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His Only Defence

Chapter Text

Noh.



The worst part was probably that his father had tried to warn him. And sure, maybe he wasn’t the prime example for concentration what with the amount of Adderall pumping in his veins- his listening skills left a lot to be desired- but he had at least hoped that at some point life would stop pissing on him and pretending that it was rain.

In all fairness, he was running late, mediation skills required a hell of a lot more these days in order to keep Scott and Allison’s relationship alive. The Argent's hadn’t taken too well to the fact that Scott was a werewolf- yeah, them, and half the population of America.

It wasn’t like people were surprised that there were werewolves running around. How could they not have known with all of the different examples of it in the media? The easily accessible research. Pages upon pages of internet info retrieved at the click of a button. That wasn’t the problem at all.

It was the fact that humans no longer held the top of the food chain. Alphas, betas, even omegas possessed more power than they ever could, and if that wasn’t a kick in the evolutionary chains balls then Stiles didn’t know what was.

At this stage it wasn’t really a problem for him, but it was about to be. Stiles had never been one for luck. In fact, he was pretty sure that irony had made him its bitch years and years ago, but today it really decided to go in for the kill.

His keys were in his hand as he scrambled towards the door, thoughts flying through his head a mile a minute, not slowing down enough to consider the importance of his father yelling at him from the living room. That warning went straight over his head.

“Stiles! Don’t forget today’s the...”

“Gotta meet Scott, Dad, sorry!” Stiles yelled back, too focused up to think about what his father could be warning him about this time.

Hell, it was Beacon Hills, and he was Stiles Stilinski. Trouble would find him no matter how much his dad wished it wouldn’t, but being the Sheriff's son did have its perks: preventative measures against juvenile detention being one of them.

He sent a quick text out to Scott before he climbed into his jeep, starting his baby and blaring the radio so loud that it was probably damaging his ear canal, but he didn’t really mind. Today he was all about helping Scott talk to his girlfriend. Or for a better word, secret girlfriend.

Hey, who was he to deny spreading the love? Besides, even if Scott was the ultimate catch, he’d really hit the jackpot with Allison and Stiles- as his best friend- just couldn’t say no to keeping them together and putting a little bit of lovin’ back into the universe.

It was all about the subtlety. Certainly, Mr Argent was bound to give him strange looks from hanging around Allison all the time, and very briefly- to deliver messages of Scott’s undying love- but he was used to these looks. It had become apparent long ago that his cognitive skills resided on a higher plane than foolish mortals, but he was okay with that. He’d learned to be adaptable and to accept that some people just thought he was a freak.

And not even a supernatural one at that.

He didn’t get very far, of course. The whole town was blocked off. His phone beeped, but he didn’t need Scott’s message to remind him. Of course. How could he have forgotten?

Some big shot alpha who’d used to live in Beacon Hills was returning, and the town committee had organised this fantastic waste of time parade, blocking off all of the main roads and flooding them with people and festivity. For all the kissassery, Stiles would've thought they'd never met an alpha werewolf before. Sure, they could crush him easily with nothing but a tight crunch of razor sharp jaws, but alphas weren't that big of a deal.

Certainly, not enough for a fancy parade.

Stiles sat there while his jeep idled, curiously pondering the pros and cons of just driving into the fray of bodies- one jeep to a hundred humans ratio- consequence be damned. But then he could already picture his father shaking his head at him in his familiar, but Stiles hoped affectionate my-God-how-did-I-possibly-create-you- kind of way, so he decided against it.

He parked off to the side of the road, nearly hitting an old man in the process who smacked his walking stick on the side of his jeep in retaliation. He even shook his fist in Stiles' direction as if he were the miscreant. Stiles figured there was no point yelling at him to watch the jeep. The dude looked ancient enough to not even know what a hearing aid was, so he accepted that sometimes you almost kill somebody and that somebody feels the need to wail on your jeep in revenge.

The universe finds balance again.

He parked his car and reluctantly left his baby in the vicinity of reasonably intelligent savages. There were people everywhere. It was like a people tsunami. A people explosion that had already decimated the town and he texted Scott to meet him on the steps of town hall, resigning himself to the fact that his personal space was about to be seriously invaded. Like space invaders, invaded.

He let himself be swept away, which was surprisingly easy seeing as he was only 147 pounds of fair skin, and fragile bones. It was impossible to find Scott in the mess, but he hadn’t been pushed very far before he was being yanked out of the swarm and onto the safety of the sidelines.

Scott gave him a tense smile.

“How did you?...”

“Your scent,” he explained. “Allison’s over there with her family. I really need to talk to her.”

“Then talk away, buddy. You know you have my undivided attention. A display of Lydia hotness could not detract me from my focus, right now. I am zen, one with the universe. I am totally-“

“Stiles,”

“-shutting up. Totally shutting up.”

Scott rambled on for about a minute and Stiles tried to pay attention, but every now and again people tried to walk through him instead of around him as if he weren’t a corporal body and something they could pass straight through. It was both highly alarming, and persistently distracting. He kept stumbling all over the place.

His best friend finally finished, and Stiles was grateful Scott had never been a big word kind of guy because then he would have never remembered the whole thing. He nodded afterwards, and then very bravely stepped out into the madness towards the direction Scott had pointed, praying to God that he wouldn’t get crushed or stampeded and die a virgin.

Fifteen minutes later, he’d moved about a couple metres, feeling extremely thankful that no pain had been involved since he was a smaller target to hit, pressed up against every inch of everything in the little sardine party. Or was it the anchovies that were always packed tightly together? He resolved to google it later if he ever made it out alive.

Somehow, he found Allison and repeated Scott’s message. The highlights being- Scott loves Allison, Scott will love and continue to date Allison forever even if her parents don’t want her to because he’s a werewolf. Scott believes it can still work. Scott will do anything to stay with Allison. Conclusion: Scott is whipped beyond recognition and is now brainless with love. There are worse ways to be, Stiles can't exactly fault him for that.

Allison smiles gratefully at the message, which makes Stiles feel a little better about the intensity of the whole situation. And so is Scott’s reaction, when twenty minutes later, he makes it back to relay her message. He continues this for a further hour, and because he is irony’s bitch it does not get any easier and the messages get even gushier to the point that he must projectile vomit or endure it until his soul departs his body.

Considering the heat of the day, too, heatstroke isn’t entirely off the table either.

After playing cupid for a few hours, Stiles starts getting tired, thirsty and frustrated so he’s not feeling the best. He’s tempted to lie and say that he’s supposed to meet his dad to get out of further snail mail deliveries, but he’s pretty sure Scott’s going to give him those puppy dog eyes and guilt him into staying. His options aren’t looking too great.

But then he spots Lydia in the crowd, and that brief flash of strawberry blonde hair raises his spirits so much that he starts to think things might be looking up. And then the crowd starts to fizzle out a bit, making it easier to move back and forth between the two sickeningly cute lovebirds and some random vendor takes pity on a heavily dehydrated Stiles and gives him a free bottle of water.

Everybody’s smiling and having a good time and Stiles is a sucker for conformity so he starts to think that maybe his luck is changing.

Until it isn’t.

Allison starts to leave. Only Scott hasn’t told her his final little admission of teenage angst that keeps the passion of their forbidden romance that more powerful. And he’s frantically muttering these words to Stiles, which he’s struggling to follow because he’s too interested watching the people slowly dispersing and the road he’s been crossing for the entire afternoon starting to look like a normal road again.

Scott’s finally done, and nudges Stiles forward after Allison who’s catching his gaze and looking somewhat disappointed as she’s slowly dragged away by her parents. So naturally, Stiles feels the need to hurry forward and be the hero who removes that sad expression, because it’s within his power to do so.

And that’s about when he almost gets run over by a sleek car driving way too fast in this crowd of people to be safe, or practical, and he has to backpedal a whole hell of a lot so as not to get hit or fall on his ass. The front of the car gets so close that it brushes against his jeans.

He yells without thinking, as he usually does. “What the hell are you doing? Did you not notice the thousands of pedestrians all over town? Are you trying to freaking kill me?”

Somebody gasps. The driver’s mouth falls open in shock, and Stiles bends down to retrieve his dropped water bottle which- thank you, Jesus- has rolled underneath the car so he has to resort to half crawling under it to get it. Dignity? What dignity you ask. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

He wonders briefly, if it was the smartest idea when he hears the engine rumbling around his ears but it's too late to back out now. He wouldn’t blame them if they ran over him, he did kind of make it easy for them. Stiles hopes his dad didn’t notice, or maybe he does. He’s curious to see who his dad would give the third degree to, him or the driver.

His fingers close over the bottle, finally, and he shuffles out from underneath the car, wondering if he should flip the driver off for good measure only the driver’s no longer at the wheel. Instead, standing in front of him is the man he was obviously driving, the driver lurking nervously in his shadow.

Everybody has gone silent, and Stiles is starting to comprehend that hey, maybe something big is going on here because everybody is staring and he’s pretty sure he’s wearing all of his clothing, this time. So nakedness could not be the problem. Although, to be fair, he's usually dreaming when that happens.

Or maybe it’s just the guy. Because even Stiles notices he is damn fine. He’s wearing jeans and a leather jacket like some badass biker with these don’t-even-think-about-fucking-with-me kind of eyes that, if directed his way, would certainly have him bending over quicker than a yoga instructor.

The man takes a step towards him and everything is quiet. Stiles wants to say 'too quiet', but maybe that’s too many cliché moments for today. And he did almost just get run over.

“Is there a problem?” the sex God Stiles wants to lick all over asks, in a pretty rough tone which indicates he’s about to create one. A very big problem, by the sounds of it.

There’s something about the way he doesn't even direct the question to him, addressing the general crowd instead as if he's already dismissed Stiles as irrelevant, that really riles him up. How he'd just asserted the dominance crap and taken over everything as if it belongs to him. Stiles immediately doesn’t like it. He’s taking the male masculinity thing to a whole new level.

But Stiles has seen way too many Jacksons to pretend that he’s going to grovel all over this guy to save his own ass- though, it is a nice ass; perfectly untoned from years of bench warming for the lacrosse team.

“Did you just try to run me down?” Stiles asks. “Was your driving nearly the death of me? See, that’s where I’m gonna say no, and then I’m gonna say it’s none of your business.”

The guy finally looks at him then and the driver’s eyes widen further as he backs away from his employer, though Stiles for the life of him cannot figure out why. What the hell is wrong with him? Is he really that afraid of eye contact?

“He’s my driver, therefore my problem.”

Stiles scoffs openly at the guy's abruptness. Straight and to the point. “Well, this is my ass and you can use your lips to kiss it.”

It’s not just one person gasping now, it’s several, and Stiles has not clicked with the program yet, but he hears a very distinctive groan and wonders what the big deal is. The hunky guy looks shocked, legitimately shocked, and Stiles feels a thrill of satisfaction for putting it there, ass or no ass.

With so many witnesses what can this guy do, really? It’s not like he’s going to start an all out brawl. He must have figured out that Stiles isn’t that much of a match anyway, though of course, looks are deceiving. Somehow Stiles wants him to hit him, though. He wants to fight this guy and teach him a lesson for being so damn sure of himself.

This coming from a kid who lost all of the battles with various monsters in his closet and kept a night light til he was eight. It's a weird urge to be having right now.

And then the man does something that completely surprises him. He glances around, and looks into the crowd as if Stiles is no longer capable of talking to him.

“Who does this pup belong to?” he asks, managing to sound victimised, like Stiles is the one causing trouble which is just freaking rude.

“He’s the Sheriff's kid,” somebody bravely replies, much to Stiles’ irritation. Now he has no choice but to behave, even if this guy is starting to make him angry, really angry like he’s never been before. What is going on? Before he can think further on the topic, his mouth is already protesting,

“I’m not a pup or a kid!”

The guy looks at him again, that overconfident smirk all over his sexy face and says. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you-“

And he doesn’t get another word out, because at the mention of his mother, Stiles snaps. He’s launching himself forward before his brain can catch up with the moment, using the force of his body to slam his hands into the guy’s chest and push. In hindsight, bad idea, but really it was just a push, not even much one, really.

Stiles is no champion fighter, here, but he's furious enough to pretend.

His eyes widen when he hits corded muscle, and God, rock solid abs, but the man moves back more in surprise than anything else. Stiles finds that infuriates him further, but the muscle thing seems to have provided a nice enough incentive to back the hell off before he gets pulverised.

“Don’t- don’t,” he struggles to find the words. Don’t talk about my mother. Five simple words, but he can’t bring himself to enunciate because he’s so livid. Why is he even trying to fight this guy?

“No.”

Strange, that it’s that word that brings a growl out of the man, and not the fact that Stiles just assaulted him in front of so many people. The reaction helps Stiles' anger cool. He's calm enough to glance around the crowd again, finally noticing the way their necks are bent as if in submission- to the alpha.

Oh, shit. Jesus Christ no.

He remembers reading once about what not submitting meant. To the alpha, not submitting was a sign of a challenge, a refusal to accept their word as law.

Stiles had just accidentally challenged an alpha.

Oh, God, and Scott had just stood by and let him do it. He was the worst best friend, ever. Stiles was going to kill him. Except, oh right, the alpha was going to kill him first. Like beyond dead, ripped into tiny little pieces dead. So far dead that his dad would not be able to identify him, dead.

At least that thought was comforting.

“Alpha-“ he began, pointing at the man accusingly as if in need of confirmation.

“Hale.” He finished. “Derek Hale.”

Stiles said a particularly colourful swear word, and then did the only thing that he thought was a good idea in a life threatening situation. Run.

Only, it wasn’t a good idea, because if he hadn’t been half terrified out of his mind, he would have remembered that it would only make things worse. But a core meltdown of his brain had occurred and he wasn’t really dealing with smart Stiles at the moment.

Although, in a minute he was going to be dealing with dead Stiles. He’d barely made it three steps before a clawed hand was enclosing around his neck, yanking him back into a solid chest that he had just freaking pushed a minute ago like he was a pro-wrestler. He had been so wrong about that.

If the crowd had been scandalised by Stiles' behaviour, they were even more affected by this new development. He managed to catch Scott’s eye and his facial expression seemed to spell out everything.

The gist was something along the lines of You complete dumbass! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Yeah, well, he was still working on that phase of his don’t-die plan.

“Why did you run?” Derek growled into his ear, and he sounded breathless. “Didn’t anybody tell you, that’s an invitation?”

Stiles groaned, wondering if it would make him any less of a man to punch himself in the face. Repeatedly. He was already struggling fitfully in Derek’s grip like some kind of limber octopus, cursing to high heavens his unbelievable stupidity. Derek seemed to have no problem holding onto him and the close proximity was not helping things in the slightest.

Stiles body wanted to write poems, sing melodies and write intense haiku’s to his rocking bod. But then, of course his brain was in a state of goo and in no such condition to be performing such tasks, thank God.

And then, suddenly, he was being dragged back to Derek’s car, manhandled inside and kidnapped in broad daylight in front of a crowd of hundreds, his best friend included and probably his dad. Maybe even Lydia. Though not one individual lifted a finger to stop it. Right, alpha law ranks higher than human law. How could he have let that precious detail slip his mind.

“What!- what?... What even?” he managed to coherently gasp out, scrambling away from the leather wearing alpha kidnapper in the small space. “Where are you taking me?”

The crowd had already parted enough for the car to peel away from the curb, and drive through the main street towards what Stiles assumed was instantaneous death.

“I’m taking you home as a courtesy to let your family know what’s happened and give you twenty four hours to get your affairs into order. Then, I’m coming back for you,” Derek said simply.

“Coming back?” he squeaked out. “For me? Listen, if this is because I pushed you- well, uh, then I’m really sorry...”

“No, you’re not,” Derek said. “You’re lying.”

Stiles winced. Werewolf equals automatic lie detector, dammit, why did he keep forgetting all of these important details? His best friend was a freaking werewolf, too. He should be an expert by now.

“Then what the hell, man?” he demanded feeling his voice starting to get shrill. He was seriously contemplating wrenching the door open, and diving out into the abyss of pain and bitumen.

“You’ll only injure yourself,” Derek said reading his thoughts as if he had spoken them. Stiles scowled at him, feeling completely outmatched, but thankfully, not outwitted.

“Why are you doing this?”

Derek’s indifference vanished for a moment, and his face hardened into an expression of pure rage.

“I’m not doing anything,” he snarled. “You. Would. Not. Submit.”

“That doesn’t mean you kidnap me!”

Derek closed his eyes and breathed in deeply to calm himself, and Stiles used the opportunity to drink in every aspect of his lean and attractive form, though he was angry and kidnapped, and it was all business upstairs, he swore. But downstairs...

“You’re still doing it,” Derek explained tightly. “And now you’re mine. It’s instinct.”

Stiles shivered. And now you’re mine. God, who even says that? What a douche. He tried not to roll his eyes, but then he did it anyway because really how more screwed could he get?

“I’m not anybody's,” he managed stubbornly.

Derek scowled as if he'd rather not take him up on the offer anyway and Stiles contemplated hitting all that toned muscle for a second try; he just needed to locate some organs or other tender areas. Although, the finality of his tone was definitely something to be concerned about.

He was even more certain when Derek caught his upper arm and pulled Stiles into his lap as if he was lighter than air. He squeaked out a protest, but then Derek's tongue was sliding across the too hot skin of his neck and Stiles was moaning wantonly, leaning into it. He flushed at his reaction, and his limbs scattered across the open space in a futile effort.

But then Derek's teeth came down, biting deeply into the skin of his neck with an animalistic growl and Stiles whined, impossibly horny and desperate for more. His anger flared again and then he was twisting around and sinking his teeth into the tender area of Derek's neck in revenge. Yeah right, bite him and get away with it.

The alpha stiffened in shock and released the grip on his arms as Stiles slid uncoordinatedly out of his lap and away from him. The bastard. He wanted to punch the stupid alpha in his stupid face. And of course now his neck was freaking bleeding.

"You bit me," he muttered, scowl deepening when he put his hand to the mark Stiles' teeth had left.

"Yeah, well you did it first," he shot back and the satisfaction he felt seemed somewhat illogical now that he'd done it.

Derek moved toward him again and Stiles tensed, but he merely lapped at the wound he'd made with his tongue, soothing over the hurt and eliciting a shudder. And then he pulled away like nothing had happened

What. The. Fuck.

Stiles opted for silence after that. Which is really saying something. It was a lot to wrap his head around. And his dad was definitely going to kill him. Maybe, he and Derek would do it together as like a bonding thing. It didn’t seem entirely unlikely.

But he was still trying to believe this was even happening at all. How in the holy hell of universes had he ended up in a heated argument with an alpha? Oh, that was right he was irony’s bitch, how had he even let it slip his mind for a moment. He remembered that earlier feeling, thinking maybe his luck was changing and felt the need for grievous bodily harm. To himself. For being below humanly possible levels of stupid.

When had Stiles luck ever changed? Why, oh why, had he been swept into a false sense of security like that? Oh, that was right. He was Stiles Stilinski, this was Beacon Hills and his life sucked.

Chapter Text

Non.


Stiles was in rage monster mode when Derek’s driver dropped him home. Biting that asshole in the neck had helped somewhat but it hadn't affected the outcome of this whole debacle in any way.

They were both waiting for him at the front door. Before Stiles had even stepped out of the car, the Sheriff of Beacon Hills was already shaking his head. What an encouraging welcoming committee.

Stiles immediately punched Scott as hard as he could in the shoulder, knowing his strength was nothing compared to Scott’s, but felt pleasantly mollified that he winced like it had actually hurt.

“Thanks for sticking with me there, ol’ buddy ol’ pal. Don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Scott looked stricken. “Stiles, he’s an alpha. You know, I couldn’t...”

“Yeah, yeah. Just go and find another shoulder to cry on,” he muttered. “Because I’m pissed.”

“Stiles,” His father finally spoke, using his dangerous I’m-a-badass-with-a-gun voice. “House. Now.

He shrugged, and figured it would work quicker if he just let his father drag him inside by the scruff of his shirt, which he did. Scott followed, naturally.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sheriff Stilinski demanded, releasing him with a shake.

“Obviously I didn’t know he was the alpha.”

Scott laughed, but he shut up pretty quickly when the Sheriff- who owns a freaking gun, dumbass- looked at him.

“Aw, c’mon, Stiles. How could you not have known? He was driving a Mercedes.”

Stiles didn’t understand the relevance of that. Like all alphas drove flashy cars? Besides the only car he truly cared about, he'd been forced to abandon in light of the recent kidnapping.

“He wasn’t even driving. Otherwise, I would have yelled at him first.”

His dad actually slapped the palm of his hand against his face. Oh great, he had his father face palming now. Perfect.

“How did you not realise he was the alpha? The way everybody but you bared their necks in respect? But oh, no. You had to tell him to kiss your ass!”

“You were there! Why didn’t you stop me?” he argued back, knowing it wasn’t much of an excuse, but hey, he can’t always be expected to pull his foot out of his own mouth. He wasn’t exactly flexible in that way.

“Too many people,” they both said in unison, and Stiles felt oddly touched that it had occurred to them to try and prevent his stupidity. Maybe they did have his back after all.

“And then you pushed him, man. I just thought he’d kill you right there,” Scott admitted, looking shocked and awed by the idea of it which Stiles found a little unnerving.

But then his dad shook his head. “No, you’ve seen Stiles. He isn’t to be taken seriously as a threat. It could only be seen as a bond invitation.”

Stiles huffed in outrage, but Scott nodded as if it was the most plausible thing in the world. That’s how it was, he supposed; weaker than a leaf and no tougher than a dandelion, was their Stiles.

“And Stiles,” his dad added and reached over to cuff him across the back of his head as if it was an afterthought.

“Ow!”

“Why the hell did you try and run, you idiot. Don’t you listen in class?”

Scott was smirking at this, and Stiles glared back, feeling betrayed when the soon to be ex-best friend used his hand to cover his smile.

“It was fight or flight, Dad! I had no choice, the dude was totally about to eat me.”

“Um, Stiles. You do know that running is an invitation, right?” Scott asked, though his voice wavered as if he was struggling not to laugh.

Traitor, Stiles thought. May he burn in the fieriest pits of hell. May Allison forever deny him sexual intercourse. May he be forever cockblocked by Mr and Mrs Argent. May he get extremely hairy and in serious need of a werewolf manicure and remain unattractive permanently.

His father face palmed again.

“I knew!” he cried hotly, knowing full and well that he actually didn’t know, but for the sake of the argument was pretending to. Stiles normally caught up on his sleep during their intro to werewolf class in school. Anything he didn't already know he'd always figured Scott could explain, anyway. Great help that had been. He glared at Scott to make him shut up about the obvious lie, but it was unnecessary because apparently the Sheriff could see through teenagers and cuffed him about the head again.

“You know I could get a serious injury,” he complained, rubbing the back of his skull.

“I’m wondering if you already do, if you don’t know that bit of information about werewolves!”

“So, it’s an invitation. So what? That’s not my problem.”

The Sheriff tried to cuff him again, but Stiles, wise to the ways of his father, ducked out of the target zone and took a few steps back for good measure. Scott shook his head in disbelief.

“It’s an invitation to, uh-how do I put this...” the Sheriff began, shifting uncomfortably.

Scott blushed. Stiles glanced between them, knowing he should be jumping ahead of this learning curve, but honestly having no idea where it was leading.

“Screw you,” Scott finally admonished, and they all fell into an awkward silence.

Stiles eyes bugged. He knew, because he was currently straining to push them out of their sockets to see this non-reality better. “But-but,” he fumbled for words. “But I didn’t...He didn’t even ask my name!”

“Oh, yes. You did, buddy,” his dad said. “You didn’t submit, you insulted him to his face, you physically attacked him and then you ran. You might as well have served yourself up on a silver platter.”

Stiles felt his thoughts take a million different turns at once. “But Dad you’ve studied alpha law. Isn’t there some way I can get out of this?”

The Sheriff appeared to consider this for a moment, his eyebrows knitting together in thought, and Stiles felt guilty for adding so much stress to his father’s life.

“What time is he coming back?”

There was no question about 'if' and that was probably what scared Stiles the most. He was truly in this now. There was no escape. Derek was his alpha now. No. He refused to accept it. Stiles was a stubborn individual. He would not submit to Derek. The dude would have to kill him first.

“He said twenty four hours.”

Scott actually had the decency to stop laughing. His concern was touching, though Stiles thought it would be easier to hate him forever and condemn him to a life of Stileslessness.

“You’ve offered yourself to him, but he has to accept the claim first and then you both need to cement it through a physical action. If you can convince him otherwise before the next full moon then the offer goes stale. I think, maybe you should try and call him, set up a meeting and then...”

He trailed off suddenly, eyes narrowing as Stiles scratched absently at his neck. He could’ve sworn he was wearing his paying-attention expression so he was surprised at the sudden attention. He smiled unconvincingly and tried to look innocent.

“Let me see your neck, Stiles,” he asked quietly.

Stiles flinched, and then felt his face heat up, in that very unattractive way he did whenever his father mentioned anything remotely sexual in his presence. He tried to appear nonchalant, but he was pretty sure it was time to throw in the towel, he’d already been nabbed. Sheriff Stilinksi, unfortunately, had a pretty damn good eye for details which led to a lot of awkward conversations.

"What this old neck? Nothing special going on here, nope."

Irrelevant, because awkward was Stiles' speciality. It was clear in the way that he’d awkwardly offered his body to the alpha, basically as his sexual chew toy. He really needed to start thinking things through more.

The Sheriff approached him slowly, and Stiles tried to make a last minute ditch effort to dash up the stairs and into his bedroom, but was caught between Scott and his own long gangly limbs. Curses upon his own body.

Scott’s face if possible, went a little redder, and Stiles tried to pretend that he wasn’t screaming internally or that klaxons in his mind weren’t screeching in warning. His expression, undoubtedly, said it all.

"What happened after he bit you?" he asks, faintly.

A surge of something reemerges in his blood. "I bit him back."

His father sighed and sank down on the couch in defeat. “Too late,” he grumbled. "Claims aren't usually cemented with a neck bite, he was probably trying to frighten you into withdrawing your invitation only you sealed it by biting him instead."

“Whaaaaaa?”

“He marked you and you marked him back,” Scott explained patiently. “That means you’re completely his.”

“I’m not,” he insisted.

“Every wolf you encounter will know it. I didn’t realise, but when you touched me before my wolf sensed it.”

Stiles frowned. So, he actually hadn’t been pretending to be hurt when Stiles hit him. It had actually pained Scott to be touched by a claimed- whatever he was. Interesting. That might come in handy for when Scott got irritating.

“But it’s not like permanent...” he trailed off at the look Scott gave him.

Oh, God. He was with sexy Derek forever. No Lydia. Not ever. What had his subconscious been thinking? Though to be fair, he supposed, it wasn’t really that bad. Derek had given him one hell of an erection before so maybe they could... Oh lordy, what was he even considering right now? This was all madness.

“That’s why the submission thing is so important, Stiles,” Scott continued. “Because the only reason a person won’t submit, is because they want to challenge a wolf for their role in the pack. Or they’re their mate.”

Stiles was shattered by this new information. Defcon one status, for certain. He was now somebody’s mate, for fuck’s sake. How completely messed up was that?

“He probably has plenty of mates,” he insisted, scrabbling desperately at straws, but determined not to admit what everybody was thinking. Denial was a powerful thing, indeed.

“Stiles, man, you know we only have one. And that we mate for life.”

Of course, he freaking knew. He'd listened to Scott whine about it for days when Mr Argent had forced him and Allison apart.

For a moment, he considered the idea of living in a cave somewhere full of denial with his fingers jammed in his ears for the rest of his life. It seemed like a reasonable option. That, or ending this unsatisfactory thing he understood to be his life. It might even be less painful than Derek sexing him up- he had heard that it could be agonising but since that information had mostly come from Jackson there was a more than 200 per cent chance of bullshit.

“Uh, I’m thinking I’ll just go upstairs for a bit and die,” he muttered, nearly face planting when he tripped over his own feet trying to get there.

Scott, the ever faithful bro, followed after as he tried to keep his inner panic on the inside of his body. He was already wheezing when he made it to his bedroom and that definitely was not something that he enjoyed very much.

He turned to Scott. “Quick,” he rasped. “Slap me in the face.”

Smack. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was grateful or highly suspicious of Scott’s enthusiasm, but the pain distracted him from the impending panic attack and he was able to come back just in time to reach the bathroom and throw up. Nice, very nice.

“Dude, gross,” Scott whined, backing away from him like he’d just developed hives. He wiped his mouth, tasting bile and generally loving life.

“Why did you follow me into the bathroom then, asshole? What did you think I was going to do?”

“I dunno, maybe drown yourself in the bathtub?” Scott guessed, helpfully hauling Stiles to his feet, grimacing a little as he touched him. “You’re not exactly what I’d call predictable, Stiles.”

“And I didn’t know you liked hitting me so much,” he countered. “Any particular reason you feel like beating on your best friend, Scotty?”

Scott rolled his eyes, and pulled him back into his room, dumping him on the bed. “C’mon, Stiles. Even you knew that you were having a panic attack. I’m just trying to help.”

Stiles squished himself into the mattress, praying that he could disappear into it forever. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “A little late for that.”

He’d said it under his breath, but of course- werewolf hearing- so Scott heard him. His friend cleared his throat awkwardly, and Stiles felt an illogical sense of satisfaction at the sudden guilt trip.

“I’d better go let Allison know what’s going on. She’s really worried about you,” he said. “I’ll be back before you, uh- leave tomorrow. Try and sleep for a bit, it might calm you down.”

He patted Stiles' calf muscle gently in an endearingly Scott McCall kind of way, and suddenly he felt better. Well, as good as the situation could allow. And it wasn’t going to allow him much. He sighed into the mattress, resolving that if this was his last night being a free man- before the werewolf sex and stuff- Stiles decided to go out with a bang.

And by bang, he meant turning on the most depressing music he had ever heard and blaring it through the house. Screw the neighbours. They weren’t going to be his neighbours for long. He was having an major geographical shift in a matter of hours. And his world was totally ending. But somehow, he still fell asleep.



When he woke up it was considerably dark, and his dad had finally taken pity on the neighbours and turned off his music. Stiles was impressed that he even knew how. Maybe his dad would be fine living by himself. Or would Derek permit him to visit?

He scowled. No. He was Stiles Stilinski, and Derek was not going to give him permission to do anything. He was independent and he intended to remain that way, even if that meant complications. He could just deal.

Scott had been right, sleeping had helped him get his shit together. He was reasonably in control of himself so he thought he’d roll with the good times and take a shower. Of course, because his life sucked ass so incredibly hard, there was no hot water and he was shivering like a shaved werewolf in Nebraska by the time he clambered out.

He brushed his teeth too, because he could still taste the bitter, acrid taste of leftover bile in his mouth and slipped downstairs to grab something to eat. It was two in the morning, but his dad was still awake.

“You hungry?” he asked once he spotted him entering the kitchen.

“I am so hungry that I feel like I could eat several horses. Or maybe just a couple of those small ones. You know the ones that look like a miniature model but aren’t because that's the size they are- small and looking really appetising at the moment-“

“Stiles,” his father sighed and he rectified his initial statement.

“Yes, hungry. Very hungry.”

And then his father shoved a plate of hot food towards him as a reward so he couldn’t complain, really. They sat in companionable silence and Stiles realised just how much he was going to miss this.

“I want a few words with him when he arrives so don’t let him whisk you away so easily.”

“Do I look like someone who can be whisked?” he asked, and the look his father gave encouraged a sudden intense interest in the bowl of leftover Chinese he was eating. It was a Medusa kind of glare, where eye contact could only cause immense pain. He shovelled the food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, instead of just hours.

“And if he ever hurts you, you just call me, Stiles, and I’ll come get you. Alpha law be damned.”

Stiles smiled around his food, and tried to pretend that it wasn’t totally badass and awesome that his dad, the Sheriff, was willing to break the law for him. Of course, he didn’t want him to; he couldn’t drag him into the problem he'd created. Stiles couldn’t let him put himself, or his career, in jeopardy on his behalf.

There was, however, something that he could do about the situation.

“Hey, Dad. Do you still have that paperwork copy on alpha law?” he asked, pushing away the empty bowl. “I think it’s about time I brushed up on some stuff.”

Sheriff Stilinksi nodded. “Better late than never,” he noted pointedly in his Sheriff-lecture tone, and Stiles feigned ignorance.

If he was going to make life hard for Derek, then he at least needed to play by his rules. Alpha law could be the noose that he would hang the man with. Research was his forte. He took the wad of paperwork back upstairs to his room, and started reading.

For this battle ground he was going to need all the material he could get his hands on. And it felt good, being proactive about the situation. Although, it was still tempting to scream at the top of his lungs into his pillow and beat his fists against his mattress.

For now, the research thing seemed like a reasonable plan. He’d get back to the vicious mattress attack later.



It was dark when the stupid, sleek Mercedes pulled into their driveway. His father had forced him to pack a bag of clothing, though it had been the most difficult thing in his life and he’d procrastinated so much that he’d only packed bunches upon bunches of socks. His dad hadn't figured that part out yet, but what the Sheriff didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

He was annoyed at the little thrill that went through him when he spotted Derek from his bedroom window, still in that damn leather jacket and was even more annoyed when he looked up as if Stiles had called out his name and frowned.

He tripped over in his haste to back away, stuffing the mountain of paperwork under his pillow and praying that Derek would never, ever, see his room. He practically launched himself down the stairs, knowing that alpha law prevented harm coming to the parents of mates, but he still didn’t trust them alone together.

Laws were always made to be broken. Scott muttered something behind him, probably to insult Derek’s flashy car or something, and Stiles made his way into the living room preparing for the worst.

They were sitting on the couch together like they'd just become buddies. His dad even chuckled at something Derek had said. Traitor.

“Um, hi there. Big, wolfy alpha-man,” Stiles greeted in his usual, eloquent way of communicating. Derek looked at him in this intense I’m-going-to-do-so-many-things-with-you kind of way, or maybe he really was just staring. It was difficult to tell, since his expressions were nearly impossible to read.

And then Scott entered the room and the shit totally hit the fan. He didn’t really do anything, but it was the close proximity that had the alpha growling dangerously, and moving so quickly towards Stiles that he was a blur.

He stepped between Stiles and Scott in the limited space and pushed him back. It was less violent and more surprising than anything Stiles expected as he stumbled. The Sheriff's mouth fell open.

Alpha law was illuminating enough to tell him that Derek saw Scott as a threat and was staking a claim before Scott could issue a challenge and as was the standard with all werewolves challenges- they would fight to the death. Wonderful. That was definitely not a part of Scott's date-Allison-in-secret plan.

“Stiles,” Derek rumbled in acknowledgement of the fact that he did know his name. He’d probably googled it last night or something. Stiles was still flattered, anyway.

“Hey, it’s okay. He’s just-” he broke off into a desperate moan when Derek's mouth pressed down on his neck again, not biting just tasting the claim of it. Stiles instinctively tilted his neck into it, pushing his thumb into the bruise his mouth had left on Derek's throat just like last time before his mind rebooted.

A heavy flush stole into his cheeks and his dad dropped his gaze at the embarrassing noise Derek had drawn out. Thankfully, Scott received the message loud and clear and offered his neck in submission.

This seemed to satisfy Derek, but Stiles neck throbbed at his touch and he tried to pull away. Easier said than done.

“Oh my god, would you just-“ he struggled again. “He’s just my best friend not a freaking sexual rival!”

Derek voice rumbled dangerously beside his throat, so naturally, Stiles kept talking. “Seriously, you can put me down, now. You bit me. I bit you. Claim seen loud and clear. Scott is not a threat. My dad is not a threat and- hey, what are you doing?!” he demanded as Derek started backing away and dragging Stiles with him.

“Hey, hey. What the hell happened to that courtesy thing?” he demanded. “Don’t I even get to say goodbye to my dad, asshole?”

Derek released him quickly as if holding onto Stiles in the first place had personally offended him and the urge to push him again was hard to resist.

The Sheriff pulled him into an awesome fatherly hug, putting all the encouragement Stiles needed into the brief act of affection and when they pulled apart, he realised his medication was suddenly in his hands.

“You forgot,” he explained. “Now, Derek. You make sure my son keeps up with his schoolwork or we’ll have a problem.”

Alpha Hale nodded, his gaze unflinching. Stiles turned to his best friend who still hadn’t managed to get his shit together after the alpha showdown.

“Dude, at least pretend you’re not crying on the inside,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Scott managed a weak, watery smile and for a horrified moment, he thought he was going to cry or Stiles was going to and there would just be a lot of tears. The whole waterworks. But then the moment of danger passed.

“See ya round, Scotty,” he grinned, saluting them both with a lazy hand before he was literally whisked into the air and bundled into Derek’s Mercedes as if they were under attack.

“How’s it going there, Jeeves,” he announced, feeling the need to address his new arch nemesis. The driver didn’t respond, but Stiles reckoned that he acknowledged it on a deeper level.

Derek kept his hands to himself this time but that didn't make Stiles trust him any more than last time. He'd better not be thinking of carrying Stiles straight into the bedroom. They needed to at least, work up to that part, first. If they would ever even get there. Despite basically werewolf proposing to Derek, Stiles still didn't know squat about him. Except, that he definitely wanted to jerk it to thoughts of Derek's face later. But that was neither here nor there.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this,” he began. “But I’m really not mate material. I mean, look how breakable I am and as much as I’m flattered, I have no doubt in my mind that you could- you know, break me and everything. So if you could just-“

“I’ll be gentle,” Derek growled once they pulled into the driveway and Stiles was shocked momentarily into silence. Oh God. This was happening now? He was so fucking screwed! Or about to be. Jesus.

“You know,” he spluttered, climbing out of the car and following Derek into his house while Jeeves seemingly evaporated. “I compiled a list of reasons why this was a bad idea on the way over here and I feel that as the alpha it is your duty to take them into consideration. So uh- reason one. Um, I possess the equal toughness of a rabbit, no less even. How could that possibly help your werewolf rep? You'll be the laugh of the town. Reason two, uh- clearly, I am a full blooded male and-“

“I can make it work,” Derek muttered, taking Stiles' hand and climbing a tower of stairs. He was tempted to turn around and flee but his curiosity got the better of him in the end. He'd never been in an alpha's house before.

“Reason three. Let's be honest here, I accidentally challenged you. It was a case of mistaken identity and sure, I bit you a little, it happens and I apologise for that, but I’m not your mate and this has been a total mistake-“

“No mistake,” Derek snarled, words getting shorter as his wolf rose to the surface. “Mate.”

Stiles shuddered in his grip. Wolfsex. He was totally about to lose his v-card to a monosyllabic alpha. They made it to the bedroom and Derek encouraged Stiles to sit in a surprisingly gentle manner before crawling over him and proceeding to scent every inch of his skin. He groaned at the press of a body on top of him but couldn't ignore how tight his pants already were.

That is until Derek nosed at the sensitive area and he yelped, dragging himself further up the bed and out of reach.

“Hey,” he cried, and Derek paused, eyes flashing red. “I gotta say yes first before you're allowed to ravish me.”

Derek frowned, seemingly frustrated that they needed to discuss this. “I'm not going to have sex with you, Stiles," he said as if it was obvious. "You're practically fifteen."

The cry of outrage was entirely justified. "I'm eighteen, assface and perfectly legal."

Why was he telling Derek that again? Wasn't the whole point, for him not to want to sleep with Stiles? He might have been making the situation worse.

"I'm just scenting you," he explained. "It won’t take long."

Then he grabbed at Stiles' ankle, yanking him back down the bed towards him. Stiles gasped, knowing this was the end of his short second life as Stiles Stilinski, but Derek only pressed himself into his neck and inhaled deeply.

“Full moon's coming up,” he warned. “You might feel differently then.”

“Try me,” Stiles goaded, folding his arms in a poor attempt to look tough. At least he sounded determined. Derek only shook his head as if he couldn't believe that anyone could be so stupid, but he moved away to the door, allowing Stiles to mourn the heat his body had provided.

“You’ll sleep in my bed. I’ll take the guest room.”

Stiles eyes widened. That was it? It was that easy? Whatever happened to the sexual advances Derek had bestowed upon him earlier? Why didn’t he do this before Derek started nibbling on his neck? Or he'd nibbled back?

This was a very complicated turn of events. Derek waved an impatient hand in front of his face and Stiles jolted back to the present.

“What?”

“I asked are you hungry, Stiles.”

“God, yes. I’m starving, I’m so hungry that I could eat-“

But he'd already left the room and Stiles' fantastically worded comments went unheeded. Naturally.

Oh, yes. This was going to work very well. Though the sound of the full moon approaching was less than optimal. Full moons usually meant mating heat, as in sexy time heat. The werewolf coitus heat.

Derek would probably break him in half if it came down to that.

Stiles doubted he would last the week.

Chapter Text

Nein.


For some unbelievably intelligent reason, Stiles had expected people to forget what he'd done to alpha Hale in front of the hundreds of Beacon Hills townsfolk two days earlier. He’d figured the whole thing would have blown over already by now.

Stiles had never good at predicting people. At all.

He was surprised that Derek decided to drive him to school that morning, though. The night, despite his misgivings had been sort of vaguely normal. Unlike the rumours, there weren’t billions of workers running around the Hale household. In fact, Stiles hadn't glimpsed another living soul.

Derek seemed like the type of dude to sit there all alone in a big empty house in the darkness. He just gave off that kind of creeper vibe. Stiles figured all of that stalking was bound to make him a person of interest in the Sheriff’s department, but maybe because he was the alpha they gave him certain liberties like a particularly sarcastic breed of Stiles to cuddle with. And more, if Stiles allows it.

Although, technically there had been a lack of either on his first night in Derek’s den of dastardly deeds.

It had been suspiciously normal. Derek had made dinner, and damn, the alpha could cook. Stiles had nearly died from the orgasmic bliss of the chow, he’d shovelled happily down his throat with Derek watching him just as hungrily. Or maybe it was horror at his poor table manners.

Either way it hadn’t taken him too long to get used to the idea that hot like the sun Derek Hale wanted to jump his bones. Or at least, he'd entered into a claim with the expectation that eventually somebody was bound to get naked. So obviously Derek had to be attracted to him in some way or other or he would've just killed Stiles in front of the entire town. Or laughed in his face or something. Stiles still isn't too clear about how this whole thing works.

It was good to know even if Derek was interested in a good Stiles fucking, that he didn't plan on doing anything about it until Stiles said so. At least that was what Alpha law and basic human decency stated. He still didn’t trust Derek’s comment about the whole full moon heat thing, either. But he had a place in the house to hide if he ever got too handsy.

He’d found it when Derek had taken him on a tour of his den, wearing a poker face the entire time so as to not make him suspicious of his intentions. But it was pretty freaking hard to act like he wasn’t plotting practical endeavours with Derek focused on him so fixedly. He actually wasn't certain what to make of the attention, if it even was sexual at all or if Derek was just trying to figure him out. It was pretty gratifying to have that kind of power over the alpha anyway.

Not that he was thinking about it. Being sexual with Derek. At all.

Derek remained pretty much his indifferent and stoic self as the night wore on, but astonishingly revealed a miraculous skill for listening to Stiles ramble pointlessly and somehow parsing out his meaning- a feat on its own. Granted, he was pretty nervous, tensed for unwanted werewolf moves, but Derek kept his hands to himself even when Stiles almost face planted after missing a step on the grand staircase.

Even his own father got lost on the perfectly reasonable tangents Stiles' conversation took. It was like a rollercoaster ride and even he was willing to admit that most of the time, he wasn’t speaking regular English. Although he couldn’t help it, really. Sometimes he got a little too enthusiastic about things. Derek somehow understanding him, made no sense whatsoever, but the thought that he did was pretty awesome.

Except, Derek potentially wanted to screw, cuddle or scent Stiles in every room of his house, and he had to keep acting like the thought of it hadn’t crossed his mind.

And. That. Was. Pretty. Damn.

Awkward.

But he didn’t even try any funny business. No sneaking into bed with Stiles in the middle of the night just to hold him. No accidental groping or any kind of touching actually, and Stiles was forced to use a helping hand on himself in the shower the next morning to calm his unsatisfied sexual appetite which Derek could surely smell. The alpha bastard. He definitely pictured Derek's face as he climaxed, for revenge purposes only.

And even when he’d walked out of said shower with nothing but a towel- because duh, he’d only packed a duffel bag full of socks- Derek had retrieved him clothes without even attempting to see what was underneath. Although, he did force his leather jacket onto Stiles as some weird sort of werewolf initiation thing, but it smelled really good and was pretty comfortable so Stiles didn’t really protest all that much.

That was about as close to any action that he got.

He knew Derek was scenting him too, with the whole wearing his clothes thing so it was best just to roll with it and not press his luck too much. Mostly because he really didn’t want to die via werewolf sex. Not that he was even certain it was a possibility. His information on the subject was particularly lacking.

The alpha cooked him a to-die-for breakfast, and he was in a pleasant mood when Derek drove him to school.

They were parked out the front as people started noticing the car and a very distinct Stiles Stilinski sitting in it. He wondered what Jackson would think about that. He spotted Scott lingering in the doorway and knew the guy was waiting for the totally PG retelling of his first night with Derek.

He fumbled with the seatbelt, not sure what the conventions of alpha law said about an alpha doing him a solid by dropping him off at school instead of being forced to take the bus. Should he say thank you? Or offer his neck and tell him to take him a bite?

“Uh...” he began, wrenching at the seat belt like it was trying to strangle him. He may have been freaking out about Derek, about them in the enclosed space and the fact that Derek might want to kiss him goodbye. He didn’t know what he was going to do about that, except maybe die before he could figure out how to work his mouth. Just for starters. Stiles hadn't exactly kissed a lot of people.

The seat belt practically whiplashed him back into the seat as he attempted escape, and Derek leant in, impossibly close. Stiles could smell him now and his eyes automatically drifted toward the mark he'd left on Derek's neck. His mouth opened as if he preparing for something but Derek merely freed him from the seat and drew back.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he muttered as if it was expected of Stiles. Which, okay seemed fair.

Stiles scowled anyway and grabbed his back pack, flinging it over his leathered shoulder because he was in a werewolf gang nowadays, lips pursed angrily because Derek was totally withholding his hot mouth and talented tongue and Stiles was not okay with that. No sir. People would pay for this indiscretion.

