon. "I'm taking you home, dumping you in bed, and then forgetting that tonight ever happened."
"So, that means you won't remember this."
Derek swerved and jumped the curb, barely missing the mailbox on the corner when a hot hand snaked up the inside of his thigh and cupped his dick through his jeans. He held Stiles' hand down while he got back on the road and screeched to a stop. The added pressure made his brain explode and his dick twitch painfully against his inseam.
"Stiles, I swear to God, I will kill you," Derek gritted through his teeth. He grabbed Stiles' wrist and slammed it down on the console. He caught Stiles' other hand sneaking onto his lap again and squeezed them together in his grip. "Sit there and don't move."
"If I behave, can I suck your dick when we get there?" Stiles asked, leaning his head on Derek's shoulder while he pulled to free his hands. "It's just that I'm probably going to die soon, what with all the werewolves, hunters, and lacrosse players after me. I don't want to die a virgin."
"I don't get paid enough for this," Derek said, breathing deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth. He smelled the offensive body spray deodorant everyone used these days, a faint trace of alcohol, and the musky scent of sex. He rolled down the windows hoping it would help clear Stiles' head. And his own.
Behind them, a car laid on its horn and then passed them on the right. Stiles watched it go and then turned to Derek with his eyes opened wide, pupils blown and more glassy looking than normal. He licked his lips, and Derek unconsciously mimicked the action until he jerked away. With a sigh, Derek let off the brake, and somehow he made it to Stiles' house without further incident despite the steady stream of filth pouring out of Stiles' mouth.
Getting Stiles out of the car was another matter entirely. It felt like he'd grown a couple extra arms that grabbed Derek in all the wrong places. Actually, all the right places at exactly the wrong time.
"Stiles, get your hands out from under my shirt," Derek said, resigned to dying a slow death of blue balls until he could get rid of the kid and spend some quality time with his left hand. Stiles refused to walk under his own power, pressing his face into Derek's collarbone and going limp while Derek dragged him across the driveway. "I'm going to torture you for this, you know."
"Are you coming inside?" Stiles asked, drawing his fingernails along Derek's spine in a way that felt much too good. "There's a bed in there. We could do bedly things. Hot, sticky, humping things."
Derek laughed, taking a selfish minute to put his hand on the small of Stiles' back and pull them together. He tipped Stiles' head with fingers on his chin, and asked, "You want to hump me?"
"I want to do everything with you," Stiles breathed, dipping his head until he sucked Derek's thumb into his mouth. As warm as his skin was, inside, he burned hotter, licking and biting at the web between Derek's thumb and palm. "No one else ever looks at me, but you do. Sometimes. Don't you want me?"
Shit, Stiles was usually so oblivious, that Derek had probably taken too many chances. He'd never meant it to be anything other than a diversion from the giant sinkhole of his life. Stiles had something unique, something pure and Derek desperately didn't want to sully. Reluctantly, he pulled his thumb away, "Stiles-."
"Shhh," Stiles put his finger on Derek's lips, swaying gently from side to side. He was so wasted, he didn't even have his eyes open anymore. "It's okay, you can tell people that I made you do it. Or that you feel sorry for me."
Derek huffed out a laugh, the cold air catching his breath and curling it around his head. He pulled Stiles' hand away from his mouth and curled it around his neck instead. "Only you would get drugged and try to take advantage of other people," he said, rearranging them so Stiles had his back to the house. He propped Stiles up by the doorjamb so he could search through his far too numerous pockets for the keys. "Besides, who would I tell?"
"Please," Stiles arched up, pressing their chests together. He clutched at Derek's hips and slotted their thighs together. "Derek, please. I need…this feels. It hurts. Just kiss me."
"Stiles, when I kiss you, it won't be because I pity you," Derek said, feeling the last of his resolve crumbling away until Stiles looked at him with obvious trust. He pushed the teenager away and held him there. It felt like holding fire in the palm of his hand. "If you remember one thing from tonight, remember that."
