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Hypothetically, How Did This Become His Life?

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It's nearly a week before Stiles realizes Derek's vanished, but he has been a bit preoccupied with his dad's brief hospital stay for miscellaneous war wounds and dehydration, then explaining in detail with PowerPoint and youtube videos every little bit of the supernatural to him, freaking out over Scott--Scott!--becoming an Alpha, worrying about what happened to Jennifer's body, and waking up in the middle of each night from nightmares of nebulous things trying to rip him apart.

Or, worse, him ripping people apart.

When the latter happens the first time, he instinctively calls Lydia, and she's amazingly tolerant. Somehow over the last month or so they bonded over the weirdness in their lives. The kiss during the panic attack and then her being his anchor during the sixteen hour long sacrifice seemed to cement a friendship he'd only dreamed about.

So, she's not even annoyed with him calling in the middle of the night, and she talks him through his fears.

After a five day break to deal with yet another teacher's death and now the disappearance of one as well, school resumes. Counselors roam the hallways with sympathetic looks on their faces, eager to drag any forlorn looking student aside to talk. Ms. Morrell's back as well, but the Pack decides en mass that avoiding her is a good thing.

Somehow--and this will require research--Ethan and Aiden revert to Betas and join Scott's Pack which is already bigger than Derek's ever was, and more stable.

Derek was a sucky Alpha.

With Stiles' help Scott will be better, but Derek can also help, which is why, after several ignored texts and phone messages--nothing new; Stiles is convinced Derek only has a cell phone because he needs to look like he knows what he's doing, not because he actually can use one--he heads to the loft only to find it deserted. Like, musty, empty smelling deserted, all their clothing and Derek's stupid hair products gone deserted. Even the fridge is cleaned out of pizza boxes and take-out cartons. On the big table are a couple old books and a note in block print.



Carefully flipping through the books on werewolf lore and history--knots are real? and they can do it in wolf form?--he wonders why Derek's giving them to him now.

And where the Hell he and Cora are because her stuff is gone, too.

It's possible Scott knows and in the midst of becoming an Alpha just forgot to tell him.

Taking out his phone Stiles hits speed-dial three--wondering when he made Lydia number two--and, miraculously Scott answers with a dopey 'hi?'

"So, hypothetically, Derek disappears. Any clue where he'd go?"


"Okay, not really hypothetical. Derek's gone, moved out. Did he tell you?"

"Um, no?"

"Did he just move across town or something, out of the loft of death?" Though, if he did that, why didn't he just give Stiles the books instead of leaving them? And the furniture, what little there is, is still there. The bed is neatly made, of course. Freak.

"Um...I can't feel him in my territory. Cora neither."

"So, they left town. Great. Good talk, Scottie."

Frowning, he hangs up.

When he goes back down the elevator, books carefully tucked under his arm, he realizes the mom mobile is there, but the Camaro is gone from under its tarp.

Huh. So, he rode into the sunset in his penis envy car and left behind the one that actually made sense to transport stuff in. Typical.

"Gee, thanks for saying goodbye, asshole," Stiles mutters as he stomps to his jeep, but it isn't until he's home and back on his bed staring at the ceiling that the anger is replaced with hurt.

Why didn't he say goodbye?

And is he ever coming back?

He shoots off a frustrated text, isn't surprised when there's no response, then dives into the books.

Because Scott needs him even if Derek doesn't.

His first time is nothing like he thought it would be--and, over the years, he had a lot of thoughts, mostly about Lydia. It would be in a rose petal strewn bed with soft harp music playing, or in a bubble bath surrounded by scented candles, or on a moonlit beach somewhere.

Instead, they're half in, half out of his jeep, their clothes pulled aside, his hips pumping wildly as her legs clench around them. She's clawing at his back, bucking against him hard, driving the rhythm and he's just hanging on, brain empty of all thought but 'fuck' and other random obscenities.

But at least it is Lydia.

Later, as Stiles sits slumped on the ground, back to the wheel well, pants half done up, swallowing convulsively against his dry throat, he wonders if the stinging on his back is from her or the goblins they stumbled over and barely managed to flee from earlier in the evening.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Lydia's bare legs slide from the jeep until she's standing a bit wobbly in her high heels--he has no clue how she can run in those things, but he had a hard time keeping up with her--pulling her little pink lace panties on.

Stiles feels an interested twitch from his cock and then it really hits him.

He had sex with Lydia Martin.

He lost his virginity to Lydia Martin.

She's probably going to kill him now.

When she steps towards him he flinches away, half expecting her to yell at him, but then she drops down onto his lap and wraps her arms around his shoulders, murmuring, "Not half bad, Stilinski," before kissing him with her soft, strawberry flavored lips.

"Can we do it again?" spills from his mouth before he can stop it, and she laughs, but it's not a mean laugh.

"Never again in the jeep."

He nods enthusiastically and then she's kissing him again, more passionately this time, and he eagerly responds.

(They don't actually ever have sex in the jeep again, but Lydia finds she enjoys being manhandled over it and fucked from behind. So does Stiles.)

"Hey, thanks for the text with the map. We found the goblins and dealt with him," Scott says with a smile and slap to Stiles' shoulder that nearly sends him reeling into his locker. A month since becoming an Alpha and Scott still hasn't adjusted to the additional strength.

But, Stiles nods and smiles because...well, damn, he's probably going to be nodding and smiling a lot today.

"Glad you and Lydia got out okay." Scott's eyebrows furrow. "Did one of the things bite you?" He's staring at Stiles' neck.

"Huh?" Stiles slaps his hand down on the spot and then remembers and flushes in pleasure.

"Dude, that's a hickey," Scott hisses, scandalized. "Did you make out with the goblin queen?"

"Ew, ick, no," Stiles protests in disgust, turning to grab his books for his first class out of his locker and when he turns back Scott is sniffing him. "Stop smelling me in the middle of the crowded hallway, man. People are gonna get the wrong idea."

"Whoa, man, really?" A goofy grin on his face, Scott reels back. "Congrats."

Stiles rolls his eyes but secretly basks in his friend's happiness for him and the fact that he's not a virgin anymore. "Yeah, no more fear of being sacrificed here."

Snorting, Scott bumps their shoulders and they head to class.

Despite the extra kissing, cuddling, and the last kiss at her door, the night before, Stiles is still a bit worried that Lydia will have changed her mind about him, but when she sits down next to him in English and leans over to press her lips to his cheek, giddy relief floods him and he basks in the stares of his classmates.

Allison takes her seat next to Isaac--who is staring--and just smiles at him. Of course Lydia told her best friend.

For the first time in his life, he's gossip fodder for a good reason.

"Lydia? Lydia Martin? Really?"

Stiles sighs in his father's general direction and heaps a pile of broccoli on his plate. If he's going to be a disbeliever, he gets extra helpings of the green stuff. "Yes, dad. We're dating."

They are. She told him they're going to dinner and a movie on Friday night. And shopping on Thursday after school because she doesn't trust he has anything decent to wear.

He's a little scared of the latter.


Scowling, Stiles adds another spoonful before John yanks away his plate and glares at the large pile of healthy vegetables.

"Okay, okay. I believe you. I'm...Wait, what is she again?"

"Banshee. What happened to the chart I drew up for you?"

"Right, banshee, but still human?"

Stiles shrugs and takes a bite of baked cod, then reaches for a lemon because it's bland as hell. "I guess. You know, it doesn't really matter to me. I hardly know any humans these days."

"But you're still human, right?"

"You really don't need to keep checking on that," he says tolerantly because his dad has put up with so much bullshit from him over the past nine months. "And, yes."

John eats some broccoli, manfully doesn't make a face, and Stiles rewards him with a dash--a small dash--of salt over the vegetables. "So, how did this happen?"

"Um...there were goblins chasing us and then we were dating."

Weakest explanation ever. Sighing, Stiles adds a dollop of butter to his dad's broccoli mound.

"Whatever makes you happy, son. I'm sure she's perfect for you."

"She's a goddess."

"I thought she was a banshee."

Stiles rolls his eyes at the really bad attempt at a joke and thinks about taking back the butter.

Having a girlfriend at Christmas is the best thing ever. At the holiday ball, Lydia looks like a queen in her green taffeta gown, her hair and makeup professionally done, the tiny diamond necklace he bought her glinting on the curve of her breast.

Like for most of their dates, she dressed him from head to foot, scowling at his idea of Grinch boxer shorts, a light up sequined bow tie, and anything red. He's in a navy suit with an antique gold embroidered vest and open neck because she has a thing for his neck.

Most of their schoolmates still can't understand why she's dating him, but their Pack does and that's all that matters to Stiles. More and more, it's all that matters to Lydia, too.

On Christmas Eve, Stiles gives her the second gift--the necklace being an early Christmas present--a red sequined light up bow tie collar for Prada. If he can't wear one, someone is going to. Lydia chooses to be amused and, Stiles figures, secretly pleased since she immediately puts it on her dog.

On Christmas Day, he and his father have a late lunch of turkey and all the fixings with Lydia and her mother--her father conspicuously absent as the divorce is nearly final and Lydia's driving a new BMW for the holidays from him.

On Christmas Night, while his dad is on patrol--because the Sheriff never truly gets holidays off--and her mother is sleeping off the bottle of wine she consumed with dinner, Stiles finds himself on his back in Lydia's bed as she moves over him, squeezes around him, drives him insane. It's their favorite position--and he has absolutely no problem with her being on top. He knows full well who wears the pants in this relationship. His hands fondle her breasts, squeezing her nipples just the way she likes, making her twist her hips and grind down on him as she softly moans, and he braces his feet and pushes up into her, straining for release.

When she grabs one of his hands and drags it between her legs, he knows she's close and thumbs her clit hard and fast until she shudders in orgasm. Stiles loves to watch her come--she's never more beautiful, never more real--and loves to feel it even more because she clamps down around his cock and rides his own orgasm from him.

Afterwards, curled together, breathing softly, Lydia whispers it against his chest.

"I love you."

Best Christmas ever.

Stiles has no problem saying it back.

And New Years Eve is even better.

After attending a party at the house of one of the Senior cheerleaders, they kiss at midnight, both a bit tipsy from mixing beer and champagne, before leaving soon after to head to Lydia's house. Her mom is on an overnight date and Stiles' dad made a point of telling him he didn't need to come home until morning.

Best dad ever.

Still will bust his ass for drunk--tipsy--driving, so Stiles is damn careful, but the party was only three blocks from the Martin house so they get there with no problem, and head straight up to her room.

"I have a surprise for you. Get undressed."

Face lighting up, he watches her sashay into her bathroom where she doesn't quite close the door, then strips off his clothes. He's gotten better at it, and even with his head swirling pleasantly, he doesn't stumble over his feet or get his head stuck in his pullover sweater. Naked, he dives beneath the duvet on her ridiculously comfortable bed and fluffs the pillows beneath his head. He resists stroking himself because Lydia likes to be the one to arouse him, but desire is already pooling in the pit of his stomach in anticipation.

They've had sex seventeen times--he's keeping track--and it just keeps getting better.

A few minutes later, Lydia emerges from the bathroom, face scrubbed clean, hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, wearing only a nearly sheer off-white babydoll nightie--he's learned what her various lingerie is called--but it's not what catches and holds his attention.

Dangling from one hand is a set of straps and a black rubber dick.


The hazy desire in him ramps up exponentially, but he plays it cool. "I have one of those."

"Yes, and it's nice." She grins wickedly and he plays affronted.

"Nice? Only nice?" Kicking free of the covers, he points to his twitching dick.

Lydia snorts elegantly and sits down next to him, her free hand trailing over him and hardening him more. "More than nice, but this one isn't for me." Her other hand strokes over the fake cock and he can't decide whether to look at it or his own.

"So, hypothetically, you want to use that on me because...?" he asks hoarsely, his ass clenching in anticipation and a teeny bit of fear.

"There's nothing hypothetical about it. I've always wanted to do this, but neither Jackson nor Aiden were secure enough in their masculinity to let me. I know you are, though."

Stiles grins and points at her. "See, I know what you did there. Playing to my ego over one-upping your exes."

She grins back and leans down to kiss him, then whispers against his lips, "Let me fuck you."

"God yes."

