Derek Hale cursed himself. If he hadn't been such a nice guy, willing to help, then maybe he might not be in such a predicament.
That predicament, of course, centered around his helping Scott McCall, and as always, assisting Scott's best friend, Stiles Stilinski.
Derek often had questions about that friendship. It always seemed like Stiles was more of a friend to Scott, and Scott just seemed to take Stiles for granted.
If it wasn't by disregarding Stiles' ideas and opinions, it was treating Stiles like he was nothing more than an afterthought, at times. Like now.
It had been a particularly difficult battle, where after things were settled, Scott all but abandoned Stiles, hurrying to get his girlfriend home.
Stiles stood staring into the distance, looking dejected, bat in hand. His lips curled up into a frown, a dark, angry copper scent wafted from him.
So different from the lush emerald smell that usually surrounded Stiles, tinged with a streak of golden yellow, the way sunshine might smell on a spring day, if it had a scent.
Derek wondered why all of this mattered to him all of a sudden. Why he should care so much about this guy? But he was part of the pack now, apparently.
Stiles was pack, obviously. Was Derek even pack? Why would he not be? Derek served Scott at his request, but it was more inspired by Stiles' loyalty to Scott.
And Derek trusted Stiles enough to follow him...
Trust? Well, that was kind of a strong word. Accurate yes, but... anyhow.
Derek felt enough to offer Stiles a ride home. Stiles accepted, turning away. For a moment, Derek thought he saw Stiles smile a bit, just a bit, as he did.
Walking back to the car, Derek began to regret his offer, because it confirmed something he had long suspected: Stiles was attracted to him.
Once they were in Derek's Camaro, Stiles entire scent signature changed, going back to a deep, earthy green, into a cosmic, bright, alluring scent.
Stiles' scent reminded Derek of pictures he'd seen of outer space, all golds and purples, deep blues and majestic orange dotted with points of bright white.
Derek tried in vain to ignore it.
When Stiles suggested stopping to get a bite, which Derek knew would be coming seeing as he could HEAR Stiles' guts growling, they stopped at a diner.
It was a little out of the way from home, but Derek didn't want to been seen in Beacon Hills with Stiles. It would complicate things.
Bad enough that the Sheriff was Stiles' dad, worse was the Sheriff knew of Derek Hale. Even WORSE was the look the man leveled at him whenever he saw Derek.
It was the kind of look that said: "You better not be doing anything to my son's butthole. Or anything ELSE on his body, for that matter."
Not that Derek would. He was straight. So far as he knew. The long list of women he'd dated and slept with would attest to that. He'd never been into guys.
At least, not before meeting Scott, then through him: Stiles. Not that Derek was attracted to Stiles.
Not in a way that made him gay, he thought. Derek was straight. Kind of. Well, maybe heteroflexible, as the new sexual designations went.
But he wasn't at all attracted to Scott, who was a true Alpha. That would have made sense. He hadn't been attracted to any of his Betas, which would have been normal.
No, for some reason, he was attracted to his dorky, spasmodic, delightfully offbeat at times guy, seated across from him.
A guy who was eating a handful of curly fries, chewing while his lips were glistening with salt and grease, plump and cherry red, like...
"Der?" Stiles voice shook him out of his staring. "Are you sure you don't want some fries?"
Derek blinked a few times, as if he were trying to understand words for the first time. "Sorry?"
Stiles nudged his plate over toward Derek, eyes bright. "They're really good. Try one."
Derek looked at Stiles, all bright whiskey eyes and cheerful smile. He looked nothing like the fighter he had been an hour or so ago.
Such a metamorphosis both intrigued and terrified Derek, given his long nature with the unexpected.
"Um, sure." Derek plucked a fry off of the plate, and chewed it, thoughtfully. Stiles' brows were raised, as though he were expecting an answer.
Derek looked into those eyes, and felt his stomach flip, a little. He took a drink of his ginger ale to help the feeling pass.
"They are good, Stiles. Thank you for sharing." Derek pressed a napkin to his lips, noting the way Stiles' scent brightened some more. Pleased. Stiles was pleased.
That should NOT have made Derek feel as anxiously happy as he was at this very moment.
"I think that's the longest sentence you've ever said to me." Stiles grinned, his lips finding the straw to his strawberry lemonade.
"You know, for the longest time, I didn't think you liked me. Like, at all." Stiles prattled on, his heartbeat erratic, nervous.
"I mean, I know we didn't probably meet in the best way possible, and I know I can be a smart ass at times..."
