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What Stiles Knew

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What Stiles Knew

01: The Return

Stiles waited until Scott went inside the clinic before he lowered his head to the jeep's steering wheel and blew out a breath. Of all the people he'd expected to run into in the woods today, Derek Hale would've been the last person he chose. The dude had been a lacrosse legend at Beacon Hills high when Stiles was a fourth grader and though Scott didn't seem to remember him from the few games they'd managed to go to, Stiles sure as hell had.

He looked different than he had in high school, though. Still good looking sure, but now his hazel eyes were cold, hardened where once they'd been alluring and intelligent, an almost live wire of surreptitious knowledge and undisclosed joy.

Everyone knew the story of what happened to his family, though Stiles doubted anyone but law enforcement and the remaining three Hales knew the full details of what actually occurred at their estate that morning six years ago. So many people lost their lives that day. Many of them children. All of them Hales.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Stiles lifted his head and started the jeep's engine, only to freeze when he caught sight of a head of dark hair and a familiar black leather jacket in his driver's side mirror. A quick glance out his rearview mirror confirmed what his rabbit-fast heart already knew to be true.

Derek Hale stood at the edge of the woods, his narrowed eyes locked on Stiles in a way that made Stiles's whole body shiver. Not just shiver but quake with alertness, a sudden heat bubbling beneath his skin.

A warning bell blared at the back of his mind, telling him to go, to leave before something happened and Stiles wanted to listen. He wanted to obey, but there was something about the guy, something…haunting and a little bit captivating.

Not that Stiles was captivated.

Sure, he found it interesting that the guy came back to town after all these years away, but that didn't mean Stiles wanted to get to know him or anything.

He just wanted the story. He wanted to know why Derek was back, and…okay, maybe he wanted to know if he had anything to do with the missing body that Scott swore he saw in the woods last night.

It had nothing at all to do with how gorgeous Derek Hale had become, or how much Stiles wished life hadn't stolen that happy light from those hazel eyes.

Nothing at all.


02. Naked Writhing

Stiles couldn't take his eyes off the man writhing on the ground, his naked torso contorting with each arch of his back and hips. God, it was like every forbidden fantasy come to life…and Stiles hated that it came attached to Derek Hale.

Because Stiles wasn't gay. He knew that. Deep down in his bones, he knew that he liked girls. He also knew he found certain men attractive and that, despite how hard he fought to deny it to himself, Derek happened to be one of those men.

Even in arched in pain, the guy was hot as hell and twice as tempting. Stiles still felt every inch of his clammy skin against his palm. He'd tried wiping his hands off on the outside leg of his jeans, but no matter how many times he rubbed the sensation of touching Derek's bearded jaw with his hands away, it always came back. Like his essence somehow imprinted itself on Stiles's flesh, burning him with the need to feel it again.

He licked his dry lips. Wished yet again that he'd thought to grab the half empty bottle of water out of his backpack in the jeep. He might've done it if Derek hadn't decided to pull him from the car and shove him toward the vet's garage doors before the thought he needed water had fully formed.

He needed something to do with his hands, or find something to divert his attention before the anxiety nipping at his heels broke free to humiliate him. Because now was not the time to let himself get worked up over Derek Hale. There might never be the time, actually.

Ignoring Scott's quick look of concern and Derek's semi-charged look of something as he finally shoved himself up onto his feet, Stiles shook his head and focused on evening out his breathing. The last thing he needed was to have a panic attack in the middle of the veterinarian's office. Especially when it would be in front of one of the hottest people Stiles had ever seen without a shirt.

Or in person.

He listened to the two men bicker for a few minutes, dropping in his two cents here and there before a glare from Derek had him shutting his mouth.

Right. Unsolicited advice is not welcomed nor appreciated by the older, brooding werewolf. Which was really too bad since Stiles figured the guy could actually use some good advice. Maybe then he wouldn't accidentally get himself shot by hunters and nearly die from the wounds.

"Since it sounds like the two of you are going on a secret field trip, I'm going to head out before my dad figures out I haven't been home yet." He nodded at Scott, flexed his hands to keep from reaching out to touch Derek's bare arm as he passed by on his way to the door, and froze as Derek's hand wrapped itself around his upper arm, halting him.

