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                The garage used to be a workshop for whatever Derek's father got up to back in the day, but now it’s a part storage room, part makeshift home gym.

                 His sister used to say he "Hulked up" from spending too much time in there, but she never cared much for sports in general, always reading instead, always racking up straight A’s while Derek just brought home report cards spattered with B’s and C’s.

                Derek just doesn't care now. They're gone, he tells himself. Seven years ago, which is a long time to be hung up on it, but it was essentially his whole family that left him. He had moved on and, recently, into a new town.

                He has been in Beacon Hills for about two years, renting a nice two bedroom house near the outskirts of town, which Laura would have said was typical for Derek. It was far enough away that he could go running if he felt the need to get away from his garage, but it was close enough that he could drive into town.

                It was also convenient for his new pastime. He didn't like to think of it that way, but he had to admit, that was exactly what it came down to. He had developed this new hobby in late August when school was starting back up for his neighbor's youngest boy, Scott McCall.

The McCalls were friendly enough to where they didn't bother him, but they were also annoying enough that he had bee politely forced into attending neighborhood barbeques. It was good for him, his sister would have said, which he would have disagreed with.

                It was still raining in August, which wasn't unusual, but Derek hated when it rained in the early morning. It was a challenge running from the front door to his car without getting soaked.

He was in mid run this particular rainy morning, looking ridiculous no doubt, when he saw two young males standing in the rain with no umbrella, judging from their age, waiting for the bus.

                Within a few seconds, he made his way to the car and quickly opened his driver's side door, slipping inside to avoid the downpour. Shutting it close, he leaned over his seat to stare out the passenger window at the two boys.

One was obviously Scott McCall, whom he had run into at the unfortunate barbeques, but Derek had never seen the other before. He was around the same height with a much shorter haircut, a goofy smile, wore a bright red backpack, and carried a lacrosse stick in the back.

                He couldn't help but also notice the way the raindrops hit his soft pink skin peeking out between the cotton fabric, the sensitive curve of his soft pink lips, and the way his fingers were anxiously twisted in the backpack.

                Derek stared at him with interest for an unreasonable length of time until he saw the boy's lips moving and his eyes darting at Scott, narrowing angrily.

                He knew that from the very beginning he should avert his eyes from the underage boy, and momentarily listened to his rational side, quickly putting his car in reverse.

                He didn't plan on pulling up in front of the McCall's house. It just happened. It wasn't until the McCall boy was thumping on his passenger window that he realized that he had to actually talk to them.

Derek grumbled something to himself quietly and slipped his finger on the automatic window button, rolling the passenger window down a bit.

                Scott hesitantly stepped closer to Derek's car and placed his right hand up against the side of the car, resting some of his weight onto it. He smiled shyly at Derek, who awkwardly stared at him with no expression, which made Scott nervous.

                "Hey, Mr.Hale," Scott finally said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Is there anything we can help you with?"

                Derek nodded his head and spared the other teen a glance, tilting his head to look past Scott. His friend's eyes widened when he realized Derek was staring at him and stepped closer behind Scott. He gently pulled on Scott's backpack and mumbled something about the bus probably running late.

                "Get in the car if you want a ride to school," He said suddenly, slipping his hand previously on the wheel down to a button, and it unlocked after a gentle click.

                Scott wasn't just going to hop in the car without asking his friend, who was a complete stranger to Derek. The other teen frowned at Scott and roughly jerked him away from Derek's car.

                 "Dude, how well do you know him?" Derek heard him ask Scott as his eyes darted back and forth from Scott's to Derek's bright blue ones. Derek felt himself lick his lips unconsciously, staring at the two of them as they had a quick argument.

                 "Yeah, he's my neighbor. My mom invites him over for cook-outs and stuff," Scott replied and rolled his eyes sarcastically at him. The other gave him a knowing look. "Okay, we invited him over twice, but he seems really nice and probably just left early for work."

                Scott could tell his friend wasn't too convinced, but before he could say anything else, a voice cut in. "Hey, I gotta' get going if you want to wait for the bus that's fine but-" Derek didn't even finish before his door clicked open, and Scott had shuffled into the passenger seat with a grin. Even though he was wet and soaking the nice interior, Derek let it slide and looked up into the rear-view mirror to watch for his friend.

