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See Me Bare My Teeth For You

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It started when Erica and Boyd said they wanted to leave. He’d gotten a horrible pain in his chest and he spitefully told them that they were just running away from their problems. The pack’s problems. And then it started to get worse. Isaac didn’t come back after school. He felt everyone leaving him, this all his fault. What kind of Alpha was he? He couldn’t even keep a pack. He let all the young faces down that he promised to help.

He fully realized it when it Peter was speaking with him. Peter, a threat. Betas would run to their Alpha if there was a threat. And when none came bursting through the door to help him, he realized they weren’t coming back.

His new family had abandoned him.

Sometimes Derek will just sit and stare meaninglessly off into space as Stiles bustles around him, fixing up things or trying to find a good spot on the couch. Derek just… sits, in a chair, in the middle of the room. Like he’s not even real anymore.

That has Stiles grabbing him by the hand and tugging him from his seat, bringing him wordlessly into his subway car and lowering them both into the bed. Stiles is allowed to hold him. He’s allowed to comfort him with almost no showing effects that it’s working. He gathers blankets around them and holds him against his chest.

The only thing Stiles has that keeps him doing this, this way and repeatedly, is that Derek will hold him too. He’ll grasp a little tighter and that’s what has Stiles thinking just maybe it helps. And he’ll stroke a hand through his hair and sigh, think of how to make it better.

It’s so quiet whenever he visits him, too. Deathly quiet, uncomfortable quiet. Stiles doesn’t know how he stands it. Although, Derek’s been alone for a long time, so he probably doesn’t even notice. And that’s just sad. Stiles doesn’t have any other word for it. Just very, very sad.

When Derek still had his pack, and even before then, Stiles believes he wore his heart on his sleeve. He tried to keep his emotions in, yes, but it’s hard when your heart’s constantly trying to beat out of your chest to show everyone that it’s actually there. Derek Hale has a heart. Derek Hale knows what emotions are… They’re just too used up. Too strung and beaten and burned.

Stiles thinks of a way to help - after two nights of wondering and battling in his mind, just maybe this’ll help, and prepares for it. He does gets an expression, just for a split second, when they’re laying together and Derek hasn’t clung tighter to him. He sits up. He gets on his knees and straddles Derek’s thighs, starts to undo his jeans. Derek gets wide-eyed for a moment, maybe from the boldness, maybe from Stiles looking at him so heatedly.

“You gonna let me do this all by myself?” Stiles asks and this isn’t how he imagined his first time, but who gives a flying fuck? Derek lifts his hips and Stiles takes them down, pulls his underwear with them. He just keeps shedding their clothes, until they’re down to nothing and they’re both hard, and Derek is watching while Stiles lubes up his cock, and then shakily seats himself down.

Derek clenches his teeth and stays quiet, holds him at the hips when he starts to move, and doesn’t comment when Stiles looks upset. But maybe he does care, because he doesn’t move his own hips until Stiles gets used to it, until it starts to feel good.

But this is not about feelings. It’s not about emotion, Stiles quickly learns. It can’t be. He leans over and takes Derek’s face in his hands, just rests their foreheads together as they both pant and thrust. Derek’s eyes are pulsing red, and that’s how Stiles knows he’s still dealing with an Alpha. Derek fucks up into him and he takes it, closes his eyes and works with it, makes broken noises because he can’t help it.

He comes with a hand braced on Derek’s chest, other hand working over his dick, and Derek still fucking his own come further up inside him. The room is horribly silent after - like it wasn’t before - and Stiles pulls himself up, falls back against the mattress, and gathers Derek in his arms again.

Derek clings this time.

The sex doesn’t stop Derek from smashing anything when he sees his own reflection. But six times out of ten, he doesn’t go and press the shards into his hands after he’s made them into millions of shiny little pieces on the floor. He just breaks it, looks murderously angry and suicidally depressed, just so disgusted before he steels himself again, grabs Stiles and takes him into the train car.

It’s rough and mechanical, a way of exerting frustrations and energy instead of emotion or complete pleasure. But they both always come, with Stiles making noises he can’t hold back and Derek hissing quietly, like he doesn’t want to enjoy it. That hits Stiles’ self-confidence, but he tries not to let it get to him.

Although, they don’t have sex again for another four days.

Stiles gets him to eat and tries to get him to talk to the pups, but he doesn’t even look at them. Not even when they say sorry and try and touch him. That’s when he bats their hands away and gets up, shuts himself in his train car again. It’s like he doesn’t acknowledge them as his, or himself as their Alpha. Derek’s… almost neutral about it, though. He doesn’t turn them away when they visit, and Isaac crashing there. But he doesn’t pay them any attention, either.

He won’t train them or order them around like he used to, and soon Stiles thinks that it’s not a great idea for Derek to be staying in an underground tunnel. He starts to suggest that they should move to Derek’s house, that he’s sure they can make a few rooms look really good. It might distract Derek from everything enough to make him forget, if only for a little while.

Derek declines and then goes missing for hours, which scares Stiles to no end. And then Derek shows up again at the tunnel and Stiles starts to fight with him, shouting about how he searched for him, about how he asked Scott to search for him, and then about how he waited for him. He realizes he probably shouldn’t be yelling at him, but it doesn’t matter. He’s upset. He was worried.

All Derek does is wait for him to be finished, and then takes him by the arm and leads him to bed. He doesn’t say anything but “strip”, and Stiles does, knows that Derek would do it for him if he doesn’t. And it’s not that Derek would if Stiles didn’t want him to. Stiles could decline.

But why would he want to?

Derek puts him on his back that night, fucks him while he grips at his inner thighs, lets go of the tension of the day. Stiles is pressing his hands against the bed frame, trying not to be fucked too roughly against it, and he stares up at Derek. It’s a little different this time, he doesn’t look as angry, just… broken. Completely broken. As he usually does, but it’s something more. It makes Stiles hold his legs around him a little looser, feeling like Derek is the most fragile thing in the entire world.

Stiles comes twice, keeps taking Derek thrusting into him until he has to tell him to stop, everything starting to border on pain. He makes sure Derek is asleep before he leaves, goes home and showers, and sleeps four hours before having to get up for school.

When he goes to the tunnel, Derek’s waiting for him with a bag of his things. He gives him an address on a slip of paper and won’t look him in the eye as they head there.

It’s an apartment, of which Derek has the keys to. Stiles enters first, seeking out any reflective surfaces. He’s gotten smart, covering up any and all mirrors. There are some, and he stops Derek in the living room, goes out to his Jeep and grabs the blankets he keeps back there just for this use, then goes throughout the apartment.

He’s covered one in the hall, one in the bigger bedroom. He’s going down the hall, coming across a closed door. He readjusts the blankets on his arm and gently pushes his way into the room. He’s surprised that it’s better looking than the other rooms, just more care taken into how it’s been put together. There’s a made bed in the corner, and a nightlight in one of the outlets. A lamp with a bedside table, and there are curtains on the window, and someone has taken the time to push them aside to make sunlight shine in.

He walks over and covers the small television, whispering to himself, “Who the hell’s place is this?”

“It was supposed to be Isaac’s room.” Derek’s voice says, void of any emotion, just outside the door. He’s leaning against the wall in the hallway, not wanting to look in.

Stiles slips out and closes the door behind him, “Oh.”

Derek’s eyes flick to his and then he moves, heads toward another room. Stiles sighs, reminds himself to keep that door closed and moves on to inspect any other surfaces.

He’s in the kitchen when there’s a smash and a grunt, the all-too-familiar noise of shards hitting the floor. He’s running to where it’s sounded from, finding himself wrenching open the bathroom door, just in time to see Derek ready to swing another punch at the half-broken mirror, showing him a hundred little reflections of himself.

“No!” Stiles yells, pieces crunching under his shoes as he grabs Derek around the waist, pulling him away from the mirror. It makes Derek stumble, caught off guard from where he was looking at himself with that devastated expression again. Stiles keeps pulling him and they end up tumbling into the bathtub, where Stiles is on his side and Derek ends up half on top of him, with a leg hanging out of the side.

It hurts but Stiles sees that Derek’s hand is bleeding, and tugs off half his flannel - one arm, it’s as much as he can get off while he’s in this position - and presses it to Derek’s fist, wrapping his own hand around it after. Derek grunts, struggling to get up, but Stiles wraps a leg around his hips, pulls his head against his chest and shushes him quietly.

He sees Derek’s free hand loosen on the side of the tub and he doesn’t really relax, but he lets Stiles hold him there. He strokes his hair and breathes shakily, tries to calm his own pounding heart.

After a few minutes, Stiles’ everything is aching too much and he quietly suggests they get up. “I’ll make you something to eat and you can get comfortable in your room.”

Derek sighs and pulls himself up with Stiles’ help at his back, then he hauls Stiles up by his now healed hand, untangling it from the fabric. It’s all bloody and glass falls onto the floor, little red and shiny pieces, and Stiles winces at the sight. Derek doesn’t comment on that. Stiles takes off the plaid the rest of the way and hangs it over what’s left of the mirror, then takes Derek’s hand and leads him toward the kitchen. He has Derek wash his hands and thinks over what he should get from the store they passed on the way here.

“Okay. I’ll go get something, and you just… Chill, until I get back.” He runs his fingertips over Derek’s knuckles then starts to move away. He gets about two steps in before Derek’s grabbing the back of his shirt, tugging him back. Stiles spins around and sees Derek take a can from the cupboard, set it down on the counter. He walks past Stiles and as he does, he takes the handle on the door of the fridge, opening it so Stiles can see it’s fully packed.

