When Stiles makes it past the first interview for the Gathering of Mages the last thing he’s thinking of are the repercussions of packing up all his shit and moving across the country. In all fairness, he’s completely blind-sighted by landing his dream job that any potential consequences of said dream job become such a non-issue that they may as well be white noise.
It’s only after he’s signed the contract submitting two years of loyal service to his fellow magic bros, which consists of druids, witches, wizards, alchemists and one pretty kickass shaman, does he actually realise that oh yeah, he needs to pack up his shit and move across the goddamn country.
Don’t get him wrong. That’s not a problem. He’s a flexible dude and they haven’t had a spark at the Gathering of Mages for a few centuries, so he knows it’s an incredible honour and testament to his skills. The least he can do is use up some flyer miles to transport his sparky ass to their head office in order to continue using said skills, especially with the promise of a pretty decent paycheck. The real issue is that the head office is in New York.
Which hey, what’s the deal with New York right? It’s the city that never sleeps. Surely it’s Valhalla for a dude made up of 50 per cent magic, twenty per cent ADHD and thirty per cent additional boundless energy that cannot be defined or rationally explained. He and New York are like a dysfunctional match made in heaven.
That would usually be the case. Except for the fact that while New York may be the city that never sleeps, it’s also known on an underground level as a city of weirdos. But not your regular run of the mill eccentric- I was once a billionaire but now I wear pants backwards and strike up random uncomfortable conversations with strangers- kind of weird. Oh, no.
Supernatural weird. Like New York is literally overrun with supernatural beings. All of which are either friendly, or not so friendly. Fun fact: the not so friendly are normally the ones that eat you.
And then there’s some that don't belong to either classification and fall to a rare breed of supernatural that is improbably promiscuous and kind of arousing. Those are the ones he really needs to watch out for.
And okay, he’s a spark. He knows how to handle any kind of assbackwards monster that discovers a taste for devouring his genitals- he wouldn’t have gotten the job otherwise. But there’s this self-sabotaging voice in the back of his head that just sighs forlornly at the idea and wonders if it’s worth all the heat. Because unlike the rest of his future colleagues, sparks tend to emit magical signatures like pheromones drawing every other supernatural beast to them.
One zap of magical juice is as simple as ringing a dinner bell. Which could attest for the lack of sparks available nowadays.
Natural selection at its finest.
He’s no spring flower, though. The last thing on his mind is personal safety. He’s just slightly concerned about the muggles he might be putting in danger through close proximity. Say like from a unit in a shared apartment block.
So he ventures onto craigslist and finds a couple places where risk to humans won’t be that high, flies out to New York for the weekend and goes apartment hunting.
The first one is a bust. It belongs to a goatman and while Stiles doesn’t discriminate, he isn’t at that level of desperation yet. So it’s pretty easy to pass up. The next one is a small unit with two shapeshifters. And while they’re friendly enough, he knows for a fact when food gets scarce they’ve been known to eat whoever is closely available. Namely, virile young sparks with their whole lives ahead of them. Before he leaves, he wards himself so they can’t mimic his form. Just in case.
By the fifth one, he’s starting to lose all hope of living as cheaply in New York as possible. But then he gets a good look at the place and quickly changes tune.
It’s in Brooklyn and it’s one of those really old four level brownstone apartments built around the 1800’s. They’ve restored it so it’s in pretty good nick, but before he even reaches the steps his fingers start buzzing.
So it’s also a pretty decent magical site, too. He’s already humming to himself, pleased at the good energy rolling over him in waves. Sparks can’t be too picky when it comes to good vibes and he’s pretty much sold as he climbs the short set of steps to the front door.
The woman he spoke to on the phone explained he needed to be approved first before the unit is his, but he’s more than willing to put some supernatural charm into the interview to get it. He totally wants to live in a mystical brownstone. Things are even more interesting when he feels the welcoming pulse of magic and the door opens before he can knock.
The foyer is empty, which he’d already sensed, but he steps inside anyway, mouth open in awe as he looks upward past the winding staircase.
“Who the hell are you?” a woman bristles, heels clicking on the marble as she stalks toward him.
He feels a pulse of familiar energy, recognising her as the one he spoke to earlier with the slightly raspy voice.
“Lydia, right?” he remembers with a grin, exposing his hand to shake. “Stiles Stilinski. We spoke on the phone.”
Lydia narrows her eyes at his extended hand and when he doesn’t drop it, permits her fingers to slip into his own. He doesn’t need the steady thrum to tell him that she’s a banshee. He’d known just by listening to her talk. She looks positively terrifying, but he can’t seem to stop smiling at her anyway. Sparks have no concept of survival, especially under the aegis of the powerful magic they're capable of wielding.
She releases him with a raised eyebrow that forewarns imminent danger. “How did you get in here?”
He shrugs. “Oh, that. Your house let me in.”
The house creaks in amusement at her displeased scowl. “Warlock?” she guesses, looking like she’s trusting him less and less with each passing minute. Stiles can’t help it if old magic likes him.
“Spark,” he says, and the tension leaves her shoulders a little.
“Let me show you the unit we have available,” she decides once he’s considered less of a threat.
It’s a little insulting that in comparison to warlocks the supernatural community basically sees sparks as pushovers and probable monster fodder, but if that’s gonna get him the unit then for once, he’s not going to bother to correct her. With a parting glance, Lydia leads them up the flight of stairs to the very top floor.
“So what do you do?” he asks to keep the conversation rolling and at least appear like a potentially sociable neighbour. Lydia mentioned that she leases a unit on the second level over the phone.
She twists to look at him with a careful flick of her curls and heavy disdain. “I scream,” she says like he’s a simpleton.
Stiles snorts, but flushes at her expression of impending doom. “No. I know but, like, um- professionally?”
“I’m a lawyer at Paranormal Associates,” she says in a tone that swiftly crushes the conversation with a fatal blow.
He figures silence is safer anyway, what with his proclivity towards foot-in-mouth disease, and by the time they reach the unit 4B, he’s only slightly out of breath. Lydia goes to open the door, but it unlocks and swings wide before she reaches it. He has to press his lips tight to hide the smirk at the liking the building's clearly taken to him. He has nothing against such blatant favouritism, nothing at all.
Lydia curses in annoyance, but he can’t help but notice her eyes flicker anxiously towards the door at the end of the hallway, labelled 4D. It’s polite not to use his magic to sense into other people’s apartments, but curiosity gets the better of him after her display. It’s just a cursory sweep, like a soft and tentative caress but the unit is empty of any life. Supernatural or human. Not empty enough that he can’t feel the leftover potent energy lingering behind the door. Something prominent in the supernatural hierarchy lives there.
He follows Lydia into his unit because yeah, he’s feeling that confident about this already. The apartment has a decent kitchen and bedroom with a pretty sweet cityscape view and an en suite. There’s no negative remnants left behind from the past tenant. At least, not in the living room. He’s picking up on something not quite right emanating from the bedroom, but.
That can be fixed, though. It is more awesome than anything he could’ve dreamt up. He’s just waiting on Lydia for the catch.
“Not going to lie, this is kinda perfect for me. The rent's decent and it’s got a great location and space. I’d be more than happy to sign a lease if you find me acceptable.”
Lydia ushers him back out into the hallway again. Then tries to lock the unit up but the key won’t turn because it seems like the building isn’t allowing her to do so. She seems to reach the same conclusion and gives up her efforts with a sigh. Stiles grins. Lydia shoots him a dirty look as if he’s to blame. “You don’t want to ask who your residents are?”
He shrugs and spins in a quick circle, arms outstretched in a wide arch. “Don’t need to. You’ve got an entire werewolf pack. A druid emissary in 1A, a hunter and banshee in 2A, a beta in 2B, beta twins in 2C, a mercenary in 3A, a werecoyote in 3B, two betas in 3C, a kanima and human in 3D, a beta and a pregnant kitsune in 4A, another beta in 4C and then you’ve got the Alpha in 4D. The rest are human.”
Lydia blinks. “You got all of that from spinning in a circle?” she presses, with notable fascination in her tone. “Your fingers are shooting sparks, by the way.”
Stiles laughs and shakes his hands out. The blue sparks sputter out and die. They normally do that when he’s nervous or giddy. "I got all of that from your phone call,” he clarifies a little smugly.
Lydia’s eyes widen slightly before she folds her arms and resumes looking eternally unimpressed. “Look, I’ll be honest. The last tenant didn’t work out and I’m not really meant to be leasing out the place without the Alpha’s approval first. He’s the one who owns the building.”
“I would never cause harm to your pack,” he says gently. “I just want to live somewhere that won’t put any humans at risk when the supernatural comes knocking.”
Lydia frowns. “You’re a magnet right? What makes you think we’re going to let you put us in danger?”
“For one, we’re much more resistant than humans and secondly-“ he gestures at 4D, sensing the pressure building behind the door just as it swings open and a wad of paperwork slides across the floor towards them.
It hits the edge of Lydia’s pumps. He tilts his head to read it before quickly realising it’s the tenancy agreement: all with the quick loopy handwriting of the building owner already signed below. Huh. Problem solved.
“Alright, I get it,” Lydia barks, bending down to scoop it up.
Even with the visible proof of the contract in her hands, he would never have guessed a sentient house could be so accommodating. Stiles manages to squint through the signature.
“Who’s Derek Hale?” he asks curiously.
She dumps the paperwork into his outstretched hands. It’s heavier than he’d imagined. Supernatural paperwork normally is. Higher risk of death means a lot more words to cover their asses. He has no doubt Lydia herself came up with this one.
“Once you sign this, you’re unofficially under the authority of Derek Hale,” she says. “If you can’t be a part of this pack then this place isn’t for you.”
The idea doesn’t actually bother him. Pack also means protection, but Stiles has got plenty to offer them as well. He's never been just a take kinda guy- he's all about the give. And he’s got nothing against mutual benefits for both parties.
Plus, he’s never been a part of a pack before. Or any kind of group really. Belonging somewhere might be good for him.
Being a spark can be pretty lonely. So he just shrugs.
“I don’t have a-“ he barely gets out before a door is opening downstairs, pen flying violently upwards before it whacks him up the side of the head.
“Um, thanks,” he says, rubbing his skull a little bemusedly as he signs the lease. The house lets out a shuddering sigh and several windows open as if it’s exhaling a breath of satisfaction.
Lydia seems both suspicious and impressed by the agreeable response. “Did you bribe the building or something?” she wonders.
Stiles shrugs, and waggles his fingers teasingly. “Just my natural charisma.”
The fact that both her and the building seem to snort is not entirely flattering.
Stiles returns a week later with a suitcase full of as much clothes as he’s allowed to carry through airport security. He even charms the suitcase so it can carry more without surpassing the limit. The rest of his stuff is being shipped in later on.
Lydia didn’t bother giving him a key and when the main doors open for him without question, he figures he doesn’t exactly need it. With the unfair amount of stairs to climb ahead of him, he reasons using a little bit of magic won’t give off too much energy. Better than dragging luggage up four floors.
So instead of suffering, he levitates the suitcase so that it hovers above him while he walks. His blood sings with the first trickle of magic he’s used since entering New York, and the house seems to hum with delight.
“Yeah, yeah don’t get used to it,” he grumbles to the building and starts climbing.
He makes it up to the fourth floor without seeing anybody, though he can sense his neighbours moving around in their units. Oddly enough, his door doesn’t open for him when he reaches it, so he’s left there puzzling out 4B and wondering what the building is trying to show him. The house better not be waiting for a secret magical password.
“What’s gives, dude?”
It becomes pretty clear what it wants when the door to 4D swings ajar.
Stiles’ mouth falls open.
The alpha energy ripples over him in a deluge, making his blood pulsate as the mountain of muscle bears down on him in the hallway. The potent lifeblood of an alpha werewolf is overwhelming now that he’s finally come across one. Betas and omegas have never been so distinct, or as rich in virility, as the guy right in front of him. He can’t help that his magic flares up in response.
Especially when this alpha is painfully gorgeous. Stiles is so surprised, he forgets the suitcase hovering above him. The spell releases with a twang and it drops heavily out of the air. There’s not enough time for him to catch it with his hands- or his magic- and he flinches, knowing it’s going to hurt, just as the alpha extends his thick, corded arms and plucks the suitcase out of the danger zone like it weighs nothing.
Stiles gapes at him, speechless. The guy’s perfectly stubbled jaw clenches with what can only be annoyance.
“Who are you?” the alpha demands, none too politely, as he dumps Stiles’ suitcase on the ground.
He doesn’t mind the unwelcoming attitude so much because he gets a pretty good view of the alpha’s ass as he bends over. When he straightens up and folds his muscular arms together, Stiles thinks he might actually burst out of the Henley he’s sporting. The expectant look on his face reminds him that yeah, those are words coming out of his mouth. And if he wants to make a good impression, maybe he should start considering answering them.