                "I don't want any of your candy," He heard him mumble under his breath as the back door also opened up, and a soaking wet teen slipped awkwardly into his back seat, clutching his backpack in front of him like Derek would take it away.

                Scott suddenly pressed his finger down on the window button and watched as the window quickly rolled up. "Be nice, Stiles," He mumbled to his friend.

                Derek caught himself grinning in the mirror as he jerked the car into gear and drove onto the street away from Scott's house. "I am being nice. This is me, being nice.” Stiles replied in frustration, but yawned tiredly afterwards and gave a weary stretch, ruining any threatening demeanor he was trying to give off .

                Derek was deliberate in staring straight at the road, or anywhere but into the mirror; it doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out that if he looked into the backseat that he would be staring at Stiles yawning, exposing what he imagined to be a soft adolescent midriff.

                "What time does your school start?" He asked suddenly, breaking the thick silence.

Inside he felt sick, his stomach churning and his skin prickling uncomfortably with sweat. On the outside, he looked perfectly calm. Perhaps angry by the way his hands were gripping the steering wheel.

                Stiles shrugged as his hands came back down from the stretch and embraced his backpack once again. "I don't know. Like seven-thirty-ish?" He guessed, voice cracking awkwardly.

                Derek rolled his eyes in frustration, trying to focus on the car slowing down in front of them. "Be more specific. It's seven fifteen right now." He managed to grumble out.

                Stiles ignored him for a moment, glancing out the window, lost in his own world. It was only a few seconds before he sighed again, his breath fogging the glass.

                "Seven thirty five," He finally answered as he glanced up at the rear-view window to meet Derek's eyes once again.

                Derek frowned at Stiles' ruining his nice car windows and felt his body somewhat return to normal as Stiles acted more his age. "Hey, stop that, or have fun walking the rest of the way." He threatened.

                "Fine." Stiles smeared the fog away with his hand and rested his forehead against the back of Scott's chair, resting his chest on the top of his backpack, and closed his eyes.

                There was awkward silence for a few moments as time passed.

                Scott stared out the window blankly with a soft smile, Stiles rested in the back of his car, and Derek tried not to think too much about why he even picked them up. It was raining. That was his excuse.

                 He angrily shifted into fourth gear as they crest the top of a hill, accelerating. The car's interior was warm, and smelt of leather, aftershave, and coffee. Derek watched as Scott suddenly held his hands up to the heater, smiling weakly at him.

                "Cold?" Derek asked curiously. At Scott's shrug – he's not freezing, but he had been standing outside in the rain for who knows how long– the man turned the heat up, then flipped another switch. 

                "Seat warmers," Scott stated, quickly twisting his body so that he was looking into the back seat at Stiles' resting form. "Bet that crap Jeep doesn't have those, dude."

                Stiles scoffed, insulted on behalf of his Jeep, even though it really was crap car, and slowly lifted his head up to sneer at Scott. "It's good enough. Gets me where I need to go... I'm just grounded from it."

                 Derek watched the two of them in his mirror and frowned. Grounded. He forgot how young they really were. He felt his stomach churning again; he knew it definitely wasn't from the car ride.

                "I wish my mom would buy me a car," Scott mumbled under his breath as he turned back around, staring out the car window as the school started to approach their line of sight.

                "Eh," Stiles replied, still vaguely annoyed at Scott. After a moment, he added in a British accent, "I'm like your personal chauffer anyways."

                "What was that?" Derek asked with a raised brow and eyed Stiles in his mirror once again. The boy irritably crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into the seat. "My awesome accent," Stiles shrugged, and even he doesn't sound like he's convinced by the words.

                It was slightly awkward. Derek didn't know what to talk about with two teenage boys or even why he picked them up in the first place, but he knew silence would probably not boast well in this situation. Thankfully, the school was coming closer into view and would only be a few more minutes.

                He sighed softly.  There was no frame of reference for how to act. He felt like he was floating in limbo, in between all the ways he would normally act. He decided he liked it.