Fifteen minutes later they're both sweating--well, he's sweating; she's perspiring daintily--her nipples are swollen from his lips and teeth, his cock is hard and leaking, and he's on his stomach, legs spread as she pushes one slick finger into him.

Being a curious guy, Stiles bas stuck his own finger up there before, but there's just something about the fact that it's another person's that makes him shiver and twitch and groan into the pillow. The finger wiggles around before a second slides in, and this one makes him grunt. It's not exactly painful, but not all that comfortable, and for a moment, he has doubts because her tiny fingers are nowhere near the size of that thing now jutting out from her crotch. (He asked her what she'd get out of this and she showed him the hard nub on the insider of the harness that will rub right on her clit every time she thrusts, and she's going to thrust hard--that comment made pre-cum pearl at the slit of his cock until she licked it up.)

"Ready for a third?" Lydia asks, her voice a bit breathy, and Stiles can tell she's turned on, too.

"Yeah...Oh fuck!" The third pushes in and he feels stuffed and aching, his rim stinging a bit from the stretch, but he breathes through it, and when her fingers spread and one rubs his prostate, he yelps and bucks his hips up into it. "Jesus!"

"You're going to come so hard when my cock hits that over and over," she murmurs in his ear before biting the lobe.

"God, god, god, yes." At this point, he doesn't care if it hurts because, with every thrust of her fingers, his cock is rubbing against his stomach and the thousand count Egyptian cotton sheets and he wants to come so hard.

After a few more deliriously pleasurable minutes, she pulls her fingers out and he gives her a dazed look over his shoulder. She's slicking the fake cock with lube. God that's sexy.

"Up on your hands and knees, sweetie," Lydia coaxes and Stiles pushes himself up, then falls onto one shoulder and his elbows, his face planting in the pillow again. He's done research; this is a good position. "Oh...your hole is wide open for me. It wants my cock..." Lydia usually doesn't talk dirty--she tells him what to do and if she likes or dislikes something--and Stiles finds he's turned on even more and he pants her name.

The rubbery head of the cock brushes his hole and he moans because he's so sensitive there, then it pushes inside and it's so big. Stiles bites his lip, forces himself to relax, and shivers from head to foot. Lydia pushes again and the head pops in, the shaft following, and then he feels her thighs pressed against his ass. He feels so full...

"Fuck...You're in me."

"Does it hurt?"

"Nyahhh...Um...God, no, not pain, just kinda uncomfort..." He breaks off as she rotates her hips and the dildo hits his prostate. "Oh bloody Jesus!"

As she chuckles, a low, husky sound that goes straight to his balls, she grabs his hips and leans down to bite his shoulder, before crooning, "Here we go."

Later, as he's relaxing in the afterglow of what was probably the most intense orgasm of his life, Stiles briefly wonders why Lydia is looking at him so oddly, but then he gives her a goofy smile and she smirks back, and then they're kissing lazily.

Mid-January brings with it an early warm up and that means early lacrosse practice. It starts the next day and Stiles futilely tries to prevent Lydia from painting his toenails purple.

"It's a good color on you."

They're in bed on a lazy Sunday afternoon. He's naked. She's wearing something lacy and expensive from Victoria's Secret that barely keeps any of her a secret, and she has one of his feet out from under the duvet and on her lap.

"The guys'll rag me," Stiles whines but doesn't try to pull his foot away because that leads to the cold shoulder and a week of no smooches--and what smooches lead to.

"You're dating me. They're all jealous."

"Danny's not jealous."

Lydia snorts.

"You know I never have found out if gay guys find me attractive."

"Honey, once you grew out that atrocious hairstyle and started letting me dress you, that was no longer an issue."

Stiles grins and folds his arms beneath his head, lifting it to watch her expertly buff his toenails.

"And don't think I don't know why you care, Stilinski," she says while tugging his other foot free of the covers.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he protests rather pitifully.

She smirks at him. "While there are plenty of straight men who will let their girlfriends peg them to make them happy, I doubt there are many who yell out 'Derek' in the middle."

He did what?

Stiles goes cold. She's going to dump him and probably publically humiliate him and he's going to deserve it because he did what?


When she looks up at him from her inspection of his toes and must see the fear on his face, her own falls, the amusement leaving it. "Stiles, no, don't freak out. I thought you realized you did it. Honey, it's okay. You think I didn't know months before we got together?"

He's not breathing. He can't breathe. He hasn't thought of Derek since that first night with Lydia, at least not on a conscious level. He can't think of Derek without a lot of pain and anger and frustration and he can't breathe.

"Stiles! Oh fuck, honey, breathe." She's over him, straddling him, kissing him, and he can breathe again, great gasps for air as their lips part. There's true concern in her eyes and she tenderly strokes his cheeks. "I really thought you knew," Lydia repeats softly.

Stinging tears spill from his eyes, and she pulls him up to a seated position to wrap herself around him. "I'm sorry," he babbles. "I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

Lydia's voice is a soothing croon in his ear, her hands gentle as they stroke down his trembling back, and Stiles can't believe she's touching him still when she knows. She knows.

Slowly he pulls back from her, sniffling away the remaining tears, and can't meet her eyes until she cups his cheeks and forces him to.

"Stiles, are you listening to me?" When he nods, she continues, completely serious. "It doesn't bother me. It doesn't bother me that you called out Derek's name while I was fucking you."

He gives her a look of disbelief because she has to be lying. Girls don't go for that. "But...aren't you jealous? I mean, of course you're not because I'm just me and..."

Interrupting his babbling with two fingers on his lips, she shakes her head. "If it had been a girl's name, yes, I'd have been pissed. Not that I believe you'd ever be unfaithful."

"No, never," he mumbles against her fingers.

"But, I'm more intrigued. Did Derek ever fuck you?"

That's even more unbelievable than her being okay with all this. "What? No! He doesn't even like me and I'm pretty sure he's straight considering he was banging evil druid bitch."

Lydia's look of 'now you're being stupid' makes him squirm.


"As both an outside observer most of the time and the smartest person in this town, I saw him watching you more than once and not in the 'he annoys me' way but in the 'I want to do him over the ugly couch' way."

Stiles feels heat prickle his cheeks and a coughing laugh breaks from him. "What?"

"Obviously he has many, many hang ups because I assume you would have jumped at the chance."


Lydia laughs and kisses him, before sliding back down his body to frown at his smudged toe nails. "We're going to have to start over."

Exhausted, Stiles collapses back on the pillows and lets her do her thing, half listening to her as she talks of their upcoming classes, the chances for the lacrosse team to win State again, the Valentine's Day dance and just what he'll be wearing to it and where he'll be taking her for dinner and the flowers she'll want...

And the rest of his brain is wondering where Derek is, what he's doing, and if Lydia's right.

Heh. Of course she's right. She's Lydia Martin.

A few weeks later they're in his room researching ghouls--nasty things and they seem to have an infestation of them--Lydia with her books, Stiles with his laptop, when she casually asks, "Have you heard from Derek?"

Frowning at conflicting bits of lore and why is there internet porn about ghouls? Stiles takes a minute to process her question, then gives her a confused look over his shoulder. "Huh?"


"Uh, no, why?"

Shrugging, she sucks on the end of her pen as she reads, a habit she picked up from Stiles. "He's been gone for three months, no one's heard from him. I even asked Peter." A shudder of distaste goes through her and Stiles wants to go comfort her, but she doesn't ever appreciate that where Peter is concerned.

"Not surprising. He's ignored all my texts and calls, that's for sure. I gave up around Christmas."

"Or he lost his phone or forgot his charger. You know he's technologically challenged."

True. Dude never did grasp the annoyance of all caps or how to use emoticons. "Yeah, but Cora isn't and she's ignoring everyone, too. I...don't think they're coming back." Resolutely he turns back to his computer and shoves the thought of Derek out of his mind. "I'm not finding anything here that makes any sense."

"We could fall back on Supernatural."

"You're such a closet geek," he teases, grinning as he clicks on the Supernatural wiki to refresh his memory about fictional ghouls.

"I have a healthy appreciation for sexy men."

"Then why on Earth are you dating me?" Nearly three months of dating and he's finally confident in her feelings for him that he can mock himself.

"I ask myself that every day."

Stiles snorts. So does Lydia. And they dive back into their research.

The Valentine's Day dance is as mundane and predictable as all school dances. The band sucks. The decorations are drooping within an hour of it starting. A couple jocks spike the punch. At least one guy shows up in a red tux--not Stiles, despite his protestations about how cool he'd look, he's in a charcoal gray suit with a red tie. The head cheerleader and Danny are the Queen and King and Lydia doesn't even care--which goes to show just how far she's come since the days she only wanted to rule the school.

Oh, and there's a ghost in one of the girl's bathrooms, but Scott talks it into flitting off to the principal's empty office for the night.

Of course he does. Stiles is all ready to banish it and the Alpha goes all sappy and doesn't want to hurt the dead unhurtable thing.

He and Lydia share mutual eye rolls before going back to the dance. A slow song is playing and they move comfortably into each others arms. They no longer get very many looks--people are used to them being together--and Lydia seems content with not being the center of attention and, as long as it doesn't bother her, Stiles is fine with being out of the spotlight as well.

Lips painted dark pink and glossy, eyes soft and wide, she smiles up at him, and he feels arousal stir. His dad doesn't expect him home tonight. Her mom is on her own date and probably won't be home. Lowering his head he kisses her tenderly. "Want to get out of here?" Stiles can't wait to peel her out of her pink and white satin dress to see what sexy things she's wearing underneath--he long ago admitted he has a thing for her underwear, well at least with her in them.

Grinning, Lydia nods, and arms around each other's waists, they turn to leave the dance.

And both stop when they see who is standing by the door, arms crossed over his chest, odd look on his face as he stares at them.


The rage that rises in Stiles shocks him. It's a reminder of the darkness in him from the Nemeton. Mostly he controls it--or ignores it--with Lydia's help, but even though her other hand is pressed to his chest over his racing heart and she's murmuring to him, he sees red.

The next thing he knows he's cradling his throbbing hand and Lydia is yelling something and Derek is just standing there, stoically frowning at them both, not even a bruise on his jaw from the punch.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he gapes down at his hand. He punched someone. He punched Derek.

A couple teachers are there, talking to him, glowering at Derek and making useless not-so-subtle threats about calling the cops because he's obviously not a parent or chaperone and thus too old to be there. Stiles tunes them all out, just stares at Derek, who stares back.

Scott's hand on his shoulder brings him completely back.

"Dude, what the fu...hell?"

"Did you know he was back?"


Rounding on him, Stiles shoves his hand from his shoulder. "What?"

Giving him a sheepish look and rubbing the back of his neck that together translate as 'he knows he's screwed something up', Scott mutters, "Um, he's an Omega in my territory, so, yeah, he came to me a couple days ago to ask permission to stay."

"He's back for good?" Lydia asks, her voice hard, because Stiles is too busy trying to sort out his thoughts and feelings to ask the question.

"Um, I guess?"

"Stilinski, maybe you should go home. I think the dance is over for you," Coach says, awkwardly patting his arm.

"Yeah, was doing that." He hears another discussion of calling the cops and frowns. "Don't call my dad, okay? I'm leaving. He's leaving."

"Yeah, sure." Finstock doesn't believe him, but Stiles doesn't care, just grabs Lydia's hand and tugs her around the blockade at the door and outside into the cold February air.

"Well, that was interesting." Tugging her faux fur shrug around herself tighter, she clicks her way in her ridiculously high heels towards his jeep, letting him trail behind her, confused and upset and with no clue why he punched Derek.

Which reminds him... "I think I broke my hand."

"Keys." Lydia snaps her fingers at him.


"You're not driving with a broken hand and I'm taking you to the ER."

"Um, no?"

"You punched someone; you live with the consequences of your dad finding out. And, you know, he'll understand. I'm sure he's wanted to punch Derek many, many times."

Amusement finally wipes out the last of the anger, and Stiles snorts in laughter, then tosses her the keys and climbs into the passenger seat.

"You know, I find it really sexy when you drive my baby."

Lydia rolls her eyes at him but smirks as well. "Idiot. Oh, and you know that your dad is going to make you go home and you'll never know what I'm wearing or not wearing beneath this dress."

Groaning in dismay, Stiles may actually whimper as well.

