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"I'm not saying you have to trust me, just help me keep the moron alive. You can't doubt that I've been trying to do that," Derek says, and Stiles shrugs, but it's mostly to piss him off, even if in the back of his mind there's a little voice mumbling about how that's a bad idea. "And keep him from hurting other people," Derek adds, and still, Stiles shrugs.

Perhaps Derek can smell or sense - or something - how contrary Stiles is trying to be, because he just snorts and looks out the window. Stiles leans back further into the seat, and wonders vaguely why the guy has such a nice car, but his house is still a tragic heap of wreckage and bad memories - and then he answers his own question.

"Look, okay, how about this," Stiles eventually says. "You help me help him, because we both know that he's not going to, like, roll over and do what you say." Derek smirks at Stiles' word choice, and Stiles tries to ignore it. "I'll convince him to listen, if you convince me that it's a good idea," Stiles says, and hurries to continue as Derek growls. "And together we'll keep him alive, kill the alpha, and save the world or whatever."

"I hope you realize that - never mind," Derek says, and Stiles doesn't need super wolf hearing to catch the grinding of teeth as Derek stops himself from saying - something. Stiles feels a little chagrined at how cavalier they are, assuming Derek will agree. "Fine," Derek agrees, his voice a low growl, and Stiles' grin is all the bravado he can muster while being trapped with a werewolf in the car. "You understand that anger is the quickest way to attain control of the wolf. Your theory about heart rates wasn't bad, but it was too general, you understand?" Derek waits for Stiles' answering nod, and continues before he can ask how he knew that Stiles had come up with that little idea. "I'm trying to get him in control of his anger," Derek says slowly, like he's having trouble expressing his idea of how to fix this, which just makes Stiles more nervous that he's winging it and has no real plan. "If he controls his anger and when he feels it, he can control when the changes happen and how much - if any - damage he does."

"What about full moons?" Stiles asks, because he knows that as good as any werewolf can control their anger, that time of the month is still a killer. So to speak.

"I'm not sure yet," Derek admits, and if the answer didn't scare Stiles so much he would enjoy just how much it takes Derek to admit that. Stiles can hear how much it takes.

"Look, I'm not trying to be a dick, but I don't understand why this is so hard for you. I mean, you're family," Stiles starts, but stops immediately when Derek's low growl isn't so low anymore. His eyes flash blue, and Stiles freezes, the voice in the back of his mind gibbering about how T-Rexes can't see you when you're still, like that fucking helps. Jesus, a werewolf in the car is scarier than anything, holy shit. "What I mean is, you grew up with this and you grew up around this. Why is it so hard to just, like, know things? Like about full moons?" If he and Derek are going to keep Scott alive, Stiles needs to understand. He's pretty sure that Derek likes keeping people in the dark and keeping the control, and that's fine with Stiles, honestly. He just needs to understand this world enough to help his best friend, and that's it. Probably. Stiles sneaks a look at Derek out of the corner of his eye, and continues to look when Derek's eyes are locked on something out the front windshield.

"My family," Derek starts, his eyes no longer supernaturally glowing, "has - had this in their blood for as long as I can remember hearing. We were either born this way, or we were born human, and we stay whatever way we're born. We learn the basis of control at an early age. It's easy to teach someone that, along with the growth of their character and personality," it's with a surprising amount of thoughtfulness that Derek speaks. "It's harder when the person is a emotional and hormonal wreck already, like a teenager."

"Oh," Stiles says. That makes sense. In a really terrible and foreboding sort of way, but wait. "Aren't you like, only three years older than us? As in nine-teen?" He can't help but poke fun at Derek and bother him, but Stiles is like that with everyone. He knows that one day it will get him in trouble, and today's a good bet because Derek's eyes flash again, but this time Stiles feels no danger - or rather, no more than he normally feels.