                As he slowly pulled the car up to the front of their high school, Derek felt one corner his lips quirks ever-so-slightly up on one side. It's bad enough that he had been thinking impure thoughts the ride up, but did his brain really have to start filling with images in front of the school?

                He tried to shake himself out of it and idly shifted the car into park, stopping in front of the walkway.  "We're here," He said after clearing his throat.

                Scott smiled widely at Derek, which did nothing but amuse him, and shuffled around in his seat, slipping his pack onto his back. "Thanks so much for the ride, Mr. Hale."

                Derek nodded his head slowly, smiling somewhat at him. Scott was staring at him with that stupid smile, and he couldn't tell if it is honest or fake. Scott seemed like an honest, good kid but mostly boring. Nothing of interest to him.

                Stiles on the other hand-It only takes him a few seconds to realize Scott has left him alone with Stiles, who was in the back of the car fidgeting trying to get his backpack on his back and open the door.

                Something so simple. He felt himself smiling again and quickly dashed out the car without even thinking about it. Within a few seconds, he had pried open Stiles' door and wondered how he got there.

                He almost ran back into the car but forced himself to stay and pretend this is normal,  just opening the door for Stiles who is obviously in a hurry and-dammit, there is no excuse.

                "Weirdo," Stiles mumbled quietly, adjusting the backpack he-finally-got on and stepping out of Derek's car.

                Derek is still standing there holding the door open, and for a long, time-less second, Stiles side-steps mere micrometers away from him so they're facing each other. Every hair on Derek's body stood to attention at the feel of his body heat so very close. 

                "Not even a thank you?" He questioned pathetically but his voice doesn't waver, but Stiles' cheeks looked a little flushed. Derek tried his best to think about sports. Once the offensive team gets the ball over the mid-court line, it can no longer have possession of the ball in the area in back of the line. If it does, the defense is awarded the ball. 

                "Thank you I guess." Stiles took a step back, halfway turning away, towards the school, towards escape, and ran one hand frantically through his short hair. To Derek it seems like a panicked gesture, not a self-satisfied and proud one.

                Derek leaned back into the car door so that it shut with a slam, smirking. "Was that so hard?" Hard. Hard. Hard. Hard.

                "No, obviously." Stiles swallowed hard before nodding and walking as fast as his legs will carry him.  

                Derek can’t reply, all he can do is breathe, breathe, sucking in air like any second now the entirety of the atmosphere will disappear on him and leave him in a vacuum of space. 

                He tried to think about sports, talk radio, lacrosse, anything, and quickly shuffled back into his car. "This is not going to end well, Hale." Derek growled to himself, feeling his insides burning hot.

                 In addition to stealing the ball from an opposing player, there are other ways for a team to get the ball. 

Chapter Text

Everywhere Derek went, his eyes searched for Stiles, an pleasure in an otherwise dull life. It was never hard to find him. He seemed to be always around the neighborhood. Once, he saw Stiles at the grocery store stocking up on soft drinks, but Derek didn't approach him. He watched behind the hostess cupcakes and got scoffed at by the old ladies.

Another time, Stiles was in his jeep-not grounded anymore-in line for McDonald's in front of Derek, who immediately put on his shades and pulled out of the drive-thru. It tasted horrible anyways.

Scott's house at mealtimes was the easiest; there he would eat and laugh with Scott and his mother while Derek gazed though his windows at Stile's thighs as they straddled the bench. Sometimes he imagined that Stiles knew he watched, that he smiled a little more for him. Those times, Derek stayed at the table long after he finished his meal.

Tonight, he watched him between bites of pie and breaks in conversation with Scott. He chest tightened and blood had slowly started to flow in between his legs. Derek pressed his fingernails into the table and tried to look away from his window. A few weeks ago, when this all started, he had moved the TV closer to the window.

Derek had drowned out the mumbling of the anchor and the repetitive news music so much that he almost jumped up from his seat when he heard his cell phone ring. Growling almost angrily, he quickly pried it out of his pocket with his fingers and flipped it open.

"Hale house," He grumbled as a greeting, eyes flickering back to Stiles, who now had pie crust all over his hands.

"Hey, Derek. This is Melissa McCall, your neighbor. Sorry to bother you, but I was making plans for a small barbeque with a few neighbors and thought I would invite you again," She replied cheerfully, instantly making Derek feel guilty. "I'm sorry if I called at a bad time."