"What the hell do you think you're doing with my son?"
"Nothing!" Derek yelped, the word shot out like a kneejerk reaction. Sheriff Stilinski stood in the doorway, blocking the light from inside. Derek winced, easing away from Stiles … who promptly toppled over into the bushes. "Well, shit."
The Sheriff glared, but between the two of them, they hauled Stiles up and into the house. At the stairs, Stilinski took a better hold of Stiles and looked over at Derek. "I'm going to take him to his room. You do not move from this spot until I get back," he said, in the language of angry fathers everywhere, over enunciating each word as if Derek were hard of hearing.
"Yes, sir," Derek mumbled, feeling all of sixteen again the first night he'd ever broken curfew and made Laura call the police looking for him. Thankfully, the first shock and guilt over Stiles' predicament had taken care of his pesky erection.
Stilinski trudged down the stairs again a few minutes later, loosening his tie so the knot hung low at his throat. "Now, starting from the beginning," he said, grabbing Derek by the elbow and pulling him into the dining room, "without leaving anything out, tell me exactly happened tonight."
Derek explained the situation as clearly as he could while leaving out his own relationship with the boys, the alcohol at the party, and the fact they knew Jackson was responsible. Or that any werewolves were involved. Or that Stiles had turned out to be such a responsive little perv. He managed to keep his face blank through several minutes of silence while Stilinski studied him.
"I was under the impression that my son thinks you're a murderer," Stilinski said, leaning in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "Why would you help him?"
"Just a concerned citizen, sir," Derek shrugged, attempting to pull off a pleasant expression until he realized his smile actually made Stilinski more uncomfortable. He carefully covered his teeth and slumped, trying to burn holes at the linoleum where it curled under the dishwasher. He didn't know why he ever pretended to play nice, it wasn't in his nature.
"This is what we're going to do, Hale," Stilinski said, sitting forward aggressively and tapping the table with his finger. "We're going to sit here until my son wakes up. If he says that you had anything to do with this, I will personally make sure that no one ever finds your body."
He'd faced werewolves and hunters, grizzly bears, and social services, and none of those fights had intimidated him like this angry father. Derek had made himself forget his own family, the good memories and the bad because it hurt too much to remember. Suddenly, he wanted Stilinski to like him. "Listen," he said, spreading his hands, "this is all a big misunderstanding."
In response, Stilinski pulled his gun from his holster and ejected the clip without breaking eye contact with Derek. He then carefully placed both items on the table in front of him within easy reach. There was one bullet chambered, and they both knew the other understood it. "We'll see," he said evenly.
Bowing to the inevitable, Derek settled in for a long night.
"Dad! Are there pancakes yet? I had the weirdest dream last night."
Sheriff Stilinski snorted, jerking up from where he'd slumped over asleep on the table after the fifth hour of their stalemate. He rubbed his eyes and squinted at Derek, wiping away a bit of drool he'd left on the table. Creases from his shirt sleeve lined his face, and his whiskers had edged past stubble and into beard territory.
Derek didn't twitch at Stiles' yelling, even though his ass and most of his left side tingled from having fell asleep in the unforgiving wooden chair. He'd had more than enough time to think about the little he'd made of his life. He had his vengeance, but what else did he have? A car he couldn't afford and a house falling down on his head. He'd been listening to Stiles wake up and bounce off the walls for the last fifteen minutes trying to decide what to do.
Stiles thumped down the stairs sounding more like a herd of deer than only one person. He was shirtless, only wearing a pair of long shorts that dipped beneath his hipbones. A bit of puppy fat clung around his stomach and love handles, but lacrosse and the recent running for his life had added definition to the muscles in his arms and shoulders.
"Also? I think something died in my mouth," he said, yawning wide and using his knuckles to knock the sleep from his eyes. He scratched his belly at the waistband of his shorts and finally opened his eyes when he bounced off the doorframe between the living room and the kitchen. Derek could see the wheels turning as Stiles looked first at his dad, then at Derek, then to the gun sitting on the table between them.
