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Rise Above

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Title: Rise Above
Author: Rabid1st
Rating: Mature
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Derek/Stiles
Warning(s): Unhappy stuff. Arguments. Harsh Language. M/M sex.
Spoiler(s): AU S3b no spoilers in this part. Some in earlier parts.
Beta Babes: Birthsister & Elsecarlass
Word Count: 24629
Summary: After Derek is severely injured, Stiles can’t forgive himself. He finds a spell to break their bond. The spell has a nasty backlash and Derek is determined to put an end to it. But will Stiles resist his every attempt to reconnect? How far will Derek go to restore them both to sanity?
Disclaimer: Teen Wolf and these characters are not mine. This fic represents fair use for fan purposes.

In a time of treason, is there room for trust? Is there time for reason or has your heart had enough? Is it time to let go and rise above? And you say rise above, open your eyes on love.


“Are you free after school?” Stiles asked in third period, leaning across the aisle toward Lydia.

“I have a date tonight. But I can spare you a few minutes. As long as there are no long walks in the woods or dead bodies involved?”

“I need more than a few minutes. I need a wingman at the mall.”

“Shopping?” Lydia lit up at the thought. “But I do, actually, have a date.”

“You say that like you would normally be lying to me. And so do I,” Stiles said. “Tomorrow night. That's why I need your help.”

“You have a date? With...?” Stiles rolled his eyes and Lydia clapped he hands together. “Derek?”

“Yes, Derek,” Stiles said on a huff. “Who else? And we don't need to pretend he was a hard sell, given there's a bond of unstoppable desire. But you can report in to Scott that Project Matchmaker has lift off. Just help me find something to wear.”

“He shouldn't try to change you. Well, someone should. But not a guy that dresses like roadie. Take it from me, you don't want to work too hard to please him at this stage. If he's asking you to change....”

“He's not. We're just going to the Marina Grill and I don't own anything fancy. Or, I do, I have a suit, but only the pants fit me. I've buffed up a little this year.”

“You have,” Lydia said, giving him an uncomfortably frank appraisal. Stiles squirmed, feeling like a prize winner at the local dog show staked out for her inspection. “I'll give you an hour. Meet me at Macy's at 4:00. The upstairs mall entrance. Don't be late.”

He found Lydia at the appointed place and hour and she took him in hand, steering him straight to a rack of shirts that could only be described as circus prints. He balked. She did her best to convince him that he would look great in canary yellow, but he declined to try it. They argued up and down the aisles. No plunging necklines. No suede. No satin. No cuff links. No tie. Understated became his watchword. After twenty minutes of heated debate over Tommy Hilfiger and what looked like a knitting accident, Lydia finally lost her temper. She told him his time with a personal shopper was up and asked him what he would wear. Stiles stepped back to survey the mannequins on display. He only saw one that looked even vaguely appealing. He focused on it and discovered a pile of t-shirts with dark, thorn and thistle lithographs. They were softer than anything he'd ever worn. When he picked one up it nearly evaporated in his hands. They came in assorted colors and styles—mostly v-necks, boat-necks. Of course, the material was so sheer it was almost see-through, but he felt he could live with that. He knew Derek would love the tactile experience.

“These,” he said. “I like these.”

“No t-shirts,” Lydia said.

“What if I layered it in?” he asked, holding up a creamy boat-necked tee with a bronze print of gears and brambles. “This is dressy.”

“With a jacket, maybe,” Lydia said, her eyes sliding by him to focus on a rack of leathery-shimmer over his shoulder.

He saw where she was looking and shook his head. “Oh, no, I don't think...”

“Trust me. This will work. Only...” She snatched the shirt away from him, put it back and grabbed another one. “Go with the snow white. The cream washes you out. You need pure colors. Like this,” she said, tugging a midnight blue, cardigan-style blazer from a nearby rack.

“A satin collar? I'm not dating Adam Lambert.”

“As if you could. It's a knitted blend, totally pedestrian. Warm, light. The trim is understated. And the color will make your eyes pop.” She waved him toward the dressing rooms. “Go. Try it on.”

The shirt covered him like mist. The blended fabric teased at his skin, both clingy and airy. He'd never experienced anything quite so sensual. His nipples peaked from the licking sensation. He could almost see them through the thin material. The boat-neck flared wide, exposing his collarbone, but was hardly risqué. It just dipped lower than anything else he owned. When he leaned forward the shirt slithered and he could see chest hair. Wearing it made him feel more naked than he did when he was actually naked. He couldn't help stroking a hand across his chest, before he put on the blazer. The tee's gray lithograph developed blue highlights when he layered it under the dark blue jacket. He liked the way the shirt's printed images shifted and defied the eye. It made him want to study himself in the mirror and he thought that might entice Derek, too.

To give Lydia her due, both shirt and jacket enhanced his natural coloring. His eyes did look brighter. The combination should looked pretty snazzy paired with his black dress slacks and family reunion loafers. And his amulet even matched the color scheme. But what sold him on the outfit was Lydia's gasp when he stepped out of the dressing room. The admiration in her eyes convinced him to buy both pieces, despite the cost. Short of slapping on a suit and tie it was as upscale as he could get and still feel like himself. He took Lydia's advice and purchased a gray on black, v-neck tee from the same collection.

“Just in case you have a second date,” she said, patting his elbow.

When he came down the stairs in his new clothes, his dad did a double take. Stiles glanced down, grimacing as he remembered the packet of lube in his pocket. Had it left a telltale outline? Nope. Everything seemed good.


“You look…great,” his dad said. The wonder on his face and in his voice made it seem like a rare occurrence.

“Yeah, so...?” Stiles glanced at the clock. He had about thirty minutes to wait. “I might not—I might get back late. You shouldn't worry.”

“Sit down, Stiles,” his father said, indicating a chair with a tip of his head.

Stiles took a deep breath, but tried not to grimace or whine. It would ruin his image. He was a man. Be a man, Stiles. Men face things like this. He went to the indicated chair and perched on the very edge of the seat. Elbows braced on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees, he waited.

“I don't want you having sex.”

“I know,” Stiles said.

“What's that supposed to mean, young man? 'You know?'”

“I know that you wouldn't have chosen this for me. That Derek makes you uncomfortable and you don't trust him. I know you think I'm not ready.”

“You aren't ready. You're seventeen.”

“Didn't one of our ancestors die in the war at eighteen and still leave two children behind?”