Packed. Pack. Right. Derek got this place… for his pack. The pack that he doesn’t have. Stiles sighs and goes over to the can on the counter. Tomato soup. Okay. Stiles can do that. He hums and prepares it in a mug, then grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and kicks the door closed as he goes.

When he walks into Derek’s room, he sees that the curtains have been pulled closed, making it just enough light for Stiles to see with the bedroom door open. He hands him the mug and sits next to him on the bed, fiddling with the water bottle.

Derek’s inspecting him out of the corner of his eye, and says shortly, “Take off your pants.”

Stiles gets up, leaving the water bottle on the mattress while he pops the button on his jeans and then shimmies out of them. He’s used to nakedness with Derek by now, and slips the lube from his pocket. Maybe Derek would watch him prep himself, since he hasn’t already.

But when he climbs into Derek’s lap, all the Alpha does is look him over, get comfortable in his seat and go back to eating. He’s so inexpressive that Stiles wants to make him show an emotion. Any emotion. Sarcastic Derek. Cocky Derek. He’d settle for angry Derek, who pressed him up against his bedroom door. Anything is better than this.

“What do you want?” He whispers, hooks his fingers in Derek’s belt loops. Derek only shrugs. Lack of interest. Stiles brings their hips together. Derek licks his lips and puts the mug aside, looks at him. “Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

And Derek just looks at him.

“Derek, please. I don’t care. I’ll do anything you want.” He touches his face, tilts his head up just so. He cups his jaw and tries to see, tries to see a way to help him. But Derek’s not doing much to help. He only parts his lips a little, like he might say something, and touches Stiles’ hips, squeezes them in his palms. Stiles rocks against him softly, “Wanna fuck me?”

A few moments pass before Derek shakes his head. Stiles furrows his brows, “What do you want? Just tell me.”

Derek lets go of him but Stiles grabs for him, taking his hands and bringing them up to his face. He kisses Derek’s knuckles and then sets them back down, moving to get off him with a sigh. Derek waits until Stiles is on his back to crawl between his legs and shed his own shirt away, then settle himself in against him, hiding his face in his neck.

“I got you.” Stiles whispers as Derek’s hand searches for his. He laces their fingers together, other hand running slowly through his hair, “You know, this would all be easier if you just talked to me.”

“Stiles,” Derek says quietly.

“Yeah?”

He presses his nose to Stiles’ neck, inhaling deeply, “Shh.”

After Derek has moved enough in his sleep, Stiles gets up and cleans the bathroom. He takes the broken things out to the dumpster, then sheds his jeans again - of which he realizes had Derek’s blood on them - and crawls back into bed to make sure nothing becomes more broken tonight.

When Stiles visits after school, the mirror that was in Derek’s room is out in the hallway, shattered and bloody. He cleans it up in a rush, puts the pieces in the trash and props the bent frame up in the hallway to take out later. He checks Derek’s room and sighs, just as dark as before, and Derek is laying in bed.

He goes and sits on the edge, taking his hand. Derek flinches a bit at first but Stiles holds him there, utters a small “just me”, then brings his hand up and kisses his healed knuckles again.

He holds his hand and lays with him for a half hour, tries not to fidget, then can’t stand it anymore. He tells Derek to get up and do something, and he starts going through drawers. He’s been in the same clothes for a few days.

Derek slugs out of bed long enough to shower for forty-five minutes. Stiles doesn’t know if he usually does this, or Derek’s having another breakdown, but when he checks, Derek’s toweled off his hair and is in the process of wrapping the towel around his hips.

Derek naked and wet. Okay. He swallows hard, “I-I was just… Checking in.”

“I’m not some…” Derek trails off, then just gives a nod.

Mental patient? Suicidal, lonely guy? Family-less, emotionless fuck up? Failed Alpha?

Stiles frowns, not liking the way Derek just leaves it open and averts his eyes. He’s starting to creep into that disgusted expression again, brows furrowing a bit. He brings himself out of it and looks back at Stiles, look hardening to stone again.

He grabs Stiles’ hand and leads him to the bedroom, and says “strip, Stiles”. Derek drops the towel, skin still damp and length hard. He lays on the bed and his eyes start to flicker red while Stiles takes off his clothes, are glowing strongly when Stiles’ hand is wrapped around the bottle of lube and he’s walking on his knees on the bed. Stiles is about to climb into his lap, work himself farther open before taking Derek, but the wolf grabs his hips and stops him.

“What?” He licks his lips, watching as Derek situates himself. Derek pulls at his hips, bringing Stiles in between his legs. “O-Oh.”

“Stiles.” He says his name sharply just to get his attention, “Now.

“U-Uh, yeah. Okay, yeah.” Stiles doesn’t question it, just goes to spread lube onto his fingers and prep him. When he touches one to him he bites his lip, Derek already stretched, closing around the tip of his finger. “Fuck.”

“That would be nice.”

Stiles nods and retracts, coats his length, and then sets his hands on Derek’s thighs. He starts to slide in slowly and sees Derek’s brows knit together, hands fist at his sides. He’s already rutting his hips, trying to take him in fast and possibly hurt himself in the process. Stiles presses his hands against his hipbones and holds, “Don’t make me pull out.”

Derek looks him in the eyes for a second, then shuts them, goes still. Stiles buries himself in and leans over Derek, touches his face like he does every time. The Alpha’s jaw relaxes, and he wraps his legs around Stiles’ hips as incentive. Stiles starts to thrust, working his hips like he knows Derek needs. He breathes out slowly, rubbing his thumbs across Derek’s cheekbones, maybe trying to coax out a noise, something that will mean that feels good.

“Derek,” He whispers, pushes his hips forward. Derek grunts at him. He slows his thrusts, which doesn’t make the wolf too happy, “Look at me.”

It takes a few moments of an agonizingly slow pace but Derek opens his eyes, looks up at him with a hard expression. Stiles rewards him with a hard thrust, watching him jerk a bit, body closing around his cock.

“I want you to feel good.” Stiles tells him, hushed and breathy as he rocks into him again, “Tell me what to do.”

“Shut up.” Derek grounds out lowly, eyes pulsing. Stiles bucks forward roughly, getting frustrated with him.

No. No, don’t you say that now. I want you to fucking tell me how you like to be fucked.” He says angrily, and Derek unwraps his legs from him, growls.

“Deeper, you irritating bastard. Fuck me deeper.” Derek commands through gritted teeth, moving his hands to Stiles’ ass and pulling him to do what he wants.

Stiles is mad at him now. He’ll tell him what he wants in bed, but he won’t tell him what he needs any other time. It pisses him off. He starts to make Derek take it, forcing labored breaths from him, suspicious gasps. He sets his hands on the bed on their side of Derek’s head and snaps his hips forward.

He fully understands how it’s about letting go of frustrations now, of tension. But he’s only frustrated because Derek won’t talk to him, and he won’t let himself feel good, not even for a moment.

When Stiles comes, his face is pressed against Derek’s shoulder as he groans. He’s jerking Derek’s cock between them with a tight fist and fucking into him just as he wants. Derek comes with a gasp while his hips thrust up, and Stiles bites his shoulder.

After, Derek stares at the ceiling, unresponsive for a long time. Stiles watches him while he lays on the bed next to him, gently holding his hand.

The next day the door is locked to Derek’s apartment. Stiles knocks but no one answers. He sits on the steps and speaks, because he knows Derek can hear him. He talks about his day at school, how Harris still hates him, and then how Isaac looks worn out, like he’s been having nightmares again.

He talks about letting Isaac stay in the apartment, because Isaac would use the room Derek made for him. He makes sure to point that out.

He talks about how it’s funny that he’s lost his virginity, but has never been kissed. He goes on about how he bets kisses are nice and then diverts to Derek not talking to him. He says that sure, he can make up the space, make sure there’s no dead air and talk for the sake of no silence… But he doesn’t always want to.

He wonders aloud if Derek’s eaten today or if he needs his laundry done, because Stiles would get quarters and take him to the laundromat down the block. He adds that he’d take him to go eat while things washed, or they could stay there and get in trouble for using the clothing carts as bumper cars. He wonders again if Derek’s been eating when he’s not there, and says he’d let Derek drag him to the gym and feel insecure around everyone else. Then he says he’d let Derek fuck him in the shower.

He stays silent for a little while after that, thinking maybe he could hear movement inside the apartment. He says that they should go for a walk, or watch a movie in the living room. Stiles whispers that he would hold him. Then Stiles just flat out says “I hope you’re okay.” and then walks slowly back to his Jeep, and leaves.

The door is unlocked the next day.

Derek’s bedroom door is open.

Stiles walks in immediately and looks to the bed, where it’s messed up and no Derek to be found. He looks around, catches movement and squints to make out Derek sitting with the back against a wall. Stiles stumbles over to him and drops between his legs, takes him into his arms.

“Hey, dude. Hey… What’s up?” He pulls away a bit and looks at his face in the dim light. Derek looks so devastated, broken and pale and it’s not right, “Damn it, Derek.” He tugs him back in, arm around his shoulders and hand in his hair.

Derek tentatively wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist, noses at his neck. He whispers, like his voice hasn’t been used since he last talked to Stiles, “I’ve been eating.”

“Good.” Stiles says, relieved. “You need me to do anything? I wish you’d take me up on an offer I made yesterday.” Any offer, since most of them get Derek outside.

