Most recent example: toilet papering Harris’s house on Halloween. It hadn’t been that the idea itself was bad, the douchebag had deserved it, and any occasion that allowed Stiles to dress as Batman (because if there was ever a villain to be taken down, it was Harris) was an awesome thing indeed. But relegating Scott as the responsible party to plot their escape route? Worst. Idea. Ever.
Until tonight, that was.
But, in his defense, all Stiles had snuck out for were a few minutes of peace. Extended family, man. Extended family which included Mom’s brother, her sister, Dad’s step-brother, each of their spouses, plus two sets of grandparents, and an assortment of kids ranging in age from Oh, my God, what is that smell? Is that coming from his diaper! to I’m gonna paint my toenails, finger nails and lips black, then write really depressing shit in the name of poetry all to show just how much this fucked up world truly doesn’t understand me.
They’d been in town since the day before Thanksgiving. In Stiles’s house. In range of his hearing. In his sight.
Just, there was no getting away from them. Stiles had even been forced, against his will, so much against his will, into sharing his bedroom with one of his cousins. While Stiles was eternally grateful to have been spared the horror of sharing space with a shoulda-been-potty-trained-long-before-now toddler, Alex Evans’s long lost twin of emoness wasn’t a much better alternative (what, Stiles knew who Alex Evans was for reasons). The annoying, broody shit’s instant, intense crush on Scott was the reason Scott had taken off, terrified, and had yet to come back over and why Stiles was seriously considering trading in for a better, upgraded version of a 4EverBro.
Three days Scott had left Stiles to his family. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Three. Days. Each filled with dejected poetry resulting from Scott’s disgusted disinterest in pale, very much underage, pre-teen ass, and by his subsequent abandonment. Just...no. A whole world of no. No to prose, no to style and, most important, hell no to subject matter. Because, ugh, Scott.
Stiles was never forgiving him.
Anyways, the last few days hadn’t exactly left Stiles in his right mind, so moronic decisions were only to be expected at this point. With so many other things to think about, such as best practices to be employed when toeing the thin line between cousin-ignoring and cousin-throttling, it hadn’t even registered that tonight was the full moon. Not that Stiles actually kept track of full moons, other than noticing when the Hale twins were absent from school the day of and the day after. And, in all honesty, noticing Laura and Derek had less to do with wanting to know what nights their wolfy counterparts came out to play and more to do with, OMFG, werewolf or not, Derek Hale was hot like burning and, crap, uh-oh, Laura was side eyeing Stiles, again, because, shit, she was a werewolf, too, and could totally smell that he wasn’t disgusted by what they were, but instead aroused, couldn’t she.
And that meant Derek also probably—Mayday! Mayday! Evasive maneuvers, evasive maneuvers stat.
So, with no school in session until Monday, meaning no Hales to covertly watch until Monday, and with Stiles’s stupidity generated by family who would not be leaving until Monday and (because someone up above seriously must’ve had a massive haterbone for Stiles), there was some serious cloud cover blocking his view of the sky, Stiles was unaware that the full moon was out. Didn’t become aware of that important fact until after he’d walked about thirty minutes and reached the clearing in the woods right on the edge of the Hale’s property line. Mr. and Mrs. Hale had always made it clear that the residents of Beacon Hills could hunt and camp and hike in the section of the woods that they owned surrounding their house (though no one ever took them up on the offer) so long as they never did so during a full moon (everyone steered clear all the time, but definitely during full moons) because the Hales sometimes struggled to hold on to their human selves while in their moon forced shifts and if they detected a person they didn't intimately recognize in their territory...yeah, just not a good situation for anyone involved.
Yet, there Stiles was.
With a bottle of Jack he’d liberated from his father’s liquor cabinet and a good buzz going. A blanket spread under him because, while the weather was unseasonably warm for November, the ground was still too freaking cold for an intimate meeting between it and Stiles’s ass, thanks.
And with his shirt rucked up, pants and boxers pulled down and with his dick in his hand.
Oh, also, Stiles had just been made aware of the presence of some unexpected company. A big, black wolf. Easily twice Stiles’s size.
Grandmother, what big legs you have!
Grandmother, what big ears you have!
Grandmother, what big eyes—
Red. Red eyes. Red fucking eyes.
Shit, caught on Hale territory during a full moon, was Stiles’s first frantic thought as the sky cleared just long enough for him to understand how fucked he truly was. Then, immediately afterwards, Holy fucking hell, an Alpha.
The Hale pack only had three Alphas in total, the one in charge and the two eldest offspring. Considering that Mrs. Hale and Laura were both females and, therefore, neither could be the owner of the pink dick Stiles could see just poked out of its protective sheath, Stiles was going to go with this being Derek here in front of him.