“That was a different time.”

“No, Dad. This,” he said, waving his hand to indicate all of Beacon Hills, all of the crap he'd endured. “This is a different time. A different world. And werewolves exist. And I’m expected to be their friggin’ emissary.”

“That doesn't change the law.”

“The law?" Stiles laughed bitterly. "The last couple of years…? There was no law. I've been fighting a war. I had to grow up.” He paused to take a breath, regroup. “Derek's not going to hurt me or use me or do any of the things that make fathers worry.”

“He's going to take you into his world.”

“I'm already there,” Stiles said. “You know that, right? If Derek just left town tomorrow...” He had to pause and shake that idea out of his head. “Okay, I’d probably follow him. So, let’s say he didn’t exist. This whole bond thing never happened. Scott is still the Alpha. I’m his best friend. I’m in it.” He stabbed his fingers at his throat. “Up to my neck.”

“What if he bites you?”

“It will hurt. He’s a Beta. Only Alphas can make other werewolves. And, believe me when I tell you, I’ve pissed Derek off enough to know what he’s like when he’s angry. He's not going to hurt me. He protects me.”

“When? Besides the fire, which I’m not discounting.”

“Okay. Well. You remember when Isaac escaped from custody? He tried to attack me. Derek stopped him.” He ticked off rescues on his fingers. “He fought Peter. Stood between me and the Kanima. Sided with me against Miss Blake, so I could rescue you. Kept her busy while we rescued you. And he always checks to make sure I’m not cut off in a fight. He’s come back for me so many times, I've lost count. There's the amulets.”

“Alright. I get it. But you’re still ten years younger than him. What does he want from you besides…the obvious?”

“Besides the obviously smart, funny, charming person that I’ve become?” Stiles said, smirking.

“He wants to mate with you, Stiles. What else is this bonding thing about?”

“Good question.” Stiles looked down at his clasped hands, considering how to answer it. “I think it happened because he needs me. I sort of light his way.”

His father sat back, his mouth twisting in dismay. “Now you sound like a teenager,” he said. “Spare me the poetic drivel.”

“You asked. I’m telling you,” Stiles said, annoyed. “The bond happens because of something inside us. It’s like…I show him things he didn’t know existed. Actual solid things like the benefits of technology, how to make friends and influence people or where to put his router. But, also, stuff like hope. Alternative plans. New possibilities. But I guess that's just being a good emissary...” Stiles let his thoughts wander, staring into space for a few moments. “Derek has lost a lot. I give him something to look forward to, hold on to, again. I amuse him. And he trusts me. I take his mind off of all the crap he has to bear.”

“I can't help thinking about the spell you did. He's a wild thing, Stiles. He’s going to break your heart.”

Stiles hooted at that. “Well, yeah! He already has. About sixteen hundred times. He kicks it around and stomps on it. And we fall apart and find our way back. I break his heart, just to show him I can. But every time that happens we patch it all up, again. We forgive each other. We work. Didn't mom break your heart?”

His father closed his eyes and sighed. “All the time.”

There was a soft knock at the door. “Great, so he heard me writing a Hallmark commercial. Now I'm going have that hanging over me. The night is starting off well. Don’t threaten to shoot him, again, alright? It’s making him twitchier than he generally is. And he's already losing his mind between the bond and my spellcasting.”

“I only meant a flesh wound, in the leg or the arm.”

“Yo, Derek,” Stiles said, as he flung open the door. “I’m ready. We should go.”

“Sheriff,” Derek said, nodding.

“Derek,” the Sheriff said in an equally measured monotone. But he clapped Stiles on the back as he said, “You two have fun. I’m going to turn in early. See you in the morning.”

“Yeah, thanks. Tomorrow, Dad,” Stiles said, almost stumbling over his surprise.

He flashed a bright smile and returned his dad's pat, grimacing only as he turned away. That had been awkward. Glad it was over, he followed Derek down the steps toward his new SUV. He could feel his dad’s eyes fixed on his back as they walked to the curb. Derek opened the car door for him.

“Don’t do that,” Stiles told him. “It’s just insulting. I can get into a car on my own.”

“Not this one, ‘cause the lock is keyed to my thumb print,” Derek said. “Latest technology. And I didn’t even need you to explain it to me.”

“Eavesdropping is never attractive, Derek.”

“You do look pretty though, Stiles, I’ll give you that.”

A blush burned Stiles' cheeks as Derek shut the door. Of all the... Stiles ground his teeth down on the first few smart ass retorts that popped into his head. They were dating. This was a date. He didn't want it to start with an argument. Counting to ten between inhale and exhale, he released some of his tension with deep breathing. The plush interior of the car made it easy to relax. All he had to do was lean back and let go of his worries. Beige and butter soft, the leather seats enveloped him. The new car smell teased past his nose. As soon as Derek climbed in, wolf energy crowded the intimate space and Stiles tensed up again. He closed his eyes and tried to force his muscles to relax. Luckily, when Derek cranked the engine, one of his mellow songs started playing. This time, rather than moan or complain, Stiles tuned into the lyrics, looking for hidden messages. The reasoning behind this song choice leaped out at him, clear as a spoken confession.

Done so many things wrong; I don’t know if I can do right. Put your trust in me, hope I won’t let you down. Give me a chance, I’ll try.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Derek’s soundtracks always spoke for him, saying things he would never put into words himself. Stiles knew he’d cued this song up on purpose. Maybe even created the perfect CD mix for tonight. It was like subliminal advertising. And it hit Stiles how this was one of those things that made them so well suited. He loved solving mysteries and Derek naturally created them. Stiles searched for the CD case, but didn't see one. He longed for a sneak peek at the rest of the titles. They might tell him what to expect from the evening. His palms were sweaty. And he knew Derek would sense that. To take his mind off of his nerves, he wondered how Derek had burned song mixes before he had a computer. He, also, wondered if his father knew this tune. It might be new, but it sounded old. Maybe it had been popular back in his dad's day. Some of the lyrics could have been aimed at his father. But it certainly fit well with the night Stiles imagined lay ahead of them.

Before we take this step, before we walk down that path. Before I make any promises, before you have regrets.

Stiles didn't plan on regretting what was coming. But, he wondered if Derek might. How did he really feel about the bond? He'd said those words, of course. But what did they mean to him?

At this point in my life, I want to live as if only love matters, as if redemption was in sight.