"Thank you," the werewolf offered quietly It even sounded sincere, too, but the thinly veiled annoyance beneath the sincerity kind of ruined it. But only kind of.

"I know I had to force you to help me," Derek said, "but you still helped and I needed someone to help so…thanks."

Stiles met Derek's eyes and gave a brief nod of acknowledgement at his words before hurriedly pulled his arm free from his grip.

"Yeah, sure, dude, no problem. Just…don't make it a habit or anything," he said, thrusting his hands into his pants' pockets and rocking back on his heels. "I don't like getting blood on the jeep's seats and the fact I almost had to cut off another person's arm today is enough to give me nightmares for at least a week, so…yeah, no life-saving habit forming and we'll call it all good, okay?"

Derek clenched his jaw, hazel eyes blazing pure fire at Stiles, but where Stiles expected him to toss out another threat of bodily harm, he instead turned to reach for his torn and bloody shirt, effectively dismissing Stiles.

Any other day, Stiles would've hung back and taken his time to leave on sheer principle. Today wasn't any other day, though, and the less Stiles had to spend in Derek's presence right now, the better.

"Catch ya later, Scottie boy," he said, tossing his friend a quick, meaningful look. "Don't forget to text when you get home so I know the wolf-man here didn't take you out somewhere and kill you." At his words, a low, menacing growl rent the air, but Stiles paid it no heed as he headed out the door and made for his jeep.

He knew Derek wasn't going to hurt him.

Even if the guy did seem like he would sometimes.


03: The Room

Stiles had seen Derek shirtless once before. But when the broody werewolf yanked off his Henley to root through Stiles's dresser for a replacement shirt, he couldn't deny a certain attraction to the man. It simmered beneath his skin, and it stayed long after Danny packed up and went home for the night.

He kept expecting Derek to follow, but it seemed like the werewolf had other ideas. Even now, Stiles could feel him still standing behind him, not quite touching but not quite far enough away to be entirely innocent, either.

It was the latter part that confused Stiles. Mostly because he could feel the heat of the man as he hovered over Stiles's back.

Derek leaned in, his nose almost touching the outer rim of Stiles's ear, and whispered, "You're not hiding anything, you know. I can smell arousal just as well as I smell fear, anxiety, anger." His hands fell to the sides of Stiles's desk chair, bracketing him in and revving him up. "It's intoxicating, how attracted you are to me, and the more you try to conceal it," he said, "the more enthralling it becomes."

Stiles swallowed, hard, and shifted on his desk chair, doing his best not to tremble beneath the truth in the other man's words. "Thanks for that titillating information, dude. I had no idea you could smell all that."

"I can hear your heartbeat." The werewolf shifted closer, his hot breath fanning across the bare skin of Stiles's throat, and Stiles found it hard to breathe, or hide the sweat forming on his palms and the blood rushing to his dick. "I know that you're lying, and I know that you want me."

Yeah, he was aware of that fact. Painfully aware. "I…need to get going," Stiles said, forcing the words out of his mouth as he deliberately tilted his head away from Derek's nose and lips. "I've got a game tonight. I'm even playing first line."

Derek's pressed his nose closer, inhaling once, deeply, then he stepped away, quickly backing out of reach. "First," he said, "you need to go with me to the hospital and figure out who all has access to the computer the caller used."

Stiles wanted to argue with him about that, but since he knew it wouldn't do any good, he sighed instead and pushed to his feet, reaching for the jacket he'd tossed over his printer earlier that afternoon.

"Right. Let's go then. I don't have a lot of time before my game starts."

Derek shrugged and motioned with his hands for Stiles to take the lead to the door. When he did, Stiles could've sworn he felt the ghost of Derek's fingers brush along the base of his spine through his shirt, but that was crazy, wasn't it?

Derek had no reason to touch him there. No reason other than an obvious one, and Stiles refused to believe it could be that. People like Derek, hot people, didn't find guys like Stiles attractive, and they certain didn't want to touch them in a sexual way.

But if Derek didn't want to touch him, why had he? There had to be a reason, right?
A guy like Derek wouldn't just touch someone for no reason, would he?

Stiles swallowed, ignored the confusion rushing through his head, and reached out to open the front door, waiting for Derek to pass beneath the threshold before turning the lock and closing the door behind him.

Later. He would think about things later. Preferably when Derek was nowhere near enough to witness his inevitable freak out.