Derek stays silent, but tips his head just so, gives a soft kiss to Stiles’ neck.

Stiles lets his eyes drift shut for a few moments, craning his neck so Derek will have more room. Small kisses get pressed against his skin, slow and almost hesitant, and Derek bites and licks a little at his jaw - seemingly for his own satisfaction - before he pulls away.

Stiles squeezes him, plants a kiss to his hairline, “You wanna do anything else? Laundromat, walk, gym, lunch maybe?”

“Kitchen.”

“Kitchen… And then living room? A movie?”

“Kitchen.”

Stiles nods, “Yeah, alright.”

He helps Derek up and leads him into the kitchen, watching him blink blearily at the light. He sits him down on a chair at the counter, starting to look through the cupboards, “You wanna know what time it is?”

Derek shakes his head. Stiles understands. After his mom, he didn’t want to know how much time he’d passed wrapped up in his destructive little world inside his head. He looks at Derek, shoulders hunched and a dead look in his eyes. It reminds him a little of himself, all that despair, and he stops. He goes over and touches a hand to his hair, pushes it away from his forehead. Derek’s eyes flick up to him, green freckled with pale blues and browns, looking so very tired.

Stiles wants to kiss him on the mouth.

But he only cups his jaw and touches his cheekbone, shows he understands before going back to searching for lunch. Stiles cooking in silence just doesn’t happen, so he ends up making comments about how Derek should get some music. Something fun that he can dance around to. Derek rolls his eyes.

Stiles pauses from making grilled cheese and smiles, “What? Can the great Derek Hale not dance?”

“I don’t want to.” Derek shrugs.

But Stiles isn’t having that. He’s got Derek talking, and he desperately wants to lighten the mood, “Oh, come on.” He grabs Derek’s hands and pulls him up. Stiles can’t really dance, all wacky legs and flailing arms when he tries, but he starts to move, bringing Derek around with him. It’s stumble-y and horrible but Stiles chuckles and tries not to step on Derek’s socked feet.

He starts to pull him closer, moving his own hands behind his back so Derek’s arms wrap around his waist. They sway back and forth slowly, all in the hips, and Stiles looks up at him, “Wow. Not an awkward school dance thing.”

Derek stops suddenly, “…School dance.”

“Yeah, haven’t you ever been to one? You go and there’s—”

Derek undoes his hands from Stiles’, pushes himself away while he tries to lock up bad memories. I almost went, once. With Kate. He shakes his head, low voice when he says, “No. I never have.”

Stiles frowns when Derek’s eyes look toward the hall, “Well, they’re not all that fun. No one wants to dance with you and they end up making fun of your suit, so you end up crying when your Dad picks you up.” He tells him, chest aching. Derek’s going to shut himself in his room again because of him, “…Please, don’t go back in there yet.”

Derek shuts his eyes and sighs, doesn’t even have the energy to make fists and squeeze until he gets past this. He goes and leans over the counter, forearms braced on the counter top as he hangs his head. Stiles comes up and sets his hand on his shoulder, other rubs up and down his back. He’s whispering that he’s sorry against Derek’s hair, feeling like he’s fucked up so badly.

After a few moments, Stiles starts to smell something burning, and Derek starts to hyperventilate, going completely rigid and shaking. His eyes widen and he turns to see the stove, where he’s burning the grilled cheese.

“Oh, shit!” He lets go of Derek and scrambles to get the pan off the burner, turn everything off. Derek sinks to the floor, bracing his back against the cupboards as his mind reels, flashes of his family how he imagined them in the fire, then flashes of Laura crying and Peter so unforgiving and he slams his head against the hard surface behind him, emotions flaring.

Stiles throws the pan into the sink and turns on the cold water, and once it’s safe he trips back over to Derek, who’s being thrown into a full panic attack. Stiles attaches himself to him, holding his shaking form tight in his arms, letting him hide his face in his chest.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re okay, Derek. You’re okay.” He tells him quickly, rocking him back and forth, feeling Derek clawing at the back of his hoodie, clinging to him. “Breathe for me, okay? I need you to. Breathe.” He runs his hand through Derek’s hair, “Please. Oh God, I’m sorry.”

It takes a few minutes, which feels like an eternity for both of them, especially Derek. But he starts to breathe normally again, although he’s still shaking, but that’s what happens. He’s slumping against Stiles, breathing deeply, it hitching to a hiccup every once and a while. He’s got his eyes shut and he looks so worn out. Stiles knows he is.

“Wh…?” Derek starts but Stiles shushes him, rubs softly at the back of his neck.

“That was a panic attack… I-I accidentally triggered you. Derek, you don’t know how sorry I am.” He’s expecting to be pushed away, clawed or something, but all Derek does is sigh.

“Bed.” He whispers, trying to get up. Stiles helps him, holds him and lets him lean on him. He shuts off the water but leaves everything else, his only concern Derek. He brings him into his room, puts him in bed and climbs in next to him. He wraps himself around him, trying to protect him from every bad feeling.

“You’re gonna be shaking for a little while. Just try and relax. I know that’s hard, but try.” Stiles tells him softly, trying not to hold him too tight. That makes Stiles feel constricted if anyone’s does that during or immediately after an attack - he knows because it’s only happened twice, once with his Dad, and once with Scott. He keeps his trauma to himself as much as he can.

Derek brings his leg up and hitches it on Stiles’ hip. Stiles lets him slip his other leg in between his own. He breathes with him, slow and deep, rubs at his back. He thinks, after a few minutes, that Derek has fallen asleep, until Derek mumbles, “Strip for me?”

“Only if you enjoy yourself.” Stiles says quietly, half hoping Derek won’t take it badly.

“Do me slow, then.” He replies a few beats later, lazily detaching himself from Stiles and rolling on his back, undoing his jeans. He’s still shaking and Stiles is worried, but he sheds his own clothes, then helps Derek with the rest of his. Derek turns on his side again, this time facing away from him, and gets comfortable.

Stiles opens him up with his fingers leisurely, touches to his sweet spot multiple times and sees him grip at the pillow. Stiles can’t help himself when he starts kissing at his shoulder. Derek presses his face into his pillow and breathes.

Stiles fucks him slow, holds him close and lays his forehead on the back of his neck. He groans when Derek bucks back against him, moves his hand down and wraps his fingers around his cock. He shudders and presses forward, murmuring, “C’mon Derek, let it feel good. Relax, relax.”

Derek shakes when he comes, clenching around Stiles and bucking forward into his fist. He claws at his pillow and makes a noise bordering on painful, and Stiles bites down on his shoulder again, then kisses over it. Stiles comes with Derek reaching back and urging him faster, now blunt fingernails digging into his hip, then at his ass cheek to hold them together.

Stiles doesn’t want to hurt him, so he pulls out and laces his fingers with Derek’s, sticky with come but they pay it no attention. Derek falls asleep before Stiles does, and Stiles covers him with a blanket, tries not to think about how his eyes are a little red around the edges. He won’t leave Derek tonight, so when Derek rolls onto his back, Stiles snuggles up against his side, leans up and gently kisses the corner of his mouth. He hopes his pounding heart doesn’t wake the Alpha.

In the morning after they’ve showered, Stiles throws on clothes he had in his backpack and makes sure Derek has eaten before he leaves. Derek actually sees him to the door, still eating his toast. Stiles touches his face, brings him down a little and kisses his forehead, mutters a quick “I’ll see you after school” and then goes.

He stumbles through his classes, and ends up getting dragged out of one by Mrs. Morell, who needs to talk about what’s been happening with him, how he seems to be more distracted. Stiles talks about Derek. He doesn’t use Derek’s name, just sticks to ‘he’, and tells her how much he wishes he had a way to help him.

He tells her about the mirrors and how they’ve had to replace the one in the bathroom a few times, and about the disgusted look Derek gives himself. He talks about blood and tears and kisses and then about how he just wants everything to be okay.

He leaves her office a little teary-eyed and finds Isaac. He brings Isaac to the apartment after school. Derek is eating a late lunch in the kitchen when they arrive and Stiles smiles a little at him for eating, especially out in the kitchen. Isaac says hello and wilts a little more when Derek says nothing. But Stiles leads him to his room, shows it to him.

Isaac looks a little awed, “This is mine?”

“Derek made it for you.” Stiles nods, rubbing his arms and gently leading him in. He can hear Derek picking up in the kitchen, setting his bowl in the sink. It doesn’t clang with anything though, the pan from yesterday sounding like it’s not there. Stiles said he would wash it when he got back.

Isaac looks at him with a hint of doubt, and Stiles nods again to confirm he’s telling the truth. The Beta looks around, one hand holding across his waist to his other side, holding at his upper arm. It’s a sign of nervousness, hesitance. He inhales deeply, working his way toward the closet and opening it. There are clothes in there, all hung up nicely.

“My clothes.” Isaac says quietly, reaching out to touch one of his shirts. They smell like Derek and fabric softener and faintly of his childhood home. Derek got these from his house. He starts looking around the rest of the room; pillows from his bed under new ones, his action figures in a box under the bed, an older box with Camden’s letters and dog tags, his Gameboy in the drawer of the bedside table.

He just… stands, for a moment. When he looks up, Stiles is looking at him fondly, a bit surprised. Derek is standing behind Stiles, in the middle of the hallway but in view of Isaac’s room. He stands up straight, but keeps his head hung a little, a ready Beta to his Alpha. Derek’s eyes flick to the floor.

