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What We Do in the Night

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Derek is ten and Stiles is fourteen the first time they meet. He feels it instantly. It's this hot itch down deep in his stomach-- far enough back to tickle his spine and make his body jerk. He doesn't know what it is, not really, but his instincts let him know it's important, make him pay attention to everything the other boy says, every move he makes.

He's got eyes like warm amber and lips so plush and pink Derek feels flushed just looking at them. His nose is upturned and delicate, his lashes over long-- the beauty marks in clusters across his body an endless fascination. He's got his hair shorn short enough to try and offset the androgyny of his features, but his body's in the limbo state before his presentation.

Derek had thought the other boy would be a beta for sure. So late into his adolescence, if he hadn't been noticing drastic changes yet, they likely weren't coming. He was the stock sort of gangly and awkward that all teenagers reach at some point-- where their limbs are growing faster than the rest of them and they feel drunk on their own hormones, but there was nothing else to give him away, to deem him other than average.

He'd been shy then, just as much as Derek was, and they stared across the landing at each other for a long time. He was the baby sitter, a reliable one as his father was the sheriff. Derek was just getting old enough to think that he didn't need one-- Laura didn't have to have one-- but any complaints he'd been planning to make had died on his lips.

Clutching onto the railing, having come thundering downstairs to wish his mother a good night before she left, he hid himself behind it as best as he could while he assessed the newcomer that made his ears heat up for no discernible reason. Eventually Stiles waved at him with four fingers from his waist-- his thumb jammed into the corner of his jeans pocket-- and grimaced instead of smiled and Derek liked him. He didn't say as much, or even act like, but he liked him.



A year later Stiles' voice got deep and his hair got long and his body got luscious. That was a word Derek learned for the sole purpose of describing it. His hips spread wide and his butt got big and his thighs grew sturdy. He was no longer the reedy, undefinable late bloomer that shied away anytime someone looked at him.

He was a fertile, fecund omega boy that smelled like heavy cream steeped in sugar and cardamom and Derek sprouted much, much earlier than anyone anticipated in the wake of it. His body wasn't ready, still waiting for the right moment to make him grow, but he felt it in more important places. It scared him most of the time, but in the quiet spaces where was just the two of them together, it didn't feel so all consuming. It felt like the tip top of the roller coaster and he knew he was ready for it to tip.

But then one of his sisters would walk in or his mother would call and it's like he's stung sharp with a cattle prod, reminding him that Stiles just got his first boyfriend and Derek still has to have which movies he can and can't watch preapproved. He remembers that he's still got animals on the underwear he put on this morning and he doesn't have any hair under his armpits and even though his mother says he has nothing to worry about-- alpha, beta, omega, it takes all kinds to make a family-- he wonders whether Stiles thinks the same.

It's still controversial to believe that omegas don't need an alpha to survive and what if he can never be that? He's scrawny, shy, introverted and unsure. His mother is an alpha and Uncle Peter is an alpha and Laura is an alpha, but they all tell stories all the time about how they knew, even when they were little-- how they always had so much energy and even aggression and they just felt so in control, coiled and ready to pounce.

Derek doesn't feel any of those things. He gets lost staring at Stiles-- humming to the vegetables steaming over the stove-- and then flushed and overwhelmed when the other boy laughs and tells him it's cute when he stares, that his mouth hangs open and shows off his buck teeth. It's all he can do not to have his whole brain shut off in the wake of Stiles reaching out with those long, lean fingers that smell like his own wet to push his chin closed with a wink.

If he were an alpha, he would have leaned forward to catch Stiles off guard and get those fingers in his mouth. He would have taken the opportunity to taste that luscious musk that Stiles can't help but spread through the house since he doesn't take suppressants. He would have made Stiles look at him as something other than the little neighborhood kid that he has to take care of. Because that's what Laura or Peter would have done.

Even at his age they were always getting into trouble, always stirring the pot and making a ruckus. The most trouble Derek got into was when his mom caught him reading old, erotic romance novels in the public library, eyes wide and mouth hanging as he realized what that tugging in his belly meant whenever Stiles came to sit.

Alphas act. Derek? He just sits and stares. He observes. He studies and learns and questions and feels this need to know before he goes forward. That's not alpha at all, and Stiles? Stiles needs an alpha. Derek knows this.