When the song ended, Stiles hit the replay button. He wanted to commit every line to memory. Derek stole a quick glance at him.

“I like this one,” Stiles said. “Do you mind?”

“No. I wanted you to hear it.”

It's been a hard road, this road I've traveled on. If I take your hand, might lead you down the path to ruin. I'm just saying so you'll understand. That right now, right now, I'm doing the best I can.

At the Marina Grill, Stiles scooted his chair around until he was just on Derek’s side of the table. He basked in the envious stares from their fellow dinners. He had no idea why some of the looks seemed to be directed at him. He wanted to point at Derek and waggle his eyebrows. Or tell those people they should get their eyes examined. It was the first time he could remember seeing Derek dressed up, other than the day he came to the station to identify the bodies. Was this an equally momentous occasion? That thought was enough to nearly ruin Stiles' appetite. Life changing stuff made him nervous.

The great thing was, when Derek wasn't running on emotion, he always put Stiles at ease. They ate steak and veggies and talked about basketball teams and Pokemon and the Battle of Gettysburg. They’d both had relatives in it, though the Hales had been drafted to the Confederacy, because of some werewolf pact. Werewolf history ran parallel to human events, intersecting at a few key places. It seemed medieval to Stiles, full of treaties and vendettas. He had just begun to appreciate how the supernatural shaped mundane existence. But the nuances of the relationship fascinated Derek. And he could relate the lessons of history to almost any subject.

He demonstrated this skill as they walked along the pier. It was quite impressive. Maybe he would make a good teacher, if Stiles could teach him some patience. They sat on a wooden bench, watching the river and keeping one another warm. They were the only couple braving the nippy air. After a time, they fell into a comfortable silence. Derek's teasing fingers told Stiles he loved the new shirt. His mouth just loved Stiles. Eventually, cold noses and propriety sent them to the car. On the drive to his place, Derek shared a story about Cora and their cousin Wendall from Tennessee.

“They nearly started another civil war.”

“Wait? She bit off his finger?”

“Yep. They taped it back on and it healed. But it was always a little crooked after that.”

“Oh, my God,” Stiles said, as they got out of the car. “I’m so glad we never dated.”

“You were planning on dating my sister?”

“No, not exactly planning,” Stiles said, blanching as Derek gave him the death glare. “But you had barely crossed my mind. And she does have that Hale sex appeal.”

“She’s never visiting,” Derek said. “Ever.”

“Just so I'm clear on this one,” Stiles said, “Are you mad because I’m not good enough for her or because you’re jealous?”

“She was always taking my things.”

“Excuse me? Are you objectifying me?” Stiles said, blocking his way at the door. “Not that I mind. I'm thinking of reliving it later, but it's probably not the best way to kick off a seduction.”

Derek seized his hips in both hands and pressed him backward, looming into him. Stiles grunted. It was just a breathy syllable, his body reacting to force and pressure. But his eyes, locked onto Derek’s and neither of them could look away.

“Seduction?” Derek asked, brows lifting. He examined Stiles, intently studying his face, letting his gaze linger way too long on the lips.

Well aware of Derek's fascination with kissing, Stiles let his mouth fall slightly open. Derek read that as an invitation and dove in, covering Stiles' lips with his own. Stiles seized his collar and did his best to make it crystal clear how happy he was with Derek’s interpretation. They got so close air molecules were squeezed between them. But it wasn’t close enough for Stiles. He wouldn’t have minded if, in those first heated seconds, they’d decided to chuck modesty and common sense to have sex right there on the porch.

His jacket slid from his shoulders to catch in his elbows. His shirt came untucked. Derek, however, seemed intent on moving things indoors. He maneuvered them around until he could fumble his key into the lock. The door gave way and they spilled into the foyer. They didn't stop kissing. Stiles kicked off his loafers, skidding in his stocking feet. Derek’s shoes proved stubborn and he had to given them some undivided attention.

They broke apart and used the breathing space to breathe, leaning against opposite walls.

“What are we doing, Stiles?”

“Anything. Everything.”

Derek shot him a side-eye glance and small smile. “Easiest seduction ever,” he said, “but…”

The qualification sobered Stiles. It hit his stomach like bad tuna salad. He became uncomfortably aware of his heavy breathing and tried to quiet it. Anything said after ‘but’ always trumped what came before it. At least, that's what his mother used to say. He couldn’t help feeling Derek was about to dismiss their initial passion.

“But,” Stiles said, blushing because of his earlier eagerness. He wanted to pull back a little into his protective shell, maybe throw out some sarcasm. Instead, he said, “You want to take it slow.”

“Want? No. Should?” Derek lowered his chin to gaze up at him, his eyes asking for this indulgence. “Maybe.”

“Right,” Stiles said, drawing on his limited reserves of maturity. He combed rigid fingers through his hair, knowing that would only leave it more mussed. He was shaking. “Neither of us wants to…rush. I mean…I haven’t even...ever.”

“It’s a big step,” Derek said. “One I know you feel ready to take.”


“Maybe I’m not ready.”

“Oh,” Stiles said on a puff of air. It felt like Derek had kicked him. “I just thought…you were. What I mean is…you keep insisting on it. And seemed kind of into it.”

Derek wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. His gaze crawled up Stiles from his fingertips to his eyes and held there. “Into you,” he said in a sandpapery drawl that made Stiles’ heart pound.

“Fuck,” Stiles said. He closed his eyes, leaning a shoulder into the wall. “Don’t do that. Don’t look at me like that when you’re telling me we should stop. That you're not ready.”

Derek’s body heat engulfed him. He was close, very close. But Stiles refused to open his eyes.



“I didn’t say we should stop. Just slow down a little.” He drew two fingers along Stiles’ jaw and caressed his lips with a thumb. “Look at me.” Stiles forced his eyelids up to a squint and nearly drowned in that green gaze. Derek was right on top of him. “Do you know what it's like for me? The bond?”

Stiles swallowed. “Uh—no?”

“I lose control. I can't think. All I do is burn and crave. It's wild energy.”


“But...I want to make love to you.”

Astonishment made Stiles jump. His heart stopped. His lungs emptied with a whoosh. The room tipped sideways. He was pretty sure he was about to pass out, because he’d completely left his body. His skin tingled as he passed through it. It felt like he was floating somewhere far away and his eyes refused to focus. He blinked rapidly. At least his tongue obeyed him. It darted out to moisten his lips. But his hands had their own agenda. They trembled and flitted like hummingbirds with nowhere to settle. Was he having a panic attack? It could be. Might be. Shit. Slow down, Stiles. Breathe. Speak. Don't screw this up.