“Thank you, Derek. I don’t even know how to…” He shakes his head, glancing around again, “I can really stay?”

Derek just nods, then moves out of view, going down the hall. Stiles looks sad to see him go and Isaac moves into the hallway, “Derek.”

The Alpha stops, turns his head just so to show that he’s listening. Isaac wants to cuddle up to him and say he’s sorry again and have Derek yell at him. He really misses Derek. He walks up to him, lifts a hand to touch him. Stiles’ heartbeat spikes and Derek is completely still. Isaac hovers his hand over Derek’s forearm, so close he can feel the heat coming off him. He swallows, meets his eyes for a second, “Thank you.”

He doesn’t know if Derek nudging his fingertips with his arm as he moves to his bedroom is on purpose, but it’s something. Stiles smiles a little and pats Isaac’s shoulder, then mumbles something about letting the rest of the pack come over soon before heading to see Derek and let Isaac get acquainted with his room.

Derek’s sitting on the edge of his bed and pulls Stiles close once the door is closed, rests his head against his abdomen. Stiles files his fingers through Derek’s hair, looks down at him as arms circle around his middle.

“You doin’ okay?” He whispers, bending back a little to try and see Derek’s face, “Is this okay?”

Derek nods. Stiles leans down and kisses his forehead, watches Derek shut his eyes and breathe for a few moments. He touches his face, “You want me to stay tonight?”

The Alpha shakes his head, “Go home.”

Stiles pushes his hair away from his forehead, “Okay, but help Isaac with dinner. And shower tomorrow. I’ll drive over here during lunch and we can eat, okay?”

Derek nods and lets go of him. Stiles has an urge and he gives in to it, kisses between Derek’s eyes, “And sleep. But not too much. Eight hours.” Derek nods again and he smiles softly, brings his hands up and kisses each of his knuckles, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Derek.”

After Stiles leaves, he receives texts from Isaac all night that Derek’s doing okay, but still hasn’t talked to him. He says Derek sits with him and eats, and then goes into his room and doesn’t come out for the rest of the night.

Stiles tells Isaac to try and sleep.

Isaac’s wearing clothes from the closet the next morning at school. He says Derek watched him at the door while he waited for the bus. Stiles pats him on the back and invites the pack over for dinner. He can make something awesome, and have Derek out of his room and helping.

Scott asks if this is all still a good idea, staying with Derek. Scott wants to help Derek. He desperately does, because he’s Scott - he was the first one to try and help Derek when he shut down, that’s actually how Stiles found out - but Scott is worried about his best friend.

Stiles pulls him into a tight hug and doesn’t let go for a long time. Neither does Scott.

“Stiles, I know how you are. I don’t want you getting hurt, even if you think it’ll help someone else.” Scott whispers into his shoulder.

He diverts, because he knows, he understands. And he loves that Scott loves him enough to voice it. “I’ll be fine. I’m worried about Boyd and Isaac and Erica. They need him… We all need him.”

“I can still try and—”

“No, I got it. Just come over and eat tonight, and act normal… As normal as you can.” Scott laughs and playfully pushes him away. Stiles hooks an arm around his shoulders and leads him so they can get ready for lacrosse practice.

Stiles shuts the door of Derek’s apartment with his foot, moving into the kitchen to set the food down on the counter, “Hey, Derek! I got Chinese… Because I wanted Chinese. These guys make the best, I don’t know if you’ve ever tried it, but damn, you’re gonna love me for it.”

Derek exits his room without a shirt and nods. Stiles goes to meet him, maybe talk about how he watched over Isaac, when Derek ducks into the bathroom and grabs his toothbrush. Fear strikes through Stiles in a very unsettling flash when he realizes he forgot to cover the new bathroom mirror.

He mentally and emotionally braces for the impact, and Derek looks at him, eyes curious as they flick to his chest, where his heartbeat has spiked and is drumming hard with anxiety. Derek goes through the motions of brushing his teeth and notices himself in the mirror. Stiles wants to pull him out of the room, out of the apartment, all the way to somewhere where Derek would be okay.

He goes to reach out for him, but Derek only looks himself over, then drops his eyes back to the faucet, finishes brushing his teeth. Stiles feels relieved as hell, but also as if he’s fallen into The Twilight Zone. The smashing of mirrors has become almost expected.

Derek touches his arms to move him out of the way as he leaves the bathroom, goes back into his room and comes back with boots in his hands and a shirt on. Stiles just stares, then latches onto Derek, arms around his middle and head against his shoulder. It takes a moment, but Derek wraps an arm around his shoulders, nudges his temple with his cheek.

Stiles feels hopeful. Really, really hopeful. He smiles against Derek’s shirt and nuzzles in closer, holding him tighter. “Are you hungry? We should eat. You wanna take a walk, maybe? Now, or later, it’s cool.”

“You only have forty-five minutes for lunch.” Derek reminds him, and Stiles doesn’t know exactly how he knows that, but he nods, kisses his neck and pulls away.

“Right, yeah. So, eating. Walking later. Okay.” He nods again, takes Derek’s hand and leads him into the kitchen.

They eat and Stiles tells him about the pack coming over for dinner. He’ll make pasta and asks if Derek wants to help. The Alpha just nods and continues with his meal. Stiles tries to get him to smile, succeeds just a little when he goes on about Scott getting tackled by Danny during practice.

After, they clean up and Stiles sits on the counter with Derek between his legs, and kisses his knuckles even if he hasn’t hit anything. He wants to stay and take Derek on a walk, but it’s nearing the end of his time and he has to go. He kisses Derek’s forehead and gets helped down from the counter, slow with Derek rubbing against him like a vague promise. Stiles restrains himself and bumps his hip a little while passing him. He sees Derek lick his lips.

Stiles goes through the rest of his classes wondering what position he’s gonna be put in, or what position he’ll get to put Derek in.

When school is over, he goes home and makes something for his dad, leaves it in the microwave with a post-it note for when he gets home from work. Then he heads out to Derek’s. Isaac’s already there, timidly showing Erica and Boyd around. They all perk up when Stiles shows up, and Erica texts him so she doesn’t have to speak, asking ‘He’s in his room?’

Stiles nods, moves past them to knock on Derek’s bedroom door, “It’s me. You gonna come help me with dinner? It’d be fun.” There’s shuffling from inside, and then the door cracks open. Derek looks at him, soft eyes for just a moment, before closing the door again. Stiles rests his head against the door, “Yeah, okay. But you’re eating, I don’t care what you say.”

He moves away, heading into the kitchen. Boyd has a confused face, “He didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, he did.” Stiles informs simply, then beckons them over, “Come on, the three of you. Time to cook.”

Scott shows up about halfway through the cooking and helps set the counter, seeing as no one wants to sit normally at the small table. Derek ventures out of his room as everyone finds a spot; Erica on the counter, Boyd leaning close to her, Isaac curled up on the couch. Scott next to Isaac and Stiles fixing Derek a bowl of pasta.

He doesn’t look at anyone but Stiles, shoulder hunched and eyes tired. He takes his food and a fork when it’s handed to him and stands beside Stiles, eats silently. Stiles knows he’s aware that everyone’s looking at him, watching to see what will happen.

Stiles clears his throat, “So, anything interesting anyone would like to talk about?” Scott shovels in another spoonful of pasta and Boyd turns more toward Erica. Oh, alright. Dicks. “I had a wonderful day. I was told I’m getting an A in AP English, which is awesome. A for awesome…”

He’s making up for silence again, and he doesn’t like it. His heart is going a mile a minute and he’s trying to calm it, opting for not eating and just biting the inside of his cheek really hard to steady himself.

Derek touches his knuckles, the ones on the hand holding the counter, all shaky. He moves his fingertips over them slowly and Stiles is sure he can not only hear but now feel how hard his blood is pumping. He clears his throat, and all of his - not really his, Derek could argue if it was voice - Betas look up at him.

“I worked out and had a good lunch.” He says, and Stiles feels like someone’s punched him in the chest, but it’s in a good way because Derek is talking and he’s saying that he likes when Stiles is around. A smile comes before he can stop it.

“I scored two goals in practice today.” Isaac informs softly from the couch, like he’s testing if Derek will acknowledge him and is scared that he might not again.

Derek nods, starting to eat again. Stiles can practically see Isaac’s ears perk up, back straightening and eyes getting rounder. Scott touches his shoulder with a smile. Erica starts in.

“I saw that, it was good. I pulled Allison’s hair today,” Erica shoots a look that would be apologetic if it weren’t for her smirk to Scott, “She growled at me. It was fun.”

“I’m getting a B plus in Calculus.” Boyd offers, glancing up to Derek. The Alpha chews his food thoughtfully, even if looking a bit zoned out, then nods again.

“They’re going to school.” Derek says to Stiles, and Stiles nods eagerly. “Good.”

Everyone gets a little giddy.

They start to talk openly after that, with Stiles and Derek watching them. Scott adds a comment here and there about Coach while they’re on the subject of lacrosse. Then they start to talk about lacrosse and Erica, and how she could beat most of the team. Isaac says she’d have to keep her hair up, and then him and Boyd talk of how she keeps “forgetting” to put her hair up when they all cuddle together. Someone always ends up getting a face full of blond locks.

Derek finishes his dinner and declines seconds. He coolly undoes a button on Stiles’ flannel and moves the fabric away from his shoulder, then gently bites down. It makes Stiles jump but Derek’s tongue touches to his skin in a quick swipe, then he pulls away, covers his back up. He heads to his room, shuts the door quietly behind him.