“What now?” he finally manages to reply, once remembering he can, in fact, speak English. His magic seems to be happily spritzing all over the place as an after effect of the alpha’s power, and it takes him a moment to reclaim control.
“Who are you, warlock?” the alpha presses, like he's not planning to ask again. Not without using some serious violence.
Stiles' temper flares at the pure hatred in his voice. Prejudiced much? “First of all I’m a spark, big guy, so get your classification right. And I’m Stiles Stilinski. I just leased out this apartment.”
The alpha is openly scowling now. “No, you didn’t.”
The building chooses that moment to swing open the door to 4B, as if to prove him wrong. Ha! Looks like grumpywolf can suck it. Stiles cocks his head to the side and offers a smug grin, before walking in to his new home. The luggage follows with a flick of his wrist as the alpha’s sudden curse rings in his ears.
The second footsteps tell him that he’s not far behind. “I didn’t even sign the contract,” he declares, petulantly.
Stiles is hardly going to explain that the building already did that for him, so he just shrugs and sets the suitcase down in the living room. Part of the lease didn’t include furniture, so he’s a little surprised to see there’s a couch already sitting there waiting for him. The room tingles now, with leftover negative pulses of something he can’t put his finger on. But from the way it appears to link to, and linger, around the alpha, Stiles thinks it’s to do with him.
It definitely hadn’t been as powerful last week.
“Someone died here, didn’t they?” Stiles guesses, inhaling deeply.
The alpha tenses, and the palpable awkwardness is interrupted by the bedroom door slowly opening. Interest piqued, Stiles peers through the open doorway at the bed and wonders what the building is trying to tell him. Was the girl murdered in the bedroom? Timmy fell down the well?
“How did you get a bed in here so fast?” the alpha demands, eyes wide with both fury and amazement.
Stiles raises his eyebrow, becoming more confused by the second. “Uh- I didn’t?” he says, framing it like a question.
“Would you quit it, already?” the alpha snaps, and Stiles finger’s crackle with defensive sparks before he realises that he’s yelling at the building.
Who it seems has provided Stiles with furniture. And isn't that pretty generous. Question is, where did it even get it in the first place? Bed, Bath and Beyond? His money is definitely on Beyond.
The building shakes a little in response to the threat, but even Stiles can tell it’s blatantly mocking the alpha and not actually remorseful. A magical house with a penchant for dismissing authority seems like the kind of tinder to start an inferno. Good thing he isn't into the quiet life of the supernatural spectrum. If that's even possible.
“Look, Derek Hale, is it?- can I call you Derek?”
“Right so, Derek,” he says, ignoring the alpha’s rudeness. “I’m already here and I’ve paid the first months rent. I can also cleanse this room for you and help protect your pack by warding the building. There’s really no downside to me living here.”
Derek’s scowl deepens. “I don’t trust you,” he says. “You need to leave.”
And then he stomps forward to grab Stiles’ wrist like he's going to sling him across his shoulder in a fireman's carry and physically toss him out. His hand barely moves toward him when there’s a strange popping in the air and Derek gets pushed back by an invisible force. His boots screech gratingly against the woodwork, before he’s suddenly standing in the hall looking murderous as the door slams shut, locking in his face.
Stiles flushes with the heat of the encounter but years around his grandma taught him some manners.
Stiles flushes with the heat of the encounter but years around his grandma taught him some manners.
“Nice meeting you!” he calls out through the door, already patting the building’s wall affectionately.
Good house, he mouths because otherwise Derek will hear him.
He sets to quickly unpacking all of his clothes because he starts work on Monday and he can’t exactly arrive naked. It’s only when he hears Derek’s door slam a little while later that he decides it's safe to venture out. He walks through Brooklyn, enjoying the nightlife as he finds his way to the closest market place.
It’s pretty sweet and he only gets followed by two curious werebeasts, who are more interested in the way he smells rather than what his insides tastes like. So that's a sizeably welcomed change, to say the least.
Once he’s in the market, he permits his senses to guide him to the place he needs to go.
As always, it doesn't disappoint. He ends up in some old man’s basement who sells him the ingredients he needs, at a pretty good price for a goblin. Stiles buys his own dinner because he’s in no mood to cook and there’s nothing in his fridge yet. He makes his way back to the apartment, chewing on the remains of his burrito and feeling pretty great about life in general.
His mood makes warding the house a cake walk. Especially when it’s so cooperative. Once he’s created the protective poultice, he places it into the mailbox and listens to it disappear into the building like it’s been sucked up a chute. It will allow the house more power when it comes to sensing, and barring, unwanted or malevolent guests.
It'll definitely keep out the supernatural riff raff, no problem.
The window panes rattle in gratitude and Stiles bumps his fist against the front doorknob when he sweeps past. They are totally bros. This house has got his back, he can tell.
Lydia is standing in the doorway of unit 2A, as he climbs the staircase. A pretty brunette peers behind her back, resting her chin on Lydia’s shoulder whilst wrapping an arm around her waist. “How did it go with Derek?” she wonders.
“About as well as it could’ve. He tried to kick me out but then the house swept him out of the room.”
Her girlfriend’s eyes widen. “The house kicked him out? Seriously?”
He nods, and figures the favouritism is not normal enchanted brownstone behaviour. Especially when he’s only been inside the building twice. And Derek literally owns the damn thing. Maybe magical brownstones are biased when it comes to other magic?
“What were you doing to the building just now?” Lydia asks curiously, with her fingers wrapped around a wineglass.
Stiles grins at her. “I just gave it an energy boost, is all.”
He extends his hand out to the pretty brunette. “Hey, you must be Lydia’s hunter. I’m Stiles.”
The girl’s lips curve into a soft smile. “I’m Allison. You’ve really stirred up the place. I’ve never seen the building take such a liking to anyone, except Derek.”
Stiles shrugs modestly. “I’m extremely loveable,” he explains, before handing over a jar of his own tea he usually carries on his person. Allison takes it with a curious look. “If you brew this it will help with your nightmares.”
Allison’s hand tightens around the jar, smile vanishing as Lydia hisses and moves to push her girlfriend back into the apartment.
“Hey, hey. I don’t mean any harm,” he promises, seeing their mistrust. “Sparks are just a little sensitive to stuff like that. Consider it a neighbourly gift.”
“Um- well thanks, Stiles,” Allison manages, and gingerly opens it up to take a sniff. “Passion flower and lavender?”
Stiles nods, impressed as Lydia leans in to inhale suspiciously. “You know your stuff.”
“Hunter,” she says with a shrug.
“Still impressed,” he retorts, then shifts his bags full of herbs from one hand to the other before he continues up the staircase with a friendly wave.
“Hey, Stiles,” Lydia calls, and he pauses on the next step. “Have dinner with us tomorrow night.”
It’s not an invitation. But Stiles is pretty good at taking direction when he feels like it. “Sure. I’ll stop by after I finish work.”
When he makes it to the fourth floor, he’s really beginning to soak into the easy energy encasing every inch of the place. And he knows he made the right decision. From what he's sensed, there won’t be a person in the building he’ll be at odds with. It's near impossible to butt heads in such a happy place. Except, maybe with Derek. But he’s gonna work on that.
There's something niggling at the edge of his senses, though. A sort of almost that nearly happened. Like an in-between. And he thinks it has something to do with his bedroom in 4B and the girl who died there.
The building doesn’t swing the door open straight away for him again so he waits there patiently for a moment, wondering what it’s up to.
“Hey, c’mon now,” he admonishes when no answer is forthcoming. “I thought we were house bros.”
Nothing happens. Some house bros. The building hums a little and then the door opens.
Just as Derek is stalking past the open space with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He can actually see every individual water droplet coating his glistening chest.
Stiles’ jaw drops. Will he be able to sense it if Stiles pops an awkward boner down the hall? How far away does he need, in order to be in that safe zone? Not far enough. He lets out a soft sound, and Derek’s head snaps up like he’s sensing blood in the water. They kind of just stare at one another for a moment, before Stiles’ panics at being caught and tries to push his door open with much more force than required.
So, of course, it doesn’t budge.
When he looks up, Derek is furious, his ears a little red, and Stiles really wishes that his door would stop being so cruel. Derek stalks towards his own door, powerful muscle rippling with the movement and his mouth goes dry. It's unfair. Derek is hot like burning. His magic is tingling at all the alpha spirit flooding the hallway.
“Would you stop that already?” Derek snaps at the open space and if the building could reply, it would definitely be full of snarky comments.
Then he tries to tug his door closed. The way his muscles bunch show he means business but the door won’t move an inch. Magic against might. Stiles thinks he might rip it off its hinges before anything else happens.
He can’t help it, really. Watching an alpha struggle with something strength-wise is almost as impossible as a unicorn doing the frick frack with a Bonobo monkey. The laughter is out of his mouth before he realises how dangerous that is, and can swallow it. No wonder sparks don't last long. It's because they're idiots.
“Something funny there, mage?” Derek asks, dropping the door in favour of stalking towards him.
The building finally senses the danger and opens up to let him in. But his self-preservation instincts aren’t as great as the supposably inanimate entity. “For the second time I’m a spark, dude,” he says, rolling his eyes. “And yeah, not gonna lie, it’s pretty funny to watch a house make an alpha its bitch.”
Derek stops right in front of him, nostrils flaring with anger as he growls. “Oh yeah? And you can do better?”
It’s purely an ego thing that has him moving towards 4D to show Derek how it’s done. And maybe because his alpha spirit is riling up his own. It's nearly an outright magical pissing contest between their energies as they clash and try to assert dominance. There's a pointed kind of dance to it, that Stiles has never had the pleasure of feeling before but has to admit that he likes. And his magic certainly isn't flinching away from the chance either.
He waits until Derek is back inside, so he can have the satisfaction of shutting the door in his face.
Derek folds his arms over his naked chest and waits expectantly for Stiles to literally work his magic. With a grumble at the doubtful expression on his face, Stiles steps across the threshold and grips the edge of the door.
Whatever magic holding it there releases, and Stiles gets to enjoy Derek’s huff of surprise before the door is yanked out of his grip and slams shut. Then clicks. Locking him inside Derek’s apartment. With a practically naked, Derek.
He lets out a soft groan as Derek sighs and stalks out of the living room. “Get comfortable. You might be waiting a while.”
Then he closes his bedroom door, presumably to get dressed, and leaves Stiles alone to bask in his failure. He gives the door another tug, even croons softly with some choice persuasive words, but the building won’t budge.
Well, fine. He has work to do anyway. With a sigh, Stiles rouses himself and makes it to the kitchen to start searching for a pot.
He’s just got the water boiling and the first of his ingredients chopped and ready when Derek enters the room. Fully dressed, unfortunately.
“I didn’t mean that comfortable,” he says, startled. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I need a drop of your blood,” Stiles says in lieu of a greeting, not looking up from the pot as he tosses the first herbs into it.
“Why would I give you that?”
Stiles tries to keep the impatience out of his voice. This potion is pretty delicate. If he boils it too long, he’ll have to start all over. “Because in order to cleanse the bedroom where that girl died, I need a connection to what caused the negative energy. And the remnants are directly linked to your lifeblood, so to reinstate balance, I need a drop.”
Dereks eyes are narrowed, but he doesn’t argue in as much as suddenly sprout claws and prick his finger. Blood wells at the tip before he heals.
“Now?” he asks, already pushing his hand towards the potion.
Stiles waves him back with a gentle, but forceful, billow of air that is always subtle enough to go unnoticed but Derek pauses in astonishment, sniffing at something.
“Hold on a sec,” he commands, adding the last ingredient. “Okay, now.”
Hesitating, only briefly, Derek holds his finger over the pot and allows a drop to fall. The water immediately turns from violet to gold and Stiles takes it off the stove and pours it into a container, pleased with his handiwork. Derek looks curious despite himself and inhales deeply.
“What does it smell like?” Stiles asks, fascinated to know what kind of things a sensitive alpha nose might pick up.
“The woods,” Derek says, eyes fluttering shut with a soft hum of pleasure that tightens something in Stiles' gut. “A meadow. Sunlight.”
He pulls back gruffly, and tries to look apathetic, but Stiles can almost taste his interest. A smile pulls at his mouth.
“Were you using magic before, little warlock?” Derek asks, and Stiles blinks at him, amazed that he’d picked up on it.
He’d used barely any elemental magic to push Derek’s hand away from the potion. Normally, small stuff like that flies under the radar.
“The air crackles when you do,” he explains. “It tastes like lightning.”
“Huh, didn’t actually know it tasted like anything. Good for future reference.”