And since he was feeling aggravated...

“See you later, honey,” he said, blowing a kiss at Derek’s you-are-so-dead-right-now-you’re-a-corpse expression.

It was his favourite that particular one. Because Derek rarely expressed anything else. Stiles was sure that if he even saw a hint of a smile, he was likely to die from the shock of it. He didn't seem capable of cracking a real smile.

Stiles slipped out of the car before the alpha really lost his temper, because that wasn’t going to help prolong his existence and he hurried away as Derek shot out of the school parking lot, tires squealing across the black top and drawing even more attention.

Yeah, thanks a lot asshole.

Scott rushed forward to meet him, but Stiles held a hand up to stop the rush of questions, feeling frustrated with the whole stupid alpha mate thing. It was a lot tamer than he'd expected all in all. A lot less ravishing and more like two awkward dudes sharing a house together.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, waving a hand at himself. “Virtue intact and all.”

“Then why do you sound disappointed?”

Stiles flushed and managed an awkward chuckle. "You know one of these days I'm-"

A muscled shoulder slammed into him, nearly sending him face first into the pavement. He barely managed to remain upright and the action required was not at all graceful. There was definitely flailing limbs involved.

“Aw look, it’s the alpha’s bitch,” Jackson sneered, barely glancing back at them as he passed. Stiles angrily straightened up to full height, tempted to throw something at the back of his head.

“Hey, look at that Scott, Jackson earned the power of observation. I wonder what gave it away. Was it maybe when I yelled at the alpha in front of the entire town?”

Jackson moved as if to double back and teach him a lesson, but he seemed to think better of it and Stile knew the exact reason why.

“Yeah, keep on walking your beta ass to homeroom,” he called out after him, knowing that he wouldn’t retaliate. Jackson wasn’t that stupid. Even if he already thought he was king shit as a werewolf.

"Uh, nice jacket, Stiles," Scott said once Jackson had vanished, scenting the air for the very clear smell of alpha.

Stiles smiled evilly. "Those are some nice sideburns there, Scotty did you grow them yourself?"

Scott took the hint.



School was uneventful, except for the fact that everybody knew that he was now the alpha's mate and kept drifting between awe and fear of him, because apparently it was difficult to decide. He felt like even more of a freak, but on the plus side all the newfound power offered boundless possibilities.

But then life just got really ridiculous. Because after taking his seat in the cafeteria next to Scott, and Allison, who sat one table away- but technically sitting with them in secret- Lydia, beautiful and utterly perfect, strawberry blonde, hazel eyed, Lydia sat in front of him.

“So, do you have a death wish? Or was there some unknown reason why you offered yourself up to an alpha?” she wondered.

Stiles couldn’t believe that it had taken a freaking alpha werewolf to get her to actually talk to him. For once, he was totally speechless. The universe really couldn’t resist shitting on the little guy. Did he have bad karma or something?

His silence didn’t seem to deter her. “From a psychological point of view, it has some merit into the psyche of homosexuality.”

Oh, well, that was nice. She was making him into her little hot science experiment. Wait.

Homo- what?

Did she just gay zone him? Because she’d never bothered to become friends first? At the very least he was bisexual. If she was his friend, Lydia might have known that already.

“I’m not!” he protested, but Lydia shushed him.

“It was obvious when you propositioned the alpha yesterday. Must feel great to finally be honest with yourself,” she said totally ignoring his agonised expression as Scott snickered. “Anyway I’d love to profile you, if you have free time, Stiles.”

“I’m free,” he said without thinking. “I’m so free, I’m practically a bird in flight.”

“Great,” she replied, pursing her luscious lips in what Stiles would insist until his dying day was a smile and then she disappeared, strawberry blonde curls catching the sunlight streaming into the cafeteria because even the sun knew that she was a goddess.

Stiles sat there, gaping like a fish until he was fully capable of motor functions to consider that Lydia Martin had actually spoken to him. For the duration of a reasonably lengthened conversation.

“Dude, please tell me you witnessed that and it was not an Adderall induced hallucination,” he finally managed, staring at the empty doorway as if he could bring her back with the power of his mind alone.

“Did you miss the part where she said you were gay for Derek?” Scott asked, always the buzkill.

Stiles grinned. “Lydia Martin spoke to me. And she knew my name. Nothing can ruin this glorious moment for me, Scott. Nothing.”

“Not even the gay thing?” Scott asked bemused.

Stiles was always an opportunist, never mind the many, many opportunities he’d given Lydia Martin to confess her undying love but he was always trying to find the bright side of things; the bright side here being Lydia had finally spoken to him after years of total indifference. Sure, it was so she could profile him psychologically, but hey, at least she was the first to offer the service.

And there was no denying that he needed to be psychologically screened.

And he had Derek to thank for it. Oh. Right. He probably shouldn’t be forgetting his werewolf hubby so quickly. After all, the alpha jerk wanted mate with him, and Stiles had to respect this devirginalising effort, even if it was at his own expense.

“I’ll take what I can get,“ he said finally.

And a smile lit up his face, because nothing could ruin this fantastic and momentous day. The day Lydia finally gave into her primal urges and acknowledged the deep connection between them by speaking to him for less than a minute.

Finally. And if that meant he would talk about his feelings for Derek, then so be it.



The happy go lucky times didn’t last very long. Not that they usually did, but the moment was fleeting enough to warrant further study. It was last period science and Mr Harris, after making a comment about functionality of Stile's brain to encourage further self-loathing, had switched on a film and plunged the classroom into darkness.

Scott fell asleep instantly, and Allison, sitting only seats away had this strained expression on her face like she wanted to go and stroke his hair or something, though clearly couldn't because her dad would shoot him. But that was all part of Stiles’ normal day.

What wasn’t normal was that Erica, newly changed Erica, whose parents had scraped together some serious cash to even get her considered for bite month, had leant across her table to talk to him. Or possibly, just to invade his space and creep him the hell out. She succeeded on both counts

Stiles hadn’t really spoken to her that much before, but he'd understood why, at least in her case, she’d decided to become a werewolf. She was an epileptic and her seizures were pretty intense- the only one he’d witnessed had been traumatising and she'd been injured in the process. The bite had made her better.

Bite month was the time allocated to werewolves to create more werewolves, but in fully regulated and controlled conditions. Firstly, they had to want the bite, as it was against alpha law to change somebody without their permission. In the beginning, when werewolves had become a real and legitimate concept, things had gotten pretty hairy.

Scott had been bitten. And it had been terrible. Stiles had practically carried him through most of it, helping him get control until alpha law came around forbidding the bite unless it was bite month. And only once a person filled out a bunch of paperwork, signed a dozen forms, sold half their soul and then basically kissed a lot of asses could they finally get it.

Stiles was fairly sure only a certain amount of new werewolves were permitted each month, in every town. The humans didn’t want to be outnumbered, and it had to be pretty special circumstances for someone to want it.

Like Erica, for example.

“Uh, hey,” he muttered awkwardly as she sent him this uber creepy I-will-kill-you-in-your-sleep smile.

“I can’t believe the alpha made you his bitch,” Erica growled low in her throat so nobody would notice over the other conversations in the room. Even Mr Harris was talking on his cell phone.

Was anybody else watching the film besides Stiles?

“Oh-kay,” he said, wondering where this was leading. “Pretty sure nobody can make you believe anything...”

She reached out and grabbed his wrist in a killer death grip that had him wincing. Only then did she notice Derek’s jacket, nose wrinkling at the smell of alpha on him. Scott continued to snore soundly away in the seat, but Allison watched the exchange with wide eyes. Stiles was starting to feel a little cursed, as if he might be an actual magnet for trouble.

Maybe Derek was right to be worried. Don’t do anything stupid. Right. Did that include not getting beat up by another werewolf?

“Ow, ow, ow,” he whined. “Your nails need serious work.”

Erica nearly yanked him across the aisle towards her, presumably to rip his face off. Which would be unfortunate, because he actually liked his face attached to his skull.

“Oh God, I’m gonna die,” he muttered. “And then Derek’s gonna find out, and then you’re gonna die- ow!”

He nearly face planted into the leg of her table, but that was only because she'd suddenly released him and gravity wanted his face smashed, pronto. He only just managed to grasp the edge of his own desk, clinging on for dear life before managing an upright position.

The guy sitting beside Erica, Isaac Lahey, had intervened, because Stiles clearly wore that kicked puppy look and the dude was unable to resist him.

“Stop it,” he muttered and Stiles almost thanked him for it, too, before Isaac continued with, “he’s the alpha's.”

“No, I’m not,” he insisted, in a highly counterproductive fashion as if he was just handing Erica an excuse to wail on him after school.

But she only laughed, sniffing the air. “You’re right. You have that distinct smell of virgin, Stiles. Doesn’t the alpha want you?”

He shrugged, because he still wasn't sure how to feel on the matter. Is he offended? Or relieved?

“I’m saving myself for Lon Chaney Jr,” he retorted, but they both stared at him blankly. “Seriously? The original wolfman? How can you call yourselves werewolves, you heathens.”

This didn’t seem to affect them much, because they both looked away and huddled closer to start whispering about him. All flattering things, he was sure. And fine, he’d clearly just been deemed uninteresting, but continued to eavesdrop anyway out of spite.

“It’s not going to matter who he’s saving himself for come Saturday,” Isaac noted, and Erica growled in warning. Saturday was the full moon, which meant werewolf death heat. Fantastic.

He strained to hear more.

“I hope Derek kills him,” she said conspiratorially. Also a possibility. Stiles wasn't sure he had it in him to survive a round of sexual intercourse with a werewolf, let alone an alpha. He was clearly going to die, although death by sex admittedly, didn't sound so bad. Another possibility was that the whole danger thing had been greatly exaggerated.

The bell rang, signalling the end of school before he could lean over and tell her just how much he wanted to live.

Scott scrambled to cover his ears, but at least now he was awake, after having missed everything remotely interesting. Allison moved towards them, concern written all over her face, and Stiles was tempted to run for it because explaining how much his alpha hadn’t really done anything to him, as per his wishes, and that Erica thought he should die, which in itself was strange because Stiles couldn’t recall irritating her enough to incite these feelings, would be unpleasant.

Oh. Derek. Derek, the prime alpha God. Right. Erica probably wanted him. He was the ideal mate, after all.

Stiles was just in her way. It felt like he was doing that with everybody, lately. Allison followed Stiles to his locker, and Scott kept his distance to help their not-dating-nope charade along. They may as well have started kissing in public for how obvious they were being.

“Are you okay?” she asked as he retrieved his bag, throwing it over one shoulder and distantly wondering if he could get away with sneaking home to see his father. How quickly would Derek figure it out? Would he even care?

“That looked pretty tense?” she observed making it sound like a question as if she was trying to get him to open up without being pushy about it. How did a family that is employed to hunt rogue werewolves produce somebody so nice? It was a bigger freak of nature than Stiles was.

“I guess, I can double back and pick up my masculinity later,” he admitted. “So all is not completely lost.”

They made their way through the main hallway, Scott several metres behind them looking really fascinated by his shoelaces. Stiles rolled his eyes, but he was glad he had them both to back him up.

“Don’t listen to them,” she insisted. “Everybody’s just worked up over this situation. It’s pretty big news.”

Stiles laughed, as they walked out into the sunshine of the fading afternoon. “I seriously doubt-“

And then he noticed the parking lot. It was filled with network vans though Stiles could confidently say that Beacon Hills only had one local news channel. There were so many of them, crowded into the school parking lot, cameramen ready and waiting to wage war.

On Stiles. Oh shit.

“That’s him!”

He spotted Erica’s nasty smirk of satisfaction before they stampeded.

He was literally swept into the crowd, lenses and microphones pointing towards his face as flash upon flash went off, blinding and stunning him momentarily. They were screaming at him, questions overlapping different voices and even Stiles couldn’t understand the garbled speech.

He tried to back away, but they’d surrounded him leaving no room to escape. There was abruptly no air to breathe. He almost called out to Scott, but spotted him a couple metres away, already pulling Allison to her feet in order to prevent her from getting trampled.

And all because she’d been standing next to Stiles, trying to see if he was okay. His stomach literally dropped out of him, and he wondered if throwing up would make a good story for them to report, instead.

Where had they all come from?

“Mr Stilinski, are you aware that you are the youngest ever mate to be claimed by an alpha?” a voice burst through the hubbub of interviewers.

Stiles blinked stupidly back at them. They were shoving him all over the place and he was struggling to keep upright whilst panic set in. That tended to happen when he was about to be devoured by the media. This was a nightmare. And then suddenly to make matters worse, there were protesters chanting at them in unison, with signs, marching like they were about to take on world hunger and not one, mouthy teenager.

This was worse than the alpha festival he'd been almost killed at.

“Stop the werewolf plague!” They yelled. “The bite is a curse!”

Stiles knew they should call the riot squad. Only the Sheriff’s department didn’t have one, because they were so short staffed this month because of injuries and maternity leave. And they probably never would get one, because it was Beacon Hills and nobody who lived here ever rioted.

Until now, clearly.

The media and the protestors blended in together and surged as one entity, fighting and pushing, and screaming, demanding his attention. He could only look in so many places at once and it was utter chaos.

One of the protestors got close, too close, reaching out and scratching the side of his face, fingernails digging into his skin as the blood burst forth. He cried out in pain as the woman, with an ugly sneer of hatred warping her face, yanked his ear towards her twisted mouth.

“Your mother would be so proud,” she snarled, releasing him and vanishing into the crowd.

Stiles whimpered, clutching at his bleeding face, lashing out blindly as he struggled to calm down, because he couldn’t breathe. Your mother would be so proud. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to lessen the panic like he’d taught himself to after his mother-

Would be so proud.

He hunched forward, trying to find an anchor in this mess. There was no Scott to slap him out of it this time, this was all down to being in control of his own fear.

It was impossible. His chest tightened and he could feel everything seizing up as he gasped for air. He was distantly aware that he was saying something, but he couldn’t comprehend anything, searing pain had taken over his senses.

He really was going to die. It was no joke this time. And he would see her again...

Your mother would be so proud.

A terrible sound reverberated through the hysteria, a non-human howl of rage and fury that didn’t ask, but commanded respect. His gut twisted, the instinct to do whatever was required of the animal behind this sound flooding through every fibre of his being. He could feel the hierarchy of power at play, and knew that every other werewolf and human could sense it too.

Alpha.

The screaming started, true terror and he could breathe again as the bodies pressed up against him scrambled away. Claws seized him around the neck, wrenching him from the pandemonium as protestors and reporters fled the scene.

The blood had slid across his face, mixing with tears as a wolfed out Derek dragged him towards his car. He was still muttering something, but only now in the quickly emptying parking lot could he understand what he was saying.

“Derek, Derek.”

He’d been repeating the alpha’s name. Over and over again like a broken record. Derek growled softly, before lapping at the wound on his face with his tongue. By the time he’d looked up at him again, he wasn’t wolf Derek anymore. Actual Derek, was staring down at him with a combination of rage and concern. Stiles hoped he hadn’t killed anybody.

And that Scott and Allison were okay.

Derek pulled him into the front seat of the car, in the driver seat and onto his lap, snarling when Stiles tried to crawl over to the passenger side. He pinched Derek's thigh in retaliation but decided to stay where he was because it was pretty comfortable. They drove out of the school so fast that Stiles hadn’t even registered they were on the road yet, woods racing by as Derek accelerated way past the legal limit for speed.

Since it felt it an emergency Stiles let it slide, just once. He wasn't really in the right state to be concerned with obeying the law.

His face was still stinging, but he wasn’t crying a river of blood anymore so that definitely improved things. Plus, Derek was extremely warm. The fact that he was distressed because of Stiles and was attempting to comforting him was definitely new, but he had to admit, he liked it.

“I thought I said nothing stupid,” Derek said, and then they were immediately back to the original sense of frustration.

He sighed. “That’s really open to interpretation. Did you mean stupid in a generalised way? Or don’t initiate stupidity? Or did you mean-“

“I meant,” he snarled, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t. Do. Anything. Stupid.”

“Right, gotcha,” he squeaked, losing courage as Derek very nearly wolfed out again.

They pulled into the driveway of Derek’s house, and the alpha wouldn’t let him go until they were inside the gigantic werewolf mansion, fortified by high walls and bullet proof glass and what not.

Derek pulled him up the grand staircase, and Stiles glanced out the window at the crowd already gathering around the front of the estate. So, that meant going out for pizza was off the table. He wondered if he should offer his father’s services, technically all those reporters were trespassing, but he was yanked into the ensuite of Derek’s bedroom before he could suggest it. The alpha quickly started to pull off his jacket.

“Whoa, whoa. Hold up,” he protested, scampering away from those large hands. “What are you doing?”

“You’re showering,” Derek snarled, still a little bit too wolfy for Stiles' taste. “You smell like people.”

Stiles scoffed at the explanation. “God forbid, I smell like people. How unnatural is that?”

Derek made a harsh sound, eyes going red and Stiles tried to pretend he wasn't terrified.

“People and werewolves.”

“People and-“

“Stiles, you either start taking off your clothes or I rip them apart. Got it?”

“Getting it,” he replied, shucking off Derek’s jacket which the alpha snatched from the air before it could be thrown as far as humanly possible in the small space.

Derek slipped it on, cursing as he tried to reclaim his own scent on the leather.

Stiles paused in his efforts, totally fascinated by the behaviour but Derek’s urgent pacing soon had him working quickly to remove his clothes. He didn’t pause to consider how easily a few choice threats had made this happen before he stepped into the shower, very aware of his nakedness. Though, Derek had already left the room, too busy smothering himself with his jacket to notice.

He quickly turned on the shower head, grimacing when the hot water hit the deep scratches on his face and tried not to think about the crazed alpha pacing outside the bathroom door.

“You were crying,” Derek ‘s voice drifted under the steam.

Stiles felt his heart beat jump in his chest.“Yeah so?”

“Why were you crying?” Derek repeated slowly with an edge of impatience. Stiles scrubbed at himself as a distraction, thinking frantically about how he could best explain.

“I’m waiting, Stiles.”

“The protestors,” he choked out, full of emotion. “Surprisingly, not known for their nice words.”

The running water drowned out his thoughts for a moment, and he listened to Derek's footsteps as he paced outside. The alpha was pretty wound up. Was Stiles supposed to do something about that?

“What words?”

Stiles shut his eyes, knowing he shouldn’t tell him but somehow wanting to anyway. He took a deep breath. “Yourmotherwouldbesoproud,” he rushed out.

It felt good, almost a relief to say. And Stiles did feel relieved. He felt like a great weight had been lifted off his chest.

“What?”

But that didn’t mean he wanted to repeat it again! He tensed, that horrible feeling coursing through him anytime someone mentions her. It always felt like he was dying all over again.

“The woman said and I quote ‘You mother would be so proud’ end quote.”

Derek didn’t speak for a moment, and Stiles wondered what he was thinking about as he paced, back and forth, back and forth.

“I noticed you’re a bit edgy about your mother,” Derek said finally, behind the door.

Stiles got angry, really damn fast.

“My mother’s dead,” he spat, anger dissipating immediately after spouting the hateful words. He slumped in on himself a little, swept up in his own memories. The past was killer.

“I know. So is mine,” the alpha spoke quietly as if he wasn’t quite ready for Stiles to hear it.

That was not what he’d been expecting, but it didn’t make him feel any better about the situation.

“What just happened?” he asked referring to the reason why his face looked like a kitty scratching post. "Why did they come after me?"

“What happened between us- could be considered scandalous. Somebody fed the story to a popular news station and everyone else came for the scoop.”

Stiles frowned, rubbing absent-mindedly at his armpit. “But why?”

He heard Derek sigh. “Because you’re in highschool and you offered yourself to me. It's usually the other way around. The alpha is meant to make the claim first.”

Stiles flushed, wondering when people would realise that it was an accident already. “I didn’t-“

“I know you didn’t, Stiles. But you’ve got to understand what this looks like.”

“Bad?” he wondered rubbing soap across his knees.

“Bad,” Derek agreed. “Now get out.”

Stiles froze. “What?” he squeaked promptly dropping the soap.

“It’s not working. I’m just going to have to scent you.”

He reached for the nozzle, turning it off quickly but trying not to seem too eager about it. Although, he was pretty sure scenting was about the most platonic thing possible for werewolves. Not that he was interested in anything sexual with Derek. Right.

So. Um. Yeah.

“Hurry up,” Derek muttered, stepping back into the room. “I’m not in much control at the moment. The sooner all of those other scents are gone, the better.”

The alpha handed him a towel through the glass door, and didn’t even try to stare. Stiles accepted the offering sheepishly.

“Are you calling my scent a cheater?” he teased wrapping the flimsy material around his body, tempted to sniff for unfaithful scent behaviour.

Derek choked out a weirdly strangled sound, but he definitely thought it was a laugh. Hopefully.

“Throw a pair of boxers on or I’ll scent you naked and you don’t want that.”

Stiles practically steamrolled past him to grab a pair. Derek had sent the driver- who in fact was not Jeeves, but a personal butler dude named Henry- out to buy for him. They were already washed and Stiles pulled a pair on, barely covering himself before Derek was lifting him into the air and carrying him back to the bedroom.

He tried to calm down and not be too obvious about just how much he was enjoying the situation, but his heart was racing and Derek clearly knew.

“You’re staying in my bed tonight,” Derek growled, in a deep not-Derek-sounding voice.

“Yes,” Stiles agreed, immediately knowing that he was meant to. And that he also maybe, kind of wanted to. A lot. Probably. Right now that kind of comfort would be nice.

“With me,” deep voice Derek continued.

“Yep.”

Forever. Cue suspenseful music.

He was waiting for Derek to speak again, but the alpha said nothing as he pulled them both underneath the blankets and started touching Stiles all over, making these weird little satisfied noises as he did so.

Stiles said nothing, listening to the soundtrack of werewolf snuffling as he used the power of his mind to will away his excited lower regions, letting Derek be the stinking alpha for once because he was feeling charitable dammit, and permitted him to work his scenting werewolf magic.

All over and under him. Repeatedly.

Chapter Text

Nyet.



Stiles remained a willing participant to Derek’s werewolf cuddling until sirens wailed through his state of almost sleep. He jerked out of Derek’s grasp, quick as a flash.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” he cried, rubbing his eyes and glancing around with a heightened sense of paranoia, expecting his father to come barrelling into the room at any given moment.

Derek blinked up at him in confusion, his muscular arms looking very inviting and he very nearly climbed back into bed so they could be wrapped around him again. Because that made so much sense

“What's with the look?” he asked, sitting up and exposing his very naked and deliciously toned chest as the blankets came free. He was still wearing pants, thank God, so Stiles didn’t really have to avert his eyes or anything. Not that he was ogling him, or that his mouth had fallen open at the sight. Nope.

He moved to the window, cautiously peering around the curtain. “My dad- the Sheriff. Sirens usually means I’m grounded.”

Derek gave him a flat look and climbed out of bed, showing off a very nice looking ass. Stiles' eyes followed as Derek disappeared into the bathroom without a word.

The door stayed open too, and he wondered if that was some kind of werewolf jedi mind trick or an invitation to follow. He’d actually taken a step forward before the shower started running, warning him of the very naked and probably sexually frustrated alpha in there.

And the full moon was Saturday, so things were about to get intense. Not that they weren't already since Derek had scented him for like the whole afternoon and Stiles had enjoyed every second of it. That had been slightly unexpected.

Derek abruptly walked out into the bedroom, dripping wet and completely naked. Naturally, Stiles' eyes shifted downward. The sight was definitely beyond expectations.

“Oh my God. That’s- a naked alpha,” he cried, scrambling back into the window as if considering jumping out of it. “We are not having sex just because you look like- that and I let you cuddle me.”

He waved his hands out as if to ward off all the Derek hotness, but it wasn't that simple. No wonder Erica wanted a piece of dat ass, Stiles couldn't deny he was interested as well. Did he work out every minute of the day or something? How did anybody look like naturally? Werewolf, duh.

But Derek had clearly not been anywhere near performance enhancing drugs if the size of his cock was anything to go by. Just, God.

“Hold still,” Derek spoke gruffly as his hand came out and gently brushed something wet across the marks on Stiles' face. “To stop infection.”

Stiles dipped his fingertips in the stuff. It definitely didn’t feel pleasant. “You didn’t use-“

And then suddenly his face was on fire. “Oh ow! Sweet mother of-” he screeched. “Was that Betadine?! Oh God, I hate you so much right now! I would have rather you just lick it, fuck!”

He clutched at his face until the pain dulled and Derek leaned in close, surprising him into complete stillness. Stiles' heart rate increased, and he wished he could pretend that Derek wasn’t the hottest human being on the planet.

“Is that an invitation?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Stiles shook his head. “Nope, nope. Just a general observation with no sexual undertones or invitations to, um-“

Derek snorted and walked back into the shower, giving Stiles an even better view of his ass then before. Because he was naked and sexy and Stiles' life was unfair. He felt maybe he should pray to the libido Gods to thank them for such a wondrous vision.

Hunger eventually announced itself so he decided to make some food, grabbing random articles of Derek’s clothing, too big jeans, a black t-shirt and a red hoodie which would make him smell more like the alpha. However unnecessary that was, as the hours of scenting him had done the trick pretty nicely. He jumped past the open bathroom door as if expecting Derek to pull him in, before hurrying down the marble staircase.

Once he'd glanced out the window it was clear that the reporters were gone almost as soon as they'd arrived. One good thing to come out of today at least. He sighed, touching at his injured face again and winced because it still hurt.

He pottered around the kitchen, trying to decide what to cook. Raw steak? Go out into the woods and capture a rabbit for him? How did this work anyway? Whatever. He'd just go with what he knew and Derek would learn to like it. Alpha’s could be trained, he was sure.

The curly fries were still simmering away in Derek’s deep fryer, the burgers already done, by the time the alpha made his appearance, soaking wet hair but thankfully- Stiles wasn’t sure his nerves could take any more exposure- fully clothed.

Derek sniffed the air cautiously, and Stiles managed to smile around the food samples he’d already shoved into his mouth. The alpha cocked his head to the side as if hearing something and then the doorbell rang. Stiles tensed at the noise, expecting a media circus to come barrelling through the door.

“It’s your father,” Derek explained. Stiles wasn’t sure what freaked him out more, that his dad was here or that Derek may or may not have the ability to read minds.

“And you wondered why the sound of sirens had me jumpy,” he accused, shaking a curly fry in his direction before heading towards the door to answer it, Derek practically glued to his spine, he was following so closely. That was a new development.

He took a deep breath, preparing for the worst and swung open the door, pointedly standing in front of Derek and shielding him with his body. It didn't seem fair to let his father shoot him for no reason. “Yes, I got hurt. It wasn’t my fault, and I’m not dead. So you can put away your firearm now.”

The Sheriff opened his mouth, but thought against it and shrugged, withdrawing his hand from the holster at his hip and holding them sheepishly in surrender, smelling Stiles’ specialty as it wafted throughout the house.

“You cooking?” he guessed, as Stiles nodded in satisfaction.

And then moved to walk outside to hug him. But Derek seized him by the scruff of his clothes and stopped him, arms flapping uselessly as his dad stepped back.

“If we bring him into the house, then can I hug him?” Stiles protested, trying not to huff in disappointment when Derek pushed him behind his body.

For a second Stiles thought Derek was going to eat his father, and the Sheriff must have thought the same thing because he flinched when the alpha pushed past him, scenting the air, expression dark as he moved with sudden purpose.

Though, of course, Derek pushing him inside the house had been a silent command to stay there, he’d never been very good at reading between the lines. Stiles refused to let go of something once it had his attention. So he followed after him, grabbing his father who stood frozen on the front steps. One would have thought that being a cop and all, he'd have better reflexes.

“Where are you going?” Stiles called as Derek veered off his property, heading straight for the woods, the deep, dark, ominous woods where people did not go without a perfectly normal reason.

Sighing, Stiles went after him, hearing the distinct click of his father’s gun as he withdrew it and switched the safety off. “Yeah, Dad. Go ahead. Shoot my werewolf boyfriend. That’ll make thanksgiving really enjoyable.”

Their footsteps crunched against the scattered leaves, making it impossible to tread silently though Derek somehow managed because he was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m not going to shoot him, Stiles,” his father promised. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’m going to shoot what he’s following.”

“Oh, ha ha,” he muttered, tripping over a tree root and nearly breaking his ankle. He cried out a pretty choice swear word, which was probably why his father’s grip was tighter than usual when he seized his wrist to stop him falling.

“Language,” his father warned, scanning ahead into the trees. Stiles couldn’t believe that was what he was worrying about right now. Wasn’t he the least bit curious about what he was about to shoot?

They were well into the trees, walking aimlessly in hopefully the right direction, when they heard it. A deep mournful howl, that shuddered through the trees and rippled across his skin.

“Derek,” he said unthinkingly, moving toward the sound as if he’d been called, his father grunting in agreement.

They walked through a particularly thick copse of trees, making their way into a hidden clearing when Derek was suddenly crowding up against him, blocking his view and pushing him back.

“No, Stiles. Don’t look.”

He spotted a boot and tried to jump over Derek’s shoulder to get a better view. His father moved around him to approach what was clearly a body. A dead body. The Sheriff said a bad word, even worse than the one Stiles had uttered and crouched down to inspect it further.

“Who?” Stiles asked, still attempting to get past the wall that was screening his vision.

“Do you know who it is?” Sheriff Stilinski asked.

Derek’s attention wavered for a moment and Stiles seized the opportunity, ducking under his arms and rushing forward before the alpha could force him back.

And he nearly threw up.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking at. There was so much blood. Blood and dirt everywhere, and scratches, and something that looking suspiciously like semen.

Oh sweet, God of mercy. He suddenly felt faint.

“Female,” Derek growled out, seizing Stiles around the waist and tugging him back. “Her scent's all over these woods.”

The Sheriff shut his eyes, and Stiles knew that he’d identified her. “It’s Deborah West. She’s the Chief Ranger for Beacon Hills.”

A few more obvious traits swam before his eyes as that new part of the puzzle fell into place. He recognised the colour of her hair, strewn with blood and the material of her clothes literally ripped apart- the Ranger’s uniform. And suddenly it all clicked.

“Werewolf heat,” he managed realising with a sick feeling what a terrifying and horrible way it would have been to die.

Derek’s grip tightened, and he nuzzled Stiles’ neck comfortingly. “The werewolf’s gone rogue,” he said. “You’d better call in the Argent's. I’ve already memorised the scent.”

The Sheriff rose to his feet. “I need to get to my car first. The entire department is still down at the school parking lot taking statements and helping out the medics.”

Stiles abruptly yanked himself free. “Dad, was anybody hurt? Or um- maimed?” he glanced at Derek at who was to blame for the aforementioned maiming.

“What? It’s a legitimate question. You were seriously pissed.”

The Sheriff shook his head. “No only human induced injuries, I’m afraid. Nobody you know. None local.”

He started shepherding Stiles out of the clearing and after what he’d just witnessed, he was more than happy to go, Derek close to his side. He remembered Deborah from all those times she’d caught him and Scott in the woods in the early days, when Scott had sucked at anything to do with lycanthropy and Stiles taught him just about everything.

They’d really gotten on her nerves, actually. But it was Stiles and Scott, of course, they would annoy her, they annoyed practically everybody in Beacon Hills.

“What about this wolf,” his father asked. “Local?”

Derek shook his head. “Drifter. Omega.”

He was extremely tense beside Stiles, and he wondered if that was because they were so vulnerable out in the woods. It’s not like Derek would be able to protect them both if something happened. Sure, Sheriff Stilinski had a gun and Stiles possessed all of his limbs, but they wouldn't last long against a werewolf.

“Anyway, son. The reason I came to see you was to check if you were alright and to ask what you wanted to do about school.”

Stiles slowed his pace as he looked at him, but Derek didn’t seem to like that because he swung him over his shoulder like he would a hunted kill, the similarity of which Stiles did not enjoy. He didn't even pause and the alpha continued walking with him draped over his body.

“Um,” Stiles said from his new viewpoint, watching both their feet moving through the dead leaves and deciding not to question it. “Would this be because of those crazy reporters?”

“And the protestors,” his father added seemingly ignoring this strange behaviour, because yes, Stiles did have a habit of dawdling, but that didn’t mean it was Derek’s duty to carry him. “Yes. I’m just not sure what you want to do.”

“I can’t not go,” he said. “Besides there won’t be many people there. At least half of the school will be locking themselves in their basements or in their bedrooms for heat week anyway, while the humans freak out about this rogue wolf. It should be pretty safe. At least, as safe as Beacon Hills can be.”

Derek growled, but that was probably because Stiles had pinched his butt and not because of anything to do with the conversation.

“What do you think about this, Derek?” the Sheriff asked.

Stiles was surprised that he’d even considered asking him, although technically they were werewolf married or whatever, so his father could consult Derek on these type of things.

“I think Stiles should think about this and not just grab,” his voice rose a couple octaves as Stiles seized his left butt cheek. “Onto the first idea that pops into his head.”

He took a bounding step with much more force than necessary, slamming Stiles’ face against his lower back in retaliation. His father was somehow still taking Derek seriously and nodded in agreement, the rest of their actions going totally unnoticed.

“I’ll go to school tomorrow,” he said. “As like a probationary thing. And if anything goes wrong, I’ll call Derek and seriously consider homeschooling.”

Which totally meant that Derek would be his hot teacher and that was a pretty good compromise to make. It was an erection inducing thought, but a helpful distraction from that mess of human body sprawled across the forest floor. He and Scott had gone looking for a body in the woods once, but then Scott had been bitten and they’d never really talked about what he'd seen out there.

He was so glad now that he’d missed out, the violent image of the Ranger's body would forever be imprinted in his brain. He’d never go looking for anything like that ever again. It was horrible.

He hoped she hadn’t been alive through all of it. Stiles shuddered against the heat of Derek’s body, feeling a sudden chill. He’d seen the blood, the bruised and broken body lying there like discarded trash. He prayed it had been quick, but something told him those last few minutes for her had been worse than dying. She’d been pretty nice about their wood shenanigans and he’d known she was a good person.

To have that happen to her was just. Deplorable. Maybe those protestors had been onto something. In moments like this the bite was a curse, when bad people had this kind of power. Werewolves and humans didn’t mix well at all. There was no point denying it.

Stiles felt sick again, and the swaying motion of Derek’s gait was not helping things. They walked his father to his car, the red and blue lights still flashing, because he always forgot to switch them off and suddenly he realised why those reporters were gone.

He was oddly touched.

His father called dispatch to get the coroner, and a couple of deputies to photograph the scene. In the meantime Stiles pulled out his cell phone, leaving a message on Scott’s voicemail, warning him about the rogue werewolf and telling him to keep Allison safe.

“When they get here, I’ll lead you back,” Derek said having finally deemed it safe for Stiles’ feet to be planted on solid ground.

It was suddenly harder to breathe again. “You’re on your own there, buddy because if I go anywhere near there, I warn you, I will throw up or pass out and trust me, both will not be pretty.”

He knew that he was presenting a dilemma. To leave Stiles unprotected whilst he went with his father, or to let his father get lost in the woods and stay with his mate.

“You’ve got a beta in the department, Deputy Bungalon. He’ll find it.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped, and the Sheriff’s eyebrows knitted together. Derek glanced between them, resting on Stile’s face a bit longer than necessary.

“Was that a secret?” he asked, but then didn’t apologise for outing the guy they’d known for years and hadn’t figured out was a werewolf.

How could they not have known? His dad had to be the worst Sheriff ever, and Stiles had thought that he was pretty in the know of who was a werewolf in this damn town and who wasn’t. Apparently not.

“Bye Dad, I’ll talk to you soon,” he promised, reaching out to hug his father, which thankfully, Derek didn’t attempt to prevent this time and go gallivanting back out into the woods again. Where there actually was a dead body waiting for them.

Stiles pulled away from his father’s reassuring hold, shivering again before he was pressed against Derek’s side and being bundled back into the house.

“I’ll heat up the food,” Stiles offered, though he wasn’t remotely hungry.

“Stiles,” he grumbled seeming to sense that something was off as Stiles busied himself with stuffing the burgers and fries onto a plate and putting it into the microwave. The buzzing radio waves filled the silence for a moment as Stiles tried to make sense of what he wanted to say.

Because they definitely needed to talk about what happened out there. “Will- will you do that to me during the full moon?” he asked, not turning to face him.

“No,” Derek muttered, expression drawn. Stiles didn't like the sound of that.

“Try not to sound too confident. Not like my life depends on it.”

“I heard her,” Derek admitted darkly. “When I brought you back here. Normally, I’d have checked it out, but I was so focused on reclaiming my scent on you that I didn’t-"

The microwave's cheery beep of completion interrupted his words, so Stiles pulled the food out and set it on the table knowing he wasn’t going to eat it, but with a little bit of coaxing Derek might.

He placed the plate in front of the alpha invitingly, trying not to think about his words. Knowing that he’d heard her and done nothing was so much worse than actually knowing her and seeing her body afterwards.

“Was she screaming?” he asked quietly, not quite meeting Derek’s eyes.

He didn't reply. But Stiles felt the silence spoke a thousand words. A thousand horrific words to spin and twist inside his brain until he couldn’t bear to think anymore. He raised his gaze to Derek’s and his dark eyes drew him in, digging and finding purchase as his breathing hitched.

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

He was right. He didn’t. Though he knew the answer, anyway. And that would sit with Derek forever if he let it. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “You can’t have known what was happening.”

“It doesn’t matter if I didn’t know. I should have, anyway. It’s my responsibility.”

Stiles pushed the plate further towards him so that it almost ended up in the alpha's lap. “Will the Argent's get him before he- before he does that to anyone else?”

“They should. They’re experts in rogues. Haven’t missed one yet.”

Stiles exhaled in relief, nodding towards the food again until Derek sighed and picked up a burger. See, they could manage a healthy werewolf marriage, no problem.

Derek’s eyes narrowed on him suspiciously as he took a bite, but Stiles only smiled in the most innocent impression of trustworthiness, wondering if he was pulling off the Bambi eyes like Allison always managed to with Scott.

He wasn’t. Can't blame him for trying though.



There were no reporters or protestors at school the next day, though Derek circled the parking lot three times to be sure. Stiles figured he was stalling, because he didn't think it was safe.

"You're gonna have to stop the car eventually, asshole."

Derek hit the brakes so sharply that Stiles jerked in the seat. “You’re lucky it was me who ran you down that day and not some other werewolf because you’d be dead by now,” he snarled, the deep tones of his wolf mixing into his words.

And Stiles knew exactly what he meant. Derek reached out then, stroking across the side of his injured face all the way down to his jaw line, in an odd gesture of meaningfulness that was wrapped in an emotion Stiles couldn’t identify. The caressing touch caught him off guard. What was it meant to mean?

“Be careful today.” He spoke softly, an odd tone to his voice and Stiles clambered out of his car, hurrying to get away from the thick tension and his own racing heart.

Derek watched him walk into the school before driving away. He walked solo to homeroom and met Scott, who quickly apologised for not helping him yesterday, thanking him for the rogue werewolf message, but Stiles was too distracted with Derek thoughts to bother being annoyed. Allison had only twisted her ankle and everybody was fine, so there was really nothing to stress about.

But he was stressed. Nothing really felt right anymore. His dad was looking for a psycho werewolf and Stiles hadn’t driven his baby in days. Lydia wanted to talk to him about his homosexuality and Derek, well, Derek wanted to mate with him.

And school basically sucked. Today would be Scott’s last day before his mother locked him in the basement for werewolf heat. The hallways felt a bit emptier than usual and despite nobody trying to attack him, everyone seemed to find his scarred face unbelievably interesting.

Which in hindsight, was probably worse because if he’d been attacked, then Derek would have arrived and taken him home and then they could have curled up on the couch, watching crappy daytime tv for the rest of the day.

And he still didn’t know anything about Derek anyway. Did he have a job? Was he at work right now? Or roaming through the woods and digging up more bodies? What did he do in his Stiles-free time? Or was he just sitting in the school parking lot waiting for him?

He was wearing Derek’s jacket again as a precautionary thing, and not because he liked wearing it. Today was all about the practicality and not their relationship issues. But then he was being called to the principal’s office and suddenly the day became about both. The new principal was a scary old dude, an Argent no less and Allison’s grandfather.

“That’s quite a scratch, Mr Stillinski,” Gerard Argent noted, getting straight to the point when he walked through the door. “I heard about the festival. That was one hell of an offer, very public, and to an alpha no less.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, slumping into the seat across from the nightmare inducing old man who could probably kill him with any number of items in the room. “How many times do I have to- ugh, it was all just a big mistake,” he promised, tapping his feet impatiently against the floor, glancing at the clock and knowing school was almost over.

Derek was probably already waiting outside.

And if he wasn’t out there as soon as the bell rang things would definitely get interesting. Derek would most definitely wolf out in fear of Stiles being attacked, and things would probably get real ugly, real fast.

“Like that?” Gerard Argent clarified, pointing at his injured face again. “Does your alpha usually try to rip your face off?”

Stiles felt his stomach drop. Didn’t he know what had happened yesterday in the school parking lot? He wasn’t sure that he believed Derek was capable of intentionally hurting him like that, although, considering how little he knew about him, maybe he was.

“He didn’t-“ he began, trying valiantly to defend his alpha’s honour.

“We know about the Ranger,” The principal cut in. “And we know Derek’s the one that found her, in the woods right outside his house. Pretty convenient don’t you think, son?”

Stiles actually leaned forward in his chair as if he’d heard him wrong. Was he actually accusing Derek of Deborah’s murder? His finger’s drummed edgily across the armrests of the seat. “Did you just-“

“I’d be very careful about your alpha, boy,” Grandpa Argent growled out. “Because I’m not so sure he’s going to be around much longer.”

And the bell rang to add to his whole list of problems, but he was too shocked by Argent's words to notice. Because he- a psycho, badass Argent werewolf hunter- was going after Derek.

The hardness of his expression revealed all. Stiles could see the undisguised hatred in his eyes, and realised that this went further than a measly human scratch on his face and a dead Ranger in the woods. This was a grudge simmering through years and years of heart consuming hatred. Grandpa Argent had just been waiting for a reasonable excuse to go after Derek.

To kill him. And that was certainly going to put a wedge in their relationship.

There was no way he was going to let that happen. The principal waved him away, dismissing Stiles from his presence. Was this why the Argent's had such a good track record for rogue wolves? Because the man sitting in front of him was so ruthless?

Stiles rose to his feet, feeling utterly helpless because try as he might, he was still trying to deal with the prospect of all out war between humans and werewolves. Because clearly it was coming. And it was coming soon.

“You’re wrong about him,” he said, finally and the principal chuckled.

“Maybe you should consider how well you know him, before making any decisions.”

He did have a point. Stiles didn’t actually know Derek that well since he’d returned to Beacon Hills in all his alpha glory. But he'd lived in Beacon Hills before. That was literally the extent of his knowledge. How was he meant to find anything out? Derek wouldn't tell him.

Stiles glanced briefly at the clock and cursed under his breath. He was five minutes late staring into the eyes of a man who’d seen much and killed hundreds, all for a greater cause that was utterly flawed and fucked up. He smiled in a predatory way and it all clicked together.

Shit.

He’d pulled him in here to distract him, because Grandpa Argent knew Derek would be waiting outside, looking for Stiles no doubt, not expecting an ambush. He fled the principal’s office without another word, nearly crying with the relief that he’d grabbed his bag already and saved some extra time, so that he could warn Derek.

He pelted down the hallway at breakneck speed, freaking out about what he was going to see. Derek surrounded by the bodies of his enemies, blood dripping from his open jaws or the alpha bruised and broken, surrounded by a group of men. He barrelled through the main doors, eyes searching frantically and then froze.

There was no hunting party or werewolf showdown. Derek was standing next to his car, surrounded by werewolves, but that wasn’t really the problem save for a specific blonde werewolf who had her paws all over his chest. And Derek just let her do it, the jerk.

Stiles couldn’t believe that he’d actually cared about Derek’s wellbeing for even a second while he was outside basking in the nobility of his alpha rank with a bunch of beta and omega groupies showing their undying love. What a fucking joke.

He was pretty sure Jackson was down there too. And Derek was sort of smiling. Stiles wasn't even sure he'd seen him smile before. Biggest slap in the face, if he’d ever gotten one.

He stormed down the steps, wondering whose neck he was going to wring out first because while he may have a few muscles here and there, his limit would be murdering only one werewolf. And he had a fairly good idea which two it had boiled down to.

He pushed his way through the werewolf groupie crowd, probably because they recognised Derek’s scent on him and let him through. Erica was simpering at Derek, probably some ridiculous pick up line that Stiles had already heard before.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, pushing in between Erica and Derek. “Show’s over. So back the hell off.”

Erica’s eyes narrowed and she looked like she desperately wanted to do something about his words, but couldn’t in front of the alpha. She sniffed angrily and Stiles watched in satisfaction as the group dissembled, giving him dirty looks because he’d interrupted their werewolf bonding time.

They would just have to deal. Stiles turned back to Derek. “Enjoying yourself? Here I am thinking you're in danger when-“

He trailed off suddenly, finally noticing the way Derek was looking at him. But then the stare turned predatory, and Stiles hastily tried to back the hell up. Derek snagged his arm before he could get very far, pulling him into his embrace and trapping his body between the car door and his own burning flesh. Were they hugging now?

Whoa. Whoa. What was going on here?

“Do you even know what you're doing?” Derek muttered, managing to fit an explosion of emotion into the question.

"No," Stiles admitted and surged forward to kiss him.

And sweet and merciful Lord, his suspicions had been correct. Derek did have a talented mouth. His brain was suddenly encountering a core meltdown, systems a no-go sorry, have a nice day. And he was perfectly okay with it.

Stiles had no idea what was happening, or what he was doing but he went with the flow, responding just as hungrily to the ministrations of Derek’s mouth.

Derek’s hands were everywhere and Stiles felt the heat of his hard body against him, pulling him in. His finger’s brushed against Derek’s stubble before slipping into his hair and tugging. This was much better than any of the other kisses Stiles had ever had before. But then Derek pulled away to work on his neck and oh. Oh. He wasn’t sure he could live without this.