Derek grinned as he watched Stiles, who was staring at his fries while he rambled.
"...times when we needed you, and you've always been there." Stiles finished, and Derek realized he hadn't heard a word Stiles said.
Derek raised his brows in an "oh" gesture, as Stiles eyes found his again.
"So, I guess, I really want to say, thank you. Like, really, thank you." Stiles heartbeat is quick now, and Derek realizes, he is scared.
Both Stiles, and he, are scared.
"You're welcome." Derek's mouth is dry, and he sips more of his ginger ale, and listens to Stiles' heartbeat slow from rapid fire to house music tempo.
Stiles' heartbeat always seems to be a slight bit elevated, and Derek almost hates that he knows that.
Almost as much as he hates the fact that he knows that the beat of Stiles' heart accelerates whenever Stiles looks at him.
Nearly as much as he hates that he knows how Stiles' scent changes around him whenever they are together.
Knowing such intimate details about Stiles is serious to him. Dangerous. Serious and Dangerous.
Derek stares out the window, and when the check comes, he and Stiles both reach for it, their hands touching over the scrap of paper.
Time freezes, completely, yet somehow accelerates all at once. Derek is suddenly aware of things.
The softness of Stiles' skin. The heat radiating from his palm. The long, delicate looking fingers which are somehow strong, despite Stiles' clumsiness.
The sudden burst of scent filling Derek's nostrils. Arousal, tinged with fear, shaded by nervousness. But the arousal, strongest of all the scents.
Stiles' heartbeat goes a mile a minute, and Derek does his best to remain calm, looking Stiles in the eye. He keeps his voice calm. "I'll get it."
"No." Stiles shakes his head. "I asked to stop, and it's my treat." Stiles let's his eyes stay on Derek's, which shocks the older man. Stiles is never this bold. With him.
There's a moment where one of them should take their hand away, though neither one does. Derek can almost feel electricity in Stiles' fingertips, and it intrigues him.
Derek wonders where the energy is coming from, and if he isn't just imagining the way Stiles fingers send surges through Derek's fingers, his hand, his guts.
For a moment, Derek wonders if Stiles hands would feel that way, no matter where they were on Derek's body: his hips, his chest, his ass, his cock. Derek swallows nervously.
With a reluctant look on his face, Derek pulls his hand away. "Okay. But I'll leave the tip."
Once they are back inside the car, Stiles yawns, and stretches, a warm, honey colored scent of satisfaction escapes him.
Derek wonders on other times Stiles might smell that way, if that is the smell of satiated happiness, or just severe satisfaction, even sexual...
Nope. Not gonna think about that now. Not even going to entertain the though of Stiles, naked in bed, clutching onto Derek for life as he rocks beneath him, moaning Derek's name.
Derek drives them both back into Beacon Hills a bit faster than he cares to, trying to keep his claws and fangs in check. He remains silent for the rest of the ride.
Pulling up to Stiles' block, he does the same checks he always does. The listening for the sound of a police band radio, the checking for scents of the Sheriff, or others.
Then checking to make sure nothing is lurking in the dark for when Stiles gets out of the Camaro.
When Stiles does get out, he looks over at Derek. There is something in his eyes, and his heart beat rises again, along with the scent of nervousness.
Stiles gets his bat from the Camaro's backseat, and his shirt rides up a bit on his hip. Derek spots a tease of hipbone, a flash of pale white skin.
A delectable beauty mark dots Stiles' hip. The spot looks like it might be a key point on a map. It needs to be touched, tasted, kissed.
"Good night, Stiles." Derek says, with a note of finality. He doesn't know how he would respond if Stiles were to ever ask him in, and he doesn't WANT to know.
"Night, Big Guy." Stiles reaches over, chucking Derek, playfully, on the shoulder. The action happens so fast, Derek doesn't have time to scowl at it, before Stiles is gone.
Derek waits for Stiles to get in the house as a courtesy. He waits a few minutes to make sure nothing happens. This is for security purposes.
He tells himself that.
Things are quiet for another month goes by before they are under siege again from another "big bad" as Stiles has taken to calling them. "The Big Bad of the Week".
Derek rolls his eyes.
This is not his first time standing in Stiles' room. Memories trickle by, of the few times he HAS been in here. Stiles was kind enough to hide him out, once.
Still, Stiles using Derek as eye candy to get Stiles' friend to hack a computer was something of a dick move.
Not that he minded if people looked at him. If CERTAIN people looked at his naked form, at his invitation, that was fine. If he wanted to show off, he would.