They all stay for a little while, Scott passing out on the couch and Isaac eager to show Boyd that Derek got him clothes from his house. Stiles reprimands Erica when she starts to poke Scott with his own fork. Stiles has the three of them help with dishes while Scott snores, having overeaten a bit.

Isaac ends up shaking Scott awake and saying he’ll crash with him at his place for the night. Scott hugs Stiles before they go, then leans on Isaac to the Jeep. Stiles gives the keys to Boyd - because Boyd’s the responsible one, he’ll take care of the Jeep. If he wanted his car totaled, he would have given the keys to Erica. He tells them to be safe and watches until they’re around the corner before he shuts the front door.

He texts his dad to tell him goodnight and that he loves him. He puts away the little bit of extra food and turns off the lights in the kitchen. He’s in the hallway when his dad texts back ‘Sleep well son. I’ll be off Saturday so we can go out for breakfast.’ He sends a confirmation and a smiley face, then slips into Derek’s room.

It’s pitch black and he has to feel his way to the bed. He comes into contact with Derek’s bare thigh and stills for about half a second before he’s curling his hand around to touch as much as he can, walking on his knees on the mattress. Hands find their way to his jeans and undo them, help him gladly get out of them. He sheds his own shirt and climbs on top of Derek, touching along his skin.

He realizes that Derek’s only in his underwear, feels the fabric against his thighs as he parts them wider, Derek’s hands slipping under his boxer-briefs to cup his ass. He rocks his hips, leaning down on his elbows to press himself against Derek.

“You did good tonight.” He says in a whisper, letting his hands tangle in the wolf’s hair.

“Mm.” He gets in return, just a noise to confirm he heard him. Stiles wants to kiss him again, just tilt down and press their lips together. He wants to, and he’s thinking about doing it, when Derek grinds up against him.

Stiles lets him, presses close and moves with him. Derek’s nails dig at his skin and his voice his low, “Gonna take you from behind.”

Stiles shivers and nods, crawls off of him. He feels more vulnerable than being put on his back because he can’t see, but he knows Derek wouldn’t hurt him. He settles in on his hands and knees and listens for Derek. Fabric being stripped away, a drawer sliding open. Stiles helps get his own underwear off, lets out a shaky breath at his cheek being spread. He can hear the opening of the lube and gasps when two slick fingers are at his entrance, starting to push in.

Derek’s never spread him before and he groans, relaxes as those fingers work in and out of him insistently, like he wants to get to the point as quick as possible. Stiles rocks back, bites his lip as they scissor, brushing his sweet spot as they open him up more.

“Derek, come on. J-Just fuck me.” Stiles spreads his thighs more when Derek gets closer.

“Shut up.” He says, leaning over him to nip at his shoulder again. He thrusts his fingers in, listens to the cut off start of a protest that dissolves into a shuddering moan.

His chest is tight and he’s feeling overwhelmed with the seeing of his—No. They’re not his pack. Not anymore. He pumps his fingers harder, Stiles’ heart beating fast, soft noises spilling from him. Stiles presses back against him each time, showing his eagerness, and Derek withdraws his fingers.

Stiles gnaws on his lip as he listens to the sounds of the bottle and Derek’s breathing, and then he’s there against him, slick and hard. Derek leans over him, breathes out slowly before pressing forward. Stiles’ breath hitches and he grips to the sheets, bows his head and takes the stretch.

Derek waits until Stiles’ back arches just so, relaxing. He starts to thrust, holding tight to Stiles’ hips, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes closed. Stiles pants and lets him go as hard as he wants, letting out these small, high noises of his own whenever he pushes back in.

He’s trying to hear if Derek’s making noise, too. And it still hits his confidence a little when he realizes Derek’s quiet again, and he hangs his head, breathes roughly. After a few minutes, those hands loosen their grip on Stiles’ hips, and then he’s leaning over him fully, bracing his hands on either side of Stiles.

He rests his head against Stiles’ back and Stiles takes the weight, rocks back against him encouragingly. He feels harsh breathing on his skin, the scratch of stubble, maybe even the press of lips. He feels Derek’s chest stutter with his breath and he thinks finally, he’s letting it feel good, and then he thinks that Derek’s licking at his shoulder.

But… no.

He can feel Derek’s breath against him, and the wetness isn’t there. Derek starts to fuck into him slower, but with more force, pressing his face harder against him as if to hide. Stiles turns his head to look at him, and is almost shocked at what he sees.

Derek’s crying. He’s… Oh, It strikes Stiles right in the chest, sharp and heavy. He gasps and stops moving his hips, shakily reaches and touches Derek’s arm, “Derek, hold on. Stop just for a second, okay?”

The Alpha huffs out a breath, something that just makes him sound defeated, and backs off. He pulls out and moves to get off the bed. Stiles grabs his wrist as he turns on his back, pulls him close. Derek starts to refuse, like anyone crying who wants to keep it to themselves would, but Stiles isn’t having it.

“It’s okay. Come on, come here.” Stiles spreads his legs for him, wraps himself around him when he’s close enough. He lets Derek hide his face in the crook of his neck and he strokes a hand through his hair soothingly, “It’s fine, Derek. Just let it out. Please, it’ll be okay.”

It worries and pleases Stiles when he gives in. He muffles sobs against Stiles’ skin and holds him at his shoulder after slipping an arm under him, and around his waist. Stiles holds onto him right back and touches his hair, rocks them slowly, as much as he can manage.

He whispers about happy things, about how it can be okay. Some work for Stiles himself, but he adds a few in that might help Derek. He gently mentions the walk again. And then he talks about hot chocolate for at least five minutes, and asks if Derek has any, because he would make him some. Hot chocolate cures a lot of sadness. Derek just grunts at him, sniffles. Stiles presses a kiss to his hair.

It takes Derek a little while to calm down, and that’s just fine with Stiles. He wants to care for him more than he wants to have sex and push away problems. He places kisses to his hair, his temple, lets Derek up when he wants. He gets them back into their underwear and holds his hand while they walk to the kitchen.

It turns out Derek does have hot chocolate, and Stiles wants to make it right, like when it’s winter and you will leave your frostbite fingers to wait for the kettle to whistle. But Derek doesn’t have one - he makes a mental note to change that - and puts a mug of milk into the microwave.

“You know, it’s funny to think of you walking into a store and picking up hot chocolate. For a few reasons, actually.” He says, trying to lighten the mood a little. Derek’s silent, looking like his ego has been hit for crying.

“It was for Erica, because I know she likes it.” Derek tells him after a few too many moments, staring at the counter. Stiles moves around and wraps him in his arms again.

“Well, maybe you should show it to her. I bet she’ll appreciate it,” He runs a hand through Derek’s hair, “But I was talking you about actually going into a store, leather jacket and sour-faced, buying a pretty box of hot chocolate.”

“I’m not sour-faced all the time.” Derek mumbles into his shoulder, arms still limply at his sides.

“Maybe if you smiled for me, I’d think differently,” He kisses the Alpha’s temple, has that urge to kiss him on the mouth again. He pulls away and cups Derek’s face in his hands, thumbs swiping under his red rimmed eyes, “…But no, you don’t look sour-faced all the time.”

Because sometimes Derek looks utterly shattered. Just so done with the entire world and the people in it. Sometimes… It’s like the only reason he doesn’t kill himself is because he thinks he deserves the pain. And that hurts Stiles so much, that he wants to strive to prove that he deserves not only to be alive, but to be happy without guilt. He can’t do it very well himself, but he’s always trying to make people around him feel better.

Stiles glances to Derek’s lips. Kisses are nice. Kisses make things better, right? He hopes so. He licks his lips and steps a little closer. He wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss Derek. It’ll be nice. It’ll be—

Ding!

The microwave jumps him, shakes him out of his thoughts and concentration. Derek’s looking at him with a confused face, eyebrows raising as he looks back and forth between Stiles’ eyes. Stiles bites his lip and moves away, goes and fixes the cup of cocoa.

He ends up getting clumsy and burning himself, hisses and swears a bit under his breath. Derek molds himself to his back, grabs his hand. He takes Stiles’ burnt finger into his mouth, licks over it slowly while Stiles tries to work with one hand.

“T-That’s really nice and all, but horribly distracting, given everything my lower regions have been through tonight,” Stiles says, and Derek sucks softly, moves his other hand into Stiles’ underwear, teases his hole with a tip of a finger. “Oh, my God.”

“Bed, Stiles.” Derek slides Stiles’ finger out of his mouth, runs it across his lip.

O-Oh, no. No,” He wiggles out of the Alpha’s grasp, turning to face him, “You’re gonna drink this hot chocolate first. You need to. I made it for you.”

Derek backs him up against the counter, body flush against his, and reaches around to grab the cup, “Fine.”

Stiles squirms a little when Derek takes a hold of the waistband of his boxer-briefs, steers him over to the living room. Derek sits on the couch and brings him to straddle his lap. Stiles shifts, length at half mast and rubbing against his underwear, “Um, okay.”

Derek sips at the hot chocolate, looking drained in the eyes, but a little like the old Alpha Derek. It excites Stiles that he looks cocky, and he wets his lips, lays his hands on his abdomen. Derek watches his face while his free hand rubs at his thigh, fingers dipping under the fabric and a palm brushing along the bulge.

