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There is thunder in our hearts

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It’s summer and it’s stupidly hot and they’re out at Derek’s place, all the wolves fighting as Stiles sits on the hood of his Jeep, cold soda in his right hand- the condensation running down his forearm- his left arm pillowing his head on the windshield.

Under the protection of his sunglasses Stiles lets his eyes wander; taking in the curve of Jackson’s back when he straightens after managing to beat Scott (again), the heave of Lydia’s chest as she laughs and charges Jackson, feet barely touching the ground and Derek. Derek who hasn’t taken his shirt off yet (not like the others, or even Stiles), and sweat is now making the threadbare material cling to his chest and back, and well. Stiles would have to be blind not to notice. And because he’s wearing the shades he’s so gonna exploit the fact that he can stare. Because, yes, he can be honest with himself that that’s exactly what he’s doing under the dark glasses.

In some corner of his brain he’s pretending that he’s only watching to make sure that Derek is doing a good job of being an Alpha, but for just this moment Stiles is willing to admit that he’s just enjoying the view. Hell, Stiles is even having a hard time taking his eyes off of Jackson’s perfect hips, because they seriously look like they were moulded by gods, dipping from his stomach to his low slung jeans absolutely perfectly. A bit like Lydia’s, uh, everything, because she will always be perfect, even if Stiles has maybe, slightly, changed his taste.

Stiles lets his gaze wander aimlessly until it falls on Derek again. Derek who has taken his motherfucking shirt off and his chest is glistening with sweat and Stiles really fucking wishes he wasn’t a teenage boy. Pulling his knees up tight to his chest, Stiles glares at Derek under his sunglasses and ignores Scott when he comes to ask if everything is okay.


Scott corners him one day after school, eyebrows scrunched up and he’s got this look on his face that he only ever gets when Allison is mad at him and he can’t figure out what he did wrong. It really worries Stiles because, really, why is this directed at him.

“What’s up?” Stiles asks as he unlocks his Jeep and grabs the handle to open the door.

“You’re acting weird.”

“Um, I’m not the one being weird here, buddy,” he says as Scott sniffs the air, and his entire face curls up, as if the air around Stiles smells bad. Stiles really needs to talk to Derek about Scott’s inability to keep his wolf side at bay in public. “You look like you’re constipated.”

“I’m--not! You smell weird,” and for emphasis he smells the air around Stiles again, making Stiles stumble a step back into his Jeep because, whoa, personal space!

“Dude, you’re sniffing me,” Stiles hisses, eyes jumping frantically about hoping no-one noticed Scott’s stranger-than-normal behaviour.

“Sorry,” Scott mumbles, eyebrows still tangled and heavy. “It’s just.. Just that you smell--”



Rolling his eyes Stiles opens the door and gets in.

“C’mon, we’re gonna be late for the pack meeting.”


Leaves are everywhere, the ground is constantly muddy and the sky is an endless mass of depressing grey clouds. Stiles is on his hands and knees, wet soil soaking his jeans, desperately trying to get up, hands and feet scrambling for purchase on the steep, slippery hill.

Chancing a glance over his shoulder he barely has time to duck and roll when he sees the hunter appear and hears the gun shot a moment later.

Fuck,” he shouts and desperately clings to the back of a tree that’s barely wide enough to shield his body. Another shot echoes through the forest, bark splintering right next to Stiles’ ear making him jerk and slip down the tree, landing awkwardly at the root with his back pressed against the trunk, heart beating furiously in his chest.

Stuffing his hand, covered in dirt and blood, into his mouth, Stiles bites down on his fingers trying not to make a sound, even if it’s pretty much fruitless at this point. All he can hope is that the pack will get here before the hunter manages to climb up the tiny hill and gut Stiles.

Just as the thought flitters through his mind Derek comes crashing out through the bushes to his left and for an insane hysterical-giggle-inducing moment all Stiles can notice is the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt and how good he still looks covered in mud and blood, eyes blazing red and fangs protruding from his mouth.

Derek doesn’t even spare him a look, only roars- a sound that makes Stiles heart beat faster, but he’s not afraid anymore, strangely enough- and runs down the hill towards the hunter, leaving Stiles cold and wet on the ground. Presumably safe, now.


He’s putting on his pants when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up like some sort of spidey sense warning him that someone is lurking behind him.