04. The Sheriff's Station

Stiles couldn't actually feel the body trapped beneath him on the floor of the Sheriff's station, but if he could, he knew he'd enjoy it. Derek was totally shredded, and even having seen him semi-naked a few times now, the impact of seeing him, or worse, feeling his natural heat against him, hadn't lessened in the slightest.

Still, being stuck on top of the sexy werewolf but unable to do anything at all about it sucked. It sucked hard. Hard enough Stiles had to seriously contemplate his life choices, and his Stiles time go-to images.

He always imagined the first time he straddled someone he liked, it'd be for fun reasons. Sexy reasons. Not dangerous, kidnapped and paralyzed by a psycho ones.

"So…this is awkward."

Derek's chin hit the back of Stiles's head and even though he couldn't actually see the guy's face, he knew without a doubt the werewolf would be rolling his eyes at him.

"Shut up, and stop thinking about me being underneath you. You're paralyzed but you're still capable of emitting smells of attraction and lust."

"What about fear?" Stiles snapped, embarrassed and irritated that he couldn't hide his feelings even if he wanted to. "Is fear a thing I'm emitting right now? Because, have to say dude, I'm pretty terrified right now. We're stuck here without any defenses, and that is not a good thing. In fact, that is actually a very bad thing. It's quite possibly the worst thing in the history of worst things."

From Stiles's perspective, at least.

" I don't know, Stiles," another voice interrupted a second before Matt's shrewd grin and delighted eyes came into view. "I can think of a lot of things worse than being spread out on top of a guy like Derek. You have to admit, he's pretty hot for a werewolf."

No, Stiles did not have to admit that. Nor would he.

Not in this decade, and probably not in the next one, either.

"Why don't you trade places with me then, huh, Matt? If Derek's so hot, maybe it's you who should be pressed up against him." Preferably with his teeth buried to the hilt inside your crazy-ass neck, Stiles added silently.

Matt clucked his tongue and lowered to his haunches until his face was in perfect view of Stiles's eyes. "You disappoint me, Stilinski. I always thought you were the smart one of the bunch."

What did smarts have to do with anything right now? Wasn't like his smarts could stop him from being paralyzed by a giant, murderously-inclined lizard.

"You won't get away with this, Matt. Too many people know about Jackson now. It won't be long before others in the know figure out that you're the one pulling his strings."

"Thanks for reminding me," he said, pushing up onto his feet. "I am the one pulling his strings and as such, I think he needs to come keep an eye on you two while I deal with the others, as you called them." He turned toward the door, but looked back over his shoulder to offer, "Now, while I'm gone, Stiles, do your best not to think about what you could be doing with Derek right now if you weren't so paralyzed with kanima venom."

Evil. Matt was evil, and entirely too perceptive for Stiles's own good.

"Bastard," Stiles muttered under his breath, wishing like hell he didn't know exactly what kind of smells he was emitting to the unusually quiet werewolf beneath him.

Stiles inwardly sighed and said, "When we get out of this, Derek, you really need to rip his throat out with your teeth. Just saying, dude. I think he deserves it."

Derek let out a quick huff of breath, but Stiles wasn't sure if it was in favor of or against his homicidal suggestion and he wasn't about to ask him for fear he might decide to rip Stiles's throat out as well.


05. The Loft

Stiles waited for the others to head out the loft's door then turned to the silent man sitting on the stairs on the other side of the room. He hadn't spoken since the pack removed Boyd's body from the loft and his near catatonic state worried Stiles because he wasn't sure it was safe to leave the guy alone.

He doubted any of the others thought about that fact when they were making plans to bury Boyd out in the preserve, but Stiles had and because he had, he knew he couldn't just leave Derek this way. It wasn't right.

Nobody deserved to be alone to grieve someone they cared about, and especially not someone who had lost as many people as Derek had.

Stiles drew in a deep breath and straightened his posture, lifting a hand to clear his throat. "You should probably change your clothes now, man. Maybe even pack a bag and crash someplace else for a few days."

Hazel eyes locked onto his, the desolate look in them breaking something in Stiles he hadn't known it possible to break. "Where can I go?" he questioned, his tone dark, clearly resigned. "They'll find me again. They have my scent. They have all of our scents. You think Boyd will be the last of the deaths we face in this? It won't be."