And then Derek huffs out a gruff laugh, which makes Stiles eyes widen. "I'm twenty as of two months ago," Derek says, looking out his window, but Stiles can see his exasperated smile in the reflection. It makes Stiles want to do something like cross his legs, or lean closer, or escape the car altogether. He freezes and his heart thuds when Derek turns toward him. "You know, you might normally have a point, but like I said before, our circumstances are too different. It's also different when the wolf in question - when there's no pack or structure for them. The way I learned about my powers gives a lot more leeway than how Scott has to learn." He's not smiling anymore, but he's not angry.

Stiles is quiet for a second, and actually thinks very hard on what he's about to say, before he gets over it and adjusts to the idea that there's no other way around it. "So Scott needs a pack?" Stiles asks, and Derek - freezes. There's no other word for it.

"The alpha we are after is, in a technical sense, Scott's pack. He turned Scott. And there's no real way for that to help him, as this alpha is rogue," Derek says, "and anyway, he's too old for it to do any real good if you're still trying to use my family as a baseline."

"I thought that if he has an alpha, he'd be forced to listen to them?" Stiles suggests, and glances at Derek out of the corner of his eye. "Why can't he be his own alpha? Wait, no, please completely disregard that I even suggested it because that is an awful idea and, hey," Stiles stops, and grins at Derek, bright and excited in his brilliance. Derek eyes him warily. "Why can't you be our alpha?"

"You're a moron," Derek says flatly, but Stiles knows he isn't. This is a brilliant idea! Scott needs someone he can trust to help him out, they're all working together to get this alpha, and Derek needs a pack because he's kind of lonely, Stiles thinks.

"No, this is a great idea! I mean, we're all working toward killing the alpha, and toward keeping Scott alive and safe, and if I'm in your, um, pack? Scott will definitely join in! It's a great idea, Derek, and you know it," Stiles is actually getting pretty enthused about this idea, even though he really has no idea what it means to be in a pack, or why Derek is so anti this idea.

"You were ready to turn me out of your car while I was dying of a wolfsbane-laced bullet wound I got while trying to help Scott, and you're wondering why I don't have a pack, and why you aren't in it?" Derek's voice is a low growl of incredulity, and Stiles winces.

"I'm pretty sure I've apologized for that," Stiles manages, and then hurries to say, "I'm sorry for that, truly I am, please stop growling and, you know, with the lengthening of the canines and the flashing of the eyes and oh my god please don't kill me." Stiles closes his eyes and abruptly, the terror, the danger and the urge to run leave.

"You roll over easy," Derek says, and when Stiles opens his eyes, Derek is smirking at him. Stiles abruptly wonders if he's attractive to gay guys, and gay werewolves. He is torn from moving as close to Derek as he can, because the guy's a little bit like a black hole - only slightly less dangerous - and moving as far away as possible because Stiles just doesn't understand him."That's something an alpha looks for in a member of a pack," Derek is eying him now, and Stiles knows his eyes are wider than ever.
"Um," Stiles says, because he's pretty much over his sexual identity crisis and has been since he was fourteen, but it's entirely different now, with a werewolf, in an enclosed space. Stiles understands that pack means submission to the alpha, which he's generally all right with because it's way too much work to actually deal with being in charge all of the time. It's just that - rolling over seemed kind of like a euphemism for something, the way Derek said it.

He's not sure if that's true, but he's pretty hung up on it. "Why don't you research pack dynamics and actually get an idea of what you're asking me," Derek suggests, and the tone of voice has Stiles' hair standing on end. But it's not just the tone, it's the commanding and dominant feeling that Derek is almost exuding.

Which is interesting, Stiles thinks. Derek gets angry, and Stiles gets scared. Derek is calm, and Stiles relaxes. Derek is dominant, and Stiles...wants to obey, what the fuck. Stiles squints at him. "Do you have some sort of mood control ability thing?" Stiles asks, and is pretty sure he shouldn't just blurt that out, but feels pretty damn gratified about the surprise on Derek's face.