“Okay,” he said, cold and shivering and full of something he’d never felt before, something he had no idea how to express. “I love you,” he blurted, sounding amazed by the realization, almost appalled. Since that seemed wrong, he repeated himself. He struggled with emphasis, grabbing Derek's arms, as if determined to convince him. “I love you. I—love,” he ran out of breath and had to gulp air to continue, “love you.”


“Yeah. So, yeah,” Stiles said, eyes wide as he nodded his certainty. “There's that.”

It hadn’t been smooth. He was trembling all over. But it was exactly what he'd meant to say. He'd stand by it. He wasn't even embarrassed by how ridiculous he must look. Or how badly this attempt at losing his virginity had gone so far. Another romantic evening ruined. One more failure to launch. But, they could go slow and it would be fine. Because they would definitely get there some day. He blinked at Derek, who seemed amused. And, also, to be expecting further developments. What else was there to say? Stiles kicked his brain into gear and remembered.

“Slow is fine,” he said, sidling sideways to get away from their combined body heat. He was starting to sweat. “I want you to be ready, too.”

“Good to know,” Derek said with a teasing smirk. “Because I have no idea what to do.”

It was turning into a night of surprises. “But you've...already, you know? You’re the experienced one.”

“Not with guys. Not with you. It’s been a long time since my first time. And I’ve never been the first…for anyone else.”

“Worried about deflowering me?” Stiles said, almost controlling the tremor in his throat. He forced a small smile.

“Yeah. Or being deflowered. What is it you expect from tonight? Because…I’d never even watched gay porn until you set up my laptop. I had some general anatomy thoughts about it, of course, because I’m not an idiot, but...I don’t know, if…”

“You watched porn on that laptop?” Stiles said, outraged, because Derek was, in fact, an idiot. “Oh, my God! You have free virus protection. It can't handle porn sites. Do you have any idea how many viruses you could have now? It's like actually sleeping with the well-hung plumber and his handsome friend. There are safe sites and I can bookmark them if you want, but, don’t watch porn without me.”

“I don’t,” Derek barked, obviously frustrated. “That’s what I’m saying. It doesn’t do anything for me.”

Cocking his head, Stiles consider this admission for a moment. His burgeoning anger twisted into ready curiosity, creating a whirlpool of heady emotions in his gut. He stroked a hand across his belly, lifting his shirt slightly to expose a sliver of belly.

“What does do it for you?”

Derek’s smile turned devilish. “Let’s find out,” he growled.

His glance dipped tracing along the skin Stiles had bared and then went lower. He surged forward, cupping Stiles’ face with one hand as he kissed him hard. This time Stiles processed the wolf energy as it flare up around them. It was hard to imagine a simple gesture could ignite so much passion. But he was starting to realize part of the challenge for him as an emissary and bond-mate would be to control and manage Derek's intense desires.

“Bedroom,” he ordered. And was immediately obeyed.


God damn it. So much for clear heads and waiting and working up to the main event. He was in for it now. No backing out. Stiles wanted sex. He was like some kind of runaway train. And Derek was pretty sure he was the one tied to the tracks. He towed Stiles along behind him as he headed for the bedroom. His ears still rang from those breathy confessions. I love—love you. Fucking little tremble in his voice, cutting through the gut. Every wolf learned about Omega rule, domination through submission. Yeah, emissaries knew all those tricks. Stiles would master him at this rate. His mouth. Not just the kissing. Those soft, full lips. The impatient tongue. But the layers of flavor and every word and noise that spilled from him.

Clothing came off. Socks. Slacks. But not that shirt. He loved that shirt. Stiles had lube in his pocket. Stiles had lube. Because he was expecting penetration of some kind. And he casually tossed the little package on the bed. Would he do that with a girl? Was that any way to behave? Derek was still worried about being naked together. Wondering if he'd changed the sheets recently. Had it been Wednesday or Sunday? Fuck it. They'd probably need changing afterward anyway. Underwear stayed on. He captured Stiles' hands before they could push down his Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. Because Derek wasn't ready for totally naked Stiles pressed against him. Or penetration. He wasn't ready for that. Time to make it clear who was in charge of the time table.

The bed springs protested as he tossed Stiles over his hip in a take-down move. Stiles didn’t seem to mind. He laughed, hooking a leg around Derek and yanking on an arm as he fell. Derek could have resisted the pull. But he gave in and toppled. He caught Stiles around the waist and rolled. They both liked wrestling apparently. And kissing. He liked the weight of Stiles on top of him, straddling his hips. Stiles seemed to like touching him, stroking his face and chest.

For someone who rarely worked out, Stiles was surprisingly symmetrical. A layer of baby fat smoothed the contours of delineated muscle. But there wasn't too much give in him. When he rose to his knees, the shirt clung to his torso. There was a visible line starting at the hollow of his throat and leading all the way down to where a trail of hair disappeared into his underwear. Derek traced his fingers up under the shirt and along the slight valley, starting low and ending with a detour to a nipple. He braced up on an elbow, pulled Stiles closer and used his tongue. He sucked through the shirt, turning the fabric translucent. Stiles loved that. He writhed against Derek, who indulged in all the Stiles-specific sensations—the masculine weight of him, the tang of his skin, his surprisingly broad chest, his moles, his scent. He'd bathed in something woodsy and natural.

The little fucker squirmed a lot, too, as his hands caressed Derek's back and shoulders. And he made noises. Stiles had a repertoire of tiny grunts and moans. God, those little sighing gasps turned Derek on, but so did textures and tastes. He licked, nuzzled, bit and petted. Stiles was like canvas or clay. Or, an instrument. Yes! An instrument.

Derek knew how to tease music out of a partner. How to play a pulse, feathering it back and pushing it to quicken. He'd made women wail. His heightened senses gave him so many advantages in bed. The right dirty word in an ear could ding every bell or cool ardor in a flash. Tickling could be as erotic as sucking. Desire had a particular scent and sound as it ratcheted up or down. But everything seemed like discovery with Stiles. He started with the volume up and just got louder and louder. The best porn paled in comparison as far as Derek was concerned, because porn wasn’t interactive. Werewolves weren't just about visuals. They craved full sensory immersion. Stiles delivered. Foreplay with Stiles was like being held under until you were ready to black out. He was kinetic. And that suited Derek to the bone because, when it came to sex, Derek loved enthusiasm.