Stiles tilts his hips forward, trying to get Derek’s hand to cover him, touch him. Derek just raises an eyebrow and moves his hand away, sliding it back to grip at his ass. Stiles nods, biting his lip, digging his fingers a little into his skin. Derek looks like he’s holding back a smirk as he takes another drink, slips his hand in to glide along his skin, in between his cheeks.

“O-Oh, God.” He whispers, biting his lip harder as Derek’s finger breaches him. He rocks down against it, feeling it thrust slowly, curling and pressing. Stiles whimpers, moving his hands up Derek’s torso, touching along his muscles. Another finger is set to him and he moans, “Yeah, Derek.”

The second one slides in next to the first, pumping in and out leisurely, Derek looking up at him with the cup to his lips, smug and Stiles wants this. He wants this Derek all the time. He wants Derek to pin him to the bed and look at him like that, make noise and kiss him, make them come.

He presses down against them, working his hips as he pants softly. Derek’s eyes start to spark up and his lips curve up even more. He takes another drink and hums softly, twisting his fingers to brush along Stiles’ sweet spot.

“O-Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?” Stiles moans, clenching around his fingers, moving to touch himself through his underwear, “You’re not looking completely calm and collected, Mr. Alpha Eyes. Like what you see? Do something about it.”

“I am.” Derek returns coolly, and that doesn’t help Stiles. He pushes his fingers in again, harder this time and earns a shaky, desperate sound as Stiles rides them insistently.

“Fuck, fuck.” Stiles closes around his fingers, squeezes a hand over himself before moving to touch Derek, groping him through the fabric, “Derek, y-you should—”

Derek shakes his head, starts to slowly work another finger into him. He shudders, goosebumps up his legs and arms, feels a low heat settling in his stomach. He rests their foreheads together when Derek sets the cup aside. “I like when you come, too.” He whispers, touching his face like every time, rubbing his fingers against his growing stubble. “Makes us feel good, yeah?”

Derek’s eyes flick to his, just enough to glance before he’s shifting his eyes down again, to where his other hand is rubbing Stiles through his underwear. Stiles tries to hold off his orgasm, tries to get Derek to reconsider, but the Alpha won’t respond. He thrusts his fingers just right and grips his cock through the fabric, and Stiles is coming, whimpering and giving a shuddering gasp, whispering Derek’s name as he rides it out.

Derek slides his fingers out gently after, nuzzling his cheek against Stiles’, scratching his stubble against him, “Thank you for the hot chocolate.”

Stiles holds back a whine at how Derek’s still hard and bumping against his thigh, and nods, “Time for bed.”

They get up and head to the hallway, Stiles starting to make a detour for the bathroom. Derek grabs his arm and pulls him along to the bedroom, taking down his underwear when he starts to protest. He lays Stiles on the bed and leans down, licking at the come smeared across his thighs, cleaning him up and making him dirtier at the same time. He doesn’t even think Derek cares. After, Stiles watches him crawl up his body, look him in the eyes.

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, anything in that moment, but Derek moves. And it’s how he moves that makes Stiles’ heart race, because as he goes to stand back up, their lower lips touch, something that could be only a mistake,a misjudge of space between them. But Stiles’ heart pounds and he licks over where they’ve touched, as if it means something.

In the morning, Derek is still asleep when Stiles gets ready for school at the apartment, slipping on the spare clothes he carries around with him, and notices he forgets a shirt. Somehow it doesn’t feel weird just grabbing one of Derek’s and putting it on.

He sits on the edge of the bed and strokes Derek’s hair, telling him how nice it is that it’s Friday, that it’s supposed to be crisp and cool outside today, and he’ll stay tonight if he wants him to. Derek doesn’t really respond, doesn’t even open his eyes, but that’s okay. It’s definitely okay after the night he had. He kisses his forehead before he stands back up. Derek grabs for his hand, getting his middle and ring fingers, and mumbles a quiet “keys on the table” before letting go and settling back in.

“Thanks.” He whispers, leaning back down and kissing his hair just because he can, “Sleep all you need to, I canceled movie night.”

He watches Derek burrow more under the covers, bites his tongue on a puppy joke to try and stop the pushed back tension, and grabs the keys before leaving the apartment. He gets a little giddy when he slides behind the wheel of Derek’s car, wrapped up in the smell of Derek and leather - which, by now, is a part of Derek to Stiles.

He drives to school and is torn between his emotions when he sees the faces of the Betas. He’s happy they look hopeful that it’s Derek, because that means they still want Derek in their lives, but then his chest aches when they realize it’s just him. He walks up after locking the Camaro and promises them that they can come over another time soon. He makes sure Isaac knows he can still live there.

He stops at home after school, grabs the spare kettle way back in the cupboard, and stops to get his dad something healthy for a late lunch - because he knows sometimes his dad doesn’t eat while on the job - and swings by the station to give it to him. He parks a little ways away so the Camaro isn’t seen, he doesn’t need his dad asking ‘where’s your jeep?’ and ‘who’s car is that?’ and ‘do we need to talk?’.

They talk briefly about Saturday’s breakfast together, and the Sheriff mentions how Stiles is spending a lot of time at friends’ houses. Stiles promises that everything’s okay - even if he does have bags under his eyes. He has his homework done and he’s eating, so it’s fine - and that he’s just helping out a friend who’s having a hard time.

He smiles and tells him to eat and to be safe, then heads to Derek’s. When he gets there, he hops up the steps and walks through the front door, heading into the kitchen to set down the kettle.

He doesn’t even have to yell for him, just talks normally, like Derek’s right there, “Hey, dude. I got this awesome kettle so I can teach you how do make proper hot chocolate. It’s gonna be great.” He sheds his jacket and smooths out the borrowed shirt, pads down the hallway.

It catches him off guard when he sees Derek’s door cracked open, and it’s lighted. With sunlight. No dark shadows. Stiles thinks for a moment that he has the wrong apartment, but that’s stupid, because he knows it’s Derek’s apartment. He walks forward cautiously, pushing the door open.

Derek turns to look at him, lacing up his shoes from his spot on the bed. There’s light everywhere, the thick blinds pushed back and even the windows are open, letting in the slight breeze. The bedsheets are changed and Derek’s in clean clothes, his hair still a little damp from a shower.

“Wha… Woah. Derek, hey. Hi.” Stiles grins at him, one he can’t hold back because now he’s just buzzing with happy energy.

Derek’s eyes flick over his chest and then he meets his eyes, gives one of those almost-smiles, “Stiles. I want to walk today… I have laundry, too.”

Stiles nods quickly, “Yeah! Yeah, okay. We can totally walk and laundromat and stuff. That’s great.”

Derek looks at him for a few seconds after tying his other shoe, then gets up, goes to stand in front of him. Stiles smiles and reaches up, fixes a few stray stands of hair. Derek takes his hand and moves it back down, but holds it while his other hand goes to Stiles’ chin, tips his head up slightly.

He leans in and gives a chaste kiss to Stiles’ lips. Soft, simple, like they both don’t know what to do with each other this way; because they don’t. Stiles leans into it at the last second, just having realized that he was being kissed for the first time. Derek pulls away, looks over his face.

Stiles feels his heart flutter with hope, something bright and warm and happy, and he smiles, “Come on, let’s go outside. It’s nice out. Let’s go do things.” He pulls Derek along, only letting go to put his jacket back on and take one of the bags of laundry. They shove the bags into the trunk of the car and Derek lets Stiles drive to the laundromat.

Stiles holds his hand when they walk in, seeing Derek hesitant to the people inside. He just pulls him along and gives an encouraging smile, takes him to a washer and starts throwing stuff in. Derek does too and Stiles slips a few bills from his pocket, going over and exchanging them for quarters and laundry soap.

Derek watches him, nods when Stiles asks if the scent of the soap is okay. He puts everything together and presses the start button, then looks at Derek expectantly, “So… Wanna take that walk now?”

The Alpha nods and moves a hand from his pocket, letting it hang at his side. Stiles takes his hand and leads him outside, over to the park about a block down the street. They walk in, Derek going for the path, letting Stiles lean against him as they go.

Stiles’ cheeks are a little blotchy with reds and pinks, like they get sometimes when Stiles is embarrassed, or on the lacrosse field, or after sex. Derek starts to veer away when other people come their way on the path and Stiles follows him, slips Derek’s arm around his middle.

“You’re okay.” He promises, leaning over to bump Derek’s cheek with his nose. Derek only grunts quietly, acknowledging he’s said something. “I’m proud of you.”

Derek slows down, stares at the ground for a few moments before shaking himself out of it. He sighs and his grip on Stiles’ waist loosens a little. Stiles frowns, wraps both of his arms around Derek in a haste to get that look in his eyes away. Derek’s caught off balance and stumbles as he tries to hold Stiles and get himself righted again.

“What the hell are you doing?” He says through gritted teeth, arm gripping Stiles to him as his back meets a tree and he braces himself there.

“Shut up.” Stiles tells him, pressing his lips to Derek’s, wrapping his hands in the collar of his jacket. He doesn’t want to push this, not yet, and only opens his mouth to work his lips against Derek’s, liking so much when Derek starts to kiss back. He doesn’t care about the people walking, or that they’re out in public and literally anyone would relay this back to his father - I saw your son kissing another boy! One older than him! I think it was that suspected murder, Derek Hale!

He pulls away and sucks in a deep breath, looks to see Derek giving him a glare, a hard expression as he closes himself off again. Stiles lets go of his jacket, “Why would you do that? I’m not a threat. I’m not going to hurt you. I said I was fucking proud of you for being outside. Why is that a bad thing?”