"Bad dream. Bad, bad, dream, and I'm going to wake up from it any second now," Stiles said, trying to cover his naked chest as he walked backwards to the stairs.
"Stiles, come here," Stilinski said, standing and holstering his weapon. He started a pot of coffee and then leaned against the counter keeping most of his attention on Derek. Then he noticed that Stiles was still inching his way upstairs. "Get your ass over here, son. Now, you tell me exactly what happened last night, and I will know if you lie or leave anything out."
Keeping his eyes on the table, Derek prayed Stiles was quick enough to realize what he should and should not say. Fortunately, the story that Stiles spun was close enough to what Derek had said to make no difference. Slowly, Derek lifted his gaze and watched a flush crawl down Stiles' chest. His pale skin pinked up, and Derek couldn't help thinking about what else would have the same effect.
"So, I was at the party you gave me permission to be at, and someone thought spiking the drinks would be a good idea. Totally not my fault!" Stiles said, pleading his innocence.
Derek managed to restrain his scoff, but Stiles' father didn't. He waited until he poured a cup of coffee and drank half of it before while he looked back and forth between Stiles and Derek. "How does he fit in?" he asked, tipping his cup at Derek.
"Um, yeah. He, uh-" Stiles stuttered over his words, blushing even harder as he avoided looking in Derek's direction. "I don't really remember, but I'm sure he was helping. We, we've come to an understanding. Kinda."
"And what do you have to add?" Stilinski asked, turning to Derek.
Finally, Derek felt the circulation in his body return to normal, and he stood up to stretch. He walked around the table behind Stiles and briefly touched his shoulder. "I was only trying to help him," he said, watching intently from the corner of his eye as Stiles shivered and pressed closer to Derek's side.
Sighing, Stilinski poured another mug of coffee and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know my son, and if I tell him that he can't see you, he'll be sneaking out his window and gallivanting through the woods. I don't know if you care for him, but I do," he said, walking to them. He squeezed Stiles' other shoulder and then poked Derek hard in the chest. "You can stay for breakfast. You're only allowed on the first floor. You tell me where you're going and when. He has a curfew, and I have a gun. Am I understood?"
"Yes," Derek said, holding Stilinski's eyes until Stiles choked and caught their attention.
"I'm going to catch a nap before I go to work," Stilinski said, as he flicked Stiles' ear and nodded at Derek. "You boys behave."
They waited until Stilinski's footsteps trailed off, and Derek heard the bedsprings squeak. Stiles collapsed at the table with his head in his hands, but Derek headed to the refrigerator and pulled out what he needed to make a couple of omelets. He was starving, and if he didn't get some food in him soon he'd have a hard time controlling himself.
"I, uh, I'm sorry he assumed. I'll tell him the truth when he wakes up."
"The truth about what?" Derek asked, quickly looking through the cabinets until he found the utensils he needed. He started browning the sausage first, and then cracked half a dozen eggs into a bowl. While most of his attention stayed on the food, he also felt super aware of Stiles' every movement as Stiles stood and came closer.
Stiles picked up the Tabasco sauce and added some to the egg mixture. As he leaned over, his chest brushed Derek's arm, and Derek caught the same scent from the car that made his whole body tighten in response. He cleared his throat and added the eggs to the meat and vegetables sizzling in the skillet.
"About you and me and how there's not a you and me," Stiles answered so quickly Derek had trouble picking out individual words from the general slur. He cringed away, but Derek kept his movement slow and steady while he continued cooking.
"How much do you remember from last night?" Derek asked, instead of directly responding to Stiles. He didn't want to push himself on Stiles if last night had simply happened because of the drugs in Stiles' system instead of the feelings and thoughts in his head. If Scott and Allison could have a relationship, then maybe he still had hope for something besides a lonely life and a painful death. Maybe there had been something to Stiles' actions.