When they stop at the first red light, Lydia flicks on the dome light and grabs the hem of her full skirt, tugging it up to reveal black garters and black lace really not covering her mound. Even in the dim light and with the awkward position, he can see she's shaved her pubic hair in the shape of a heart.

"Fuck. You're a cruel, cruel woman."

"And you're making me go home all alone and play with myself and Edward." It's an in-joke between them that her fat, red vibrator is named after the stupidly sparkling vampire.

"Cruel, cruel, cruel," Stiles groans and awkwardly adjusts his dick which is half hard in his trousers.

Lydia grins and drives the rest of the hospital with one hand between her legs just to punish him.

Stiles has to admit he really doesn't mind her punishments, though on arriving at the ER he has to think about Finstock and Grandpa Evil doing the deed to go soft.

Inside, Melissa gives them one look, sighs heavily, and gestures to an exam room before telling the desk to call the sheriff.

His dad doesn't even scold him, just gives him a look and a sigh before listening to the ER doctor's instructions and signing him out.

"Sorry, dad," Stiles mumbles, cradling his wrapped hand--two broken knuckles, yay--against his chest as Lydia holds onto his other arm. "Kinda lost it."

"So, Hale's back."

Somehow between one stride and the next, with Lydia practically guiding him, he nearly manages to flail into the 'loading zone only' sign. "Fucking Finstock."

"Language. And it wasn't your coach. The station had three calls from concerned citizens with sightings of that 'leather clad hooligan Hale boy' before the incident at the school was reported by half a dozen anonymous students, one sounding suspiciously like Scott."

"Fucking Scott," he mutters and Lydia whacks his good arm. "Hey!"

"You have lost all perspective."

"Did he at least bruise?"

Stopping, Stiles gapes at his hopeful looking dad, then snorts out a laugh. "For a split second maybe."

"Darn it."

He snorts again.

John sighs and asks Lydia, "Can you get him home? I've already missed several drunk driving and drunken disturbance calls. You'd think you teens would learn by now that we always catch you."

"No problem, Sheriff, and I'll make sure there are no drunken shenanigans."

"Thanks, Lydia. According to the doctor, the meds he's on will hit any time and he'll be high enough." He gives Stiles a tired smile. "I'll get your script filled for the painkillers, kiddo, and bring them home before you need another dose."

"I am starting to feel pretty good." Feeling a bit goofy actually, Stiles smiles back, then lets Lydia guide him towards his jeep. "D'you think I surprised Derek?"

"I'm pretty confident he wasn't expecting you to punch him."


Lydia's sighs are beginning to sound like his dad's which isn't a good aural association at all.

As she learned all the rules of the road before she was nine and is the only person he knows who can parallel park in three moves, Stiles trusts his girlfriend to drive his jeep to her place where he can fetch it later. He feels a bit of sadness, and his dick a bit of unrequited lust, that she leaves him in his bedroom, stripped to his boxers, while she doesn't do any more than kiss his nose, but he's also starting to reel from the painkillers and the come down off the adrenaline high from the anger and the punch.

If he wasn't so out of it, he'd probably worry about the anger. Usually he's got the darkness under control--being with Lydia, his anchor, helps immensely--but, at the sight of Derek, he just lost it in an instant.

Three months and nothing. Not a word. No idea if he was even alive or if he was ever coming back. Even Peter never heard from him--and he wasn't lying because he can't to Scott, which Stiles and Lydia find immensely entertaining.

But, what's bothering him the most--and he knows this is probably at least partially the fault of the drugs--is that his anger wasn't purely from the Nemeton.

Derek left without saying goodbye. Derek ignored him for three months.

Stiles thought he meant at least something to the guy.

He was hurt. That's why he hit him.

And now he's hurt physically because you'd think he'd have learned by now that punching werewolves is like punching a cement wall.

Flopping onto his back on his bed, Stiles grunts in discomfort and fading desire and general annoyance.

"You're with Lydia?"

At the growly--and was that hurt?--question from behind his open closet door, Stiles yelps and flails in shock.

"What the fuck man?" Sitting up he watches Derek sidle out into the dim light from his headboard lamp. He has that blank, stoic look on his face. He also has his multi-colored eyes with their furrowed brows sliding down Stiles' naked chest.

Trying not to squeak and look unconcerned, Stiles drags the sheet up over his lap but steadfastly refuses to cover his chest. He's not a girl.

Then they stare at each other for at least two minutes before Stiles huffs in annoyance. "Stop fucking lurking and sit down, asshole."

Derek grunts but takes a stiff seat in his desk chair. Stiles takes a moment to look him over. He pretty much looks exactly the same--leather jacket, tight jeans, gray t-shirt, heavy stubble, frown.

"Scott told me you've been in town a couple days. You thought interrupting the school dance was a good way to announce your presence to the rest of us?"

"I knew you'd be there."

"And...? I've been at school, at lacrosse practice, at home afterwards, too. You could have stopped by any time. Or, y'know, picked up your fucking phone and called." He knows he's being snarky, but he can't help himself.

Derek frowns even more and crosses his arms over his chest which could be either an aggressive or defensive pose--Stiles has never been able to tell the difference. "I got your messages."

"I stopped sending them two months ago."

"I...I needed a break." He drops his eyes to stare at his feet or the interesting stain on the carpet from diluted troll sweat--it's kind of acidic. Ate right through the hoodie Stiles was wearing when he took a baseball bat to one. Luckily the remnants on his jacket didn't eat right through his floor. His dad is only so tolerant.

Not the point...The drugs--or Derek's presence--are making him lose focus.

"Yeah, I get that, Derek. The first couple months of Fall were completely shitty. Even getting Cora back didn't make up for the shit storm you dealt with and, in the end, you fell to Beta, lost your Pack. I can understand a vacation. Hell, I can understand the need to leave the Hellmouth redux and never come back. What I can't understand is how you could just disappear without a word, not even a fucking text." By the end of his rant, he's yelling and panting, and Derek is staring at him wide-eyed.

"Did you know I died? For sixteen hours I was a sacrifice to that stupid ass tree. I've got this darkness around my heart and I can feel it, Derek. It scares the fuck out of me. Half those messages I left and texts I sent were after I woke up from nightmares about things coming out of the dark to kill everyone I love, and talking to Lydia only helps so much, because she may be a banshee, and she may have been possessed by Peter, but she doesn't understand living in the dark. You do."


"Yeah, there's really nothing you can say."

"Why didn't you say any of that on the messages?"

"Would it have mattered?"

Swallowing hard, Derek doesn't answer.

"Yeah," Stiles replies bitterly. "What I figured. So, what are you doing here in my bedroom at nearly one in the morning after I broke my hand on your iron jaw?" Waving his hand at him, he wonders where that nice, loopy feeling has gone, because while the pain is muted, he's wide awake and pissed off.

"I wanted to see you," Derek grinds out.

"Why? I mean it, Derek. Why? I wasn't important enough for you to say goodbye to. You didn't even leave a note, just those books, which are fine, by the way."

Again Derek doesn't respond, and then he stands up and heads to the window, muttering, "This was a mistake."

Staring at him in shock--though why is he shocked? Derek is the king of avoidance--Stiles finally scrambles from the bed and grabs his arm as he swings one leg over the sill. He's not strong enough to yank him back inside, but he does stop him. Derek growls and shakes him off, but reluctantly looks over his shoulder.

"What do you want from me?"

"What do you want from me, Derek?" Stiles retorts, shivering as a cold breeze hits his nearly naked body.

At which Derek is staring again.


Swallowing hard again, his eyes on Stiles' chest--which has filled out a bit in the last six months from all the running for his life and dragging bleeding werewolves out of the line of fire--Derek jumps out the window without another word.

"Asshole," Stiles mutters, slamming shut the window and stomping back to his bed. His nice buzz is gone. He's wide awake and frustrated.

And, worse?

His cock is half-hard from that last look and he broke his jacking off hand because of him.


Derek and Cora, who's back, too, join Scott's Pack, because Omegas--except for Peter who just won't die, dammit--don't survive long. Derek actually seems content with submitting to Scott. It's completely bizarre. So is watching him listen to Scott, offer helpful suggestions, but never try to take the lead.


During the next couple weeks, through an infestation of wood nymphs, a night hag, and a visiting peaceful wolf pack, Stiles watches Derek and Derek tries to look like he's not watching Stiles, and it's all very bizarre. They don't work much together--Stiles being brains, Derek being very obvious brawn--and don't really talk, but they do look.

At the end of a Pack meeting during the first week of March, Stiles sits going through his notes on three different types of Greek amulets--because something weird is going on at the Nemeton and Deaton made vague noises about magical talismans--and misses Lydia approaching Derek until she's more than half way through the very one sided conversation. Glancing over, he notes that Derek looks nervous and Lydia looks determined.

And none of that can be good.

Like a good boy, he buries his head back in his notes and hopes none of that is about him.

Yeah. He's never that lucky.

With a bright smile on her face--the one that says that she won whatever argument she was having, one sided though it was--Lydia swoops over to him and picks up her purse, then taps one Jimmy Choo clad foot--and it's very sad that he knows every designer shoe she owns--until he scrambles up off the couch and stuffs his research into his bag. Waving at Scott, he trails after his girlfriend, feeling like a ghost is walking over his grave. Seriously, there are chills going up his spine and he just knows Derek is staring at him.

What the everlasting fuck?

Stiles manages to wait until they're in his jeep, headed for Lydia's house, before he asks. "So...Derek?"

"You're never going to get anywhere with him if you both constantly avoid each other."

"I'm not avoiding him. I just have nothing to...wait. What?" He nearly drives through a stop sign and curses at himself before forcing his concentration on the road.

"Boys can be so oblivious," she sighs and when he asks her what she's going on about, she tells him to be quiet and focus on not breaking any traffic laws because every cop in town knows his jeep and she doesn't plan to spend the evening listening to him getting lectured by his dad.

Meekly Stiles obeys, and, after parking in her driveway, follows her into her house and up to her bedroom. Sitting on the bed, he waits because she's in control, she's always in control, but he's jittery, his leg bouncing, his fingers in his mouth as he gnaws on his cuticles. As always, Lydia takes her time, changing out of her school clothes into yoga pants, a stretchy tank top and soft sweater, fetching them bottles of juice--because she doesn't allow him caffeine when he's worked up--and ignoring his attempts to start the conversation.

Finally she curls up next to him, takes a sip of her drink, and says, "I asked Derek if he wanted you."

Stiles can actually feel his cheeks burning as he gapes at her, mouth open, eyes wide, shock rolling through him.

Smiling, Lydia pats his knee. "He didn't commit. He didn't deny either. He tried to turn the conversation to our relationship, mine and yours, not mine and his because we don't have one yet." She stresses the 'yet'. He files that away in his exploding brain. "I told him to man up because he's already screwed up once by leaving without a word and then ignoring you for three months. He then resorted to growling and I left him to it. It has to be sexy in the bedroom and is probably necessary in battle, but annoying everywhere else. He really needs to learn to talk."

Helplessly, Stiles snorts, takes a drink and nearly chokes on it. "Um...why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you ask him that?" he yells, flailing, until she takes his drink and sets it down with hers and cups his cheeks to kiss him into stillness.

"Because I'm intrigued." With a pat on one of his cheeks she unfolds herself from the bed and heads for the door. "I'm making chicken salad for dinner. Are you staying?"

Stiles has a million questions. His dick is completely confused. And a part of him is terrified she's breaking up with him, but he manages a nod before following her to the kitchen, where they don't talk about Derek or anything he really wants to because she's had her say on that and hasn't really said anything and damn she can be frustrating.

But, he does love her, frustrating habits and all.

Plus, she puts the newest Star Trek movie in Blu Ray on her fifty six inch HD tv and cuddles with him while they eat dinner and watch it, all without him asking.

He takes it as a big plus for him that she's never made him watch The Notebook.

Heh. Screw you, Jackson.

Another week passes. Lydia doesn't bring up the subject of Derek and neither does Stiles. They have sex twice--the second time that good 'we survived more supernatural crap, yay' kind with Stiles pressing her against an alley wall, his hands on her butt holding her up, her legs around his waist. It's the no kisses, no time for a condom--she's on the pill; they've both been tested and are clean--desperate kind of sex that reminds him of the first time.