"Maybe next time, it'll be you we have to mourn, or maybe instead, it'll be me who dies. It should be me who dies," he mumbled, hands clenching into fists atop his thighs. "I should be the one with the claws ripped through my heart right now, not Boyd."

"It wasn't your fault. The twins, Kali, this is on them. Not you."

"Doesn't change the fact that Boyd is dead because of me."

One more heavy look passed between them then Derek pushed to his feet, turning his back as he made his way up the stairs to the second floor.

"Go home, Stiles," he ordered in a gruff voice. One that begged no argument. "This isn't your fight."

Maybe it wasn't his fight, but that didn't mean he didn't have a stake in the outcome. In the pack's survival. "Scott's fight is my fight, Derek. Always has been. Always will be."

Derek sighed, pausing at the top of the stairs but not turning around to face Stiles again. "They're going to kill you. If you keep running with us, or with Scott's pack, sooner or later, the alpha pack will kill you. Either that, or they'll turn you into exactly what you don't want to be."

How did Derek know what he didn't want to be? Stiles sure as hell hadn't told him, and he doubted Scott had, either.

"Did your creepy uncle tell you that? That I don't want the bite."

Derek glanced at him over his shoulder. "He didn’t have to. If you wanted to be a wolf, you would've asked me to do it the second I became the alpha. Patient, you are not, Stiles."

"Hey! I could be. I could be patient."

Derek shook his head, a wry smile playing across his lips as he turned and disappeared out of sight. "No, you really couldn't," his voice echoed. "Now, go home. Before you ask me for something you know I can't give to you."

He wanted to ask what Derek thought he wanted from him, but in all honesty, Stiles was afraid he already knew. And that was not a conversation Stiles wanted to have with Derek just yet. Because despite whatever Derek had going on with Miss Blake, Stiles knew the werewolf cared for him. He wouldn't keep saving his life and trying to warn him away if he didn't.

Shoving his hands into the front pocket of his pants, Stiles rocked back on heels, eyes still trained on the space at the top of the stairs. "If you need a place to stay," he started, swallowing a sudden bout of nerves, "my window will be open. I've even got a sleeping bag, extra blankets, and a pillow you can use."

He didn't receive an answer, but then, he hadn't expected to. Just as he hadn't expected Derek to take him up on his offer of a place to stay. Even if the tricky werewolf did do it when Stiles was asleep and couldn't talk to him about it.


+01. The Preserve

Stiles couldn't stop staring, though he told himself he needed to repeatedly. Of course, he didn't know too many people who could look away from the sight of Derek Hale's naked, sweat-slick, torso.

A person could literally bounce actual quarters off those well-toned abs of his, and Stiles should know, considering he'd done it more than once in the past two hours of pack bonding and werewolf sparring.

"You are not funny," Derek said, glaring at him from the bottom of the newly renovated house's front porch steps. "Nor are you original. Quarters, Stiles? Really?"

He lifted a shoulder and offered the beta wolf a small smirk. "What can I say? I got bored and wanted to disprove the theory. Turns out, , the theory is pretty accurate, though. At least when it applies to you and your ridiculous body, that is."

Derek's eyebrow arched. "Excuse me? My body is not ridiculous."

"Dude, your body is beyond ridiculous. It's so ridiculous it's in the stratosphere of ridiculous bodies." Stiles shook his head and shoved upright onto his feet. He distracted himself from further comment by dusting invisible lint from his shirt and jeans. Once that was done, he moved his gaze out to the now empty spaces in the Hale House's driveway. "Everyone else left. I should probably go, too. Let you do…whatever it is you do after the pack leaves."

A movement in his peripheral caught and held his attention, forcing him to turn his head away from the empty drive and back to the werewolf slowing making his way up the stairs toward him.

"Shower," he answered softly, almost warily. "I take a long hot shower after the pack leaves. Always long because of you."

Stiles blinked. "Uh, that's, uh, a little more than," he swallowed and nearly choked on the sudden lump in his throat, "I needed to know there, big guy."