“Why do you smell like that?”

Oh my god,” Stiles exclaims, hands flailing wildly as he spins around trying to catch himself. Being a klutz it only adds to his momentum and he tumbles to the floor hard. “Why are you creeping up on me like that!”

Jackson doesn’t reply, only leans over the bench and looms above Stiles, nostrils flaring wide as he sniffs, much more subtly than Scott, but he’s still no Derek Hale.

“Ah,” he says with that stupid smug smirk that makes Stiles fingers itch to punch it right off his stupidly perfect face.

“What do you mean ‘ah’?” he asks instead, trying to put on his pants and get off the floor at the same time.

All he gets from Jackson is a wider version of the I-am-so-much-better-than-you-and-know-so-much-more smile before he waltzes out of the lockers, leaving Stiles tangled in his jeans on the cold floor.


They’re out in the forest, it’s shit-o’clock at night and Stiles is freezing.

The pack is out there, somewhere, and he’s sitting on a log wishing he was in his bed. Or back at Derek’s hide out, at least it’s sort of warm there, even if it’s not really heated for humans with normal body temperature.

He’s only out here because Derek said the pack needs to hone their hunting skills, because, really, they’re all pretty much useless. So here Stiles is, because when has he ever known how to say no?

Holding his frozen hands up to his mouth he breaths on them, hoping it’ll bring a tiny bit of warmth back to them, though it’s pretty futile at this point. A cloud of steam rises up and it’s not until it’s been claimed by the winter cold that he notices Lydia casually leaning against a tree right across from him.

“Oh my god,” he gasps and almost falls backwards over the log, arms flying wide to keep his balance and for once it actually works.

“You know, for someone so smart, you are sometimes dumber than Scott,” she says as she walks towards him, barefooted, and sits down on the log. Stiles can’t help it- he moves closer to her, trying to soak up all the heat that’s steaming from her skin without actually touching her.

“If you’re going to be using my body as your personal heater, then pay attention to me,” Lydia snaps, fingers flicking Stiles’ left ear painfully.

“Ow, sorry,” he says, giving her his best puppy dog eyes.

“You really should pay more attention to yourself too, you know,” she adds when Stiles settles properly against her side and what.

“Um,” is all he can think of to say, Lydia is so gloriously warm and it’s making his head all fuzzy and nice.

“Just a friendly reminder- even if you don’t realise you’re emitting pheromones constantly, doesn’t mean that we can’t smell them.”

“Okay, dully noted,” he mutters, nose and mouth buried in Lydia’s hair, and it smells like winter and violets and perfection.

It isn’t until he’s home in bed, face pressed into his pillow, smelling sweat and warmth, that the words start to sink in.


It’s frosty and the wind snaps at his skin, turning it pink around his cheek bones and nose and the top of his ears and Stiles can’t help but notice that Derek seems entirely immune to the cold. Like, they’re out in the freaking snow, with snow actually falling right now, and all he’s wearing is that stupid leather jacket and a scowl. At least the rest of the pack is wearing thick layers like Stiles, but they don’t look as affected as he feels. Right now he really wish he could crawl into something dark and warm, like, maybe Derek’s inner breast pocket, because it’s gotta be warmer there than out here in the motherfucking snow storm.

Derek turns his head slightly towards Stiles, eyes flicking up and down his body for a moment and he gets this strange look on his face, almost like the one Scott was wearing, the constipated one, but it’s a lot more subtle and when Stiles blinks it’s gone.

He rubs a gloved hand over his face, tries to scrub the cold and exhaustion away and when he looks again Derek meets his eyes for a second before baring his teeth and snapping a command to the pack that Stiles doesn’t really hear because he’s suddenly in a alternative fucking universe where Derek can look at him and he’s suddenly no longer freezing or tired.

He doesn’t even remember the rest of the night because he’s mind is zapping from conclusion to conclusion lightning fast and he’s terrified of his own brain and where those conclusions are leading him.


Derek just gives him this look like Stiles has actually just gone insane and he’s ready to pull out his phone and call a hospital to get him committed.

“Um, so I guess you didn’t-”

No,” he says it with so much emphasis that it actually turns into a growl and makes Stiles’ skin break out in goosebumps. “You’ve been on those weird websites again haven’t you?”

“I, uh, might’ve had a little look.”