Before tonight he thought he’d seen plenty of it. He considered himself well rounded in his experience. He'd certainly scored more often than other emotionally damaged loners. Women flocked to him for some inexplicable reason and, from time to time, he took them up on their offers. Early on, he'd taken Peter's advice about getting the lady off first and it had resulted in plenty of repeat business. Multiple orgasms pleased everyone. He'd bedded the best, easy lay in his college. An intercollegiate gymnast with a hormonal imbalance, she'd squirted and screamed so convincingly he'd come back to her nightly for two solid weeks. But, eventually, he'd discerned a pattern in her responses and moved on to less jaded partners. Except for that frat boy blow job, he’d never tried guys, but he found it hard to believe they were all like this.

He was a guy, after all. And not exactly stoic in the sheets. But he’d never imagined anything like Stiles. They were going to need soundproofing on the house. Most people kept something in reserve, even during the raunchiest sex, they wore masks to protect their fragile egos. Stiles lacked artifice and filters. Derek had always known this on some level, but he'd never considered what it would be like in bed. It left him reeling, physically and emotionally. Jennifer Blake had seemed easy and endearingly enthusiastic. Kate scratched and bit like a fetish-driven animal once she'd reeled him into her net. He’d needed handcuffs to control her. Stiles was a different kind of animal. The kind you would never restrain.

Derek finally tired of the shirt, peeled it off and cast is aside. Sucking on Stiles nipples produced a rolling undulation. He went boneless, collapsing to the bed. Derek stroked him with flat palms, as if he could sooth the ocean waves. As they kissed Stiles seemed to become double-jointed, his hips and shoulders and ribcage rocked in opposition to one another. Derek sucked along his ribs, savoring the pure reactions, unadulterated give and take. Stiles didn't say much, which surprised Derek. It was as if all of his brain cells were occupied with feeling and reacting. When Derek pleased him the feedback was instantaneous. He arched into Derek’s hands and mouth. He whimpered and twitched. Every stuttering breath and skipping heartbeat pierced Derek’s skin. And within a few minutes, he’d forgotten why he ever wanted to go slow. All he wanted was more of this, every day, every night.

They crawled over one another. Shoved at one another emotionally. Hitting hard, like sumo wrestlers. As if they both wanted to overbalance and fall. Maybe throw the match. Derek knew his own mask had crumbled. He could hear the pleading notes in his voice. Filthy words mixed with poetic ones. About to crack, he rolled away from savaging Stiles’ neck and thrusting into his hips. Stiles came at him like a hungry lion. Derek held him at bay with a firm hand.

“Whoa. No. Br-Breather. T-tah-tell me what you like,” he panted, slithering up the bed until he was sitting against the headboard. “What do you think about? When you’re alone and hot like this?”

“I'm never hot like this,” Stiles said, trying to duck around his guard.

“Turned on, I mean.”


There was a limit to how much honesty one man should dish out. Derek grimaced. “Lydia? For fuck’s sake.”

“Sorry,” Stiles said, realizing his mistake.

He settled back on his haunches, which carried Derek’s gaze straight down, gliding from his belly button to his boxers. He stared at the wet marks and the activity under them. The outline of Stiles’ dick looked alarmingly large. And ready. It looked ready. Derek forced his line of sight up, until he was focused on Stiles' curious face. Those eyes were like a double shot of whiskey. They gave Derek heartburn.

“I asked.”

“I think about you, too. Both of you, sometimes. Together.”

“Both of us? Me and—Lydia Martin?”

“Don't judge. I was practically raised on Internet porn.”

“It’s like that?”

Stiles shivered a little as if suddenly chilled. He hugged himself, rubbing his arms, and looked away. He didn't want to talk about this, Derek could smell the reluctance radiating from him. What could be so embarrassing about it? Maybe he was just shy.

“It's okay,” Derek said.

“Sometimes. Sometimes, I pretend I’m you. And sometimes I’m her,” he said, on a rushed breath, ducking his chin, obviously uncomfortable.


Derek leaned forward to touch his elbow. When Stiles glanced his way, he held his arms open, inviting him to snuggle. Stiles pounced. They wrapped around one another, shifting until they found a comfortably spooned position. Stiles slouched between his legs, slightly turned on his side. He pillowed his cheek on Derek's chest.

“That's not weird, right?”

“I doubt anyone else would say it. But, no…I don’t think it’s weird.”

Derek let his fingers trace along Stiles' shoulder, and then dropped to the firm, rounded buttocks, not so different really from any he'd caressed before. Hairless men and women were similar from behind. He wondered if he could just pretend, too. But when he snuffled Stiles’ hair for a bit, he doubted fantasy would work for him. He wanted who he wanted.

“So, if you are pretending to be Lydia, in this fantasy,” he said, between peppering kisses on all the exposed skin he could reach. “…then I would, essentially, be fucking you?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, his palm skimming up and down Derek’s forearm. “But just to be crystal clear about this, I don't want to be a girl. I just wonder sometimes, you know? What it's like for them. What they think about. What they feel. Lately, mostly, all I think about is you.”

“Show me?”


“Show me what you do when you’re alone.”

“No. God. That is kinky.”

“I’ll show you what I do… what I think about, when I look at your picture.”

“You want to watch me jerk off? It's not pretty.”

The evident pulse in Stiles' throat told Derek he was tempted as well as appalled. Derek decided to push him a little. He slid one hand down his belly, easing under the elastic of his boxers. He stopped short when Stiles’ dick moved toward his fingers. Damn thing was alive. A trait he appreciated in his own cock, but not so much when one was coming at him. If only Stiles weren't so irresistibly sexy, they could just be friends who kissed a lot. But damn it all, he loved him, wanted him. And there was nothing platonic in the way he wanted him. Nothing even remotely civil. So, he needed to get used to the idea of man on man.

“Men do this. It was in the porn.”

“Porn,” Stiles said, gritting his teeth. His head did that side to side movement he'd patented, as if to say he couldn’t believe they were back to the porn again. Then, he bucked his hips and, with a startling suddenness, shoved down his boxers. His feet kicked them away.

“Okay. I suppose I start by thinking about the girl…you know? How soft they are? Breasts, lips, hair, perfume. Any of that do it for you? If not Lydia, how about…uhm…? I don’t know. Who would you like?” He tilted his head back to look at Derek.