The building chooses that moment to open Derek’s door. Stiles cheers at the first sign of freedom and scoops up his potion and remaining herbs, making a beeline for the exit before the window of opportunity closes again. He doesn’t realise that Derek is following him until his unit’s negative energy hums louder at his presence. Definitely the link for the bad vibes.
Stiles ignores it all when he enters the bedroom, scooping his fingers through the golden water and already concentrating on good feelings of peace and relaxation. The water turns into a soft powder at his touch, which he then tosses into each corner already noting the lightness stealing into the room as it evaporates.
Once he’s done, he takes a deep breath and feels the building exhale with a grateful creak of floorboards.
“You did it,” Derek says, sounding faintly surprised which is a pretty offensive testament to his belief in Stiles’ skills.
“What did you do- kill the girl?” Stiles retorts, jokingly.
He blanches at the bold declaration. Derek seems unfazed by his expression, so he's either psychopathic or feels justified in his actions. The brief flicker of guilt that rolls across Stiles' tongue, speaks a different story, though. He can also sense Derek's true goodness buried beneath his insurmountable strength and male posturing.
There's no real malignancy in him to be truly wary of, Stiles is certain.
“Was she a part of your pack?”
Derek grimaces. “She might have been, if her true nature hadn’t been revealed.”
So Derek nearly gave her the bite then. Dodged a bullet there if she was a bad seed, which seems true when considering the vibes that remained after her death. A sly maliciousness.
“And what was that?” Stiles wonders, starting to think Derek’s mistrust might not be as personal as he guessed. “A witch? A succubus?”
Derek turns away, shoulders tensed. “A monster.”
Very non-specific. How illuminating. Could that be who Allison is having nightmares about? Derek’s gone before he can ask, though. And the werewolf plot thickens.
He showers quickly after that and climbs into bed. The house even made it for him, sheets and all. He’s idly thinking about the interesting night, arguing with Derek in that loose fitting little towel before he realises that he’s hard. Achingly so.
He glances around the room, feeling for the magical presence that’ll tell him if the house might be watching. Little awkward to jerk it when a building can get all up in his business and start opening doors on him. As if in answer, the house helpfully opens up his window and shuts his bedroom door so the smell of jizz won’t be too obvious. Yeah, like that's somehow encouraging.
It’s a herculean effort not to touch his dick after that, but he still doesn’t trust it’s not playing a game with him.
He lets himself go soft and vows to rub one out in the shower tomorrow.
Stiles is ten minutes late to his first day of work. To be fair, he stopped to help the pregnant kitsune carry her groceries up to her unit on the fourth floor. She’s in 4A, introduced herself politely as Kira, and with so much to carry he couldn’t in good conscience just leave her to do it alone.
Kira turns out to be incredibly sweet and friendly. They’d worked up a great conversation too, travelling up the flights of steps and he’d promised to join her and her husband Scott for dinner on Tuesday, as a result.
But yeah, ten minutes late.
It’s fine. The Gathering of Mages aren’t exactly strict, but he thinks first impressions are important so he apologises profusely and offers some bullshit excuse about getting lost before being led to his cubicle.
A lot of his job involves dealing with spells gone wrong, consultations and advice. And as his magic involves the instinctive and hard to explain sort of stuff, most of those cases get directed towards him. The office is heavily warded too, so he can use as much magic as he wants without worrying about drawing in any dangerous and hungry, supernatural creatures.
The day is pretty long, but progresses fast because he’s so busy. By the end of it he’s feeling pretty satisfied with himself. He even fist bumps the shaman on his way out- they'd bonded over how unhelpful souls are in the spirit world during their lunch break. Spirits are basically that random stranger you ask for directions when you're lost, who knows you're lost and still sends you in the wrong direction anyway.
So yeah, definitely unhelpful.
Stiles feels for the man’s job, he really does.
The head office isn’t a far walk from his brownstone, so by the time he gets home, darkness has only just drowned out the sun. He makes his way up to his unit, taps the door fondly when the building lets him in without any tricks and freshens up a bit. He sprays some deodorant, puts on a clean shirt and switches his smart shoes for something more comfortable.
By then, he notices that more furniture has shown up, along with the rest of his possessions. Because all the delivered boxes are empty.
Frowning, he wanders from the room and inspects everything to see if anything’s missing, using a little magic to speed the process. Everything’s pretty much accounted for despite the building taking some liberties in arranging his belongings. It’s a super strange thing to get used to.
Except his lube and toys are gone.
Flushing with embarrassment at the idea that the building might just fling them at him at some inopportune time like the pen incident, or worse that someone else went through his stuff, Stiles stomps over to Derek’s apartment to demand an explanation. The door innocently swings open just as Derek’s walks past shirtless, sweat coating his skin from some kind of vigorous workout.
He pauses once he senses the open doorway and spins to stare at him.
“Did you touch my shit?” Stiles demands, trying to keep his voice level.
“Your fingertips are shooting sparks, wizard.”
He rolls his eyes but shakes his hands out so that they sputter and die. “Spark here, remember? Yeah, my stuff was unpacked and some of it’s missing.”
Derek shrugs in an unconcerned kind of way. “The house does that sometimes. It keeps things. Just ask for it back. House,” he calls. “Give back-“
“No,” Stiles hisses with such intensity that the lights flicker.
Derek’s eyes widen before his mouth curls into a pleased smirk as if he's relishing the moment right now.
“What did it take?” he purrs, leaning in close so that Stiles is nearly pressed against his naked chest. “Your porn?”
And Jesus, he smells good too. How unfair is that?
“Derek,” a woman calls, entering the living room and looking just as gorgeously sweaty as he does. And oh, clearly the house should know when to lock its doors. The last thing he wanted to do is interrupt anything. “Are you preying on your cute neighbour? I thought you were supposed to have better manners, you savage.”
Okay, Stiles definitely resents that. He's a pretty powerful dude alright. In an alternate universe, he might even be considered a sexual rival to this goddess for the alpha's attention. He is definitely not cute.
When Derek doesn't back away, it only makes matters even more uncomfortable, the air around them charged with a reactive energy. It's almost electric. His magic really needs to get a hold of itself around alpha essence because right now, prolonged exposure only seems to amp it up.
“Not now, Cora.”
Stiles’ stomach clenches, and he’s suddenly not just flushed and embarrassed. He’s also angry.
“Never mind. You’re clearly busy.”
This time when the door slams in Derek’s face, it’s all Stiles. The building's floorboards rumble a little beneath his feet in disapproval which he easily ignores. Still fuming, Stiles marches down to Lydia and Allison in 2A. For once, he actually has to knock on the door like a civilised person when it doesn’t automatically open.
So the building does understand privacy after all. Good to know. Allison answers and ushers him inside with a warm gesture. “Hey, Stiles. How was your first day?”
“Pretty eventful. I had to teach a guy how to unseal his butt.”
“Why the hell would he even use that spell to begin with?” Lydia demands from the kitchen, as Allison offers him a glass of red wine.
He accepts it gratefully and takes a seat opposite the kitchen island. “Idle curiosity gone wrong, I think.”
Allison smirks and huffs out a laugh.
“Thanks for the tea, by the way,” she whispers, when Lydia turns to start dishing their food out into bowls. It smells amazing. Stiles' mouth starts to water. “It really helped.”
Stiles shrugs. “Happy to.”
Lydia nudges him towards their dining room and that's when he finally notices how large their apartment is. “Did you bribe the house?” he wonders, gaping at all of the open space. His apartment definitely doesn't measure up.
She shrugs and sets the bowls down on the table, sliding one towards him.
“No. It was always this big when we leased it,” Lydia says. “The house does that sometimes, on its own. Most of the time when there’s an empty apartment it just disappears.”
Stiles drops his fork with a clatter. “The room vanishes? Where to?”
Allison shrugs. “Derek’s not really sure, but he guesses there’s another dimension involved.”
That’s interesting. And a pretty accurate guess for an alpha who tries to act like he wants nothing to do with magic.
“Your apartment hasn’t been seen in about six months,” Lydia says taking a generous sip of her wine. “It showed up on the thirteenth.”
Stiles thinks back to that date, sensing something significant about it. He nearly falls out of his seat. “That’s the day I went searching on craigslist!”
Lydia’s eyes narrow. “It put the advertisement up on it’s own. We had no idea we’d be renting it out to anyone. The house chose the day Derek was unavailable so he couldn’t interfere.”
Stiles hackles rise at the mention of Derek and his temper ripples with magic before he calms down. “What’s he got against magic, anyway?”
Lydia glances anxiously at her girlfriend but Allison’s gaze is unwavering as she straightens her shoulders and looks at him.
“My aunt lived there. She and Derek were sort of a thing except she was controlling and manipulative. She didn’t like all of the attention he was giving Kira because she’d just gotten pregnant- you know all those protective alpha instincts. So she tried to kill the baby.”
A soft gasp falls out of his mouth. What kind of sick person wants to hurt a pregnant woman and her foetus?
“With magic,” Allison continues. “She’s a hunter by trade like me and my dad and she knew physically there was no possible way to get near the baby when Scott and Derek were safeguarding it. So she hired some warlocks to help her.”
And no wonder they don’t trust magic. Jesus.
“What happened?” he asks, knowing for a fact that he’d met Kira that morning and her baby girl is both full of vivacity and good health.
“The house knew,” Lydia explains shortly. “The warlocks weren’t expecting resistance, so they were surprised when it warded Kira’s apartment from them. It locked them all in Kate’s room, which she tried to set on fire before the rest of the pack arrived.”
“Then Derek killed her,” Stiles finishes, musing over how such a terrible thing came so close to happening to disrupt this happy atmosphere. Lydia and Allison seem surprised that he knows that much already.
"Only after she tried to kill everyone in the building," Lydia adds.
His fury at such an injustice bursts forth.
“Your fingers are sparking,” Allison points out with interest, peering closer for a better look.
“The only reason we let you in here is because the house wanted you.”
Stiles frowns and thinks about it for a moment. This house didn’t just want him. It’s clearly gone out of its way to get him here. But why? There’s a sharp snap like an elastic band and Stiles is out of his chair in a flash.
“It’s alright,” Allison assures him. “The house is just not letting someone into the building. You’ll figure out what each noise means, soon enough.”
He wants to argue with her. Maybe this person is dangerous. The building has proven it has great instincts before but he should still go check it out just to be safe. A pressure lands on his shoulders, heavy enough to effectively push him back down into his seat again. Huh.
He stares across the table with wide eyes after it disappears. It seems like the building is trying to tell him it can handle it. Allison laughs but Lydia’s eyes narrow like she’s only just starting to figure something out.
“Wow, it really likes you. It never roughhouses anyone but Derek.”
Stiles isn’t going to lie, he loves it when the building starts messing with Derek. Particularly, because it makes the alpha so angry. But it's definitely weird to be on the receiving end of any magical force that isn't his own.
He settles back into the chicken stir fry Lydia made and picks up his chopsticks to eat without protest.
He’s fast asleep when someone starts banging on his door. Stiles rolls over with a tortured groan, entangling himself further in his sheets as he sits up and checks the nightstand.
It’s midnight. The witching hour. No way in hell is he gonna allow someone to attack him now. Not if their magic is at its peak.
He pulls himself free with a grumble and pads over to his door in his boxers, rubbing at his eyes and gathering magic into his hands just in case he needs a quick release of it. They’ve started banging again by then. When he swings it wide, there’s a very angry looking Abercrombie model standing there and a really cute Hawaiian guy who’s bent over in laughter.
“Uh, can I help you?” he ventures, wondering if maybe they’re drunk.
Abercrombie’s nostrils flare and yup, that’s Abercrombie kanima and human boyfriend from 3D.
“What the hell did you do to the building?” Abercrombie snaps. “It wouldn’t let Matt through the front door.”
The Hawaiian guy is wheezing now, with a restraining hand on Abercrombie’s arm but he manages to straighten up and wipe at his eyes which are crinkled with amusement.
“Thanks,” he says. “I’m Danny, that’s Jackson and Matt’s a real creepy asshole so whatever you did, was both appreciated and hilarious.”
Stiles shrugs, only a little unclear of the proceedings. “I’m Stiles, and all I did was increase the building’s warding power.”
“Matt is not that creepy,” Jackson argues, pretty much dismissing Stiles with a snort of disgust.
Danny only rolls his eyes. “He’s a drug dealer. Can’t get creepier than that.”
“If you’re trying to use medication to trigger your transition to werewolf, it’s not going to work,” Stiles says, figuring it’s less recreational and more of a douchebag idiot searching for quick fix to a deeper problem, kind of thing.
Jackson’s eyes widen a little and Danny sobers up pretty quickly, face serious. He certainly has their attention now.