He snorted and took a swig of his drink before answering. "No, it's fine. I thought you were my work calling." He paused a moment, and Stiles disappeared his line of view.

Suddenly, her cheery voice came through the phone again, gaining his full attention. "Right, well," She cleared her throat but the tone never dropped. "I know it might be awkward for you, but Scott has been falling back on keeping up with his classes lately. I know you graduated from college, so I thought if you came by it might be a good influence. He is so obsessed with girls lately."

Derek almost laughed at the irony. "Who will all be there?" He found himself asking before even thinking about it.

She chuckled on the other line when Stiles came back into the dining room, right into Derek's view. He had whipped cream all over his mouth, trying to lick it off awkwardly. Scott laughed at his friend, throwing several napkins across the table at him. Suddenly, Derek found himself feeling a bit guilty with Melissa on the other end.

"Oh, just Scott, me, you, Scott's new female friend, her friend, two of my work friends, and Scott's best friend, Stiles. You know, the one who talks all the time." She finally answered after a pause.

Stiles' tried to lick it pff his face for a few more seconds before he eventually gave up, wiping it off with the napkins. Derek smiled to himself at the sight and brought his hand up to his mouth, biting down on his knuckles.

"When is it again?"

----

Derek found himself standing in front of a large fold-out table full of stereotypical party food. Red cups,plastic plates, sticky ice cream, cold fries and a lot of fried appetizers he refused to take a closer look at.

After about five seconds, his mind drifted to a few minutes ago when he had arrived to the party with macaroni salad. Laura always told him if he was going to a party, he should bring something to contribute. When Mrs. McCall first saw him with it, she chuckled a little and said, "You're so sweet, Derek."

Grabbing a hold of a large pitcher full of lemonade and tipping it over into his cup, he scanned the party guests: creepy fatherly man staring at the pool, two of her coworkers still in uniform, Scott's mother, and himself.

It wasn't long before Scott's mother walked toward Derek, who was still staring at the food, and gently patted him on the back. He looked up at her, awkwardly raising his eyebrows in question.

"Is the food okay?" She asked, practically beaming. Mrs. McCall was dressed in a green collared shirt, bright yellow shorts, and a polka-dot blue sunhat. Quietly wondering if she got dressed in the dark this morning, Derek nodded his head and smiled slightly.

Every so often there were these little moments that happened, moments in between, where he—somehow or another—felt normal. A friendly neighbor at a pool party, or barbeque, chatting with his equally friendly neighbor who wanted him to talk to her son about school. Like he wasn't there to hover around her son's underage best friend like his prey.

Unfortunately, his reality came slamming into him when Scott and his friends slipped out the sliding glass door and appeared in front of Derek. Two girls the boys' age, Scott, and Derek's prey, Stiles, stood on the other side of the food table staring up at him.

"Hey, kids," He heard Mrs. McCall say suddenly, and he glanced up at her for a moment with a face that practically screamed kill-me-now. She chuckled at him, "This is Derek, our neighbor. I know you met Scott before but these are his friends: Lydia, Allison, and Stiles."

Her presence shifted away then, and in the condemning silence she left in her wake he could at least breathe a little easier. She felt like his personal guilt reminding him of his age.

Blindly, he reached for a turkey sandwich square he knew was strewn somewhere across the table and never broke his gaze from the house behind them, hoping they would just leave him.

"Derek, how are you?" He heard a voice come from one of them and peered up finally to see the brunette girl-Allison- smiling. She seemed innocent enough to talk to in her bright red sundress and white sandals.

Trapped in his own thoughts, Derek realized he never answered. And he had totally forgot about Stiles on her far right until a small hand gently brushed again his, grabbing for the sandwich next to the one he was reaching for.

Caught by surprise, he’d nearly jumped right out of his skin. Derek had barely managed a hoarse, “I'm fine,” and it was several long seconds afterward when Stiles pulled away with a sandwich before he felt the blood in his veins freeze.