Because Stiles is sugar sweet and smiles while Talia greets him before running out the door, while Laura teases and pokes at him before she gets whisked off by friends, while Cora runs him ragged trying to keep up, and even while Derek watches him watch tv before bed. But once they've all been put away in their rooms and the lights are turned off and Stiles thinks the house is asleep, he takes care of his own self.

The first time Derek followed the sticky slaps down the stairs and to the first landing to watch the fever dream scene set in his living room-- washed out by the blue glow of the tv-- Stiles was alone, with a toy that was probably given to him for his first heat. He had his shirt pulled over his head and bunched in his armpits, his pants and trunks thrown over the armchair, and his socked feet digging into the carpet as he bit roughly at his own lips to keep quiet.

Derek sat and watched with wide eyes and an open mouth as he fucked his soppy hole open with his fingers first and then a toy, tugging at the pliant rim with a firm knot at the base and drooling an anal orgasm all over the towel he laid out beneath him.



It was another year before he brought a boy with him-- the toy no longer sating the languorous delirium that made him rut like an animal while he leaked enough slick to be fucked for hours on end. Derek watched every time, rapt and ravenous for all that pale skin, dewy with sweat. Stiles didn't moan and scream like the boys in the videos that he'd started watching in between the times his mother called Stiles to help her out, but his hitched breaths and little whines and near-silent sobs were so much better.

Derek drank them up like he was stuck in the desert, waiting for his body to become what Stiles needed it to be. Because you can't consent until you present. It was the rhyme they all knew before they even learned what it meant-- the one that made elementary school teachers uncomfortable when they heard it sing-songed on the blacktop while the kids were playing. Like Ring Around the Rosy, it was something all of them giggled at without knowing the words had a grave meaning.

Derek was twelve now and he'd been wanting to have sex with Stiles since the first time they met, but his body wasn't ready. Despite watching the other boy writhe in pleasure and feeling his own fever in return, feeling his hands twitch and his mouth dry and his hips jerk, it didn't give any response other than that. And so Derek was glad to know all the bigoted bullshit Stiles had to deal with at school-- being an unsupressed omega amidst other adolescents-- was wrong.

They weren't a danger to other kids if they decided to go through their puberty naturally. They didn't become overwhelmed by their needs and force themselves, they didn't influence minds and seduce them, and they didn't poison unpresented kids and force them to show early, or against their original biology. It was all things they had been accused of more aggressively in the past, but still caught shit for by more radical parties in the present.

When Stiles showed omega he decided not to go on suppressants, to deal with his heats and learn comfort with his body at every stage. Derek thought that made him brave and cool and self aware, but other boys at school called him mean names and made lewd gestures and tried to convince him to do things. If Derek were an alpha he would have hammered each and every one of them into the ground and then mated Stiles right there-- in the halls-- shown everyone what they were together.

Instead Stiles spat in their faces and took care of himself while Derek just watched and then muttered to him how strong he was and sharp tongued and stoic and Stiles just smiled and ruffled his hair and asked how he spoke like an eighty year old even as he lisped around his own teeth. And Derek would blush and clutch his books tighter and Stiles' long, firm hand would slide down to grip the back of his neck and he'd murmur the most sincere, sweet thank you that always made up for the teasing while walking Derek to his classroom-- still touching.

He felt special in those moments, and the ones before the lights were out and Stiles thought he no longer had to be so careful about what he showed to everyone, but then night would come and so would Scott. Scott was Stiles' age and for sure an alpha and they'd been friends for a very long time. But then they both presented and now they were more than that because they both liked each other and they both found each other attractive and they both had needs.

Scott smelled like sour candy and warm dirt and sickly-sweet smoke during the time when the lights were still on, but just like Stiles, in the dreamy blue glow of what was actually real, he changed. He always kept his tanktop and socks on when they fucked and liked to shotgun his stash while they were tied together. He was smaller than Stiles, but had more muscles-- tightly bound and sharply cut-- and they flexed and strained with the sheer force he put into pounding Stiles until his release was wetting both their thighs.