He's pretty sure he browned out from coming so hard.

He's also pretty sure Derek saw them and didn't just slink away quickly, but lurked in the shadows watching them.

If that added to the intense pleasure and violent orgasm, Stiles is definitely ignoring it.

When they meet up for a Pack meeting the next day to hash out how they survived another troll--at least this one didn't get acidic, blue sweat all over Stiles that ruined his jacket and transferred to his carpet--it's awkward, but then he and Derek are always awkward now. Also, Lydia's watching them both like a supremely intelligent and all-knowing hawk.

And then the next day it all comes to a head because the troll they killed has a pissed off mate who traps Stiles and Derek in a walk-in freezer--thankfully turned off--in a failed falafel place.

" it still out there?" Sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, hands loosely dangling over them, Stiles attempts to look unconcerned.

Standing next to the thick door, Derek frowns, but Stiles can't interpret that. Either the troll is still out there or Derek's just being Derek.


Okay then.

"Are we going to die in here?"



Derek rolls his eyes and sits down on a crate, his back to the door. "Either it will break down the door or wall, or we'll suffocate."

"Yeah, I noticed the total lack of vents." Great, he really doesn't want to die from either troll mutilation or lack of air. Neither are going to be pretty.

To preserve the oxygen, Stiles knows he should be quiet, but, he's Stiles, and after a few minutes, he asks, "So, did you enjoy watching me and Lydia having sex?" Mentally he groans and blames his mouth on the lack of air--despite them only having been trapped for ten minutes. Derek's eyes go wide with that 'deer in headlights look' he gets sometimes. "Think I didn't know you were there?" He almost calls him a perv, but, suspecting that would send Derek out to fight the troll and die, bites that back.

The tips of Derek's ears turn red. It's kind of adorable. "Er..."

Snorting, Stiles scrubs his hands over his face. "We're going to die, why not get it all out?"

"I shouldn't have," the older man finally mutters, digging his hands into his hair in frustration. "I know you're with her. That's good, right."

"Uh huh." With death imminent, he figures he might as well go all in here and takes a deep breath. "You know, if you hadn't run away, it might have been you. Come on, Derek, you have to know I've been attracted to you for almost the whole time I've known you. And, I'm not imagining it. We were getting closer. There were looks and touches. We weren't friends, though. I didn't want to be your friend."

"...You're too young."

"Fuck that shit. I fucking died. I may look sixteen but I don't feel it. I feel ancient."

Derek looks like he's swallowed a rotten fish. "It's illegal."

"I happen to know the Sheriff," Stiles smugly replies. "He knows full well I'm not a virgin. We just don't talk about it."

"Romeo and Juliet law wouldn't apply."

He rolls his eyes at that. "Furthermore, he's not going to arrest anyone I have sex with because that'll just drive a wedge between us. Now that I've stopped lying to him, he actually treats me like an adult most of the time."

"What do you want from me, Stiles?"

The evident frustration makes Stiles both want to crow and curl up in confusion. Where was he going with this? He's with Lydia. He loves Lydia. "I...don't know. Maybe just to get it out there so we can get past it. We haven't been this awkward with each other since I tried to cut off your arm."

There's silence for a few minutes, broken by the sounds of troll fists on metal and troll grunts, then Derek caves. Shoulders and face falling, he admits, "I want you, okay? I have for months, long before I left. It's one of the reasons I left. I can't have you. Not then, certainly not now. You're too young and I'm too broken and you love Lydia and..."

Across the narrow space and on his knees before he even realizes it, Stiles shuts Derek up with his lips on his in a kiss that is hard and needy and all teeth and tongues.

Every time Stiles pictured this kind of situation, Derek was the one shutting him up with a kiss.

Surging between his knees, Stiles presses himself to Derek's hard body, clutches his shoulders, nearly cheers when he feels Derek's hand fisting in the back of shirt, pulling him even closer, and kisses him until he can't breathe.

Gasping, they both break the kiss, pull back a bit, and stare at each other.

And, when Derek's face twists with just a tiny bit of hope, it all hits him.

He's cheating on Lydia. He kissed another person. He wants Derek to fuck him until the air runs out and they die. And he's pretty sure Derek would do it if he asked.

Shocked, Stiles scrambles back on his hands and butt until he hits the far wall.

Derek's face closes down.

For nearly thirty minutes, they wait in uncomfortable silence until Scott and the Pack arrive and kill the troll.

After they've disposed of the goopy corpse, Stiles avoids Derek, brushes off Lydia's concern, just says he's tired and heads home.

He's sprawled across his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying not to think, when the doorbell rings. A few minutes later Lydia enters his room, quietly closing the door behind her. When she sits on the bed facing him, he scoots over and up, half slumping against the headboard, not looking at her.

"Okay, spill," she says sharply.

"I'm tired."

"I call bullshit."

Stiles is tired, but, more, he's guilty and scared. Not 'death by troll' scared, but 'he's going to get dumped' scared, because it's one thing for your girlfriend to be okay with you calling out a guy's name in bed, it's another thing to kiss that guy, death threat or no.

But, they don't keep secrets from each other, nothing important at least, so Stiles breathes deeply and asks, "So, if I hypothetically kissed someone else..."

"You and Derek kissed?"

She sounds more curious than angry, but he still deflects, "I said hypothetically."

"Again, bullshit." That comes out harsher and he flinches a bit.

"Um...We were going to die?"

"The troll hadn't even made a dent and even if you talked continuously you had enough oxygen for the two of you to go another three hours and thirty six minutes before you passed out. Derek probably another fifteen minutes, but I'd have to study his physiology to narrow it down more accurately."

Of course she did the math.


"You know how unattractive I find that. As unattractive as you find me when I play dumb, which is why I don't any more. Now, tell me."

"Are you mad?"

"No." It's an honest if surprising answer and he stares at her, then sits up straighter. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not happy you didn't ask me first. True, we've spoken in generalities about Derek, but we hadn't reached a place to negotiate adding a third to our relationship. And there I am jumping the gun as well. We need to talk about you and Derek first."

"There is no me and Derek. Lydia, I love you. I just...We were arguing and I was pushing him and then it just happened and then I freaked out and..."

"Did he kiss you back?"

Mouth dry, he nods and waits because he's completely lost here.

"I couldn't even get him to admit he wants you."

"Lydia?" Stiles asks a bit painfully, "I've never understood why you would even try. I'm with you. I don't need..."

She interrupts him. "Yes, you do."

"Just because I liked it when you fucked me and I called out a guy's name?"

"Derek's name."

"I'm so confused," he groans, rubbing his hands over his face and into his hair to tug on it. "Lydia, you need to explain this to me. What are you doing here? Why push me to Derek? Are you...are you tired of me?"

"Oh, sweetie, no. I want this for you. I want you to be complete."

"I am," he protests. "I don't want Derek."

"Yes, you do, and, Stiles, I'm fine with that." He gapes at her because this just doesn't make sense. Lydia Martin is nothing if not possessive. When she takes his hand, he stares down at their joined fingers, and tries to breathe evenly because he can feel the confusion turning to panic. "Okay, here's the deal. You want Derek and I give you permission to have him. Does he return the feelings?"

"Well...he said it, but he also said I was too young, but then he tried to swallow my tonsils, so..."

She made a dismissive noise. "We can work past that. I will admit to surprise at myself that I wasn't jealous or angry when I realized you wanted Derek. Please note that I'm mentioning him only. I'm not giving you permission to go screw any guy, just like I wouldn't for any other girl. But I've known about Derek's desire for you since I started hanging around you guys. I was amused that you both seemed so oblivious, but then he was gone and you were mine, and I put it aside, even after the pegging incident, until he returned and you punched him. That wasn't purely anger, Stiles."

"Yeah, I know," he admits softly, squeezing her fingers.

"I admit to being intrigued at the idea of the two of you together in bed. I've never seriously given two men much thought, but now I can't stop imagining it. However, if the two of you do get together, it'll be up to both of you to decide if you want me to know anything. I would like to know when you'll be dating him so we can keep our schedules straight, but..."

"Wait, what? Dating? I thought you meant, um, just one time sex or something."

"You both want each other for more than that, and Derek doesn't deserve to be a dirty little secret," she scolds.

"Well, no, but...Um...Won't people think I'm cheating on you?"

"I stopped caring what other people, outside of our friends, think several months ago, Stiles." She doesn't say it but he knows it was when she started dating him, and, frankly he's okay with that, confident enough in himself not to care either, but...

"I don't think Derek'll go for any of this. I mean, sharing me, and god that sounds too freaky and kind of egotistical, but also I'm too young. He's too broken. Etc."

"I'll talk to him," Lydia says dismissively, as if that isn't a problem at all. "Now, we'll start with just the two of you, but what do you think about someday letting me into your relationship as well? I am okay with purely separate relationships, but I am intrigued by his blatant masculinity."

Slowly Stiles pulls his hand free as his heart thuds painfully in his chest. "You want him, too?" At her nod he tries to think rationally about it because a double standard really isn't fair, but he's not sure how he feels about that and he tells her so.

"You're the important one here. If you're uncomfortable with me being with Derek either alone or all three of us together, that's fine. And it's up to Derek, too. He's never given any indication that he's attracted to me."

"He's straight, of course he's attracted to you."

"You said he nearly swallowed your tonsils," she retorts with a smile. "I'm pretty sure that means he's not completely straight."

Okay, yeah, she may have a point there.

"So, let me reiterate before my brain explodes. You're okay with me dating and sleeping with Derek but not with anyone else, because..." He flounders.

"You have feelings for him more than just sexual attraction. I want you to be happy. He'll make you happy."

"You make me happy."

"Happier," she corrects.

Stiles absorbs that and then nods and takes another deep breath. "Okay. Also, you'd be okay with a threesome or just the two of you, but only if Derek and I are both on board with it, which I'm not sure I am even though that's really hypocritical in light of what you're letting me do."

"Stop looking at it that way. You have my permission to explore a relationship with Derek either within or without our own. If neither of you want me involved, I'm okay with that, really. Sure, I'd love to watch him fuck you..." As he turns red, she smirks and he glares at her but it's a weak glare. "And I bet he has stamina and those big hands of his...yum." She shakes herself and focuses. "But, that's up to the two of you to decide. I will talk to Derek and make him understand I'm fine with him being with you in a true relationship." A frown crosses her face. "I didn't examine one scenario."


"What if Derek doesn't want to share you with me?"

Lydia sounds worried and even a little hurt, and Stiles instinctively reaches out and pulls her in between his legs, turning her so she's on her side curled into his chest. "Then I choose you. You were there for me when he ran away. You come first. I love you. I don't know what I feel for Derek but I'm pretty sure it's not love. Maybe it can be," he stammers slightly at the thought. "But if he can't share me as unselfishly as you are, then he's not for me."

He feels her lips press through the thin cotton of his t-shirt over his heart, hears her whisper, "I love you, too," and holds her tighter.

Three nights later Stiles is at his desk bouncing between physics homework and two separate websites on how to prevent troll attacks--misinformation sucks--when his always unlocked window slides up and Derek climbs gracefully over the sill. As Stiles spins to face him, he closes the window and hunches.

"Lydia talk to you?"

"She's a menace," Derek mutters, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and looking at him from beneath furrowed eyebrows.

Stiles grins in agreement. "So, you're here. Is that a good thing?"

"...I'm not sure."

"Stop looming and sit down," he says, gesturing to the bed, and Derek perches on the very edge looking both reluctant and uncomfortable. Leaning forward slightly and trying not to fidget, Stiles clasps his hands between his knees. "So, what did she say?"

"You told her about the kiss."

"Yeah, we don't keep secrets from each other."

"She...she was okay with it, really?"

"Yeah. Derek, look, she's known about me wanting you for longer than I've been able to admit it to myself. We had a long talk a couple nights ago and she's okay with the two of us seeing if we can work."

"And you're okay with that, too?"

"The question is whether you are. Are you past the whole 'you're too young' thing?"

Slowly Derek shrugs, but his ear tips are reddening again, and Stiles resists smiling about it. "It feels weird, but...I want to try with you, so I guess I'm okay with sharing, and I'm getting there on the age difference."

"Did she tell you she didn't want us to hide it? That we can openly date?"