He slumped at little against the weight of all of the sensations and feelings slamming into him all at once, all pent up and locked away where they’d both left them, trying to resist. There was no resisting now. Derek’s teeth came over his neck, biting and bruising and Stiles moaned, leaning into it, wanting oh so much more. And when Derek moved in for easier access, grinding their hips together and tilting his head to the side with his hands so that he could bite down harder, he gasped.

Stiles stopped breathing, air rushing out of his lungs in a heady huff of pleasure before Derek’s very obvious and very hard cock jerked against his own in a prelude to something much more intimate.

And then shit got real.

“Wait,” he moaned out. “What's happening right now?”

Derek growled in frustration as Stiles untangled his fingers, pushing him away and glancing about the almost empty parking lot for witnesses. There were a few too many for his liking and they were all watching with surprised and somewhat scandalised expressions as if they hadn’t been prepared for werewolf porn on their way home from school.

Stiles managed an awkward wave in their direction. Nobody waved back. Figures.

But Coach Finstock was clearly never going to look at him the same way during economics or lacrosse ever again. Derek was frowning at him, so he got straight to the point.

Derek traced his jaw line, and Stiles refused to lean into the touch. “You just kissed me.”

"Yeah, but like before that."

“You openly acknowledged your claim to me in public in front of at least twenty werewolves.”

Oh. So that's what that look was for. What even. How was he supposed to understand and pick up on every bit of werewolf subtext? Maybe telling Erica to back off hadn’t been the best idea after all. This was all too much. Stiles needed some space to think.

“I want my baby,” he said and Derek stiffened, letting him go. “My jeep- I want my jeep,” he continued. “For driving- to drive places. I need my baby.”

Derek frowned. “Your baby- the jeep?”

“Uh, two cars are better than one? Right? And then you won’t have to keep driving me to school and waiting around for me. It’s a flawless idea, should make Jeeves pretty happy seeing as you took his car away from him and-“

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Stiles grinned and walked around to the passenger side. That had been surprisingly easy. But then Derek reached out and seized his collar, yanking him back so that he could press his mouth against his neck again.



His dad wasn’t home from work yet so Stiles grabbed the spare keys from under a particularly hideous garden gnome, feeling Derek’s hungry eyes on him from the car and knowing he had to be quick about grabbing that paperwork he'd left in his bedroom.

Because he was supposed to be getting the keys to his jeep, which were on the kitchen table. He ran up the stairs and into his room, diving for the bed and wrenching his pillow free to get to the papers underneath. He nearly wept with relief when he saw it was still there and proceeded to shove it into his back pack as quickly as possible, papers flying everywhere in his haste.

He was glancing around the room as he did so, feeling a little nostalgic when he spotted Scott’s jacket on his floor.

And then a brilliant idea came to him. Derek had said that he couldn’t think straight with different scents on Stiles, so maybe that would give him the time and space to keep distance between them for a while.

Stiles scrambled to grab the jacket and shoved it directly into his face and began rubbing it all over him.

Werewolves wouldn’t want to be around a mate that smelled like someone else let alone try to have sex with them. Derek would be too focused on reclaim the scent first to want to discuss what Stiles kissing him had meant. That was a relief because he definitely had no idea why he'd done it. Okay, he had some idea, but there was no way he felt like addressing that yet.

He hurried back downstairs, grabbing the keys for his jeep made it to the doorway. Derek was still there, waiting in his Mercedes for Stiles to drive off first and he tried to keep his heart rate down so as not to look suspicious.

Derek had all of the windows rolled up so he wouldn’t be able to smell Stiles, yet. Why was he frowning? Right, that was basically his default setting.

Stiles shut the front door, waving his keys in greeting before scurrying over to his jeep and launching himself inside as if expecting a werewolf attack. Derek didn’t leave until the engine started, and Stiles had begun reversing out of his driveway. By then he was nearly hyperventilating.

The scent thing would buy him enough time to read over alpha law again, because he wanted to think about this properly. And there was no way in hell he was going to give up his ass to be mated, without a fight.

If it would even come to that. Considering their kiss earlier, Stiles wasn't so sure.

Chapter Text

Nie.



Stiles had only driven a few miles before his brain started operating cognitively enough to consider the risks of his actions. He switched off the radio, needing complete silence to approach this from all angles. Okay, so he was covered in Scott’s scent which was creeping him out a little and could possibly traumatise him for all eternity but the damage was done. Now he had to figure out a new plan.

Right, new plan. Thinking of one would be a good idea. His fingers drummed a random beat across the wheel as he drove, mind going in all directions at once and most of them ending terribly.

Although, he did still have Derek’s jacket in his backpack. Maybe he could try to overwhelm Scott’s scent with the alpha's, it was naturally dominant, anyway. If he put it back on now then he could just insist that they’d be sitting really close to one another all day…

Like Derek would believe that. Geez, he wasn’t stupid.

So, that plan was out the window. And speaking of windows, what the hell was that?

Stiles eased off the accelerator, twisting his neck to stare over his shoulder with interest at the splash of colour that had flitted past his peripheral vision in the rapidly dwindling sunlight, filtering through the obscurity of the woods. For a second there, he’d thought he’d seen pink. But like bright pink.

Pink. In the woods, which had no right being unusually coloured.

His eyes narrowed, and he scanned the side of the road, wondering if he was totally losing his mind as he squinted into the semi darkness of the late afternoon. The trees as always looked pretty ominous. Maybe he was just being paranoid, hyped up on Derek related emotions. And then he saw it. The sudden flash of pink contrasting against the dead leaves, shredded into misshapen pieces. Of material. As if from someone’s clothing.

Oh, fuck.

Something dark moved in front of it, obscuring the bit of colour that had caught his eye and he barely managed to smother a garbled scream of terror as he comprehended exactly what he was looking at.

The rogue werewolf.

The dark thing heard him anyway, and Stiles was already dialling Derek’s cell phone, jamming his foot to press down on the accelerator so he could get the hell outta there. The jeep moved about an inch and then there was a terrible screeching of tyres against the asphalt as the engine over revved itself, straining to push forward.

His brain was taken over by panic and Stiles didn’t understand how this could possibly be happening. He had a sudden urge to lock all of the doors, but it was unlikely that that would prevent the werewolf. Derek picked up on the first ring, but Stiles didn’t even notice, turning slowly to look at the hulking, great mass of wolf that had seized the back of his car.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice came out muffled beneath his sweaty grip.

He was utterly speechless, staring down the gigantic tonne of werewolf casually holding up the end of his jeep like it was a toy truck. He was so fucking screwed. And even if he hadn’t been totally absorbed by his own life or death situation, he probably still wouldn’t have been able to answer.

This was bad. Bad, very, very bad.

And then the werewolf howled, not in an I’m-the-alpha-and-a-badass kind of way but an I’m-hungry-and-this-looks-like-a-pretty-tasty-snack-wrapped-up-in-metal kind of howl. It was as if the jeep was a cereal box with a prize hidden inside and Stiles was the prize.

God, and even the most sensible kids ate them. He was so dead.

The werewolf opened its jaws in a terrifying display of poor dental hygiene and Stiles swore, scrambling away from sudden vision of horror. The jeep’s engine stalled and suddenly the freaking werewolf vanished.

Stiles just knew he wasn’t that lucky. It was definitely coming back. Only he had no idea what freaking direction. His head whipped around as he surveyed the area frantically, trying to guess where the fuck this thing was going to come from. Oh, God. Where the hell was it?

“Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, reaching blindly underneath the seat for what he swore Scott had forgotten to take out of his car the last time they went out in the woods for werewolf practice.

And he had, thank fuck. Oh, Jesus. It was still there. His shaking fingers closed around the handle of Scott’s baseball bat, just as the werewolf smashed through the driver’s window with an unnatural roar of fury.

Stiles yelled, retrieving the bat and swinging uncoordinatedly at air as he scrambled across the seats to escape the psycho werewolf. It pushed its entire hairy shoulder into the small space it had smashed through, not enough to force its entire flank into the car, but just enough to reach him.

Oh, God. And the way it smelled, too. Of dirt and blood, and other things he didn’t want to think about ever again. He gagged as it permeated the small space, swatting desperately at the werewolf again, practically choking on the distorted sounds of fear coming from his own throat as a clawed hand snatched at his sleeve, snarling brutally as it enclosed around his wrist.

Holy shit. He was so dead. The werewolf paused, and Stiles heart stopped with it as the beast suddenly stilled, sniffing at the air. He tried to slowly adjust his grip on the bat while it was distracted and presently not maiming him. Its snout twitched, before it suddenly released him with an almost unsatisfied grunt of reproach.

Stiles promptly forgot how to breathe as it pulled itself out of the window, taking the driver’s door with it when it stuck. He tried not to wince as the monster wrenched the whole door away, sensing exactly how much that was going to cost him before the wolf was tearing off into the trees with an unfulfilled howl of rage.

Stiles sat there frozen for a moment, grip on his cell phone slackening as he dropped it onto the jeep’s floor. Derek’s frantic voice still came through the speaker before he slid out of the driver door. It was a monumentally stupid thing for him to do, especially after what had just happened, but he had to know.

He wobbled on his feet, but managed an awkward shuffle towards the pink material now flapping in sick greeting from the sudden breeze. He used the side of the jeep for support, barely glancing at the deep ridges the rogue werewolf's claw marks had made in the metal, the indents of its hands as it had seized the back of it.

The tyres had left some serious burn outs on the road, but his attention was focused entirely on that pink material fluttering sadly in the fading light.

He staggered up the small incline of the slope, slipping slightly on the dead leaves that cluttered the ground, feeling sick when he spotted specks of blood intermixing with the dirt and leaves.Derek’s car came roaring down the street, tyres screaming as he slid into park behind his jeep. Stiles wanted to go to him, but this was so much more important than anything that he could ever have wanted.

She was there where he’d thought she’d be, curled up into a foetal position, still barely alive and all thanks to those precious few minutes Stiles had given her when he’d interrupted them.

Oh, God. He didn’t recognise her, even with all of her injuries and her terrible nakedness as he approached her shivering body, slowly removing Scott’s jacket. Her eyes were red with tears and deep claw marks as if the monster had tried to touch her face.

She managed a weak moan, and the sound was like a knife in his chest, a bleak summation of everything she’d lived through in the last hour and Stiles managed a soft, comforting sound as he gently covered her with the jacket, shielding her naked body from the silent judgement of the impenetrable woods laid out before them.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured but he was sobbing, thick and heavy agonised sounds, pulling her head into his lap in a pointless effort to make her more comfortable. He didn’t need to look at her bruised and broken form to know that it was too late for her, or the blood that rapidly soaked his pants as he held her, but for the moment it was enough.

It was enough.

Her torn lips pulled together into a wretched smile that he knew pained her. For a person she didn’t even know, but would remember for the rest of her life. And then finally, as if her misery had all been for nothing, her shuddering chest eased and she drifted, going to a place that he could not follow.

The stillness of the woods pressed down on his heart making him bleed, aching for a little more time, for a reality where he’d stopped this from happening at all. Where she hadn’t been murdered.

And he sat there, holding her in his shaking arms.



Derek managed to separate them before the Sheriff arrived, wrapping Stiles into his own warm embrace and gently pulling him away from the crime scene. He’d grabbed Stiles’ backpack from the jeep and taken his keys without a word, handing them to a suit with a face before leading him away from the area.

Stiles was completely incomprehensible, not even aware of where he was anymore, led away in a daze. Some part of him registered he was in shock, the mind numbing headache reminding him that he was still alive, but he felt this all vaguely. It was only when he spotted the pink material again, of what he now knew to be the remains of her dress, that he was properly roused into action.

He thrashed in Derek’s grip, breaking free with a surprising display of strength before he strode towards it, stretching on his toes to reach into the branches it had become ensnared in, yanking it free with an angry snarl. Nobody trusted him around the crime scene after that, Derek throwing him over his shoulder again and walking down the slope towards his car, but it was unnecessary. He’d done what he needed to do.

They were pulling into Derek’s driveway when he finally got a hold of himself again, at least enough to understand that Derek was talking to him and that for once he was actually sitting in the passenger side.

Huh.

“You weren’t wearing my jacket,” he said, phrasing the statement like a hidden question.

Stiles felt his insides twist at the way he sort of sounded hurt. “I didn’t- I wasn’t.”

“That’s why he didn’t back off straight away,” he continued quietly. “Because you’d confused him.”

He briefly remembered the beast’s claws clamping over the sleeves of Scott’s jacket, and flinched at the memory. “But Scott’s a beta-“

“And an omega can take a beta in a fair fight,” he explained. “Even a rogue one, but they’d never risk an alpha. He could have killed you. He was going to.”

Stiles felt the need to defend his actions because he wanted, no dammit, he needed this stupid alpha to believe that he could look after himself. “I had a baseball bat,” he insisted.

Derek actually laughed. Like the sound of laughter, came out of his mouth- his mouth. Only it seemed heavily weighted with mockery and maybe just a hint of disdain. He glared at him, still shaken from tonight’s events and really trying to see something in Derek that didn’t make him want to resort to an irrational display of violence all over his attractive face.

For a second, he still wished he had the bat, but then he pulled his shit together and make a very flattering comment of where Derek could stick said baseball bat before he freed himself from the seat belt and stormed into the house.

“I won’t apologise for who I am,” Derek said, following him. ”But you keep playing games-”

“No, I’m not!”

“-fighting me at every turn, making everything so fucking hard because you refuse to believe that I might actually care about you!”

“Do you?” he countered, spinning around to glare at him.

He didn't respond but his expression twisted before he stalked away. Watching Derek's retreating form was enough to get Stiles to make a complete ass of himself. There was no way. And maybe Stiles didn't want to be alone right now.

“Sleep with me,” he said, and when Derek froze, in complete and utter shock, he hastily acknowledged his foot in mouth disease resurfacing again. “Shit. Um, not like that. I mean, in the same bed- with me. Uh, tonight. Unless of course you’ve got something better to do,” he rambled on. “Or like if you need some quality time with yourself what with heat week coming up."

His face heated up and the alpha approached him again, normal eyes and normal hands watching him and reaching out to cup his face. The touch was both soothing and thrilling all at once. And for right now that was exactly what Stiles needed.

“Stiles,” he said and his eyes had gone soft, softer than he’d ever seen them before. It must have been an optical malfunction, or something because he couldn’t really believe that was what he was seeing. “What are you doing?”

Stiles really wasn’t sure. His emotions were all over the place and he was sort of in that vulnerable I-just-watched-somebody-die-and-it-was-freaking-terrible place. Plus, Derek had basically just admitted to having the feelings as well and he’d be stupid to deny them both what they really wanted.

Which was apparently each other. Now wasn’t that a fucking surprise. “I’m saying we should snuggle,” he blurted out. “Or spoon? Whichever you prefer. Or maybe just the scenting thing, because I really don’t like smelling like Scott.”

“Then why did you do it?” Derek asked.

“Uh, I plead the fifth?”

“Stiles, tell me what you're thinking.”

If that wasn’t the statement of the week, he didn’t know what was. Derek groaned against him, muffling the sound against his skin and he shuddered, knowing his cock was stirring within his pants. “Stop. Thinking. That. Now.”

Stiles hastily began to purify his thoughts. “I was trying to protect my virtue,” he explained, because technically it was true, though it didn’t seem too believable at the moment.

“Trust me it’s safe,” the alpha chuckled. “I won't do anything you don't ask for.”

Stiles flushed but didn't answer, moving past Derek and heading for the staircase. It had been a long day and he wasn't sure that he could stomach any food even if he tried.

Derek followed after him and by the time he'd reached the bedroom, Stiles had already managed to strip down to his briefs. Derek removed his clothes at a slower pace as if he had all the time in the world to get Stiles all worked up. The indecency of it was astounding.

Stiles lost patience and tugged at Derek's shirt, helping him yank it over his chest. They eased onto the mattress together and Derek's eyes were intense in the way he watched him. And then he started scenting every inch of Stiles' available skin with his mouth. Stiles gasped at the sensation, fingers slipping into his hair. He moaned as Derek’s mouth closed over one of his nipples, teasing at the area with his tongue.

And then suddenly Derek was biting down and Stiles was letting out a desperate whine, arching into the touch. His mouth continued at a torturing pace licking, kissing, biting and sucking his way down Stiles’ stomach, muscles twitching from all of the attention. He kept trying to squirm away, but then arching into Derek’s mouth and hands- oh, his big warm hands that overwhelmed him with how good it felt.

“I don’t- “ he gasped out. “Remember you- doing… that- oh, oh wow… uh, that before.”

He struggled to form a coherent statement, but it was like every inch of him, body and soul was rejoicing in the fact that Derek had his fine hands and talented mouth all over him, and he wanted more, dammit. Screw the consequences. “Is this- oh. Oh. A new type of uh… scenting thing?”

He groaned when Derek, finally- the asshole was taking way too much time- reached the destination Stiles wanted him to arrive at. Derek paused over his crotch, and Stiles just watched the glorious image of Derek face before he was suddenly flipped onto his stomach. He scrambled for a second as heat burned through his skin, twisting to try to see what was happening. Derek's hand gripped his hipbone and held him still.

“You think you're so damn smart,” Derek muttered.

He nipped at Stiles’ shoulder, smoothing his hands down his skin, slowly when he flinched, caressing oh, so softly that it was almost calming. But then Derek jerked the edge of his briefs down, exposing one of his asscheeks and this was so not what he’d meant by snuggling.

“What the hell?” he demanded but Derek was on his right ass cheek, mouth coming over the sensitive flesh as his teeth sank in, biting.

On his ass. Derek bit him on the ass. What the holy fuck?

Stiles spluttered out an incoherent babble of word nonsense as his dick twitched against the mattress. When did it ever mention in alpha law the werewolves bit people on the ass? He let out a startled curse and struggled not to moan when the alpha kissed up his spine.

"You fuck," Stiles snapped as he rolled over, immediately returning the favour with whatever bit of skin he could sink his teeth into. He caught at Derek's chest, biting just over his peck and applying more pressure when Derek laughed. “What the hell was that?” he demanded, scrambling to get up and put some distance between them.

He would have tried for the doorway, but Derek was closer. Despite years of being desensitised to utter humiliation, he felt embarrassed by his own reaction and the red mark he'd left on Derek's chest.

“Proving a point,” Derek replied, calmly glancing down at the tent in Stiles' briefs. He was tempted to cover his erection, but figured there was no need, seeing as Derek was already aware of it. He was still trying to keep up with what had just happened.

“A point?” he echoed. “Was the point that you're an asshole?”

“The point was that you want this too,” Derek whispered softly, skimming his jaw line with his fingertips. “So, you should stop pretending.”

Stiles gaped like a fish and Derek took the opportunity to kiss his throat, not that he was complaining, but whoa.

“I don’t trust you,” he said finally. Derek grumbled low in his throat and he tried not to shudder. “I mean, I do, but I don’t trust you not to uh- you know tear me apart, because if you haven’t noticed you’re pretty freaking huge. And I am human and you know, soft and not capable of bending that way.”

Derek’s hand slid from his face, straight down to his cup him in his briefs and suddenly he was lost for words. “You’re going to have to trust me,” he murmured, voice hot and breathless against his ear. “I know what I’m doing.”

Did he ever. Stiles rocked his hips against Derek's hand, craving that friction as he slid his hands over Derek's bicep, needing something to hold onto for this.

“I can, ah- see that,” he gasped out, knowing the pleasure was too much. He was going to shatter into a billion pieces if Derek didn’t let up the torture.

He buried his face into the crook of Stiles' neck and inhaled, tightening his grip on Stiles and stroking him through his underwear. Stiles' orgasm punched through his chest a moment later at the rush of it. He slumped against the alpha’s chest after, feeling hot and sweaty and in desperate need of a shower.

Derek kissed his mouth again, making him weightless and he permitted Derek to carry him into the bathroom to clean up. He was ridiculously strong.

And Stiles ass was still stinging from where Derek had bitten him. When Derek set him down and left him to get undressed and showered it took every ounce of his self control not to reach behind himself and inspect the sensitive area. He wouldn’t give Derek the satisfaction.

But he didn’t need to see it to know he wouldn’t be able to sit properly tomorrow. Stiles hoped that bite he left on Derek's chest hurt.



Stiles still wasn't able to sit properly when Derek drove him to school the next morning, because his jeep was now damaged and part of an ongoing murder investigation. He was still at a serious level of pissed and fuming, but Derek acted like nothing had happened between them and that only made it worse.

Seriously his ass. Stiles couldn’t let it go.

Derek actually drove a different car today. A black Camaro, because apparently he needed more than one car to get around Beacon Hills with. Obviously the alpha was loaded.

They sat in Derek’s car in the school parking lot while the alpha kissed him thoroughly, destroying more of Stiles much needed brain cells. Or maybe Stiles was the one kissing him thoroughly, he couldn't seem to remember who had started it.
One moment they'd been staring at one another and Stiles had still been angry and the next moment his hands were buried in Derek's hair and he'd seemingly half climbed across the space between them. Huh.

When they finally broke apart, Stiles managed to rediscover the use of words. “You’re still an asshole,” he muttered, breathing heavily as he gingerly rose out of the seat.

Derek chuckled as he attempted to exit the car delicately without irritating the very painful area. So Stiles flipped him off and slammed the car door with more force than a human should possess, feeling immensely pleased by the sharp sound.

That was, he did, until Jackson passed by and saw him struggle to walk straight.

“Got a bit of action last night, Stilinski?”

He gaped at Jackson’s smug expression. What. What even. Werewolves shouldn’t say shit like that just because they could smell it. What was Jackson even doing at school? Werewolf heat meant he should've been home right now, trying to climb the walls with his dick or something.

“Why are you here?” he countered. “Shouldn’t you be locked away and humping furniture by now?”

Jackson face morphed into his default superior expression. “Please, I’m not like those pathetic losers who need to screw everything they see around heat week. I can control myself.”

Yeah, right. He seriously doubted that. Stiles couldn’t believe he was being so stupid about it. Control, bullshit indeed.

“Sure you do, buddy,” he agreed, limping into the school.

Jackson followed him in. “Get a lot of action last night?” he sneered, leering at the way Stiles was favouring his left leg, because his pants kept rubbing against the sensitive area of his ass, where his asshole boyfriend had bitten him.

“Why don’t you just try and impregnate some helpless furniture,” Stiles shot back, quickening his pace to get away.

Jackson only laughed, letting him go but Stiles was already scowling. His day kind of sucked after that, not that he'd been expecting anything less. Scott wasn't there, he'd had lacrosse practise before lunch and the bench warming was not working wonders on his ass.

Practise was pretty average too, what with most of the team being absent, working through their heats and the need to sex anything up that moved, except Jackson who was playing with his usual take no prisoners-everyone must and will die- approach to the game.

There would be injuries. But most of the team were smart enough to get out of his way.

He tried to watch the game and distract himself from the total inferno of pain that burned upon contact with the bench, but his head wasn't really in it. Derek would pay for this.

So he sat there, ass burning and using his free time to consider all of the ways he could get revenge.

But then the field got a little bit more interesting. Jackson was running the ball to the net, which Danny was defending when suddenly, the werewolf didn’t stop after he'd scored. He just kept running, ploughing straight into Danny as if he’d insulted his porsche or something.

Danny went down like a sack of bricks and Stiles jumped to his feet as everyone else froze, shocked. Jackson didn’t get up either, it was like he’d collapsed and Danny was struggling to get out from underneath him, eyes wide.

It was probably the strangest thing to happen that day. Mostly, because everybody liked Danny, Jackson especially, seeing as they were meant to best friends. Nobody seemed to understand what was happening. Stiles watched open mouthed as Danny finally got his footing, pushing Jackson off of him and hauling his little werewolf ass out of the goalie net they were currently tangled in.

He looked surprised, really surprised but not angry. And Jackson seemed to be losing his shit. He snarled, pushing Danny away from him and storming off without another word. Everybody watched him go.

“You alright, Danny?” Coach Finstock called across the field. “What the hell was that?”

Danny was watching Jackson’s departing figure and he was frowning. “I don’t know, Coach.”

Stiles sat back down unthinkingly and then nearly jumped a freaking mile in the air when his ass protested the rough treatment. Fucking Derek Hale.




Nobody saw Jackson in the locker room after practice, and Coach Finstock went off in search of him. Stiles just figured he was having a diva moment and went to check on Danny instead. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “Because Jackson normally treats everybody like shit, except you. You guys fighting or something?”

Danny raised an eyebrow and Stiles figured maybe his input was not needed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” he said. “He’s been acting weird all morning.”

Stiles shrugged. “It’s Jackson. He’s always weird.”

“Yeah, but Lydia said…”

Lydia! He’d forgotten that he'd promised to talk to her today about Derek. “Gotta go, Danny,” he rushed out, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and racing out of the boy’s locker room.

He’d nearly made it halfway to the Cafeteria before he remembered leaving his lacrosse stick behind. Shit. He’d been planning to use it on Derek’s head. He paused for a second, before cursing the universe and everything else in it that seemed to take satisfaction in making everything harder for him and ran back the way he’d come. And his ass was still stinging.

The lunch bell had already gone and he was expecting a totally empty locker room as he barrelled into it, locating his stick and scooping it off the ground where he’d dumped it earlier, but that was not the sight that he was rewarded with.

Oh no. Jackson had Danny crowded up against the wall and Stiles was about to do something, shout or at least attempt to stop Jackson from killing his best friend before Danny started moaning. Like happy times moaning.

And then it clicked. Oh.

Stiles’ jaw opened uselessly when he realised exactly what he was looking at. Jackson seemed to be marking the hell out of Danny’s neck, which clearly had to be a werewolf thing because Stiles’ neck was still not healed because of stupid Derek. Danny had his head tipped back, exposing more of his throat, eyes wide and pupils blown.

So that was why Jackson and Lydia had broken up. Huh. He felt like somehow he should’ve seen this coming. Clearly, somebody wasn't as immune to werewolf heat as he'd thought. He should have felt embarrassed or wary about the whole thing, but the fact that it was happening to Jackson only made it incredibly satisfying. And hilarious.

Stiles snickered. “Nice control there, Jackson.”

Danny finally noticed he was there and blushed, but he was too busy about to be screwed out of his mind to push him away. And Jackson only growled into his neck, flipping Stiles’ off without looking at him, showing off his claws as he did so.

“Don’t forget protection,” he teased, unable to resist. Jackson deserved it after being so cocky about controlling himself. “As you were.”

And then he left, still snickering at the turn of events. But now he needed to talk to Lydia. He sprinted back to the Cafeteria, wheezing heavily when he made it inside, beelining for Lydia and Allison.

“Jackson's fucking Danny in the boy’s locker room,” he gasped out, pleased at the shock that registered on Allison’s face. Lydia, however, seemed pretty unaffected by the news.

“And that is why we are no longer dating,” she said, flipping her strawberry blonde tresses casually.

He took the seat next to Allison, preparing himself for a terrifying encounter of the sexual psyche kind. She smirked at him in such a way that he was instantly terrified.

And that was how he knew that Lydia was someday going to take over the world.

Chapter Text

Nej.



“So, uh- I wanted to have that talk now. About Derek,” he puffed out, still getting breathing heavily and rushing to get the words out before he could regret them.

Allison raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Lydia only smirked, and he knew right then that he’d just sold her his soul as she folded her perfectly manicured nails onto the table.

“Yes. Jackson mentioned you had fun last night.”

Stiles let out an outraged sound. “He’s telling everyone?” he demanded. “Oh, he’s so going to pay for that. That’s it. I’m spreading the news about Mr Jackson- I’m so in control I’m fucking my best friend- Whittemore and what’s currently occurring in the boy’s locker room.”

Matt, who was walking past their table, paused, clearly overhearing the conversation. Stiles narrowed his eyes as the guy smiled at Allison before he clutched the camera hanging around his neck and hurried out of the Cafeteria as if he were planning to document the evidence of Jackson and Danny's hookup.

Stiles hoped he would, because then maybe Jackson would get territorial and eat him. There was just something about the guy that he didn't trust.

“Shut up,” Lydia snapped. “And tell me about Derek.”

Stiles liked a woman who knew what she wanted and also knew how to terrify those around her. It was an unbeatable combination.

So he told her. Not everything. He didn’t want to freak her out, and Allison was sitting right next to him. Though, he couldn’t resist bitching about the reason why he was limping so heavily. At least he'd gotten some semblance of revenge afterwards. Lydia still laughed and Allison looked somewhat scandalised.

“He bit you?” Allison whispered. “On your…”

“Natis,” Lydia clarified with the encyclopaedic knowledge she often kept hidden. It sounded like Latin, but Stiles was too caught up in his own humiliation to pay much attention to her.

“And then the bastard…”

Lydia started laughing but it sounded more like she was cackling at his expense. Stiles mouth fell open in protest.

“I had no idea that someone who gets perfect grades could be so stupid.”

Stiles blinked owlishly at her. What?

“You are unbelievably lucky that you’re mated to someone who has such control over himself, because I’m fairly certain you’d already be dead.”

“What?”

Lydia rolled her eyes, and Allison smiled gently which meant she was in on it too. The traitor. “What Lydia’s trying to say is that Derek’s been treating you unusually well, considering. It’s rare for werewolves to possess that much control.”

“Considering what?” he demanded, missing an important piece of the puzzle.

“Well, there’s an age gap. You’re constantly surrounded by other rival werewolves and you’ve been attacked by a rogue. Plus, you’re always getting into trouble and to be honest you don’t really have what anybody would call a filter-”

“I have a filter. I can filter things. Do you see me commenting on how your psycho grandpa wants to kill my werewolf boyfriend?”

Lydia gave him a look that spoke a thousand insulting words. It made him quake just that little bit, because she possessed the power to destroy him with a glare. Allison didn’t look too offended, only a little smug.

“Oh,” he said realising they were right. “Uh- point taken. Continue.”

“Most of those alpha law rituals are totally out of date,” Lydia said sighing at his stupefied expression. “Derek backed off because you instinctively claimed him and then couldn’t handle the magnitude of what you'd done. There's nothing stopping him from having sex with you other than basic common decency and respecting your wishes. Some werewolves don't even bother with verbal consent once they're mated so you should be thankful.”

What. The. Fuck. “So this means…?”

Lydia flicked a grape in his direction and he dodged the missile launched at his face. “It means, Stiles. That while you were trying to mess with him, he’s been going against every instinct keeping you unmarked. He’s being goddamn respectful and patient with you, while you continue to be an idiot.”

Allison'a expression confirmed Lydia's statement. “The um, sex part is really important,” she explained. "It’s a way to strengthen the bond between you and when you haven’t um... well, you know, it leaves you vulnerable unbonded like that. And it might make Derek snap, eventually. It’s not common for a werewolf to…”

“Hold out this long,” Lydia added helpfully. “He should’ve fucked you into the mattress by now.”

“I don’t owe him for not taking advantage,” he insisted, face heating up. “I don’t even know him.”

“Then find out,” Lydia said dismissively. “It’s not like it's particle physics or anything.”

Stiles thought about that for a moment, conceding that maybe she had a point. He could find out about Derek if he really wanted. He just hadn’t tried that hard.

“He gave you enough time to figure out what you want.”

Stiles paused, considering about her words. Had Derek really been doing the decent thing all along? “What do I want?” he asked them, genuinely interested to see their conclusion.

“Him, obviously,” Lydia huffed, irritated. “Seeing as you’ve spoken of nothing else for the past hour and haven’t even noticed that you’re missing class.”

Allison looked surprised too. “Oh, no,” she muttered, grabbing her bag and hurrying out of the room with a frantic wave of her and in farewell. Stiles stared at the empty Cafeteria with wide eyes.

Oh, God. How had he not noticed that? He turned back to Lydia whose expression was beyond smugness. But she was right. Here he was, finally talking to Lydia, the supposed girl of his dreams, but it was all about the Derek problem and that was all he wanted to discuss right now. Huh.

“You should just talk to him,” she spoke in an unusually gentle voice. “It’s pretty clear that he wants you, too.”

And then she grabbed her stuff and left, leaving Stiles to sit there stupidly, contemplating the surprise arrival of his own feelings.


He didn’t sit there for long, because he came up with something a little less time consuming and a hell of a lot more productive than sitting through an actual class. He snuck off to the library instead, lying through his teeth about a free period to get inside because the doors were guarded by a terrible fire breathing dragon woman who happened to be the librarian.

Erica was sitting at a nearby table and for once the sight of her did not fill him with dread. He quickly took the seat beside her, noting the very pink laptop she was using and wondered if his masculinity could deal with requesting to borrow it. It could. Especially since colours aren't actually gendered. Though he certainly winced at the memory of pink fabric tangled in branches that it brought to mind. Safer not to think about that.

“No,” she said, not even glancing up. Harsh.

“You haven’t even heard what I’m going to ask yet!” he protested but regretted it immediately when she turned to glare at him.

“I just know whatever it is, I don’t want to give it to you.”

She didn’t attempt to maul him, so he figured it was a good sign to keep pestering until she caved. “I just wanted to borrow your laptop.”

“For what?” she asked, already interested and highly distrustful like she expected him to use it to favourite some porn sites or to acquire computer viruses or something. Zero trust.

“To research the mating cycle of unicorns,” he said seriously.

“For what?” she repeated, anger flaring sharply.

“To search up how you get your hair so spectacular every morning?” he guessed.

She paused, frowning at him. “Better, but still no. The truth.”

He sighed, figuring what could it hurt anyway, she already knew he was weird. Well, her and the rest of the townsfolk of Beacon Hills who witnessed him offer himself up to an alpha and generally impress them with his typically unusual Stiles-like behaviour. It happens.

“To research Derek,” he admitted.

Her smile turned predatory real fast and she laughed. “Oh, Stiles why didn’t you just ask?” she teased, voice suddenly sounding sweeter as she handed the laptop over without protest.

Stiles watched her suspiciously. This definitely felt like a trap. The librarian stalked past and he scrambled to seem productive until she finished her patrol, avoiding eye contact because she could sense fear.

“What’s with the sudden help?” he wondered. “I thought you hated me.”

She smiled again. “I’ll admit that I find your bewildered expression pretty damn funny, and I can tell this whole werewolf mating thing has you fucked sideways so I’m pretty entertained.”

“Oh, thanks for that. Now I feel so much better about the whole thing.”

“He’s got no family,” she said suddenly volunteering information like they were gossiping buddies all of a sudden. “I think he had a sister left, but then she was murdered.”

“Murdered?” he choked out quickly, lowering his voice a few decibels as the librarian prowled past again.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding at him. “But this was after the Hale house fire that killed everyone else.”

“WHAT?” he cried and the librarian women stuck her head out from around a shelf like she was about to shoot fireballs from her nostrils and he put on his most innocent blank expression.

What the hell kind of childhood did Derek have? No wonder he was so emotionally stunted. Damn. “Like his whole family?” he continued. “Was it an accident?”

She gave him a look, as if he was incredibly naïve for asking but it was a legitimate question. One time he'd nearly burnt down his dad's kitchen experimenting with a pancake and waffle concoction. It had not ended well.

“It was just after werewolves came out into society, I think. It was in the early days, when people were still terrified about them so I think a bunch of humans got together and…”

“Burned the house down?”

“With everyone still in it,” she added and he gaped at her. Oh God. He’d remembered a big house fire that had wiped out an entire werewolf family, but he hadn’t known that it was Derek’s and his father had said it was an accident. Obviously he'd lied to avoid the horror of the truth. It had been a pretty big news thing at the time, but Stiles had been too young to really pay attention.

“How do you know all this?”

“My dad’s an insurance examiner. He was asked to look over the incident after the first insurance guy was murdered.”

Stiles froze. “Did Derek?...”

“No, I don’t think so. It was the school bus driver, remember?”

Oh, yeah Stiles remembered. They’d had to endure the bus turned crime scene for weeks. Scott had thought that he’d been the one that had killed him. He’d had some freaky dream about it and they’d kept it a secret. For his own protection. That had not been a fun couple of days. It wasn’t until he’d gone back onto the bus that he’d realised it wasn't him, werewolf mystical powers finally revealing what Stiles had been attempting to sink into his brain for days.

“I think he’d been involved in the whole thing. So they asked my dad to take a look at the incident report again, against Derek’s wishes.”

Stiles was surprised. “Against his wishes?”

“Yes, he wanted the investigation dropped. I don’t know why, maybe he’d already figured out who was to blame.”

“What and killed them werewolf style?” he asked, choking out a laugh which trailed off at her pointed expression.

Oh. It probably shouldn’t have surprised him so much. No doubt, Derek had performed some serious alpha destruction in the past. How many did she think he’d killed? Oh, shit. Did that make him more inclined towards murder then the next grumpy werewolf?

“Read this,” she said shortly, shoving the laptop practically into his lap. It was an article about the Hale house fire and he scanned the pictures of the shell of a house that remained after before reading.

It was messed up. Eight people perished in the fire that wiped out Derek’s family. And Erica neglected to mention that they hadn’t just burned werewolves. There had been humans in that house, too.

Stiles sat there frozen, picturing exactly what would have happened. The fire, the people trapped inside, those sick bastards watching as the place burned down. He felt like he could throw up. The article said Derek and his sister had been at school when it happened and had come home to ruins. Only one family member survived, an uncle. But Erica said that even he was dead now. So badly burnt that he was unrecognisable.

A tingle shuddered down his spine, but he'd already decided what to do, searching for the location of the house. They hadn’t demolished it yet. And it wasn’t too far away, either. He pulled out his phone and texted Allison. She seemed reluctant, but eventually agreed to drive him there when he pushed. He texted Derek telling him that he was going to visit Scott after school and that Allison would take him there, but he wouldn’t be gone very long.

Derek replied tersely, no freaking surprises there and warned him to be careful. God. He tried not to scowl, because he was having a major emotional perspective shift when it came to Derek these days, especially after Lydia and Allison’s lovely pep talk.

“You’re going there, aren’t you?” Erica guessed when he quit out of the browser and gave her back her laptop.

His fingers shook a little as she watched him, but otherwise he pulled off the poker face. “You look like someone jabbed you in the kidneys,” she noted. “And don’t even bother trying to lie. I know you’re going.”

Stiles scowled, wishing for once that he possessed Derek’s skill to blankly stare anyone down until they became unsettled and backed off, it would definitely come in handy now. Erica rolled her eyes at him, but started packing up her things.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she barked leaving before he could realise that she was in fact, being nice. Huh. Either he was losing his edge or his first impressions of people really sucked. He should work on that when he got the chance.

But for now, he was going to the Hale house. And even he didn’t try to delude himself into thinking it wasn’t the stupidest idea in the existence of stupidity, like Cro-Magnon stupid, in fact stupider than before the dinosaurs stupid.

But he was Stiles Stilinski, and that meant he was going to do it anyway.




“This is a bad idea, Stiles,” Allison muttered from the driver’s seat as she responsibly drove them toward what was undoubtedly about to become certain doom. It was nice of her to take him there though, his incessant begging had worn her down. She was almost as soft as Scott.

They took a really creepy road into Beacon Hills Reserve, following it for a couple tense minutes until the house finally came into view. He’d been expecting the sight. There’d been a pretty graphic picture of the aftermath in the article but it still sent an uncomfortable twinge in his gut. Allison was watching the house with wide eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” she asked looking mightily anxious. Stiles sympathised a lot with the sentiment.

But he shook his head, clambering out of the car. “Nah, I prefer to do my sleuthing solo, but thanks for the ride. And I’ll tell Scott your message,” he promised.

She hesitated. “Stiles, there’s a rogue…”

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’m wearing my rogue werewolf proof jacket.”

It had sort of been an unspoken agreement for them that morning. He’d put on Derek’s jacket without even being asked. But he knew it had pleased the alpha and maybe sometimes he sort of wanted to make Derek happy. Sometimes. On occasion. Maybe he wanted to see that smile again, that Derek had unleashed on the werewolves in the school parking lot. But Stile would never admit that in a million years.

“Don’t worry,” he grinned. “I’m alpha property.”

She managed a weak smile as he strode away, approaching the house before he could change his mind. Allison didn’t leave until he’d made it onto the blackened porch. He dialled Scott as soon as her car disappeared.

“Stiles?” Scott answered sounding a little breathless which was pretty obvious because they both knew exactly what he was doing.

Um. Awkward supremely awkward, but Scott would have to deal. “Allison said same place same time, if you can make it,” he informed him. “And I was just wondering if maybe you could cut out the Scotty fun time for a bit of snooping at the burned down Hale house.”

Scott spluttered for a bit before he gained the power of words. “Stiles, I’m in heat, dude. I can’t hang out with you and are you talking about that house that burned down ages ago? It was Derek’s?”

He nodded, staring at the dilapidated remains. “Yeah, it’s his and that was his entire family that burned down with it. C’mon man, you’re obviously not into me so you could spare a couple of minutes to help me out here.”

Scott laughed nervously. “If I got let out you know I’d just go straight for…”

“Allison. I know. But c’mon, man, don’t be such a werewuss. This could be fun.”

He knew he was fighting a losing battle, but it was nice to talk to Scott all the same. School without him was not particularly enjoyable even by Stiles' standards.

“Sorry, man. Next time?” he said. “Are you out there by yourself? What about the rogue?”

Stiles frowned. “I’m wearing Derek’s jacket. Alpha protective shield is up, promise.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to do something stupid?”

“Because you know me well, and I am,” he agreed. “Alright, try not to hump too many miscellaneous items, there Scott don’t want Melissa to have to replace the washing machine again.”

“Shut up man! That was one time…”

But Stiles was already hanging up and didn’t need to be standing in the McCall’s basement to know that Scott was blushing. And seeing as Scott was in the middle of his heat and his girlfriend wasn’t actually allowed to be his girlfriend in public or her parents would kill him, he clearly had some things to do. To himself.

Ugh. Just thinking about it was giving him Scott cooties. Stiles winced, and forever and ever refused to consider picturing Scott’s happy time with himself ever again.

Since it was clear that Stiles was going solo in this endeavour, he managed to stare down the very fucked up looking front door and feel his heart beating steadily in his chest. Maybe it was because this was about Derek that he felt so calm. Almost like there was nothing in the house to be afraid of, even though it looked like something out of a horror film.

He opened the front door without any hesitation, not sure really what he was looking for in the abandoned ruins of a burnt down house, but he intended to find out. A distant howl travelled through the woods and his head whipped around cautiously, worrying it was Derek or the rogue werewolf, or knowing his luck, both. He swore and darted into the house before he could find out.

It was a complete mess.

The house was basically the renovation from hell if it could ever be salvaged which Stiles seriously doubted. He drifted from room to room, unable to resist the urge to explore every inch of the house that Derek had grown up in. There was a strange sense of connection as his fingers brushed the walls, footfalls silent while he trudged through the leftover debris.

But he was a little disappointed when the house didn't instantly offer any answers. There was nothing that had made the trip worth it. No clues. No evidence. Nothing. Not anymore at least.

“What are you doing here?”

Stiles nearly tripped down the stairs he was perched on, having not noticed the very alpha looking presence in the opened doorway. “Derek,” he gasped, starting towards him with his hands out cautiously as if he expected him to run.

How did Derek figure out where he was so fast? Erica must have sold him out as soon as he’d left her. Fuck. Derek’s shuttered expression told him this was so much bigger than sneaking behind his back.

Uh-oh. There was a solid tension in his stance and Stiles hadn’t seen him look that way since the first time they’d met. His expression was hard, guarded and suddenly Stiles felt like he’d destroyed whatever understanding they’d come to the night before. As if he'd hurt the trust between them.

“Look, I know I shouldn’t have lied to you, but I was curious and I just- I wanted to know more about what happened here.”

Derek’s face was blank, closed off and he realised why he was feeling so freaking out of place. It was because Derek was staring at him as if he'd never seen him before. It was worse when he finally broke eye contact and turned away, stepping out of the Hale house with a finality that did not bode well for either of them.

Derek didn’t ask him to follow, but it was exactly that reason why Stiles did, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to catch up with because there was no way in hell he was going to leave it like this. God, the way Derek looked at him. Stiles couldn’t even describe the emotions coursing through him right now since his latest Lydia influence epiphany announced that he liked the grumpy alpha. A lot.

And the thought that it had taken under an hour for him to mess it up didn't sit well with him. He climbed into the passenger side and Derek hadn’t driven off without him so he figured that was a good sign. He wasn’t used to this. Was Derek ever going to say anything?

“I’m assuming you're ignoring me,” he said. “Are you going to talk at all or should I just expect deathlike silence for the rest of the drive?”

Derek didn’t speak, didn’t even react to the sound of his voice and Stiles didn’t want to admit just how much that scared him. He didn’t really want to apologise for being curious and it wasn’t like he’d gone to burn down the house a second time. He hadn’t even really touched anything or gotten near enough to break what was already broken.

He’d clearly just surprised Derek by getting involved. If Derek wanted to talk, he’d talk. There was no point forcing it out of him. Plus he had not offered his forgiveness for the ass biting yet and the alpha hadn’t offered an apology either. They were at an impasse of sorts.

They made it back to Derek’s den in record time and the silence sat heavily between them when he switched off the engine. For once Stiles really had no idea what to say. Derek slid out of his seat and went inside and after a moment of hesitation, Stiles followed. He wondered if Derek would appreciate him baring his neck as a tasty treat offering, though Lydia had said most of those alpha rituals were outdated.

Stiles dropped his backpack onto the kitchen table, knowing he should take it up to their room, but he didn’t think he could handle all of the memories from yesterday. But then Derek was dumping his keys on the counter and heading straight for the front door, passing by and leaving Stiles alone in the big empty house. He couldn't say for sure, but it felt a lot like rejection.

Derek clearly didn't trust him at all. Stiles tapped out an impatient beat for a minute, hoping he might return but when that clearly wasn't happening, he moved onto plan B.

A search of the house seemed like a great idea now that he was alone. He started in the guest rooms looking for anything interesting, working his way up to the garage that Derek had neglected to show him which therefore made it to be the place where secrets could be hidden.

Unfortunately, it was a pretty unrevealing task. There was nothing of particular note, Derek’s house being pretty bare, lifeless and screaming of werewolf practicality. The only remotely noteworthy find had been the random stash of wolfsbane paraphernalia hidden in a trunk in the guest room. There was bunches and bunches of the plant with most of it in powder form or laced in bullets.