His dark skin was beautiful and the darker hair under his arms and on his belly, thin over his thighs, but thick in his crack and wiry on his balls was weirdly handsome. He was a doofy sort of sweet after he knotted, but while he was driving into Stiles with that animal hunch to his hips that made his little ass clench, he growled the kind of things the other boys in the hall said. They sounded different coming off of his lips, and Stiles actually seemed to like them then, but they still made Derek furious.

If he was an alpha and he was mating Stiles, he wouldn't say those things, wouldn't spit them at that spotted, salacious back as he made his omega kneel on the couch, holding himself up while he himself stood behind and jackrabbited for his own orgasm so fast it made their balls slap. He'd hold Stiles, kiss his face, tell him day time things even as they did night glow acts. But maybe that's why he isn't an alpha.



Derek is thirteen and Stiles is on suppressants when he finally presents. Scott and Stiles had decided to go back to friends, sans benefits, when Scott met someone else and he still sometimes comes over when Stiles does and calls Derek 'little dude' and acts like Derek hasn't watched him clean cum off of his balls in the living room. Derek never has much to say to him, but it's not really Scott's fault, so he stays polite even if he's curt.

After that there's a brief stint with Lydia that Derek doesn't watch because it makes him feel uncomfortable, and then her ex-boyfriend Jackson, that he does, and then one confusing moment with them both that the threesome records. After that Stiles goes back to just his toys for a while and Derek has been feeling something stirring in him for a while and even though there's been no clear cut signs of what he is yet, he wants so badly to walk down those stairs and ask Stiles to be the last one to have him amongst the forced, muffled laughs of a live studio audience on Friday nights.

But he waits, because he's not like Laura and he's not like Peter and he's not like Scott. He's not sure. He doesn't have it in him to just saunter down there, push Stiles over, pull down his pants, and start touching him so soft and slow that maybe, the first time, they don't even get to being tied together before it's all done with.

And in that time, when he's sure waiting is the right thing to do, comes Theo. Theo isn't like the others. He bares his teeth at Stiles. He slaps and yanks and scratches. He says mean things in mean ways and pulls out too soon after he knots-- even though it makes Stiles grit his teeth and sniffle as he's too rough. And Stiles likes it at first-- laughs after and wrestles with him and calls him an asshole in the same tone of voice that he calls Derek a marshmallow (not in front of anyone because he knows Derek would die if he did).

But then he stops finding it cute or funny or amusing. He starts asking for something different, starts saying things have to change. One night time they fight instead of fuck and Theo punches Stiles, but Stiles elbows him back and when they break up Derek thinks that it's settled. But things at school get worse. Tease and slut and bitch dig into what Stiles was and the next time he's in heat he doesn't bring his little, leather bag to Derek's with lube and a toy. He has a cardboard sleeve of pills that dull his eyes and make him sleep before the streetlights turn on.

Derek hates them. Stiles hates them, but after Theo, Stiles hates himself more. Derek just watches and doesn't say anything, doesn't make any moves as Stiles punches them out of their little foil pockets and gets himself a glass of water. He talks softly and quietly as Stiles slumps into the couch afterwards-- gaze blank as it's trained on the tv. Cora kisses him on the cheek goodnight and he hums back at her, smiling in a way that makes her sniffle as she frowns at Derek.

It's worse than before Stiles presented-- when he and Derek would have staring stand-offs from across the kitchen table. It's not like he's shy or reserved and just keeping to himself. Derek can see the effervescent, over-excited boy inside that's struggling to compete with the heavy medication that keeps him at bay. It's awful.

For months Stiles keeps on them, despite his friends and family asking him to stop, even when they can see that he wants to himself. Stiles hesitates before every pill, tears at the case after every heat, but any time he starts to shiver and his pupils blow wide and Derek can smell the core of him start to melt into that creamy heat, he panics. The jeers at school long since blew over, but Stiles hasn't had a boyfriend since, hasn't even trusted himself to touch with care.

Derek presents the night Stiles admits this out loud and wishes that he could just be held-- just to dip his toe back in the pool. Derek had jumped into his lap to hug him fiercely before the sentence was even over, and as it lingered into an hour long grip that devolved into Derek drooling on Stiles' chest, his body decided it was finally ready. In the morning Stiles was gone and Derek was starting to change.