Derek, who was coming closer, big paws crunching over grass, rocks and fallen leaves. Coming ever closer—and, no, no that wasn’t Derek just coming closer.
That was Derek stalking towards Stiles.
That should not be as hot as it was, because while this was Derek, this was Derek as an actual facts animal.
And, fuck, why hadn’t Stiles’s brain yet communicated with his hand that it should really stop stroking up and down his erection? Oh, yeah, stupid question. Because it was too good to let go now, so fucking good. Had been much too long since the last time Stiles had some personal time like this to himself. And sixteen year boys needed this personal time like they needed air.
The orgasm was building, a point of hot, bright, sparking pleasure at the base of Stiles’s spine. He slowed his pace, moved his hand up to the tip. Grip tight, he focused on just the head, the feel of his pre-come slicked palm slipping over his sensitive flesh.
Derek was there now. Standing at Stiles’s side, within touching distance, but not, not touching.
Stiles wanted to touch.
His free hand flailed out. Found purchase in soft fur at the scruff of Derek’s neck and he clutched a fistful, moved his other hand down to the base of his cock in a corkscrew motion and—
Knees bent, feet planted on the ground, Stiles’s hips bucked up. The hot, bright, sparking pleasure intensified and—
Come streaked up Stiles’s belly. In spurts, all the way up to the hem of the shirt bunched up across his chest.
A duck of Derek’s head made Stiles let go of him. Then moist breath bathed Stiles’s skin. One rough drag of Derek’s tongue, that resulted in a low moan from Stiles, and the mess was cleaned up, a part of Derek now—just gone.
Then so was Derek. Leaving Stiles by himself in the clearing once more. Stiles’s head thumped against the ground.
Long Nights Moon
And it was now Christmas and with the holiday came the return of Stiles’s extended family. They’d all arrived just hours ago, late Christmas Eve, so while they’d been plenty annoying, things hadn’t yet reached Thanksgiving levels of aggravation. Regardless, Stiles had snuck out and was back on Hale land in the clearing. Figured it didn’t hurt anything to try and get a hand (haha) on the situation early on by rubbing one out with the goal to be able to keep his calm later for as long as he possibly could.
Maybe a teensy, tiny part of him also hoped to see Derek again.
Things...hadn’t really changed between them on the school front. Stiles was still a human and a Junior, Derek a werewolf and a Senior and Derek still ignored Stiles for the most part. Except when he didn’t. Although Derek never spoke to Stiles, ever, he stared. A lot. Just intense, lingering stares that even Scott had started to notice and question. Especially because Laura stared, too, more than ever now, her attention split evenly between Derek and Stiles, a knowing expression on her face and a teasing smile always on her lips.
Without any type of conversation taking place between them, and Stiles was too chicken shit to just walk up to Derek himself and start a convo (and, besides, what would he say—remember that time wolf you cleaned up my come with your tongue, because I do and, apparently, I’m kinda kinky like that ‘cause I really liked it and, so, hey, you wanna maybe do it again sometime?), Stiles didn’t know what to think. Maybe Derek thought Stiles was a freak. Derek had a reason for what he’d done that night, more animal than human, but Stiles, Stiles on the other hand...
Still, Stiles hoped—
It was a wet nose that knocked off the hand he had wrapped around his stiff length. His eyes fluttered open to see a massive body, black fur, a hint of red eyes.
A long moment passed, nothing happened. Stiles held his breath.
Then let it loose in a rush when Derek lapped across the head of his dick. The texture was rough, the pressure perfect, as Derek licked Stiles over. Stiles was leaking a ton of pre-come, just like he always did, but it didn’t deter Derek, but rather seemed to draw him in even more. Derek fixated on Stiles’s slit, sweeping away the moisture soon as it pulsed out with broad strokes of his tongue.
Stiles’s crotch was a mess. Wetness trickled down towards his thighs, the crack of his ass, Derek chasing after it as he worked his way down Stiles’s erection. He stopped at Stiles’s balls, which were no longer loose, but pulled up tight.
To give Derek room, Stiles kicked free of his jeans. Spread his legs wide open.
As Derek crowded in closer, his tongue brushed lightly over Stiles’s perineum. Dragged hard over his balls. And Stiles was coming. Coming so hard, the muscles in his thighs tightened up, then spasmed, as he slide his ass against the blanket, pushing himself towards Derek, in search of more, never wanting Derek to stop, needing it, needing Derek, wanting more, more, more—
With slow, gentle passes of his tongue, Derek cleaned Stiles just as thoroughly as he had that first time. He lay next to Stiles afterwards, fur soft and downy, a much needed warmth against the December chill, while Stiles’s breathing returned to something approximating normal. When Stiles tried to ease a hand down to touch Derek’s sheath to coax his dick out, Derek pulled away from his reach and took off, but only after giving Stiles a long look full of want, and that’s when Stiles got it. He really, truly got it.