“There’s no such thing as.. mates, or some magic bond, Stiles, stop reading about that bullshit.” Derek is staring at him as if he can make him stop with pure force of will. He probably can. “And no,” Derek continues when Stiles opens his mouth. “I did not and can not ‘make you all nice and warm’ with a look. That’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard.” Derek finishes, looking like he wants to murder Stiles for making him repeat Stiles’ own words.

“So I guess I just--”

“Imagined it? Yeah,” Derek interrupts him, lips pulled back to bare his teeth and Stiles is pretty sure it’s a wolf thing and he has no idea what it means.

“Well, that sucks.”

They both kind of freeze then and Stiles suddenly wishes his dad wasn’t at work right now and could come barging through the door with a gun and defend his virtue. Or, um, just defend him.

“I, um, mean that--”

Derek advances on him, keeps walking until Stiles stumbles backwards, bumping into the wall and then Derek is just there, barely two feet separating them, holding Stiles in place with his presence, not even touching him. He doesn’t say anything just stares at Stiles for so long and so hard that Stiles starts to worry whether or not Derek has actually lost his mind.

The silence is pressing in on Stiles ears like water in a swimming pool and he can’t physically deal with it any longer.

“I read that scents are very important to werewolves and that they can, uh, recognise their pack from smell and that they have this thing called ‘scent play’ which I thought sounded pretty kinky, but then I read about marking, which, okay that was pretty weird, and even more kinky cause that involves biting and scratching and it also sounded painful, but it said it was meant to be “pleasurable” and that just sounds-” Derek interrupts Stiles insane babbling (thank god), with a growl.

“Shut up.”

“Okay,” he whispers because Derek is suddenly so much closer, and there’s an intensity to his stare that wasn’t there before; it’s searching and calculating in a way that makes Stiles shiver, his knee oddly wobbly all of a sudden.

“What are you...,” the words die in Stiles’ mouth, his voice disappearing and he swallows hard, throat clicking, because Derek is still leaning in closer and oh god, Stiles’ heart is beating so fast he’s sure it’s gonna explode any second now.

Derek is so close now that Stiles can feel his breath ghost across his own lips and he closes his eyes, breath stuttering in his lungs. When his eyes flutter open again all he can see is the top of Derek’s head, dark hair tickling his jaw.

He hears Derek inhale deeply, the cold tip of his nose just barely gracing Stiles’ neck.

“You’re right, scent is important to werewolves,” Derek says, voice coming from just below Stiles’ ear, breath hot and moist against Stiles’ skin.

Before Stiles has time to protest, Derek pulls back with a fucking smirk on his face and crawls out the window and disappears, leaving Stiles’ shaking and, jesus fuck, with a boner.


It takes Stiles three days to seek Derek out after the Incident. It’s been three days of Stiles going through varies degrees of denial, furiously jerking off and keeping as far away from the werewolves as possible. The last has been pretty fucking impossible and now Scott has a stupid smirk on his face every time he sees Stiles. Like it’s his new favourite expression and Stiles wants nothing more than to punch his stupid smug face. He almost does it too, when he shows up at school on the third day and Jackson is wearing the same fucking smirk and Stiles is pretty sure it’s the first time he’s seen them standing so close together without fighting for dominance.

With an irritated huff, fingers curling into fists in his sleeves, Stiles walks up to the tattered front door of the Hale residence.

Bracing himself, Stiles raises a hand and gets ready to knock, not entirely sure why, ‘cause this is Derek “I Only Use Windows” Hale, but here he is, about to knock when the door suddenly disappears and he’s staring at Derek’s very naked chest.

“Uh,” is all he can think of to say, eyes flicking away from all the naked skin when Derek starts pulling on a black t-shirt. He suddenly feels uncomfortable, like he should turn around maybe, avert his eyes and blush like a virgin on her first night and that’s just moronic.

“Inside,” Derek says, stepping aside slightly so Stiles can squeeze past and he’s pretty sure he didn’t imagine Derek’s inhale, the supernatural-nose-kinda-inhale, as he passed him.

Derek turns around, crosses his arms tightly over his chest and stares at Stiles. It’s not the same intense stare as last time, but it’s pretty bad, pretty intimidating, making his palms sweaty.

“This, uh, this thing,” Stiles gestures between them, movements jerky, “I think we should discuss it.”