Another few months and his chest and ass, thighs and pits, balls and cock were hairy enough to make a throw. His chest puffed out and his stomach sunk in and his voice didn't get any deeper, but his junk hung low enough to pendulum swing and he himself finally had a nighttime smell. It made Stiles flush and stammer any time he walked by and Derek ducked his head and tried not to smile because his buck teeth still made him look kiddish despite everything else.

He turned fourteen and he wished for Stiles on the candles of his birthday cake.

Come next heat, Stiles went to take his pills before lights out, and Derek didn't take them out of his hands, didn't crowd up against him, didn't come into the kitchen with his clothes left in the other room. He just looked at the omega and smiled softly and said, “You don't have to take those if you don't want to.”

Stiles had stared at his palm for a very long time and frowned and rolled them over and over with his thumb. “I don't-- I don't have anything to get me through my heat tonight.”

“That's okay.” Derek didn't wink or lick his lips or adjust himself through his cargo shorts. He shrugged and kept his hands in his pockets and watched Stiles watch his own hands.

Stiles didn't take his suppressants and Derek didn't miss the way they sat real close on the couch afterwards. “You're not like most alphas, y'know?” This was said with a smile and a snort, but also accompanied by cardamom and candied ginger and warm, sweet cream.

“Is that... okay?” Derek asked, trying not to sound the way he did when he used to ask Stiles things like, “Can I please read the new X-Men before doing homework?” or “Do you think mom would get mad if I pierced my ears?” or “How come I can't watch Late Night with you?” Jimmy Fallon was doing his monologue and the living room was blue and Cora was asleep and there were no more boyfriends to spy on from the landing. Derek was an alpha now and there was an itch deep in his stomach, so close to his spine it made his hips jerk.

“Is it okay with you?” Stiles asked, his hand reaching out to gently stroke the bare skin where Derek's shirt had ridden up, fingers playing with the soft, fine black hair that had sprouted on his belly. His eyes were careful, but because he wanted them to be, not because he couldn't swim through the dense fog that kept them from warming up.

Derek shivered and he spread his legs and made the same, soft whine that he'd heard Stiles make so many times before. “I like the way I am... and I think you like the way I am... and I think that makes me like it even better. I get to be me, and still have you.” Stiles smiles then, and snorts, and it's cute how inelegant it all is. Derek can smell that he didn't shower after gym, can see that his tongue is orange from Doritos, and feel the bite of his toenails that need to be cut as he's getting up, but that's just what makes it all so real when Stiles stands to take off his hooded t-shirt, his baggy jeans, and the circus tent boxers that are faded from years of service.

His cock is small and plump and pink-- cut and with a head that's a little too narrow for the shaft. His pubes are wild and curly and Derek likes that and his balls are peachy and soft. He's got a couple moles on the inside of his thighs, which jiggle as he moves, and Derek wants so badly to suck at the meat of them and have his hands rove over Stiles' soft middle and ample ass. “Let me show you how to take care of me,” Stiles husks before leaning forward to undress him.

Derek gets his shirt and shorts and briefs off, but leaves his socks on because Stiles giggles when Derek runs his cottoned feet over the omega's hairy shins. Stiles runs his hands through Derek's soft, spiked hair and straddles him, hovering over the jut of his hard, uncut cock with a practiced ease of avoiding the straining member. Derek whines softly and tries to move his hips to slide between the plush heat of Stiles' ass cheeks, but the omega just deftly maneuvers out of his way.

“Take your time Derek. You're already just about to burst and I'm gonna need a lot of attention.” Derek grunts in reply, but can't really argue. His long foreskin is still pushed over the head of his dick, but there's enough precum in the folds to have it gushing over and down his shaft and his long, heavy balls jump every time Stiles so much as breathes in his direction. By comparison, Stiles is barely sticky between his cheeks and his omega cocklet is only mostly chubbed.

Stiles takes Derek's hands, which have been gripping his doughy sides tightly, and moves them further back and down, inviting the little alpha to grope at his ass. “Work your fingers in slow, tease me a little,” he directs, chewing his bottom lip a little as Derek starts to knead the flesh, inching closer and closer to his crack. Stiles' hips undulate with the flex of Derek's fingers and he rolls his body gently, getting lost in even just this little gesture.