This kid, Danny, was not his type. A bit cute, but not his type. Derek grumbled as a voice, playing devil's advocate asked him, "But how did you feel about Stiles watching you?"
Derek chose to ignore that voice. Later, he might try to drown it with alcohol, or something.
He would ignore the fact that he had watched Stiles, hoping for some kind of reaction from him alone. What it was, Derek wasn't sure. He'd know it if he saw it.
Scott was arguing with Stiles, trying to see if the Big Bad HAD to be killed, and Stiles was arguing that yes, yes it MUST be killed before it killed them.
Once again, Scott was being irrational, and Derek was pretty much done with it, so he had no interest in following either boy out of the room whilst they argued.
Derek put down the book he'd picked up to read while the boys bickered, and stood, stretching. He walked about the room, looking at all of the aspects of Stiles.
There was a stack of books by the bed, mostly crime dramas, and a few books on mythology, and one about running, which Derek found a bit odd, given Stiles aversion to physical activity.
A copy of "Romeo & Juliet" was also there, bunches of paper with what looked like notes, stuck inside. No doubt a project for some English class.
Derek was tempted to peek under Stiles mattress, looking for a porn stash.
He grinned, thinking that it wouldn't be likely. Guys today had their phones for smuts, unlike when he was a young teen. Still it would have been hot to find.
Derek felt a bit too perverted, thinking of what Stiles liked, what he used to get off, what he watched to inspire orgasm. Did he use his hands, or toys?
Did he rut against his bed like Derek used to as a teen? What did he sound like in the throes of orgasm? Did he moan, or mewl? Did he gasp or growl?
And Derek knew Stiles beat off, he could smell traces of it in the room. Not as strong as he would have expected, maybe Stiles flushed his cum, or ate it after.
Derek felt himself get hot, and his dick harden immediately at that thought. He shook his head, trying to clean his thoughts and clear his head.
He studied a wall that had a bunch of information on it, threads tied around pins, making a flow chart of sorts.
There were more pictures on another wall. Five year old Stiles beamed from a picture where he was posed with his mother and father, for a family portrait.
Derek felt an ache in his heart. No matter how much time had gone by, he constantly missed his parents, and couldn't imagine what Stiles had gone through, losing his mother so young.
Next to those were pictures of Stiles and Scott, in their little league uniforms, faces beaming from beneath their caps in the team photo.
Derek couldn't imagine having a connection to someone from that far back in his past. True, there was Peter, but that was... well, it was different.
They were hardly friends. Shit, they were barely family. Still, Derek loved him. Kinda.
There were more pictures of friends on the wall, and a picture of Lydia Martin. Derek felt a small amount of jealousy as he studied the picture.
Stiles had placed her above all the other photos, and all Derek could think of was how much she seemed to disregard Stiles, even after all they had gone through.
She didn't respect him enough. Hell, Scott was Stiles' best friend, and he barely had time for Stiles. It seems like he only had time when there was danger, and needed Stiles' brains.
Then, when Stiles had everything figured out, he would lay out the best plan of action, and Scott would totally ignore it, only going to Stiles plan after all but certain defeat.
Jeez, they were like an old married couple.
Derek moved around the room, and bumped into the desk, which woke up Stiles' computer. The silver laptop flashed, and opened up some word doc Stiles had been on.
No doubt the plan of attack, since Stiles was TOTALLY the kind of guy who would create one on paper, complete with...
"And in that moment, Mike felt complete, with Darren's long, thick length inside of him. Darren pulsed inside Mike's guts, causing the bottom boy to whimper and gasp..."
Derek pulled away, both ashamed and incredibly aroused by what he had just read.
"Darren growled lustily as Mike's nails scraped down his back, leaving a temporary tattoo, before his healing power caused them to fade, Mike's cries echoed in Darren's ears."
He needed to go. This was completely inappropriate for him to read. It was obviously something Stiles appeared to be working on in the privacy of his own room.
So naturally he read on.
"Darren pushed Mike further into the bed, his hands bracing him over Mike. Mike's hands stroked the heavily muscled arms of his lover, pulling him into a kiss."
Derek adjusted his cock which was now painfully hard in his pants.
"'Is this how you want it?' Darren growled pounding into Mike. 'Yes!' Mike cried out, feeling Darren hammering his prostate. 'You're gonna make me... oh god Dar, please, knot me!'"
Derek felt his heart stop. Dar? Like Der? KNOT ME!? This was too much!