As still as the corpse Derek stood in front of the teens staring awkwardly at him. In the moment, Derek became intensely aware of the movements around him: the slight rustles and splashes that marked the party's not-quite-there presence, the smell of the burning hotdogs and hamburgers on the barbeque, and the quiet laughter the McCall's few family friends behind him as they dipped their feet in the pool.

"Obviously, Silent Bob here is too busy shoving his face to talk to you, Allison," Stiles finally commented and ironically took a bite of his turkey sandwich.

Derek found himself slightly smirking. Stiles was so feisty, so interesting. He swallowed a bite and put the other half of his sandwich on a plastic plate Scott's mom had provided for the tables. He opened his mouth to speak but someone else had already beat him to it.

"It's okay, Stiles. Not everyone has to talk as much as you," The other girl, Lydia, said in a snarky tone and gently brushed her hair from her shoulders with the back of her hand. "Do you have a job, Derek?" She questioned him.

His eyes found Stiles' pair for a moment, looking a bit wounded, and picked up the plate from the table idly. "Civil engineer technician," He answered honestly and quickly shuffled away from the food table toward the small seating under an umbrella near the pool.

Derek briefly heard Scott and Stiles asking Lydia what that meant, who merely laughed at them again. Luckily, he glanced over his shoulder at the precise moment when Stiles started happily digging into his macaroni salad. Something in his chest tightened again. He was screwed.

---

It had only been a half hour since he had last spoke with Stiles and Scott's friends, and he had sat under the umbrella nursing his drink and sandwich the whole time. Pathetic, he thought to himself and stared down at it. Laura would be ashamed.

Scott and Stiles had been cooking hotdogs and hamburgers on the grill with his mom's supervision, which was a enjoyable sight for Derek to watch.

Stiles was his own little sun, a ball of pure energy, reminding Scott and him both that their world was not complete without its own light and warmth. Some days, he was even a little jealous of how Stiles remained optimistic.

When they were finally allowed to grill by themselves, the girls that were previously sunbathing on their towels by the pool had began prancing around the food table in their bikinis. Scott's mother only once glanced over at Derek when they put them on in the first place and never looked back at him once she noticed his attention strayed to the two. It was a little unnerving to think she had such little trust in Derek.

But It was only a matter of minutes before Scott was staring at the girls over his shoulder, smiling and flipping a burger. Stiles mumbled something Derek couldn't hear and rolled his eyes.

"Dude, look," He heard Scott say and took a step away from the grill, leaving Stiles alone. The other teen flailed his arms at Scott, flipped a few more burgers, and pulled the top down on the grill to let it cook.

“Plants are looking nice,” Derek heard someone say to his left, and the same person set a cold beer bottle on the patio table. It was quite hot outside, and he somewhat appreciated the effort. “Those tulips are going to be nice this year.”

Sparing a glance away from Stiles , he met a pair of grey eyes and a knowing smile. The man was a little older than Melissa, so he assumed he was someone's parent, most likely, the brunette judging from similar facial structure.

“I have to admit, I helped Melissa with them," He continued, leaning back on his haunches to admire the patch of flowers growing beside the sliding glass door. “You can help me prune if you want.”

“I would kill them. I have a black thumb.” Derek commented, shrugging his shoulders. That moment, the back gate imploded open and two screaming girls ran inside followed by Stiles holding a flaming hot poker.

"Be right back," The man groaned and shuffled out of his seat, running after Stiles and the girls. Derek quickly looked up at Scott, who was shaking his head and turning his attention back to the grill. Mrs. McCall, sighed at Stiles' antics and proudly smiled at her own son, carrying a pitcher of lemonade around to the guests.

Derek found himself smiling as well.

---

He hadn't meant to steal it. Not really. He had just been fetching some ketchup and mustard when he saw it. The McCall house was probably already full of Stiles' stuff, and he didn't even think about taking any of those.

But this was an impulse. Derek had turned the corner after a wall of numerous family photos and into the kitchen and there it was, the only photo without a frame. The room was small, and from what Derek could see, there was only the one entrance. It was only natural for him to take a closer look.

He hadn't expected this. The photo he held in his hand made his blood run hot. It was a photo of Stiles and Scott. The smile on Stiles' face was purposeful and exaggeratedly handsome and just so fucking irritating. The way he looked at Scott in the picture was with such adoration, it made Derek want to grab his face and rip it too shreds.