"Your dad..."

"I'll talk to him before we go out. Since I've stopped hiding stuff from him, our relationship has really gotten better. He'll accept it." At the look of disbelief Derek gives him, Stiles rolls his eyes. "He'll have reservations. He won't understand, but he'll accept."


Standing, Stiles crosses over to the bed and plops down next to Derek, then takes his hand. The wolf's hand is warm but dry, his fingers broad and strong wrapped in Stiles'. Very different from Lydia's, but in a good way. "So the kiss was really intense and we had that 'we're going to die' thing going on. You think we could try it without that aspect?"

As an answer, Derek turns his head and brushes his lips over Stiles', back and forth in little kisses until Stiles opens his mouth and twists their lips together. The kiss intensifies, but is still gentle yet passionate, not frantic, until finally they part, breathing hard, and press their foreheads together.

Stiles is the first one to lift his head and Derek slowly follows suit, a wary look on his face that fades quickly when he sees Stiles' smile. "So, obviously, we like kissing each other. Shall we try dating?"

Derek nods and Stiles reaches over to his night stand for his phone, flicking it open and to the calendar. "How's Friday night for you? We don't have a match this week because the other team has the bubonic plague or something and forfeited. Dinner and a movie? I'll even let you pick the movie, but I'm thinking pizza at Ray's. Can't go wrong there and since half the take-out containers I ever saw you with were from there, I figure you like it."

"Um...yeah. Okay," Derek mumbles and Stiles tries very hard not to roll his eyes.

"Do you have Flickster on your phone?"

"What?" Blue-green-gray eyes flash in confusion.

"It's an app that tells you know, never mind. Get a newspaper on Friday morning and pick a movie. I'll see pretty much anything, especially since I'm hoping to sit in the back row and make out with you. So, hey, feel free to pick a boring drama or chick flick or something."

Derek finally looks something other than wary or confused. He's amused, and when he presses another hot kiss to Stiles' mouth, the younger man grins into it and kisses back.

"So, hypothetically I want to date someone a bit older than me..."

Giving his son a confused look, John looks up from buttering his toast. Stiles calmly sips his coffee while his stomach does flip flops. Bitter coffee might not have been a good choice here. "What happened to Lydia? Don't tell me you did something stupid and..."

"No, no," he interrupts. "Lydia and I are fine. We're just...exploring other options."

John gets a distant look in his eyes, and puts down his toast. "You know, I was your age in the early '80s and San Francisco was a bit wild then. I was quite the player and dated three different girls at one time once, so I can understand dating multiple partners, but I thought you were completely devoted to Lydia."

"So did I, and let's never talk about your teenagehood except for your exploits on the football field, and not doing cheerleaders there, God. Where was I?" As his dad shakes his head in amusement, Stiles frowns, the nods. "Right, Lydia saw something I didn't."

"She wants to date other people?" Now his dad is frowning in confusion and Stiles wants to smack himself for explaining this poorly.

"No, she wants me to date other people. Or, one specific person. Jesus, this is hard."

"So, this isn't hypothetical at all."

"I don't know why I lead with that," Stiles mutters to himself, "It never works out." Speaking up, he says, "No, not hypothetical."

"And Lydia Martin is okay with this?"

"Apparently? It's weird, I know, but she says she wants me to be happier. Also, she may want the not so hypothetical person, too."

"Lydia's bisexual?" John flushes.

"No. I don't know. Where did that come from? Oh..."

"It's not a girl, is it?"

Now Stiles is the one to flush, and he drops his eyes and shakes his head. His dad sighs and rubs his hand over his face.

"I feel I should be more surprised at this."

"You're not? But you told me I didn't dress like a gay guy."

"Are you a gay guy?"

"Um...No? I mean, no. I love Lydia and, believe me, I have no problems in bed with a girl."

"What's that expression you kids use? TMI? TMI, Stiles."

Stiles snorts a laugh, then takes a sip of coffee while his dad eats his toast and waits patiently. "Okay, it's a guy. It's a guy I've been attracted to for a while and he seems to return the feeling, which Lydia saw, of course, because she's brilliant. We're going to try dating and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't shoot him."

"Are you going to be doing anything with this older man that would make me want to shoot him?"

"Um...I'd like to remind you that I turned seventeen a couple weeks ago and I'm very mature for my age and half of the states in the country have sixteen or seventeen as the age of consent, you just made us live in one that's prudish."

"Nice speech, son. We're not moving just so you can legally have sex with your older boyfriend. How much older? I'm guessing he's not just an eighteen year old senior."

"No, not in school. He'stwentythreeIthinkthere'sactuallysomeconfusionaboutthat."

As he has no problem translating that after seventeen years of Stiles' speak, John's face goes hard. "Are you wanting to date Derek Hale, Stiles? Is that who you're talking about?"

"Why would you jump to that...okay, yeah. With a sigh, he surrenders, letting his head thunk down on the table. "Ow."

"Not at all sympathetic. Just a couple weeks ago you punched him and broke your hand."

"Pulling pigtails?"

"Stiles." The seriousness in his dad's voice brings his head back up and he nervously licks his lips. "You care about him and he returns the feelings?"


"And he realizes you're underage?"

"It's one of the reasons he's been so hesitant. Dad, he's a good guy. It's not his fault he's older than me, okay? And, really, I'm pretty sure he's mentally stunted at about fifteen or sixteen."

"You know I've let it slide what you and Lydia get up to, but she's actually a bit younger than you, right? Why should I give you the same leeway with Derek Hale?"

"Because you love me and you trust me." He's completely sober and slowly his dad nods.

"Okay. I don't want to know what you do and don't do it anywhere in public where I or my deputies would have to arrest him. And I want to talk to him before you go on your first date. I reserve the right to be cleaning my gun when I do so."

At that lightly spoken comment, Stiles knows it's okay and he rolls his eyes and huffs, but a bit later, when they're cleaning off the table and his dad pulls him into a tight hug, Stiles sinks into it.

"Love you, dad."

"Love you, too, kiddo. And if he hurts you..."

"You have wolfsbane bullets and know how to use them, I know."

They grin at each other.

After starting with Derek going wide eyed and silent as John polishes his gun from his favorite chair in the living room and explains to him just what he'll do with that gun if Derek hurts his son--said son protesting all the while--their first date goes really well. They split a large meat lover's pizza which Derek pays for, and see a movie that has lots of car crashes and flying bullets, where they spend half of it making out in the back row like Stiles hoped.

Sitting in the Camaro in his driveway they kiss again and Stiles finally asks a question he's been dying to ask. "So, have you ever had sex with a guy"? He's not at all surprised when Derek's ears go red--it's truly adorable.

"Uh...Yeah, sort of."

"How can you sort of have sex?"


"Oh. Well, that's good. I mean, that this isn't all new to you."

Derek frowns. "Have you been with a man?"

"Well, no, but Lydia has this dildo and harness thingie and, well, technically I'm not an ass virgin."

"Jesus, Stiles."

Stiles grins. "No filter here, big boy. So, we both have some bits of experience. Okay, we can work with that. As long as you're, y'know, not freaked by me actually being a guy."

"I like that you're a guy," Derek grits out and, snorting, Stiles cups his stubbled cheeks and kisses him again.

"Good, me too, that you're one. So next date?"

"Next weekend?"

"Oh, I'm not waiting that long. How about I come over after practice on Monday and we hang out and order subs and watch tv and make out a lot more?"



Stiles dithers for nearly an hour, then finally guts it up and calls Lydia.

"Do you want to tell me details? Because, as we agreed, you don't need to," is her greeting and Stiles flounders, nearly dropping the phone, before falling back on his bed and nearly braining himself on his headboard.


"Hm?" Her voice is so cool, unconcerned, but Stiles knows her better than that.

"Yeah, it's okay. Details I mean. Derek and I agreed on that at some point over pizza." Over the phone he hears an almost inaudible intake of breath and the shift of a body, and he grins. Yeah, she's not as cool as she portrays to the world. "It was good. Really good. We made out at the movie--remind me never to see that again, whatever it was; it was that bad--and then in the driveway in the car."

"Just made out?" Her curiosity seeps through, and he grins.

"Second base only, but it was good, Lyds, damn good. He kisses...well, differently than you. Is that okay?" he asks quickly, sitting up, because it suddenly hits him that while Lydia says she's okay with details, this is a bit weird.

"Lie back down," she orders softly, "And, yes, it's okay. I've never kissed a girl, but I know our lips are softer, generally smaller and often a different shape. Our mouths are smaller as well, and all tongues are a bit different, and you're fixating on me kissing a girl now, aren't you?" she asks, amused.

Flushing and adjusting his dick in his jeans, Stiles admits, "Yeah," and Lydia laughs--she rarely giggles--the dark, low laugh that goes right to his dick, which hardens even more.

"So, the making out was good. Did you get hard?"

"Um, a bit. He was kind of controlled, probably because we were in public, but he was into it. It's like, once he decided to go for it, he did, not holding back outside of the public issue. We got a bit more frisky in the car."

"Did he get hard?"

"Yeah." Stiles blushes deeper and rotates his palm against his denim covered cock. "I could see it."

"With the tight jeans he wears, not a surprise."

Laughing, he agrees, and the mental reminder of Derek's dick bulging behind his zipper makes him even harder. "Um, Lyds, do you mind if I...?"

"Oh, sweetie, my hand's been between my legs since you called." How she can sound so controlled is beyond him, but his erection throbs and he fumbles with the phone and his zipper, finally freeing his cock with a sigh of relief. They've had phone sex a few times, mostly Lydia telling him what to do and what she's doing, but it doesn't seem weird to be talking about Derek.

"This should be weird, right?"



"So, back to his kisses, more detail, honey," Lydia breathes and, closing his eyes, Stiles imagines her pressing her fingers to her slippery clit.

His own hand slowly jacks his cock and he replies, "Deep and kind of powerful, a bit forceful at times. He took control of most of the kissing. His tongue is amazing, really strong. He likes to lick my lips." As the memories fill his mind, his hand speeds up, growing slick from pre-cum that he spreads down the shaft.

"Did he kiss you anywhere else?"

"Ummmm, neck. Not a surprise he has a thing for my neck, right?"

"Hickeys?" She lets out a soft gasp.

"No. Mostly licking. No biting. Too controlled. I think..." His ass arches off the bed, driving his cock into his hand. "Shit, think he doesn't want to rush."

"Touching?" Another gasp that reverberates through him.

"Lydia, gonna come," Stiles pants, fingers fumbling to put the phone on speaker, then dropping it on his chest so his can fondle his balls.

"Not yet," she orders, her voice fainter, but he can hear noises now, the sound of her fingers in her wet cunt, and he knows she's got her own phone on speaker and down on her leg.

He bites out "fuck" and squeezes the base of his dick. "Yeah, touching. Chest and back only, but some under the shirt. I tried to get to his dick a couple times but he wouldn't let me. Tease."

"Did you...did you make another date?"

"Pinch your clit, Lyds," he begs, because he loves the sounds she makes when he does that.

"Stiles," she squeaks and he knows she's coming. His hands speed up, jacking his dick hard, squeezing his balls until they hurt.



He does, staining his shirt with wet, opaque streaks. They both pant harshly for a few minutes, then her phone goes off speaker and her voice is back to normal. "Second date?"

"Whu...?" At Lydia's chuckle, he forces himself back from the post-orgasm haze and drags the phone back to his ear. "Um...Monday at his place?"

"Good. And tomorrow night we have that party at Danny's we need to make an appearance at. Dinner first."

"Yeah, I remember." Stiles yawns.

"Stiles, are you okay with this?"


"Was it okay? Did being with Derek?"

"Yeah, a lot. Lyds, a lot. It was fun and sexy and I want him. I like him. Is that...okay?" he asks hesitantly.

"More than," is her firm reply, then he can hear her smile at his relieved sound. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

For the next week Stiles dates both Lydia and Derek. The party is fun enough. The post-party sex in Lydia's bed is fantastic as always and she doesn't pump him for anymore details about Derek. It's all about the two of them. The date with Derek at the loft is really nice. In the comfort and security of his home, Derek's relaxed and even almost smiles a couple times. They both like meatball subs and watch reality tv on the History Channel and make out again, this time even getting their shirts off and a lot of above the waist groping.