Shrugging, Stiles reached into the cabinet in front of him and pulled out a pair of plates. "I don't remember much. Only Scott freaking out and pulling me and Allison outside after I, after I," Stiles trailed off, hunching his shoulders up near his ears.
The smell of sausage and onions made his mouth water, but Derek moved his attention away and turned the fire down so he could look at Stiles. "After you what?" he asked, listening to Stiles' heart beat against his chest. He bit his lip, and then dared reach out to place his hand on the back of Stiles' ribcage. Stiles immediately breathed heavier, his heart beat faster, and his skin burned hotter. Derek felt his hopes lift.
"I was singing karaoke, kinda," Stiles ducked his head, scratching his shoulder, "to Danny."
Jealousy hit him like a fist to the gut and he pulled his hand away to flip the omelet over. Stiles wanted some guy named Danny, not Derek. Last night, Stiles had been thinking about that guy while he squirmed against Derek. He scraped the spatula against the pan harder than necessary and slapped the food down on the plates Stiles held out.
"Eat your food," Derek snarled, pulling a loaf of bread and bunch of bananas onto the table with him. He couldn't help feeling disappointed and angry, even though neither of them had done anything wrong. The hunters had told him before that he was destined for a painful, lonely, and short life. He should accept that.
Stiles set his plate down opposite from Derek, but then he went to grab glasses and some cartons out of the refrigerator. He poured himself milk and then pushed everything over at Derek. "This isn't bad. Maybe you should give up your life of crime and get a cooking show on basic cable," Stiles said, his smile fading while Derek stared at him.
"Are you damaged, or what?" Derek asked, pouring himself some juice. The extra sugar might give him the energy he needed to get the hell out of Dodge.
"No, I'm trying to thank you in my complicated and possibly meandering way," Stiles said through a full mouth after he'd taken several bites without chewing. A bit of egg escaped and clung to the corner of his mouth. "And for last night too, helping me and putting up with my dad. You didn't have to, especially since you actively hate all my innards, guts included."
"Don't worry about it," Derek answered, eating as fast as he could. He still needed to sleep himself, figure out some way to make some money, and then grab Scott to make the idiot practice until he had more control over his shifting. The sooner he forgot this embarrassment the better he'd feel. "Try not to be willfully idiotic in the future."
He scraped his plate clean with a piece of bread, and finished with some of the fruit. His stomach complained at his speed he shoved the food down, but Derek was determined to cut and run. He'd already gotten too involved in their world. Pushing away from the table, he took his plate to the sink and rinsed it off, though when he turned around, Stiles had snuck up on him.
"What are you doing?" Derek asked, retreating until he jammed his lower back into the counter. He grunted at the impact, watching as Stiles invaded his space and then simply stood there, looking lost.
"Maybe I do remember something?" Stiles said, or maybe he asked, looking up at Derek from under his eyelashes. He rubbed his bicep and then grabbed his elbow, keeping his arm in between their bodies. "Or it was a really nice dream? I don't know, but Scott told me that I should man up and do something. So, here goes nothing."
Stiles lifted up on his toes and stretched over to plant a kiss on Derek's mouth. They both had their mouths shut and their eyes wide open as Stiles pressed harder, almost as if he was willing it to work just by shear want. His eyes fluttered shut and his mouth opened enough to add some moisture between their lips.
He felt like he was falling. Like the ground had opened up beneath him and sucked him into that gray world of ghosts where his family lived. Derek jolted forward, catching Stiles and holding on as hard as he could. Stiles' arm poked into his sternum, but he didn't care, not when he closed his eyes and deepened the kiss. He shoved his tongue past Stiles' teeth and tilted his head, pushing his nose into Stiles' cheek.
Stiles' body was so warm, wiggling against him until Stiles managed to free his arm. He slid his hands under Derek's jacket, raking his blunted nails on Derek's spine as he had the night before. Derek spread his fingers across the small of Stiles' back, pulling them flush together.