Derek knew he was expecting some response, but he couldn't speak or breathe. There was a fuzzy silence. A static in Derek's ears, through the buzzing he heard Stiles say his name.

“Derek? Derek…? You’re staring.”

He was. He closed his eyes. But he could still see it. Dark curly hair and that smooth shaft with the pink mushroom cap. Stiles was uncut, gorgeous. Was there nothing flat out ugly about him? Seriously? It was fraying Derek's nerves. The cock was beautiful and terrifying. It was tapered and about eight inches, which was way too long for Derek’s peace of mind. He’d choke on it. And his ass wasn’t designed for…taking anything, let alone something eight, maybe nine, inches to the balls. Balls. Fuck. Fucking. That would be fucking him,, it would not. Because he could never relax enough. Not in a million years. No.

“Derek? Snap out of it. You look like you’re about to faint.”

“It won’t fit,” he said.

“What?” Stiles followed his glance. “Oh, please. You could take me, easy. It’s nothing. I mean, it’s not nothing. It's mine and I like it. But…I’ve been in the locker room showers. And you,” he sighed. “Oh, my God!”

Propping up on an elbow, he shifted his position until he was able to run his hand along Derek’s cotton-swathed length. Gah. There's a wake up call. Like splashing a glass of cold water in his face. The caress broke through Derek's preoccupation with impossible dimensions, allowing him to focus on how much he liked being touched by Stiles. Rubbed. They could do that, at least. Mutual masturbation was a thing, right?After a few seconds he realized Stiles was still talking.

Derek tuned in in time to hear him say, “...some pipe on him, but you're a lot thicker. And not much shorter. And what about your vibrator?”

“My…? My what?”

“I’m almost the same size as your sex toy, right?”

“Stiles, I don’t have…toys. What are you talking about?”

“Yes, you do. I looked in your special drawer and you had this vibrator that...”

“For ladies. For—really? Really? You thought that was for me? And what were you doing snooping in my stuff?”

“I was looking for an address book, while you were gone?” After shooting Derek a sheepish look, Stiles cracked up. He covered his face with one hand and doubled over giggling. He bent until his head touched Derek's chest, his hair tickling him. “Sorry. Sorry,” he managed to gasp. “It just went so well with my picture.”

“It's not funny.”

Stiles sat up again. “It is so funny. Look at you. Your face, right now.”

“I’m going to use that vibrator on you in a minute.”

“Like that’s a punishment,” Stiles said, still grinning broadly. “I've been looking forward to that.” He sank back into Derek’s lap, shoulders shaking. “Okay. Stupid mating bond, getting you in this mess.”

He patted Derek's flank. Then, he wiped at his own eyes and tried to regain some composure. “That's enough, Stiles. Focus.” His hands explored the bed, until he found the lube. He tore open the package with his teeth and slicked his fingers, before addressing Derek again, “Who do you like? Name someone we both find sexy…like…Jennifer Lawrence. Oh, how about Shakira?”

Derek started again and exclaimed, “The Columbian Alpha?”

“No. The singer and coach from The Voice,” Stile said, but he arched his back and slithered around again to stare at Derek. His self-assurance vanished. “Wait? She is from Columbia. Shakira’s a werewolf?”

“A pretty powerful one. Have you seen her videos? That one with the horses?”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles said. “Whenever. Wherever. Where she's crawling through the mud?”

“Wolves turn you on,” Derek said, with a teasing smirk.

“I'm not ashamed of that. I own it.”

“So...Shakira and I...?”

“You and Shakira on your hands and knees...I'm so there!”

Stiles bared his teeth and snarled. Holy fuck, that was hot. Not menacing in the slightest, but the impertinence of it lit Derek's fuse. He slid his arms under Stiles, lifting and positioning him. He shifted their hips until his hard-on nestled into the crack of Stiles' ass. It fit perfectly. It felt really good, too, like coming home. Yeah, he could screw Stiles and like it. And Stiles knew it, too. He wriggled, reveling in his power, as confident as any high end lap dancer. Derek should just put him on his knees and... Oh, fuck. No. Well, yes, later. They could do that. He might just get into that. But, right now, it was too much stimulation. Derek had to move. He wasn't going to pop first again. He couldn't believe he'd come so easily last time. He wasn't the teenager with the hair trigger orgasm. But, he, also, wasn't going to be able to take ass friction for much longer. Not in combination with Stiles mewling and the scent of their mutual arousal so pungent it was a flavor on Derek's tongue.

He spilled Stiles into the crook of one arm and hovered over him. It was a good position. It left Derek a free hand. And offered a great view. He could watch Stiles stroke himself and try to memorize the rhythm. He could help with the pumping, cup his balls or roll a thumb over his nipples. Derek cuddled closer as Stiles started to buck and moan. He smelled better than fresh venison. Derek sniffed his neck. He brought their mouths together, savoring the hungry response to his kisses. Stiles slipped him tongue and sucked back on his. Derek had hoped for more verbalizing of the fantasy, but Stiles had fallen into a daydream, his eyes glazing over, his breath catching. His thrashing grew so violent Derek had to scoot back a little. Nothing cooled ardor like a knee to the groin. But oh, how he wanted to be at the center of this storm, riding it out.

He started helping with the hand job, fisting around Stiles to free his fingers, hoping they would return the favor. Stiles didn't take the hint. One of his hands strayed to Derek's inner thigh. The other stayed on task, guiding Derek through the motions, their fingers intertwining. Derek shrugged off his disappointment. Time enough for his turn later. He thought about going down, sucking on Stiles, making him cry out and come. Was it worth a black eye? If one of those knees clocked him, it would ruin the mood. Giving Stiles head was going to be like wrestling a giant squid into a row boat. Maybe they would have to restrain him, just a little. He liked a quicker pulse than Derek did, but the smooth slide of foreskin was familiar. Derek started to enjoy the process. He murmured wicked encouragements, promising to do so many things later, if Stiles would come for him now.

“You want me to blow you? Screw you? Fuck you 'til you come all over me?”

When Stiles broke, he grabbed Derek's wrist in a vice-like grip and gave voice to a peculiar noise. The high pitched, visceral cry stiffened the hair on Derek's arms. Like a dog whistle, it pierced him. His attention focused to a narrow beam on Stiles. Stiles climaxing with his entire being. His head slammed backward. His shoulders lifted off the bed. His heels dug in, but slid without purchase. His free hand clutched at anything and everything. Torso twisting, pelvis thumping, he flailed like an animal caught in a snare. One of his hands settled on Derek's shoulder, fingertips clawing into his skin. Every muscle in Stiles' body clenched as spurts of white laced across his belly.