Then there are some ghouls in the cemetery and a stray Omega they chase out of the Preserve, and it's the weekend again. Stiles and Lydia have plans to stay at her place on Saturday and work on an extra credit physics project over pizza, so he asks out Derek for Friday after the home lacrosse game, which they win handily. Sure helps to have four werewolves on the team--Ethan and Aiden both joined out of Pack solidarity--and Stiles even plays for a bit in the final quarter when they're already up by five goals, and gets an assist and a couple tackles. Derek's there with the Pack, not quite cheering, but not all broody either. He and Lydia are at opposite ends of the row that includes his dad and Ms. McCall, but it feels good to have both of them there.

After he showers and changes into clean clothes, he finds Derek and his dad talking quietly in the parking lot. His dad is in his uniform--he's working the night shift--and he gives Stiles a hug and a 'good game, son' before shooting Derek a look and saying goodnight. Shoulders hunching slightly, Derek gives him an uncomfortable look back, and Stiles resists rolling his eyes as they watch his dad stride towards his cruiser.

"Why are you turtling?"


"Your head is trying to disappear into your neck," Stiles teases.

As he straightens up, Derek does roll his eyes. "Your dad..."

"More threats?"

"Subtle ones."

"Yeah, but he really won't do anything, Derek, and he really is okay with this. He just...He's my dad, y'know?" Grabbing his arm and twining theirs together, he starts tugging Derek towards the jeep.

"I think he thinks we're going to...with him gone tonight...we're..." His voice dies away in a huff.

"Yeah?" Stiles grins. "Maybe I'm not that easy." At the look of disbelief Derek shoots him from beneath beetling eyebrows, Stiles laughs and squeezes his hand. "Yeah, even I can't keep a straight face at that one. Come on, I'm starving. Let's get burgers and head to my place."

An hour or so later, burgers, curly fries and drinks long gone, they're curled on the couch watching something cheesy on Syfy, Stiles leaning against Derek, their heads brushing. It's comfortable and while just doing this, just being together, feels great, his unruly dick starts wanting more.

"Are you really into this show?"

"Huh?" Derek gives him a puzzled look and Stiles waves the remote at the tv.

"Do you want to go upstairs?"


As he doesn't sound really certain, Stiles sighs softly and turns, pulling one leg up beneath him. He mutes the sound and, dropping the remote, cups Derek's cheeks to kiss him, for once controlling the kiss, though it's brief. "I don't want to push you."

"You're not. I want..." Derek huffs in annoyance, but Stiles figures it's at himself. "I used to be able to talk to people I liked."

"We don't need to talk." The look of disbelief he gets makes him grin. "Yeah, amazing, huh? But, we don't. We can keep cuddling here. We can go upstairs and make out. We can go upstairs and just hold each other. We can do whatever makes you comfortable."

"Why do you sound more adult than me?"

"I dunno. How many relationships have you had?"

"I've had sex with lots of people."

"Not what I'm asking." Stiles keeps his voice quiet and gentle, but he is curious, because sometimes he does feel more experienced than Derek.

"...One real one and we didn't..." Shaking his head, Derek pulls away from Stiles, who lets him go, watches him get up, hands fisting at his sides. "I told you I was broken," he bites out.

"We're all broken." When Derek turns on him, snarling, he quickly adds, "I'm not downplaying your pain, Derek, but we're fucked up people. You've been hurt and used. I've been pretty much ignored. Did you know I'd given up on pursuing Lydia? I still liked her, but we'd become friends, and I figured that was it and I was okay with it, and then suddenly we were having sex and we were together. It happened so fast, and yet it was right for us. This..." He gestures between the two of them, "is happening slower and that's okay, too."

"But you want to have sex tonight."

"Yeah, but not because you're hot. I mean, sure, you are, and I get tingly when you look at me kind of like you're looking at me now, but it's not just about sex. I want the connection. Have you ever had that?"

Slowly Derek shakes his head and Stiles pushes up off the couch to stand in front of him and carefully take his hand, bringing it to his lips. "Don't you want that?"

There's no answer for a long moment and then Derek just wilts and breathes, 'yeah,' before kissing him. Grinning in triumph, Stiles kisses him back.

A bit later they're on his bed wearing only jeans, kissing harder, hungrier, and Stiles rocks his hips up, pressing his erection against Derek's. When they break the kiss, he pants, 'want you' and Derek's hands go to his waistband, find the button and zipper of his jeans. His knuckles brush over Stiles' dick and they both groan and work to strip him, Derek cocking an eyebrow at the revelation of Betty Boop boxer shorts.

"Yeah, yeah, gotta do laundry. Oh fuck do that again." As Derek palms the tent in his shorts, Stiles arches off the bed. "You have too many clothes on," he whines as he squirms into the grasping hand.

Actually laughing, a kind of broken, guttural sound, but a laugh, Derek rises up to strip off his own jeans. He's wearing gray boxer briefs. Of course. But they're bulging out, too, and there's a dark, wet spot on the front. Having never done this, Stiles finds his hand trembles, but he presses it to the cock and, when Derek gasps, drags down the elastic a bit until the tip pops free.

He's uncut. Stiles knows he should have realized that--werewolf healing and all--but it's really different.

And really hot.

"What..." Derek licks his lips. "What do you want?"

"Whatever you want, Derek. No, really, I'm about to come anyway." His fingers play across the wet head and he watches Derek tremble. "We don't need to rush straight to fucking."

"I..." With a sigh and a blush, Derek yanks off his shorts, and Stiles wriggles out of his own, kicking them to the bottom of the bed. "I don't know what I want."

"Look, let's get this out of the way first, okay? I'm perfectly fine with bottoming. I'll happily go to my knees and suck you off, though I expect I'll be monumentally bad at it at first." At Derek's look of surprise, Stiles adds, "I'm with Lydia Martin, biggest alpha female around, remember? She's always in charge. I like that."

"I'm not an alpha anymore," Derek mumbles.

"With your attitude? You're definitely more dominant than me. But, it's okay, Derek. We can just cuddle and jerk each other off. I'd love you to fuck me, but only when you want to."

"And you don't want"

Stiles gives him a cheeky look. "Not really."

Derek stares some more, then outright laughs, but it's not a mean sound. It's one of near relief. Dropping down next to Stiles he wraps an arm around him and pulls him onto his side as well. "I never thought I'd have this," he murmurs, and Stiles surges up and kisses him, pressing their bodies together so that their cocks rub and the sensation makes them both groan in pleasure.

"We can just do this. We can do anything, Derek. This is amazing." Shit, he's about to come and from Derek's shaking body and hungry, panting kisses, he thinks he might be as well. Sliding his hand down he grabs Derek's hard ass and grinds against him. Derek makes a choking noise and does the same. "God, Derek. Oh fuck...So good," he croons and the older man buries his nose in his neck and growls as his hips stutter and his whole body shakes.

The last thing Stiles expected was that Derek would come first and, as he holds him through his orgasm, the wet slick spreading over his stomach and thighs, he wonders just how long it's been for him. He's on the edge, but doesn't want to overstimulate Derek's cock, so forces himself to stop rocking his hips.

But, shit he wants to come.

A whine breaks from him and then, to his surprise, he's on his back with Derek sliding down his body, his mouth trailing kisses through his own cum before he engulfs Stiles' dick.

"Holy fuck!" Lydia's given him a couple blow jobs, but Derek's mouth is an oven and he takes him straight to the root, his throat contracting around the head of Stiles' cock, and that's all it takes. With a muffled cry, he comes in hard, shaky spurts, and Derek just milks him dry, sliding his wet mouth up and down the shaft until he goes soft. With a final suckle at the slit, Derek pulls off and moves back up beside him, propping himself on one elbow.

Blinking open dazed eyes, Stiles notices the pleased look on Derek's face, and gives him a sloppy smile. "Wow."

"I like doing that," Derek admits a bit shyly.

"I'm pretty sure you can tell from the fact that I came within like twenty seconds how much I liked you doing it."

Snorting in amusement, Derek wraps his free arm across Stiles' stomach and slides a knee between his parted thighs. They lie there quietly for a while, then Derek places a kiss on his neck and murmurs, "I want to do everything with you, but...I don't want to rush."

"I'm perfectly fine with this." Because, damn, he is. He's also sticky. "Um...shower?"

"You smell like me," Derek growls, his fingers dipping into the drying cum on his stomach. "I like it."

"Okay, but shower before dawn and maybe I can go to my knees in there and see how fast I can make you come?"

"Jesus, Stiles."

Stiles grins and reaches over to turn off the lamp, then turns Derek onto his back and half-sprawls across him. "That wasn't a no."

Derek laughs again and pinches his ass.

By the time April rolls around, Stiles has learned to give a decent blow job. Derek's fucked him on his hands and knees, his back, and in a memorable quickie, over the table in the loft with their jeans barely down far enough and not enough lube so Stiles feels it for days.

He doesn't really mind.

Derek doesn't seem to care if he shares details with Lydia, but he doesn't ask about his dates with her, so Stiles doesn't talk about them outside of generalities. He's okay with that. His two lovers seem to get along amicably enough, talking with each other at Pack meetings and lacrosse games where more and more often they sit together. Both accommodating the other, they share out his time with no problem. Stiles is just beginning to worry that it's too easy when Lydia drops the other shoe--a Louboutin bootie, as she swings her feet into his lap for a rub while she reads some insanely advanced mathematical theorem that was just published.

"If you're okay with it, I want you to ask Derek if he'd be willing to have sex with me either alone or with you there."

Stiles' fingers clench around her heel until she kicks at him. "Whu...?"

Over the top of her tablet she gives him a look. "We talked about this, remember?"

"Wasn't it hypothetical?"


Why is nothing hypothetical? "Um...okay, I'm okay with it, but I don't know if he'll be into it. We don't really talk about you and me, not like you and me talk about me and him."

"Just ask him."

Resuming the massage, he presses his thumbs into the arch of her foot until she groans softly, and thinks and worries.

"Stop overthinking."

Damn her. He's convinced banshees are at least partly psychic.

"No, you're just really obvious."

Stiles snorts, then grunts as the toes of her other foot find his groin. "Jesus, Lydia."

"Bet I can make you come like this."

"How long?" he grits out, his cock hardening quickly.

"Fifteen minutes?"

"If you lose?"

Lowering the tablet, she muses for a minute, then smirks, "I'll let you tie me down." Which really means she'll give him control and let him do anything he wants, not that he doesn't enjoy whatever they do, but sometimes he'd like to just hold her down and fuck her brains out. His cock jumps at the thought.

"And if I lose?"

"Well, you'll have already come, so you'll wear a cock ring until you arrive at school in the morning, and, you know I'll know if you take it off." Her toes press down and Stiles groans, but nods, and she turns her tablet around to show a countdown clock.

He comes at the twelve minute fourteen second mark.

It's not really a surprise to either of them, and he's gracious in his loss, going to clean up while she finishes her article, then, at her order, getting himself hard before she snaps on the simple faux leather ring.

Stiles makes her come four times, twice with her riding his face, once with him fucking her, unable to come himself, and the fourth time with his fingers as she rocks against his trapped dick. It's painfully good, even when she sends him home with a tug and a kiss.

Not surprisingly he doesn't sleep much. What is surprising is that when he and Lydia arrive in the school parking lot the next morning, she undoes his pants, removes the ring and goes down on him. He comes so hard he nearly blacks out and it's up to her to tuck him away and leave him with a lick of her lips and a smirk.

Jesus, that woman...

"'s it going?"

Looking up from his vegetarian bean soup, Stiles notices his dad is blushing, and sighs. "You mean with Derek and Lydia?"

"Yeah. I...You don't talk much about either of them."

"We're fine. All fine. Happy."


"Why now?"

"You're going to make a great cop, y'know?"


With a sigh, John sets down his spoon. "I've had about a dozen pointed comments about you and that Hale boy, half of which have also included comments along the lines of what you did to make that wonderful Martin girl break up with you, and the other half confused that you're seen with her, too." He quickly holds up his hand. "I've told people it's none of their business, but we're a small town. Everyone's nosy. But I realized we haven't really talked since you started dating Derek."