He didn’t figure Derek for the sadistic or self-harming type, so he assumed having it in his possession was some kind of a strategic move, though for what he really couldn’t guess. Stiles didn't remove Derek’s jacket as he worked either. There was something unfairly comforting about the smell. So he kept it on as he riffled through everything, trying to ignore the distinctive smell of Derek.

Then the doorbell rang after he’d exited yet another pointless room, unsatisfied, and he froze, thinking for a second that he’d been caught. Then he realised Derek wouldn’t have bothered with the doorbell or knocking because it was his own damn house and Stiles was obviously just paranoid.

Although, paranoid seemed a lot better than oblivious when he walked to the door, instincts briefly warning against answering as he swung it open to reveal Chris Argent, Allison's badass werewolf hunting father. Oh, that was exactly what he needed right now.

The rogue werewolf hunter’s smile widened in a way that blinded, merely by possessing such a spectacular set of teeth. Stiles barely recovered his shock before he’d realised that Allison’s father already invited himself inside.

“Is this because of that ride I got off Allison today?” he asked, nervously, partially since he had no method of kicking out badass werewolf hunters from Derek’s house if they overstayed their welcome. “Because that was totally Matt’s fault.”

The lie was fairly obvious but Stiles had no problem blaming Matt for everything. There was something about that kid’s face that he just didn’t like.

“Where’s your alpha?” Mr Argent asked glancing about the house. “I have a couple questions about this rogue.”

“He’s not here and you can tell the rest of your little rogue werewolf hunter buddies that it’s not him killing those girls.”

“Why don’t you let the professionals decide that, Mr Stilinski,” he said, inspecting the house with hawk eyes that clearly missed nothing.

Stiles tried not to get too worked up, because Chris didn't seem willing to listen to reason. “I’ve seen it,” he insisted. “And it’s not Derek.”

Mr Argent finally stopped snooping around, seemingly satisfied that his initial survey didn’t reveal the rogue was hiding under their couch or something. “Did you see them both together?”

“Uh, that depends on how you define together? If you mean seconds after the rogue took off into the forest and then Derek showed up in his car then yes.”

Mr Argent smiled again, revealing his too perfect teeth and a predatory grin. “I’m afraid that’s not enough solid evidence to let your alpha off the hook. When he comes back, you let him know we’ll be watching him.”

And then he walked easily out the door as if he had all the time in the world to plot and murder Stiles' werewolf boyfriend. Oh wonderful. Normally a situation like that would have encouraged a lot more freaking out on his part but Stiles went back to searching instead since it was a good distraction and it felt productive trying to actively do something.

He wasn't at it for long before he was interrupted by the door again. He let out a frustrated groan and turned around, worrying it would be Mr Argent or Derek or that it would be Derek and Mr Argent in the middle of an all out werewolf/hunter show down.

It wasn’t either. It was Boyd. From school. Werewolf Boyd. Who he’d probably spoken to all of once in his life.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles demanded, full of his usual charm. Well, spoken twice now. And that was enough social interaction for one day.

Boyd just pushed his way past Stiles and into the house when he tried to shut the door in his face. “I’m here to back the alpha.”

Stiles went to close the door after him, but Isaac was suddenly there in the doorway pushing past him. What the hell was this? This was not invite strange werewolves into the house day. And they didn’t look like they planned on leaving either. They didn’t seem heat crazed either which was unusual.

“Me too,” Isaac agreed. “The Argent’s have gone too far.”

Stiles shut the door quickly, wondering if that was a stupid idea because he'd trapped himself inside with two werewolves who could potentially go into heat any second. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

Isaac moved into the lounge room, switching on the television as if that was a suitable enough explanation. Stiles followed slightly concerned that both Isaac and Boyd seemed to know their way around Derek’s house which meant they’d been there before. Only that didn’t make sense because Derek had only just returned to Beacon Hills and whenever Stiles wasn’t at school he was here and he’d never seen any other werewolves running around the empty house. Something didn't quite add up.

Stiles sank onto the couch anyway, trying to ignore the weird level of werewolf energy present in the room as he watched what appeared to be an announcement on Beacon Hills only news channel. “The hunt for the rogue werewolf has taken a new direction today," the brunette declared. "With startling evidence coming to light incriminating Alpha Hale…”

“WHAT?” he demanded, thinking he'd misheard. This had to be a joke. Jesus, the media really knew how to turn the knife. What happened to the festival and all the celebrations welcoming him back to town? He wouldn't be surprised if they were already sharpening their pitchforks. No wonder Derek seemed so more broody than usual.

Isaac waved him into silence, without glancing away from the screen. “Sources say the Alpha is under investigation for his involvement in the deaths of Deborah West and reporter Amy Baker who were brutally murdered as a result of werewolf heat week…”

So the other woman had been a reporter? Stiles tensed at the mention of them both, memories overloading his sense. What had she been doing in the woods? Had she been looking for a story? “When asked about the status of the hunt, Gerard Argent had this to say.”

The image changed and suddenly their principal was smiling at them on the television. Stiles had already moved towards the TV, switching it off before the psycho could speak. He did not want to hear a word out of his mouth, especially if he was pointing the finger at Derek.

“So what? That’s why you’re both here? To start an animal rights club?”

Boyd growled and Isaac snorted at his choice of words. Stiles only folded his arms and tried not to think how stupid it would be to rile these werewolves up by insulting them, especially when they should be locked away, taking care of their heats.

“We’re here to watch the alpha’s back,” Boyd muttered. “Don’t think we didn’t notice the smell of hunter in here.”

And the accusation in Boyd's words was unmistakeable. If that wasn’t another reason for Stiles to kick them the hell out, he didn’t know what was. Oh, right. It was heat week, they were on Derek’s territory and the alpha wasn’t home. For a moment, he wanted to punch one of them for thinking so little of him. Why would he be willing to put the dude he'd practically werewolf married by accident in danger?

“I can’t help it if a hunter walks into the house uninvited,” Stiles said scowling. “Though there’s a lot of that happening tonight. And if you’d bothered asking first I would have told you, Derek’s not here.”

“We know,” Isaac replied, stretching out his tall frame as he spread out on the carpet. Stiles hoped he didn’t feel the need to mark his territory, he didn’t really want to be around to witness Derek's reaction when he returned. And speaking of the primary source of his problems, where the hell was he? Shouldn’t he have finished chasing all of the woodland creatures into their prospective burrows yet? What if he’d run into the rogue? Or the hunters?

Shit. Why hadn’t Stiles tried to stop him leaving?

“That’s why we’re here.”

Stiles blinked at them, drawn back into the conversation. ‘What?”

“We’re protecting you,” Isaac volunteered. “From the hunters. Erica’s outside patrolling the house.”

Stiles figured he’d misheard. They were protecting him? From the hunters? But there was no way they’d hurt an innocent teenager, unless it was to lure an alpha into their midst. Shit.

He walked to the front door, leaving Boyd and Isaac alone in the house, feeling only marginally concerned that they would destroy it as he walked outside, staring into the woods and squinting because he couldn’t see the blonde anywhere.

“Erica?” he called out. “No need for the prowling around, seriously. We’re good. Why don’t you just come inside or something and I can cook you some, uh- large chunks of meat. Or if you’d prefer, you can eat it raw but that’s clearly a personal choice.”

Erica snorted, appearing beside him so abruptly that he made a strangled sound and jumped about a mile away from her. After he'd found his feat, and his heartbeat, she smirked.

“Holy Jesus,” he gasped. “Aren’t creatures that go bump in the night actually meant to go and bump or something?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot. And it’s not even dark yet.”

But she still followed him back into the house so he took that as victory in the argument. That was good because he needed all the help he could get when he finally worked up to kicking them the hell out of Derek's house.

“Okay, seriously you guys, you can’t protect me from yourselves if you’re about to go into heats. And I don’t need protecting, anyway. I mean, have you seen these muscles? I got this handled. You should all probably go and lock yourselves away in your basements now.”

Erica laughed. “Oh Stiles, you haven’t even seen heat.”

He didn’t know if that meant she was offering but he was tempted to show off his very dangerous looking muscles which would certainly frighten them into leaving. Or he could just start swinging. That seemed like the better plan. “We’re in control,” Boyd muttered in a very accurate impersonation of Derek.

“And what do you think Derek will do when he gets back and sees the werewolf invasion you've enacted on the poor weak human in his territory?”

He hadn’t thrown out the my-boyfriend-is-a-dangerous-alpha card before so it felt a little strange rolling off the tongue, but their expressions seemed to make the effort worth it. Because apparently threatening three beta’s with a scary as fuck alpha like Derek Hale- who kept a chest full of wolfsbane in his house for shits and giggles, wore hardcore man leather, drove dangerously sleek cars and basically had an orgasm inducing face with cheekbones that could cut glass and heated eyes that could peel away clothing through the sheer will of his scowl and raised eyebrows alone- was a serious fucking thing to do.

They didn’t even try to argue with him, just immediately walked to the door as if they’d realised how much they'd screwed up especially when Derek came back and discovered they’d been here. Stiles tried not to seem too pleased that he’d sustained an actual threat without people laughing at him for once.

But then Derek was unexpectedly slamming through the front door with a snarl of agonised fury as if Stiles had suddenly called him into existence. He collapsed onto the floor straight after like it was a normal thing to do. The werewolves were already keening softly, baring their necks in submission and trying to communicate with their eyes that they weren’t a threat.

Stiles wasn’t really looking at them though. He was looking at his prickly werewolf husband who seemed a lot more prickly than usual, because he happened to have several arrows sticking out of him. Oh, shit.

His eyes roamed over Derek’s collapsed form critically, noticing the darker contrasts of red staining his clothes which clearly meant he’d been shot. The sickly paleness of his face made Stiles chest tighten.

“Boyd, Isaac,” he said. “Hold him down.”

They straightened out of their submissive poses, extremely confused which seemed ridiculous and highly unhelpful because couldn’t they smell the wolfsbane?

Holy God. He was dealing with pups here, seriously. “Just hold him down, okay. I’ll be right back. Don’t let him choke on his own vomit!”

He’d seen this a couple of times when his dad had to deal out some werewolf justice at work to protect people from danger. Hunters and the Sheriff’s department used the same wolfsbane laced bullets. He raced back to the guest room, suddenly seeing the practical qualities of Derek keeping it in his house as he ripped open the trunk and seized the box full of the werewolf kryptonite bullets.

His heart raced as he grabbed a lighter and a pair of scissors from the kitchen before running back to the little sick game of werewolf doctor taking place in the foyer. Derek was half crazed with the poison, snapping his jaws at them as they valiantly held him still. Stiles thought he was too far gone to even recognise them, his wolf reacting to their presence. Boyd was attempting to pin his shoulders as Isaac and Erica seized his arms, but the alpha thrashed and bucked violently in their grasp, eyes red and nearly rolling back into his head.

“Not like that, God,” he snapped, darting forward and climbing on top of him, straddling his thighs and using his weight and hands to pin Derek down. Through his haze he somehow recognised Stiles, but howled when his grip slipped and he accidentally stabbed him with the scissors. Oops.

“Crap,” he said wincing as he jerked them out of Derek’s flesh with a new appreciation for the no running and jumping on alpha’s with scissors rule.

He cut open Derek’s shirt frantically, not even bothering to save the material as he ripped it off, exposing his chest. “Start pulling out the arrows,” he commanded around a bullet he’d shoved into his mouth, using his teeth to snap it open. "Or he won't be able to heal."

He piled the gunpowder wolfsbane onto the floor and lit it, hoping to high hell that he remembered how to do it correctly because his father had only shown him once. It flared up, and he knew that it had. He scooped it back into his hand, ignoring Isaac, Boyd and Erica as they moved around him to pull the arrows out of Derek’s flesh. He was already focused on the bullet wounds; two in one arm and one that had grazed just below the jut of his ribs.

Stiles didn’t hesitate, shoving the wolfsbane powder into the wounds of his arm, pinning it with his legs when Derek roared in agony and thrashed. He was quick about it, working from the wounds in his arms to Derek’s side, but it still hurt like hell no matter how fast he went. Derek wasn’t going to stop howling until his alpha healing kicked in like pronto.

The other werewolves had backed away several metres before Stiles had even realised they were gone. What kind of creatures of the night couldn’t handle a seriously pissed off werewolf? Although, Stiles had to admit he wanted to get as far away as he could, but somehow in the scuffle, Derek’s claws gripped his hips and held him there. As long as he wasn't planning to tear Stiles to pieces, he was cool with it.

“Uh, Derek,” he said, leaning forward to touch the his face and check he was still conscious. “You alive in there?”

“No,” Derek growled out curtly, but his grip on Stiles’ hips was bruising- and despite how much he was trying to distract himself- felt really, really good and made his pants tighter. And now was not the time to be getting hot and bothered in front of a werewolf pack of potentially horny teenagers who would smell the party in his pants probably before he would be able to say awkward.

Stiles glanced at them, holding various snapped up arrows that they’d yanked from Derek’s body. He didn’t even want to start counting how many, but he also didn’t want to start cleaning body parts off the floor either so it was time for them to go. At least, before Derek figured out that they were there. Maybe he could pass them off as a wolfsbane hallucination.

“So if this position wasn’t enough of an indication that maybe you guys should be leaving, I’m going to actually say it. So uh-very not nice to see you all, keep away from that rogue werewolf, don’t kill too many fluffy bunnies and make sure you chain yourselves in your basement nice and tight for the rest of the weekend. And try not to kill anybody- to death. Buh bye now.”

Erica rolled her eyes, but pushed the other possibly shocked and/or traumatised werewolves out the door and then he was alone with a very hot and pissed off alpha. Great. For a moment Derek’s grip tightened even further, jerking Stiles tighter against his body and his eyes widened at the contact, but then he was throwing Stiles off, sprawling in a mess of limbs across the floor.

Ouch. Clearly he hadn’t quite forgotten Stiles' investigation of his old house earlier.

He scrambled back up again when Derek managed to get his big, stupid alpha body up off the ground. A spectacular feat considering his stupid fat head was attached to it. The outrage that Derek had just dumped him onto the ground and walked off without a thank you him for saving his hot werewolf ass was enough to make him angry brave. Or angry stupid.

“What? No, thank you?” he called out. “I totally save your little werewolf ass and you’re still not going to say anything, you damn sourwolf?”

Derek didn’t even turn his head, so Stiles let out a heated snarl of frustration and threw the scissors at him.

It was a pretty good shot actually, and he figured if Coach Finstock had seen it he might reconsider banishing him to bench duty every single game. But the alpha snatched them out of the air like it was nothing and kept walking. Stiles gaped at him, feeling cheated by his faster reflexes. Derek wasn’t going to hold a grudge forever was he? He was known for pushing people’s buttons and for being where he shouldn’t. In fact, it was expected of him.

Which was why Stiles decided, screw it, he was going to search the garage even with the alpha in the house. He was so pissed that he didn’t even give a damn about what Derek would do, anything would be better than the asswipe ignoring him.

So he went into the garage and yanked the door open hard and fast, feeling for the light switch as he teetered on the edge of the doorway, half in the darkness. There was no way he was just going to waltz straight into the room without at least checking nobody with a chainsaw was in there first. It was just a self preservation thing. There could be hunters hiding in there, for all he knew.

The light finally flickered on and he was looking at row upon row of cars. There had to be at least fifteen or so, all lined up and costing so much more than his own organs could sell on the black market. Why did Derek have so many? Wasn’t he normally running around the woods on foot? He was tempted to look inside them all, but they didn’t seem like they would reveal anything new except that Derek was rolling in cash but the size of his mansion house had already given that secret away.

He twisted round, locating a work bench running along the wall and it drew him forward. Stiles couldn’t help being curious about it because there was the possibility that he was going to find out more about the asshole causing him mental anguish. And considering how deeply he’d clammed up over just a little snooping, Derek clearly had things to hide.

Stiles always liked a challenge.

He rifled through the mess of random tools and weapons, most of them which he had no idea what they were used for but the results brought up nothing worth his interest. He ended up holding some sort of hook thing, inspecting it for a few good minutes while trying to figure out if it was used for lobotomy or as some kind of seriously deadly backscratcher when a scrap of paper caught his eye.

He dropped the evident murder weapon he was handling back onto the bench and hastily climbed over the pile of other death traps to reach it, fingers closing over the delicate paper as he gently pulled it free.

It was a photo. He managed to extract it from the pile to inspect it better. It was of Derek, but he was younger with his arms around a woman and he was smiling. And the way he was smiling sort of hurt to look at, because he hadn’t known it was possible for Derek to look more attractive than he already did with his brooding scowl.

But this smile. Damn. It transformed his features as if Stiles was looking at a different person. An entirely new person. Was this what he’d been like in the past? No he couldn’t imagine that. Derek would have probably been a man of few words, even before he’d lost his entire family. That quality was too deeply ingrained in his personality. He took in the woman beside him with her arm wrapped around the alpha’s waist and felt a twinge of something flash through him because suddenly he wanted to be in that picture holding the smiling Derek.

He wanted to be in that picture, very much.

It was almost unfair that this past Derek didn’t exist anymore. Stiles felt just a little screwed over by that fact, because smiling Derek would definitely have thanked him for saving his werewolf ass. And smiling Derek probably wouldn’t be ignoring him.

He placed the photo back in its place absentmindedly, scratching at his scarred face which was slowly healing before rearranging a couple of items so the photo wouldn’t get damaged. He didn’t want to think about the girl next to him or the fact that they both seemed so close. Or that she was the reason Derek was smiling.

Nope. He didn’t want to think about that at all.

So he walked away, resolving to take this amateur investigation to a higher degree. A higher degree being the Sheriff's department as soon as he could figure out how to get there. Because trying to stop a Stilinski from finding something out was as much of an invitation not to give up the search. And Stiles had no intention of stopping.

Derek could withhold his fine werewolf ass indefinitely for all he cared, but he was going to find out everything he could about the alpha.

And his secrets.

Chapter Text

Nee.



Once Stiles pissed off an alpha there was a definite expectation that dinner would be an awkward- stabbing a fork in his face- kind of affair. And he was not disappointed. Derek didn’t say anything as he cooked yet another mouth-watering food concoction that made Stiles want to worship at his feet when he handed it over without even glancing at him.

Maybe it was a must-provide-for-boy-you-intend-to-mate thing. Either way he wasn't complaining. Although, he wasn’t sure what he missed more, Derek’s short words or the way it felt when the alpha looked at him. He was having major Derek withdrawal and he really didn’t like being deprived of any of it though considering the wreckage of a home he'd explored earlier he could understand why.

Derek went and sat in front of the television to eat and he followed, because the more distant Derek seemed, the more Stiles wanted to wanted to draw him back. It was like touching a live wire, the curious part of him couldn't resist.

“So, we’re not talking about the hunters who are trying to kill you,” he said figuring that would be the best conversation starter. Derek made no indication that he’d heard, but Stiles knew that he was listening. “And the little pack of werewolves running around and doing your bidding because they’ve, and I quote, ‘Got your back’. And also not talking about the rogue werewolf running around in the woods that no one’s going to catch because they think you’re it, buddy. No, clearly not talking about that.”

Derek only turned up the volume on the remote. Stiles choked out a laugh. “Oh my God. You’re actually really serious about this, aren’t you? What are you going to do never speak again because I went to your house? Not even thank me for patching you up just now, you know, when you were practically dying?”

The muscles in the alpha’s jaw twitched as he clamped his teeth together. Stiles was surprised he didn’t start grinding them.

“I am like the worst person in the world to ignore, you know,” he continued in a conversational tone. “Because I can just keep talking about nothing for hours and hours. Plus, I have Adderall to sustain my conversation so your bullshit silent argument is invalid.”

Derek looked like he was about to turn up the sound again in an attempt to block him out, but Stiles wasn’t letting that fly and he reached over and snatched it out of his hand. He switched it off entirely, feeling an immensely satisfied when Derek inclined his head slightly in his direction.

It was an improvement and Stiles would take what he could get. “We’re going to sit here until you get past your werewolf issues and open that talented mouth of yours.”

And then suddenly he was very aware of what said mouth could do since he had impulse issues and bad sense of timing. Then he was picturing exactly what they could be doing instead of the not-talking thing and his body began to react with interest. Derek's blank expression shifted briefly before shutting his eyes as if to block out his senses.

That's about when Stiles realised exactly how he was going to get Derek to open his mouth and it didn’t involve talking, no sir, it did not. He set down his now empty plate and stood up, approaching Derek cautiously before his hand came down onto his shoulder.

"Please," he murmured, quietly, hating the waver in his voice. "Just fucking talk to me."

Derek’s eyes flew open as if he was surprised by the intensity of it. Stiles watched him carefully, searching for anger or hurt but after still somehow not finding it he eased himself down, settling into Derek's lap. The warmth of him, definitely wasn't going to help Stiles' concentration.

“I’m sorry. But I’m also not. Actually, I’m mostly just sorry about getting caught. And that wanting to know more about you made you angry,” he said watching as his expression tightened. “I just want to know more about you."

Stiles carded his fingers gently through Derek's hair, in a slow drag before they paused at the edge of his throat, hesitating over the fading mark there. The mark Stiles' teeth had left when he'd bitten him. To be fair, Derek had bitten him first, so he refused to feel guilty about it. Although the fact that the mark still remained, even with Derek's healing abilities seemed strange.

Carefully, to test whether Derek was willing, he pressed his fingers to the mark, testing the control. The alpha let out a soft growl but tilted his head, exposing his neck further. Stiles' heart raced, flickering to check his expression before he leaned in and put his mouth there.

The soft sigh that escaped his lips, echoed in Stiles' ear as Derek’s hands came onto his hips, just to touch. Since his talk with Lydia, he could actually see it now. Derek's control. And he understood Derek's touches for what they really were. Not restraining. Not even threatening. Just following Stiles' reactions and letting it encourage him. Like Stiles was the one who decided where this went. Huh.

The alpha pulled away briefly as if the sensation of Stiles' tongue was too much, but he wasn’t giving up that easily. He caught Derek's chin, cradling his face and pressing forward to kiss him. His heart was thundering in his chest, but he nearly wept with relief when Derek didn’t pull away, opening his own mouth to make the kiss deeper. Stiles' hands were everywhere, touching every inch of the alpha he could reach, a sudden frenzy taking over him as his fingers slid across Derek’s skin.

And Derek seemed to really enjoy what he was doing if the way he pushed his hips up into Stiles was any indication. Stiles groaned into his mouth and then they were just grinding leisurely against each other, the smooth tangle of limbs making it hard to breathe. The touch raised his pulse like nothing had done before.

When they finally separated to breathe, he gasped, running his tongue over his swollen lips and struggling not to squirm in Derek’s lap and start that lovely friction all over again. God, that was incredibly okay with him. They should do that like all the time, forever and ever hallelujah, amen.

But Derek separated their bodies before placing Stiles next to him on the couch, keeping a strictly polite level of distance between them. What the hell? He winced at the way it jostled his ass, but jerked to his feet before he could witness Derek's reaction.

"Good chat," he snapped, seizing the empty plates and stomping over to the kitchen.

Furiously, he shoved them into the dishwasher, making as much noise as possible so that Derek couldn't possibly ignore it. For some reason, the fact that Derek had let Stiles kiss him and still hadn't spoken somehow made angrier. Once he'd made enough racket to suggest the emotion was involved, he headed upstairs without a word and disappeared into the shower.

After he'd gotten undressed and climbed in, the heat of the water somehow helped wash away the stress of the day and his anger cooled. There was no point trying to force something that wasn't there. Stiles towelled off and slipped into a fresh pair of briefs before he slipped back into the bedroom, ready to collapse onto a mattress.

Derek was already waiting there, sitting quietly on the edge of the bed and Stiles couldn't ignored the very detached way he sat there. He could feel that wall between them and a very selfish part of him wanted to tear it down. He wanted to smash through it with his bare fists, destroy it so completely that no one would ever know it existed.

Anger flared up in him again, raw and full of misplaced hurt. “I shouldn’t have to go out searching for information about you,” he spat. “If you want me to trust you- if you want this to work you've got to give me something here.”

“Don’t lie to me again,” Derek muttered, and the edge in his voice was unrecognisable because it was emotion, thick and powerful and offering a tiny glimpse into someone Stiles had yet to understand. "I can't trust you if you lie to me."

A shiver made its way along his spine as the words washed over his skin like a ruinous caress as he nodded. Stiles realised abruptly that he was still hard and that he hadn't taken care of it in the shower like he probably should have. Derek hand jerked in an aborted movement that meant he could smell it. Werewolves definitely didn't understand the concept of privacy at all.

Stiles flushed, biting his lip when Derek tore off his shirt, tossing it onto the floor before working to unbutton his jeans. There was something sensual about watching him undress as he worked his jeans past his hips and Stiles ogled his body shamelessly as his abs tightened. Oh God. He opened his mouth to tell Derek to stop, or to tell him to keep going, his hazed mind couldn’t really comprehend what was happening and his heart was beating oh, so fast.

There was no chance his dick would soften now, but Stiles tried to ignore it as he clambered onto the bed, tugging down the covers to climb inside. He shifted to get comfortable, lying on his back and fingers idly tracing the edges of his waistband, only an inch away from his cock.

"Are you going to touch yourself?" Derek wondered impatiently and Stiles flushed at the blatant question.

"Why? You gonna watch?" he shot back.

Derek didn't reply but very pointedly climbed up onto the bed and turned to face him, hands resting on his thighs as he curled his feet under him and raised an expectant eyebrow. Holy shit, he was gonna watch. Stiles jerked up into a sitting position as Derek slowly pulled the cover off of him, carefully like he expected he might change his mind. He had no intention of backing down like that and jerked his briefs down unconsciously to wrap a hand around himself.

Then Derek let out a small shocked sound as if he hadn't expected he'd have the guts to do it and Stiles pulled back to catch some of the pre-cum on his fingers and used it to slick his dick up. He was on edge already, but mostly that was because of the burning look in Derek's eyes as he watched him touch himself. God this felt good. He liked the rush of power it brought, knowing Derek was less than a metre away but wouldn't touch, not unless Stiles said so.

Pleasure sparked up his spine and he knew it was already over. "Derek," he started and the alpha was already lunging forward before he could finish. "Touch me," he gasped and Derek's fingers barely wrapped around him, grip tight and warm.

It was too much, all too much. Stiles came with a frighteningly rush, shaking through the orgasm as he slumped boneless against Derek's bare chest. The hand wrapped around him eased off, mindful of his sensitivity and it didn't escape his notice that Derek quickly lifted his fingers to his mouth to taste him. Jesus.

Derek was still hard but in no rush to do anything about and Stiles wasn't sure if he was up for that yet so he didn't offer to help out even when he got up and disappeared in the bathroom to jerk it. He very nearly protested his departure before he remembered that Derek was probably hanging by a thread control wise as it already was and maybe it was safer not to push him until they were both comfortable.

Though he was feeling pretty comfortable now. When Derek came back, skin flushed but obviously sated, Stiles finally had the energy to move again. He was still breathing heavily, sweaty and now covered in his own come, but considering how determined Derek had been to ignore him for all eternity, it felt like a pretty good victory. Not bad for a first effort. Not bad at all. And Derek had barely had to touch him before he'd-

Well. He'd been close anyway. It's not like Derek had magic hands or anything, except for the fact that he totally did. Eventually Stiles roused himself into action pulling his body off of the bed where he’d collapsed half sprawled on the mattress, wincing at the mess of come as he grabbed the closest thing within reach to clean himself up.

It was Derek's shirt but since he was watching the whole thing and didn't protest, Stiles used it to wipe everything up before tossing it toward the hamper, carefully noting the way Derek's nostrils flared as he did so. Apparently big alpha man was into that sort of thing. Stiles face heated up a little at what he'd done, and in front of a live audience but didn't actually feel as embarrassed as he'd expected. Huh.

Maybe this whole mates thing wasn't so terrible after all. Especially if there were orgasms involved.




School was better the next day. And worse.

Mainly, because Derek’s wolfy fan club had finally succumbed to their uh- needs and were not present at school. The lack of werewolf made it easier to think and with the brief respite, he tried to come up with a plan to get to the Sheriff’s department. He'd kind of agreed not to lie to Derek anymore, but since he hadn't asked about anything this morning omission seemed the safest bet.

But even orchestrating his escape from school wasn’t a problem. Not since an announcement came over the loudspeaker whilst he was sitting in third period biology trying to come up with a way to leave unnoticed.

“It has come to our attention that a werewolf has been spotted within the woods surrounding the school. As a precaution, the students are to be sent home and school will be suspended until the coming Monday.”

Several people whooped and then the rest seemed to look at Stiles accusingly as if it were his fault because his werewolf boyfriend was apparently the problem here. Which clearly meant they watched the news and believed everything elderly psychotic werewolf hunters said. Great.

“It’s not Derek,” he said, but that was what anybody who was lying would say so it’s not like he’d succeeded at convincing them. Revelling in that failure, he grabbed his books and followed the crowd out of the classroom. The halls filled quickly with people and Stiles suddenly understood what a perfect opportunity he’d been given.

Time. Lots of time, apparently. It wasn’t even twelve o’clock yet. He pulled out his cell phone and called his father to come and pick him up after patiently explaining that he didn’t need to shoot Derek for any kind of mistreatment. Yet.

He went to his locker, still fuming that people could believe the psycho Gerard when he was clearly batshit crazy whilst also hating Derek for giving off a creeper vibe that did not helping his case at all. He tried not to think about the werewolf sighting either. It could just be a local werewolf who’d gotten out by mistake and was now proceeding to run through the woods like a heat crazed moron, but the probability of that was slim.

Everyone in Beacon Hills, and pretty much anywhere else knew how to chain up a werewolf during heat week. These little slip ups just did not happen because the consequences were far too great and people knew what they were doing.

So it was more likely to be the rogue and he did not liking the pattern that was emerging. It seemed possible that the monster had it out for him. And that was totally unfair because he hadn’t even hit it with Scott’s baseball bat that hard and he was barely a threat.

When he walked out the school’s entrance he spotted the jeep instantly. Intact and no longer tainted by evil werewolfness. He nearly wept at the sight of her, and of his father grinning from behind the wheel. It was the perfect combo to finish the terrible day. The Sheriff got out and hugged him tight and Stiles felt the sudden urge to kiss him.

“How did you get her fixed so quickly?” he demanded, all too familiar with the slow goings of the Sheriff’s department because his baby had become evidence at a murder scene and he was not okay with that. He hoped they’d washed her.

His father just shook his head and once he’d gotten over the initial strangeness of seeing him after so long, he noticed a tightness to his expression that his smile had hidden. But Stiles knew him too well to be fooled.

“I didn’t. It was Derek. He insisted that the boys over at forensics make it a priority before he sent it to get fixed. Think he scared them a hell of a lot, too.”

Stiles' mouth fell open, oddly touched that Derek had done something so thoughtful. In fact, he was certain wasn’t meant to know about it from the conspiratorial tone of his father’s voice. What the freaking hell was Derek Hale doing?

“Thanks for bringing her here,” he said suddenly overwhelmed. “Is something wrong? Where’s your gun and badge?”

His father’s face constricted in a helpless what-can-you-do expression and Stiles knew with every fibre of his being that it was somehow his fault. All this alpha scandal had to have been too much for them, all of the media attention Stiles had brought to Beacon Hills must have gotten his father dismissed.

"They fired you, didn’t they?” he demanded. “And it’s because of me-”

He remembered the different looks he’d gotten from his classmates and teachers that morning and knew exactly what the problem was. Dammit.

“-because of Derek. Isn’t it?”

His father sighed as Stiles realised just how royally fucked up that was. “I’m on a leave of absence. They didn’t think it reflected well on Beacon Hills to have a Sheriff whose teenage son offered himself to an alpha who is also a suspect in two murders.”

Guilt twisted through him, painful and fast. He’d never done this before. His father had always been his number one priority and he’d always looked after him as best he could. It was only fair when his father had raised him alone. But Derek had pushed those instincts right out of his mind.

“I’m sorry. I am like the worst son ever,” he said. “It's only through some cruel twist of fate that you ended up being stuck with me."

His father rolled his eyes but he leaned over and patted him on the back gently. “It’s okay, kid. It's not your fault. I'll managed just fine. Now why don’t you tell me how everything’s been going.”

Stiles started the engine as a way to distract himself from the question but the Sheriff picked up on his hesitation immediately as he drove out of the school’s parking lot.

“Derek treating you right?” he asked and Stiles could hear the dangerous edge to his tone that meant he was probably going to shoot someone even without having his gun.

“He hasn’t killed me yet, so I’d say that’s a good sign. But I wanted to look up his file because he’s about as open as a clam and I need to know more about him, but unemployment sort of derailed my plan to borrow his case file from the station.”

The Sheriff smirked at his interpretive use of the word ‘borrow’. “Coincidentally, I had already liberated Hale’s file before the aforementioned leave of absence and it’s currently sitting on the kitchen table.”

He grinned, unbelievably grateful that his father could be so spectacularly awesome. “And this I how I know we’re related.”

Stiles drove them home, the both of them tossing out different ideas about how they could catch the rogue alpha and how unhinged Gerard Argent was becoming.

“He’ll get the job done,” his father insisted. “Though not everyone approves of his methods.”

Stiles was certainly a part of that group. He was an entire protesting mob full of disapproval of old man Argent's methods. Because they happened to involve killing Derek. “Did the file mention any reason why Gerard might want to kill Derek or at least try to convince others to?”

The Sheriff frowned. “I think there’s a case file about that. His daughter was murdered by a rogue werewolf, but I think Derek was present. At least that’s what the incident report said. Suppose Argent blames him for her death?”

Stiles felt a little overwhelmed by this sudden mess of information. How did Derek always get himself into the worse situations? He was almost as much as a magnet for trouble as Stiles was. And speaking of trouble. “Do you know who started the Hale house fire?”

The Sheriff’s expression darkened. “I think you should ask Derek about that, not me.”

He pulled into their familiar driveway feeling kind of pissed that his question only led to further questions. Just freaking great. There was no point even asking Derek. After their little sexual encounter last night Derek still hadn't quite relaxed enough to start talking in full sentences again.

The extent of their conversation that morning had been Derek asking roughly if Stiles wanted toast with his breakfast. Apart from that the words they’d spoken had been hardly stimulating conversation plus Derek was tenser than ever and Stiles still couldn't figure him the fuck out. But they’d at least reached some sort of agreement last night.

Don’t lie to me again.

He paused beside his jeep as his father walked straight into the house, pulling out his cell phone to call Derek because he was going to find out about school being suspended sometime and he’d rather not leave it so the alpha found out from someone else. And maybe he wanted to get a reaction out of him.

“Hey, Derek,” he said not liking the way his voice rose a little breathlessly at the alpha’s name. “School’s shut until Monday. And in the interest of full disclosure, I’m at home about to read your police file. Don’t wait up, honey.”

He tried not to feel too smug as he hung up. Derek wanted honesty after all. But that meant he might not have very much time to read the file before he showed up. He cursed his own eagerness and hurried inside Casa de Stilinski.




He’d managed to read through the entire file- which was illuminatingly large- twice, before he was interrupted. Only not by the person he would have expected. Dr Deaton stood at the door, glancing around his surroundings as if expecting them to kill him. That alone would have seemed strange, but they lived in Beacon Hills where people died nearly every five minutes so the paranoia was warranted. It was strange when people weren’t dying.

“Are you looking for Scott?” he asked a little surprised that he was there at all. He was hardly ever seen around town. Stiles could only ever remember him being at the animal clinic.

“I’m looking for you, Mr Stilinski. To give you this.”

He handed over a jar filled with what looked to be… “Ash? You’re giving me ash?”

Dr Deaton only smiled. “I’m giving you a way to protect yourself, if need be.”

He wasn’t sure if he was more confused that Deaton was admitting to being some kind of druid or that he was taking time out of his daily schedule to mess with him. Plus, a jar for of ash was exactly what he’d always wanted. Sort of.

“I use this to keep the supernatural out of my clinic. It’s a handy front line against say, werewolves.”

Oh. Deaton thought Derek was going to kill him. It wasn’t like the thought was impossible. No one could predict how far a Stilinski could push someone’s buttons. But seriously, magic fairy dust? That was going to stop a big scary alpha? He'd believe it only when he saw it.

He twisted the jar in his grip, inspecting it closely as the ash moved around. It seemed pretty innocent like normal grade A dust. Super impressive.

"It’s mountain ash and all it takes to work is the belief that it will work. Your own personal spark, you could say.”

Stiles stared, wondering where the hell this was coming from. “Uh, thanks. But just to be clear, there’s no possibility that I’ll say explode without warning or catch alight if I use this?”

Dr Deaton smiled in that secretive and mysterious way that most people seemed to be doing these days. “Only if you believe it will.”

And then the veterinarian walked away, leaving Stiles with some pretty damn odd thoughts and a jar of fairy dust clutched tightly in his grip.

He didn’t get to think about the strange encounter for long. Derek showed up almost instantly after Deaton, the way his chest moved indicating he’d run through the freaking woods to get there. Stiles watched him, not sure how his new perception fit together with what he’d originally thought of Derek after having read the file. Instead of just whisking him away like he normally did, Derek actually shook his father’s hand and sat down at the table next to Stiles.

The alpha slung his arm over the back of Stiles chair, probably as some big showy effort of werewolf affection. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, very aware of the jar of ash tucked in his backpack and the fact that Derek was clearly going to eat him for looking at his personal file. A very revealing file that made Stiles think many different things at once. But still Derek had no right to be angry, he’d wanted full disclosure and Stiles hadn’t hesitated to mention his inability to resist solving alpha puzzles.

And Derek didn’t seem to be pretending that he didn’t exist from the way his fingers brushed oh, so subtly, against the back of his neck while the Sheriff busied himself making coffee so that seemed like a good sign. But the touch was lingering, making his heart perform some very serious rhythmical hurdles.

“I heard about your job,” Derek said, offering nothing else. Wow. What a talker.

He almost felt the need to applaud at such inspiring words. Derek could stir men to fight bravely in world wars with that kind of talk.

“It’s no problem,” the Sheriff said gruffly. “You got any leads on that rogue yet?”

Derek’s expression hardened.

“Who died?” Stiles teased before the alpha flinched. Oh no.

“He's killed again,” he said and Stiles couldn't speak. “Couple miles out from the school in the woods. That’s why I ran here.”

He wondered if he’d realised how suspicious that was going to seem, running through the very same woods as a killer. And the town was already pretty sure it was his fault. “Was it another…?”

Stiles couldn’t even bring himself to ask the question, but then Derek’s other hand slid across his thigh under the table tortuously close to his suddenly interested business in an effort to distract him. He could definitely appreciate it.

“Not a girl. A hunter. They were patrolling when the rogue killed him. He was pretty young too, in his twenties.”

Stiles tried to keep his shit together and speak like a normal person but it was pretty freaking hard when Derek was basically screwing him under the table. “You were there?” he squeaked out. “Don’t you know they already think you did it?”

Derek frowned at him as if he couldn't believe he'd asked such a question. “No, Stiles. They just pumped me full of wolfsbane yesterday because we’re allies.”

And there was that sarcasm again. The alpha’s skill was improving, colour him impressed. The Sheriff snorted as he pushed over two cups of coffee. “I heard Stiles was visited by three betas yesterday whilst you left him unprotected.”

“Dad!” he cried wishing he’d never let that precious information leave his lips. His father gave Derek a pointed look as if he were trying to convey that the alpha needed work on protecting his son. Derek's hands twitched against him.

“What?” the alpha demanded, looking mightily dangerous.

Stiles clambered hastily to his feet. “Well Dad, it’s been fun. Thanks for getting me murdered.”

“No problem, son,” the Sheriff said his eyes still on Derek. “And don’t you dare leave him unprotected again.”

Derek jerked his head in acknowledgement of the lecture, and Stiles tried not to hyperventilate because his father was giving an alpha a lecture without a gun upon his person. Did he have a death wish?

“Alright. Time to go,” he muttered, grabbing his backpack and hurrying outside as quickly as he could without actually running.

He hadn’t even made it to his jeep before Derek was pushing him up against it. Ouch. “I didn’t lie!” he cried as the alpha caged him with his arms, eyes narrowing with intent. “I just thought you’d remember so I didn’t mention it.”

Derek snarled, claws elongating and brushing along the column of his throat. “Stiles,”

“Oh, come on, seriously? Aren’t we past the alpha intimidation yet?”

The alpha’s jaw clenched and his facial expression hardened. “You should go.”

That was the last thing he'd expected Derek to say. Where the hell was he meant to go? “Where? Back to your place or an early grave?”

“Stiles,” he rasped out in a very not normal Derek sounding voice. The clawed hands sliding across his neck were shaking. What the flying fuck was happening?

“Go,” he growled, seemingly struggling to keep still. Stiles hadn’t seen Derek lose his control like this before. And for some unbelievably stupid reason, he reached out for him in concern, fingers brushing against the skin of his bare arm.

“Derek-“

The alpha snarled, and suddenly he was slamming Stiles into the ground, cry of shock muffled by the sudden movement. He struggled to break free as his heart thundered in his chest. Oh shit. Holy God. What the fuck?

And then he felt it. Derek’s very hard cock pressing against the back of his jeans. It was barely a second of contact, stomach dropping in astonishment before Derek rolled away from him. An alpha finally in heat.

Oh, God. Stiles scrambled to his feet, pausing when Derek didn't tackle him again. “Derek,” he murmured softly. “Don’t- don’t take me this way.”

“Stiles,” Derek muttered blankly as if finally recognising him. Heat was making his senses cloudy and with a howl of anguish, Derek hunched over, shoulders realigning as he shifted. Stiles eyes widened in horror. He could literally hear the bones moving.

“Run,” he grunted out in a deep voice, sounding unlike his own.

Stiles hesitated. There was no way he was running again so easily after what had happened the first time. He scooped up the backpack full of his jar of mountain ash while his fingers shook and his legs seemed incapable of any kind of simple motor function. He stood there watching as the change took over, alarmingly fascinated and disturbed at the same time.

Derek didn’t look up, but Stiles knew that his eyes were red.

“Run!” he roared, slamming his claws into the dirt to keep from going after him. Stiles didn’t need any other encouragement. He dived into his jeep, thanking the higher powers he’d left the keys in the ignition before starting the engine, jerking the handbrake off and slamming his foot down on the accelerator to get the hell out of there. He was almost worried leaving his father behind, but he knew that once Derek’s heat hit him he’d be interested in only one thing.

Him.

He managed to get his breathing together, wincing when he noticed the shallow cuts, dirt and grass stains covering his clothes. He was in the middle of yanking the jar of dirt out of his bag when he noticed the shape in his revision mirror.

Derek. Actual legit wolfed out Derek. From what he remembered of the rogue, he could confidently say that Derek’s wolf was bigger. Much bigger.
Holy shit fuck. The alpha could move. There was something beautiful about the potent power of the beast as it ran, paws pounding across the surface of the road as it bounded after him. He groaned in frustration, increasing the car's speed.

Derek had already lost it. He was too strong and too fast for Stiles to shake. Unless he was able to create a barrier with the ash. But he was going to need time for that. And with Derek trailing him, time was not an option. But if he could get his hands on that wolfsbane trunk… He didn’t want to hurt Derek, but if it was between him and an encounter with a crazed werewolf, he knew what he’d pick. He struggled to breathe, calming himself down so that he could think and formulate a plan that didn’t involve anyone getting hurt.

His skin felt itchy, like he wanted to crawl out of it and he was already sweating. God, he needed a freaking miracle. Things could not get any worse. And then out of nowhere there was another werewolf on the road in front of him, crouched on all fours, unmoving in the darkness. He cursed and swerved around it, only just avoiding it as he recognised the familiar hulking shape.

The rogue werewolf.

Holy fuck was everybody trying to kill him tonight? Though, to be fair, Derek wasn't actually trying to kill him.

There was no hesitation, the alpha just ploughed straight into the other werewolf, taking him down like a tonne of bricks. And then they were making these awful sounds that he could hear inside the jeep as they snarled and snapped at each other, rolling around as they fought. Stiles watched the fight unfold, feeling infinitely more panicked as he followed as much of the impromptu werewolf brawl in his revision mirror as possible, until he couldn’t see either of them anymore. Holy shit.

Beacon Hills was going to the dogs, literally. He made it back to Derek’s house unscathed, though in some sick twisted way he had the rogue werewolf to thank for slowing him down. He sprinted into the house, too frazzled to risk the detour for wolfsbane as he ran to Derek’s bedroom, slamming the door shut and wrenching open the jar. He took a handful of the magic fairy dust, praying that it would work as he let himself focus, drawing a circular boundary around the edge of the bed.

He gave plenty of leeway in case the alpha tried to snatch at him. He let his breath become slow and even as he tried to visualise what he wanted; a ten foot freaking wall of solid bulletproof glass to keep the Derek away so he could think for a moment. He didn’t use up the whole jar, too scared that it was going to run out and he would need more. Once he was done, he didn’t allow any time to survey his handiwork, pulling his backpack off his shoulder and settling down slowly on the bed, wincing when it irritated his cuts.

Stiles sat there listening to the sounds of distant howls and basically enjoying the traumatic experiences of the last hour. The cuts that covered him stung bitingly, he was covered in dirt from being pushed onto the grass. He wanted to shower, but the bathroom was out of the protective circle and he was too terrified to risk it. Or the wolfsbane a level below and he was really starting to regret not risking that in case the rogue got in here too.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. Maybe it was a couple minutes, or hours. By then his skin was flushed enough that he'd wriggled out of his shirt and toed off his shoes. He couldn’t seem to get his brain functioning past that chilling moment on the grass with Derek hovering over him, pinning him down before he'd rolled away.

He knew the heat had caught Derek by surprise. Hell, by now he’d figured he had been trying to warn him before it had taken over completely, but he couldn’t get past that moment where he’d been trapped.

Stiles was still shaking when Derek tore through the door. He was human, covered in blood and the injuries from the rogue must have been painful enough to shift him back.

“You know, I’m pretty sure I didn’t even lock that,” he offered, keeping eye contact because he was expecting Derek to lunge at him at any moment.