He read on.
"Mike lost himself in ecstasy while Darren shifted, his wolf cock lodged deep inside his human hole. Mike began to whine as he felt Dar's knot begin to swell, filling him..."
Derek realized he was sweating. He frantically listened for heartbeats, and didn't hear any. He peeked out the window to see Scott and Stiles in the driveway.
Turning his attention back to the computer. Derek carefully scrolled up to the top to read it from the beginning. He saw the work was weeks old, and posted on a website.
A WEBSITE! Stiles posted this filth to a website for anyone in the world to read??
Yes, an amazing website called "Archive Of Our Own", where Stiles wrote under a pseudonym, and apparently had written dozens of stories about "Mike", and "Darren".
Derek pulled out his phone, and took a picture of the website before scrolling back to where he started, and putting the computer back to sleep.
He looked the website up on his phone, and found that he was going to have to register, since Stiles apparently wrote nothing but filth, and he would need to register to read it.
The front door slammed, and Derek almost dropped his phone. The sound of Stiles clomping up the stairs told him he had seconds to compose himself.
Stiles had an angry look on his face when he marched into the room, and Derek felt an immediate sense of guilt wash over him.
"Why does he have to BE like that?" Stiles folded his arms over his chest. He leaned against the desk, and Derek was relieved to see that laptop didn't turn on.
Stiles turned around, following Derek's gaze, then closed it, and flushed a bit more. His scent was furious, and embarrassed.
"It's only gonna come back and bite him in the ass, and when it does, THEN he's gonna need me. ONE of these days, I'm not going to be there anymore."
Stiles looked up at Derek, exasperated. "Am I really THAT bad, Der?" Stiles sighed, hurt in his eyes.
Derek felt himself flush at the nickname, thinking only of... nope. Can't think of that.
"Stiles." Derek took a breath. He wished he knew what to say. "Scott is..., well, Scott may be a true Alpha, but he's also a true idiot."
Stiles burst into laughter, and looked at Derek, hand covering his mouth. Derek allowed himself a small smile, so happy he made Stiles laugh.
"Look. You're a smart guy, Stiles." Derek felt his stomach flip again as Stiles looked at him, a soft smile on his face. Stiles scent had brightened again.
"Scott, just. He takes people for granted." Derek finished. "He doesn't really know what it's like to lose someone like..."
Derek bit his lip worried he'd said too much. "He hasn't lost people, like we have. So he doesn't understand how much it hurts to lose someone you love."
Stiles and Derek stared at each other. An understanding passed between them. It was not the first time it happened, but it felt weightier, this time.
"Maybe, instead of running after him to get him to see, maybe you just, I dunno." Derek felt his point evaporate as Stiles looked at him.
"I understand, Der." Stiles unfolded his arms, and leaned back on his desk. This put his lean body on display, and caused Derek to think naughty thoughts.
"Thank you, for caring enough to listen to me." Stiles looked away, blushing. "I really appreciate it. And you."
Derek nodded. He started to approach Stiles, but stopped himself. Stiles on the other hand, took the initiative and closed the gap. He hugged Derek.
So much happened in that moment, it made Derek's head spin. This was what it must be like to be drunk. Everything spinning while you stand still.
In the hug, he felt everything: Stiles' relief at the contact, his sadness over Scott, his undesirable hunger, and NEED to feel Derek pressed against him.
Derek felt himself gasp, then sigh, drunk on the combination of melancholy and arousal from Stiles. He let his arms fold around the slender guy clinging to him.
The warmth of Stiles' arms around him, the weight of Stiles' head pressed against his neck. The aromas from Stiles' body, making Derek hot. Making him hard.
"You're welcome." Derek pulled away, hips first. Stiles had a confused look on his face. "I have to go. Sorry." Derek apologized, heading for the window.
He smiled, and opened it. "Hey. Watch this." Derek got onto the ledge, crouching to hide his boner, then he jumped, launching himself into a tree outside Stiles window.
Stiles laughed, and leaned against the window ledge. Derek smiled, watching him from the tree, which he hoped would disguise his erection, as he shimmied down.
He looked up, watching Stiles, sitting on the sill now, colored golden by the setting sun, looking down at Derek.
"A thousand times, good night." Stiles mumbled from high above Derek, at the window. With Derek's hearing, it was almost as if Stiles had spoken it in front of him.
A good night was not in Derek's cards. He cruised a bar that night, trying to get his mind off of Stiles. The women in their tight dresses, and high heels did nothing for him.