"I'm sorry people are sticking their noses into my business." And annoyed. It was bad enough when Scott found out--he got all whiny and confused and started making subtle and not so subtle threats against Derek before Allison ordered him to stop being an ass--didn't matter that Stiles had told him the same thing several times, but then he couldn't threaten to break up with him or withhold sex. Ew...Bad mental image. Right... "I hope it's not a problem for you."

"It's not," John stresses. "And you do look happy, relaxed, and I really don't want to know why, okay," he adds quickly.

Stiles smirks and eats a spoonful of soup.

"He treats you well?"

"Yeah, dad." Feeling the love from his dad, Stiles softens the smirk to a smile. "They both do. We're fine. Having fun."

"Being safe?"

"Jesus, dad!"

A few nights later they're at Derek's apartment reading and listening to soft jazz. Stiles has his feet in Derek's lap and the werewolf is absently toying with a hole in the toe of one of his socks, when he lowers his book. "Um, so hypothetically what would you say about having sex with Lydia?"

Surprised, Derek drops his book--a thick hardback--and the corner comes down on his groin. As he grunts, Stiles winces in sympathy. "What?"


"That didn't sound hypothetical." Narrowing his eyes and tightening his lips, Derek pushes Stiles' feet off his knees and stands to cross the room.

"Yeah, it never does," Stiles mumbles and jumps to his feet to follow his boyfriend over to the windows.

"You want a threesome."

It's not a question, and Stiles winces again because Derek doesn't sound happy. "Um..."

"Is this where this has been going all along? You just want something kinky for your girlfriend?" Derek sounds so bitter, betrayed, and Stiles grabs his arm, trying to turn him. Finally giving up, he squeezes between him and the window.

"No. Derek, no. I care about you a lot. I want you. Lydia saw it before I could even acknowledge it and she's the one who offered to share me to make me happy. You've been amazingly understanding about my relationship with her, and I'm fine with the way things are."

Derek looks at him with hard eyes, then walks away, leaving Stiles to trail helplessly after him. "Don't be mad, please."

"Knowing that you'll never be the same for me, I'm committed to you. I took a chance..." His voice is so bleak that Stiles' heart stutters for having been the cause.

"I love her, Derek. I...I love you, too," admitting it for the first time feels almost freeing, but he also feels miserable because Derek's not happy. "It's selfish of me to want you both, but I do, and just forget I mentioned it, okay. I'm sorry..."

"No, you're not." Derek spins on him, and Stiles stumbles back a step. "Why would you even think I'd want a woman?"

"Um..." Flushing, Stiles shrugs helplessly, because he always figured Derek was more straight than not.

"Because of Jennifer?" the werewolf bites out, his face and eyes so cold that Stiles just wants to get away from this conversation. Boy, did he blow it. "Because I was with her once when I was barely aware of who I was, let alone who she was, and before that was Kate when I was fucking sixteen years old and stupid with hormones?"

"Wait...what? You're gay?"

"Mostly, but that's not the point. Have I shown any interest in a woman since I've been with you? I want you, only you, I..." Derek stammers, actually stammers, and Stiles gapes at him as he drags a hand through his hair in frustration. "Is this what you want? Is this what will make you happy?"

"No! I mean, yes, but only if you want it. Look, I said this all wrong. Lydia would like us to be a threesome or maybe just you and her so she can see what I love about you, but it's up to you. It's totally up to you."

The cold, hurt look on Derek's face melts into a helpless, confused one, and he sinks back down onto the couch, then quietly asks, "You'll still be with me if I say no?"

"Yes. It's not a condition. It's an option."

"You'd like it, though?"

"Yes," Stiles states passionately as he joins Derek on the couch and carefully takes one of his hands, relieved when the older man lets him. "But not if you agree only because of that."

Silence falls for a moment, then Derek looks away and mumbles, "I want you to be happy."

"I am."


"That's what Lydia said when she told me to ask you out," Stiles says softly, then places his free palm on Derek's cheek and turns him back to face him. "But, this is up to you. Everything is up to you."

"You said you love me." Beneath his palm Derek's face tightens but his eyes widen in wonder.

"Yeah, I did, I do, trust me to just blurt it out in the middle of an argument." Stiles' mouth twists in a self-deprecating frown and he lets his hand fall, wrapping it around Derek's with his other one.

"I love you, too."

The frown turns to a brilliant smile and he's thrilled to see Derek's ears are reddening, but his eyes are soft and kind of dopey. "Yeah?"


"Okay, we need to kiss now." Stiles punctuates that comment with action and they kiss until he's practically in Derek's lap, both of them breathing hard and sweating.

"Can we table the other thing?"

"If the reason is that you're going to fuck me stupid, hell yes."

Rolling his eyes, Derek stands with Stiles' wrapped around him and carries him over to the bed, dumping him there and quickly pulling off his own clothes. Stiles does the same, tossing everything on the floor and then rolling over towards the nightstand for the lube. As he starts to turn back, Derek's hand lands on the small of his back.

"Stay there," he growls and Stiles shivers in desire as, beneath him, his cock hardens. The bed depresses and two strong hands tug his thighs apart, then Derek's tongue swipes over his hole, and Stiles gasps in shock. He hasn't done that before. It feels amazing and kind of ticklish. The tongue pushes inside and Stiles squirms and digs his fingers into the pillow.

"Jesus, Derek..."

"You make me crazy, Stiles." There's a nip of teeth on his ass, then a slick finger sliding hard and fast into him, and he bucks his hips up and groans. Another finger quickly joins the first and, as he twists and spreads them, Derek bites him again. "Lift up."

Scrambling to his knees, Stiles whimpers as a third finger pushes in. Derek's going fast; it's a bit painful and he's going to feel it tomorrow, but it's also hot and his cock throbs against his stomach. He feels the tongue return, joining the fingers, pressing inside him, and it's almost too much. At least one finger is pressing against his prostate at all times, and he's getting sloppy and hot. Stiles moans and mewls and thrusts his hips into the air.

Derek's tongue slides out, down, lapping across his tightening balls, and he murmurs against the heavy sac, "You come when I say."

"Yes, oh fuck, yes." The best thing ever is to be told what to do in bed. Wrapping a shaking hand around the base of his cock, Stiles squeezes it tightly, holding in his orgasm as Derek fucks him with four fingers now and sucks on his balls. When he finally stops, Stiles is a squirming, begging mess.

Derek moves between his legs, kneeing them farther apart until Stiles' muscles strain, then grabs his hips in a hard grip and pushes his cock head into his gaping hole. As he bottoms out, the werewolf leans over him and murmurs, "Going to fuck you so hard, Stiles," then his teeth, sharper than human, sink into the nape of Stiles' neck.

Howling in shock and pleasure, Stiles nearly comes, but forces back the orgasm with shaking gasps.

And then Derek starts fucking into him, driving them both up the bed until Stiles grabs the headboard with his free hand, braces himself, and pushes back.

"Harder, harder, oh Jesus, I'm going to be sore, but don't stop," he babbles, moaning and whimpering as pleasure and pain race up his spine and his cock leaks onto the pillow and he wants to come so badly. "Please, oh fuck, please let me come."

"Not yet."

The shuddering growl, the faster thrusts, the fingers digging bruises into his hips, just make him harder and needier, and he loses his ability to talk, just yelps and moans and hisses and fucks back onto Derek's thick cock.

Stiles feels it first, the stuttering movements, the loss of control, and then, grunting loudly, Derek pulls out of him and he feels the hot splash of cum against his ass.


The werewolf slumps over onto his side and Stiles blinks at him in confusion, then finds himself rolled onto his back with Derek looking down at his cock.


Nodding eagerly in understanding, Stiles strips his cock rapidly until his whole body tightens in release and he comes over his hand and stomach, then collapses, panting for air. When he opens his eyes, he sees Derek pulling on his own cock, which is hard again, and, oh...Jesus..."

Spreading his legs, Stiles wraps them and his arms around his lover as he sinks into him again, this time thrusting slowly, rolling their bodies together.

Although it takes him awhile to get aroused again, Stiles comes first, the orgasm much more gentle, and at Derek's hand. They kiss their way through it, and then Stiles watches him drowsily as he continues to thrust into him, so slowly, so gently, until, finally, with a soft growl, he comes.

They fall asleep wrapped in each other's arms, with Derek still inside him.

A few hours later, when Derek gives him a sleepy kiss at the door before sending Stiles home, he says, "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Okay." Smiling, Stiles limps his way into the elevator and hopes he doesn't crash into a tree driving home after two such incredible orgasms.

"Well, I asked him."

Lydia looks up from her salad and her graduate level physics book and blinks at him.

Stiles stuffs another faux chicken faux mcnugget into his mouth.


"He's thinking about it."

"Well, let me know what he decides." She resumes eating her salad. Stiles eats another probably not chicken piece.

Scott gives them both confused looks before turning back to Allison and Isaac who are sitting across from him.

"I'll explain it later," Allison whispers.

"You told Allison?"

Giving her boyfriend an arched eyebrow look, Lydia replies, "I tell my best friend everything, Stiles. Including how pretty you look in my panties."

"Oh Jesus." Embarrassed, but also not, because he and Lydia do this kind of thing, Stiles thunks his head down on the table while Scott gags next to him, Isaac snorts, and Allison silently judges them all.

"You two are so damn weird," Scott finally manages. Lifting his head and grinning wickedly, Stiles rubs a foot behind one of Lydia's knees beneath the table. As that's one of her erogenous zones, when she squirms, he crows. From her look, he knows he'll pay for it.

He doesn't mind.

"Really, really weird."

Nine days later, the Pack escapes a group of insane Hunters by scattering after a brief but intense battle. Derek was hit by a wolfsbane coated arrow, but Stiles never goes anywhere without several types of the flower and quickly treats the wound. Lydia has a bruise forming on her left side and arm from being tossed against a tree and her litany of curses fills the air as they run. Stiles has his own sore spots, but he's pleased he mostly held his own--training with the Pack has built up his stamina and his fighting skills. Wrapping his hand in his girlfriend's he pulls her along with him, Derek on the other side of him. Somehow they wind up at his house and, as Derek peers out the window, looking and listening for anyone following them, Stiles calls his dad and gives him the lowdown, including a couple license plate numbers and descriptions of both cars and Hunters.

When he turns back to the living room, he finds Lydia stripping off her shirt to poke at the scrapes on her side, and Derek staring at her, his eyebrows nearly at his hairline.

"I'll get some antiseptic spray," Stiles says matter-of-factly as he moves towards the downstairs bath and the first aid kit. "Derek, why don't you go find a clean shirt in my room and wash the blood off?"

When he returns, Derek hasn't moved, and Lydia's frowning at her arm which is dotted with dried blood. The look she turns on him isn't a frown though. It's the one she had their first time together and the one that had him fucking her against an alley wall a couple months later and...

"Oh." Not immune to the need to celebrate surviving, he's not surprised when his cock twitches.

As Derek's nostrils flare, Lydia's legs slide as far apart as her tight mini-skirt will let them. Her hot, hooded eyes slip from Stiles to Derek, and she asks, "Who's first?"

" this isn't hypothetical anymore?"

"It never was, sweetie." She shoots him a tight smile, then unfastens the front clasp of her bra and peels it off, before squirming out of her panties and lifting her feet to the edge of the couch, baring herself. "Someone needs to get their mouth on me now."

Gaping first at her, then Derek who hasn't fled or moved or said anything, Stiles finally drops the first aid kit and stumbles towards his girlfriend.

But, Derek's there first, standing between her legs, one knee pressed into her wet cleft, his hands bracketing her head on the back of the couch. "I'm not Stiles, Lydia," he says silkily, his voice doing weird things to Stiles because he never talks to him like that and, yet, his dick likes it. "I'm not submissive."

"Is this a yes, Derek?" she asks breathily, lifting her hips to press against his knee, her eyes falling on the same place Stiles' are latched--the bulge in Derek's crotch.

"Do you really want this, Lydia?"

"Yes, oh God yes."

The wolf's eyes flash blue and hungry, and Stiles presses his hand hard to his own erection trapped in his pants. Jesus, it's happening.

"I want to watch you suck off Stiles while I fuck you. Will you do that for me?"

Nodding helplessly, Lydia lets Derek turn her onto her hands and knees on the couch. Stiles can see she's trembling from head to foot and even he can smell her arousal. As Derek unfastens his belt and strips off his bloody shirt, he gestures to the space at the end of the couch in front of Lydia.