“What do you know about kanimas anyway?” Jackson demands, trying to seem arrogant, but the hopefulness bleeds into his voice too much for it to be anything but.
And that’s how he ends up seeing the inside of 3D, in his boxers, trying to show a jackass kanima how to find his true self and fix his inner turmoil at midnight.
“Okay,” Stiles says, spreading out easily on their couch. “What you need is some way to resolve whatever is in your past that caused the kanima to manifest. Do you have a master yet?”
Jackson and Danny exchange glances. “Kate. I think she tried to become my master the last full moon.”
“Alright,” Stiles agrees, cracking his knuckles together. “Where’s she? With her present it’s going to make it a lot easier to help you release your kanima and transition.”
Danny winces as Jackson’s hands clench into fists.
“She’s dead. But she was also a psychotic bitch, so no real loss there.”
Stiles’ brain catches up. “As in Allison’s aunt? The one who died in my apartment?”
Danny nods. “She tried to get Jackson to kill Kira, not realising that he only kills murderers in the kanima state.”
Damn, this woman really got her claws into everyone. It’s a wonder that they chose to stay in the building after what happened. Jackson looks both swathed with guilt and trying to appear tough and uncaring about it. He could probably do with some nightmare free tea, too.
“Do you have a significant object from your childhood? Or a possession that means more than anything to you?”
Jackson’s jaw is clenching and Stiles wonders if he’s stubborn enough to keep up his tough guy act that he’s actually going to self-sabotage himself. He hesitates a moment before he stomps over to Stiles and slips the gold band off of his wedding finger, dropping it into his outstretched hand.
“Oh, Jackson,” Danny murmurs softly as he interlocks their fingers.
His own matching wedding ring glints brightly and how in the hell can jerks like Jackson even be romantic about his feelings for his husband? Ugh. The tips of Jackson’s ears have gone red but he still manages to appear pissed off about the whole thing.
“Okay, firstly I need you to understand that for this to work, it’s going to take time. There is no easy fix for this, man. You have to work through your unresolved childhood issues alone in order to establish your identity. I’m going to imbue this with positive energy to help you do that and give you a little more clarity while you’re the kanima. But in the end, it’s all you dude.”
He presses the ring between his palms and feels the first trickle of magic stir in his gut like its being jerked out of him as the energy begins to flow. Once he’s done, he hands it back to Jackson who dubiously slips it back onto his finger.
The building almost shimmers as a ripple of heat passes through the air but then Jackson’s expression clears and he’s wrapping Stiles up in a bone crushing hug. He stares at Danny over Jackson’s shoulder, who’s gawking like Jackson’s grown two heads, which might not be as unusual as it sounds.
What? Stiles knows people.
“The euphoria will wear off in a little while,” Stiles says. “But you should, um- cement the bonds of affection in the meantime, to strengthen his sense of self in the talisman. Make sure you touch the wedding band a lot.”
Danny blinks in confusion when Jackson only squeezes tighter. Is it possible to still breathe through a collapsed lung? Stiles doesn’t want to have to know that answer.
“You should have sex,” Stiles says, a little bluntly when Danny still doesn’t get his meaning.
He finally manages to extract himself from Jackson's boa constricting arms with a hefty grunt of exertion.
Danny smirks, but steps toward Jackson with a hand sliding against his hip in concern as he tries to check he’s okay. His eyes widen when Jackson literally throws Danny over his shoulder and heads toward the bedroom without a word. The building helpful opens the door for them.
“Uh, thanks, Stiles,” Danny manages to call over his shoulder, sounding both bewildered and amused, before the door shuts behind them.
He sighs. Then wonders why it isn’t that easy to get himself laid as he climbs to his feet.
“I’ll just let myself out,” he grumbles, but the door swings wide for him and he offers a little bow of thanks to the building for not playing tricks this time.
He does not want to be around when Danny and Jackson do the dirty.
Derek is waiting by his door when he makes it back. And he's shirtless again, which is great but he's still kind of an asshole. A shirtless asshole.
"What did you just do?” he demands, hands out like he’s going to grab him as he presses into his space. “I just felt the house-“
His eyes lower to Stiles’ naked chest as if he’s just realised and snatches his hands back while he stares. Stiles is suddenly very aware of his nipples pebbling in the cold air because, of course, the building's chosen that moment to open a window and let a fresh breeze travel through the hallway. Gooseflesh rises on his bare skin.
Derek’s eyes stare unabashedly at his chest and Stiles quickly folds his arms, flushing with heat and hoping Derek doesn’t notice the sparking fingers.
“Just meeting some of my neighbours,” he says. “You know being friendly and approachable, like a polite person would do.”
Derek’s eyes narrow. “You used your magic. I could smell it from here.”
That’s pretty hardcore, actually. Stiles didn't think anybody could do that. “I was a floor below you in a different apartment. How did you even smell that?”
Derek glowers. “I’m the alpha.”
Stiles’ blood sings its agreement but he rolls his eyes at the overtly masculine behaviour. The building chooses that moment to release another gust of air, much more heavy duty than before but Stiles senses the sudden pressure and steps into the safety of his open doorway, so that it smacks Derek in the chest instead.
It pushes him all the way back to the opposite wall as if it randomly felt like forcing him into things. Stiles laughs.
“What the hell?” Derek gasps, a little out of breath, and Stiles waves as he disappears into his apartment.
“Night, Derek. Nice chatting.”
He meets Scott on his way out to work the next day.
“You’re Stiles, right?” the guy with a crooked jawline and a mop of brown hair asks as he grins. “I’m Scott. I just wanted to thank you for helping my wife yesterday. That was really decent of you.”
“Hey, no problem,” Stiles says, shaking his hand. “Happy to help out.”
“Kira wanted to know if you had any preferences for dinner tonight? And she wanted to thank you for keeping Matt out of the place. He makes her and Allison pretty uncomfortable and I’m not around all the time to keep him from getting in here.”
“It’s all the building’s work,” Stiles promises with an easy laugh. “I just helped it level up. And no, I’m not a picky eater. Anything will be great.”
“Awesome,” Scott says. “We’ll see you tonight, then. It’s great to have a friendly spark in the place. We don’t get much of those.”
Stiles doesn’t think Scott is trying to insult him. “Sparks?”
He shakes his head and claps him on the back. “Nah, man. Friendly people.”
Stiles can’t help but grin. “I met Jackson.”
“My point exactly, dude. Anyway, I gotta run to the clinic. See you tonight.”
He can sense a future epic broship with Scott. Stiles smiles all the way to work.
The day goes quick. He and the shaman- who he discovers is called Steve- figure out how to send spirit memos around the office. It’s all very efficient until someone starts sending offensive memos. Mostly just with lots of swearing and crude hand gestures.
Stiles only sends one. Because he’s a professional.
The day flies past and he stops at a bottle shop on the way home to buy a few bottles of vodka when an idea hits him. He does a meagre amount of grocery shopping- just the essentials, really- before he gets home.
The building hums out a welcome and he hurries up the stairs so quickly he thinks he levitates across the last part. There’s no sudden door openings today and when Stiles makes it to his kitchen, he packs away his groceries and quickly changes out of his work clothes.
He goes to the fridge to pull out the ingredients for Kira’s tonic. This one doesn’t need to be boiled, so he creates it in fresh stream water and infuses it with magic and honeyed flavours, sensing she has a sweet tooth. It will help ensure the baby’s health. After the hell they’ve been through, he doesn’t want them to have to worry about taking any chances.
He plans to specially ward their apartment himself tonight and maybe Kira herself, if she’ll allow it. He stores the tonic in one of his larger vials and then finds the wolfsbane he normally stores in his magical spice rack. He always seals it properly- so its not harmful to his fellow neighbours- but unstoppers it now in order to get to work, pulling out the bottles of vodka as well.
It takes about ten minutes to make his special brand of wolfsbane booze.
He makes it a bit stronger than the bottles found on shelves in the back rooms of most liquor stores. Kind of like his own brand of werewolf moonshine. He adds honey in that as well because werewolves have a taste for sweetness, too.
Once he’s finished, he realises the dilemma. He forgot to buy bottles to stock them in. But before he can head out back to the store, his cupboard door flings open and the right amount of bottles he needs come flying out onto the counter.
Even though he knows for a fact they weren’t there when he snooped through the place last night.
“Thanks,” he says aloud, then starts pouring equal amounts into the bottles. He makes enough for every werewolf in the building. Even Derek, cause he’s so generous.
The door swings open just as he’s putting the last stopper in the bottle.
“So you stole them,” Derek mutters, as he stalks into his kitchen.
Stiles blanches at the accusation before he follows the direction of his gaze. “Whoa, there. The house gave me these. I didn’t steal them.”
“Well, they’re mine.”
Of course, the building would think it’s funny to take them from Derek. Why does he keep forgetting it can be such an asshole?
“Is it okay if I borrow them for a bit? I’ll return them as soon as I can.”
Derek sniffs the air suspiciously. “What smells so sweet?
Stiles picks up the nearest bottle and hands it to him. Derek is careful not to let their skin touch as he accepts it, which is pretty dickish if he's thinking all magical beings are somehow sullied, but if he has an aversion to touch Stiles is gonna respect it.
“For you,” he explains patiently. “My own brand of werewolf booze.”
Derek opens it up to have a sniff and lets out a strangled sound when it assaults his senses. “I warn you, I make it very strong. Even alphas can get drunk off this.”
He knows most wolfsbane alcohol doesn’t do much to an alpha. He’s seen plenty of drunk omegas and betas in supernaturally friendly bars to know the system still works, though. But his own personal recipe packs one hell of a punch that even an alpha isn't immune to. He's all for equality that way.
“Who are the rest for?” Derek asks, still suspicious. Mistrustful.
“The rest of your pack. I made enough for everyone.”
He beams, proud of his work as he starts clearing up the mess.
“Why?” Derek asks. “What’s in it for you, alchemist?”
Stiles magic bristles, as if offended. “Probably because I’m planning on poisoning everyone.”
When Derek’s claws spring out, Stiles throws his hands up to the sky in frustration. “Because I want to get to know my neighbours and most of them are of the hairy variety. It’s called a friendly gift, Jesus, Derek.”
The alpha scowls and takes a huge gulp of the bottle, as if wanting to make sure Stiles really isn’t actually poisoning anyone.
His temper flares considerably. Sparks might shoot out of his ears pretty soon as they’ve been known to do sometimes. Like, what an alpha dick. Derek gasps with the burn of it after it slides down his throat and even staggers back a few steps as if no drink has ever hit him like that before. Stiles grins. When nothing else dastardly occurs, he raises an eyebrow.
“It’s- good,” he admits haltingly, like it causes him great pain to acknowledge people can be nice for no reason sometimes.
Stiles tries not to look too smug. “Not that this isn’t great building trust with you and all, but I have a dinner to get to.”
He scoops up Kira’s tonic and a bottle for Scott and heads out into the hallway.
“With who?” Derek asks, following close enough that Stiles feels the heat on his back.
Stiles points at 4A. “Scott and Kira.”
Derek growls and literally throws the alcohol that Stiles gave him towards 4D. The sudden violence of his throw is astonishing. Stiles gaps at him even as the door opens and the bottle gets sucked in like it’s just gone through a wormhole. The door shuts again with a snap. He almost expects the building to burp or something.
“What the hell, dude? If you didn’t want it, you could have just said so.”
Derek just looks at him like he’s an idiot. “I gave it to the house to put away.”
Stiles blinks. “And you couldn’t have just walked the ten steps towards your apartment because?”
“Because, I’m coming to dinner.”
What now? Is this alpha posturing again or what? Should Stiles zap him a little to snap him out of it?
“I don’t think you were invited-“ he tries to argue just as the building opens up Scott and Kira’s front door.
“Scott, Derek’s here,” Kira calls from somewhere in their apartment, automatically assuming it’s him. Probably, because the building only does stuff like that to Derek. At least, until Stiles showed up. Scott’s eyes widen when he notices the both of them are there together.
“You invited the warlock to dinner?” he demands, as if Stiles isn’t standing right there and can hear everything he’s saying.
“I did,” Kira says with a hard edge to her voice that Stiles hasn’t heard before, when she appears at Scott’s side. “And he’s a spark. Don’t be rude, Derek.”
“It’s fine,” Stiles promises. “This is for you, Scott,” he says passing over the bottle to him, then goes to pass the tonic to Kira. “And this is-“
Only Derek snatches it out of his hands. “You’re trying to give wolfsbane to a pregnant kitsune?” he demands angrily, shaking the bottle in the air.
The air crackles around them and for once it’s not Stiles, or the house. Kira’s eyes flicker orange before she knocks the vial out of Derek’s hand and catches it.
“What is this, Stiles?” she asks politely, unstoppering it to have a sniff. She sighs happily. “It smells lovely.”