All Derek does is raise a fucking eyebrow and Stiles wants to punch him. Physical violence seems like the perfect solution to everything lately.

“Seriously, you’re gonna make me do all the talking?!” He can feel his temper rising, frustrated that Derek is doing his “silent staring is all the communication I need” routine. “That’s seriously not gonna work. This is a two way street, buddy. At least if what Scott has been saying about your scent is anything to go by, but then it’s Scott and his wolf skills aren’t all that hot yet, but he was able to track you down that one time and-” Stiles chokes on air and spit and his tongue, when Derek closes the distance between them and he’s got this look on his face like he’d love nothing more than to make Stiles shut up. Obviously, Stiles’ brain chooses to supply ideas as to how- ideas that involve a lot of lips and tongues. Considering what he’s been wanking to the last three days, it’s pretty tame, but it still makes color rise high in his cheeks.

“This,” Derek says, chest huffing, “is mutual attraction.”

Stiles’ mouth opens and closes uselessly a couple of times and he feels like a fish out of water.

“I’ve made you speechless.”

“I’m just so shocked, never thought I’d see the day where Derek “He Who Lurks In the Dark” Hale would admit something like that, is all,” he finally finds his voice, tongue flicking out to wet his dry lips and whoa, okay Derek’s eyes totally just dropped to his mouth.

“Is this- are we- uh. Is that all, no complicated oh god I’m not gay drama, we just, what, make out now?”

Derek raises an eyebrow again, but this time he looks amused rather than like he wants to punch Stiles.

“You think too much,” Stiles opens his mouth to protest, say well, I have to think for all of you idiots, but then a devious smile curves Derek’s lips and it makes Stiles rethink all his life choices.

Moving slow enough that Stiles has time to pull back, abort mission or whatever, Derek lifts a hand and curls it around Stiles’ neck, nails dragging over the skin there, making Stiles shiver. He only gets enough time to inhale shakily and then Derek’s kissing him, lips warm and dry and it’s far from perfect, but right now it’s all that Stiles wants.


He has no idea what he's doing, none at all, but it feels fucking amazing and he knows he wants, wants so much more right now. More of Derek, more skin, more fucking everything.

Stiles' hand goes for Derek's jeans, fingers fumbling with his buttons, but he doesn't get far before Derek's hand curls around his wrist, pulling Stiles' hand away.

“Stiles, no, your dad-”

“My dad’s fine with this, already told him this morning- well.. There might’ve been some shouting and questions of sanity and he’s probably gonna want to talk to you at some point, but otherwise totally cool.”

“We’re not having sex,” Derek grunts, nose buried in Stiles’ neck and it’s kinda difficult to think of anything but sex when Derek is lying on top of him, hips canted perfectly and his breath warm on Stiles’ skin.

“What about some dry humping then? You can keep your shirt on, but I would be totally grateful if you took it off, I could even take mine off too- like eye for an eye and all that, plus there’s the added bonus of naked skin and we could do some, uh, scent play maybe? That would be cool.”

Derek finally pulls his head up and looks at Stiles like he’s considering biting Stiles to make him shut up and, oh, okay clearly Stiles isn’t averse to that idea, because his dick just got that much harder.

“We’re still not having sex right now.”

"Oh my god! What is your problem?! If it’s my virtue you’re protecting that’s fucking stupid! My dick is gonna fall off from permanent blue balls before then!" Stiles complains, head falling back against the pillows, body going lax.

“Your dad just got home,” Derek finally says, flashing his teeth in a grimace and rolls off of him.

“Oh, fucking shitty timing,” Stiles groans, covering his face with his hands.

They lie side by side, pressed tightly together on the tiny bed and Stiles can smell Derek; pine trees and sweat and it only makes him want to crawl under Derek’s clothes even more.

"And I'm leaving now," Derek announces.


“I don’t wanna be caught at the wrong end of the Sheriff's barrel.”

“Dad wouldn’t-” Stiles stops the sentence, because yeah, his dad would probably get his shotgun and shoot at Derek if he found him in Stiles’ bed. He might not have anything against Stiles being gay, but finding a dude in his bed the same day is probably not the best way to go about things.

Without looking Stiles knows Derek is raising an eyebrow at him and probably has that stupid smug expression on his face, the one he always wears around Stiles.