Jumping, Stiles kicks off his shoes, gets his pants to his knees, and plops his ass down, one foot on the floor, the other leg bent and pressing against the back of the couch. Pulling out his cock, he meets Lydia's eyes and watches her lick her lips, then lower them to the tip of his cock. As her eyes fall shut and she starts to suckle at him, he lifts his head and stares at Derek as the werewolf undoes his jeans and pushes his boxers down to free his dick.

As he kneels between Lydia's spread legs and shoves her skirt up to her waist he asks Stiles, "Do we need a condom?" As werewolves can't carry or contract diseases, including sexually transmitted ones, they've never needed one, and Lydia's on the pill so they stopped using them after their negative tests.

Lydia's mouth tightens around his shaft and Stiles gurgles, "No," then watches as his boyfriend thrusts his cock deep into his girlfriend's cunt. "Oh fuck!"

Derek snorts and rolls his eyes at him. Lydia does the exact same thing, then Derek's fucking her hard and fast and she's sucking and licking Stiles' dick and his mind just goes blank.

Not surprisingly, he comes first, spilling down Lydia's throat and over her chin. As she gasps and lets her head fall to his thigh, he strokes a shaking hand through her hair, then just watches as Derek's face tightens, twists, and Stiles knows he's close. Lydia's fingers dig into the cushion he's perched on, she lifts her head to cry out in pleasure, and past her jiggling tits, he can see one of Derek's fingers rubbing her clit hard and fast. Stiles watches her shake apart in orgasm, then Derek follow her.

And it's perfect.

After they recover, Stiles takes charge, sending Derek for a clean shirt for himself and one of his t-shirts for Lydia. After she cleans up and replaces her panties, she sits quietly and lets him tend her scratches, then does the same for him. The water is running in the upstairs bathroom, so figuring Derek's cleaning up, or maybe just giving them some privacy, he kisses Lydia softly and murmurs, "Okay?"

She nods then pulls back from him. "Go make sure he is. Toss me down a t-shirt okay?"

"Love you."

Smiling, Lydia says it back, and Stiles heads upstairs. He grabs a t-shirt for her and tosses it back down the stairs, then puts on a clean one before going to the bathroom and knocking. At Derek's immediate response, Stiles opens the door and steps inside. His boyfriend turns off the water in the sink and rubs a towel over his wet face and chest. The blood is gone along with the wounds. He's pristine and perfect.

"I'm fine, Stiles." He doesn't smile--Derek rarely smiles--but his eyes are light and his shoulders are relaxed. "Is Lydia all right?"


"I wasn't too rough?"

"You'd be hearing it if you were. I enjoyed it too, by the way." He grins and Derek snorts and pulls him close, burying his nose in his neck.

"You've always smelled like her and, it didn't bother me really, but now I do, too. It's different."

"Good different?"

"I think so."

Brushing his lips over Derek's cheek, Stiles wraps him in his arms. "We don't have to be a threesome all the time. We never have to do this again. It's all up to you."

"No, Stiles. It's up to all of us." Pulling back, Derek gives him a serious look, then kisses him tenderly. "There's no reason I should be the only one making decisions."

"Lydia'll be happy about that. She will have her say. Actually, I'm really surprised she just did what you said without an argument."

"You said I was dominant."

"Over me." He grins. "She's so an alpha female, y'know."

When Derek stiffens, Stiles' grin disappears. What the hell did he say? "I...I've only been with women who took control. I don't think..."

"It's okay." Sighing in relief, he hugs him again. "We'll negotiate that, too. Everyone gets to be comfortable and have lots of orgasms, okay?"

"Okay." Derek agrees with a squeeze and they leave the bathroom to find him a shirt that will fit--ending up with one of Stiles' dad's t-shirts--before heading back downstairs.

Wearing his Dark Knight t-shirt and her panties, Lydia is curled in one corner of the couch asleep.

"I should go."

"Nuh uh. Not until we know the Hunters are gone or arrested." Gently he nudges Derek down onto the other end of the couch, then curls up between his two lovers, resting one hand on Lydia's hip and his head on Derek's shoulder.

"If your dad comes home..."

"Then I'll explain it to him. He already knows I'm dating both of you. I'm sure he's figured out the sex part of the equation. He'll be okay with this."

"You have a lot of faith."

"Dude, I had to hear about him dating more than one girl at a time in high school. I was traumatized."


As Stiles' grin turns into a yawn, Derek reaches over and turns off the lamp.

When his dad comes through the door, he wakes up enough to blink up at him and notice that Derek, who's a serious cuddler, is doing the deer in headlights thing again, and that Lydia has shifted to put her head in Stiles' lap.

"We got five of them in lock-up. Argent said the others are out of the county and I'm too tired to chase them. Also, I really do not want to know about this." He's smiling, though, and Stiles grins up at him, then turns his face back into Derek's neck. "Thank you for taking care of them, Derek."

"Stiles is the one who takes care of us, sir."

"John, I think you can call me John. Why don't you get them both upstairs? You can't be comfortable there. Breakfast is in..." He glances at his watch and yawns. "Six hours, so they can get to school."

"Are you...sure?"

"Too tired to worry about it. Go on, son." As Derek rouses the two dozing teens, John muses, "I wondered why he wanted a queen sized bed," and Derek reddens as Stiles mumbles, "threesome."

"Yeah, I kind of guessed that, kiddo," John says indulgently, then heads to his study and the gun safe.

"Bed," Stiles directs, yawning and staggering to the stairs as Lydia slumps against Derek, who picks her up and trails behind him. "Told you."

Whatever, if anything, Derek says falls on deaf ears as Stiles collapses on his bed, already asleep.

They do talk about it. Over several days they talk and negotiate and learn about each other. Finally they come to the realization and acceptance that Derek and Lydia will probably never love each other--Derek simply can't trust his heart to a woman and Lydia is, oddly enough, a one man woman where her heart is concerned--but they both love Stiles and he loves them.

As the weeks and months pass they date separately and, on occasion as a threesome, and sleep together the same way. As the end of school approaches, Derek and Lydia have sex one time without Stiles and figure out immediately that, while the sex is great, they need their boyfriend there. Because it wipes out the last tiny bit of tension between them, Stiles is glad they tried, but is also fine with them not being together without him again.

Scott fails spectactularly to understand until Stiles points out that he's in his own threesome, he just doesn't know it because he's not having any sex at all. Of course he does it in front of the entire Pack, and while Scott gapes and turns red, Allison chuckles knowingly and Isaac blushes adorably. The three of them disappear for a weekend, holing up at Scott's while his mom is working a double, and everyone's a lot more relaxed by Monday.

Stiles' dad is fine with the new dynamics in his son's relationships, and, as always, they don't really talk about it, but John is better with Derek, more easygoing and open. When he starts hinting that Derek get a job and that he'd make a good cop, Derek doesn't shut him down.

Stiles' offhand comment that he'd have to arrest himself is not found funny by anyone but Scott, whose sense of humor has always been suspect.

Summer comes warm and humid. School's out. Derek's studying for the entrance exams for the police academy. Lydia decides to breed Prada. Stiles starts following Deaton around until he agrees to take him as an apprentice emissary; and while he hasn't had nightmares very often since he took his lovers, the training helps with his minor anger issues that still pop up on occasion.

So, yeah, everything's on an even keel.

Of course, just when everything's calm, the faeries attack...

After the final battle and banishment spell, Stiles is trembling from head to toe, the energy burning in him needing an outlet, and Lydia's not much better. As he growls continually beneath his breath, Derek's eyes shine bright blue. They all look at each other, and then he takes both of them by the napes of their necks and forces them down over the hood of the jeep.

"Stay," he barks when Lydia starts to push herself up, and she freezes, then looks at Stiles, who gives her an eager smirk and spreads his legs in anticipation.

"You said never in the jeep. Nothing about on it."

Lydia rolls her eyes, but then moans and Stiles glances back to see Derek's hand between her legs, and hears the rip of silk. Suddenly she's driven to her toes, crying out, and he realizes Derek's thrusting his fingers into her, maybe all of them. His cock hardens and throbs and he shifts up to unfasten his pants, shoving them and his boxers down.

"Eager bitch."

Stiles isn't sure who he's talking about, but it doesn't really matter, because he is eager and next to him Lydia is coming with a sharp cry and buck of her hips. Derek pulls glistening fingers from her, then reaches with his other hand for the buckle of his belt. As he unfastens himself, he leans down and murmurs, "I'm going to fuck her and then when I'm wet from both of us, I'm going to fuck you, Stiles. You're such a Boy Scout, I know you have lube on you, so I really suggest you do something to stretch yourself because in about five minutes I'm going to be balls deep in your ass." As Stiles moans, Derek plugs his mouth with his slippery fingers, and Stiles sucks down Lydia's juices.

He's still blissfully licking his lips when he hears Lydia keen along with the slap of flesh on flesh, and he opens his eyes to watch her face twist with pleasure as Derek fucks her hard, one hand holding her down at the neck, the other manipulating her clit as she arches against him.

Own cock aching, Stiles reaches down for his pocket and pulls out a small tube of lube which he applies to two fingers before pushing them into his ass. With a groan at the pressure, he spreads and twists them, and watches Derek watching him with lust and love on his face. His eyes are still vibrant blue, his teeth elongated just a bit, but he keeps his claws under control when he pinches Lydia's clit and makes her come again.

With a howl of pleasure, Derek comes and pulls out, and he is wet and slick and still hard. Stiles' mouth goes dry. Pulling his fingers out of his ass, he braces himself, but can't contain his groan as Derek slams into him, hitting his prostate with each thrust.

"Gonna...gonna come on my car, Jesus." His eyes meet Lydia's languid ones, and he watches her push herself up, then turn and lift up onto the hood. Her hair is a mess, her shirt is half open, her bra askew, her skirt is rucked up and cum is sliding down her inner thighs. She's never looked more beautiful.

As Stiles rocks against the hard metal of his jeep, the friction painful but so fucking good, Derek just pounds his ass, his fingers tight on his hips, a low growl emanating from him. He's so close, panting harshly and bucking back onto Derek's cock, but he can't come. He needs...

Lydia's fingers dip between her legs then push between his slack lips and the combined taste of her and Derek makes him explode.

A few minutes later, as he's riding the orgasm into exhaustion, Derek comes as well, and Stiles has never been more happy that refraction time for werewolves is sometimes non-existent.

When the wolf pulls out, cum drips down both their thighs, too, and Stiles grins blissfully around Lydia's fingers, then lets Derek pull him up and redress him, before slumping against the jeep.


Derek's breathing hard, but in control again and he takes Stiles' keys before he can protest. "You're orgasm stupid."

"Hungry, too. Denny's? I want pancakes and a chocolate milkshake."

"I could eat. Not that, but a good fuck always stirs the appetite," Lydia adds, smirking as, bra and shirt fixed, she reaches for her ruined panties, then uses them to clean herself before tossing them aside. "And those cost about $30.00."

Shooting her a look of disbelief, Derek herds them into the jeep, Stiles in the back where he curls against the window. "I'm pretty sure all my undies put together don't cost thirty bucks."

"Yes, well, they're also obnoxious. I'm happy to outfit both of you in the very best of men's boxers, just say the word." She flips him a grin over the seat, then winks at Derek. "Or share my own. Stiles looks so pretty in my purple lacy thong."

"Erm..." Derek's ears go red.

Stiles laughs and sits up to lean forward and kiss both of their cheeks. "One thing's for sure. Life is never going to get boring."

As they head out of the Preserve for the twenty-four hour Denny's near the highway, he sits back and lets the pleasure wash over him. He's warm and a bit sticky, but in a good way, and feels damn good. He's with two of the four people he loves most in the world, and they love him back, and like each other.

And he can erase 'sex over the hood of a car' from his bucket list.

"So, hypothetically speaking, Derek, would you be adverse to pegging?"

Derek groans. "Nothing is ever hypothetical with you, Stiles."


Chuckling, Lydia mentions the dildo with the harness is named Shemar for Shemar Moore because it's black and sexy and did he know Shemar plays a character named Derek?

Derek's ears go even redder.

Life is fucking good.