He did exactly that and Stiles swore, scrambling further up the bed before realising the alpha had stopped. At the barrier. But it had worked. The magic fairy dust had worked.

“Mountain ash,” he growled in acknowledgment of Stiles’ badassery. At least someone was acknowledging the awesome accomplishment. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

Surprisingly, no. “Not really," Stiles admitted. "You just caught me by surprise. Are you hurt? I mean, I saw the rogue-“

Derek snarled again, clearly not enjoying the topic. “What are you doing?” he demanded, prowling around the edge of the boundary. Was that a trick question or what?

“Uh-trying to prolong my life, if that’s okay with you.”

Derek tossed his head in agitation, scenting the air. “I'm not going to hurt you, you know that. But we need to do this now, while I’m still in control.”

He nearly laughed. “You call that control? You’ve lost it. Before what starts?”

Derek continued pacing, breathing heavily so that his chest was practically heaving. “Your heat.”

Stiles mouth fell open. “But-"

The alpha growled in warning. “This is the best way for this to work with minimal damage.”

He wanted to laugh, Derek could not be serious right now. “Minimal damage are you kidding me? I’m pretty okay in this circle, thanks.”

Derek snarled again and his agitation was obvious in his pacing. God, was he trying to wear away the floorboards? “You’re not going to be okay when you come at me and I’m too far gone to keep my strength in check.”

Oh, God. This was actually happening. Right now. There was no way to get out of this. He was so dead. “But- but.”

“Stiles,” he growled, eyes red. “We have to do this now. I promise you it will be fine.”

He hesitated as Derek kept up the frantic pacing. Shit. Fuck. This was so not the freaking plan. “Uh.”

“It’s either now when I can still be gentle or…” Derek growled, leaving the suggestion open as his fingers flexed with the need to grab, to touch and hold.

Stiles didn’t want to die, but this definitely seemed like the better option. It's not like he didn't want to have sex with Derek, he just didn't want to get torn apart if he went full werewolf and lost his mind. Getting eaten in the middle of losing his virginity didn't sound like much fun. He sighed, clamouring off the bed towards the circle of mountain ash, no doubt staining the carpet.

He looked into Derek’s eyes as if he needed to see something in them that would give him courage. He did and Stiles knew that he could trust him with this. And trust he wouldn't be hurt in the process.

Stiles took a deep relaxing breath as he brushed the ash away with his foot, breaking the connection.

And then stepped out of the circle.

Chapter Text

Nem.


The alpha was on him in seconds, scorchingly hot hands wrapping around his waist and lifting up like gravity no longer existed, bringing them back onto the bed as he crossed the broken barrier.

Stiles let out a brief whimper of anticipation when he was pressed deeply into the mattress. The lack of claws and red eyes was extremely unsettling, because that meant so far the alpha was in control and that he still wanted him. And that was too intense for Stiles' liking.

Derek stared into his face, gaze so intense that Stiles wanted to shut his own eyes. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest and he was already half hard.“You’re angry at me aren’t you?” he guessed, shuddering when Derek turned him over so that he was on his knees and tried to make him more comfortable.

“No,” he replied, in a flat tone that revealed absolutely nothing as he reached around to unbutton Stiles' pants.

He couldn’t believe that he was doing this. Or better yet, that they were about to do this. But at least now he could confidently admit his first time wouldn’t be with a psychotic murderer. Derek’s file had only a few misdemeanours; a couple of fights at school and the Hale house fire before his biggest crime, which was basically being present when Gerard’s daughter was brutally murdered by a rogue. And she died without Derek saving her.

And all that meant was that the alpha’s hero skills seriously needed some work.

The woman’s name had been Kate. But Stiles really couldn’t judge because for all he knew, Derek hadn’t been the alpha back then or maybe the rogue had just been too strong. It’s not like he’d purposely let her die. Maybe she was the girl in the photo and he was still trying to get over the heartbreak of her death. He seemed like the type to be wounded and brooding all the time because his first love had been brutally murdered. It made perfect sense, although Stiles felt a little bad for being so jealous of a dead girl. That seemed wrong somehow.

The alpha certainly had some skills when it came to getting Stiles naked in under a minute, although considering the state of what he was wearing it was hardly a shock when the alpha literally just ripped them off. He gasped at the sudden nakedness, distracted completely when Derek was unexpectedly naked too and he could see his alpha business in full glory.

Damn. He was so screwed.

Or about to be. Jesus.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he muttered feeling the need to express his thoughts into words. Many, many words with multiple conjunctives. “This is happening. Holy shit.”

Derek’s clawless hands slid over his bare back, causing a full body shiver. He was so hard his dick could probably split concrete. Why did he have to be so damn attractive?

“You need to relax,” the alpha commanded, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder.

Because that was an easy thing to do. Derek reached around his bare back, hands sliding over Stiles cock and eliciting a moan while he jerked him into a garbled mess in a couple strokes. He definitely had magic hands, no doubt about it. Stiles felt something wet against his ass and nearly released a sound reminiscent of a dying whale. What was that?

He tried to regulate his breathing. It was probably lube. Did werewolves even need to use it? He didn’t like not being able to see what was going on down there and tried to crane his neck around for a better look. He couldn’t see much besides Derek- muscular, lickable and fucking hot- Derek on his knees behind him, covering his body with his own. Stiles was totally shaking by now, breathing heavily as he reacted to every single little touch, the anticipation making him so freaking sensitive to it. Even more so when Derek actually paused to lean forward and kiss him.

Oh God. He pulled away a moment later and then Derek’s hands parted his cheeks because Holy Jesus, Mary and Joseph this was it. The werewolf sexy time.

“Derek,” he moaned weakly because his heart was about to beat its escape from his chest. Then the alpha’s finger pressed at his entrance, already slick and sliding through that tight ring of muscle.

Penetrating him.

And suddenly words didn’t matter. He cried out in surprise, because there was no way in hell he’d ever pictured it feeling like that. The slight burn warned him that Derek needed to go slow and the rush of heat at the touch proved how much he happened to like it.

But God, even the stretch of one finger seemed too much. How was Derek meant to…?

Then he started moving, sliding slowly, working him loose and stretching him for something much, much bigger. And his body opened for it eagerly, if the way his face flushed and toes curled was anything to go by.

After the much needed preparation, he finally adjusted, the sensation rapidly turning pleasurable. It left him gasping and harder than ever. And when the alpha’s finger slid across that little wonderful spot inside him, he let out a heady moan, crying out for Derek, for more, more. He pushed back against the finger, almost impaling himself on it so desperate was his growing need to be filled.

“Keep saying my name,” Derek growled into his ear, nipping at the soft flesh of his earlobe as Stiles huffed out a needy breath nearly coming apart at his dangerously seductive words. “It keeps me in control.”

"You just want me to talk dirty, you asshole,’ he groaned, mouth open as Derek inserted another finger. The gloriously talented, bastard. He winced around the stretch, skin itchy and hot but it didn't feel like he was in heat. Even if he was really, really enjoying himself. He could probably come from Derek's fingers alone if he wasn't so distracted by the heat of his mouth against his ear.

“Derek, Derek,” he gasped, body welcoming a third finger and nearly weeping at the fullness of it. God, he couldn’t take any more. He was literally about to explode into a million pieces. “Why am I- meant to –have…have heat?”

“The claim,” he groaned when Stiles started moving faster against his fingers. “When I bit you… I passed on the heat because you’re human. It’s to make it easier for us to… fuck.”

“Derek,” he gasped, picking up the rhythm of his fingers in his ass by controlling his thrusts. Oh God, this was just too much he was going to…

“Wait,” Derek begged, withdrawing his fingers because he had bigger plans. Unfortunately. Stiles expected the warmth to leave him when he did, though he did notice an emptier sense of loss, an odder feeling than he could have possibly imagined, but that’s not what happened.

His heart was suddenly pumping too fast, sweat was pooling in his lower back and he was abruptly burning up like he was on fire. God, he needed. He just needed something. What was that again?

“Derek,” he said suddenly. “I’m on fire. Holy God. It’s too… it’s too much. Fuck.”

He could feel the temperature of the room increasing, or maybe it was within himself and he was being cooked from the inside without noticing. His organs would be first to go. It felt like his skin was peeling away.

“Derek,” he begged, gasping out words like it hurt him because his lungs felt like they were only inhaling fire. “Please, please. Give it to me.”

The alpha cursed, covering Stiles with his own body and he cried out at the feel of him. But it wasn't enough. He needed more. He needed more now. “Stiles, I know this is your first heat,” Derek soothed. “But you need to calm down before you hurt yourself. Can you do that for me, baby?”

The inherent desperation in Derek’s voice seemed to reach him, and he inhaled deeply, reeling himself in. Distantly, he knew Derek was right.

“Hurry up!” he commanded, desperate and breathless. “Do it now!”

And slowly ever so slowly, Derek slid inside him.

And then everything seemed to stop as Stiles cried out in relief.




He came back to himself with the alpha hovering over him, hands caressing every inch of his skin, which didn’t feel hot to the touch anymore and that was a really nice change. The wetness of the sheets announced that he'd already come but Stiles was still hard and tightened around Derek’s cock in experimental interest, feeling fuller than he’d ever been in his life.

Derek hissed in warning, the effort earning Stiles a shallow jerk of his hips, pushing deeper inside. He groaned at the realisation that the alpha wasn’t even fully seated yet and just wanted Derek to fuck him already.

Sweet Jesus. Derek nudged in deeper, making Stiles gasp at the aching burn, arching his body into it, swept up in the sensation. After a couple more tense minutes- with a little bit of complicated werewolf snarling- Derek stopped moving, balls pressing tight up against Stiles’ ass. And then he very nearly passed out again. Because that was a giant werewolf cock and it was currently inside him. And it felt amazing. Holy shit.

“God, what the hell was that?” he cried, still breathing heavily and recovering from the fucked up feelings he’d just experienced. It’s not every day his flesh felt like it was melting off his bones.

“Your first heat,” Derek explained, hands gently caressing his hips, soothing the heat there.

God, and Derek hadn’t even started fucking him yet. Stiles didn’t think he could handle any more. But it was all too much. Derek was everywhere. He paused for a moment, letting Stiles adjust and continue his internal freak out, fully seated in the heat of his body and then Derek started moving. And Stiles really got a handle on what too much meant.

Because Derek wasn’t giving enough, the shallow thrusts making him needy and desperate for more. He wanted Derek to pound into him, then go so deep that he’d never be able to forget it. He wanted that. He wanted that so freaking badly it hurt.

“Derek,” he begged, making the word sound like an invitation and the alpha snarled, jerking his hips faster and harder, pushing Stiles’ body further up the mattress with each thrust. He definitely could get more of that.

Stiles continued his little breathy sounds of approval, moving his body back to accept each twist of Derek’s hips, hating the feeling of the alpha leaving his body, loving it when he slammed back in. If he could he would keep them linked like that forever. But the sensation were all too much, he was too far gone to keep up the delicious friction any longer and when Derek adjusted the angle of his thrust, sliding across his prostate, Stiles just came apart.

He groaned, spattering the mattress with more of his own release as Derek continued to plunge into him, slower now but certainly not done. He was nowhere near finished. Damn werewolf stamina. That was going to be a problem in the future. Stiles murmured nonsense as he tried to reboot his brain, feeling suddenly less troubled after such mind blowing sex because it possessed such relieving effects.

And he lay there somehow still enjoying the drag of Derek inside him as he fucked in slowly, creating friction against his cock as he rutted into the mattress.

He didn’t mean to do it. It was just an instinctive reaction to the too much pleasure overload. He tightened around Derek as he came again, feeling more boneless than ever before. But finally, finally going over the edge again brought Derek over too. The alpha came with a soft grunt and Stiles collapsed heavily into the pillows with a satisfied sigh. He went to pull away, buzzing still from his multiple orgasms but Derek held him fast, claws suddenly digging into his hips.

“What?” he demanded, wondering what he’d screwed up now but then he felt it. Something bigger, pressing at his entrance.

Oh, God. Was that a knot? Oh, no. He’d heard about them before. And the stories had not been remotely pleasant.

“Just relax,” Derek rumbled deeply, minutely rolling his hips as he gently worked the knot through the rings of Stiles' muscle, locking his come inside.

The knot kept him where he was, feeling the twinge from being in one position for so long and Stiles tried to focus on something else. The alpha sighed into his skin, teeth coming down to clamp over his throat, and suddenly Derek was spilling in to him.

Stiles moaned, pushed over the edge again by the sudden wetness, the abrupt slickness inside him as Derek thrust a few more times. God, he hadn't expected to come this much.

By the time the alpha had pulled out, Stiles collapsed on the side of the bed, feeling shivery but completely satisfied, even finding the sudden wetness running down his legs pleasant. The knotting had felt good too. And when Derek had pushed that unrelenting pressure on his prostate. Wow. Not so bad after all. Jackson had been full of shit all along.

That’s how far gone he was. He closed his eyes, basking in the glory of his deflowering totally exhausted and utterly swept away by the bliss of so many orgasms in one go. The traumatising part was how much mess they'd made. That had definitely not happened to him ever before. Maybe Derek did have some uses.

But then, he felt Derek’s finger sliding into him again and whimpered his disbelief. The alpha’s attentions were probing as he inspected his insides for any damage and Stiles could barely summon the energy to be affected by the emotions of that level of concern. He felt worn, but not broken and considering how much worse it could have been, he was feeling pretty okay with the outcome. And then Derek pressed against his prostate again making him come for the fourth? Fifth? Holy hell? Time and he was feeling very okay.

In fact. More than okay. Fantastic even. Nothing could be more awesome than this. Derek pressed an almost apologetic kiss to his jawline, turning him over gently so that he could thoroughly ravish his mouth with his tongue after skipping all the nice foreplay earlier. Stiles was exhausted, but managed to reciprocate, responding to Derek’s touch as readily as he could.

And then he felt Derek’s body, already hard against him and ripped his mouth away. “Again? Are you fucking serious?” he demanded, trying to roll away. Derek huffed, but his eyes were normal as he pulled Stiles against him.

“Rest,” Derek insisted softly burying his face against the nape of Stiles’ neck which had him flinching. “I’ll take you again later.”

God, the way he said it. Stiles shuddered. Was he trying to get him to relax? Or get him ready for another round? Stiles wasn't sure which one sounded better.




Derek didn’t let him recover for very long until it was sexy time all over again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Holy shit he was slowly working his way towards being fucked to death. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d broken his orgasm switch or at least worn the freaking hell out of it by flicking it on and off so much within an entire night. They got control of themselves eventually, although that could have had something to do with the fact that the bed broke.

The bed. Broke. They broke the fucking bed. Who even has sex wild enough to do that? Stiles was going to brag so much about that to Scott when he saw him next. Werewolves only seemed to make things that more interesting.

But at least Derek took that as a sign that maybe he should stop screwing Stiles to death. Though it didn’t stop him fingering him leisurely when they were in the shower afterwards, Stiles' face pressed into Derek’s shoulder murmuring tiredly at the alpha’s extreme fascination with his ass.

He was also incredibly into it.

Once they were clean and dressed, the alpha took him to the kitchen to make something to eat. Stiles saw the clock downstairs and realised they were about to have an early breakfast like a really early- three in the morning- breakfast. Damn, so much sex had happened he’d forgotten that there was even such thing as time. Or beds that broke from too much fucking.

The alpha got to cooking something that smelt freaking mouth-watering and Stiles gingerly sat down on a stool, watching his back with interest.

Okay, fine his ass. Alright, admiring his ass and also wondering if Derek would ever let him return the favour one day, Jesus. So maybe his interest was a little perverted. Dear God, the addiction had already started.

He’d also noticed that Derek hadn't left his side since they'd fucked. He was keeping close and Stiles was a little surprised by the attention but it didn't bother him. Derek pushed a plate over the table and he nearly cried out declarations of love when it was a burger and curly fries.

And damn could Derek make a mean burger. It was the perfect balance of grease and meat. And feeding the bottomless pit of a monster that was Stiles’ stomach was a pretty important thing to do. He needed energy if he was going to keep up with an alpha in the bedroom. Derek’s breath on the back of his neck elicited a flare of heat, twisting up across the skin of his neck until it reached his face.

And the Derek pounced. Only technically it was more of a man grab, jerking Stiles into his body while his mouth immediately came down over his neck.

“The bed’s broken,” he garbled out, leaning into the alpha machine for heavy intercourse as it continued to ravish his throat.

Derek made an odd sound in the back of his throat before releasing him, and Stiles turned as he walked away. He didn’t even think about not following, grabbing the remains of his burger and shoving the rest of the fries into his mouth. Derek wandered into the garage, purposely going to the bench table and sorting through his house of horrors bench top because clearly he knew what they were all used for.

“You’re actually going to fix it?” he asked, mouth half full with the final remains of his heaven burger.

Derek jerked his head and Stiles must have been getting better at interpreting his language, because he figured that meant yes. It was only after separating the tools he wanted from the clutter and setting them aside while Stiles watched and ate- because he was an amazing multi-tasker- that the alpha suddenly went still.

He watched the Derek process something for a moment and was shocked by the sheer nakedness of raw panic rippling across his face. “Where is it?” he demanded, nearly yanking the table from the wall in his haste. Stiles jumped back from the unexpected swinging missiles that were the his arms.

Something was missing. And Derek was freaking out. “If you’re freaking out because of that photo, not needed,” he said. “I moved it over there.”

He pointed to the safe- not sharp points and ragged edges- section of the bench and Derek whined.

Actually whined. And then he was snatching the picture up and checking it for damage. Jesus, he must have really liked his girlfriend. And for some reason that made Stiles irritated because Derek was acting almost normal and he’d had absolutely nothing to do with it. Thanks for nothing.

“I’ll leave you and the photo alone together. I’m sure you and Kate have lots to talk about.”

Derek let out an unnatural sound but his eyes were sharp with horror. Stiles' fingers shook, until he realised it wasn't fear it was-
“What? W-what?” he wheezed, panting heavily as tumbled into Derek's chest.

His arms wrapped around him immediately and he lifted Stiles onto the bench top as if it was that simple. The close proximity of their faces felt more intimate than the multiple rounds of sex they'd had. Stiles eagerly wrapped his legs around Derek's hips and flung his arms across the back of his neck to keep him still as he worked at opening his pants.

“You won't feel it so strongly this time,” Derek promised, already unbuttoning himself as well.

"Uh-huh," Stiles agreed, tugging Derek's mouth onto his.

Derek moved willingly, hands finding purchase on Stiles' hips as he tilted his neck to deepen the kiss. The branding heat distracted him quickly from the feel of Derek's mouth.

Oh, fuck. This really was another heat thing. He groaned when Derek worked two fingers into him, no foreplay again, because Stiles had heat problems and patience problems. God, where had Derek even gotten the lube? Stiles was conscious enough to realise that he was potentially being prepared by grease or something even more disturbing, freely available on the bench of horrors.

They were about to fuck in a garage. He clutched any parts of Derek he could reach and put his mouth to the warmth of his skin. The alpha quickly yanked him back into himself with a controlled thrust of his fingers and Stiles released a guttural sound as the pressure against his chest eased. That was definitely helping. Derek should do more of that, for sure. Jesus, it felt so good.

“Breathe,” Derek growled, curling the fingers inside Stiles and making him shudder.

They’d gotten pretty damn good at the prepping thing after so many, many, many rounds and Stiles was barely given a moment to register that this was a totally natural biological reaction to being werewolf married to a stinking alpha, before Derek was sliding inside him.

Oh. Yes.

He made several undignified and downright embarrassing sounds, as the alpha bottomed out, pressing into the heat of his body so, so easily as if it was welcoming back a lost part of himself. Stiles took every inch of him greedily when Derek jerked into him, starting a slick and purposeful pace that they lost themselves to.

The feeling of Derek moving against him seemed to keep him grounded. The slide of bodies, the press of hips and the short breaths. Soon enough, he started to ache, hurtling toward the edge of orgasm and Derek seemed to sense it since his hands came beneath Stiles' thighs, lifting him higher into Derek's lap as his body curled over him, pushing him harder agains the table. Stiles tightened his legs and bit at the flesh of his shoulder, needing his mouth on something.

It didn’t take long. Stiles came first and Derek’s claws tightened on his hips and he followed soon after.
“How do you know that name?” Derek asked, not even bothering to pull out as he pressed Stiles' collapsed frame against his chest, holding most of his weight.

“I told-you,” he huffed out, breathlessly. “I- read your file.”

His dick seemed to twitch inside him and Stiles wondered if that was a silent hint of more knotting, because after the first time, Derek hadn’t done it again. And that meant that a) he was in control of when/ where and whom he wanted to jam his big ass knot into and b) that for some reason, his alpha instincts didn’t think Stiles was a good enough candidate for that. Which, rude.

“Why did you move it then? If you thought-“

Derek trailed off, his gaze oddly unguarded and strangely vulnerable as he pulled out and Stiles tugged his pants back onto his hips again, mouth bruised and tingling.

“It was the only photo in the house,” he said, shrugging. “I figured it was special. Trust me, I know.”

The alpha’s eyes narrowed. “You know, because you searched the house when I wasn't here,” he said and Stiles suddenly stopped breathing. “And the garage. Do you think I can’t smell you on everything you touch? Did you find what you were looking for?”

Stiles glared at him, happy leftover sex feelings evaporating. “No.”

Derek retrieved the photo again, pushing it gently into Stiles’ hand. He almost didn’t want to take it, feeling sort of like a jackass for being such a dick about it, but his hand closed over it automatically. “Your investigative skills need some work,” he muttered, looking away. “That’s my sister, though I’m sure you already know her name.”

Oops.

“Laura,” he breathed, shocked. He took another good look at the photo, glancing between the siblings and finally noticing the resemblances. He’d just assumed it would be a long lost girlfriend and that was all that he’d seen upon first inspection.

“But the other one. Don’t mention her again.”

And that definitely put a spanner in his find out everything about Derek works.

“But-”

Derek kissed him hard on the mouth to distract him, but it was going to take more than that. Stiles swore but had no plans of backing down. Not yet.



Eventually after more orgasms- for which Stiles had seriously lost the ability to count- Derek let him collapse onto the now fixed bed, sinking into an exhausted state of unconsciousness.

His brain was too tired to even muster the cognitive ability to dream and he woke up pillowed on Derek’s arm with some serious PDA action because their limbs were tangled and locked tightly together. Stiles didn’t need to be a genius to figure out school was not on the agenda for today.

He was just becoming very accustomed to the lazy press of Derek’s morning wood against his ass when the doorbell rang. And whenever that happened clearly shit was going down. Derek’s head snapped up before he jerked to his feet.

Stiles rolled gingerly out of bed, flinging a pair of pants in Derek’s direction and throwing some on to cover himself. Dear God, he prayed it wasn’t his father coming to see why he wasn’t at school already because he was pretty sure he had had eyes and ears everywhere. He hurried after Derek towards the door, at the last second grabbing his jar of mountain ash as a precaution because he didn’t trust it not to be someone who didn’t want to kill him.

Or Derek.

Or both him and Derek.

He jogged down the hall, eyes following the movement of Derek’s hips because he was lewd and perverted and clearly a burgeoning sex addict as he watched Derek stride towards the door before ripping it open. Stiles nearly tripped over his own feet when he saw the lovely wakeup call of six or so hunters training their arrows on him.

His alpha. Who was so not finished screwing his brains out yet. Stiles darted forward, slipping in front of Derek as he snarled angrily, one hand out in surrender the other pushing the wall of alpha muscle back as far as he could. He moved though that was probably because he was trying to manoeuvre around Stiles, not because he’d succeeded in holding him back.

“No,” Stiles snapped. “I am so not watching a werewolf versus human showdown this early in the morning.”

Derek made an odd sound in the back of his throat, warm hands enclosing around his wrist to pull him out of the way. He figured since they hadn’t fired at him yet, it meant he was safe. Or safe-ish.

Safety was a pretty relative term anyway. Thank God, Gerard was not among them, although, he spotted the whiteness of Chris Argent’s killer smile straight away at the frontline of the group. He slid around the door, practically straight into the little hunter’s crew before slamming it in a very shocked, very pissed alpha’s face.

It happens.

“I don’t care how many the rogue’s killed,” he said. “It’s not Derek. Wanna know how I know? Because they had a little werewolf tumbling match behind my car last night.”

“It also took a young girl last night,” Chris Argent said in a hard-no forgiveness- voice. “From her bedroom. A student at Beacon Hills. You sure you can live with the fact your alpha might have done that?”

Stiles did not want to think about exactly what had happened to her or the horrible fact that he may have walked past her in the hallways or seen this poor girl in class. The Argent’s very brave and very stupid present gamble to attack the alpha at his house pretty much already signed her death certificate.

And Stiles had gotten pretty up close and personal with what the rogue alpha did to women. Fuck.

“Derek was pretty busy last night,” he snapped. “In case you haven’t noticed it’s heat week and that means we were screwing like rabbits. But if you don’t believe me that he was here last night here’s your proof.”

And he held up the jar of fairy dust prepared to make the biggest lie of his entire life because he did not want to watch Derek get shot up with arrows again. Mr Argent’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but his weapon lowered a little and Stiles could see him weakening.

“But I don’t give a damn what you think, because I’ve had my hands with a goddamn sexed up werewolf so I’m not taking any shit from anyone today especially some trigger happy werewolf hunters. So you can all back the hell off and have a nice freaking day searching for the actual rogue werewolf who isn’t currently about to murder me for shutting the door in his face.”

The rant had been worth whatever painful repercussions would follow because Stiles had felt that he’d gotten his point across and that was what really mattered.

What he hadn’t expected was for Mr Argent to nod, lower his weapon, immediately followed by the rest of his hunter gang before walking off and taking the entire cavalry with him. He blinked a couple more times before he realised that he was standing there all alone and even though it was a nice day with the sun out and burning his eyelids, he should probably go back inside. Because there was a rogue on the loose and a posse of werewolf hunters looking for something to shoot.

And there was also a totally raging alpha waiting inside to devour him.

Inside bad. Outside good.

He was becoming very invested in a plan of retreat when the door swung open and a scary as hell alpha was standing in the doorway eyes red, jaws enlarged and claws elongated.

That was nice. Derek twitched a little as if control was too much of an effort for him. “Bed. Now.”

Stiles didn’t need telling twice, though his ass could have used some proper rest and relaxation. He shook the jar threateningly in Derek’s direction as if in silent acknowledgement of the fact that he could still use magic fairy dust to universally cockblock him and moved back into the house.

“Aye, aye El Capitan,” he said, saluting.

Derek didn’t even bother to respond, slamming the door shut and slinging Stiles over his shoulder, nearly running up the stairs in his haste to get them naked. Jesus. This freaking werewolf had stamina. Colour Stiles impressed.

And the moon wouldn’t reach its peak until Saturday night. That was basically two more days of getting freaky. Tomorrow night needed to hurry up and happen pronto, because though he was surprised by the level of sex he could handle he wasn't very certain he could hold out for much longer.

Or maybe he could. Stiles was capable of anything if he put his mind to it.

Chapter Text

Não.


Stiles didn’t understand, but somehow he survived the night.

There had been a lot of sex. Considering Stiles had only just lost his virginity the amount of copulation they partook in seemed excessive, but felt impressive enough to warrant legendary status. Bards would probably sing of it for years to come, that was for certain.

The only problem followed in the wake of Lydia's highly illuminating lecture several days earlier.

Feelings. Stiles hadn't wanted to have them, keeping things purely physical between them would have been fine, more than fine when taking into account how great they were at it, but his emotions had had other plans. Plans involving cuddling Derek and treating him right and-

Well. That certainly changed things. And the close proximity was not helping the matter. At all. The moon’s peak couldn’t have come any goddamn sooner.

Stiles was pondering all of this as Derek fucked him hard up against the kitchen counter, since they’d rolled out of bed to replenish food supplies and had become distracted and he curled into the power of his thrust, quickly losing any hope of concentrating on anything else.

He groaned into Derek’s neck, heart beat thrumming against the countertop wildly when the alpha suddenly stopped. Dazedly, Stiles was aware that the bastard couldn’t possibly be finished and he was less than pleased at the sudden interruption.

What the fuck?

“What?” He gasped, distracted by the lack of Derek stimulation. “What’s going on?”

“It’s…” Derek started, pausing to jerk his cock into the blistering heat of Stiles' body, leaving him a sweaty unsatisfied mess as he grunted out appreciation. Oh yes, he could keep doing that now and forever, please.

Only that was all Derek did, the fucker. Stiles was tempted to use his own helpful hand, but the alpha had his arms carefully pinned against the counter and free motion was not a current possibility. Not that he was complaining about that. The abrupt pause on the other hand-

“Don’t stop, asshole,” he snapped, moving in an effort to reclaim their previous pace, because he was being cock blocked by the universe. And that was not cool, man.

“It’s your jeep,” Derek grumbled against the cheek, mouth searing every freaking inch of him as he used his hands to caress Stiles into calmness.

“Don’t care,” he muttered, trying valiantly to get friction against the stupid alpha who hadn’t pulled out and was therefore prolonging the torture with the hint. Stiles had had enough withholding for one day. “Dammit. Would you just- move or something?”

Derek snorted as if his irritation was amusing and Stiles cursed his frustration, the sound quickly transforming into a moan as the alpha pulled out and slammed back in. Stiles hip bones jerked against the unyielding surface of the counter, hard enough to bruise, but he was too involved in how fucking good it felt to notice.

“I can… hear your jeep,” Derek continued in between shallow breaths as he titled his hips, bringing Stiles to the edge again as if he hadn’t just left him hanging for an entire millennium.

Stiles needed his hands back so he could grab every inch of alpha within reach and Derek seemed to realise this, releasing them and lifting him off the counter until their chests were flush together. The alpha’s lips found his neck again, brushing softer than a touch against his skin and the unexpected intensity of his barely there caresses, and the slow slide within him, pushed Stiles right over the edge.

Derek followed soon after, tipping his face into the curve of Stiles' throat as he shuddered through his climax.

“What about my jeep?” he wondered once they'd both recovered a little.

“It’s running in the driveway.”

Stiles frowned when Derek turned and stalked toward the staircase. He was probably going to shower, they were a mess right now. It would have been nice if he'd offered to inspect Stiles' jeep though.

He scowled. “Isn’t it your job as big, bad alpha to go and check out weird shit like that?”

But Derek was already gone. Wow, so helpful. Grumbling to himself, Stiles gathered his discarded clothes and slipped into them, curiosity overriding the urge to curse Derek out for being such a dick.

“Has my jeep developed the power to run by itself?” he called out. “Or should I just anticipate murder?”

Derek did not reappear to offer his opinion on the matter and Stiles tried not to feel frustrated about that. “If this is a trap meant to kill me, you’re the worst fucking husband ever!” he called out, collecting his keys off the kitchen bench.

He stumbled outside, very aware that he was in need of a shower as well when he peered into the gloom, trying to anticipate if an attack was on the table or if someone really was stupid enough to try and steal his car. He could hear the rumble of the engine so either it was possessed or someone was trying to freak him out.

Sighing, he approached said demon car and opened the driver door, expecting the worst. The reality was much more anticlimactic than that. Nothing happened, except for the fact that his engine was running. Frowning, Stiles shoved his keys into the ignition and switched the car off. Gingerly, he ducked his head under the wheel, reaching out to see if he could find any cut wires, but due to not possessing any real mechanical skills whatsoever, he couldn’t quite make the distinction between haunting and hotwiring.

Deciding that Derek was definitely a dick, and that maybe weird shit was going down, he shut the car door, expending a ridiculous amount of effort locking it behind him. It wasn't going to be much help if the hotwiring culprit returned.

Stiles glanced around the area suspiciously again, because he didn’t quite trust that this was it. His instincts proved true a second later when Gerard joined the party.

Fuck. He flinched violently at the old man's arrival as he stood half concealed in the trees, watching him. He was alone, not even bothering to carry a weapon and Stiles had never been scared so shitless in his life. He’d just melted out of the trees like a total creep and Stiles was definitely not okay with that. They stared at each other across the space between them, and then Gerard smiled.

Oh no. No thank you. Stiles did not want creepy old men standing in the woods outside his house.

The sudden appearance gave him a very bad feeling, like an intuitive sense that terrible things were about to happen and the unsettling stare was enough that he forgot where he was standing and who was within earshot. He’d barely even gotten the word “Gerard,” past his lips before Derek appeared. Only he was soaking wet, and maybe a little bit gloriously naked and Stiles shouldn't have felt comforted by the sight of him. But he was.

“What did you say?” Derek asked, and Stiles realised that he'd been paying attention to his encounter with the demon car more than he’d originally thought.

Jesus, how fast had he moved just to get outside? And, oh God, was Gerard checking out Derek’s naked ass right now? He turned back to the spot where he’d last seen him, only to realise he'd disappeared. Derek was pressed against his back, stance protective and serious but Stiles was instantly distracted by the nakedness.

“You mean, Gerard Argent?” he asked. “My crazy ass principal, who may or may not have implied at one point he’d be pretty satisfied with your grisly death? The man out to avenge the untimely demise of his daughter, which may or may not have been your fault? That Gerard?”

Derek snarled, pulling Stiles back towards the house where he was less likely to be murdered.

“Yeah, that was him,” he clarified as Derek slammed the door shut behind them.

It didn't make it any easier to forget there was a psychotic old man hanging around outside. Derek made an irritated sound as if in agreement and then pulled Stiles against his chest.

And then there was hugging. Derek was goddamn hugging him. What the actual fuck? Stiles couldn’t breathe. Not because he was so thoroughly pressed against the alpha, but because of the level of the feelings washing over him from this frightening new intimacy.

He didn’t know what to do with himself. Suddenly, he had too many awkward limbs and not enough awkward words to fill the silence. The goddamn comfortable silence, because they both seemed to seriously enjoy just holding each other. Huh. That seemed new. He shuddered at the brush of Derek’s fingertips against the dip of his lower back, but it was a caress with no promise of anything further and Stiles had no problem with that at all.

Derek’s hands continued to roam across his skin and Stiles' hands tentatively crept around him, resting on his back, unconsciously pulling them closer. He was satisfied to notice Derek’s heart beat faster in response. This was some unbelievable shit. Although, it could have been to do with the full moon and the wolfy need to snuggle or something. But Stiles just liked to think he was irresistible.

It was nice being close like this, he didn't think he'd ever felt so relaxed before just from holding onto to someone. The atmosphere felt soft and warm in its newness, fragile and delicate. Naturally, Stiles had to ruin it.

“Did you kill your ex-girlfriend?” he asked quietly.

It hadn't sounded so blunt in his head and Stiles winced as Derek stiffened, easy intimacy shifting back into something hard and distant.

“No,” he replied, just as bluntly and Stiles could already feel him pulling away- that wall coming up again. Dammit. “I didn’t.”

“Who did?”

Derek finally pulled away, removing Stiles' hands and stepping back as if the conversation had just ended. He tried not to let the disappointment flicker across his face.

“My uncle,” he admitted, and Stiles startled at the realisation that he'd actually shared something. “And then I had to kill him.”

Stiles was hardly surprised about the murdering thing. His eyebrows alone were terrifying enough to make that threat but that didn't mean he was afraid. Stiles had always been a contrary little bastard.

“Get dressed, the moon will reach its peak in a few hours,” he said, turning away.

"Oh joy," he replied, but his cock was already stirring in his pants, ready for another round.

The traitor.




He slept for the rest of the afternoon, feeling exhausted from the intensity of the last few days. Or maybe just incredibly sated from all of the sex. The sensitive ache of every muscle in his body told him Derek had done something very right.

When the moon finally reached its peak he seemed to know immediately because it forced him awake, skin scorching hot and hands reaching out for Derek. He groaned once he realised he was alone and rolled onto his back, cupping himself through his briefs to ease the ache between his legs.

The touch only made it worse and he jerked the material off, yanking them down his legs to free his confined erection. And then his hand was already there, fisting himself slowly and he hummed in appreciation at the burn of sliding flesh.

It wasn’t enough, but it was better than nothing, and he continued to jerk off in the alpha’s bed, too lost in the haze to feel embarrassed. He didn’t realise that Derek was in the room fully clothed and watching him, until he heard the soft growl accompany the moan that escaped his lips. Shocked, he dropped his hand away and moved to sit up, knowing exactly who his body ached for and wanting to touch every inch of him.

But Derek was already there, gently pushing him back.

“Keep going,” he whispered, eyes dark with intent and Stiles swallowed the urge to orgasm from that alone. He could feel the heat increasing exponentially and Derek was still clothed, dammit.

He wasn’t too good at following simple instructions though and jerked forward, seizing the folds of the Derek’s shirt and yanking him down. He moaned into Derek’s mouth and he struggled with the alpha’s pants, hands cupping his ass and lifting his hips up to grind harder. Once Derek was naked his hands slid across Stiles' skin, somehow finding the time to caress him as he shivered. He made a strangled noise and pulled Derek toward where he needed him most.

The alpha understood, prepping him quickly and ignoring Stiles' cursing while he squirmed against his fingers. Wanting more. His head twisted to the side with a gasp when Derek withdrew his fingers but he couldn't bring himself to stare into Derek's eyes. This was already too much. Stiles hadn't expected to feel like this.

“Look at me, please,” Derek whispered and Stiles did, jerking wildly until he was staring into his eyes.

Oh God. It was too much. And then Derek was sliding into him. He swore violently at the sensation because it was too good and his head cleared almost immediately. And then Derek started moving and Stiles didn't think he could survive this.

It was better and so much worse. He couldn’t seem to handle Derek’s eyes as he fucked him slowly, so concentrated, that he knew he’d have squeeze his eyes shut before he embarrassed himself.

The intimacy was getting to him, and the way Derek was looking at him now. God, Stiles couldn’t seem to get control. The feel of them together was heady and powerful. And Derek’s eyes. God. It was too much, all too goddamn much and Stiles opened his mouth to speak three little words that would ruin him. Would ruin them both.

And that realisation that was enough to tip him over the edge almost as soon as they’d begun, clenching tightly, to the point of almost painful as his orgasm washed over them. They groaned together, Derek's orgasm punching out of him.

He tipped his head back, and it tore a sound out of his throat which transformed into the terrifying rage of an animalistic howl. Stiles flinched before he realised the sound hadn't come from Derek's mouth and froze. What the hell was that?

Derek tensed and the rigidity of his body brought Stiles out of his post coital haze pretty damn quickly because that was not a good sign and the only thing that put him on edge like that was-

“The rogue,” he gasped, shuddering as Derek slid out of him, shoulders hunched and already shifting into a protective crouch over his body.

Stiles appreciated the sentiment but he doubted he rogue would come barrelling into their bedroom. At least now the heat was over. His head felt clearer than it had in days, and he experienced the sudden onslaught of clarity in wonder, before the threat of the rogue outside distracted him.

His hands slid over Derek’s arm without thought, gripping as if to prevent a werewolf showdown in their front yard. Because he didn't think he could handle watching his boyfriend being torn to pieces.

Stiles had to do something. Now.

Derek pulled away without responding and Stiles figured that meant instinct had taken over. He scrambled off the bed, darting towards the door to block the big, alpha man who was currently about to go an face the threat. If Gerard was still out there with more of his hunting buddies he was as good as dead. They didn't care if he was the rogue or not.

“Derek, stop,” he said, holding his hands out in a warding gesture, but the alpha kept coming.

Naturally, he panicked. Stiles made a strangled sound, fight or flight instincts reaching SOS level of emergency status with a fucking alpha bearing down on him. The flight instinct unfortunately didn’t win out.

He’d already swung before he could consider how stupid it was, desperation outweighing self-preservation as he punched Derek in the face.

The alpha. He’d just punched the alpha in the face.

Oh, fuck. And it freaking hurt. Scott would be so impressed right now.

He cradled his now throbbing hand, crying out a stream of profanities as Derek staggered back a couple of steps. The alpha seemed dazed, a hell of a lot surprised, but not done. Stiles spotted his lacrosse stick leaning against the wall, and jerked forward, seizing it with his only good hand whilst Derek was distracted.

And then he was swinging again, wincing when it connected. Then the alpha went down, his body crashing hard as it hit the floor. Stiles didn’t think he’d knocked him out completely, but he’d bought a little time and that was all he needed. Because werewolf death matches were not his forte and he did not feel like watching anyone die, especially somebody as good at screwing people into oblivion as Derek Hale.

He glanced at Derek’s form sprawled across the floor, and tried not to feel too guilty.

“Love tap, love tap,” he muttered as if to justify giving his werewolf husband a major smackdown.

He didn’t pause to check on him, dropping his makeshift weapon and using one hand to pull on a pair of boxers off the ground and throw on a shirt. Then he was running out of the room, heart pumping and ready to stop a crazy ass, rogue werewolf.

He rushed to the guest room with the trunk of werewolf related weapons and such, grabbing a jar of ground up wolfsbane as a precaution before sprinting towards his secret hiding place for his weapon jar of magic ash. He could feel Derek’s semen slipping out of his ass as he moved, trickling slowly down his legs and he tried his best to ignore the sensation, even though it was throwing him completely off his game. He might need to jerk off again later.

Refusing to be distracted, he ran outside, wincing briefly at the biting cold as he hurriedly began sprinkling the magic fairy dust around the edge of the house. He wanted to punch himself for not doing it after the old man stalking experience earlier, but it was too late to regret not being consistently paranoid. He’d barely made it halfway around the house before the howling was much closer.

And it wasn’t Derek.

“Oh God, Oh God, fuck,” he gasped, trying to unscrew the cap of his wolfsbane powder jar whilst simultaneously spreading his dust of magic werewolf preventing barrier.

He made it.

Barely. He'd only just finished closing the circle before the rogue was bearing down on him. He yelled, and fell backwards on his ass, dropping the wolfsbane jar so that it smashed against the ground, spilling out everywhere. An explosion of purple spread into the air, the light breeze snatching it away and scattering it universally in the wind. He only just managed to keep the jar of mountain ash in his grip. That had been a close call.

The rogue dug its snout into the ground, whining softly before it pulled back and paced the edge of his ready made werewolf repellent shield, unable to breach it. And then the roar of an enraged alpha reached his ears, and Stiles added another potential murderer to the list. He scrambled to his feet, swearing as Derek nearly tore the front door off its hinges in an effort to get outside and throttle Stiles.

The rogue snarled and they both rushed at each other, intent to kill evident in their body language, only stopping once they'd reached the barrier keeping one out and trapping the other inside. The rogue howled in frustration, and Derek snarled threateningly as they mirrored one another’s movements, but couldn't do anything else.

Stiles tried not to look too smug. He snorted when psycho rogue’s claws tore at the dirt in a meagre representation of what he would have tried to do to Derek’s pretty face. And Stiles had totally prevented that. He was completely satisfied with his ass kicking efforts. A human getting the upper hand over a rogue and an alpha, was just short of legendary.

The sound reclaimed Derek's attention and Stiles blanched as he darted forward, forcing them further away from the rogue. He clearly didn't believe in the power of Stiles' magic ash

“You punched me,” he snapped. “In the face.”

Because now was the best time to discuss this. Oh sure. Ignore the murdering rogue werewolf pacing angrily outside the circle, looking like it wanted nothing more than to feast itself on Stiles' flesh. What a swell idea.

“I was trying to stop you because in case you'd forgotten Gerard is still lurking around here somewhere wanting to kill you. And what the hell is your face made of anyway? Because I seriously think I broke my hand.”

“And the lacrosse stick?” Derek snarled, unbelievably pissed, even as he gently cradled Stiles' hand to inspect if it was broken. Stiles didn't think it was, though he probably bruised the hell out of it.

The guilt bubbled up within his chest, but he firmly pushed it down. "I'm human trying to stop a rampaging alpha. I used whatever tools were at my disposal."

Derek scowled, unimpressed and released him. The rogue howled for their attention as if affronted and Derek’s bones seemed to crack and shift in warning. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Break the circle,” he demanded, watching the rogue intently as it moved, still attempting to get past Stiles' clearly branded no-go zone.

“No.”

“Stiles,” he cautioned, impatience in his tone.

But he wasn't budging. If he could reach his cell phone, still in the house somewhere, he could get the hunters to capture the rogue and prove once and for all that it wasn't Derek killing all those people.

“No,” he repeated.

The alpha gnashed his teeth together in frustration. “Fine,” he snapped. “Get inside.”

Stiles had never seen him so angry as Derek stormed back into the house, claws tearing into the doorway as he passed through it, leaving deep gouges in the wood.

He'd worry about that later.

For now, there were some hunters to call.

Chapter Text

Nu.


Stiles took several breaths of manly courage, sparing a glance at the rogue werewolf loitering at the edge of the woods at a reasonably safe distance and watched its confused pacing- that looked as if it were awaiting the command of its demon master- with unsettling interest. He'd called his father, who'd in turn called Chris Argent though apparently he'd been less convinced about Stiles' announcement. Whatever.

When he finally bothered to show up, he'd see that the rogue wasn't Derek after all. And hopefully he'd kill it. Stiles wagged the jar in its direction as if in silent threat and hoped it didn't decide to take off before the hunters arrived. Because that would be awkward.

He heard Derek’s growling reply from within the house, and he resisted the urge to go in after him. Watching the rogue prowl outside was more important at the moment. The chance to kill it for good was something he couldn't pass up. Not even for Derek.

He didn't have to wait very long until Derek stormed out of the house again. Oh great. Here we go.

“I have to kill him,” he snapped, red eyes tracking the rogue prowling several metres away. Stiles ignored him, glancing at his cell phone to check the time. The hunters said they'd be fifteen minutes at least. He wasn't sure they had that long.

“You don’t have to kill it,” he pointed out. “You just want to, because you have a tendency to slash throats.”

Derek stopped pacing in front of him, too close for comfort and Stiles wondered what exactly he was planning on doing. Agitated Derek did not seem like a great combination.

“Break the circle.”

“Are you even in control right now?” he wondered, and Derek released a sharp breath and jerked away as if Stiles had hit him again.

"I have more control than you think."

By the time Stiles could think of a reply he was gone. The conversation unsettled him. Had he hurt Derek's feelings? Is that what that reaction was? Feeling more confused than ever Stiles sat down in the grass and watched the rogue pace again, jaws snapping with frustration.