“It’s a tonic to help with the pregnancy,” he offers awkwardly, still a little startled by Derek’s behaviour. He’s openly scowling now. “Two drops in your tea each night will ensure your baby’s health and the bottle is my own personal brand of wolfsbane vodka. Fair warning, Scott. It packs a punch.”
Scott’s tense frown directed at Derek falls away as he tugs Stiles into the unit. “Wow, thanks, man. That’s really awesome.”
“And what about you, Derek?” Kira asks, calmer now. “Are you staying or going?”
Stiles turns back to look at him in the open doorway and tries to seem non-threatening as Derek frowns. “Staying,” he says gruffly. Then, remembers his manners. “If that’s alright?”
Stiles notices how gentle his voice becomes and heat crawls across his neck at the twinge of arousal it pulls forth. Scott’s nose wrinkles slightly but he thankfully doesn’t comment. He heard Derek is protective of Kira, but it’s a different thing altogether seeing it in the flesh.
The tension is still there when Scott serves spaghetti meatballs but Stiles is the master of ignoring uncomfortable situations and powers through it like a champ. Derek relaxes only slightly when Stiles purposely sits furthest away from Kira and closer to the door in case of attack but unfortunately that only means he’s sitting next to Derek.
The alpha power rolling off him burns across Stiles' skin in such a tantalising way that he's close to popping an awkward proximity boner at the table.
He focuses his magic around him like a cape and lets it conceal his arousal from the sensitive noses present. Derek drops his fork with a clatter and turns in his seat.
“What did you just use magic for?” he demands, looking like he’s about to pick up the fork again and try to stab him with it.
Stiles leans back and hold his hands up in surrender, no excuses coming to mind at all in the wake of his scrutiny. “I- uh…”
“Dude, leave him alone,” Scott says. “The guy is literally made of magic. It’s instinctive.”
Derek drops it, but sniffs the air suspiciously like it might give him the answer that way. Stiles shoots Scott a grateful look, suspecting he knows exactly what he used the small burst for.
Kira smiles beautifully over the tension and offers Stiles seconds.
The rest of the night goes as well as expected. He finds out that Scott owns his own veterinary clinic where he doesn’t discriminate from animals and the supernatural kind. He’s basically a healer. Kira is a swordmaster and teaches her own classes whilst also helping out stunt performers in films. She’s just started maternity leave and Scott is frequently trying to convince her to keep her sword out of the living room when she works out.
They’re actually incredibly sweet.
They also bring Derek's story into the conversation when he doesn't talk or offer very much about himself. They explain he works in Central Park with the rangers and wildlife services and that he met Scott after he was bitten in the woods. Stiles offers to ward their apartment. Even mentions some ideas about warding Kira herself, but Derek won’t allow a word of it.
He shoots him down pretty hard but the interest in Kira and Scott’s eyes tells him the conversation isn’t finished.
It all goes to shit when Stiles asks to touch her stomach.
“Do you mind?” he asks, gesturing toward the bump. He can sense she's about twenty four weeks along by sight alone. “I always get a better sense of things when I touch them and I’d love to check everything’s going well in there.”
Kira smiles shyly and nods. His hands barely reach the ridge of her stomach before Derek appears out of nowhere and clamps his hand onto Stiles’ wrist to stop him.
The last thing anyone expects are for the lights to explode.
At the first skin contact, Stiles’ magical energy bursts out of him in a torrent, latching onto Derek’s as a soft little groan falls from his lips. When the lights burst overhead and glass starts raining down on them, Kira shrieks and Stiles throws his left hand up, shielding her as the air shimmers. His magic calms when it adjusts to the alpha energy, settling into a steady thrum of force.
He didn’t realise their combined energies could create such friction.
“Kira, are you alright?” he gasps, just as Scott’s reaches her, running his hands across her body to be certain that she’s unhurt.
Scott’s bleeding and some of the glass shards are still wedged in his skin.
The sting tells Stiles he’s in a similar boat, only without the capability of healing so quickly and only once he’s sure they’re okay, does he round on Derek. “What the hell is your problem?” he yells. “Do you realise how explosive alpha power is? And you choose now of all times to unload it on me?”
Derek drops the wrist of Stiles' right hand like it’s made of molten lava and not even the cuts on his face evoke Stiles' sympathy.
“Do not touch me again,” he snaps before turning back to Scott and Kira. He repairs the broken light with a twist of his fingers and the glass in Scott’s skin disappears so that he can heal. “I’m so sorry, dude,” he says. “It was so fast and my first instinct was Kira.”
Scott looks so grateful that Stiles could probably extract the essence of it and bottle it for later. “I’m glad it was.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Kira promises gently, still a little shaken. “It’s not your fault and no one was seriously hurt.”
“Kira, Scott,” Derek croaks and Stiles feels a little better at the agony in his voice.
“No problem, Derek,” Scott concedes. “Just uh- maybe don’t do that again.”
Stiles is still bubbling with fury when the walls start shaking. “What the hell is happening now?”
Derek actually has the sense to look embarrassed. “It’s the house,” he explains with a heavy sigh. “It’s laughing at me.”
It’s clear after that, that the dinner is pretty much over. Scott leads Kira to the couch to rub her feet and Stiles tries not to roll his eyes when Derek pointedly doesn’t leave until he does. As they walk across the hallway in the darkness- because apparently they blew a fuse or something with that first touch- Stiles calms down a little.
“Look, I get you’re just protective of your pack which is understandable with all that’s happened. But there’s a point when over-protective shifts into negative energy that can be harmful to you and their baby.”
“You have glass shards in your hair,” Derek responds, and is his eyesight really that good that he can see in the dark? “And your arm is bleeding.”
Stiles sighs, and concentrates for a moment to remove it. “Great talk, dude.”
“Derek,” a deep voice murmurs as it appears on the fourth floor.
Two pairs of glowing golden eyes stare at them from the darkness.
“What gives?” a female demands. “We were in the middle of the Walking Dead finale. Did you piss off the building again?”
“Let me get to the fuse box, Erica,” Derek grumbles.
“Nah, it's cool. Let me,” Stiles offers, and extends his hands.
“Wait,” Derek says catching his wrist again, but this time he’s expecting it, so the only magic it unleashes creates this strange popping noise.
Stiles grits his teeth. “Did we not just have this talk?”
He lets go. “I just- what if your magic upsets the house?”
Stiles laughs. “Dude, me and the house are like epic bros right now. You couldn’t stop us getting along if you tried.”
“Great,” another female snarks as a pair of blue eyes join the scene. “Fix it, warlock.”
“No problem, werecoyote,” Stiles retorts, sensing the differing energies as what they are. Different supernatural species.
“C’mon, Malia,” Erica snaps. “He’s clearly a spark. They smell sweeter.”
Huh. Do they now? Stiles did not know that.
“Is this the new tenant the house brought 4B back for?” a deep voice asks. Stiles actually hears Derek’s muscles bunch in frustration. Is that a thing?
It’s totally a thing.
“I just need to concentrate for a second,” Stiles promises, and tries to focus his magic. The house just starts warming up when a door cracks open downstairs and he loses his thread.
“Derek fix the fuse already before I kick your scrawny, werewolf ass!” a woman calls, and the layer of her voice travelling up to them screams mercenary. Looks like he’s meeting half the building tonight.
“Shut up, Braeden. I’m working on it.”
Derek leans in and Stiles’ hair tickles his skin when the warm breath flows across his ear. A hand comes down on the back of his neck and his magic flares again. “Look- can you just…”
“What did I say about the touching thing?” Stiles hisses, jerking free of him. And this is just not working, he needs space, he needs to think-
He drops onto his ass and crosses his legs, focusing so that they all drift into background noise. The house begins to build in pressure, enjoying the magical flow between them as Stiles directs his mind’s eye on the broken fuse. The lights flicker on behind his eyelids and some of the betas cheer.
“Hey thanks, sparky,” Erica says, patting him on the shoulder when he opens his eyes. “What’s your name, again?”
“This is Boyd, my boyfriend,” she says pointing to the deep voiced guy. “We’re in 3C. That’s Malia from 3B and it’s her first time living out of the woods so don’t be offended if she’s a little rough around the edges. That was Braeden from 3A. You obviously met the guy in charge, Derek.”
Stiles can’t help it. He cackles. Erica raises an eyebrow at him, but her eyes glint with interest to know what’s so funny. Derek's scowl can probably be seen from space. “Please, you’re kidding yourself if you think anyone but the building is running things around here.”
He laughs again, because he’s remembering Derek fighting with that door a few days ago and waves goodbye as he heads to his apartment. The house swings the entrance wide for him before he gets there.
“Thanks, dude,” he says, patting the wall fondly as he disappears.
Erica can still be heard from the hallway though. “Did the house just open the door for him, Derek?” she demands loudly. “Are you no longer the favourite?”
Stiles is still grinning when the door shuts behind him.
It’s another day later before he finally gives into the temptation to jerk it. He’s been good since he’s arrived, too scared to be caught by the house and since it stole his lube, his options haven’t been too great. But when he goes to leave for work on Wednesday, Derek’s door swings ajar just as he’s risked the naked walk from shower to bedroom without a towel.
Stiles gets a fleeting view of his junk, which is an amazing gift that he should share with the world more often before Derek’s cursing and stalking past, offering up a perfect view of his quickly disappearing, toned ass.
He’s still hard by the time he gets to work. The day goes fast and he stops for lube on the way home, unable to take it anymore. Because he can't stop thinking about Derek's butt. He gets inside just as the door to 1A opens and an older guy with the wisdom of ages in his eyes is peering out.
“You’re the spark, aren't you?” the man asks. “I’m Alan Deaton.”
“Yeah. I’m Stiles,” he says, offering his hand to shake and hoping the bag he’s carrying isn’t totally transparent. That will be awkward.
“Good job on warding the building. I haven’t had the time to renew its protection.”
“Hey, it’s cool. Being a druid emissary is hard work. Oh yeah, that reminds me. I’ve got something for you.”
He opens his hand as his door unlocks upstairs. The jar flies happily down toward him and he snatches it out of the air. “Thanks,” he says to the house before handing it to Deaton. “It’s a rare type of mountain ash from my private stores. Very potent. You'll probably have more use of it than me.”
Deaton seems surprised, but takes it. “I- thank you, Stiles, that’s very generous. And welcome to the building.”
“No worries,” he says, and hurries up to his apartment where his half chub is steadily progressing to full hardness.
Derek’s door flings open naturally for once as the alpha in question emerges, scenting the air. “Are you cooking potions again?” he demands. “I smell lightning but it’s much sweeter. Heady.”
Stiles flushes in a hot second. “No idea,” he garbles out, sounding strangled as he practically dives through the doorway.
He comes furiously into his fist five minutes later, tugging frantically between his legs as his eyes roll back. He somehow manages to ignore the sparks shooting from his dick afterwards. Because that’s just ridiculous and has never happened before.
He probably just imagined it.
Stiles finally sets up his Xbox afterwards but then Scott brings over his playstation instead and Kira challenges them all to a couple rounds of Mario kart, ignoring Derek’s disapproving gaze as they shuffle into his apartment. Kira destroys them. But Stiles figures that’s because pregnant women have killer instincts.
It’s a lot of fun actually. Scott invites Isaac, another beta from 2B, and ten minutes later Malia, Erica and Boyd are there too. He manages to hand out some of his wolfsbane vodka and Erica gets a particular frightening twinkle in her eyes when they glow gold at the first sip.
He leaves the door open as an invitation. Braeden makes her way inside and she’s much scarier in person but pretty damn cool. The beta twins in 2C, Aiden and Ethan come in for an hour before they head out clubbing but Lydia and Allison don't show because they're upstate visiting Allison’s parents. Erica tells them Jackson and Danny still haven’t entirely left their bedroom for anything but work with a knowing quirk of her eyebrows.
Stiles is just happy to help.
It’s pretty late when the woman from 4C stalks through the door. Stiles has never met her before, but when her mouth opens wide with a sly smile once she sees him, he’s a little charmed by her inherent cynicism.
“Hey, Laura,” Isaac murmurs around a Dorito as she leans over to ruffle his hair, parking herself on the edge of the couch.
Erica and Kira are in the middle of a game and it’s getting a little intense. Kira’s eyes keep flashing orange and Scott is starting to look concerned from his position at her back with hands placed gently over her belly.
“And who is this delightful creature?” she wonders, taking a sip from Erica’s open bottle.
It's a definite level up from cute, so he'll take it. Her grin widens after the first taste before she takes another generous gulp.
“Stiles,” he says, recognising her energy. “You’re in 4C, right?”
“Yep. Always looking out for my baby bro.”
Stiles frowns and tries to think whose sister she could be.