There’s the sound of footsteps on the stairs and then suddenly Derek is up and off the bed, halfway out the window before Stiles can blink or even move. Derek twists his upper body around when he’s almost out of the window and flashes Stiles a smile, it’s quick and startling and it fills Stiles’ stomach with something warm and gooey.

Then he’s gone and Stiles has about ten seconds to make himself look less like he just had a pretty awesome make out session with Derek Hale before his dad reaches his room.

A knock on the door and then the Sheriff is poking his head inside Stiles’ room. “Hey buddy, mind if I come in?”

“Uh, oh, sure,” Stiles scrambles off the bed too fast and his feet get tangled in the bed sheets that have come off and he falls flat on his face along side the bed, head banging painfully against the floor. “Fucking ow!”

With a sigh his dad sits down on the bed and looks down at him, a mock exasperated smile on his lips as he shakes his head, blue eyes affectionate under raised brows. Freeing himself from the treacherous sheets, Stiles pulls himself up right enough to sit with his back against the wall and looks at his dad.

“What’s up?”

“This... thing with Hale... Are you sure about it?” The Sheriff is looking down at his folded hands, forehead wrinkled slightly.

“Sure? I’m 16, I’m not sure about anything. But I know I want to... Try it, at least.” His dad lifts his gaze then, meeting Stiles’ eyes across the short distance.

“You are only 16,” he says, emphasis clear. “He’s 24, Stiles.”

“I know, dad.”

That doesn’t seem to appease his dad though, his gaze only gets heavier like he doesn’t want to tell Stiles no, you can’t date Derek, but maybe feels like he has to.

“This isn’t- it’s not-,” Stiles takes a deep breath, heart beating like thunder in his chest, ”I know there’s an age difference, a huge one, okay, dad? I know, but-”

“It would be considered statutory rape if you had sex, Stiles, this is serious.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say, panic setting in and he pulls his legs up to his chest and hugs them tightly, face pressed into the rough material of his jeans as he tries to just breathe.

“Is this what you want?”

Blinking rapidly, Stiles stares at his dad for a long while, trying to make out the expression on his face, but he doesn’t recognise the emotion. “I- yes, it is. I want to try. At least get the chance to.”

There’s a long moment of silence between them, the room is almost electric with tension.

“I was 17 when I met your mom,” his dad finally says, a hand rubbing over his chin, before he scrubs it over his hair. “She was 23.” Stiles leans forward, heart rate slowing down and the thundering disappears. He knows that he’s mom was older than his dad, of course he does, but he never actually knew when they met, only that his dad was young. “She was the best thing that ever happened to me, and she was the one that insisted we waited with sex until I was 18. It didn’t seem so important to me to wait, but you mom.. She was firm on the matter, and I don’t think we would have stayed together if we hadn’t waited. I realised I didn’t actually mind waiting either, because it meant I got time to know her properly, and in time I fell in love with her. When we did have sex, I knew I didn’t want to be with anyone but her for the rest of my life.”

Stiles has almost stopped breathing again, but this time it’s not because he’s panicking, but because he wants nothing more than his mom to be here right now, to be back with them, to make his dad stop hurting. Even if he doesn’t show it often, Stiles knows he stills struggles, knows it because he still wears his wedding band and right now he’s caressing it gently, and Stiles’ chest aches.

“I’m not saying you have to wait, I’m- just that you don’t have to rush head first into everything because it’s seems like a good idea at the time. Take a moment to find out what you really want, that’s all I’m asking.”

“I- okay. Okay, dad, I will.” And he means it too. Knows that he and Derek can’t just jump into this because of mutual attraction, however irresistible Derek looks shirtless.

His dad stares at him for a little while longer before he gives a satisfied little nod, like he found whatever he was searching for in Stiles’ eyes.

“I still want to have a proper talk with him, though,” he adds when he stands up.

“Right, yeah, I’ll- uh, set something up. Maybe dinner?” Stiles suggests, trying to think of a scenario that is less likely to make his dad wear a gun and Derek to use a door.

“Whatever you want, buddy,” his dad just shrugs and leaves the room.

Stiles slumps against the wall the moment his dad disappears and lets his head thump against the wall.

Nothing is ever really easy, nothing about this past year has been easy in the slightest and he doubts this is gonna be any different, but with his dad’s support, maybe it won’t be as hard as everything else has been.