Derek swallowed. His hand gripped the photograph too tightly. His heart hammed in his chest, but the swimmy feeling in his stomach was not unpleasant until his ears picked out harsh and distant laughter coming from inside the living room.

He quickly ripped Scott off the picture, tossed it into the trash under the sink, and stuck the picture of Stiles into his pack pocket. He smiled silently before walking out of the kitchen and down the hall to the living room. He almost had a panic attack when he saw Scott standing in the living room alone with a sandwich in his hand.

"No ketchup?" Scott questioned, quelling Derek's paranoia, and took a step closer to him, biting into his sandwich. "It's okay. I know you probably don't want to be here." Before Derek could correct him, he continued. "I know my mom invited you here to talk about college so I'd stop skipping school to hang out with Allison. Let's just pretend that happened and you can leave."

Derek smirked at him. He had to admit, when Scott wasn't complaining or running around like an idiot, he could be smart. Sadly, it meant nothing to Derek.

"I'm good, thanks," He snatched the sandwich out the boy's hand casually and brought it took his mouth, taking a forceful bite. Behind him, he heard Scott's surprised gasp.

The moment he stepped outside, the heat assaulted him from all sides. Derek wanted to go back inside to his dearly beloved air conditioning. But, he sighed and headed toward the umbrella shaded table full of adults.

But all that was forgotten as soon as Derek spotted Stiles climbing out of the pool. His skin was slick with water, tiny droplets clinging to his adolescent body, and his smile was mischievous, if not guilty. Derek's throat was suddenly parched, the heat fogging his mental processes.

It was sheer torture.

It wasn't until Scott bumped into him from behind when he realized he was standing in the middle of the path, blocking the way. He stepped to the side and nodded at Scott, who raised an eyebrow questionably at Derek.

Despite wanting to annoy Scott further and stay, he quickly shuffled past the crowd to Melissa to thank her and subsequently quickly walked toward the back door.

He didn't even make it five feet before Stiles' was standing in his way of the gate door. His breath caught in his throat, and he stilled immediately. "Sorry but-" He had started.

"I liked your macaroni salad," Stiles interrupted with a smile but narrowed his eyes at him afterward, taking a step closer until they were only a few inches apart.

Derek could feel his breath on his neck and could hear his heart slamming his chest once again. "You should give it to Scott again, so I can eat it." He suggested.

"Selfish," Derek found himself replying .

Stiles smirked a little. "Maybe."

Derek silently watched as Stiles walked back over to the pool to join his friends. His hands clenched into fists anxiously before remembering the photograph in his pocket.

As he left the party, he reached into his back pocket and slipped the photograph into his hands.

Derek almost felt alive again.

Chapter Text

            The Beacon Hills Bridge had to be done by the end of next year, yet  it was already August. His team finally had the go ahead from the city manager to start, but this didn't leave them a lot of time.

 

            Granted, the bridge was going to be only 300 feet, but the project would take a significant amount of time to get all the necessary equipment and materials.

           

            Derek had been working for months planning and estimating, and today he received the good news. Unfortunately, this also meant he would be spending a lot of time on the phone for the next few weeks getting everything organized.

 

            This was his second major project of the year, and if he did a good job, it meant a possible raise, which he had to admit, he needed.

 

            Getting the project done was the easy part, but concentrating had been a difficult task the past few weeks. He went down with Erica, the civil engineer whom he assisted, on-site yesterday to measure some last minute things and almost fell into the water. She laughed about it for hours until Derek went home.

 

             It had been about two weeks since the barbeque at the McCall's, and Stiles was still on his mind. Derek had been working a lot on the bridge plans with Kate and had little to know time to do anything other than eat or sleep.

 

            The last two weekends included a business party, meetings, over-time at the site, and on his one day off Stiles and Scott had apparently chose to go camping.

 

            After a few weeks of coming home late, he started to arrive the same time Stiles left Scott's house. It was just too easy to silently follow him back to his house.

 

             He had expected an apartment, to be honest, but he kept forgetting the boy's father was the sheriff. Of course, he had enough money to get himself a nice two story in the middle of town.