Yeah, Stiles could understand the feeling.

He'd lost track of the time when the rogue abruptly jerked it's snout to the side as if hearing something. Stiles really hoped it was the hunters. There didn't seem like there was a chance to find out because the rogue snarled and took off toward the trees. Not towards the sound, or the hunters coming from him, but in the opposite direction as if it was running away, as if-

"No!" Stiles protested, stepping toward the edge of the barrier as if he was going to lure it back himself. And he was. This rogue needed to be stopped before it sunk its claws into anyone else, consequence be damned.

He darted forward but before he could take another step something yanked him back by the scruff of his shirt. Hard.

"Have you lost your mind?"

Stiles frantically tried to throw Derek off. "It's getting away. Don't-"

But the rogue was long gone. Fuck. Derek had ruined everything. And of course, of course that was when the hunters finally turned up. Stiles glanced over his shoulder but Derek had disappeared into the house again which seemed like the smart plan with so many hunters on the loose.

"It went that way," Stiles insisted, pointing in the direction he'd last seen it.

But Chris Argent only looked at him as if it confirmed his suspicions. That Stiles was a liar covering for Derek who was the rogue and that this was some elaborate ploy to persuade him otherwise.

Stiles didn't bother trying to convince him after that.




He didn't see Derek for the rest of the night, or the next morning and he figured he was off brooding somewhere, trapped within the barrier.
A message from his father confirmed they still hadn't found the rogue, either. The disappointment of failure was weighing him down and he'd sprawled comfortably across the grass allowing the sunshine to improve his mood.

Then he figured, might as well call Scott and see if he survived his own heat because that's what friends were for after all.

“Stiles! You alive?”

He sighed. "More or less. Definitely not a virgin anymore if that's what you're asking."

Scott made an odd sound in the back of his throat, and Stiles figured that was as close to a laugh as he was going to get. “So how was heat?” he asked. “Did you end up seeing Allison?”

“I wish,” Scott said, sounding a thousand times more disappointed. “We tried to meet up before the peak, but her grandpa needed her help with something and she couldn’t get away.”

Stiles froze. “What did he need help with? Apart from terrify innocent teenagers by showing up in the woods outside their house?”

“Wait, what? He showed up at your?... Derek’s house?”

Stiles flushed at the unfortunate slip up. “You know what I mean,” he said, recovering quickly. “But yep, Gerard popped in for a creeping session and it's definitely going to give me nightmares.”

“Oh. So um, what did Derek do?”

Stiles knew he wasn't only asking about Derek's reaction to Gerard. “Let’s just say, Derek is very thorough,” he said, unable to resist freaking Scott out.

“Dude! Don’t speak of… you know- ever again. I do not want to picture you two getting freaky…”

“Multiple, multiple times,” he continued, ignoring his sounds of protest. “In many different positions and man, he does this thing with his tongue…”

“I will hang up on you Stiles, I swear to God!”
“Okay, okay. Keep your werewolf panties on,” he said.

Scott went quiet for a brief moment. “Did you hear about that girl from school…?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, blinking against the sunlight burning his eyelids. “Do you know who it was?”

“It was a girl named Charlie Monterey. She was in the year below us, a junior.”

Stiles swore. And then he really wished he’d called the hunters sooner last night. Or he should have just let Derek kill it. “Listen, Scott. I gotta go. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Sure, buddy,” Scott said, but he could hear the anxiety in Stiles' voice. “Are you sure…?”

But he’d already hung up. Stiles scrambled to his feet, looking around and expecting Derek to be in his line of vision, because this little game of alpha hide ‘n’ seek was getting old.

“I would advise you to disrupt that barrier on Mr Hale’s behalf,” came a familiar voice beside him.

Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin, because a few seconds before there had not been a butler standing right next to him and now there was. Jesus. What kind of freak of nature was he? Considering their brief introduction- when Stiles had yelled at him in front of the entire town- he hadn’t even seen the dude skulking around Derek’s house. In fact, Stiles had been beginning to question if he actually existed.

“Oh my God! Jeeves!” he cried, jerking back “Warn a dude next time!”

“Apologies, Mr Stilinski,” Jeeves said politely, clothes immaculately pressed and posture perfect. "Please call me Henry."

Where the hell had Henry come from? But wait did that mean…

“Oh, God. Have you been here this entire weekend?” Stiles demanded, horrified at the idea.

“I arrived to continue my duties early this morning,” he explained, and Stiles nearly wept in relief. “But I have to insist that you cease this barrier preventing Mr Hale from leaving. I am certain it is causing immense distress.”

Stiles eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Did Derek send you?”

Henry’s expression flickered briefly, but he had some badass level of control over himself because his polite smile didn’t waver. “Mr Hale made no such request. I merely wish to impart information. As you no doubt, are well informed, Mr Hale lost almost all of his entire family to a house fire several years ago and despite not being present at the time, has developed an understandable dislike of being imprisoned in a similar fashion.”

Stiles jaw dropped. “Imprisoned?”

Jesus, take a few steps back. The point had been to keep rogue out not trap Derek in.

“Your actions appear to trigger intense emotional responses from Mr Hale…”

Stiles scratched at the back of his head. “Yeah, I did notice that.”

“And heat week tends to make Mr Hale more irrational. So I would suggest permitting him some distance,” he said, seemingly satisfied that he’d added his two cents to the matter. “If you’ll excuse me.”

And then he left. Stiles' thoughts were spinning. Maybe feeling trapped was Derek’s equivalent to a panic attack. No wonder his eyes had looked so wild. So panicked. Stiles waited until Henry was well out of eyesight before he moved slowly towards the barrier. He'd intended to break it soon anyway since the rogue hadn't been sighted since last night.

He crouched down and brushed away the ash with his hand, disturbing the connection. He’d barely moved, before he was pushed face first into the dirt as something heavy pressed against his back. He choked on grass before he sat up again, just in time to watch Derek disappear into the woods. Fuck.

“Jesus,” he gasped, spitting out leftover grass. “You’re welcome asshole!”

It was safe to assume Derek would not be replying any time soon. Or returning. Grumbling, Stiles brushed himself off and went to retrieve his keys from inside Derek’s house, because he could be spending his Sunday in much better company. Plus he hadn't spent some quality time with his father in a while and that needed to be fixed.

The Sheriff sat sitting in the kitchen reading the newspaper, coffee parked out in front of him and billowing steam from a fresh pot.

“Hey,” he said as he walked in. “I'm not dead.”

He took a seat at the table while his father pulled him into a one armed hug, rolling his eyes. “Good for you,” he said. “Let me look at you, kid.”

He turned Stiles around and gave him an once over, as if expecting some unimaginable injury. “Where’s Derek?”

Stiles made an irritated sound and drummed his fingers distractedly against the table. “I don’t know. Probably trying to kill the rogue,” he guessed. “Or Grandpa Argent. He took off running into the woods after I released the mountain ash barrier.”

His father raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know if I dare ask, but maybe you should start from the beginning.”

So Stiles did, only he left out the sex parts so the story was over relatively quickly. His father just sipped his coffee thoughtfully the entire time.

“I think what you have to understand here is that Derek’s had a rough life," he said eventually. "And he needs someone to bring out the parts of him he's kept buried for so long. Cut him some slack.”

“Maybe you make a good point,” he admitted bracingly after a short pause. “Have you had any luck with work?”

His father sighed, draining his coffee and putting it into the sink. “None. But I’m not giving up on finding this rogue even with the Argents faring so badly.”

“It hasn’t gotten anyone since that girl from school right?”

“Another hunter this morning, but not before he wounded it. Badly.”

Stiles didn’t know whether or not to feel satisfied or disturbed that this rogue could take down two hunters. “How badly?” he asked.

“Wolfsbane bullets, two rounds,” he said. “It should be dead by tomorrow.”

“Should be,” he echoed, leaving his seat and seizing his keys because he knew a lot could happen between ‘should be’ and ‘dead’. “I’d better go.”

“Derek?” he guessed, and Stiles rolled his eyes, because he was getting predictable.

“Always Derek,” he admitted. “I should just shoot him myself."

“I’m sure you’d survive prison,” his father teased, but there was a look on his face as if he’d noticed something Stiles hadn’t. He smiled, pulling him into another hug. “Be safe, son.”

“Yeah. Bye, Dad.”

He and Derek needed to talk about this.




Only there was no Derek when Stiles drove back. And there was no Derek when he cooked dinner. And no Derek when he showered and climbed into bed to sleep. And no Derek when he awoke the next morning.

So Stiles got dressed, made his own breakfast and then drove to school. And of course, Jackson was already waiting for him. Shit.

“What no Camaro this time?” he called out from several parking spaces away, already approaching. “Alpha decide he didn't want your ass for heat week?”

He locked his jeep as quickly as possible, trying his best to walk normally. Jackson reached him within seconds and sniffed, smirking immediately, because he could smell exactly what had happened. Dammit.

“Clearly, he did,” Jackson continued, eyes glinting with sick satisfaction. “And it looks like he wasn’t gentle, either.”

Stiles tried not to react, but his face heated up. “How’s Danny?” he wondered. “How’s he walking after heat week?”

Jackson’s smirk widened. “He’s not walking,” he said. “Danny’s not here today.”

“What?” he demanded, spotting Scott and nearly running directly into his arms he was so goddamn thankful to see him. He sincerely wished he hadn't bothered to go to school today,

“Danny can’t get out of bed,” Jackson continued, mightily pleased with himself. The sick fucker. At least Derek hadn't hurt him.

“Maybe you should put him out of his misery, then,” Stiles snapped, hurrying as quickly as he could towards Scott.>

Jackson laughed. “Trust me, Stilinski. Misery is the opposite of what he went through.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and finally reached his best friend. Only Scott turned bright red and leapt away from him. “Oh my God, Stiles. You reek of sex,” he whined. “And Derek.”

Thanks a lot, dude. Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as Jackson burst out laughing. He wanted to punch him, and Jackson and maybe himself, though clearly he only had two fists and he had to choose his swings wisely.

“What did you expect, Scotty? For me to smell like Danny?”

Jackson stopped chuckled and growled out a warning, shoulders tensing. “Are you freaking kidding? You were just making fun of me screwing Derek. Jealous much?”

“Danny’s mine,” he snarled. Stiles nearly face palmed.

“Oh my God, did you just miss the part where I reek of Derek and sex? Seriously Jackson?”

Jackson muttered something unflattering and then stormed off. Well, at least that got rid of him.

“Heat week makes us all a bit crazy,” Scott offered with a shrug, nose still wrinkling.

“It’s not that bad,” Stiles insisted, just as Erica stalked past, nostrils flaring.

“It’s bad,” she confirmed unhelpfully. “But still kinda hot.”

And that was about all he was willing to take that morning. Stiles scowled and abandoned Scott for homeroom before anything else went wrong.
“You survived,” Isaac noted when he took his seat. “I can’t say I would have seen that coming.”

Stiles drummed his fingers across the table in an aggravated beat. “Ye of little faith,” he said.

Isaac ran a hand distractedly through his curls and he pulled a face at the evident smells floating off Stiles’ skin. He stared him down shamelessly because everybody already knew and it seemed pointless trying to deny it.

Isaac frowned. “What happened to that Chaney guy you were saving yourself for?”

Oh, Jesus. “He died, like thirty nine years ago. Dear God, you werewolves need to keep up with the classics”

And then Boyd sat down opposite with a smirk of barely concealed amusement, because it was apparently hilarious that Stiles was no longer a virgin. Assholes, the lot of them.

“Jackson started a pool on how damaged you’d be today,” he offered out of nowhere.

“What?! Are you freaking kidding me?”

They shrugged as if to say Really you didn’t expect Jackson would bet on just how badly the alpha screwed you? He thought about it for a second

“Who won?”

“Lydia,” Boyd said. “She guessed you’d still be able to walk.”

Stiles leant back in his seat, reduced to speechlessness. This day sucked already.

He couldn’t concentrate- as per usual- but this time it was because of the whispers and underhanded sex comments he received throughout the entire day. Those he could have definitely done without. And Lydia and Allison cornering him in the boy’s locker room on his way to practice.

“How much money did you win?” he asked, impressed that she’d beaten out all of the others.

“Three hundred and sixteen bucks,” she said smugly, and his mouth fell open.

“Three hundred…? Oh my God. Who even bets on stuff like that?” he demanded. “You know what, I deserve a cut. At least twenty per cent…”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “Now start talking.”

“Talking?” he asked, eyes darting desperately around the room for a handy escape hatch. “That is like the opposite of what you should be asking me to do, I mean…”

Her hands came down on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and preventing him from jumping up. “Well? How was it?”

Stiles managed a politely disinterested expression. “Whatever do you mean?” he carefully inquired.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Don’t even try that shit, Jackson tells me you’re covered in Derek’s spunk and you’re walking like you’ve had something of considerable size up your ass.”

He flushed and Allison cleared her throat awkwardly. "Spunk?" he repeated, surprised that that was the example she'd used.

“Sperm, Stiles, God.”

He spluttered for a few seconds. “Jesus. You can’t say that kind of stuff in front of Allison, Scott will kill me!”

Lydia shook him. “Focus, dammit. How was sex with Derek?”

His mouth fell open, totally panicked because their expressions were expectant and he figured he would not leave this room without divulging something. In the end it was Allison that convinced him.

“Oh, c’mon, Stiles,” she said, squeezing his arm gently. “You know you’re dying to tell someone and Scott’s not going to listen.”

He rubbed his face. “Okay, okay. But don’t tell Scott that I spoke of such things in your presence.”

Allison nodded encouragingly. “It was… good,” he admitted looking at Lydia’s raised eyebrow, because nothing more than graphic detail would satisfy her. “Okay, okay really good like, my God, dude knows what he’s doing.”

“But it didn’t hurt?” Allison whispered. “When he um…”

Stiles shrugged. “Not as much as I’d thought,”

“Did he knot you?” Lydia demanded and Allison gasped, slapping Lydia’s arm as if to stop her. Stiles flushed and wanted to bury his head in a nearby locker to avoid her penetrating stare. Dear Lord, how did she know these things? Oh right, she’d dated Jackson.

“Lydia! You can’t just ask him that!” Allison spluttered. “That’s private.”

And if that wasn’t an admission that she was well experienced in the art of werewolf sex and she and Scott had already done that together, he didn’t know what was. And that was so not what he wanted to think about his best friend. Ever. He jumped to his feet, eager to escape Lydia’s twenty sex questions.

“Is that the bench calling my name? Can’t keep her waiting. You know how she pines for me,” he said, tripping over his own feet to escape. “See you guys later.”

And then he ran out of the locker room trying to forget the conversation ever happened.

Everything went downhill from there. He was stuck next to Greenberg on the bench which led to further uncomfortable questioning about the nature of his sex life with no method of escape, except attempting to decapitate himself with his lacrosse stick. Only that would have taken too long and been too messy.

And Jackson’s comments only continued to get worse. And more graphically disturbing. Extremely graphic, like explaining in detail exactly what Stiles smelt like in front of the rest of the team kind of graphic. And that was why Jackson was a werewolf douchebag.

He'd gotten out reasonably unscathed, but when he drove home Derek still hadn't returned. He even attempted to call the alpha on his cell phone. No dice. So Stiles munched on some food from the cupboard for strength, and then drove off to Dr Deaton’s clinic because wanted to get Derek out of the freaking woods already.

Scott left the room nearly immediately and Dr Deaton stood by the counter with a completely bemused expression on his face as Stiles entered the clinic.

“Hello again, Mr Stilinski,” Deaton said politely, noticing the obvious Derek marks all over him and choosing not to comment on them. Thank you, Jesus.

“Hey, so uh. You’ve helped me out with my little furry wolf problem before and I was wondering if you could lend me something.”

And then he explained what that something was, ignoring Deaton’s raised eyebrows and Scott sticking his head out from around the doorway every few seconds. The veterinarian readily agreed to help and went into the back room to retrieve it so he waited impatiently, glancing at Scott every so often and rolling his eyes.

“You know, you’re going to have to deal with it sooner or later,” he said. “We’re practically married these days, anyway.”

Scott huffed out a sigh. “I know you’re mated, dude. I just wasn’t expecting it to be so…”

“Pungent smelling?” he guessed.

Scott rolled his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I was going to say awkward, but that too.”

Stiles resisted the urge to punch himself in the face, but Scott was going to have to deal with Stiles smelling like sex because he had no intention of giving it up. “Well, I’m sorry ol’ buddy ol’ pal. But I got bigger wolves to fry right now.”

“Derek?” Scott guessed.

Stiles smiled sweetly as Deaton returned, handing him a paper bag. “Thanks doc, I owe you man,” he said.

“No problem, Mr Stilinski. I hope it helps with your ah- furry problem.”

"You and me both."




It took less than fifteen minutes to get back home and by then phase one was in full swing. He’d barely pulled into the driveway, before he was withdrawing said item out of the bag and slamming the door of his jeep closed as he jumped out. Stiles stood there for a few minutes, seriously contemplating the level of insanity that Derek had plunged him into before he put the item to his lips.

And then he blew.

A high pitched trilling sound that barely reached Stiles ears rippled through the woods, and he was pleased at the responding howls and the very dramatic emergence of a flock of birds from the tree tops, scattering away from the sound as if in disgust. He kept an eye on those guys in case they felt the need to swoop by and drop gifts of bird excrement on his head in retaliation.

And because he was determined to infuriate the alpha to murdering level of crazy, he removed the dog whistle from his lips and called, “Derek! Here boy!”

Sure, it was a dumb idea, but he was angry and frustrated and possibly missing Derek so he was willing to try anything. And surprisingly, he didn’t have to wait long. Derek barrelled out of the woods, growling an angry warning before tackling Stiles to the ground. He swore and squirmed to escape, but Derek had already gotten a steel grip on him and clearly all was lost.

“Jesus,” he snapped. “What is it with you and throwing me around like a sack of potatoes?”

Derek scowled at him. “What is it with you treating me like a dog?” he barked, expression livid and his fingers pressed deeply into Stiles biceps while his thighs pinned him down.

He shouldn't have been so into it, but Stiles' body responded almost instantly to the heat of Derek on top of him. And that only served to make Derek angrier.

“Stop that,” he snapped.

“No.”

“A dog whistle? Are you fucking kidding me? And you think just because you’ve got mountain ash you can lock me away like an animal?”

Jesus, is that what Derek had thought he was doing? Fuck.

“I was trying to protect you!” Stiles shouted, pushing at his chest, furious that Derek still didn’t seem to trust him. The alpha barely seemed to notice. “I can’t watch anybody else die! I can’t!”

His voice broke, full of emotion and that finally had Derek's attention. His eyes widened as Stiles turned away, face burning and chest heaving. He could feel the tightness behind his eyes, but took a deep breath control it. Because this was not about loss, or death or grief that always burned within his chest, tightening around his heart in moments of solitude and bringing on another panic attack.

This was about Derek. And how since being with him, that tightening, that feeling that he couldn’t breathe for fear of being constricted was starting to loosen.

And he couldn’t deal.

Derek’s fingers slid across his cheek, gently turning his jaw as he leant down to kiss him. Stiles let out a strangled, needy sound, twisting his fingers into Derek’s hair and tugging, pulling him closer. And then they were tearing at each other like nobody’s business.

Because it didn't matter that he been mated to a man of few words, grumpy werewolf sex God, Derek Hale and that he'd spent several days hiding out in the woods.

Oh no. What mattered was that somehow, in spite of everything, Stiles was in freaking love with him.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Nahi.


It was safe to say that Stiles kept the I'm-love-with-you situation under wraps. He didn’t say anything when Derek yanked him to his feet and half dragged, half carried him into the house. He did not make any declarations of sweet love when they made it into their bedroom and to the mattress.

In fact, he didn’t say anything, not when Derek undressed them both or even when after several minutes of careful- still sore ass, thank you- prepping, the alpha buried himself in the heat of his body. Though, Stiles did make several unintelligible and otherwise bizarre sounds at the feel of him burning from the inside out.

He couldn’t seem to get past the fact that he was in love. How the hell had this happened?

In.

Love.

With.

Derek.

Hale.

Stiles released sounds that were not of this world when the alpha arched his back, fingers sliding across his sweaty skin in a shocking display of attentiveness that may or may not have been considered as foreplay. Because they were still totally working on that. Patience was definitely not one of their shared virtues.

Although, Stiles didn’t really have as much problem with that when Derek steadied his hips, gripping his waist and slipping into a rhythm that silenced his mind completely, swept up in the pleasure of his touch. Then hands slid up his chest until Derek's arms were around him and he buried his face into Stiles' neck. And then proceeded to swipe his tongue across it, licking across his heated skin and tasting the sweat off his body, making a soft noise as if he enjoyed it.

Stiles was too busy focusing on repressing love declarations to really be swept up in how amazing it felt. It was no easy task, and Derek’s tongue wasn’t helping the situation. The alpha swooped in for the proverbial kill, teeth clamping down over Stiles again.

And to his everlasting horror, Stiles was immediately pushed over the edge by the sensation, his inclination towards biting clearly revealing itself. Oh god, he had a kink now didn't he? His orgasm slammed into him, wrenching a desperate groan from his mouth and in his post coital haze, Stiles forgot he was meant to be keeping his mouth shut. About the being in love with him situation that he was trying to deal with.

“I l-“

He only just managed to abort mission; coming to his senses in time to seal his mouth shut against Derek's shoulder, sinking his teeth in to keep silent. Only what he didn’t expect was Derek’s reaction. The alpha hissed, tensing all over and jerking out of the warmth of Stiles’ very very, sated body before nearly jumping countries in his haste to away from him. Whoa.

“You bit me!” Derek snapped, eyes wide and surprised.

Stiles scrambled up into a more dignified position, ignoring the quickly cooling semen covering his chest and struggling to keep his heart rate normal after having his world thoroughly rocked.

“You bit me first,” he protested. “It was instinct.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, expression drawn and Stiles took advantage of the sight of a very naked alpha standing a few paces away. He barely glimpsed the very distinct swelling at the base off his cock before the alpha turned away without a word, disappearing into the bathroom and locking it shut. Hold up a moment.

“Hey!” Stiles called, body instantly responding to thought of Derek’s knot and having it inside him again. “Where are you going with that?” He demanded, banging his fist against the door, knowing he was missing out on some of the very interesting benefits of werewolf sex.

“You sure as hell better not be playing with yourself in there,” he said. “Because you've got a very willing partner out here who could be doing it with you.”

Stiles distinctly heard the sound of Derek’s frustrated curse and resisted the urge to knock his head against the wall in response. “You’re such an asshole!” he snapped. “Why do I even…”

Love you. He slammed his fist over his mouth, grunting in annoyance because that secret was clearly not going to stay buried for long.

“Jesus,” he muttered against his knuckles backing away before he did something stupid.

May as well wash up so Stiles disappeared into another guest room where Derek wasn't jerking himself off and stepped into the shower. His mind turned over his new feelings with indescribable fascination. How had this happened? He hadn’t even really liked Derek to begin with mostly because he'd nearly flattened Stiles with his car. Biting Derek's neck for the first time had been its own sort of unimaginable thrill. Stiles just hadn't anticipated he'd sealed their claim because of it.

Oh shit. Would Derek be able to smell that Stiles was in love with him? Werewolves could sense emotion markers pretty easily if they concentrated hard enough. Fuck. That probably wouldn't help the situation at all.

Derek was going to self destruct when he figured it out, Stiles was certain. He'd clearly wanted nothing to do with Stiles when they'd first met and he'd accidentally offered himself. The situation had been out of the both of their control. What would he do now if he found out Stiles wanted to be with him for real? No accident, no revenge biting that started this whole thing, but Stiles' actual conscious choice?

Something told Stiles that he wouldn't handle it well. It would probably have the same success rate of Derek attempting to handle any emotion. Very not good.

Sighing, Stiles stumbled out of the spray, turning the knobs as he reached for the closest towel to dry off. There was no point trying to worry about this. If Derek was going to figure out Stiles was seriously into him, then he was going to figure it out. There was no way to prevent it from happening so he might as well just accept his fate and hope for the best.

Once he dressed, Stiles padded downstairs and cooked dinner hoping the smell might draw Derek out. It did. But he looked wary, wet hair adorably mussed as he slouched into the kitchen in sweatpants that did not at all conceal his junk or the lack of underwear and Stiles was very okay with that.

“I swear, I don’t have rabies,” he promised, gesturing at his teeth as if to prove it as he pushed a plate towards Derek.

“I can’t believe you bit me,” he replied, surprising Stiles by actually speaking.

“You bite me all the time. And I could get werewolf hairy if you bit too hard. Talk about double standards, buddy.”

Derek frowned. “I’d never give you the bite if you didn’t want it.”

Stiles tried not ignore the flutter in his chest at Derek's sincerity. He truly meant that. He'd never turn Stiles without his permission. That definitely made him feel a few things. Stiles swallowed heavily and turned his attention to his own plate.

“No thanks, buddy. I'm good.”

“You bit me,” Derek repeated. “Why did you bite me?”

Stiles thought about it frantically for a second, eyes unconsciously checking for escape routes. This probably wasn't the best time to declare his love or anything. And he was still trying to keep it under wraps.

“How the hell should I know?” he said. “Why do you bite me?”

Derek continued eating, but his eyes narrowed in suspicion at the obvious deflection and Stiles was very much not enjoying these twenty werewolf questions. “Because you like it,” he said eventually. “And I like to mark you. It's instinct.”

Jesus, that was hot. Stiles wasn't above denying he liked it though just to be contrary. But he did like it, that rush of anticipation of Derek skirting the edge of something dangerous and not going any further. Yeah, Stiles was pretty into that.

“Maybe I was doing the same thing. Ever think of that?”

Derek smiled. Actually smiled, soft and easy like he did it every day and Stiles promptly lost all trains of thought. Jesus, it transformed his face so rapidly that Stiles was completely blown away. He wanted Derek to smile like that for the rest of his life.

“You’re human,” Derek said oblivious to Stiles internal meltdown. “Marking isn’t generally the same instinct like it is for us.”

Stiles managed a non committal shrug. “You mean like knotting is?”

Derek's smile froze on his face and the seriousness came back again. Stiles was sorry to see it go. “That’s different.”

“Different like you’ll only do it once and never do it again even when you have a willing partner?”

Derek froze. “That’s- it’s intimate.”

Stiles was starting to lose his temper because it was clear Derek was lying and offering a bullshit excuse just wasn't good enough. “More intimate than having a stranger’s werewolf cock in your virgin ass for like three freaking days?” he demanded nearly tossing his fork.

Derek’s expression went strangely blank. “You think I’m a stranger?” he wondered softly, the hurt expression on his face making Stiles want to slam his head against the counter.

“I don’t know what to think,” he admitted. “You won’t tell me a damn thing about you and when I try to find out for myself you freak out and disappear into the woods for several days.”

Derek didn’t look angry, but his expression was still unreadable when he finally met his eyes.

“I’m not…” he began haltingly, sounding as if the words were being torn out of him. “Very good… at this.”

He stood up and moved around the counter until there was nothing between them. Stiles heart pounded as he stepped into his arms. He felt Derek’s lips against his throat again and couldn't think straight.

“But you make me want to be,” Derek whispered against his skin.

Uh oh. That was it. Self destruct sequence engaged. Stiles was going to do it, he was going to say it. Finally tell Derek just how he felt about him. He couldn't keep quiet any longer.

“Stiles. You stopped breathing.”

The alpha pushed him back to get a better look at his face, eyebrows angled in confusion. “Your heart’s racing,” he muttered, fingers sliding across his jaw to cup his face. “Look at me.”

So Stiles did. The alpha’s eyes were unusually expressive as he watched every thought flicker across Stiles’ face which sucked, because he was not used to being watched so intently. Derek didn’t speak as he gently pulled Stiles towards the couch in the living room, holding him close as he sat down.

"It's okay," he soothed, tone so gentle that it actually hurt Stiles to hear it. His fingers were soothing and Stiles wanted it to be like this forever. “Clearly you’re not very good at this, either.”

That wonderful compliment seemed to rouse him. “Are you kidding?” I am the best at this. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve saved your werewolf ass lately.”

Derek snorted. “Says the kid with a dog whistle,” he teased, and obviously he wasn't as upset about that anymore as he'd been last night.

Stiles shrugged. “Well, you were gone and I’m warm for your form. Drastic measures had to be taken.”

The fact that Derek huffed out a breath of surprise proved just how unused to this he really was. He knew Stiles thoroughly enjoyed getting naked with him, but maybe he hadn't expected him to admit it or something. Stiles would. He'd shout if from the rooftops if that would make Derek believe it.

“Did you just…”

“You heard me,” Stiles said, a little smugly and shamelessly because if Derek asked, he was very willing to go into graphic detail about every single inch of Derek’s form that he was warm for. “And what did I say about calling me kid?”

For a moment they were silent, lost in the memory of that first encounter. “I’ve learnt my lesson,” he eventually admitted and Stiles laughed because the alpha sure as hell hadn't predicted he'd pick up a mate that day- hell nobody had.

“You were not expecting anything like me were you?”

He wondered what Derek had originally hoped his mate would be. It had certainly not been Stiles Stilinski. There was no doubt about that. Stiles usually wasn't the first pick when it came to these sorts of things.

Derek hesitated, and suddenly Stiles was yanked back into the memory of that day and the expression on his face when it had happened. Surprise and anger, mostly anger.

“Why are you doing this?”

Derek’s indifference vanished for a moment and his face hardened into an expression of pure rage.

“I’m not doing anything” he snarled. “You. Would. Not. Submit”

And suddenly Stiles realised why he’d been so pissed. “You were never going to search for a mate were you? That’s why you were so angry.”

Derek didn’t reply, but his grip tightened briefly and Stiles knew that he was right. But why? Had he planned on staying alone as a punishment for Kate, or for his family? Maybe that was why he’d returned to Beacon Hills, to remain in solitude for the rest of his life.

“But why?” he asked unable to help himself. “Why would you do it??”

Derek didn’t really do anything but move Stiles out of his lap before he climbed warily to his feet, the weight of a thousand universes on his shoulders. Stiles attempted to follow, but the alpha pushed him back down with ease, covering his mouth in a brief kiss.

“Because,” he said pulling back and licking at his lips like he was tasting Stiles. “I deserve it.”

And Derek walked away, leaving Stiles to wonder if he would ever change his mind.





Stiles woke up with a face full of carpet. Confusion jumbled his thoughts as he cursed, lifting his throbbing head off of the floor and blearily wondering what the hell happened

Until he Derek had kicked him out of the bed. The fucker. Grumbling to himself, he scrambled upward, rubbing at his eyes and checking the time on the bedside table.

Goddamn, it was freaking four in the morning. He was going to kick Derek’s ass. The jerk. He moved towards Derek to enact revenge, until he realised that something seriously strange was happening.

Derek was grinding his teeth in his sleep, but that wasn’t what made it so disturbing. Oh no. Derek seemed to be gnashing his transformed teeth together, ripping through the skin of his lip and tearing at his own mouth, claws extending against the mattress. He was healing too quickly for the pain to wake him, but that didn’t stop the sight from freaking Stiles the hell out.

He climbed quickly back into bed, moving to shake Derek awake even if there was a possibility he wouldn't react well.

Only he didn’t get a chance, because Derek sensed him and reached out, claws immediately retracting as he pulled Stiles into the warmth of his embrace. And then shockingly, Derek stopped trying to chew his own mouth to pieces. The alpha probably had no idea he even did it in his sleep except for the random spots of leftover blood the next day. And werewolves were pretty much always covered in blood.

Stiles freed a hand and slowly reached up to brush gently against Derek's face, heart thumping dully in his chest. He didn’t reach his destination because Derek awoke with a violent, defensive snarl, seizing his wrist. Stiles swore and tried to yank back but Derek seemed to realise who he was touching.

“Didn’t anyone tell you not to touch a sleeping wolf?” he growled, releasing Stiles hand, but not pushing him away which meant he wasn't too angry about it.

“Didn’t anybody tell you not to kick your cuddle buddy out of the bed?” he retorted.

The alpha made a peculiar whiny sound of frustration, yanking Stiles back against his solid chest and trapping him there. “Maybe if you didn’t move so much I-"

“Ah ha! So you admit it!”

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, managing to sound both frustrated and –did he detect some amusement? “Go to sleep.”

“Fine,” he huffed. “But if you kick me out of bed or try to eat me again. You’re on the couch.”

Derek kissed his neck and he figured that was agreement, so he settled back in to sleep. He contemplated telling Derek about what he'd been doing but decided against it. The alpha might get embarrassed or upset and Stiles didn't want to make him feel that way.

Plus, it wasn’t so bad. Derek had stopped eventually… when he’d pulled Stiles back into his arms.

Oh.

Oh.

Did that mean what he thought it meant? God, Derek must have been doing this for years. It had to be a stress thing like normal teeth grinding with a werewolf edge to it.

So did he calm Derek then? Was this some unconscious declaration of what he really meant to the alpha? It was true Derek was more vulnerable when he slept. This was too much for him to comprehend so early in the morning so Stiles gave up with a sigh, eyes sliding shut and resolved to think about it later.

And when he opened his eyes again it was to the sound of skin slapping against skin after he'd stretched his arm out sleepily. Uh oh. He opened his eyes with a grunt to see what he’d hit and was surprised to see Derek hovering over him, red mark across the side of his cheek.

Oops.

“See. Now we’re even,” he said simply, trying not to laugh at Derek’s outraged expression.

The alpha responded by sticking his tongue down Stiles' throat so he figured they were at a truce. Stiles wrapped his hands around Derek enthusiastically, greedy for this easy affection between them. Derek didn’t seem to mind that much, responding almost as eagerly, fingers sliding across his naked chest and playfully tweaking his nipples. Stiles groaned and lifted his hips, expecting the press of the Derek's body but finding only air.

“Time for school, Stiles,” he said, moving in to peck him on the mouth again.

Stiles bit his lip in revenge, and Derek growled softly, but seemed to get the message.

After they'd gotten dressed and had eaten, the alpha insisted on driving Stiles to school. He figured it was probably so they could make out in Derek’s Camaro some more and because he was seriously becoming skilled at figuring out the enigma that was Derek Hale, he wasn’t surprised when Derek pulled him closer once they'd stopped in the parking lot.

Stiles was more than happy to waste time making out and when Derek eventually pulled away he seemed unsatisfied as if he was contemplating christening the car. It was one of the last places they'd yet to have sex in so Stiles could understand the interest. He hesitated briefly, because he'd been just as easy to convince but there were people milling about.

Stiles sighed when a shadow fell across his window. He squinted up through the glass, spotting Erica, Boyd and Isaac leaning over the car. He moved to get out, but Derek protested, seizing his wrist to stop him.

“Hey, chill out,” he said. “They’re Team Derek.”

He ignored the weird twinge of jealousy when Erica grinned at him, rapping her knuckles against the glass in greeting because although he was currently living in Derek’s pants these days, that didn’t mean some blonde, beautiful bombshell couldn’t replace him.

“They want to come with me,” Derek muttered, seeming to hear them speak through the glass even if Stiles couldn’t.

“I’m sure Erica does,” he muttered, surprised when Erica winked at him and the alpha growled.

“Back off,” Derek snarled, and Stiles would have been offended if he didn't see that he was glaring at Erica, eyes red in alpha warning. He yanked Stiles into his lap without mentioning he wanted to climb him like a tree, ignoring Stiles outraged sound as the alpha sealed his mouth over his neck, sucking over the many different layers of bruises before biting down.

He couldn’t help the moan, flushing when Derek’s werewolf posse chuckled outside the car and Erica make an angry sound.

“Don’t let her touch you,” Derek muttered, nipping around the area gently and ignoring Stiles dick thoroughly pressed against him.

Stiles blanched and managed to free himself, nearly face planting out of the driver’s door as Boyd and Isaac started climbing in the other side. Derek followed after him, leaving the car running and pulled him steady.

“What do you mean?” he demanded. “She wants to kill me to get into your pants.”

Derek let out a surprised sound.

“Oh honey, you don’t really think I want to kill you?” Erica asked and her voice had a seductively playful edge to it.

Stiles blinked.

“Shut up," Derek grumbled before pulling Stiles against his chest in both a protective and possessive display as if to keep him away. Away from Erica.

Who was actually, in fact, looking at him and not Derek. Wait a minute. What?

Boyd stuck his head out of the car. “Are you kidding? You actually didn’t know she liked you?”

Stiles’ mouth fell open as Derek’s grip tightened, yet another growl rumbling through his chest as if he expected Stiles to dump him immediately and waltz into Erica's arms. Say what now? Erica liked him? This had to be some sort of parallel universe situation because that could be the only logical solution. He pushed Derek’s arms off, ignoring the sound of protest as he faced him.

“But why the hell were you smiling at her a few days ago when she was all over you?”

Derek seemed startled as if he hadn’t expected Stiles to have remembered it. “She was threatening to break my legs if I hurt you,” he said, still needing to keep a claiming hand on his hip.

No wonder Derek had been smiling- threats of violence always seemed to bring it out of him.

“Uh, right,” he said. turning back to Erica who still hadn’t climbed into the car yet. “So, I mean. I’m flattered and everything…”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving a hand. “But you smell like you’ve taken an alpha sex shower, I got it. But if you’re ever single…”

Derek made a terrifying sound and Stiles nearly accidentally jumped into his arms, because it was totally hot that Derek had thought Erica was competition when he’d been thinking the exact same thing. Figures. They really needed to work out how to communicate better. Erica shrugged at the sound, but it was more of a- yeah, yeah whatever- sort of shrug before she disappeared into the Camaro as well.

“Uh, so where are you taking them?” he asked, glancing at the group chattering away loudly in Derek’s car, as if it was completely normal for them to be there.

“They want to help find the rogue, in case it hurts anyone else before the wolfsbane finally kills it,” Derek explained, already taking Stiles' backpack from Isaac in helpful offering out of the side window.

Stiles tried to get over the weirdness that Derek had suddenly become some kind of werewolf soccer mom. Because that was kind of freaking hilarious and bizarre. He’d told the alpha about the hunters finally shooting the rogue last night before they'd climbed into bed.

Derek closed the space between them, suddenly kissing Stiles full on the mouth and pressing his backpack into his hands. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he warned and Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Same to you,” he said, hearing the warning bell and smirking at the collective wincing of the werewolves in response to the high pitched sound.

He walked into the school, thankful that his stride no longer advertised now much heat sex he'd had so interactions with Jackson might be slightly less unbearable. Only that's not entirely what happened.

It was much freaking better. Stiles didn't quite believe what he was seeing when he finally spotted him in the hallway.

Because Jackson was limping. And he was limping like maybe his boyfriend hadn’t enjoyed being bedridden for several days now and had taken his frustration out on his ass. And it clearly had taken place this morning because Jackson hadn’t had time to heal yet.

“Jackson,” he called, unable to resist such a golden opportunity. “Where’s your boyfriend today?”

The douchebag somehow managed to look smug. “He’s still in bed.”

“Is that why you’re limping this time?” he asked. “Because he was the one who…”

“Shut up,” Jackson snapped, face reddening and Stiles grinned in triumph. Scott spotted them both and waved and when he approached, wrinkled his nose.

“Ugh dude, you reek like Danny. Hey, why are you limping?”

He nearly started applauding Scott with unrepressed glee when Jackson blush darkened. This was utter perfection. The beginning to a spectacular day.

“Because Danny screwed him, that’s why. And he must have been pretty rough too, if Jackson is still feeling it.”

Scott made an awkward sound and took a step back, dragging Stiles with him who was outright laughing now because goddamn, Jackson’s face was priceless. He’d never seen him so riled up.

“It was worth it,” Jackson spat out eventually, before attempting to limp away. Stiles let him go, already thinking of new material to torture him with later, chuckles following Jackson’s retreating form up the hallway.





The rest of the day was awesome. Words soon spread about Jacksons, ahem, condition even if his limp had all but vanished- damn werewolf healing. Though, it didn't take away the smell of Danny so no doubt he was taking shit from other werewolves.

The day was full of considerable improvements. Mr Harris was on sick leave so the sub let them do whatever the hell they wanted which for Stiles, included discussing the rogue with Allison and Scott whilst furiously texting Derek all of Allison’s hunter information. But then after a while the info ran out, Scott and Allison vanished mysteriously to start making out in secret and then Stiles was just annoying Derek for the hell of it.

It was probably about two annoying texts in that Derek stopped replying, although Stiles figured he was still reading them and trying to resist his charm which could be applied electronically. But Stiles was nothing if not persistent and kept Derek useless nonsense for the rest of the lesson.

Stiles was grinning during their lunch hour in the Cafeteria, mostly because of Derek. That was until Scott tapped him on the shoulder interrupting his bubble of distraction.

“You didn’t piss off the alpha this morning did you?” he asked, looking tense and glancing at the seat across from them where Allison sat as if preparing to shield her with his body. Normal Scott behaviour, obviously. He raised an eyebrow.

“Not since I slapped him this morning,” he admitted. “Why?”

Scott let out a nervous laugh, before pointing through the glass windows that overlooked the school parking lot. He barely needed to make out the dark material of Derek’s leather jacket, because he'd stolen the jacket back this morning- before his stomach dropped.

Oh God, was this because of all of the text messages? Was Derek here to kick his ass? The alpha never showed up unannounced like this and where were Erica, Boyd and Isaac?

Oh, shit. Derek had totally killed them. Stiles was out of his seat before he’d even realised he’d moved. Scott rose up too, watching with concern as his hand gripped his shoulder like he was thinking about stopping him from whatever he was about to do.

Only he didn’t know what he was about to do, because clearly he was in love with an alpha that wanted to kill him. Or something else. But the killing thing seemed more likely.

“Dude,” Scott said, shaking him a little to get his attention. “You okay?”

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Derek, who seemed to be firing off his eyes at a stronger setting because the stare seemed more intense than usual. “No,” he said finally, unable to look away. “I need to…”

Talk to Derek. Like now would be nice. Right now, because something was up and it could have to do with the rogue. Or hunters. Or Gerard. Or maybe Derek did just want to yell at him for distracting him all day.

He prayed that was all it was.

“Okay,” Scott said, seeming to realise what he wanted without him needing to articulate it. “I’ll go with you.”

And then he dragged Stiles out of his seat, abandoning their trays of food in search of much more life threatening company. To the alpha that was waiting for him outside.

God, he really hoped Derek was at school to tell Stiles to quit bothering him already.

But even he knew he wasn’t that lucky.

Chapter Text

Nullus.


Stiles didn’t know what to do when Scott helped him sneak out into the school parking lot to talk to his alpha boyfriend.

He wanted to run, or offer up his phone as a sign of surrender, but then Derek happened to look mightily attractive in his gang leather and Stiles was distracted by their unfinished business in Derek's car that morning instead.

Scott made an odd, anxious sound in his throat at approaching the big, bad alpha and Stiles suddenly remembered he existed and that he could probably smell the direction where his mind and body was going before he remembered that was too much for Scott to handle.

“Are you here to kill someone?” he asked. “It’s not me is it? I mean, yeah okay. I’ll admit I overdid it with all those messages…”

“I’m joining the Argents on their hunt,” Derek said, watching Stiles as his mouth fell open. What? Did he forget the part where they tried to kill him?

“You what? The hunt for the rogue? They've literally tried to kill you before how does that make sense?” he demanded, gravitating towards Derek unconsciously. “And where are the werewolves you took on your little rogue expedition? Are they dead already?"

Derek stepped closer as well, almost unthinkingly. Stiles was torn between punching some sense into his ridiculous freaking face or jumping his bones in front of Scott in the school parking lot.

He was still mulling over his options.

“They’re with Chris, right now,” Derek explained, because apparently he and Allison's father were on a first name basis now. “He figured it was time we ended the rogue for good and they need our help to do it.”

Stiles could see the logic in it, but it didn’t make the idea any less stupid. Jesus, what the hell was Derek thinking?

“Is Gerard with them?” he asked, stepping closer to place his hand against his chest, pushing gently. “You realise that this is going to get you killed right?” Stiles muttered, voice low and strained.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t trust it and there was no way in hell he wasn't going with him. Derek’s fingers wrapped around his hand softly pulling it free, but he didn’t let go and squeezed in a comforting way.

“He broke off from the group several days ago,” Derek said in a hard voice. “They think he’s lost his mind and they know he stopped following the code.”

“I’m going with you.”

Derek’s expression hardened at the idea, which clearly meant no. He opened his mouth to protest, but Derek was already speaking.

“No, you're not,” he said a little more forcefully than usual as if he didn’t trust Stiles to listen to him the first time which a) was a very valid point because that’d been exactly what he’d been about to do and b) since when had Derek been able to figure out the whimsical thoughts of his brain?

‘Listen to me, Stiles,” he said. “I came to tell you what was going on, but I need you to be safe. Not running around in the woods with a jar of dust, alright?”

Jesus, Stiles hadn't realised he was getting so predictable. Or maybe he and Derek understood each other a lot better than he'd originally thought. Scott cleared his throat awkwardly and they both turned as if they’d forgotten he was there. Stiles definitely had. Oops. Sorry, Scott.

“I’ll go with you,” he offered out of nowhere, getting over the fact that Stiles clearly wanted to climb Derek like a tree. He approached them almost warily as if expecting Derek to rip his throat out for it and Stiles didn’t put it past him.

But seriously. What the hell was Scott thinking? Where was Allison to convince him this was a stupid idea? Derek frowned.

“What?”

“The rogue’s hurt too many people,” Scott said. “I’ve got to do something.”

“He may go after Allison,” Derek suggested seriously and Stiles was abruptly impressed by how shamelessly he'd used Scott's weakness against him. To be fair, Stiles had told him of said weakness so he probably couldn't talk all of the credit.

“You are so dead,” Stiles hissed under his breath, hoping Scott wouldn’t hear him, but he was already furiously texting his girlfriend to tell her he was off to fight werewolf crime. What a hero.

Derek only smirk. The beautiful bastard. Stiles seized the nape of his neck and dragged their mouths together, uncoordinated and full of heat because it was clear he'd finally met someone who was as much of an asshole as he was.

“Aww Stiles. C’mon, man,” Scott whined when he finally looked up and realised they were making out. Stiles broke away gasping, mostly for Scott's benefit and Derek instantly sealed his mouth over his neck. Marking him.