Derek stares openly at him, mouth gaping, trying to take in every tiny detail. The little freckle on the edge of his left areola. The few, shiny stretch marks like parentheses around his navel from when he presented and his body started softening overnight. The untended, patchy scruff growing in adorable, trashy patterns on his face. The way his eyelids flutter every time his hole wets anew. The tittering flex of his chest when Derek stretches a finger to massage his taint before delving into his voracious heat.

Stiles makes noises Derek has never heard as he pushes the young alpha to lay down, walks on his knees up him, and grips his hair as he lowers his ass over Derek's mouth. Derek plants his feet on the couch and bucks wildly, growls, and grips tightly to the outside of Stiles' thighs as he rubs his nose up and down Stiles' taint-- scents him where he's freshest and most pungent. He nips his teeth right behind Stiles' balls, lips at the creases of his thighs, and then licks deep and long and searching between the tacky bottoms of Stiles' ass cheeks to test the tight ring of muscle quivering at his tasting.

Stiles sighs and leans back to support himself on his palms, enjoying himself for a good, long moment before reaching back to grab a handful of Derek's warm, swollen, overlong breeder balls. He rolls the testicles between his fingers, yokes at the loose sac, squeezes gently and tugs just the right amount of harsh. Derek's thick cock bobs and sways and wets even more with it, twitching and begging to deliver the hot seed deep, deep in Stiles' belly that the omega is churning.

The root of it slowly starts to swell into a firm, sensitive bulb that Stiles' gently fingers and occasionally prods to make Derek yip and gasp and burrow his face a little deeper just to hide how flushed his cheeks are. When his jaw gets tired he just rests there for a little while, breathing wet and hot against the cradle of Stiles' most delicate parts, rubbing his face against the thin skin and digging his nose into every wet crevice.

“Gonna be such a big, strong alpha for me. Gonna take care of me, make me feel safe and sexy and secure and salacious. Gonna pin me down and fuck me like you'll die if you don't knot me. Wanna get carpet burn on my chest and knees while you wrap your arms around my middle, bite my neck, slap your balls against mine and lock our legs together. I want to feel you fuck me so deep my stomach distends and I have your cum pumped so far inside it never drips out.”

Derek wriggles his body far enough up the couch to slide his lips over Stiles' warm, musky cock and balls, taking the whole package inside of his mouth to suckle and lick as he jams three fingers inside his omega, crooking them to dig all the little node hidden inside. His other hand slides up and down Stiles' stomach and chest, rubbing at the fevered skin and sliding in the sweat.

Stiles circles his fingers tight around Derek's knot and start to jerk and squeeze at it, like he's been tied but keeps grinding and pseudo-fucking into his mate anyway. He lays back along Derek's body, still straddling his face in a near impossible bend so he cause use both hands, using the other to continue massaging Derek's balls in a firm grip just shy of painful.

His mouth continues to run about all the things he's gonna teach Derek to do, all the ways they're going to breed, and his thighs tighten around Derek's head, his asshole shudders and grips and sucks around his fingers with sloppy, wet noises, and his cock starts to drool a thin, sparse semen against his tongue. Stiles' breath hitches and his chest heaves and his stomach flutters and Derek scissors his fingers and jams and grinds and fucks them crude and harsh and hungry inside him.

His omega comes in hot, soppy, musky waves that soak him and make his eyes roll back in his head and every muscle in his body jitter. Derek only realizes he's coming too when the scent of his own spunk is so thick he can't ignore it. Stiles is moaning and licking at his foreskin and continuing to milk his knot and nuts as it drools in thick, pearly rivers from his dick. It's matting his pubes and sticking in the creases of his thighs and the couch is probably going to have to be replaced.

They collapse against each other what feels like hours, but could have been minutes later-- sticky and stinky and so fucked out they can't even speak.

Derek's an alpha and he's not even really any different. But he's sure that he and Stiles are gonna move from this into mates and their fucking will turn to pupping and one day he'll be the one that comes home to find his living room so sex-soaked it will probably be easier to burn down than clean.

But until then, he's fourteen and Stiles is seventeen and they're kissing while a musical guest performs their new, hit single on a televised stage. The living room is bathed in blue.