Derek shivered. He had once heard a rabbit keen like that. His teeth had closed on its throat, aborting a long bound, and it had strained the boundary of its flesh as it tried to escape him. The rabbit's life force sprang free of his killing snap. And it seemed the same way now with Stiles. Holding on to him, Derek felt Stiles’ breech the confines of his flesh. His breathing stopped, his heart stilled and his soul left his quaking body. For a split second, it yanked at some invisible tether, before crashing back down into him. He sighed deeply as he went limp.

Eyes closed, mouth slack, Stiles lay boneless as death in Derek's arms. Finished. Spent. Only a slight shivering and his desperate gasps marked him as a living being. Reflexively, Derek put a hand on him, checking for a fluttering pulse. He wanted to feel the air bellowing in and out, even though he could clearly hear Stiles breathing. The rapid heartbeat seemed like a separate creature, frantically bouncing around inside Derek's head. They both gulped down air. Stiles curled his knees up, becoming smaller, sheltering in Derek's embrace. He panted spent breath into Derek's face. The room reeked of sex and Stiles. He'd taken over, so this was no longer Derek's place alone.

The room belonged to the hammering pulse and the keening release. Derek's ears still rang. His head swam, like he'd been drinking. He'd gotten drunk on Stiles. He coursed splayed fingers over Stiles' pliant stomach, gathering up gummy, slick fluid. His wolf self wanted to roll in it, wanted to rub it all over his body. He wiped the wet hand down his throat. Then, he shoved down his own boxers and wrapped the coated fingers around his cock. It wept in response as he pumped Stiles along it. Derek offered it his sympathies.

“Fuck,” he said on a soft groan. And then, because it could stand repeating, he repeated himself, “Fuck. I'm going to jail.”

Stiles cracked an eye open. He tried to speak, but only managed a gurgle. Noting Derek edging away from him Stiles flopped over to his side. He grunted with the effort. The pearl-chain of semen dripped down his belly and he absently rubbed it into his skin. The sexy fucker. A languid sigh and stretch proved almost too much for Derek. He scooted sideways, needing room. But, when Stiles spoke, it was obvious he had no idea what sort of riot he was causing.

“Was it really bad?”

Derek nodded, squeezing his eyes closed and biting down on his lip. He tried to think of anything beyond his next orgasm, but his mind kept defaulting back to sex. It refused to think about anything but Stiles naked beside him or under him. Inside him. He wanted to be fucked so badly, he didn't care how much it hurt. He was going to take Stiles down, any minute now. They weren't going to make it to his eighteenth birthday. There was no way they were going to dance around penetration for another six months. Or...six days. First, he'd use his vibrator. Then, his fingers and his tongue. And then he was going to bury his dick in Stiles, ride him hard. After that, he didn't care. He'd let Stiles do everything to him, anything he wanted to do.

For the first time, Derek reveled in the bond's demands. Hell, yes, he was ready. He might hate it. He shook his head. No. He absolutely wouldn't hate it. He'd love it, because it would involve Stiles having some kind of erotic fit. Stiles with no filter and no boundaries and no idea how much Derek wanted to fuck him.

“Bad!” he said. “So bad.” He put his hands over his face and immediately regretted it. The scent of Stiles was all over his fingers. He let them fall away into his lap.

“I know. I told you,” Stiles said. “It's so embarrassing. I think that's why I never felt comfortable...with anyone else. The noise. The spastic flail. My brain just shuts down. I can’t even jerk off in the shower when my father’s in the house. I used to go out into the woods.”

Oh, Fuck. No. He was in the woods doing that? When? Where? How often? I need details, baby. Were you near my house?

“I have to turn on loud music or the neighbors call the cops. It sucks.”

What if someone has already called the cops? Shit. There could be a knock on the door any minute and then Derek would have to kill a deputy.

“Your father is going to shoot me. He's going to shoot me and drag me to jail.”

“Are we back on this again? Look, Derek, maybe we shouldn't tell my dad everything about our sex life.”

Their sex life. They had a sex life. He and Stiles had a sex life. Imagine that. And it was going to be a raunchy, wild, no-holds barred one. Which was just amazing. Seeing Stiles fumbling for understanding, Derek gave him a pained little smile.

“He's going to know, Stiles. Because I'm going to do so many filthy, illegal things to you that you won't be able to crawl home.”

Stiles stiffened, edging away. Derek smiled and let his eyes flash blue as he bared his canines. The quirk of a brow confirmed his intent. He cracked the tension from his neck as Stiles' gaze dropped like a stone. When Derek's cock twitched, Stiles hissed in sudden comprehension and gave a little crinkly nosed wince. That's right, Stiles, be careful what you ask for.

“Right,” Stiles said, dragging the word out as if stalling for time. “He'll be able to tell...because...I'm gonna...feel it?” Tongue sampling the sharp points on his teeth, Derek nodded along with him. Stiles recoiled as if he’d just seen something gruesome. “We should get you a cold shower.”

“You should get me something,” Derek snarled, snatching him back by an arm.

Claws out, he dragged Stiles up his body, enjoying how the slack-muscles yielded to his demand. Stiles put up no resistance. He splayed over Derek, draping across his chest like a blanket. He smelled sinful. It was easy to imagine being buried balls deep in such pliable flesh. Derek knew he could fuck Stiles like this, without a qualm. His animal could take Stiles after he’d climaxed, while he was giddy on his own release, Derek could own him. Just fill him and come inside him and leave him sated again. Stiles steeped in his afterglow was no different than any other lover, though. He wasn't effeminate, but he was beautiful and fragrant. Warm. His. All his, every inch of him. Derek knew he had to be gentle with him. As if sensing the direction of Derek's thoughts, Stiles remained still. Neither of them dared move.

But, as soon as Derek's claws retracted, Stiles found some inner reserve of cocky. He lifted up on his elbows to stare down into Derek’s face. Derek tried to look harmless, even as his blood pressure spiked again. It must have worked, because Stiles became bolder. Biting his lower lip, he let his sight-line drift to Derek’s mouth.

“Jail’s not so bad,” he said. “We could arrange conjugal visits.”

“Pretty sure your dad won’t allow those.”