"Is it?" Derek questioned, head tilted sideways. "Is it really? Because I thought you might like to know what I do after being forced to smell the scent of your arousal all afternoon." He lifted a hand then, catching Stiles by the back of the neck and pulling him in tight, tight enough that Stiles's hands got caught between their chests, coating his palms with the sweat from Derek's skin. "About how I shed my clothes and drown myself beneath the shower's warm spray, my hand so tight around my cock I'm afraid I might damage it before I'm able to gain any relief."

Jesus Christ. "D-Derek—"

"I'll show you if you want," the werewolf offered, his voice lower and rougher than Stiles had ever heard it. "I'd like to show you, in fact. I'd like to see you standing naked in my shower, your pale body so taut with want and need you're all but trembling beneath the water. Beneath my hands." He smirked. "Or maybe you'd rather have my mouth? I could do that, too, Stiles. I could put my mouth on you. I want to put my mouth on you, actually. I want to taste you at the back of my tongue."

Was he dreaming? "Is this a dream? I'm pretty sure this is a dream." It had to be a dream. It was too familiar not to be. "We should count our fingers. You have extra fingers in dreams, did you know that?"

Derek's smirk widened to a grin, and he took another step forward, close enough to touch but not quite touching yet. "I did know that. You told me that once. In one of my dreams."

Holy shit.

Derek dreamed about him? In what universe was that suddenly a thing?

"I am now almost a eight-five percent certain I am dreaming."

"You're not dreaming," Derek said, lifting his arms and framing Stiles's face with his warm, damp palms. "This is real. It's happening. You're here with me, and I'm asking you to come inside and be with me."

Stiles shivered at the pleading tone in Derek's voice and nodded his head.

Once. Twice. Three times.

"Okay," he said, blowing out a quick breath. "Okay. We can… Yeah, let's do that."

"You sure? Because once I get you inside the house, Stiles, I don't plan to stop. Not until I have you in all the ways I've dreamed of having you the past two years."

Stiles lifted one of his hands from Derek's chest and reached up, fitting his palm to the back of Derek's neck, squeezing gently. "If you want me, wolf-man, I am one hundred percent yours. I've been yours for a very, very long time."

"You're sure?" Derek asked again, his eyes searching, questioning. "You want this? You want me?"

"I'm positive. I want it all, Derek. Everything you want to give me."

Derek smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. "I want to give you a lot."

"I'm surprisingly okay with that." Stiles lifted a shoulder, grinning. "More than, even."

Derek rubbed his thumbs along Stiles's cheeks and stepped back, lowering his arm to link their hands together. "Let's head inside then. Before any of the pack decide to piss me off and come back because they've forgotten something."

Stiles frowned, turning to eye the trees and gravel road behind them. "You think I should send out a mass text? Warn them to stay away?"

"If you think they need the reminder, sure. If not, I think my warning to them as they were leaving will suffice."

Stiles stilled, his eyes widening as he turned back to look at Derek.

"Are you serious right now? You actually warned them away?"

"Yes. Should I not have and risked the chance they would come back?"

"No, it's just that…you were awfully sure of me, weren't you?"

Derek twisted, reaching up to lay a finger across Stiles's lips, his hazel eyes determined, serious. "I was sure I wanted this to happen. I thought there was a good chance that you wanted it to happen, too. Even more so when Scott warned me about hurting you as he got ready to leave."

Scott had warned Derek not to hurt him? That's so sweet.

"Remind me to thank him for being a good bro later."

"You'll be busy later," Derek said, squeezing his hand, "but I'll be certain to remind you of it tomorrow. Or possibly the day after, depending how tired we are and how much sleep we get in between now and then."

In between? How much stamina did Derek think he had?

Wait. How much stamina did Derek have?

Stiles narrowed his eyes.

"Do werewolves have a shorter refractory period than ordinary humans?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure we can do our best to test it."

That sounded like a challenge if he ever heard one. "I accept."

"Yeah, I thought you might, " Derek said, smiling. His hazel eyes glinted with undisguised craftiness as he added, "I counted on it, in fact."

If it were anyone else, Stiles would feel slighted by the knowing glint in those ridiculous eyes, but it wasn't anyone else.

It was Derek.

The sexy as sin werewolf that Stiles had wanted for years, and who, somehow, miraculously, actually wanted him back.

Forget slightness. Right now, Stiles just felt lucky.

Extremely, ridiculously lucky.

"Come on, Einstein," Derek taunted, "there's a shower with our name on it."

Yeah, there really, really was.