They kissed forever, and Derek rubbed his cheeks over Stiles' face and neck. He heard small noises, whines trapped and desperately trying to escape. He dropped his head and pressed his ear tight to Stiles' chest, listening to his heartbeat while they both caught their breath. It was overwhelming, and not just his instinct to rut against Stiles until he came and collapsed. Touching another body made him feel like he was drowning.
"Derek. Derek, my dad is upstairs," Stiles said, combing his fingers through Derek's hair and down to trace the tattoo between Derek's shoulder blades. "Shh. It's okay. We're okay. I've got you."
The noises were coming from his own throat. Derek quickly shoved his emotions away searching for the distance he found when he changed, but for the first time, he failed to find it. The floor chilled his hands, making him realize that they'd slid to the floor and he was splayed over Stiles' body. They were both hard, but only Derek was shaking. He frowned at Stiles' shoulders, neck, and face; the skin was red and scratched, already showing where bruises would start to form.
For some reason, Stiles wasn't shouting for his gun wielding father or shoving Derek off. He settled a little more comfortably between Stiles' legs and lifted his weight to his elbows instead of Stiles' ribs. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, concentrating his senses to tell if Stiles tried to lie to him.
"No, well yes, but that's okay," Stiles said quickly, biting his bottom lip. At some point, he'd rucked Derek's shirt up and now he stroked his fingers nervously along Derek's bare sides. "I kinda like being underneath you. I mean, you probably like it on top. I'm going to stop talking now."
Derek couldn't help smiling at that, curling up on his knees so that he pushed Stiles legs up and apart at the same time. His groin hit right below Stiles' balls, friction that made them both hiss and push harder. "So, you like this then?" he asked, wanting to make sure despite how responsive Stiles behaved.
Narrowing his eyes, Stiles answered, "I think you know I do." Then he wrapped his legs around Derek's waist and traced Derek's eyebrows with his thumbs. He lifted up and kissed Derek briefly before continuing, "But my dad will kill you in an inventively painful way if he ever sees us like this."
He slipped his arm under Stiles, and carefully heaved them both up until he stood, holding Stiles against him. The move twinged his knee a little from where he was still recovering from a twist he took in the woods. It was worth it for the glazed over look in Stiles' eyes as they rubbed together.
"Now you're trying to turn me on," Stiles grinned, curling his arms behind Derek's neck. He leaned in close, whispering against Derek's ear, "I'll tell you a secret. It doesn't take much."
"Stiles, I," Derek paused, closing his eyes while he tried to talk himself out of saying what he was about to say. He had to say it or he wouldn't be able to live with himself, "I'm not a nice person. I don't do nice things, and I have no idea how to be what you need."
Stiles let his legs go slack and slipped out of Derek's hold. He tipped Derek's head up and stepped in to a real hug, dipping his head under Derek's chin. Derek tried not to flinch at the vulnerable position, but he was fairly sure Stiles wouldn't rip out his jugular vein. He wouldn't have allowed it with anyone else. He couldn't have.
"I'm a teenager with an attention disorder, a plethora of bizarre interests, and a father who will probably try to skin you alive, and that's before he finds out you're a werewolf," Stiles said, his breath drifting through Derek's t-shirt. "Also, I'd like to try to suck your dick, and I want to be what you need too."
Derek sucked in a breath, dropping his hands to Stiles' ass.
"I am now coming down the stairs!" Sheriff Stilinski yelled seconds before Derek heard his footsteps. "When I get down there, I'd better see everybody's hands in appropriate places."
Stiles squawked and jumped halfway across the kitchen, opening the pantry door as camouflage for his abused skin and the obvious bulge in his shorts. Derek laughed, an honest laugh that only got louder when he received identical scowls from father and son. He still had more than his share of problems, but they didn't seem quite so big anymore.