They hadn't done so much for him before, but Derek could always find one interested, provided he was interested in them. That was par for the course.
Something had changed in the last few hours, and he was reluctant to understand it. He didn't want to give it a name.
After going home alone, he wandered into his loft, and headed upstairs to his sleeping area. The loft was a place of refuge for him, and it was perfect now.
Peace, quiet, stillness.
Derek stripped down, and flopped on his bed. He plugged his phone in, and turned it on.
He flipped through some messages, before opening the site for Stiles' stories. He registered under a fake name, and searched out Stiles' Nom de Plume.
After finding it, Derek was shocked to see that a new post had been made to Stiles' "Works" list, just an hour ago.
"Mike felt such comfort in Darren's arms. It was like no other comfort he'd felt before. Even when he would hug Scooter, which was rare these days, he didn't feel it."
Derek adjusted the light level on his phone, and continued.
"Even better was the feel of Darren's body, pressed against him. Mike let his arms raise, as Darren stripped him bare to his waist. 'So beautiful', the older man praised."
Derek cleared his throat.
"Darren's fingers drew spirals and patterns over Mike's skin, causing his nipples to harden. Mike gasped as Darren leaned down taking one into his mouth."
"Mike's fingers wound in Darren's thick, black hair. 'Use me, taste me, Alpha. Chew me up, I can take it!' Mike begged. 'I want you to make me HURT with your knot, Alpha!'"
Derek could feel himself, getting hard, his own knot pulsating gently. Shit.
"Mike wanted Darren to take him, he begged the older man to take him, roughly. Throwing Mike on the bed, Darren pounced, pinned Mike down like prey. Prey he intended to eat."
"Mike whimpered, and turned onto his stomach, spreading his legs for his mature lover. 'Dar, please. Taste me, take me, fuck me, Sir.' Mike pulsed his hole for emphasis."
Derek felt his breath shudder as he pictured it.
"'Please, Dar, I need it. I need you.' Mikey whispered. Darren's kiss between Mike's shoulder blades was a turn on. Darren teased, kissing his way down the boy's spine. 'I need to taste you.'"
Derek almost came right there.
"Mike moaned as Darren's tongue explored him, his pert, pale bottom spread wide, pushing into Darren's face begged MORE! Mike almost came from the feel of Dar's stubble scraping his tender, pale backside."
Over the course of the late night, Derek read most of the fics. He had stopped jerking off, because he was sure he going to rip his dick off, but he did bookmark his faves.
For research purposes. Research. Yes. He needed to understand WHY Stiles had this odd, strange obsession.
He found it interesting, if not a little creepy, that he was able to learn so much about Stiles' infatuation with him.
Obviously him. The "Darren Hill" of the stories was an older, taller man, with a permanent stubble, and a rock hard body who had a penchant for being a cold aloof douche.
And always in a leather jacket, driving a Camaro.
But more than that, the stories main protagonist "Mikey Slaw" (Derek rolled his eyes so hard they hurt) seemed to see right into the core of Darren Hill.
Aside from the smut, of which there was PLENTY, there were also other stories, about them, about Mike coping with losing his mom at a young age, and fearing for his dad, an FBI Agent.
Stories of Mike's crushes on other boys and girls, and how confused it made him. How happy and sad, because he wasn't sure himself.
Derek found himself enraptured by these stories, learning more about Stiles than he ever thought he would. Stiles wrote from the heart, and/or libido, Derek could feel that.
Most of those stories transformed into stories about meeting a certain brooding hunk in a leather jacket, in the woods one day.
Derek was shocked at how detailed Stiles' stories were. How "Mike" was desperate for "Darren". How he wanted to both be Darren, as well as be with him.
Not just with him, but important to him, the way a bride, or a mate might be to his Alpha. He wanted his Alpha to take him, claim him, breed him, mark him as property.
The thought alone was enough to get Derek hard again, picturing Stiles, submissive and ready, slicked, and needy. Of Stiles, belly swollen with Derek's litter.
Oh god it wasn't even possible, but Derek wanted it like nothing else he could imagine right at this moment.
Putting aside his phone, Derek rubbed his eyes. When he pulled them away again, he thought he was hallucinating. The sun was cresting the sky.
He had spent all night beating off to Stiles' fan fiction, and now the morning was here. Holy shit.
Well, they HAD been good reads.
Derek rose and pulled the shades closed, allowing his sleeping space to be dark, and without a second thought, he lay on his bed, and passed out.
Every single one of his dreams were about Stiles.