Derek did what he did because it brought him joy, brought Stiles joy. He chose to only do it in this form because Stiles had accepted him as such for whatever reason. There had been no human interactions between them yet because human interactions carried the possibility of disgust and rejection in accordance with what everyone, society at large, expected.
Far as Derek was concerned, there was no need for Stiles to return the favor, because why would he even want to? With the very rare exception, humans stuck to humans and werewolves to werewolves.
It was a damn good thing that Derek was such awesome eye candy. Because he was also a fucking idiot to not see that Stiles was not just an exception, but the exception.
Take that, Derek Hale! He could ignore-stare Stiles all he wanted at school, and only be willing to take things so far with Stiles all he wanted during these encounters, but Stiles wanted to see how Derek’s willpower held up in—
Stiles almost collapsed down to the ground when Derek hopped up onto his back, the pads of his front paws landing on Stiles’s shoulders, claws retracted, and his haunches already thrusting before he even made contact. His dick slid all over the place, hot and wet. Across one of Stiles’s buttocks, up the crease of his ass, over his balls.
The more animal than human aspect had never been clearer than at that moment. Which is why Stiles was glad he’d taken the time to stretch himself open before sneaking out. And thank fuck January didn’t come with the types of holidays that included visits from extended family, so Stiles had been allowed ample time and privacy to prepare himself correctly.
He reached one hand back and got hold to Derek. Guided him in. Quickly braced both hands on the ground again to avoid a face plant when Derek slammed forward.
Derek fucked him hard. There was no other word for it, no way of mistaking it for anything else. It was all base needs and aggression reduced down to their most animalistic forms.
This was like a dog fucking its bitch.
Like a werewolf fucking its mate.
They could never actually be mates. It just didn’t work that way between humans and werewolves. But, but they could be just as good.
Because there was one thing that even the rare human who was the exception objected to, a thing that was so unthinkable, it could only be found on the most dirty of websites that catered to werewolves and humans alike who had this taboo kink in common.
But it wasn’t unthinkable for Stiles. Never for Stiles, not when Derek was involved.
When Derek next pulled back, Stiles felt the bulge at the base of his dick tug at Stiles’s rim when he slid out. Derek pushed in, but not all the way, using his last bit of humanity to prevent tying himself to Stiles.
“Do it,” Stiles said, aware that this was the first time he’d spoken to Derek on these nights when the moon hung full in the sky over them, possibly the first time he’d spoken to Derek ever. “Do it, please, I want you to.”
A surprised cry escaped Stiles when Derek shoved his inflated knot inside. But it wasn’t bad, quite the opposite. The extreme sensation of being full, so fucking full, was made better by Derek’s comforting presence draped across Stiles’s back, the heat his body fed to Stiles’s chilled one from the outside, the hotness he spurted inside of Stiles that felt like it would never end, that Stiles never wanted to end.
Derek growled, set the sharp, pointy tips of his teeth to the back of Stiles’s neck and bit down, light enough for Stiles to recognize that Derek was pinning him, claiming him, but not so hard as to break skin. Ass contracting around the cock and knot stuffed deep inside of him, Stiles spilled on the blanket under them, his come mixing with that of Derek’s that leaked out of him in wet trails down the back of his thighs to the cover below.
Foreheads tipped together and soft press of their lips and Stiles had known. They were together.
So fuck everybody, all of their teachers, every single last one of their fellow students, who had stopped to stare. To look on in revulsion and to speak whispered words that still had carried to Stiles’s human ears, so most definitely had carried to Derek’s supernaturally enhanced ones.
Thank God for Laura, who had attended with Derek that day and, with a threatening snarl, sent everyone running. And also for Scott, who had stuck around as well, not so much to show support for Derek and Stiles, but to stare at Laura in a way that could only be described as stupid and besotted, until Laura had sent him scurrying off, too. Her growl that time had been decidedly less threatening, however, and extremely more on the interested and predatory side.
And, really, Scott? Laura was ten times scarier than Stiles’s cousin and Stiles was certain that she would maul Scott if he ever broke her heart, rather than wallow in depression while writing mind-numbing poems that made absolutely no sense at all.
Since then, Stiles had told his parents about Derek. They were concerned, yet supportive, just as much as they were with all causes regarding discriminatory behaviors and practices towards werewolves. But as long as Stiles was happy, they’d told him, then they were happy for him as well.
For February’s full moon, when Stiles showed up at the familiar clearing, a big, black wolf, easily twice his size, was already there. Waiting. Proof that climbing out of his bedroom window, and walking into the woods, that November night were the best ideas Stiles ever had.