Derek just looks at him, jaw set, hands letting him go. Stiles sighs and grabs his wrist, starts to lead him back. He can tell Derek wants to pull away, but he won’t let him. He tries to calm himself down, remembering that Derek had sunlight all through his room, is now outside with him, taking up Stiles on offers he’s made. He takes a few deep breaths and loosens his grip on his wrist, gently slides his hand into Derek’s.

Stiles leans against the doorway and watches Derek fold his clothes. Isaac’s in the apartment now, sneaking glances at Derek’s room whenever he walks by. Stiles wishes things would be okay between them, because Isaac honestly wants Derek to be his Alpha. And Stiles doesn’t fully want to admit it, but he’s getting tired. Tired physically, tired emotionally. It’s like Derek doesn’t want to get better.

He runs his hands over his face and holds back a sigh, feeling as if he’s getting a headache. “Stiles,” Derek’s looking at him, clothes folded on the floor in front of him.

“Want me to take care of those?” He asks, steps toward them. Derek shakes his head, “Then, what?”

“Get on the bed.”

Stiles bites his lip, lowers his voice to a whisper even if Isaac would still be able to hear him, “Isaac’s here, though.”

Derek stares at him, tilting his head toward the bed. Stiles sighs and sits on the bedspread, Derek pushing him back so he’s laying down. The Alpha holds his hips, gropes at them. Stiles tries to lean up and kiss him just for the sake of kissing him, thinking just maybe it would help, but Derek pulls away.

“Go home.” He tells him, looking over his face closely as he removes his hands from him.

“What?” Stiles tries to sit up, look at him. Derek moves around and picks up his clothes, starts to put them away.

“I want you to leave.”

“And come back tomorrow?”

Derek’s silent and something about that just makes Stiles angry. He stands and glares at his back, “And come back tomorrow?

Derek shrugs.

Stiles sets his jaw, “What the fuck?” Still silent, Derek puts another shirt into the drawer, looking tense. Stiles clenches his fists, “What do you want from me, huh? Do you even want to get better? I’m trying to help you!”

Derek lowers his head, like he’s now looking at the ground and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll go the fuck home. If you want me, which you obviously don’t, call me.” He pushes his way out of the room, stomping past a fallen-faced Isaac, and hops into his Jeep. He can’t help when he mutters about “how done he is with this shit”.

He only realizes, once he’s at home, that that was a setback Derek had and those happen. By then, he’s a little embarrassed and feels like a shitty person, but he doesn’t know what to do because Derek will not talk to him about this.

He feels like he’s running out of ways to help him.

On Friday, Stiles goes to school, does his detention for not listening in class, then stops by the station to bring his father dinner. He goes home and crawls into bed, sleeps until he hears his dad come home.

They have dessert - Stiles lets his dad have ice cream with only two toppings - and end up falling asleep on the couch together. Stiles tucks his head into his shoulder and says he’s fine when his dad asks.

Saturday, they go out for breakfast and Stiles convinces his father to eat healthier. He gets a call about halfway through from a private caller, answers but whoever it is hangs up after he says hello. He sighs and leaves his phone on the table, ignores a text from Scott and two from Isaac.

“You sure you don’t need to be somewhere?” Sheriff Stilinski asks, gesturing to his son’s phone with his butter knife.

“No, it’s fine. Why?” He shoves another piece of pancake into his mouth. Maybe if he stuffs his face, his dad won’t ask questions.

“You seem off, kid. That’s all. Did something happen?”

“I just… Had a fight with someone.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do, Isaac.” Stiles runs a hand over his hair as he talks into his cell phone, “He told me to leave.”

“He-He didn’t really mean it.” Isaac bargains.

“You heard what happened. He wanted me out.” He lays back on his bed, covers his eyes with his arm. He can hear Isaac sigh.

“He didn’t come out of his room at all. I listened to his heartbeat for hours. He literally didn’t make much noise and he only got out of bed once… To sit on the floor.”

Stiles does not want to think right now. He doesn’t want to think about the ache in his chest. “Well, is he sleeping now?”

“I don’t know. I’m at Boyd’s. I thought I should leave him alone, since he won’t let me near him.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to tell him. He doesn’t want to lie to him, give him some false hope or something he’ll know is bullshit. He sighs and wonders when the Earth will open up and swallow him whole. “Look… I don’t know what to tell you, honestly. I’m sorry.”

The land line starts to ring downstairs and Stiles gets up, goes to jog down the stairs so his father doesn’t have to, “Got it, dad! Isaac, I’ll talk to you later, okay? Just try and sleep.” He waits for Isaac to mumble an okay before he hangs up and answers the phone, already going to untangle the old curled cord, “Hello?”

“I need you.” says a low, quiet voice on the other end.

“Um, excuse me?”

“Stiles,” The voice gets a little louder, easier to hear, “I need you.”

“Derek, why are you calling my house? How did you even get—”

“I. Need. You. Here, right now.” Derek tells him, sounding defeated - and if Stiles is honest, needy - “I-I just… Stiles. Stiles?”

“I’m right here. Unlock the door for me, and I’ll be right over.”

Stiles throws on some shoes and his jacket, grabs his keys and leaves. He pulls up at Derek’s apartment ten minutes later and stumbles out of his Jeep, jogging up the steps and inside.

“De—Omph!” He’s blocked against the door, hands groping his hips, mouth at his throat. He doesn’t try to shove him away, just pushes back against him, hands holding tight to his shoulders. “I-Is this your way of saying you missed me?”

Stiles thinks Derek makes the Derek equivalent of a whine and his hands slip from his hips to around his waist, pressing them together. Stiles moves his hands to his hair, running his fingers through it, “Okay. It’s okay.”

“Stiles…”

“Yeah.”

Derek pulls away from him slowly, taking his hand and turning to lead him to the bedroom. Stiles watches him as they go, seeing he looks not only exhausted, but completely vulnerable. Something flares up in him where he wants to press Derek for information, get what he’s thinking out of him. He understands that it was too much for Derek; being outside, out of his element, with other people around. Stiles was being too emotional, and it just was too much in that moment. Like a lesser scale anxiety attack, and Derek bottled it up and shut down.

Derek lays on the bed, hands guiding - rubbing - Stiles’ thighs as he settles in on top of him. Stiles ignores the way their hips press together and looks over Derek’s eyes, gently touches his face, “Hey.”

Derek swallows, lips parting.

He quiets his voice even more, “Talk to me.”

Stiles wakes up and snuggles in more to the bed, warmth all around him. His shirt has been pushed up, and Derek has his cheek against abdomen. Stiles moves his hand from where it’s been resting on Derek’s back and cards a hand through his hair, twisting some strands and pushing it away from his forehead.

Derek’s out like a light. Completely passed out and splayed on the bed like he started out tightly scrunched up, then just let his body do what it needed. Stiles is gonna let him stay like that, for a little while longer, since last night ended up in swearing and angry voices.

But Derek did open up, just a little, while his crawls punctured his pillow and he held back tears. Stiles quickly realized that he hates when Derek cries, even if it helps. Then he let Derek touch over his body, just press into his skin and feel his pulse, his heartbeat. He kept murmuring that he was here, and Derek would give him bits of information about what he was feeling, whatever decided to come out.

He starts to plan in his head about the pack coming over again, for a movie night, just to get Derek back on the horse from where he’s fallen.

Stiles hears shuffling around outside the door. He’s guessing Isaac came home while they were sleeping. He’s glad he’s here. He runs his fingers continuously through Derek’s hair, slow and soothing, trying to push away bad things and keep him calm.

It’s another half hour before Derek stirs, probably because of the coffee that even Stiles can smell brewing out in the kitchen. Stiles has been drifting in and out of sleep, hand still in Derek’s hair when the Alpha looks up at him with puffy eyes. Stiles beckons him up and hugs him, likes how Derek’s hand rubs against his skin, up his abdomen and onto his chest. He pulls Derek lazily down against him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Derek’s hand moves, tugging for his shirt to come off and he lets it, lays himself back down when it’s over his head. The hand settles on him again, up higher, to his ribcage on the side where his heart is beating. Stiles thinks Derek can feel it against his fingers, an amplified thrum, deeper than anyone else could feel.

“Okay?” Stiles whispers, leg overlapping Derek’s. The Alpha nods, deciding to hide his face against Stiles’ shoulder. “It’s Sunday… Maybe the pack can come over today. Watch a movie?”

Derek nods again, nips softly at his collarbone. Stiles tilts his head and gives him more room, “You want some coffee?”

“Nu-uh.” Derek mumbles against his throat, free hand going down to touch Stiles between the legs.

“W-Wow, okay. Um,” He lowers his voice, turns his head toward Derek, bumping noses with him, “You, uh. You know there are other people in the apartment, right? With advanced hearing?”

Derek grunts softly, presses up and kisses Stiles, half insistently pushing his tongue against his lips. Stiles opens up for him with a shaky sigh, moving a hand to lay over Derek’s, bringing it back up to his ribs. He wants him to feel his heart speed up.

Their tongues slide together and Derek starts mapping out his mouth, slow and thorough. Stiles makes a small noise, almost a whine as he presses more against Derek, trying to explore him as well. Derek lets him, taps his thumb against Stiles’ side in time with his quickening heartbeat. Stiles can feel his cheeks heating up and kisses Derek harder, getting up on an elbow while his hand cradles the Alpha’s cheek.