“Or, I could get a job on the inside,” Stile said, pushing to his knees as Derek's grip slackened. “Any prison guard fantasies, Derek? Handcuffs. Solitary. Put you in the hole.”

Derek lunged toward him and seized his upper arms. “Or you could suck me off with that smart mouth, before I screw you wide open.”

“Blow job? Sure,” Stiles said, heart banging in panic.

“It’s not multiple choice.”

Stiles placed a hand against his chest, a flat palm of restraint over his heart. It was all Derek needed, enough to stop himself from shifting. He leashed the beast. And managed to gather his composure a few millimeters short of a kiss that was sure to be the coup de gras. A blow job might take the edge off. He sighed and forced his fingers to relax. Leaning back, he nodded his agreement.

“Yeah? Yes.”

Stiles slithered down him. They both puffed out pent breath. Derek did his best to corral his darker impulses. He didn't want to throw down with Stiles. He loved Stiles and would never intentionally hurt him. It had to be the bond, making him this frantic. He’d never been like this with other partners. He’d been vocal, yes, but not violently passionate. The bond came from the wolf, but Derek didn’t want to rely on it. They didn’t need it, because they were building something real. There was no place for savage assault in a human relationship. He was going to have sex with Stiles some day, if not tonight. And, they would both be happy with each step they took forward.

The blow job took his mind off attacking, but it wasn’t good. It bordered on awful. Unlike that long ago frat-boy, Stiles obviously had no idea what he was doing. He gagged when he should have been sucking. He petted instead of tugged. Derek lifted his head to glare at him. He wasn’t sure he could take the tickling and tentative licks. Head like this was more distracting than thrilling. But that mouth was still on him, tongue eager, lips soft and wet. And the hands stroked evenly, except that Stiles kept clawing along Derek’s thigh and rubbing his belly.

“You've seen this done, right?” he finally asked. “In porn?”

Stiles lifted his head. He tried to speak and sputtered, sticking out his tongue. He clawed a finger down it. Drool trickled over Derek's balls. Stiles wiped them off and Derek closed his eyes, groaning.

“Sorry. Hair.”

“God, Stiles. You're killing me.”

With a little direction, he began to relate the process to a hand-job, something he’d obviously practiced.
When he gave his mouth a rest and fisted firmly up and down, Derek showered him with praise. Stiles took the hint. He added his mouth to the mix again, following the lead of his fingers. Derek focused on gently rocking his hips and cooing encouragement. In his mind he could hear the Sex and Candy song. This time it reminded him of the beach and sweet kisses and cuddling, Stiles on top of him. Stiles squirming and licking. Stiles sucking. Oh, yeah. He was going to come. He could feel the tension building, drawing his muscles taut.

“Oh, yes,” he breathed. “Stiles, you hot little… That mouth. Fuck. Just like that.”

So, of course, Stiles stopped sucking. That was wrong of him. He should be punished for that, swatted or spanked. Derek couldn't help how his dick throbbed when he thought about his palm smacking those elevated buttocks, not hard, just enough to let him know not to tease. Later, he'd teach him how to really get the job done. Stiles was going to be the best cocksucker. In a few months he'd be amazing.

“What, Derek? This?” Stiles said. He lapped slippery pre-cum from Derek's tip, and then dragged out a slow lick up his length. “Or this?” he said, enveloping him completely in a deep throated humming.

Derek curled up to hold his head steady. His fingers caught in thick hair. “You love it, don’t you? Driving me crazy?”

Tongue swirling over the head of his cock was his only answer. But he didn’t need anything more than that. That was enough. Derek flopped back into the pillows. Stiles fumbled across his chest, found and pinched a nipple, twisting it as he sucked in his cheeks. He groaned along Derek's length. The buzz and press of those full, wet lips shoved Derek over into blacked out bliss. He shot off like a rocket launch. His claws came out, again, tearing at the bedding. He thrust into that sweet mouth, his hips pumped up and down, came for a man. Came hard, draining into Stiles and choking him, heedless of his gag reflex. Far from being a horrible experience, Derek couldn’t wait to do it again. Stiles coughed, his eyes streaming. Derek caressed his shoulder. Stiles sputtered and struggled with the spurts into his throat. But he didn’t pull back. He swallowed.

“Don’t,” Derek said, but it was too late. “Oh, crap.”

Stiles came up for air, phlegm-husky as he said, “Gah-What?”

“Stiles…fuck! Sorry. I forgot...forgot to tell you. Not to swallow. Semen is like saliva.”

Why hadn’t he pulled out? He always pulled out. Or wore a condom. And he warned them not to swallow even a drop. Kate had spit his pre-cum out like poison, rinsing her mouth with a shot of whiskey. Had he been that sure he wouldn’t climax? Or had he just wanted Stiles linked to him, like a pack member? He’d never wanted anyone in his head before. He'd never longed to be known like that. It was too much, too intimate. But, now that it was happening, a part of him wanted to know Stiles, to share every feeling with him as he climaxed.

“Like the bite?”

“No, well, yeah,” Derek fought for air and coherency. “It’s not enough to turn you, not one shot. Even if I were an Alpha it would take a couple hits. But it links us for a few minutes. Let's us share feelings and memories.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m getting that,” Stiles said. “Wow! You liked the blow job, even though it was the worst ever.”

Derek laughed, despite his conflicted feelings. “I did.”

“MMmmm,” Stiles sighed, snuggling close. “This is great. I could get used to this. It’s cozy. I’m me and you. And you want to get all up inside of me. Can you feel me, too?”

“Yeah. I feel you, you smug bastard.”

“I got you off, Buddy. I deserve some confetti and champagne.”

“Yeah. But the sharing isn’t always pleasant. There's no off switch. And it might happen during sex, too.”

“One more reason to go bareback,” Stiles murmured and immediately picked up on Derek’s fears and insecurities. They created a twitchy feedback loop of mutual anxiety. “Oh, Derek! Shhhh! I always over share. We can take it slow.”

“Sorry, I just...I never share.”

“I promise you’re going to like everything, when you're ready.”

“I can't believe I let you in my head,” Derek said, though the link felt closer to his heart.

“You're going to let me in everywhere. Nothing off limits.”

Somehow, while linked to Stiles and soothed by his happy anticipation, that possibility didn’t seem as scary as it had before they were attuned. Maybe the link had some uses.

“I’ll start counting the hours,” Derek said, giving him a squeeze.