“Derek,” Boyd supplies, kissing Erica’s neck almost apologetically when she loses spectacularly to Kira.
It’s another ten minutes before he can’t ignore the steady pulse of Derek down the hall any longer.
“Be right back,” he says squeezing around Isaac to reach the hallway.
Derek’s door swings open easily, so he just breezes right on through, searching for the grumpy alpha. He’s sprawled out on his couch, looking unfairly hot in his ranger gear, but his head cocks to the side curiously at Stiles’ entrance.
“Hey, dude,” he greets. “We’re all hanging out in my apartment if you wanna join.”
The girl from a couple days ago, twists her head up to look at him. Coral maybe? “Uh, your girlfriend's more than welcome, too,” he adds hastily.
Derek snorts and climbs to his feet, while the girl barks out a choked off laugh. “Cora’s my sister.”
“Right,” he agrees, flushing. “Even better.”
Then he realises how that sounds. Shit. “I mean, you know, family bonding within packs is great.”
“Did you use magic to open the door?” Cora asks, saving him from embarrassing himself further.
Stiles glances back at the open hallway with confusion. Does she not know about the building or something? “Uh-“
“The house opened the door for him,” Derek admits like teeth are being pulled.
Cora’s eyes light up. “Shit really? Yeah, um- yeah, let’s go Derek. I’m getting bored, anyway.”
She practically shoves Derek out into the hall. “So, Stiles. You mentioned you were single?”
Derek groans, and Stiles is really losing track of this conversation. “Uh, I didn’t, actually. But I am. Single, that is.”
Then Cora proceeds to try to shove them both into Stiles’ apartment at once and they end up pressed closely together, because broad shouldered Derek struggles through doorways when he's alone and adding Stiles to the mix just causes a flurry of extra limbs.
He winces when Derek’s bare arm brushes against his stomach, as the magic rises up in a wave. Derek rights them and encourages Stiles forward first, both hands resting on the sensitive ridges of his ribs.
The lights dim and flicker. Derek quickly pulls his hands back.
“What was that?” Cora demands gleefully, sensing weakness and poising to strike. Scott looks up from the game and reads the situation with such surety that it’s uncanny.
“Our lights have been doing that since the fuse blew, hey babe?” he observes, lying through his teeth.
But he phrases it like a question, so he doesn't blip on any werewolf radars. Bless him. Bless his future babies. Stiles owes him big.
Kira frowns in confusion before her eyes clear with understanding. “Oh, yeah. I'm going to fix it tomorrow morning though.”
Scott pats her hand and Stiles feels a rush of affection for them both as Cora slinks away, thwarted for now. Thankfully, Derek doesn’t touch him again. But that doesn’t stop Cora.
“Hey, Laura,” she calls innocently a few minutes later from her perch on Stiles’ kitchen bench. Laura turns, already interested by her tone of voice alone. “The house has been opening doors for Stiles.”
Laura’s sudden regard of Stiles is nothing less of predatory. “Has it now?” she purrs.
“Lydia told me it kicked Derek out when he tried to get Stiles to leave the apartment,” Malia says scratching her claws together, distractedly.
Stiles isn’t sure where this is going but he definitely doesn’t like it.
“Because he’s a warlock,” Derek argues, shooting Stiles a nasty look like it’s all his fault he keeps misclassifying him.
“Not true,” Isaac pipes up. “Deatons a druid and the house wouldn’t even give him toilet paper when he ran out the other day.”
Stiles struggles to understand the hidden meaning here. “I think it’s fair to warn you all in advance that I’m extremely loveable.”
When Derek snorts, Stiles makes the chair he’s sitting on vanish so that he lands flat on his ass.
The room erupts with laughter. It’s entirely worth it when the walls start shaking as well.
It’s his third week in New York when he decides his dick needs a little more attention than good ol’ righty. So on Saturday night, he heads out to some of the clubs he’s heard are worth seeing just in order to have a bit of fun and maybe drunkenly make out with someone. But not with the express purpose of getting his dick wet.
He does have a good time. Makes out with a pretty blonde at the first bar whose sharp teeth soon reveal her as a fairy and not the nice kind. But she’s chill about it when he explains he’s not interested and doesn’t even follow him to try and eat him when he switches clubs. He comes across another alphaF but his magic doesn't even perk up as she passes by, even though Stiles can sense her.
For some reason his magic just doesn't give a shit. Not like with Derek. It's both weirdly disappointing and concerning. So he forgets about it.
He dances a lot. Works up a good sweat, which sort of heightens his spark magnetism a bit because the ones who flock to bump and grind it with him on the dance floor are mostly supernatural.
He attains a nice buzz without spending a lot of money. Sparks hold a lot of appeal, if at least for their high sensitivity and ability to bring about pleasure. So he gets bought a few drinks here and there but still scans them for drugs or potions.
He meets an incubus just as it passes two in the morning and he has a slick grin and sensual eyes that bring forth just how sexually unsatisfied Stiles has been feeling lately since his last relationship a year ago. With a human girl. It was so vanilla it may as well have been ice cream. Nothing wrong with that but for Stiles personally, it's definitely not what he wants right now.
The guy just finishes sucking a hickey onto his neck before he moves on to licking into the shell of his ear when Stiles realises they’re close to his apartment and hey, if they really want they can screw each other senseless there. He can tell the incubus isn’t starving. Not enough to kill him, anyway, so although it's maybe a little risky, it should be fine.
The incubus, whose name he didn’t actually catch, is more than happy to accompany him. Such a gentleman.
They stumble through the streets of Brooklyn and hey, Stiles is actually a lot drunker than he remembers because the incubus isn’t stumbling as much while Stiles actually needs to lean on him for support. But the air is fresh and he’s horny and this is so, so stupid. He’s totally going to do it though. The incubus’ hand has just wormed it’s way into his pants to grasp Stiles’ cock when they reach the brownstone steps.
Stiles chokes out a whine, knowing he sounds needy and desperate but he’s thinking with his dick and just wants to get off already. The incubus licks a line up his throat just as he slips free with a laugh and slumps against the door.
And it doesn’t open.
“C’mon, don’t cockblock me now, man,” he slurs. “That’s just cruel.”
“Who are you talking to, Stiles?” the incubus’ voice is like a caress and he shudders.
“The building won’t let me in.”
“Don’t you have a key?”
It’s not funny. His grass is literally being cut by a heap of bricks. Cockblocked by a brownstone. Buildingblocked. This is not how the night is meant to go. But suddenly Stiles is cackling, laughing so hard that tears are running down his cheeks. And then there’s a gate suddenly clanging shut, separating them.
Has there always been a gate on their front steps? Stiles has definitely never seen it before. The building starts buzzing like there’s a fly hovering right next to Stiles’ ear and he groans, dick rapidly losing interest when he thinks about how much he just wants to sleep instead.
The door blessedly swings open and Derek is standing there shirtless, rubbing his eyes as he yawns. He wakes up pretty quickly when he realises where he is. The faint pop tells Stiles he was dragged out of bed without permission.
“What the hell, Stiles?” he growls, going from confused to pissed off at the speed of light.
His nostrils flair as he notices the incubus trying to get through the gate. He can’t move past it as if there’s a hidden force keeping him back.
Like the building.
“Oh, seriously, house? You’re gonna play it like that?” Stiles groans, and stumbles into Derek’s arms with a laugh.
His magic’s sudden rush of energy at the touch, sobers him a little. “You should go,” Derek says to the incubus and his voice takes on a deadly edge.
“Hey, no,” Stiles protests. “He’s with me.”
Derek finally draws his eyes away from the incubus and looks down at Stiles, half sprawled on the steps.
“When does the building not allow people inside?” Derek wonders, patiently waiting for Stiles’ brain to catch up.
He presses his hand into Derek’s skin and only then is he able to focus on the incubus properly. The easy smile, amidst a twisted face. Right, bad call.
“You should go,” Stiles says in a hollow voice.
The incubus tries harder, pushing a heady wave of lust in Stiles’ direction. He lets out a soft gasp and buries his face into Derek’s throat before his muddled brain catches up. Derek tenses but doesn’t push him away. Stiles doesn’t lick him, at least. That would’ve been hella awkward.
He pulls back, and manages to look the incubus in the eye when he gets control of himself.
“Go,” he says, layering it with his magic.
The incubus vanishes with a faint hiss.
“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek gasps. “I didn’t mean kill him!”
Stiles groans and tries to stumble past but Derek grabs at his bicep. “I didn’t,” he mumbles. “I sent him back to the bar and erased his memory.” He trips over a flat surface, having not even reached the stairs yet and lets out a heavy sigh. “At least, I hope so- ‘m pretty drunk.”
“Really?” Derek wonders sarcastically, so Stiles tries to flick him on the nose but gets his cheek instead.
“Hold still,” he chides, and tries to do it again.
Derek growls and snatches Stiles up and into the air as he throws him over his back. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to puke. Jesus, how much did he drink? He drifts in and out but comes back when Derek starts swearing.
“Are you fucking me with this shit?” he growls, and from what Stiles gathers, they've reached the fourth level and the building won’t open Stiles' apartment door.
“Derek, buddy,” he whispers. “You gotta be gentle. House is never gonna love you, if you treat it mean.”
“Christ,” Derek mutters, and spins them toward his apartment. Whose door, Stiles notices, opens easily.
“See,” he points out. “Friendly?”
“Shut up, Stiles.”
He takes him into his room and dumps Stiles onto his bed. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” he gets out just as the bedroom door slams shut.
“Jesus fuck!” Derek snaps, and punches the wood.
Stiles blearily raises his head. “What are you still doing here?”
Derek looks at his drunken struggle to climb under the blankets and pinches his nose in frustration. He pushes Stiles back, tears off his shoes and unbuttons his jeans before yanking those off for him too. It’s a miracle Stiles’ briefs don’t go with them.
He manages to figure out his own shirt and by the time that’s done, Derek’s already in bed with his back to him. His naked back, cause Derek is shirtless.
And Stiles is still sort of horny.
“If you so much as touch your dick, you die,” Derek hisses, and Stiles rips his hand away from the edge of his waistband like it's on fire.
“I’m sorry the building likes me better than you,” Stiles says unkindly.
Derek huffs out an angry breath. “God, you don’t even get it, do you?”
And suddenly he’s nearly uplifting the mattress as he turns over, pushing up against Stiles as he manhandles him. “What the hell?” he squeaks and it's-
it’s hot alright. Being moved around so easily like he could just pin Stiles down and- Derek is not helping the horny situation at all. When his chest presses up against his back, Stiles sort of swallows his tongue.
“You flail in your sleep. I can hear you down the hall most nights and you are not kicking me in the nuts.”
Whatever, they’re totally cuddling. As long as his dick behaves, he can do this.
“Seems fair,” he manages to reply without sounding like he’s dying.
It’s very easy to fall asleep to the rhythm of Derek’s breaths after that.
He wakes up tangled around something warm and solid.
When he gets his bearings, he realises his face is pressed up into Derek’s throat and that they’re chest to chest with their legs twisted around one another. If he presses a little harder he can probably feel the outline of Derek’s dick. He’s mulling over the pros and cons of that when Derek wakes up with a jolt and shoves him away like he’s contracted all of the venereal diseases in existence overnight.
Which, hey rude. Stiles flops weakly onto the other side of the mattress with a groan.
“What the hell happened?” he whines. “I did not drink enough to warrant this kind of hangover.”
Except, he can barely taste any alcohol. He just feels raw, like someone took a cheese grater to his skin for shits and giggles.
“It’s called a sex hangover,” Derek explains without sympathy. “That incubus pumped you so full of lust that it was like being drunk on euphoria. Welcome to the inevitable emotional drop.”
“Yay,” Stiles cheers weakly and slowly stretches to retrieve his clothes. The shirt comes back on the easiest. Then the jeans.
Once he’s done, he looks up to Derek watching him intently. “Wait. What are you doing here?”
Derek scowls. “I think you mean, what are you doing here. This is my bedroom.”
Stiles squints at the sheets. Huh. Not actually his.
“The house locked you out of your room and when I tried to go sleep on the couch, it locked me in here with you.”
Weird. Stiles is starting to sense there’s a bit of a pattern emerging. “Don’t you think it’s funny that out of everyone, the building messes with us the most? Like have you noticed it’s mostly screwing with us?”
Derek closes his eyes and inhales deeply and wow, does he look mad. Stiles hopes he didn’t kick him in any sensitive areas last night. He’s been known to do that. “No. I haven’t noticed.”
Must just be Stiles, then. He shrugs and tugs his shoes on, mumbles out a pathetic thanks for Derek taking care of his sorry butt then hurries out of the room like someone lit a fire under his ass. The building lets him into his apartment rather sheepishly.