Scott made a sound again and said a very bad word which Stiles was pretty impressed by.

“Just give me a minute,” Derek growled against his skin, and Stiles tried not to let his heart jump spectacularly at his words, but that was impossible because his heart had gone rogue and was in love with Derek and therefore ignoring the commands of his brain at every opportunity.

Stiles didn’t start gasping until he was sure that Scott had disappeared completely into the woods, following the scent of Derek’s trail to the rest of the werewolf/hunter gang. But even that didn't seem far enough.

“Dude, I can still hear you!”

And Stiles figured that wasn't going to stop him, so he yelled back. “Oh, Derek harder!”

Laughter immediately transformed into a strangled moan when Derek complied, tugging him into the cover of the woods and pushing him up against a nearby tree as if to stop Stiles from arguing this decision. And that meant Derek had finally figured out Stiles’ one and only weakness.

Derek’s fine as hell body being pressed against every inch of his own. Oh Jesus, how was he ever meant to concentrate on getting his way ever again if Derek's solution was to fuck it out of him?

Any ideas were lost when Derek began to be remove his shirt. “Hey!” he cried, more surprised than anything. “Are you really going to screw me in the woods?”

“Yes,” Derek growled out, removing his own jacket.

"Oh great," Stiles garbled, reaching out to help Derek rip his shirt off.

They pressed together eagerly, Stiles already jerking his hips as his arms found purchase around his neck. Derek yanked him off of his feet so suddenly that he almost hit his head on the trunk of the tree, grumbling with irritation before Derek was kissing his throat again.

“Not that I’m protesting here, but-”

Derek paused, head cocked in consideration as he waited.

"This bark is killing my back dude,"

Derek was capable of thinking on his feet and dragged them both to the forest floor, arms locked tight around him as Stiles groaned against him. Because he was so into the grumpy wolfman that he was willing to screw in the dirt.

Stiles extended his neck up, fingers tightening as lifted his head, seeking. Derek’s mouth met his own reassuringly, whilst his hands expertly removed Stiles’ pants, not even attempting to pretend that the hand moving torturously against his crotch was an accident. Stiles swore, twisting his legs before he flipped them over until Derek was on his back for once.

The alpha stilled, surprised by the new position on the dead leaves, and momentarily uncertain, but Stiles slid his fingers across the bite mark that his teeth had left on the alpha’s shoulder and he seemed to settle with a soft noise.

Stiles licked his lips, fingers brushing down Derek’s chest, questing and curious, travelling over the ridges of his muscles and flittering over his ribcage while the alpha shuddered beneath him. He felt reckless and powerful all at once, like Derek was at his mercy this time and emboldened by that feeling, he undid the buttons of Derek's jeans.

It wasn't easy but Derek tilted his hips up in encouragement, removing Stiles' pants as well and after some awkward maneuverings that Derek laughed at Stiles was back on top again and loving every second of it.

His hands gripped his forearms and Derek stilled his rolling hips, before Stiles could really start to enjoy the friction. He muttered out some unintelligible insult whilst Derek tore off his underwear. He sighed, because not only was he going to have to walk the hallways for the rest of the day reeking of sex, but now he was going to have endure the whole thing commando.

The alpha removed the last of his clothing and then they were totally naked, Stiles jerking his hips all over again to get this moving already. The friction was doing all sorts of things to his brain and he tried to keep his feelings to himself, but it was always a lot freaking harder when Derek was looking at him.

Especially when he was looking at him like that.

He raked air into his lungs a little breathlessly when Derek's hands finally found their way to his ass. That was until he realised they had no lube. Shit.

“Lube, Derek?” he gasped out when Derek seemed to ignore his words and pressed against his rim with a finger. He winced, expecting dryness, but his finger was slick when it pressed inside him, nothing but the stretch of it hollowing him out.

Had this werewolf made a habit of carrying some around in his pocket? Stiles was okay with this. In fact, he was making very vocal how very okay with this he was after Derek pushed in a second finger. By the time he was up to three, Stiles was moving enthusiastically against them, aching for more of Derek and when he withdrew them Stiles settled in with anticipation.

But Derek stopped. Stiles waited and when he made no effort to push his cock inside, he raised a questioning eyebrow. They'd never been patient about this, Stiles was unsure for a second of what Derek wanted. When he watched Stiles hungrily, carefully not doing anything, he finally realised what he was trying to do.

He was giving Stiles control of the pace of everything and the level of trust that must of cost him constricted his chest with happiness. Slowly, he wrapped fervently around Derek's hardness, encircling him in the heat of his fingers before sliding down. Derek moaned, tipping his head back and closing his eyes, exposing the underside of his throat as Stiles continued to jerk him off, mesmerised by the sounds he was making and the expression on his face.

But there was something else Stiles wanted to see more than that and he shifted into a comfortable position, working his way over Derek’s cock before reaching around and lining them up. And then he kept his eyes locked on his face as he began the slow slide down. He groaned at the feel of him, ignoring the urge to shut his eyes as he stared at Derek.

His mouth had fallen open and Derek reached up to seize his thighs, offering no more control than that and Stiles had to distract himself from the fact that Derek was giving him the reins. Even if that also meant he was going to be doing all the work. He bit his lip as he pulled himself up again, feeling the slide of Derek inside before he lowered himself back down with a sigh.

It was slow work, but hotter than ever because he got to see exactly how much Derek was enjoying himself. And Jesus, he was certainly being more expressive than usual. Eventually, he worked out a pace that pushed them closer to the edge and Derek’s muscles flexed and tightened uselessly, but responsively beneath him, as if fighting an urge to move.

And then it must have been too much, because Derek sat up abruptly, nearly throwing Stiles off, hand pressed against his back keeping him in place and suddenly much closer. He shifted in Derek’s lap, the alpha was still inside him, but now they were close enough that foreheads could have touched if they wanted that kind of intimacy. And Stiles really, really did.

He stopped, blinking owlishly at Derek as he tried to keep the instinct to himself. It wasn’t until he noticed the red like tinge to the hazel hue of Derek’s eyes that he realised, maybe he wasn’t the only one almost losing control.

“Move,” Derek begged low and dangerous, inhuman.

Stiles gasped, heart pumping desperately as he tightened on the werewolf cock inside him unthinkingly. Derek dug his claws into the dirt to keep from thrusting forward, because he wanted Stiles in control. Jesus. Derek’s mouth kissed across his shoulder and Stiles started moving again, fingers tightening as his hands edged toward the mark on Derek’s throat.

It fascinated him, because it still hadn’t healed. And the fact that it was still there made his thrusts a little more erratic and his throat close up. A moment later the thought was too much and he was coming, fingers biting deeply into the mark he’d left as his head tipped back into a groan of satisfaction.

Derek hissed and came , fingers tight on Stiles' hips. He pressed his face into Derek’s chest grinning before he moved to slide off. Derek’s clawed hands seized his thighs, pinning him down and Stiles realised something was pressing up against the rim of his ass.

His knot. Jesus, that was it wasn’t it? It had to be.

He moaned as it jerked inside, tortuously locking them together. The alpha’s hands rubbed soothing circles across his lower back, the tension in his body revealing concern. Derek clearly hadn’t intended for that to happen.

And Stiles didn’t know whether to feel guilty or annoyed. Sure, he’d said that he’d wanted it. Hell, he’d been annoyed it had taken so long for it to happen a second time, but a little warning would have been nice. Knotting in the woods with a rogue werewolf on the run did not seem like the smartest of ideas. Not that Stiles was complaining at present.

“I- you okay?” Derek asked quietly, and he shifted experimentally to check.

“Once I get used to the knot in my ass?” he snapped, flinching when Derek rotated his hips, the tug pulling at his insides.

And then he was moaning when Derek somehow magically managed to press the knot against his prostate.

“Oh,” he groaned, trying to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation, but the alpha wouldn’t let up. In fact, the bastard moved his hips, slowly so that it started to rub against it. “Holy God,” he gasped. “Derek, please.”

The alpha smirked into his skin, but he panted breathlessly into Stiles' ear so he was just as affected. Stiles' mouth closed over Derek's nipple, biting in protest of how good it felt and when Derek chuckled the vibrations took him over the edge, shooting another orgasm through his body as he tightened on the knot.

Derek went soft eventually and then slid out of him, separating their rapidly cooling bodies. Stiles had to admit he was a little shakier than usual from the exertion of it but when Derek smiled at him, Stiles couldn't find anything to complain about as he pulled him closer for a bruising kiss.

“Was that an in-case-we-die fuck?” he asked, when they separated.

Derek’s eyes were hard. “Maybe,” he offered, turning away to retrieve their clothes and completely missing the shit eating grin on Stiles' face. He managed to school it into a politely interested expression before he turned back.

“I feel flattered,” he said. “Should I feel flattered?”

Derek’s answer was to help him dress by shoving a shirt over his head, thereby blocking his line of vision as well as his mouth and that was the only reply he received besides a non-committal noise from the back of his throat.

“If they shoot you when your back is turned, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said, and Derek pulled him back in for another kiss.

Stiles felt incredibly good all of a sudden.

“I’ll let you take out the bullets,” he promised as if bestowing a great honour.

Stiles rolled his eyes as Derek let him back into the school parking lot. Once he was sure there was no possible way Stiles could get lost, which was frankly insulting, he melted into the trees and was gone.

Leaving Stiles with the aftermath of consequences for having really good sex in the woods which involved no underwear, werewolf semen slowly seeping from his ass and a judging population of werewolf high schoolers who would love to smell the evidence.

It would be social suicide to go back into the school now, but he started the walk of shame anyway, because without a car he couldn’t exactly make a break for it. That was until he realised he was wearing Derek’s leather jacket and coincidentally there also happened to be something poking him in the ribs. He pressed his hand curiously into the pocket, locating the object which was definitely a set of keys.

And then he spotted the telltale hood of his jeep among the other cars and nearly started shouting his praise to the heavens.

God, Derek was amazing.

He hurried over to his car slowly, because he’d just had the screwing of his life and his thighs still ached pleasantly. Once he managed to climb into the driver's seat he started the ignition, glancing around for a truancy officer before getting the hell outta there. He was close towards the exit when he spotted Jackson outside on his cell phone, to Danny probably, and literally felt his heart stop.

Because, oh shit that was Jackson. And he reeked of Derek and the window was down.

Fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck.

Jackson noticed immediately, eyes suddenly widening and nostrils flaring as if he could smell the lingering sex from inside the jeep. He opened his mouth to say something, but Stiles slammed his foot on the accelerator and got the hell out of dodge before that happened.

Although, he was pretty sure he spotted Jackson laughing in the revision mirror.



He texted Allison when he got home, thinking she'd be the best person to give advice without making him regret divulging information in the first place. His hair was still dripping wet from the shower when she replied, promising to stop by after school and he was so glad they were friends.

And then, because apparently being knotted for the second time ever in his human existence took a lot out of him, he made his way into their bedroom and crashed, falling asleep almost instantly.

When he awoke again, Allison was hovering over him and looking concerned. He jerked back in surprise, and then fell off the edge of the bed, ensnared in the death trap that was the sheets.

“Jesus, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” he cried. “How the hell did you get in?”

“The front door,” she said, crouching down to free him. “You didn’t lock it.”

“Oh,” he said, as she helped him to his feet.

“You ready?” she asked, retrieving her keys from her purse.

“For what?”

“You said you wanted to talk and I have the perfect place for that,” Allison said with a blinding smile.



The perfect place turned out to be a coffee shop. A very old fashioned coffee shop, with frills, floral patterns and multiple tea cosies. “Allison,” he whined. “What is this terrible place?”

He spotted what appeared to be a fluffy cat hanging from the ceiling and nearly died of horror. “Oh c'mon,” she said, seizing his arm and dragging him to the counter. “They make the best coffee here. Scott loves it.”

Stiles smirked at that and Allison placed her order with one of her friendly disarming smiles that made Stiles want to hang himself from the ceiling like the stuffed cat.

Once she'd paid, Allison dragged him over to a booth, no doubt for some privacy and Stiles tried not to feel nervous. She put her hands under her chin and looked at him.

“You’re usually not this quiet,” she noted. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Uh…” he began, grasping, as he tried to think of a way to explain.

“Scott told me about today. Is that what you wanted to talk about? You being in love with Derek?”

Jesus, was it that obvious? “I- how did you know?” he spluttered.

“Scott was watching you both and he’s never seen you like that before so he asked me about it. It wasn’t that hard to guess, I mean on Monday you were so happy that Scott thought you'd lost it.”

He grinned, because yeah, being screwed out of his mind definitely added a skip to his step. “Does Scott know?” he asked, tapping away at the table anxiously, because he hadn’t expected to be caught out so quickly. Allison was a lot sneakier than he’d thought.

The waitress drifted by, giving Allison her coffee before leaving them alone. “I think he suspects,” she admitted. “That’s probably why he offered to join the hunt with my dad. He wants to get to know Derek a little better, especially seeing as you’ve been spending so much time together lately. He misses you.”

Stiles tried not to feel too guilty about that. “He said something about responsibility and maybe threw a spiderman reference in there as well. He didn’t mention anything about wanting to hang out with Derek.”

Oh, God. Scott and Derek.

Hanging out.

Stranger things have happened.

“I told him to say that,” she said. “So it wouldn’t make you both suspicious.”

Stiles had to lean back into the seat, astonished. “Well played.”

“Thanks,” she grinned, swirling the froth in her cup with a spoon. “So tell me more. Have you told Derek yet?”

“My God, no!” he cried, nearly hitting her cup as his hands swung out wildly. Allison flinched, and pulled the mug closer to herself. “Have you seen that brooding alpha? Feelings are like his self destruct button.”

“So, not telling him, okay. Then what’s the problem?”

“I keep almost saying it,” he said, lowering his voice. “I can’t stop myself. Sometimes I even get some of the words out.”

Allison took a cautionary sip of her drink. “Maybe it’s because you haven’t told anyone yet.”

“I just told you,” he said, wanting to smash his fists against the table again.

She shook her head. “No, you didn’t. I already guessed. It’s gotta be because you haven’t actually said it yet.”

He frowned, liking the sound of her advice but still mistrusting it. He was a paranoid dude. “So what’s your solution? Tell every random stranger about my feelings?”

She laughed at that. “No, but you should say it. You’ll feel better when you do.”

He hesitated, taking a deep breath. “Alright, I love him,” he admitted and the world didn't end or spontaneously combust so he figured it was looking good.

“Who?” Allison asked innocently.

He scowled at her. “You know who I’m talking about.”

“No, sorry,” she said sickly sweet stirring the spoon to mix in more sugar. “Who?”

Stiles sighed. “Fine. I love Derek, happy?”

“Hmm, I know a fair few Dereks,” she said, idly twirling her spoon through her drink. “Which one?”

“Seriously? Oh my God, you’re ridiculous. I. Love. Derek. Hale. Okay? Now can you help me or not?”

“I just did,” she said, looking incredibly smug. “How do you feel now?”

He thought about it, because she was clearly a wise woman. He did feel some relief after finally putting it into words. “Better, thanks,” he said. “Less of a urge to sing show tunes and write sappy love songs.”

“That’s always good,” she said, smiling around her cup. “So what other problems does Derek have besides fear of expressing himself?”

“The beauty is in the discovery,” Stiles scowled. “I recently discovered he likes to transform in his sleep and attempt to tear at his own mouth apart with werewolf teeth. That was a fun experience.”

Allison blinked. “Huh. So like grinding your teeth in sleep only…”

“Only Derek’s tearing at his own flesh. Yeah, that’s about right.”

“My God, that’s horrible,” she said. “Does it wake him up?”

“No. He sleeps straight through it and it’s very traumatic and disturbing.”

“Have you tried waking him up?” she asked. “Or is that exactly what you’re not meant to do?”

Stiles remembered Derek nearly mauling him for attempting to stroke his face and smiled. “Yeah, not the best idea,” he said. “But I'd say that Kate's to blame for that-”

Allison nearly dropped the cup. And then Stiles finally remembered that Allison, who had crazy Gerard as her grandpa- the grandpa who was out to avenge the death of his daughter- was related to Kate. Kate Argent. Duh. Jesus, why hadn’t he asked her about this before?

“Oh, shit,” he gasped. “She’s your…”

“My Aunt,” Allison said quietly. “At least she was, until Peter killed her.”

Stiles was overloading from the prospect of new information. “Peter as in…"

“Derek’s uncle, yes,” Allison said looking around the café nervously. “Listen, I’m not sure I should be…”

“What the hell happened?” he demanded cutting her off. “Why did Peter kill Derek’s girlfriend?”

“She wasn’t his girlfriend, Stiles,” she said and he was astounded by the sadness in her voice. “Look this is Derek’s life we’re talking about. His own horrors and traumatic past, which you shouldn’t be hearing from me. You should ask him.”

“Please, Allison,” he begged, ignoring the warning. “I have to know.”

“Okay. Okay, so when Kate was younger she crossed a line, like a big line. She broke the code. And she convinced a couple of humans that the Hale’s were rogues and violent.”

“Convinced…?”

Her eyes darkened. “Really convinced. Enough that they went to the Hale house and set it alight with everyone in it.”

He gasped. The fire had been Kate’s fault? Then how the hell had she ended up dating Derek then? Oh God, no wonder Derek didn't trust anyone. Did he know the fire was Kate’s fault? Fuck.

“But before she did that she seduced Derek to gain his trust. Only he was a minor and she was much older than him for it to be legal. I don’t really know what happened between them,” she admitted. Oh great, more uncertainty. “Maybe she genuinely liked him before she found out he was a werewolf like with me and Scott, but then she lost it, couldn't deal. Or maybe it was her plan to get at him from the beginning. I don’t know. Nobody knows except-”

“Derek,” Stiles said. “And he’s never spoken about it to me before. He lost his shit when I so much as went to the wreckage of the Hale house.”

Allison flushed. “That might have been because you went with me,” she said. “But maybe not. When he came back, my father thought he was out to get us, but he’s really changed. I don’t think he blames us for Kate anymore just like we don’t blame him for Peter.”

Stiles didn’t think it was a good idea to ask, but he couldn’t resist. “What did Peter do?”

“He killed all of the humans involved in the fire. You know, the bus driver, the...”

“Yeah, I know,” he said shivering in the warm room. “Jesus.”

“Don’t be surprised if he has a few problems,” she said, changing the subject back to Derek again. “He’s been through a lot. We’ve put him through a lot,” she amended quietly.

“How do you feel about the whole thing?” he asked.

She frowned, cupping the warmth of her mug as if she was tempted to hug it herself. “I don’t know. Kate was always just Kate to me. She was like my sister and to find out she did that was just so confusing. I mean, she'd never acted like that around me and to hear she’d done that was just…”

Allison broke off and smiled grimly and then Stiles felt horrible and it was not because of the pink frilling from the table cloth tickling his leg. Though, he did think he could have done without it.



When Allison finally dropped him home, he was still blown away by everything that he'd learned. They'd stayed out pretty late, grabbing dinner together after because they’d sat there talking for so long.

By the time she driven him back, they’d already swapped emails and he’d promised to link her to his online gaming community that battled mythical creatures because it was very, very entertaining. And she’d promised to give him some music to listen to. It was some seriously good bonding time and he totally appreciated what that Allison had been through, even more so than before.

Her family was widely known as those responsible for the Hale house massacre, and whichever town they’d moved to had, had enough news coverage to recognise and condemn them. But even that wasn’t what was the worst part about it. Allison angrily told him about the level of support for they’d received in secret, and how sickened they’d all been- her father had stopped hunting for several months afterwards- and it had made it much easier to move again.

The Hale house fire was a stain on their family history and no matter where they moved it followed them. That kind of reputation put a lot of strain on their relationships.

Particularly as they were working with Derek at the moment. Allison explained that there was an actual reason why they’d didn’t want her and Scott to date. It wasn’t to protect Allison from violent werewolves- they didn’t want Scott to date Allison to protect Scott because they couldn’t live through another Kate. And if the media had caught wind of their relationship, they’d be all over the news, having to move again.

Settling back into Beacon Hills, ironically, had seemed the only place that they could get away from the Hale house fire and every silent judgement and accusation that came with it. Allison didn’t think her parents could handle being run out of another town because of their last name again.

And all because of one deeply disturbed woman. Kate had infiltrated every inch of Stiles’ life and he’d never even met her.

He thanked Allison for the ride and said he’d see her tomorrow, before walking into the house. The lights were out inside, but Stiles used the light from his phone to find the staircase. He tried to sneak quietly upstairs, but Derek clearly would have heard him. But he was more or less surprised when he made his way into the room and the alpha was fast asleep in their bed.

He removed his shoes, pulling tiredly at the waistband of his pants and letting them fall to the floor before yanking his shirt up over his head. It was only when he was placing his phone on the bedside table, the brief light sliding over the alpha that Stiles noticed he was doing it again, tearing at his own mouth with his transformed teeth.

He sighed and climbed in next to him, getting prepared to lose an arm because he was going to try to wake Derek up again. But then the alpha made an unrecognisable sound and reached out, pulling Stiles against his chest.

And the chewing stopped.

Again.

Because Stiles was in his arms.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? That Stiles was the only thing that settled him and made him feel safe? The rush of emotion that thought provided was enough to make his chest tight.

“Oh God, I’m in love with Derek Hale,” he said quietly to the darkness as if expecting the universe to slap some sense into him.

It didn’t.

Big surprise there.

Chapter Text

Nē.



He was dreaming. Stiles knew he was dreaming, because he was standing in the Hale house and it and it was completely intact.

The entire area was cluttered, full of love and whimsy and Stiles thought how wonderful it would have been to live there. The homely feeling was calming enough that he didn't panic when a mix of people abruptly joined him in the living room, easing themselves around him as if they'd done this a thousand times before.

He saw the dark hair, the flicker of familiar hazel eyes and oddly recognisable faces. They were watching him, smiles warm with kindness and he felt a twinge in his gut knowing they were offering that unconscious love without agenda. They didn't even know him, but beckoned Stiles closer, the group that could only be Derek’s family, nestled closely on the couch. A small gathering that was as endearing as it was familiar like he a different version of his own family bundled together.

He searched automatically for Derek and his eyebrows knitted together into a frown when he didn't immediately make himself known. Stiles opened his mouth, but didn't speak instead in favour of not disturbing the peculiar calm of this family.

Their eyes if possible, seemed to grow warmer at his approach some flickering a sharp blue. A very werewolfesque greeting. Their welcoming smiles, tugged at something within his heart and he choked back a lump of emotion as it swelled in his chest. Because they didn't know him and here they were welcoming Stiles in as if they'd known him forever.

He’d barely taken two steps until they rose to their feet, gravitating towards him palms outstretched in greeting. He wasn’t afraid, too relaxed to feel any real fear as they surrounded him like a whisper of stirring air.

And then there were hands pressing against his skin, supporting, gentle and quietly offering something that he couldn’t quite understand. They smiled gently, soothingly as they pressed closer to touch him, to embrace him as if he were one of their own.

Stiles ducked his head sheepishly, undeserving of their kindness. They were too trusting. Something twisted in him, a need, a longing for someone in particular to make this moment perfect and he wet his lips, glancing about the room again hopefully.

“Derek,” he managed finally, and they smiled sadly, drifting away from him without a response but their eyes seemed to say enough. He tried calling them back but they didn’t return, drifting into various corners of the room. He sensed something in them that was sobering, solemn with the unexpected distance.

And then a woman emerged from the hallway.

He recognised her instantly, from the photo he'd spent too much time obsessing over. And when it was clear how much she resembled her brother, he wondered how in the hell he had ever confused her for someone else.

Laura.

Her expression was softer than he’d expected a Hale’s to be and she stepped closer, eyes burning into his with an intensity that was unsettling. Stiles felt that she was trying to tell him something, but she didn't speak as she paused before Stiles, eyes considering.

Stiles raised an eyebrow and tilted his neck to gaze back, exposing the mark Derek had left on his throat there. For a moment, Laura seemed startled and then her face softened and she smiled, reaching out slowly to press her hand against his cheek.

Nobody spoke and Stiles struggled to keep still, sensing something significant was happening. Laura's expression abruptly hardened before she turned towards the door.

Her hand still cupped his face as they watched the beginning of flames licking at the bottom of the wood. He swore, jerking back to look in shock. Laura's face was dark, unforgiving, but she didn't back away.

And then he noticed the sudden inferno raging behind her, surrounding them and wrapping around the rest of the Hale family like a ruinous caress, burning them all alive.




Stiles awoke with a yell, twisting up in the bed sheets and the embrace of a seriously pissed off alpha, who he may or may not have elbowed in the stomach.

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, and he ignored the jolt that rushed into him at the gravelly sound of the alpha’s sleepy voice. “Do you ever stop moving?”

Stiles huffed out a sigh, but his heart was pumping a little too quickly to be normal with Derek's arms wrapped around him.

“Your heart’s racing.”

Stiles was too tired and disturbed by the dream he'd had to consider how he should be acting. He focused on his breathing instead, until his heart slowed.

“I may have been picturing you naked,” he muttered and Derek snorted disbelievingly, burying his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck.

“No, you weren’t,” he muttered, reaching across his hip to press a hand to his crotch. Stiles made an indignant sound. "Otherwise this would be a lot more interested.”

Stiles flushed, already hardening under the heat of Derek’s hand. The alpha chuckled, low in his throat at the reaction as Stiles growled. “Now it is, jackass,” he grumbled back, moving to swat at his shoulder.

Derek’s apology was palming him through the fabric of his boxers. He groaned out a pleased sound at the sensation, grinding his ass against Derek invitingly because at dead o’clock in the morning he was more than happy to get his rocks off. The alpha let out a keening sound in the back of his throat, jerking Stiles' hips tighter against him with a perfect laziness to the movement as if they were both still half asleep. Stiles sighed and shifted slowly against his hand while Derek ground leisurely against his ass. He didn’t know anything could be as damn good as this.

He jerked in surprise, when the alpha's hands dipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, taking him in hand as his mouth latched onto his neck. Stiles gasped softly, squirming under the ministrations of Derek's wonder hands, because it felt too good and he wasn't going to last. It definitely didn't take him very long. Derek easily worked him to orgasm, bringing them both over the edge almost simultaneously and Stiles threw his head back, exposing his neck in offering as he came all over Derek’s fingers.

He gasped out his satisfaction when Derek mouthed wetly at the marks he’d made on his neck, before removing his hand from around Stiles’ cock. They fell into a comfortable silence, breathing exerted as they stayed tangled together. Stiles didn’t how great he felt and was about to close his eyes, mess be damned, before he heard the distinct sound of the alpha licking his come off of his fingers.

Fuck.

“Oh my God, you’re so hot,” he groaned as Derek hummed contentedly, before pulling Stiles more firmly against his chest. Derek murmured something unintelligible into his heated skin and Stiles sighed, squirming a little in his grip because he was still sensitive and having a burning furnace of alpha pressed up against every inch of him was a little overwhelming.

They settled back down together, the sweat on his skin slowly cooling as Derek's warmth made him drowsy. Stiles forgot about the fact that he was covered in semen and the sheen of sex sweat and drifted back to sleep.




The bed was empty when he woke up. Stiles shrugged his shoulders, stretching his arms out and yawning before he trudged into the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He washed whatever remained of their late night sexcapades off of his skin in the warm water, knowing that the alpha’s scent would probably cover him until the next millennium. He dressed quickly afterwards and then hurried downstairs to fill his empty stomach. The smell of breakfast was in the air, the rogue could possibly be dead by now and everything was right with the world.

At least Stiles thought so before he entered the kitchen and he spotted Derek and Henry standing beside each other. On cell phones. And from the unsettling tension in the room Stiles didn't think whoever they were both talking to, and what they were talking about was going very well.

The alpha’s expression was tight and irritated and Stiles knew that could mean a whole lot of different things so he took a seat at the counter to wait, drumming his fingers against the table. Derek seized them automatically, interlocking their hands together and Stiles tried not to grin stupidly at him. Man, he was so gone.

“He declines,” Derek spat out and that seemed like the end of it. Stiles rolled his eyes, but figured this had something to do with him. Henry also politely told the person on the other end of the line 'no' and then hung up before they reply.

Derek gripped Stiles' fingers harder before he slammed the cell phone onto the counter and smashed it into pieces. After that Stiles figured he could talk.

“Any particular reason why you’re breaking technology so early in the morning?” he wondered, thumb sliding comfortingly against Derek's skin.

“They’ve been calling all morning,” he muttered. “To request an interview with you.”

Stiles blinked at the announcement “What? Why me? Why don’t they want to talk to you?”

Derek sighed and released Stiles' hand before pushing a plate in his direction. “Because I didn’t offer myself to an alpha in front of an entire town and I’m not the youngest alpha mate ever documented in history.”

Stiles flipped Derek off and gave his attention to his breakfast instead. “Trust me," he said, words muffled around the first bite. Damn, Derek could cook. "You do not want me talking to the press.”

The alpha rolled his eyes and started picking at his own plate. “Which is why I said no.”

“Good call,” Stiles pointed out with his fork and then got back to eating and Henry inclined his head at Derek respectfully and left the room.

“I can’t believe you have a butler,” he muttered, underneath his breath and the alpha’s head snapped up from his plate in surprise.

“He’s not my butler,” Derek protested, appalled. “He works for the Alpha Council.”

Shit. Stiles could've punched himself. He shouldn't have just assumed Henry was only his driver. Of course, Derek had the Alpha Council easing him into his return to Beacon hills and contacting him after Stiles’ deflowering and official claiming after heat week. Everything went through the official channels these days. Henry was there to make sure everything went smoothly.

The Alpha Council were as high up as anybody could go- they monitored alphas throughout different countries and territories and kept peace between them whilst also assisting human forces in encouraging safety and harmony between the two groups. Stiles had even heard rumour that they had some human members. But the Alpha Council were the ones that kept all the alpha’s in line- well as much as they could. They literally had written the book on alpha law.

And Stiles had kind of been an ass to him. Oops.

“And I’d thought you wouldn’t be much trouble,” Derek muttered, grimly shaking his head.

“This façade is intentionally deceiving,” Stiles agreed, wagging his fingers mysteriously. The alpha only rolled his eyes and resumed eating.

Whatever.

Derek had already offered to drive him to school and once they were finished, he proceeded to feel him up spectacularly as they headed towards the front door. Stiles was laughing because unfortunately the alpha had discovered his weaker more ticklish spots and was taking advantage of it. The bastard. When he got his breath back, Stiles would get his revenge for this.

His face was red and flushed when Stiles finally pulled open the door and spotted Scott waiting on the front step. Stiles' breathless laughter choked off immediately at the horrified expression on his face because Derek’s wandering hands may have been underneath his shirt, chest pressed against his back and other hand curled possessively against his hip and maybe they weren't doing anything, but Scott did possess this lil' old thing called an imagination.

And judging by his expression whatever he was imagined was traumatising. Scott recovered and cleared his throat when Stiles awkwardly scratched at the back of his skull, nearly elbowing the alpha in the face as he did so.

“Scott,” he managed, keeping his voice steady and mockingly polite. “School’s thattaway man.”

His best friend rolled his eyes. “I’m not going today,” Scott explained. “I’m in the rogue search party with Derek.”

Stiles frowned extracting himself from the alpha’s hold. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, hearing the accusation there and feeling pissed and maybe just a little jealous that Scott got to go along as well.

Derek shrugged, but his fingers came around the back of his neck as if he knew the touch was his weakness. He wasn't wrong. Derek steered him outside, shutting the door behind him.

“You would have told him not to do it,” he explained and Stiles anger was momentarily squashed by the fact that he was absolutely right. Damn him.

“Damned straight,” he muttered, pushing at Scott’s available shoulder. “You’re an idiot dude. What’s Allison going to say?”

Scott pushed back and then tore his hand away when Derek took a step closer as if he was going to do something about it. Stiles knew that he wouldn't but it was highly gratifying to watch Scott lose his shit anyway.

“She’s fine with it. I’ve been talking with her dad a lot, actually.”

Stiles wondered if he knew the real reason why he and Allison couldn’t date yet. He hoped Mr Argent would figure out that beneath all of the blank, puppy dog eyes and bewildered expression was a guy seriously in love with his daughter to the point that he’d tear his own claws off rather than see her hurt.

“Good luck with that dude,” he said. “You two run along and murder things. I’ll drive myself to school."

Derek nodded, but followed him towards the jeep anyway. Stiles very nearly had a question on his mouth before Derek kissed it away, right in front of Scott because he had no shame whatsoever. Stiles was perfectly okay with that.

Derek eventually pulled away after, sucking another bruise into his neck like a silent promise and Stiles climbed into his jeep, subtly rearranging himself because damn, could he kiss. And naturally everyone could smell it. Scott groaned and Stiles smirked, wagging his fingers in his direction before starting the car and reversing out of the driveway, leaving his boyfriend and best friend to go off gallivanting in the woods to kick serious ass and other impressive things while he was forced to continue his stupid education.

Figures.

But he knew where he much preferred to be. And it was not at Beacon Hills High School.




He barely dodged Jackson on the way to homeroom, smirk on his chiseled face before Stiles dived into the safety of the morning crowd, letting them sweep him away from the insults he'd no doubt prepared. He took a seat next to Allison and they fell into easy conversation because she could be trusted with the truth of his feelings. Something was bugging him though about the question Lydia had asked after heat week, the relevancy resurfacing in light of Derek knotting him again.

And since Allison was also dating a werewolf she was particularly informed on the matter. So Stiles asked if she could meet him during his free period in a well known empty classroom to discuss something private. She seemed suspicious, but agreed without any probing questions and Stiles could fully appreciate what a wonderful and miraculous creature she was.




Until a couple hours later after lunch and well into his free period, she finally showed up at the abandoned classroom with Lydia and Danny and hell, even freaking Jackson in tow, and he started to question his opinion.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as she met him at the door with Lydia standing beside her. “She insisted on coming.”

“Yes, thank you so much for the invitation,” she snapped as Allison strode inside, before grabbing the closest seat, Jackson immediately appearing in the space behind Lydia. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “And he overheard the conversation and insisted on coming as well.”

And then Lydia strode into the classroom with a flick of her luscious curls. Stiles frowned at Jackson suspiciously as the werewolf smirked at him. “Don’t think just cause you drove off that I’ve forgotten about yesterday. In fact, I’ve got plenty of things to say, Stilinski.”

Stiles resisted the urge to laugh. “What you came all the way here in your free period just to talk about my sex life?” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Not creepy at all, man.”

Jackson looked like he was about to comment or rip his face off, but Danny appeared behind his shoulder and he visibly relaxed enough that Stiles couldn’t resist grinning. Because it was Danny and he was out of bed and looked alive and such. Nobody could stay pissed off around Danny.

“Dude, you’re walking,” he noticed smiling hugely.

Danny scowled but his arm was curled around Jackson’s waist and he was already smirking. He didn’t really look like he’d been bedridden, but being thoroughly fucked generally didn’t have obvious symptoms.

For humans, at least.

“Figured, I’d see what this meeting was about,” he said. “And keep Jackson from breaking things.”

Stiles grinned as Jackson pulled Danny into the classroom by his hand, almost dragging him away because he'd lost interest already. Oh this was going to be great, Stiles could tell. They reached a cluster of seats and perching comfortably on the desks before looking up at him expectantly when he shut the door and moved to join them.

“I can’t believe you all showed up,” he said, flopping easily down onto the teacher’s desk and wondering if he really wanted to traumatise this many people at once. Oh well.

“What’s this all about?” Jackson demanded. Danny was pressed in the space between his legs, practically in his lap, but the hands around his waist were gentle. Jackson tried to look bored but it came off as strangely happy at the same time. It was weird and Stiles did not like it.

Except for the fact that he did, because it was awesome. Allison cleared her throat awkwardly, face reddening because she obviously had higher senses and intuitively had assumed Stiles had wanted to talk about sex. Which was one hundred percent correct. “Um Stiles- wanted to borrow…”

“I asked Allison here,” he said emphasising her name pointedly to explain how very not invited they’d all been. “To discuss werewolf sex.”

Jackson started laughing while Lydia frowned and Danny pulled a face. “Stiles, shouldn’t you know this already?” she asked with a roll of her eyes at his complete and utter ridiculousness.

He sighed, figuring there was no point trying to dance around it. “The entire school seems to think so. But you're here, to specifically discuss werewolf knotting.”

That shut Jackson up pretty damn quickly. In fact everyone went silent and stared with varying degrees of uncomfortable and mortified expressions on their faces as if they couldn't believe that he'd actually just gone there. Which he had, and he'd go there again and again until someone explained it to him.

“You see actually being invited to this discussion could have saved you all from this second hand embarrassment,” he said not remotely affected by what was coming out of his mouth. They had only themselves to blame for this.

Surprisingly, it was Jackson who spoke first. “You’re with an alpha, why are you asking us?”

Stiles tried to pretend he wasn't pleased at Jackson's reluctant interest. “Derek has problems using his words.”

“And you have problems not using your words. You’re perfect for each other,” Lydia commented dryly. Stiles did not appreciate the attitude.

“Knotting isn’t something you have control over,” Jackson admitted abruptly. “It’s not something you can just do with anyone. You don’t get to choose who it happens with. It just does.”

Stiles frowned, because the fact that Jackson was giving him advice was blowing his mind. “Well, who can you do it with?”

Was he being too subtle here? Or not enough? Their blank expressions were not remotely comforting. And literally half of them were or had dated werewolves at some point in their lives. They knew about this stuff, a lot more than he did.

“Is this because you want Derek to do this to you?” Danny asked gently, trying to spare his feelings.

“The alpha’s already done it,” Lydia said, cleverly peeling back the truth. Stiles tried not to react, but they were all watching closely and he was not very subtle.

“Oh, wow,” Allison gushed out surprised. “I didn’t think he’d actually done it. That’s really sweet.”

Wait, wait putting on the brakes and sliding into reverse. Why the hell was innocent and untainted by the dirtiest of minds, Allison Argent, suggesting knotting was sweet?

An agonised howling interrupted her before she could continue and Stiles jumped to his feet whilst Jackson stiffened, Danny twisting in his embrace to touch his arm in concern, immediately sensing the change in his boyfriend.

“That’s…” Jackson began.

“The rogue,” Stiles finished. “Do you know if it’s dying?”

Jackson only looked confused. “It’s not dying. It’s calling for someone.”

Stiles blinked, but before he could speak the loudspeaker crackled to life broadcasting an announcement. “Mr Stilinksi, report to the Principal’s office immediately.”

Well, fuck. They swivelled around to stare at him and Stiles wondered what the hell had gone wrong now. Derek wasn't hurt was he? Oh shit, he hoped not.

“Excuse me, I have an appointment with a satanic principal,” he said moving toward the door.

“I’ll come too,” Allison volunteered, rising to her feet. “I wanted to talk to Gerard, anyway.”

“What the hell for?” he wondered as they left Lydia, Jackson and Danny alone in the classroom together.

"Lovely chat Stiles," Lydia called after him and he was going to regret this somehow he just knew it.

“Him being a satanic principal for one,” she supplied helpfully after waving goodbye to their friends as she led the way towards Gerard’s office. “And why he’s completely abandoned the rest of the hunters.”

Stiles’ attention drifted back to the earlier conversation. “What the hell do you consider cute about werewolf knotting?” he demanded. "Because I was under the impression that it was a very sexual and non-cute thing to do."

She half laughed and half appeared mortified by the directness of the question. “It’s not the act itself that I find romantic, Stiles,” she said with a roll of her eyes as they finally reached the door. She knocked once and then walked inside with the familiarity of someone who’d been in this office many times before.

“It’s the meaning behind it."

He glanced at Gerard’s desk, puzzling briefly over the empty chair before turning back to face her and this very interesting direction the conversation was taking. He could feel a bombshell on the way. There was something important about this information, he could sense it.

“And what exactly is the meaning behind it? Besides the intense need to breed me?”

A laugh rose behind him, sarcastic and menacing, but surprisingly young. They both jerked around in surprise. “It means,” came a familiar, spiteful sounding voice as Matt stepped into their view, holding something loosely in his grip. Stiles tensed, but Matt was looking steadily at Allison as she cocking her head sideways in misplaced confusion. “That you’re a lot more oblivious, than I thought.”

And then he jerked forward, swinging the weapon that Stiles had briefly recognised, slamming it down onto the side of his skull. He crumpled immediately under the blow, hearing Allison’s outrage as the pain exploded behind his eyes.

And holy fuck, did that hurt. Damn. He’d have a lump on his head for weeks. There went the rest of his precious brain cells. Matt didn’t even look like he possessed that kind of strength. Dazedly lifted his head to look up at Matt who stood over him sneeringly, Allison’s crossbow in hand which he'd just attempted to brain him with. “And that you can be useful,” he added vaguely, eyes alight with something unnamable, almost wild.

Matt smirked briefly before he lifted the crossbow again and slammed it against Stiles' head, knocking him out cold, Allison’s distant scream ringing in his ears.




When Stiles opened his eyes again his hands were restrained behind his back and his face was pressed uncomfortably into the dry leaves of the woods, head throbbing painfully with no idea where he was. The side of his face was still wet, but itching with the sensation of dried blood that had slid down into his hair because of his position, covering the right side of his face. He could hear the heavy panting of the rogue, and knew that it was nearby and shut his eyes tightly, to stopping everything from spinning.

He struggled experimentally in the bonds, feeling the tightness covering his wrists and also realising that his feet were tied as well. Just fucking perfect. He couldn't see Allison. Or Matt. Or even the rogue, but that could have had to do with the fact that his eyes were still sealed shut, but whatever.

He'd always known there was something wrong with that dude. Matt had always had serious creeper vibe. Stiles took an even breath, before slowly opening his eyes with a groan to take in his surroundings. Trees, trees and more freaking trees. So he clearly couldn't figure out where the hell Matt has taken him. Sprawled out uncomfortably across the forest floor, he spotted Allison several feet away, tied against a tree, watching him with a panicked look on her face.

She seemed to be ignoring the fact that she was the one imprisoned over her worry for his wellbeing. Which was nice and all, but she should have been worrying about herself because they were tied up out God knows where in the woods and Stiles was not liking their chances.

And then he took in the rest of the completely fucked up situation. Matt was several metres away, lounging against a tree stump and watching him with a satisfied expression. Wonderful.

Then he realised that Matt hadn’t bothered to bind his mouth, so he rolled over to face him, prepared to talk the asshole to death if possible. “Let me guess,” he croaked out, throat drier than a goddamn desert. “You work for Gerard.”

Night was close to falling and he knew that the rogue was near. And that they were about ten minutes away from this turning into the biggest clusterfuck to ever exist in the entire universe. Screwed, they were completely screwed. Time to die. Do not pass out and do not pass go. Matt laughed, but it was a disturbed sound that unsettled Stiles in his very bones.

“It’s the other way round, moron," Matt said and laughed his creepy laugh again. Stiles could be seriously encouraged to beat him over the head with his lacrosse stick if it were available and in his possession or if his hands weren’t tied and his life didn't suck complete ass.

Stiles tried not to roll his eyes, but he felt the prick of pain as his keys dug into his upper thigh from within his pants and subtly tried to reach for them without Matt’s notice. Maybe the jagged edge could cut his ropes. He was not going to lie there like a present, wrapped up all nicely for the rogue to devour.

“How in the hell does a psychotic hunter work for you?” he demanded, straining his wrist to reach into the pocket of his pants while distracting Matt with useless and annoying questions- his specialty. The ropes around his wrists gave some resistance, but not enough to stop him.

Matt only scowled, cocking Allison’s crossbow and Stiles wished he'd thought to carry weapons of his own.

“Because I control the rogue,” Matt said, as if the situation wasn’t tense enough. “And now that I have you. I can get him what he wants.”

Stiles huffed out a frustrated breath, watching as it blew some of the dried leaves away from his mouth. “What the hell does he want? And why are you stupid enough to trust him?”

Allison suddenly looked up, expression hard and hunter dangerous. “He wants the bite,” she snarled, looking like she really wanted to get her hands wrapped around Matt’s neck and do some serious squeezing. “But bite month has already passed and he needs the alpha. He can't wait another year. He needs Derek.”

Stiles felt his chest seize up at the sound of his name. He closed his eyes again, but only because he couldn't seriously fucking believe this was happening. Of course, Gerard would want Derek, the only available alpha in a ten mile radius of the whole damn town. He wouldn’t even be surprised if Gerard was somehow behind the alpha’s return to Beacon Hills, because everything seemed too plausible to be a coincidence and he was starting to become seriously pissed off with this entire situation.

Plus, his wrists were already seriously chaffing from his escape attempt. He finally managed to retrieve the keys, silently praying they wouldn’t make too much noise because jangling could seriously be the end for them both. Luckily they didn't and Matt didn't seem to notice.

“He’s dying, isn’t he?” he guessed, slowly twisting his hands up to place one of the serrated edges of a key against the rope before he started rubbing against it. The position was awkward with his hands behind his back, but somehow it worked. Glory hallelujah. Gerard dying seemed like the only reason he’d be stupid enough to break the law in order to get a free bite out of controlled conditions. Because bite month would come around eventually, there weren't many reasons why Gerard couldn't wait that long.

“He’s not the only one,” Matt said harshly, eyes furious as the rogue finally staggered into the clearing, jaw hanging lopsidedly to one side. It was not a pretty sight. “But he’s promised to give me what I want. We made a deal.”

Stiles immediately could see that they were dealing with an entirely different werewolf. It stumbled forward, weak and disoriented and he reckoned one good hit would kill it for good. It didn't look too tough at the moment, covered in dried and matted blood, plus all those nasty bullets riddled throughout it's body.

Matt strode towards the rogue like the thing was his own personal puppy and Stiles figured that’s probably entirely accurate, before the guy pressed his hand softly but commandingly against the rogue's skull and then started rubbing behind it's ears like it really was a soft and cuddly pet.

The sight was terrifying and Stiles had to look away. “What kind of deal?” he asked, flicking his wrist to speed up the key-cutting-rope process. “What the hell do you even want?”

Matt rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I actually thought you were some kind of genius,” he said, walking over to poke the side of his face with his boot and Stiles really appreciated that. Thanks so much. ”I give him the alpha and he gives me Allison. Duh, Stiles.”