Derek pulls away soon after to make sure Stiles remembers to breathe, looks closely at the color staining his cheeks. Stiles swallows and rubs his thumb against his cheekbone, pushes so he’s on top and mouths at his throat. Derek’s hands are holding at his hips, groping to get his attention. Stiles nips at his ear, “Derek, come on. Not yet… I can skip first period.”

“He’s leaving.” Derek whispers, and Stiles hears the door close seconds later, “Shower. Now.”

Stiles doesn’t object. He actually actively agrees, and takes Derek’s hand to lead him there. He’s still wary of having the mirror uncovered, but Derek doesn’t look at it. He gets the shower ready and strips, Stiles doing the same before they step in.

Derek backs him up against the tiles as the water warms, presses his lips and teeth along his neck, veering over to his collarbone and shoulder. Stiles holds his shoulders, grinds his hips against him. He feels Derek’s hands move down his body, water making their skin slippery, and he pulls Derek in for a kiss when he feels fingers nudging against him.

“F—Ah, God. Derek,” He gasps against his mouth, arching against him as two fingers try to breach him, “Shit, one at a time. I know you like my ass, but calm down.”

Derek withdraws and rubs his stubble against Stiles, then steps away, taking him by the arm and turning him to face the tiles. Stiles bites his lip, confused, thinking Derek just might shower instead. He turns his head to look, and his heart pounds as he watches Derek get to his knees.

“What are you—? Oh.” Derek’s hands settle on his cheeks, spreading them. Stiles holds the shower bar and lets out a shaky breath, “Derek.”

The Alpha’s hands squeeze on him, then Stiles feels him right there, touching his tongue against his hole. Stiles closes his eyes and shudders, rocking back slightly to let him know yes, please fucking do it. Derek starts to work his tongue in, opening him up. Stiles squirms a bit, not used to the sensation but it feels like a good thing, so he breathes and lets Derek do what he wants, arching back into him encouragingly.

He spreads his legs a little more with Derek’s hands kneading at his cheeks, letting go of a shaky breath as Derek loosens him up. “God, that’s good. Derek, oh my God.” A finger starts to work in alongside his tongue and Stiles groans, bucking back against him.

Derek slips his tongue out and moves his mouth to one of Stiles’ cheeks, biting down and listening to him gasp. He lets go and then holds him open again, “Calm down.”

“Mm. O-Okay. Yeah, okay.” Stiles tries to relax, tries to let Derek just get him open so he can fuck him, but it’s good and he’s hard. He desperately wants Derek to tongue fuck him while he jerks off, but it’s always so good when Derek fucks him. He’s a conflicted guy.

Soon, Derek’s tongue is done thrusting in and out of him, driving him crazy, and two fingers are filling him up, scissoring even though Stiles is well enough stretched. The Alpha stands back up, curling his fingers to rub against Stiles’ sweet spot.

He bucks back against him but Derek withdraws, holds his hips, brings him back so Derek’s cock is pressed to him. He whines softly, looking over his shoulder at him. Derek leans closer and cups his jaw, kisses him hard as he slips inside him. Stiles gives a strangled moan against Derek’s mouth and grips white-knuckled to the bar, already trying to rock forward and back on him.

Derek holds him steady and buries his face into the junction of shoulder and neck. Stiles is wet and panting, free hand going down to settle over his. Derek starts to thrust, ones that rub against Stiles in all the right ways and fills him up completely on every push. He can’t help being loud, noises spilling out involuntarily. Derek starts to groan quietly against his skin and Stiles feels weak in the knees for a second. Derek is making noise. Derek likes this.

“Oh, God. Good. So good, Derek.” He bucks forward against air, wanting to touch himself, but both of his hands are occupied.

The water runs down both of them and Derek’s hair is getting wet. His eyes are closed from what Stiles can tell and he likes the way this looks. The Alpha starts to mouth at his neck, pressing his hips forward harder, feeling Stiles react to his louder groan. He secretly loves when Stiles closes around him, tight and squirming, body giving off the strong tang of arousal.

Stiles bucks back against him, gripping his hand, “F-Faster, Derek. Please, faster.”

Derek obliges him, rutting against him faster, watching as Stiles sets his forehead against the wall, groans breathlessly. He bites softly at the back of his neck, feeling Stiles shudder. He can’t help when he bucks forward hard and gives a low groan, but Stiles encourages it, whining in the back of his throat.

Stiles gets a hand around himself and starts to pump, feeling the buildup all hot in his lower abdomen. Each thrust just edges him closer and he shakes with Derek’s name on his lips as he comes, closing tight around him.

The Alpha grunts when he comes, letting his eyes pulse with crimson, feeling claws push at his fingernails. He doesn’t let them through, burying his face in Stiles’ shoulder and riding it out.

Stiles breathes hard as he comes down from the high, feeling unsteady on his feet. He lets go of his cock, shakily putting his hand over Derek’s again, gasping softly when Derek pulls out. He turns and leans against the shower, grabs Derek’s shoulder and pulls him in for a hug. Derek holds him there, places kisses along his neck and Stiles lays his head back against the wall, sighing.

“Christ, you’re touchy today. I like it.” He takes Derek by the back of the neck and brings him closer for a kiss, all teeth and tongue and harsh breathing. Derek’s hand settles on his lower back and keeps him close, moving them completely under the spray of the shower. Stiles chuckles when Derek doesn’t stop kissing him to clean them up, just tries to do both. Stiles holds his face in his hands, tugging on Derek’s lip with his teeth before he pulls away. He smiles, moving in to kiss his jaw, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep going.”

Derek washes them up while Stiles keeps kissing him, on his jaw, down his neck. He pulls at Derek’s earlobe with his teeth, moaning when Derek moves a soaped hand between his cheeks and touches. Everything starts to smell like the Alpha’s body wash and Stiles loves this. If Derek lets him, he’ll totally get used to this.

After they rinse off, Stiles has missed his first class, and he has five minutes to get to his second. He’s not even dried off yet. Derek decides it’s a good time to get him down on the bed.

“W-Wait. Derek, wait.” Stiles threads his fingers into his hair and has him look up, “I have school.”

He sighs, looking over Stiles’ face, “You’re gonna come back?”

Stiles leans up and slides their lips together, “Of course I will.”

Derek nods, swallowing thickly. He does something that Stiles never thought could come from him - and it’s so simple. So painfully simple that it makes Stiles stare up at him, open mouthed and awed. Derek moves a hand up, running his hand over Stiles’ wet hair, spiking up the short strands, just about petting like Stiles does to him.

It’s a simple gesture, something small to anyone else, but Derek’s face just looks so different. He doesn’t look tortured, like he hates being alive anymore, he looks… Calm. Focused. He’s focusing on Stiles, just for a moment, keeping himself from thinking and that, that right there is what stops panic attacks. That is what keeps unstable people tethered. And Stiles has hope.

Derek’s kissing him before he realizes it, tumbling through his own thoughts, but kisses back, smiles into it.

“Okay! Everyone grab a seat, someone sit on someone else if someone spreads out. Don’t drop any popcorn on the floor or I’ll hurt you, and everyone be quiet during the opening of Captain America. Thank you, have a nice show.” Stiles announces with a grin, watching as everyone settles in.

Erica is on Boyd’s lap, legs in Isaac’s. Isaac is smushed up against Boyd and Scott, basically half on top of him as Scott moves an arm to lay over the back of the couch. There’s a bowl of popcorn in Erica’s lap, who looks like she’ll spill it just to make Stiles mad, wearing a mischievous smile.

Stiles rolls his eyes and goes into the kitchen. They’ve eaten dinner, too, and Derek didn’t come out of his room for it. He’ll make him a plate and bring it to him. He’s still hopeful, wanting to think that Derek’s just tired today. That happens.

He makes the plate and goes to walk down the hallway, when he sees Derek exiting his room, wearing sweatpants and a worn out looking Henley. Stiles gives him a smile, holds out the plate, “Hey.”

“Stiles,” Derek’s mouth quirks up a little and he takes the plate, moves around him and out to the living room. Stiles follows him like a newborn puppy, thinking dazed that Derek will sit with the pack.

Isaac’s pulled himself from the couch, and he’s on the floor, trying to get the DVD player to work. It’s never been used before, and evidently something’s become unplugged. Actually, a few things, seeing as there are wires around them and the rest of the pack is trying to tell him how to put it together.

Derek sets his plate down on the coffee table and kneels down next to Isaac, helping him place each wire right. Isaac looks at him like he can’t believe Derek’s acknowledging him, but goes with him as everyone else goes quiet.

Stiles can’t quit smiling.

“T-There’s uh, there’s one missing.” Isaac says softly, looking up at his Alpha.

Derek points at the television set up, “Behind it.”

Isaac nods and gets up, checking and smiling when he finds the lost cord. He and Derek thread everything through to the back and Isaac hooks it up the rest of the way, then puts in the DVD. Isaac looks at him, as if for some sort of instruction, and Derek looks him over then, “You did it.”

And Isaac beams. Derek ducks his head and moves back around the table, sitting down next to Stiles as they all make room for him. He takes his plate and pulls Stiles closer, starting to eat. Isaac wedges his way back into his place and Scott presses play on the remote.

“Okay, okay! Now, everyone be quiet. Oh my God, beginnings are most important in movies. It just sets an awesome tone and—” Stiles gets cut off, Derek’s hand closing over his mouth. There’s an amused voice in his ear.

“Stiles, shut up.”