See. Even buildings can feel bad about stuff. So why can’t Derek feel bad about being a jerk most of the time? Stiles doesn’t have the energy to ponder that for very long. So he whips up an omelette- magically of course, because he’s too lazy for that shit today- and settles into the couch to play some COD.
He falls asleep after a couple hours.
He dreams of hazel eyes, scowling stubble and eyebrows that just don’t quit. There’s heat and scorching friction, with slick to ease the way as he’s filled more deeply than he thought possible. Then there’s just relentless pleasure as he’s pounded into, rocking his hips to welcome each blissful thrust.
He gasps into consciousness with a hard on that could cut diamonds. He barely stumbles his way to the bedroom, pushing his pants down around his ankles as his hand works feverishly between his thighs.
He cries out in relief, hardly bothering to close the door as he sprawls across the mattress, working his cock like it’s a dowsing rod leading him to water. His fingers are slick with precum and if he had some patience he might finger himself a little. Draw it out a bit.
Except, he can’t wait another moment. When Stiles finally comes all over his fist, it’s with a breathy sigh and a faint popping in his ears.
He licks his chapped lips, surprised by the intensity of his orgasm. Was that because of the incubus last night? Or the cuddling with Derek? He doesn’t have very long to think because when he opens his eyes again, Derek is looking down at him in astonishment.
“Fuck,” Stiles squeaks, scrambling to cover his junk as his eyes widen.
“What are you doing here?” they both say at the same time.
Stiles frowns, a little come drunk and stupid because this is his room dumbass, but then he looks around properly. And holy shit, this is in fact not his room. What the fuck?
“I was in my room!” Stiles cries miserably as Derek turns his back and allows him the dignity of cleaning himself up with a wave of his hand before pulling his pants back up.
“I was in my room!” Stiles cries miserably as Derek turns his back and allows him the dignity of cleaning himself up with a wave of his hand before pulling his pants back up.
“What the hell, bro,” he yells to the building, once he’s presentable again. He punches a wall for good measure but it’s pretty ineffective. “Not cool.”
“It’s alright,” Derek says eventually when he’s got control of himself. “It happens.”
Stiles can’t be near the bed any longer and stumbles out to the living room. Derek follows without comment but Stiles can see his fists are clenched and knows he’s struggling not to punch him. Probably because Stiles just jerked off in his bed. Unintentionally, but still.
“It happens?” he snaps. “Has the house sent you somewhere you weren’t meant to be when you’re in the middle of something private?”
Derek’s lips purse. “Not exactly the same situation. But yes.”
The fight sort of seeps out of him. “When?” Stiles wonders suspiciously.
“Last night. I was asleep when the house sent me to the front door.”
That explains his bewilderment at least. But Stiles doesn’t think he can look him in the eye again. He scratches idly at his neck. “How- how much did you see?” he asks quietly.
Derek pauses as if he’s thinking about whether to be honest or lie. Stiles can pretty much tell, either way. Werewolves aren’t the only ones with skills.
“I watched you finish,” he admits.
Stiles is so angry, he blasts Derek’s door off its hinges on the way out.
He’s bundled deep into his burrito of sadness after work two weeks later, generally feeling ill at ease with the world when someone knocks on the door.
It seems like he’s never going to live through his humiliation, so best option is to wallow until he dies. He’s been avoiding Derek since the bedroom incident which turns out to be pretty hard because apparently they see each other a lot and he hadn’t exactly noticed. He even misses the perpetually grumpy asshole.
It’s a pretty lonely couple of weeks.
Kira took pity on him and tried to teach him sword fighting but Scott got so upset with her and the baby around weapons- even though Stiles did end up warding the baby- that they gave up. The building has been pretty quiet after he blasted Derek’s door off, so he has to free his arm from the blanket he's wrapped up in, in order to use his own magic to open it.
It’s actually been kind of boring without all of the unusual stuff happening.
Most of the pack has picked up on his and Derek's super intense vibes and have been leaving him alone. He’s lucky the brownstone's wards are so strong with the amount of magic he’s been using lately. It’s surprising no one has shown up with interest in a Stiles sample.
Scott comes into the room, bearing junk food and booze, both the natural kind and the one Stiles made for him.
“We know something’s wrong,” Scott announces as he sits down. “Derek won’t talk to anyone. The house isn’t doing anything cool and you seem really sad.”
“I jerked off in Derek’s bed,” he blurts out.
Scott kind of squints at him before taking a huge gulp of werewolf booze to prepare a reply. “Uh- okay. Where to start? Um- why dude?”
“Not on purpose,” Stiles argues, miserably. “I was in my own bed when the house moved me there.”
“Into Derek’s bed?”
“Just as I was-“
“What. It’s perfectly natural. What did Derek do? Be an ass about it?”
“No, not really. I asked how much he’d seen and he said he’d watched me finish.”
Scott looks shocked before he schools his features into something more sympathetic.
“Look, don't beat yourself up. Weird shit happens here all the time, I mean, it's a magical house dude, weird shit is a given. And oh yeah, it’s full moon this Saturday so we’re all gonna have a pack meeting for it on Friday to celebrate. You should come. Distract yourself.”
Stiles smiles wryly. “I think the whole point of this burrito is to avoid Derek indefinitely.”
“C’mon, it's basically just an excuse for a party. Lydia’s hosting it this month so everyone’s planning to get drunk off the booze you made. Kira’s really excited for it.”
Stiles smiles proudly at that. “Seriously, Stiles, come. It’s not a big deal, guys cross swords all the time. Unless of course, you like Derek?”
The controller goes flying and smacks into a nearby wall. Stiles is too curled up in his blanket to lie convincingly enough and say he threw it. Stupid spark. Scott suddenly looks smug when Stiles’ fingertips start shooting sparks as well as if to further betray him.
“Nah, dude. Not like that. It’s just embarrassing. Count me in for Friday.”
He doesn’t like Derek right. He can’t.
Except. Well, Derek’s an alright guy. He’s an overprotective ass and he’s got a lot of attitude. Mostly sarcastic. But then he’s loyal. And loves his sisters even when they tear him to shit all the time. And he hasn’t burned the building down even when it pretty much only messes with him. And he's actually kind of unbelievably funny once he manages to relax a little.
Plus, he’s a really good cuddler. Like really good. And he took care of Stiles when he could have easily left him to that incubus.
What’s not to like? Fuck, and there’s also the fact that he’s been the subject of Stiles’ less than appropriate dreams lately, so the liking thing isn’t that far of a stretch.
Damn it, he’s totally crushing.
He explains his dilemma to Steve the shaman at work the next day.
“I don’t see the issue, Stiles,” Steve says. “Just tell him how you feel and ask if he feels the same.”
“But Steve, wouldn’t you rather a kind of guarantee that your heart won’t get crushed?” he counters as they wrestle a particularly difficult spirit back into the charmed microwave it flew out of.
What is wrong with the young mages of today, really? Why would anyone use magic to create this?
They get it back inside and the microwave issues a displeased beep that echoes somewhat hauntingly. Steve gets this super serious look sometimes- usually when the higher ups walk past- that means he’s connecting to his spiritual energy or he’s at least pretending to. He pulls that face now and reheats the microwave for two minutes, even with its continuous angry beeping.
It’s almost like club music. By then, bright light starts shining out of it as the spirit gets sucked back into the right dimension and they’ve got a real party going.
“Whoo,” Stiles cheers, high fiveing Steve the shaman who keeps his face serious throughout.
Jesus, he would make an excellent poker player.
“Life isn’t full of guarantees,” Steve says, sagely.
Stiles wants to punch him in his stupid face.
When he gets home it's late and he eats a box of cookies for dinner because he’s a grown man, dammit, and he's still wallowing. He’s sprawled across the couch, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about nothing when the buzzing starts.
“No way,” Stiles grumbles when the lights flicker and dance in this super cool and exciting way that makes his apartment look awesome. “You're gonna need to do more than that to earn my forgiveness.”
The pressure in the room increases and Stiles wisely pulls his feet in, startled at the amount of magic being exuded.
There’s a soft thump and the tension drops as his bedroom door swings invitingly open. Suspicious, Stiles stalks towards his bed, wondering what the hell the building has done now. He balks when he sees a shirtless Derek sprawled across his mattress in nothing but briefs. Fast asleep.
Stiles is starting to freak out that the house is trying to encourage him to keep the secret of his humiliating orgasm by killing Derek. After all, pretty much only he and Scott know. He's a lot disturbed by this sudden offering when he finally notices Derek’s breaths are coming a lot quicker. Like he’s having a nightmare.
Except from the way his cock slowly fills and starts to tent his briefs, he’s clearly not. This is a dream of the wet variety.
“Fuck,” Stiles breathes, too astounded to do anything, but just stand there and watch.
The guilt eats him up straight away but Stiles promises as soon as Derek touches himself, he’ll leave the room. Or try and magic him back to his own bed. Only Derek doesn’t touch his dick. At all. But tilts his head back to expose the curve of his throat instead and Stiles is so hard he wants to cry.
He watches Derek’s nipples grow taut and his mouth runs so dry it becomes like the Sahara. He can’t do this right? It’s pretty wrong. But in all fairness, Derek did it first. And he admitted to it.
Plus, Derek looks amazing all loose-limbed and relaxed like that. It's strange to see his face without the scowl. Stiles makes up his mind to leave at the first moan that escapes Derek’s mouth but when he turns, not only is the door sealed somehow, but there suddenly is no door.
They are in a room without a fucking door.
Stiles places his hand on the wall to express his concerns but the building only ignores him and hums softly, just as Derek’s moans start getting breathy. God, he can’t do this. Stiles parks his butt on the floor and faces the other direction, trying to focus on anything but Derek and his sex dream.
After a few minutes of torture, this delicious wave of alpha energy rolls over him and Stiles is compelled to look. Derek still isn’t even tugging at his junk when his balls press up tight under his dick and he comes in his briefs.
Stiles whimpers and that’s when Derek’s eyes fly open. He sits up slowly, like he already knows what’s going on and spots Stiles on the floor, resolutely facing the other direction before he sighs. “Your room?” he guesses and Stiles nods dumbly.
“Door lock you in?”
Stiles is almost too overwhelmed to speak. “There is no door.”
They both watch as a second later, it reappears. Derek waits a moment and the silence is killing Stiles, it really is. And he's still hard.
“Did you watch me finish?” he asks.
And Stiles wants the world to swallow him up.
“Yes,” he says and looks directly into Derek’s eyes, owning up to it as best as he can. Because he knows what he did wasn’t cool even if Derek did the same thing to him. Derek only shrugs and stretches, drawing Stiles’ gaze to the wet spot on his briefs.
“Guess we’re even, then.”
Then he strolls out of Stiles’ room unabashedly, half naked, easy breezy beautiful cover girl.
He’s just on his way out the door to the party when his dad calls. He stops to answer it, cause with all the Derek weirdness right now, he can stand to be a little late to Lydia and Allison’s. It's hardly going to kill him.
“Hey, Dad,” he says. “How’s it going?”
“Really good, kiddo. I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. I’m sorry it’s taken so long but we’ve been swamped here.”
“It’s cool. The job's been great. I love my apartment and most of the other tenants are pretty awesome.”
“And you haven’t attracted too many unwanted guests?”
“Nah, that’s the best part. The house is warded and it’s filled with old magic, so it’s got a mind of its own.”
His dad laughs, sounding delighted. “Good, they’re great security and always fun to be around. I lived at one in college and it took it upon itself to be matchmaker for Tony and Jarred. Kept locking them in bedrooms together or opening the door when one of them was naked in the shower. It was hilarious.”
Stiles nearly drops the phone. “Oh my God,” he gasps.
“You remember Tony and Jarred, don’t you?” his dad asks, confused at his reaction. “They came to visit a couple months ago. Their twenty seventh anniversary is coming up in July.”
“Yeah- yeah,” Stiles chokes because his chest keeps tightening. “I just. I have a party to get to, can I call you later, Dad?”
“Sure, kid. Love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
The phone clicks and Stiles just stands there dumbly.
Huh. Well, everything makes sense now. The seeing each other practically naked, getting locked into rooms together, even the jerking off. This fucking building has been trying to set them up.
Which is probably why the incubus couldn’t get in even if he wasn’t bad news. And why Derek answered the door. Jesus fucking Christ. And he’s pretty sure everyone else is in on it. Their reactions to the building taking a liking to him probably said it all. And that also means. Derek knows too.
“You asshole!” Stiles yells, and it’s entirely directed toward the building that’s been screwing with his life since he moved in.
When he blows his door off its hinges, it's completely intentional.