Allison’s eyes widened momentarily, but Stiles wasn’t remotely surprised. He could practically smell Matt’s sick desperation whenever he was in the same room as her. And now he definitely had her attention, except it looked more like Allison wanted to kill him than make out with him. Too bad. Not that Matt seemed so much.

Stiles couldn’t believe how seriously fucked up that was. And then it got worse. Naturally.

“It’s funny how easy it is to gain the loyalty of a rogue,” Matt said with a twisted smile, moving back to pat the sickly animal as it whined softly, definitely in lots of pain but still dedicated to its master. “They’re less paranoid than regular werewolves, more likely to trust their instincts than follow their emotions. I mean, as soon as you lead a woman in their direction come heat week, they’ll follow you around for days, weeks afterwards because they can expect certain things from you.”

Stiles froze immediately, escape attempts forgotten as the realisation set in. Matt had been sending women into the rogue’s path? Oh God. Stiles wanted to throw up.

Jesus, fuck. How had he tricked all of these women into following him into the woods? The Chief Ranger had already been there for starters and the reporter- he’d probably just made up some bullshit about how knowing Stiles and offered a confidential scoop about his and Derek's relationship. And the girl in his school. Oh God, Stiles actually remembered her now, she was in photography club and liked to follow Matt around like he was a member of an internationally famous boy band or something.

“They become pretty pliant after that,” Matt continued. “Because a bond has been established. And now the rogue will pretty much do anything I say.”

Stiles watched as Allison struggled against the ropes behind Matt’s back, expression calm and dangerous, ready to pounce. God, when she got out of there Stiles almost wanted to run for the hills himself. "Okay, so you’ve become a rogue trainer, congratulations you freaky bastard that’s disturbing,” he said. “But why the hell is Allison here? Why can't you let her go?”

Matt grinned, leaving the side of the dying rogue to approach the girl tied to the tree. Stiles resumed his key-to-ropes effort harder than ever when Allison spat at him, hissing out her rage when he reached forward to touch her cheek. She wrenched her face away and Stiles resisted the urge to throw up or shout something completely unflattering because they had to wait until they were out of these goddamn ropes with some serious weaponry in their hands before they could do any of that.

“It didn’t work out how I’d planned,” Matt said sounding giddy as he drew back, seemingly oblivious to her open display of disgust. “It was meant to just be you and then once you’d lured the alpha here I was going to force him to bite Gerard or watch you die. But then Allison was there as well, and it was just so perfect.”

Stiles swore, and struggled against the ground as he tried to sit up and get that creepiness away from Scott’s not so secret girlfriend. “But you don’t even need her,” he said angrily, trying to reach him somewhere in his fucked up mind.

Matt turned around, eyes narrowed. “But I want her!” he roared, stamping his foot, face turning ugly and terrifying for a moment before he controlled his emotions and smiled.

“And I like to watch,” he added, with a sickening smile. "So she can watch too."

Stiles swore, struggling harder than ever against the ropes, heart thumping desperately in his chest as Matt laughed at his reaction. Fuck. Fuck. He liked to watch? Holy God Matt liked to watch as the rogue raped and killed women? Jesus Christ. There was so many things wrong with that. Fuck. Serious fuck.

“You sick fucker,” he spat out violently. “I knew you were psychotic.”

“Here’s where it gets really interesting,” Matt said, turning back to the rogue. He clicked his fingers and the werewolf snapped to attention, loyal to its last breath,

“I brought you a treat,” he crooned and Stiles felt the bile rising in the back of his throat. Oh God, Matt was going to do the same thing to Allison that he’d done to all those women and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Panic rise within him and he could feel the key cutting slowly through the rope, but it wasn’t fast enough, he still needed more time. Story of his freaking life.

“Kill him,” Matt said pointing in Stiles’ direction. “Any way you want,” he whispered loudly enough for them all to hear in the silence of the woods and Stiles immediately understood the meaning.

Shit.

“But slowly, so his screams can be heard by the alpha.”

And that was lovely. Matt was under the impression that Derek would appear any second to save Stiles' ass without any sort of encouragement. But he knew better.

Derek didn't think of him like they. They were just fuck buddies, thrown together by an impossible encounter. It's not like Derek was in love with him or anything. Not like Stiles was.

It was going to be really awkward when the alpha didn't show up. Matt would probably kill him out of frustration. Allison struggled and he noticed that tears of frustration wetting her cheeks as she fought to free herself. So she could rescue Stiles.

But he was responsible for his own ass and now he had to save it.

"Not to burst your bubble here, but Derek and me we're not really into each other that way," he said watching as Matt frowned at him. "So, not sorry to ruin your evil plans, but you might want to hold off on torturing me because he's not coming."

Matt laughed. "Oh, he'll be here. You said he knotted you."

Ugh, did everybody need to know the private details of his sex life? Really? Hadn't he been humiliated enough? Stiles cringed. "Yeah, okay fine. But that doesn't mean he's going to show up."

Psycho Matt actually pinched the bridge of nose in frustration. "Oh my God, dude you're so stupid," he spat. "Werewolves can only knot one person in their lifetime, moron. And only if both the human and wolf are in love with them."

Oh. That was nice.

Stiles stared at him blankly. What? Could psycho Matt run that by him again? Jesus, was that why Allison thought it was cute? He glanced at her for confirmation and she nodded hesitantly, still struggling against the ropes. Shit. And holy motherfucking Christ, Jesus and Holy Ghost was Derek actually in love with him?

In.

Love.

With.

Him.

Holy fuck. And then Stiles was wrenched back into the present by the approaching rogue lumbering towards him. His heart thundered in his ears, his head pulsing painfully. He was still dizzy and disoriented, but his hands were not remotely freed and he felt like a stuffed turkey waiting to be put into an oven.

And there was nothing he could do about it. And Derek was in love with him.

He made a strangled noise as the rogue got close, dropping its snout to scent the air with evident interest as its paws pressed deeply into the leaves. He could smell the coppery tang of fresh blood and a slightly sickening smell of something rotting, which had to be the rogue insides. But Stiles knew it could smell Derek all over him, inside him, throughout every inch of his body, only knowing his luck it wouldn’t give a crap. He just hoped that it only wanted to kill him but even he knew that was unlikely.

He could hear the werewolf’s heavy breathing as it hovered over his neck, hesitating at the marks made by Derek’s teeth but Stiles didn’t dare allow himself to hope, or even look at Matt. Or Allison. He swallowed audibly, shutting his eyes as the rogue finally broke the barrier between them, pressing its claws, surprisingly gently against his hip. He could hear the rumble of approval from Matt, felt Allison’s desperate gaze on him as she started screaming his name.

“It’s too bad you won’t get to watch Gerard kill Derek after he gets the bite,” Matt continued conversationally.

Stiles felt the claws rip through his clothes while Matt watched, and suddenly he’d had enough. Nope. That was it. He'd reached the limit of shit taking for one day. And he was fucking done with it. Finished. Finis. The fucking End.

Rage poured through him, hot and fast twisting in his gut and setting him alight with the strength, the burn of it. Because that fucker was not getting anywhere near Derek. Or Allison. Or anyone else, ever again, not if Stiles had any say in it. He growled, roughly and violently, the guttural sound tearing through the silence as the rogue stilled above him. He could feel something primal and dangerous stirring within his chest and he lifted his head with a shout of fury.

“Back the fuck off!” he snarled as the wildness of anger washed over him, the need to leap forward, to rip, tear and kill, overwhelming his fear and muting the throbbing in his skull.

The rogue whined pitifully, desperately, but it climbed off of him and backed away, bending its neck submissively.

Stiles didn’t even pause to consider what that meant, before he’d leapt to his feet, wild, dangerous, sounds escaping his throat as he finally broke free of the ropes restraining him. Matt was startled by the movement, whipping up the crossbow to take unpractised aim, but Stiles was already tackling into him, knocking him over with the force of his sudden strength and the crossbow went flying.

His hands curled into fists and suddenly he was hitting every inch of Matt within reach, slamming his fists into his face with enough force that Matt’s head actually snapped back. Stiles was too infuriated to pull off, knowing that he’d actually lost control of himself, that something primitive had taken over and he revelled in it, pinning the creeper under him and beating the crap out of him.

Until something seized him by the scruff of his neck, pulling him off Matt, who moaned and seemed completely dazed by the attack. Served him right.

Stiles growled uncontrollably and Allison was still screaming, but he quieted down when he was thrown unceremoniously against the tree stump Matt had been leaning so easily against before. The pain distracted him from the rage and he blinked through his confusion, struggling to move. But the hand only gripped the back of his collar tightly, before slamming the front of his head punishingly into the wood.

He cried out, fighting to keep consciousness as the hand released him, satisfied that he wouldn't cause any more trouble. Then he slumped to the ground, skull throbbing dully with pain.

“You don’t threaten an alpha in front of it's mate,” Gerard spat out angrily, and Stiles heard the welcoming slap of skin as Gerard struck Matt across the face. “Even a human mate.”

Matt groaned in pain, but when Stiles struggled into an upright position, using the stump to support his weight, he saw Matt's eyes darken in rage and the embarrassed flush of heat to his face after having his ass handed to him by an old man.

Gerard was standing over him, Allison’s crossbow held expertly in his wizened fingers and Stiles watched without focus as the rogue paced between them in confusion. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, but he managed to keep his eyes open to watch. The rogue's limping movements were slow and encumbered and not remotely as crazed as it had been attacking him during heat week. And Stiles suddenly realised that it’s loyalty to Matt was the only thing keeping it there.

The unbelievable tension settled around them as Gerard stared down at Matt like he was an ant that could be easily crushed beneath his boot. And then an enraged howl, much like the noises escaping Stiles’ mouth earlier interrupted the silence, echoing in the woods around them and he recognised the sound immediately.

Derek.

And apparently so did Gerard. “You’ve outlived your usefulness,” he muttered before releasing an arrow into Matt’s skull.

Allison screamed again and Stiles wasn’t quick enough to close his eyes, watching dazedly as Matt head exploded in a shower of blood and gore and other things he wouldn’t care to name in favour of keeping the food in his stomach.

Ugh. Stiles groaned, low and painful, as Matt slumped over without another word, dead. Deader than dead, in fact, but Stiles was too distracted by the bigger threat that had just arrived on the scene. Crazy ass Grandpa. Allison was shrieking at Gerard, now having finally freed herself from the ropes and withdrawing a knife from her boot ready for some serious Grandpa stabbing.

“Take one step and he dies,” Argent snarled, pointing the crossbow at Stiles. Of course. Allison stopped in her tracks, when he threatened him. Stiles didn't doubt for a second that he wouldn't release the trigger. “I don’t need him alive to lure Derek here. The scent of his blood should be enough.”

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded and her voice shook only slightly. “You hate Derek. You hate him because of Kate.”

“Teenagers,” he said with a dramatic roll of his eyes and Stiles seriously wished that there weren't so many versions of him flickering in front of his eyelids so he could figure out which one to punch in the face. “Always see everything in black and white.”

He bent down to retrieve Stiles’ keys which had gone flyaway in the excitement of his attack and his fingers latched onto the dog whistle attached to the chain that Stiles’ had put there for safe keeping. Or to piss off Derek. Mostly to piss of Derek.

Stiles tried to focus on the conversation, but his movements were dull and his eyes felt like they were drooping closed. The wound on his head had opened up again, the blood pouring down the side of his face, directly into his eyes and making it harder to focus because he couldn't see a damn thing. He thought that he definitely had a concussion at the least, but he could still see Gerard’s expression as he held the whistle, raising an eyebrow in bemusement.

“You are certainly an amusing young man,” he said and Stiles attempted to scramble drunkenly to his feet when Gerard raised it to his lips and blew it.

The rogue howled and leapt towards Gerard to stop the piercing sound that followed, but the Argent merely released another arrow right between its chest, without even blinking, hard and unforgiving. The sound of agony ripped through the trees and the werewolf fell, the arrow still lodged inside its chest before it whined softly.

Stiles watched through tunnel vision as the werewolf started struggling, bones snapping and rearranging as it tried to change back into its human form.

It didn’t work, but it looked pretty freaking alarming. Stiles will not be able to sleep ever again. The rogue made a terribly devastated sound as it weakly fought to shift. And Stiles distantly wondered if it was always like that, trapped inside its werewolf body. The effort proved pointless when its heaving chest, and struggling breaths finally ceased, Stiles sort of swayed against the stump in acknowledgement feeling too knocked around to care.

And in the end the death of the rogue- which had been plaguing them for weeks- seemed pretty anti-climatic. There was a lot less blood and death than he would have expected. Except for Matt's corpse right at Gerard's feet.

Gerard approached, distracting his thoughts, crossbow still trained on Allison who was unmoved, but poised to strike if the situation could allow it. Stiles could only blink up at him, uncomprehendingly, still knocked around by the various consecutive head traumas in one evening. “You are one seriously fucked up old man,” he said, because this was a problem that needed to be addressed.

Gerard shrugged, and bent down to gently take a hold of his arm. Stiles wondered what the hell he was doing before he twisted with unbelievable strength, jerking it unnaturally so that blinding pain assaulted him, the inevitable pop as his shoulder as it dislocated from the socket.

He screamed, voice echoing through the treetops and travelling out in all directions before he could stop the sound, knowing that Gerard was trying to give Derek some incentive to appear faster. Gerard pushed him back, satisfied and left him there, arm hanging uselessly as the pain triggered unwilling sounds from his throat. He struggled to keep his eyes open and he knew that Derek was definitely coming for him now.

And all he wanted to do was shut his eyes. But Allison was shouting at him and he stared at her blankly through blood vision, head was aching and the pain in his arm too much. Stiles wanted to close his eyes and forget the world.

Because apparently, the world was hell bent on killing him.

And then, Derek finally burst into the clearing with a wild snarl of alpha werewolf rage and the shit really hit the fan.

Chapter Text

Yes.

 

It was safe to say that Stiles was down for the count when he couldn't even keep his head up off of his chest anymore. And that had to be the weirdest sensation in the world.

He groaned distantly, and struggled to keep his eyes open through sheer force of will just to watch whatever the hell kind of fucked up thing was happening now. He couldn’t even begin to imagine if his badass werewolf husband had really made such a dramatic appearance, or if he’d just invented the whole thing in his head.

Because he was in love with him and apparently Derek’s dick felt the same way, which was nice.

But not the issue here. The issue was trying to keep conscious after being bashing his skull so many times. He wished someone had warned him to wear protective head gear or something before being kidnapped. God, were his eyes even open yet? He couldn't tell.

He struggled stubbornly and by the time he managed to get them open he instantly knew it was a mistake. His head swam and his vision blurred completely out of focus. He spotted the fully transformed alpha, only metres away as he barrelled straight into Gerard. He got off a few arrows, but Derek was too fast- much too fast for Stiles to keep track of- snarling out a frenzied noise as he slammed into him, throwing old man evil into the dead leaves.

Derek quickly overwhelmed him and Stiles thought maybe he possessed some of that strength that Stiles had suddenly discovered before attacking Matt. It had to be a thing. Or maybe Derek was just really pissed that Stiles had been brained against a tree stump.

Derek made an inhuman sound and then Gerard finally got what he’d wanted, the alpha’s teeth sinking into the skin of his neck.

Just before Derek ripped his throat out.

Or at least that was what it looked like from Stiles’ concussion vision. The blood spurted out of everywhere in the vicinity of his throat, only it looked much freakier in Stiles’ blood vision. There was like blood everywhere. He was pretty sure he’d be swimming in it soon. And Stiles couldn’t see Allison at all, but he just figured she was off kicking butt and being a badass with a crossbow.

So he decided he’d better put some effort in as well and managed to straighten his posture from sort of just laying there in a daze, to sort of half sitting there in a daze.

Again, he wondered if he’d imagined his werewolf boyfriend coming to the rescue, because he couldn’t trust his thoughts at the moment. But then he felt the wetness of Derek’s snout against his face and the leathery sensation of his tongue as he licked away all the blood. Which was a mixture of weird and oddly affectionate wolfy Derek emotion.

Allison hovered anxiously over him, trusty crossbow back in her hands and Stiles finally accepted that all was right in the world. Mostly because all of the psychopaths were dead. Thank God.

He offered up a sloppy grin and struggled to raise his hand but unfortunately, even that was beyond him. Allison made a distressed sound and dropped to her knees beside them.

“Oh my God, Stiles,” she gasped, tears still running down her face.

Stiles swivelled his neck in her direction and felt the tug of a smile at his lips. Derek was whining pitifully and somehow his fingers ended up in his fur, latching onto him for comfort. He was so glad Derek was here.

An answering howl echoed nearby and the Scott blur burst into the clearing, making a beeline straight for the Allison blur.

“Allison,” he called wildly, running to her and completely ignoring Stiles’ newly developed jellyfish powers. He flopped a finger in his blurry direction.

“M’ fine Scott,” he slurred out sarcastic, jellyfish style. “Dn’ freak.”

The Scott blur actually turned to him and the gasp of horror that came from his lips satisfied Stiles to some degree as he lolled his head back into the alpha’s direction. Although, Derek had already transformed back into his human form and then Stiles felt a peculiar warmth slowly travelling up his arm and his head abruptly felt clearer.

And then he saw the twisting, raised black veins on the alpha’s arm and the strained expression on his face as Derek started taking everything from him. His pain.

“No!” he cried, wrenching his arm out of his grip, some semblance of strength returning. The alpha’s eyes snapped up in surprise and Stiles had never seen the expression on his face before. But he was determined not to let him do this.

Because the alpha had had enough pain to last a lifetime. “This is mine,” he said, voice already back to normal from Derek’s brief werewolf healing touch, pushing the alpha’s hand away when he tried to do it again. “You don’t get to take it.”

Derek seemed confused, but he bent forward to take Stiles’ dislocated arm into his grip. “Okay, okay,” he muttered. “Then this is going to hurt.”

Stiles stared at him uncomprehendingly. And then he jerked Stiles' arm, expertly, snapping the bone back into the socket. Holy shit. He screamed again, high and shrill, a terrifying sound as he pulled away in an attempt to avoid the pain.

He garbled out some angry and no doubt highly offensive insults, before he realised the stabbing pain had dulled into a throbbing memory and Derek wasn’t actually trying to tear his arm off from the rest of his body. Oh great. He groaned in shaky relief, tiredly burying his face into Derek’s available shoulder before he was lifted into his arms.

Stiles’ fingers locked around Derek’s neck, practically burying into his hair as his eyes fell shut.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Derek warned and his voice was tight and restless. Stiles kind of liked the sudden emotion to it.

Had Derek really been that worried about him? Did not just his werewolf penis but the rest of him love Stiles too? Because that would have just made everything worth it.

Derek totally loved him. How could he not love Stiles? And that was what he would stubbornly believe until his head stopped throbbing like someone was repeatedly hitting it with a hammer.

“I know,” he murmured, head still lolling uselessly as the alpha moved through the woods. “Jesus, can’t I shut my eyes for a couple minutes?”

The question was clearly rhetorical, but Derek laughed in the face of anything rhetoric. “No. You can’t,” he said shortly, the warm press of his fingers digging into Stiles’ flesh and heating him up inside.

He noticed they were suddenly alone and tried to move his neck to scan the woodsy, woodness of the woods that Derek was powering through like a machine. Trees, trees and more trees. Lovely. God, he needed to sleep.

“Where’s the lovebirds?” he asked feebly, eyes fluttering closed again.

“Stiles,” Derek cautioned, and he reopened them with a tired sigh. The alpha didn’t answer until he was satisfied that he wouldn’t fall asleep.

“They doubled back to meet the rest of hunters and werewolves,” he explained.

Stiles didn’t really have enough energy to care about the carnage they’d left behind to clean up in the woods. And then Derek's face swam into view, blurry, still anxious and the only thing burning through the darkness around them, brighter than everything else. Stiles’ breathing felt heavier just looking at him and his chest tightened because he was just too much.

But he was exhausted and heavily depleted of energy reserves and brain cells so maybe he wasn't thinking straight. Stiles blinked through the haze again, so he could properly admire Derek for a little longer.

A little longer. Just a little…

“I know your dick is in love with me,” was the last thing he managed before it became too much and the darkness swam over him like a second blindfold, dragging him under.




Derek was running. His heart pounded within his chest as he felt the accompanying thudding beat of the unconscious human in his arms. The idiot human who didn’t understand that it was possible to be attacked during school hours.

He also had no idea what Stiles was talking about. Normally, he would assume it was the head injuries talking, but Stiles was already prone to saying whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. But Derek had to admit he’d never heard I know your dick is in love with me before. That was a first.

He could nearly taste all of the different scents of the werewolves and humans overlapping throughout the forest it smelt so strongly, but as always Stiles’ scent rose above the rest. It didn’t matter if the human was in his arms or a thousand miles away, Derek had come to know this scent as if it were his own.

He probably shouldn’t have, if he was being truly honest with himself. He’d been trying. Of course he’d been trying to keep this as distant as possible for both of their sakes. The last thing he'd wanted was to hurt Stiles, to hurt them both. But as always, his instincts had proven to be the strongest and had acted before his human side could catch up. Or regret it.

Stiles was both his blessing and curse.

Because he wanted him. God, did he want him so much that it drove him into a frenzy sometimes even without the impulse to mate breathing down his throat. Derek knew he was in trouble. Knew it from the way his emotions were starting to slip through the cracks and how quickly Stiles had learned how to read them. Understanding him like no one else.

Stiles didn’t push, not overtly at least, but he made Derek want to talk anyway, to tell him things about himself that he might never have volunteered so that when he pulled Stiles against him in the middle of the night after yet another nightmare about her, he wouldn’t feel the wall separating them. Only his dreams had changed as of late. Somehow, Stiles had wormed his way into them, his face twisted into an agonised scream as Kate tortured him.

It used to be different. The dream. The nightmare. Kate would torture him as he was forced to watch his home burn down with his family inside it. Only recently it had morphed into something else, taken a different shape that torn him from sleep, heart thrumming within his chest and claws out with the desperate need to tear her apart. To tear himself apart for ever trusting her.

For ever... God, he'd been so stupid. So young. So reckless.

But he'd do anything, he knew. Even if it was just a dream. To get to Stiles. Who Kate always, always found first in his nightmares, who cut into his human flesh just to watch him bleed in turn making Derek bleed before she burnt down his home. Again and again.

He’d very nearly gone to the Argent’s house once in the middle of the night, half naked and out of his mind before he’d realised there was an accompanying heart beat, Stiles', still inside sleeping that his panic had overlooked. He’d stood outside for several minutes breathing in the calm and sensing everything about the human sleeping, the tinge of exhaustion.

He had been too eager claiming him. Too furious in his possession of Stiles’ body to focus on the fragility that came with being human. How easily they could tire. But Stiles was there in his bed, sleeping restlessly and Kate had not touched him. Not in this waking reality, at least.

Derek had pulled away eventually, but the human was so drenched in the scent of their joining that he stiffened in fervent anticipation whenever it reached his nostrils. Sending Stiles to school after heat week had felt almost cruel with all of those werewolves who would smell the proof on him. The claim to Derek's heart and body.

He hadn’t cared at the time. He’d wanted them to know who had done all of those things to Stiles. Except his wolf had taken certain liberties before he’d even been aware of the lost control, at the sudden swell of his knot inside Stiles' willing, God, so very willing, heat.

It had been an error in his judgement. But his wolf had taken over in the haze of lust and made a claim that he’d never made before.

A claim of worship, reverence, a promise of things to come. He had only ever felt the presence of his knot in Beacon Hills in his lifetime, just brimming below the surface of his body in heated moments of solitude. He knew why now. And he knew exactly why he’d recognised Stiles’ scent the very second he’d stepped out of the car, Henry’s shocked and nervous spikes of emotion drawing him out so many weeks ago.

It had been there for years; the smell, mixed in everything, latching onto every other part of his life so that whenever he found it in high doses like Beacon Hills hospital or the high school, or hell, even the supermarket it ruined him completely. Every single time he’d stood, frozen for several minutes until his mind recovered. Laura had even begun to tease him about it. Until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Couldn’t take the promise of that scent lingering in his lungs, caressing his skin and driving him insane with the mystery of it. Of that feeling it was just on the tip of his tongue, but still utterly, maddeningly unreachable.

So he’d left. He’d ran. And then Peter killed Laura.

And he came back. Only briefly, just to set everything right again, losing his mind when he’d found the same scent on Peter. He’d seen red, killing first before asking questions. And then he was the alpha and he still couldn’t understand why the scent had touched, barely even registered against his uncle’s fast healing skin and the blood of those he’d killed for vengeance..

It had blended with another scent, a newly bitten werewolf which could only mean close and frequent contact and Derek couldn’t fix as much as he’d wanted. It was too late to be fixed. And he couldn’t approach the fresh werewolf either because it would kill him. The scent would've killed him.

The werewolf was the only point of contact with the unbelievably alluring scent slowly turning him inside out with need. And it was only recently that he'd discovered Scott and Peter had crossed paths during Peter's vendetta, the reason why Stiles' scent had mixed impossibly between them.

Derek hadn't been able to handle it. So he’d left. Only coming back when the Alpha Council allocated him the territory to run when the last alpha died.

And then there was the scent again, in such high concentration that his mouth was watering, claws extending and throat straining with the need to whine desperately, triumphantly, that it had been located at last.

Mine. Finally.

But mine happened to be an angry, furiously so, flushed beyond sinful and heart racing a perfect beat, young man.

The youngest he’d ever looked at that way before. Too young for certain. But the instincts took over, ignoring the consequences and easily embracing the scent that had eluded him for years.

The scent that he had eluded for his own sake. He'd tried to scare the kid away, prove him right to be fearful of alphas by biting his neck, but then he'd bitten Derek right back sealing the claim between them as if it had been pointless to deny it for so long.

And the boundless sarcastic energy the human exuded completely overwhelmed him until he could no longer see anything else.

The Alpha Council had known about him, about the scent before Derek had even figured out who Stiles was, and they had known his self-inflicted exile would no longer sustain him. They’d taken the matter into their own hands. Henry’s offer was impossible to refuse and he’d unwillingly returned to Beacon Hills as their new alpha.

Everything had been set in motion. The Alpha Council had clearly hoped that in a town this size Derek was bound to find the scent eventually. Fate would draw them together. They hadn't accounted for Stiles to stumble right into his path and take what belonged to him, what had always belonged to him the very first day of his return.

No, no one did seem to account for Stiles very often. That was their biggest mistake.

He reached Beacon Hills Hospital in less than ten minutes, nearly charing straight through the glass when the doors didn’t open fast enough and then he was following a scent, an oddly familiar scent before stopping in front of a dark, curly haired woman.

“Scott’s mother,” he guessed, and she looked surprised and then her expression hardened when she sighted Stiles within his arms.

“Alpha Hale, what happened to…”

“Gerard,” he spat, claws extending without warning. “He’s taken multiple blows to the head.”

The woman nodded, instantly leading him towards an available bed. “Most likely a concussion. How long has he been unconscious?”

“Less than five minutes,” he barked, struggling to keep his emotions in check. Panic swarmed over him.

Scott's mother nodded as if that was all of the information needed. Derek was grateful that she didn’t attempt to take Stiles out of his arms, because he was so tightly wound it wouldn't have been handled well. She seemed to sense that and stepped back to give him space when deposited Stiles' unconscious form onto the bed.

And then she got straight to work.

He retreated out of her way and collapsed into the plastic chair next to the bed, dropping his head into his hands, guilt swirling within his chest. And then he kept listening to the steady pulsing of Stiles’ heart as it continued to beat, his following in time.

Derek couldn’t look at his bruised and bloodied face any longer, so he closed his eyes, sifting through the scents of blood and the deranged human boy and the rogue and Gerard. He dug his claws into the plastic to resist the instinct to reclaim his scent, focusing on the different smells until he found the one he wanted.

The purest scent of Stiles, his sweat tinged with the remnants of fear and the smell of them both. Together.

His jaw tightened and his teeth elongated as he resisted the urge to put his mouth to Stiles' throat. There was time. He could wait. Until those intelligent eyes were gazing into his again, seeing deeper than anyone ever had before.

Deeper than Derek could have hoped.




When Stiles finally woke up, it was as if someone had danced on his head repeatedly throughout the night whilst blasting a boombox inside his skull. It ached, pain throbbing in his temples and behind his eyes and Stiles groaned, arm jerking as if he intended to shake his fist at the universe.

Only one of his hands was currently out of commission, tightly wrapped around someone else's.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, wincing when the sunlight hurt, gaze falling on the literal crowd of people standing around him. Stiles cursed his surprise. He recognised his father instantly, looking pleased and relieved that he was finally awake. And then he spotted Scott and Allison, and then Jesus, Jackson, Danny and even freaking Lydia.

And then the hand holding his own squeezed gently, as if sensing his internal panic and Stiles turned his head to look at Derek, perched in the seat beside him, eyes bloodshot as if he hadn't slept at all.

“Hey, wolfman.”

“Hey,” Derek replied, voice soft, extremely soft and eyes tender as he watched him. Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat and had to look away but not before catching Jackson’s expression.

He tried to breathe normally but failed.

“What happened?” he wondered, pulling the warmth of Derek’s fingers against his thigh almost unconsciously. The alpha didn’t let go.

“You passed out,” his father said. “After getting a hell of a beating.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Thanks for stating the obvious. He could have at least pretended Stiles put up a good fight. “I meant with the hunters and Gerard…”

“Gerard’s dead,” Derek said sharply. Stiles only stroked the skin of his knuckles with infinite patience because he could recall that particular moment in the gaps of his memory rather vividly.

“There wasn’t really much for them to do,” Allison added. “By the time they’d arrived, the rogue was already dead and Derek had taken you straight to the hospital. They just were stuck with the clean up.”

Oh, right. The clean up of all the bodies. Stiles must have pulled a bad memories face because the alpha squeezed his hand again and the comfort hurt as much as it made him feel safe and loved.

“How are you actually here, Allison?” he asked. “Won’t your dad shoot Scott?”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully, yanking Scott forward by his hand. “My dad saw how worried Scott was about me and they decided we could date, but only if we were willing to take the comments and media attention that would come with it,” she said.

“And then when Scott came into the clearing…”

Scott abruptly let go of her hand, shaking his head briefly before he left the room without any explanation. Stiles raised an eyebrow in surprise, almost tempted to go after him, but Allison's eyes were full of apology as she hurried after her boyfriend.

“The rogue is the one that bit him,” Lydia offered helpfully in explanation. “It’s nomadic. So it must have been passing through when it killed that woman you guys went looking for in the woods. He’s still dealing with it.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. It was shocking to think back then that the rogue had already been creating problems for them. And killing. She’d been homeless, living out in the woods to get by, but that clearly hadn’t meant much to the rogue when it murdered her. Stiles had heard about the body over the police radio and insisted that he and Scott go out searching for it.

Then Scott had been bitten. And technically it was kind of Stiles' fault. To think the rogue was the one that turned Scott into a werewolf...

Poor Scott. It had destroyed him being bitten, he still thought sometimes that it had ruined his life despite the werewolf cool factor. And to come face to face with the thing that had ruined his life was just-

“Whoa,” he said eventually.

And his father had his Sheriff’s face again which meant an approaching lecture. Lydia seemed to sense that it was time to leave them alone. “We should go and check on them,” she said, taking Danny's wrist.

Jackson scowled, but let Lydia drag them all from the room.

“Stiles,” his father, began as soon as they’d left. “You are in-“

“So much trouble,” he finished. “Yeah, I know, but it’s not my fault Matt was psycho but I was right about him all alone even if no one believed me . So I think I deserve a little slack.”

The Sheriff sighed and touched his other free hand. “Okay,” he conceded. “I’m too relieved you're alright to yell at you anyway.”

Stiles leant back into the bed, satisfied before his father sensed the need for privacy and patted at Stiles' leg and left the room. He was probably getting more coffee.

Oh, shit. Hadn't Stiles said some embarrassing things on the journey to the hospital? He glanced at Derek who was still stroking his thumb absentmindedly against the skin of his hand. “So when I said I know your dick is in love with me,” he said. “What I really meant was that-“

“You knew my dick was in love with you,” Derek guessed. “Was I supposed to understand what that meant?”

Stiles wasn’t exactly sure how to broach the- Matt said werewolves only knot somebody they’re in love with- topic so he just dived right into it. “It means, I learnt some interesting things about werewolf knotting,” he said with a significant look.

The alpha had a moment of raw, naked panic before his expression hardened and he went to pull his hand away. Stiles, naturally, wasn't letting go that easily.

“Can you just…” Derek said. “Just not now, okay? Let me explain later.”

Stiles frowned. “Fine.”

And then before Derek could speak, Stiles leaned over the bed to kiss him. The alpha surged forward with just as much enthusiasm, using his free hand to cradle the back of Stiles' injured skull as he deepened the kiss.

Stiles could hear the heart rate monitor spike and groaned into Derek’s mouth, still gripping his hand tightly when everything started to go fuzzy. And then Derek pulled away. Stiles made an irritated sound, wrapping his free hand around Derek’s shirt to try and pull him closer, but he wouldn't budge.

“You’re still weak,” Derek said. “Later.”

Stiles was sure as hell going to hold him to that promise. He slumped further down in the bed. “You better not ditch me by diving out the window or something when I close my eyes for too long.”

Derek did that familiar eyebrow thing again, and Stiles wanted to laugh and cry at the same time because oh, God, what a dick. Of course Stiles was in love with him

His grip tightened on the alpha for a moment. “Just don’t go anywhere, okay?”

Derek didn’t say anything for a while and Stiles kind of figured that was his answer. He didn’t know what to feel about that. Because if the alpha didn’t think that he could make those kind of promises then what the hell were they doing? Is that why he seemed so hesitant? Was he going to leave?

Stiles hated the idea more than anything.

“I couldn’t find you,” Derek offered suddenly. “We were in the woods when Lydia called Scott and said you and Allison were gone. And that Jackson could smell your blood.”

The alpha’s expression tightened and he turned away as if he couldn’t bear to see Stiles’ face.

“I sort of lost it,” Derek admitted. “You were… and I had no idea where you were. I left the hunters and the werewolves, but Scott followed me. I don’t know how I found your scent but I did, I could sense you were in the woods.”

Stiles liked to think it was because he was in love with him. But he doubted it. It was probably just some werewolf mojo.

“And then I could smell the rogue. I followed the direction of the scents, but there was too much area to cover and not enough time. And then that damn whistle again-”

Stiles choked out a strangled laugh, smiling before he could stop himself. “I swear, I wasn’t the one that did it that time,” he said. “Gerard wanted to lure you there faster.”

Derek scowled. “Only he could have such a sick and twisted humour as you,” he said.

What a compliment. Stiles frowned, but technically he had no excuses. The dog whistle had been on his key chain and he had intended to use it sometime in the near future. Only in really extreme circumstances though, like when Derek pissed him off. Maybe his idea of humour was a little sick and twisted.

Sue him.

“But I knew that it was your whistle and no matter what was waiting, you’d be there. And then I heard you scream-”

Stiles drew a sharp breath as Derek’s body tensed in memory. That had not been fun. Not remotely fun. His shoulder still felt tender.

“Yeah,” he agreed, letting go of the alpha’s hand to rub briefly at his arm. Derek chased his hand with his own, enveloping it in his warmth again. Stiles felt his heart beat stutter. God, Derek was killing him here.

“They’ve already done some tests,” he explained, mistaking his fidgeting for anxiousness to leave.

“You can be discharged in a couple of hours.”

Stiles watched his face suspiciously for any possible departure signs from the alpha, but Derek wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Great,” he replied, ignoring the confused expression on Derek’s face at the harsh tone. “Just freaking great.”




The Sheriff sent Derek home to sleep and to Stiles' surprise he actually listened, leaving him in the stupid hospital in a stupid hospital gown to fend for himself. His father had left the room for more coffee when Lydia returned, dragging Scott into the room by his ear.

"Ow, ow, God, Lydia!" he whined and then she released him, giving Stiles a helpful wink before departing. Bless her, she was terrifying.

"So, I heard about-" Stiles began hesitantly not sure of Scott's reaction.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, buddy. But at least now its dead."

Scott frowned, rubbing at his ear distractedly. "Yeah, but I'm still a werewolf."

Stiles wasn't sure how to get through to him. Because it wasn't a curse and Scott needed to see that or he'd never be happy. "Just think, if you weren't, you'd never have been able to protect Allison and her dad would never have let you anywhere near her."

Scott's eyes widened at the realisation. Then he smiled, patting Stiles' leg affectionately. "Thanks, man."

They grinned at each other until his father came back. "Oh, kid. I almost forgot to tell you. They gave me my job back for all of my help catching the rogue and its master. So I can legally shoot all of the things trying to kill you now."

Oh goody. Stiles smiled, but it felt a little forced without the warm pressure of Derek's hand within his own.

"That's great, Dad. Don't go shooting everything at once."

His father raised an eyebrow like maybe he was considering it.




The car trip back to Derek’s place was the most awkward thing of his life.

He couldn’t look at the alpha, because the bastard was going to tear his newly realised feelings in half and shatter all of his hopes and dreams by dumping him. And that didn't really make him feel like keeping up the conversation.

They pulled into the driveway soundlessly and Stiles was out of the car before Derek had turned off the engine, storming into the house. How could the alpha even think about this? Did he want them both to suffer for all eternity? Jesus, Derek was more self deprecating than he’d originally thought.

The alpha caught up easily, barely placing the keys on the kitchen table before Stiles rounded on him. “How could you not tell me about the knotting thing?” he demanded, hearing the anger in his voice as his fists clenched. He wanted to hit something.

The alpha dropped his gaze as if he knew he'd messed up. Hell yeah, he did. Stiles was about to tear him a goddamn new one. “I-“ Derek tried, but Stiles was already on a roll.

“I had to find out from a psychopath,” he snapped. “Did you know that? So what does this even mean? Your wolf loves me, but you don’t? Your dick has a thing for my ass? What Derek? I mean, why won’t you tell me any of this stuff? Am I really that untrustworthy?”

The alpha stood there as Stiles paced about the room, fuming. “And now what? We can’t even talk to each other anymore? Jesus, how badly do you want to be rid of me? That’s what you want right? For me to be gone and you to be alone and-"

His face was burning and he could barely string words together. “You know, I was going to kill him?” he demanded, ignoring the surprised expression on Derek’s face. “As soon as Matt mentioned hurting you, God, I lost it. I don’t know what came over me.”

“And for you to want to walk away from this is just… you’re so goddamn frustrating!” he yelled. “But fine. You know what, fine. I’ll go and get my stuff and then you get what you want,” he snapped, turning on his heel to leave the room.

“That’s not what I want,” Derek said finally and Stiles froze.

“I didn’t tell you because the first time we- and I knotted you. That was a mistake,” he explained and Stiles let out a growl of aggravation and moved to leave, but Derek reached out to stop him. “I didn’t expect my wolf to accept you so easily. I was trying to keep distance between us because this was all moving so fast and you’re so young-”

“I’m not young!” Stiles shot back.

“Younger than me,” Derek clarified. “And when that happened I tried to pull myself away from you. I kept that- part of the sex back until-“

“I bit you,” Stiles finished, starting to understand. He remembered the alpha's surprise when he'd bitten him, the swell of his knot only appearing afterwards.

“You caught me by surprise,” he admitted. “And I lost control of myself again.”

Stiles resisted the urge to stamp his foot. “But I want you to lose control,” he insisted. “I want you to stop pretending nothing touches you.”

Derek abruptly released him go. “I haven’t been able to pretend… since I met you.”

And Stiles wanted to punch and kiss him for that. “What do you want from me?” he asked, tiredness in his voice.

The alpha paused, hesitating over something and looking so damn vulnerable that Stiles almost felt guilty for yelling so much. Almost. “I want you to answer one question. Just one and then if you want, you can leave. I won’t stop you.”

Stiles folded his arms, hating how much worse it felt that Derek wouldn’t try. Not even for this. ‘Fine,” he snapped, ignoring the way his breath caught when Derek stepped closer.

“You didn’t you let me heal you, in the woods,” he said, impossible to look away from. Stiles swallowed, knowing that Derek was trying to gauge his reaction. He couldn’t lie, even if he tried. He was too close. Stiles could smell him and God, it hurt. Just being this close hurt if it would be the last time.

“That wasn’t a question,” he said but took a step back, because he didn’t trust himself to speak in the close proximity. Derek frowned at him, unmoving.

“You said it was yours?” Derek continued. “That I didn’t get to take it.”

Stiles shrugged, looking everywhere but his eyes. “So?” he said, managing to sound petulant and indifferent at the same time. “I was out of my mind.”

“Do you love me?” Derek asked. And holy shit was that the million dollar question. No warning, no thought about the consequences of asking. Fuck. Stiles froze and their eyes locked. And that pretty much doomed all of his thought processes.

No. Nope. Noh. Nein. Nyet. Nie. Nej. Nee. Nem. Não. Nu. Nahi. Nullus. Nē.

“Yes.”

Derek’s eye’s widened imperceptibly as if out of all of Stiles' possible responses, he hadn’t expected that answer. That hurt more than it should have.

That is, until Derek finally spoke. “When we… in the woods. That wasn’t because I lost control. It was because I love you, too.”

Oh. Huh. Maybe he hadn't been anticipated that response either. Stiles actually sagged a little. “Well, that’s a freaking relief."

Derek smiled and took a step closer as Stiles moved eagerly into his embrace, wrapping around Derek's neck and dragging his fingers through the his hair. Things could have been worse.

“Does that mean you’ll stay?” he wondered, pushing his face into Stiles' neck.

And inhaled like Stiles was the most wonderful aroma in the world and he couldn’t get enough of it. That was another thing he hadn't expected. Stiles swallowed against the thrill of it. Hard. For now they were doing okay.

And then he was nodding, and Derek’s mouth was covering his own and he was doing more than okay.

So much more than freaking okay.



                                                                                           Epilogue


Derek groaned throatily, struggling to pull away from Stiles' current ministrations on his cock. That was not how this was supposed to be going. Stiles frowned, mouth wet as his lips encircled Derek, hands pushing on the alpha’s back to hold him in place as he tipped his head back in pleasure.

But still he struggled against Stiles’ mouth, as if it was too much, pulling away before thrusting back inside and Stiles rolled his eyes before cupping Derek’s balls, swiping his thumb against the flesh of it and listening to the needy sound it produced.

Stiles loved it. He loved every sound Derek made and this had been his best idea yet. Although, if Derek would stop twitching everything would be going a lot smoother. The alpha reached for him again and Stiles released his cock with a wet pop, swatting at his hands.

“Dude,” he complained, only a little annoyed. “You promised.”

They’d been working on the foreplay thing for several days now. Only every time they got anywhere interesting, Derek was pulling Stiles towards him, lubricated fingers reaching desperately for his ass.

Every time. They were so impatient it was ridiculous. And sure, not that the sex wasn’t awesome and whatnot, but their degree of foreplay was embarrassing. Stiles was certain they were offending the sex Gods or something. And it was a serious problem that needed fixing. Which was what Stiles was currently working on, though Derek wasn’t playing fair again. Even if he'd blown Stiles just as enthusiastically several hours ago.

They were getting pretty good at it.

Finally Derek managed a desperate nod, tensing before collapsing back against the pillows and shutting his eyes. Grinning, Stiles took Derek back into his mouth again, fingers gripping his thighs for purchase as the alpha moaned at the sensation. He happened to enjoy making Derek moan very much. As in he could probably do it all day if the situation would allow it.

His mouth dragged wetly over the tip of Derek's cock, sliding along the sensitive skin before licking the vein. The alpha made a strangled sound of appreciation, seizing one of Stiles hands to prevent him from moving straight to the dessert course of the evening. Because he was a greedy alpha with impulse issues.

Stiles was pretty impressed and very proud that Derek was attempting to increase their foreplay skills. The sounds he made seemed to tell Stiles that he liked it. A lot. But his grip on Stiles' hand warned he might not endure much longer. Speeding things up seemed like a great idea for both their sakes. Or Derek might break the bed. Again.

He palmed himself roughly through his briefs, groaning around Derek’s cock and the alpha made a choked noise and stiffened. And then Stiles realised what had happened, deciding quickly to exert this new found information for very happy endings. So he hummed, the vibration travelling all the way up Derek’s cock, looking up at him hungrily through his lashes.

The alpha came with a shout, jerking shallowly into Stiles’ mouth when he didn’t pull away, swallowing down everything he offered. Derek groaned again, pulling Stiles off since he was sensitive, whining when Stiles sucked harder.

“There we go,” he said once he'd released him and Derek pulled Stiles onto his chest, cock still half hard and ready for more. He was already reaching for Stiles’ briefs. “That’s foreplay. And damn, ours still needs work.”

The alpha only rolled his eyes. “Later,” he promised, dragging him over his hips as Stiles leant forward to mouth at one of his nipples.

"Stiles," he protested, breathlessly.

"You love me," Stiles retorted, grinning. "You love me so much that your werewolf cock is going to swell to the size of a tennis ball."

Derek snorted, pulling him away from his sensitive nipples. "Don't be so dramatic. It's not that big."

Stiles leant forward to bite at his neck, hard enough to bruise and Derek jerked up with a moan that delighted him. "When you've had a knot in your ass you can call it whatever the hell you want," Stiles said. "But until then, my ass my rules, buddy."

Derek sighed, rolling his eyes before ripping off Stiles' briefs and tearing them into shreds.

"So romantic," Stiles muttered.

“Are you ever not sarcastic?” he wondered, reaching for the lube on the bedside table.

Stiles wiggled his hips playfully, gasping when he felt the newly hard cock beneath him. He flexed his leg muscles in preparation, gazing down at Derek and feeling as though his chest might burst from feeling too happy.

Then Derek stared back, his face so expressive and open, with a private smile for him alone. So they were very mutual happy feelings. Because Stiles life was perfect and awesome and he had a sexy alpha who was going to help him overcome his impatience in the bedroom. They would become ultimate foreplay masters. Together, they were unstoppable.

“Nope,” he said cheerfully, already reaching down for Derek, for every scrape of skin, every slide of hot flesh as they fell into each other.

Again and again.

“Sarcasm is my only defence.”