 

            The best thing about their house was that it was unprotected. No fence, no dogs, and no security system.

 

             Once he had the night picked out, and made sure neither of the Stilinskis were home, it was as easy as picking the lock on the front door, slipping inside quietly, and parking a few blocks away.

 

            Stiles' house was classy, most likely due to the late Mrs. Stilinski. Large open windows, dark walls, rich wood floors and tasteful rugs. He brushed the tips of his fingers along the walls, painted in delicate shades of not-quite-yellow, as he slowly walked up the staircase to the right.

 

            Even if he hadn’t followed him home the night before and watched Stiles turn off the light in his bedroom, Derek would have known immediately, walking into the first room on the left that he had slept there.

            He licked his lips and gave the doorknob a quick turn, stepping inside the room and looking around in delight. Stiles' objects were strung all over the floor,  but the rest of the room wasn't anything special

 

             Like most teenagers, minimalism was key. A simple closet with sliding wooden doors, a dark brown IKEA dresser with matching bed, a nightstand on either side, a white desk in neat of order, and a door leading to the private bathroom toward the back of the bedroom. A shelf built into the wall across from his bed held a collection of books but nothing Derek would find interesting.

 

            He finally stepped into the bedroom and shrugged off his leather jacket, letting it fall to the carpet quietly. Shirt and tie followed; then trousers, belt, and pants.

 

            Before he knew it, he had walked over to Stiles' dresser and pulled open the top drawer and smiled; boxers. Derek chose a pair that was a deep, navy blue, handling it with care, lifting it and mouthing at it before remembering to take his time.

 

            His hands fumbled with the pair, and it was almost too much not to take himself in hand, and so he quickly skimmed his hands down to grab at his clothed groin, although he stroked himself with a fond regret before turning to the bed.

 

            Somewhat made, blue duvet and messy white sheets. Derek leaned close and breathed deep; maybe, if he strained, he could catch a hint of some warm, male scent—

 

            He shuddered in pleasure and scrambled into the bed, burying his face in the pillow and groaning loudly as he arched his back. He bit the pillow and grinned around his mouthful as saliva wet the smooth fabric, and then he let it go to flip over onto his back, head between the two pillows now, rising up on either side of his face and directing his vision up to the ceiling. The generic anime poster on the wall almost killed his mood.

 

            Derek grabbed himself then, squeezing his clothed erection tight and moving under his own pair of boxers, a quiet groan escaping his mouth even when he brought his other hand up to his mouth and bit down onto his hand.

 

             As he jacked himself harder, remembering innocent, big brown doe eyes and that thin yet sensual mouth, lips that gave away when he was thinking with each tiny quirk—

 

            “Fuck,” he gasped, rubbing his hand over his face and reaching up to grab the headboard, to hold it, toes curling into the cool duvet . He was so ready, shaking with it and trying to hold on, picturing those perfect pair of lips on him, licking and sucking with inexperience. Derek wouldn't mind.

 

             He would have those hands on his body, he would have his own on Stiles' body, stripped bare and warming up under his assault.

 

            His hips stuttered and his back arched—Christ, he hadn’t felt it like this since he was in college—heat rushing through him, too much and so good, his head shaking back and forth and his mouth open as it overwhelmed him.

 

             He came silently, hand still working with a feverish intensity, until he just couldn’t—had to let go, had to lay there gasping, pleasure echoing through him, making him feel hollow and used and so, so goddamn good. In the warmth he’d created, in the mess he’d wreaked, in Stiles' bed.

 

            A clean up was needed quickly. He gave himself little to no recovery before wiping his hand on his abdomen, knowing it was easier to wipe himself off later than ruining Stiles' sheets as well as leaving evidence.   

 

            Using his other hand, previously in his mouth, Derek pushed himself up off the bed to reach for his clothes strewn on the floor and apprehensively began to dress.

 

             His heart pounded in his chest, a rushing sound filled his ears, and he struggled to find the right hole for his head in the shirt, having to use one hand to reach out and steady himself on Stiles' wall. What the hell did he just do? He relieved himself on an underage boy's bed after breaking into the underage boy's house while he thought of the underage boy.

 

            He had to admit, it would've been a lot better with the underage boy in the bed too.