He stomps on over to Derek’s room but doesn’t open it because when he pushes his senses out they tell him it's already empty. The building starts to pick up on his fury and the lights start flickering as the floor begins to tremble. Stiles doesn’t even bother with the stairs, he just ends up standing right in front of Lydia’s apartment all of a sudden.
He restrains himself enough to not blow the door out, but it’s a close call. The humming increases, and Stiles lets his magic lead him to the essence it’s always automatically drawn to. The lights flicker more sporadically and a few people catch sight of his face and the sparks shooting out of his clenched fists and step aside. One of the twins actually laughs at him.
Most likely Aiden.
“Derek,” Stiles thunders. “Were you ever going to tell me your house is trying to hook us up?”
Derek's head snaps up, eyes wide and scenting the evident crackle of magic in the air. No one interferes when Stiles reaches him, burning with rage. He barely gets a fist full of Derek’s shirt before the pressure reaches a boiling point and the wind whips up around them, shoving them quickly into a dark place. Then the door slams shut and clicks.
And they're in Lydia and Allison's closet. Perfect. There are terrible puns about homosexuality to be made in here.
“What did you do?” Derek snaps, wrenching free of his grip and trying to open the door in the dark.
“What did I do? That was your stupid fucking apartment trying to play matchmaker like its been doing the entire time I’ve been living here!”
The sudden silence reeks of guilt.
“You knew! You assface why didn’t you say anything? Instead you let me think I was the biggest pervert in existence!”
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Derek shouts back. “The house is really sensitive to emotions and knew I was lonely. It didn’t mean any harm, except when it started to escalate things.”
“It literally trapped me in a room with you while you had what looked like the best wet dream of your life. I’d say that’s pretty escalated.”
Derek sighs, and Stiles can almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose. “I was dreaming about you,” he admits, quietly.
There’s a tense pause as Stiles tries to wrap his head around everything.
“When you were- that is. Were you thinking about me?”
Stiles gets his meaning. As if anything else, but the thought of Derek, is what he jerks it to lately. “Yes,” Stiles says. Did the house- is that what those dreams were? Fake?
“Did the house cause those too?” he asks in a small voice.
“No,” Derek answers reaching for his hand in the dark. His blood sings at the first touch. “The same way it didn’t cause this.”
Oh. Stiles had wondered if he's the only one who can feel it. “How did it know to pick me?” he asks, thinking there must be some kind of logical explanation for how he ended up in this place.
Derek shrugs and is he leaning closer? “I don’t know. It’s magical. I can hardly explain how it knows when I’m naked and you're walking past my door. I’m just glad that it opened it.”
“You are?” Stiles asks sceptically. “Why?”
Derek runs his nose along the side of Stiles’ throat, inhaling. “Because you taste like lightning and I’d like to date you.”
Stiles hesitates. “I don’t know. I’ll have to check my schedule- maybe I’ll call you.”
“You little shit,” Derek laughs, and he’s somehow finding Stiles’ mouth in the dark.
It’s a pretty fucking spectacular kiss, as first kisses go. Even if it’s hard to find the right spots to touch and Stiles accidentally- not so accidentally- licks Derek’s face multiple times. He grunts at that and lifts Stiles up, pushing their hips together as his legs wrap clumsily around Derek’s waist.
“When that incubus left that hickey on your neck, I wanted so badly to put my mouth on you,” Derek gasps in between frenzied kisses.
“After he hit me with that lust, I nearly licked your neck,” Stiles admits, laughing when Derek proceeds to do the same.
The hickey has faded by now but Stiles has no qualms directing Derek’s mouth to the phantom spot and letting him ravage his throat.
His dick is hard in his pants and he's half thrusting wildly against Derek as he scrabbles to get a hold of his ass. “I knew you’d be a handful,” Stiles croons when he finally gets his hands on the prize and squeezes.
Derek groans deeply in his ear like he can't believe Stiles can be that much of an idiot and still be attracted to him, before he pulls Stiles’ hips lower so their dicks finally match up.
The friction is absolute heaven and when Stiles starts shooting sparks out of his hands, he’s entirely okay with it. “You had no idea how badly I wanted to blow you on that bed,” he moans working his hips harder into Derek’s, openly panting now.
Derek’s teeth nip playfully at his throat. “I have your dildos,” he groans. “And lube. It showed up in my top drawer after I woke up in your room.”
Stiles wants to groan in annoyance but it ends up more high pitched and breathy than he plans. “I- fuck. I hate your house,” he gasps.
Just as the door unlocks with a click, swinging open and revealing them to the pack in Lydia and Allison’s living room.
Which is pretty much everyone in the building. Stiles flushes and Derek sets him on the ground quickly but the damage is way past done. They’ve both got sex hair and they look like a hot mess.
“One word,” Stiles warns them all. “And I will never make anyone wolfsbane vodka again.”
The apartment is blissfully silent as they make their getaway, though everyone is grinning like idiots at them, so there will be no escaping the inevitable mocking. They’re laughing as they head back up to the forth floor, hand in hand. The building lets them into Stiles' apartment without protest and Stiles leads Derek immediately to the bedroom.
“Wait,” Derek says, pulling him to a stop. “I mean it about the dating thing. I’m just as happy to take this slow.”
Stiles grins. “I agree. I was planning on taking you to bed to cuddle the hell out of you, but if it’s too much-“
“I can handle it,” he promises.
“You need to at least buy me dinner before you get in my pants, dude.”
“Oh, yeah?” Derek asks, already stripping off his shirt and kicking off his shoes. Stiles fumbles with his pants. “And that incubus was just a happy accident?”
“Low blow, man.”
Derek chuckles, tossing his jeans on the floor and wrapping his arms around Stiles as soon as he’s shirtless. He tugs him onto the bed with ease, pressing himself against Stiles’ back. He’s still a little hard so Stiles feels his dick pressing between his cheeks.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Derek mocks reaching around to cup Stiles’ dick and he whimpers. “What was that hypocrite?”
It quickly becomes clear it's not possible. He's not equipped to handle some dude's junk pressed so thoroughly up against his ass without doing anything about it. Stiles bites his lip and grinds back, hearing Derek's sharp inhale before his hands come down to still his hips.
"Stiles," he warns, sounding a little breathless.
So it's not a warning, really. Just a friendly suggestion. His hands slip past his underwear to drag his cock out before Derek can stop him. "We can do dinner after," he argues. "We're not terrible people if there's dinner involved at some point."
Derek's already kissing along his throat. "Don't care," he grunts and tugs Stiles' briefs down the rest of the way until they're being flung across the room. Stiles is leisurely jerking it when Derek finishes removing his own underwear.
"I knew you'd be like this," he purrs softly as his fingers slide across Stiles' flushed skin. "A greedy little mage."
"Seriously?" Stiles demands, waving one of his sparking hands in the air. "I am literally sparking because I am spark, you dickweed."
Derek laughs and draws the fingers into his mouth. Stiles winces, worried that it'll hurt him, but Derek only thrusts with a little more vigour against his ass and slides his tongue across his fingers. Stiles moans and slips the thumb of his other hand over the sensitive head of his dick.
"Where else do you shoot sparks?" Derek wonders, after releasing his fingers with a slick sound. He pinches Stiles' nipple teasingly before easing him onto his back and straddling his hips. Stiles swallows audibly and tries to keep cool.
"Nowhere," he lies, and Derek's eyes light up with interest.
"Really?" he says. "You're kidding. Is it your dick?"
Stiles lies there like a starfish, speechless. Derek is somehow more impressed by his silence. It might have happened once but he has no guarantees that it'll happen again. He is not exactly the dick whisperer.
"Your fingers taste like it too, you know," Derek continues conversationally as his fingers trail down his chest. Stiles is breathing fast and too turned on by the proceedings to think of a witty rejoinder. "Lightning. I wonder if it's like that anywhere else."
His fingers press into the puddle of precum forming in the dip of Stiles' stomach before he smears it across Stiles' dick in small fleeting touches that set him on fire. His brain finally catches up.
"You're welcome to taste and see," Stiles offers waggling his eyebrows and Derek sticks a finger slick with his own precum into his mouth to shut him up.
What he probably isn't expecting is that Stiles likes a challenge, so he sucks the digit in deeper and licks the taste of himself off of it.
Derek actually shudders on top of him and shoots him a glare like Stiles is ruining his seductive moment. He laughs, just as Derek bends over and swallows him down to the root. It twists into the strangled noise of a fish without oxygen and Stiles groans, long and low around Derek's finger as his hands drift down to thread into his hair.
He releases the finger with a wet pop and focuses on not jerking his hips too much into the wonderful heat of Derek's mouth. It's nearly impossible. He really knows how to suck cock. Stiles barely presses the palm of his hand to Derek's hollowed cheek before his balls draw up tight and he comes.
Derek swallows and pulls off, licking softly at the head when he sees that Stiles' dick is in fact shooting sparks.
"I don't even wanna know what that means," Stiles admits as he tugs Derek back up so they can make out idly on the bed whilst he gets his breath back.
He can feel Derek's cock pressing insistently against his hip and it makes his mouth water. His hands scramble for the drawer on the bedside table and Derek helps him pull out the lube. Werewolves can't get diseases and Stiles knows Derek can sense that he's clean so they decide to forgo the rubber.
The first press of Derek's finger is much more than he's done in a while. They're thicker than Stiles' and he feels so much fuller from one alone that he wants to savour it as long as possible.
When Derek adds another, Stiles arches his back in order to bear down more fully, grinding his hips against the mattress as his dick struggles to rouse again. By the third, Stiles is a sweaty heap of human flesh willing to do Derek's bidding for all eternity. And he's hard again.
"You done already?" Stiles asks. "If not, I think I'm going to blow another door off its hinges."
Derek presses deep, nudging along his prostate and the sparks start bursting from his fingers again. "No more breaking stuff."
"Then, hurry up," he snaps, groaning when Derek starts to rub.
Stiles' eyes roll back and it's only when Derek pulls his fingers free that he notices he's making the bed shake. Derek only laughs when it stops and Stiles shoots him a guilty look, drawing his magic back. But Derek's not complaining when he rubs lube onto his dick with a soft hiss, leaning closer to kiss him when they're chest to chest.
The tip of his cock pressing against Stiles' entrance is a blessing and he pushes down, searching for Derek to fill him. He presses in slow, keeps it short, but deep as he edges in inch by incremental inch. Stiles grips his left buttock to spur him on and Derek slams home with a grunt of surprise. When he's sure Stiles is ready, he begins to thrust in sudden bursts of strength just as the alpha energy starts rippling over his skin.
Stiles' magic claws through the pleasure to meet it and their energies embrace as one as their bodies meet for each thrust. Derek buries his face into his throat and takes hold of his hips, fucking into him hard as his body opens up for him so beautifully. When his teeth clamp down on Stiles' throat, he comes with a shout, the magic sizzling between them as he coats Derek's abs with his jizz.
Derek licks over the bite that didn't break the skin and picks up his pace, now that Stiles is still sensitive and clenching his dick tight. "Can I knot you?" he asks breathlessly, and Stiles is nodding furiously and somehow coming again when Derek finally lets go.
The combination of both their power snuffs the bedroom light out.
Stiles' laughter turns shaky when he feels the first insistent press of Derek's knot tying them together. It slips past the rings of muscle and keeps growing until Derek can do no more but grind his hips deep. Stiles is still fluttering easily around the unrelenting pressure, as sparks of floating light brighten up the darkness of the room.
He only gets soft flashes of Derek's face but he looks almost as blissed out and come drunk as he is, expression loose with satisfaction as he rolls them without separating so that Stiles ends up on his chest.
It's much easier to get comfortable after that.
"Dude, your dick is magical," Stiles croons working his hips a little around it, despite how exhausted he feels.
He's never actually felt this full before. It's indescribable.
"I'm pretty sure it's your ass that's magical. God, can you even feel how tightly you're wrapped around my cock? Jesus, Stiles, just like you were made for it."
Stiles clenches down just to be a little shit and preens at the orgasmic noise Derek makes as he does so. His insides feel a little slick with all of the come Derek's slowly pumping into him but surprisingly it just feels really, really good.
It feels even better when Derek licks a line up his throat to whisper in his ear. "My little spark."
Stiles is man enough to admit he comes all over himself with a whimper.
The first full moon run with the pack is interesting. Mainly because he's not a werewolf that transforms under the light of the moon. But he's adaptable and hangs out with Lydia, Allison, Danny, Braeden and Deaton instead, drinking oddly colourful alcoholic beverages he made that shoot sparks, while the howls echo in the distance.
And Jackson actually manages to turn into a werewolf for once. It's awesome.
Derek finds him later, transforms easily into his human form like sliding back into an old skin and they fuck wildly up against a tree in the woods.
They do eventually make it to dinner. They get burritos. And they cuddle.