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Secrets and Family Don't Mix

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Stiles breathed out what could be considered the mother of all yawns, loud and guttural, his mouth stretching wide enough for someone to see down his throat as he re-focused his blurry eyes, trying to discern what numbers were what on his locker. His head was hazy, the whole morning so far passing in a dazed blur; his limbs were heavy, his feet dragging behind his every step, his fingers loose, and he felt like his head was going to fall off at any second. He was beyond tired, he was freaking exhausted. He’d barely gotten any sleep last night, and even though he had gotten used to running on a minimum amount of sleep – especially since the whole Scott-becoming-a-werewolf-now-everyone’s-a-werewolf-and-there’s-creatures-that-want-to-come-kill-them thing had come to light – but this was different. This time he didn’t even have any adrenaline to run on. He was just exhausted. It was his fault really, Derek had finally woken up late last night after being unconscious for three days after the harpy attack, and Stiles had been so relieved they had spent the rest of the night lazily trading kisses and – eventually – slow and glorious handjobs in bed. As much as they both wanted to, Derek was still recovering from the harpy poison, and Stiles didn’t want to hurt him (even though Derek would never admit it) more by letting things get more heated. They hadn’t gone to sleep until almost half four that morning, but it had been worth it.

Stiles smiled around a second yawn as he fiddled with his combination lock again, his cheeks starting to heat up at the memory of waking up with Derek lying half on top of him, peppering soft kisses to the back of his neck. God what he would give to still be in bed with him right now, instead of in school. They’d only been together for four months, and they still hadn’t told the pack, but damn if they both weren’t happy now.

He slapped himself out of his stupor at the sound of someone slamming their locker shut two down from him, mentally chastising himself that he had five minutes until the first bell. How he managed to get out of bed and to school on time he had no idea, but it had happened. He sighed as he finally managed to get his locker open, third time lucky, and pulled the door open hard. He just about managed to avoid hitting his head on the locker door as it swung open, his eyes going cross-eyed at almost being smacked. He shook his head in a desperate attempt to wake up, remembering painfully that the reason he managed to make it to school on time was because he hadn’t had any coffee, or food for that matter, before falling out the door and into his jeep. There was no way he was going to be concentrating today. He dumped half his textbooks in his locker, pulling out his Econ book instead and stuffing it in his bag, praying to anyone that was listening that Coach would be taking it easy today.

“Hey Stiles!” Lydia called out, loud and cheerful as she bounced up next to him, looking like the embodiment of sunshine and a good night’s rest.

Stiles, for all his worth, yelped at the surprise, jumping half a foot in the air and about five inches forward, into his locker. Both his left knee and his right hand crashed into the locker at the jump, his knuckles cracking under the force.

“Fuck!” Stiles bit out, hopping on his right leg as he rubbed his left knee, simultaneously waving his right hand around at the same time. It was quite possibly the least graceful and most amusing thing he’d done so far this year. “Morning.” He grouched, collapsing against his locker and almost falling in.

“Stiles. Did you sleep last night?” Lydia asked, her smile faltering as she leaned in closer to look at him, her gaze calculating as she tried to take in every minor detail of his appearance. It was unnerving to say the best.

“Yeah, totally.” Stiles replied, offering her a wide smile in a hope to convince her. Her brow furrowed as she tilted her head to one side, clearly not believing it for a second. “No.” He answered honestly, running a hand through his already messy hair. Screw appearances.

“Are you…is that Derek’s shirt?” She pointed to his chest, her brow somehow managing to furrow even more.

Stiles glanced down at his chest, resisting the deep-seated urge to bang his head against the locker. So apparently in his very tired and lazy state to get out of bed and to school on time, he had grabbed the closest, most clean smelling shirt on the floor - which just so happened to be one of Derek’s old t-shirts. Luckily it was a little on the small side for the werewolf now, so it just looked like a stretched, old and worn t-shirt that Stiles had had for a while. At least he was wearing a hoody over the top so it wasn’t so obvious, but still; when over half of his friends were werewolves with stronger olfactory systems and were human – ehh, human – lie detectors, then the chance of him getting away with this slimming by the second.

“Yes.” Stiles admitted, albeit somewhat reluctantly. He lied, all his friends were lie detectors – Allison and Lydia could tell lies a mile off as well. Stiles stood no chance.

“Why?” She questioned, her interest now fully piqued. There was no way he was getting away with this. Stiles ran his hands through his hair again, trying to figure out the best way to reveal this. “Wait, holy shit. You guys finally got your heads out of your asses, didn’t you?” She asked, her painted lips curling into a wide and happy smile.

“Err, yes?” Stiles replied, his eyebrows rising slightly.

“And you didn’t tell us?” Lydia almost screeched, slapping him on the shoulder.

“We wanted to keep it quiet, you know, just for the moment.”

“How long?” Lydia looked like she was about to burst. Stiles was actually quite worried, he’d never seen her so excited and happy.

“Four months.”

“Four months?” She screeched, all remnants of her smile gone. “What the hell? How could you not tell me? Why didn’t you tell me? I mean the others, I understand. But me, Stiles?”

“Sorry?” He tried, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her.

“Sorry? You owe me more than a sorry Stiles. You,” she punctuated with a finger at his chest, “are telling me everything, right now. And don’t worry, I won’t tell the others.” She added with a wink. Stiles didn’t let it fool him, her eyes were still shining with fire and determination; she would be getting the story one way or another. He nodded submissively, suppressing another yawn as she turned on her heel, strawberry blonde curls flying out, and headed for their Econ class, Stiles trailing along behind. He fired off a text as soon as he finished regaling his story to Lydia once they were seated in class – luckily Scott and Allison were too busy with each other to notice anything off about Stiles.

Stiles: “You need to train your betas better.”

Derek: “What did they do now?”

Stiles: “Nothing, it’s what they didn’t do.”

Derek: “?”

Stiles: “None of them have noticed how much I smell like you. Or that I’m wearing your shirt.”

Stiles: “Oh, and F.Y.I. I borrowed one of your shirts.”

Derek: “Isn’t that a good thing? I thought we were going to keep it quiet for now?”

Stiles: “Yeah, but it just goes to show how unobservant they are.”

Derek: “Okay.”

Stiles could actually see the soft, fond smile that he frequently caught Derek giving him in private in that text, as well as the overly exasperated roll of his eyes.

Derek: “Also, how do you know that wasn’t part of my plan? To get you to wear my clothes more often?”

Stiles: “Because you don’t need a plan? I’m more than happy to steal your clothes dude.”

Stiles: “Oh, and Lydia found out about us. She said she won’t tell anyone though.”

Derek: “Told you. You owe me five bucks.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek to stop his lips curling into a wide smile at Derek being an idiot. He was turning into Scott, a completely love-struck idiot. He stuffed his phone away as Coach trampled into the room, looking exactly how Stiles’ felt. He managed to stay awake for all of two minutes, before promptly dozing off with his head resting on his hands.