"Not...exactly. It's related to dominance, and how sensitive to my mood people are," Derek answers, and Stiles shifts again under Derek's thoughtful gaze.

"It's a pack thing?" Stiles asks, but he's pretty sure he gets it. It's more than Derek's will, because it's not like a mind control thing. It's a mood thing, and people are unconsciously aware of it. He's seen dogs freak the hell out because Scott got angry within a hundred yards of them, and it makes Stiles look at Derek with more fear and respect, because Derek almost directs it, or reigns it in somehow. It's fascinating.

"It's stronger in pack," is all that Derek says, and this time Stiles is aware of the unsettled feeling he gets about this conversation, and knows that Derek won't say more about it. "I'm taking you back to your car now," and starts his car as emphasis. Everything about Derek discourages conversation, from his posture to the set of his mouth in a severe frown, to the feeling crawling up Stiles' spine that makes him keep quiet. It's only a five minute drive, so it's totally doable.

Derek makes it a two minute drive, and Stiles is wringing his hand out when they screech up to his car, his fingers still in the claw grip that he used on the overhead handle. "Jesus Christ, dude," Stiles says, and realizes that in his scramble for safety he gripped the steadiest thing he could find: his left hand gripping Derek's wrist tightly as he changed gears.

Stiles quickly drops the werewolf's wrist and as his hands drop to unbuckle his seatbelt. "Get out of my car," Derek says, and his voice is the most terrifying thing that Stiles has ever heard, because he looks human, but his voice is no more than a growl. Stiles trips over himself in his haste to leave the werewolf's presence.


Stiles somehow managed to avoid Derek for the rest of the week, and was pretty confident that he could continue for the weekend too, Because now, Derek is sitting on his bed and glaring at him. "I just can't escape you, can I?" Stiles asks, after he stops gaping.

This throws Derek, which is pretty cool, except for the growl. "You haven't seen me all week," Derek says, and then narrows his eyes. "Why do you have a black eye?" The chill in the room gets edged as Derek frowns, and Stiles swallows.

"No, I haven't seen you, because I've been avoiding you!" Stiles is kind of hysterical, because he has felt like he was coming out of his skin this past week. He might have been wrong about being over his sexual identity crisis, because he has been seeing Derek. In his dreams, which Stiles really doesn't want to talk about, or in his nightmares, which he'd rather have in place of his dreams. They aren't nearly as pervasive.

He had come home from meeting Derek, shaky and keyed up, and while it wasn't exactly a conscious decision on his part, Stiles stayed up until four in the morning to research pack dynamics. And then he fell asleep at his desk and woke up from a dream rather like this: coming home from school to find Derek in his bed.

Stiles watches Derek think about being avoided, and thinks about what he knows packs. Specifically, the fact that Derek, as an alpha without a pack, has no alpha female - which Stiles tries to explain to himself as unimportant but it never quite penetrates his otherwise normally porous brain - and if Stiles' idea comes to fruition, Scott would be his beta wolf, and Stiles would be the human of the pack. The omega, the punching bag. Stiles admits to himself that he routinely has terrible ideas, but volunteering to be a werewolf's punching bag is pretty much at the very top, right up there with going out to the forest in the first place.

Derek smirks, and leans back against Stiles' headboard. "So you looked up pack dynamics?" Stiles gapes at him, and how - it occurs to Stiles that he has a very powerful supernatural creature in his bedroom, who is smirking at the thought of beating the shit out of Stiles whenever he feels like it.

"Okay! Time to leave, up up, off my bed," Stiles says, and throws his book-bag near his desk, and feels pretty damn brave for turning his back on the werewolf. Who is on Stiles' bed, Stiles' brain keeps helpfully reminding him.

"Stiles," Derek says slowly, and sits up from his reclined position. "Why do you have a black eye?" Stiles turns around to face him, and wonders how he's going to answer.

"Look, Derek, I think it's a bad idea, this pack idea. Forget I mentioned it, and I'll like, help you with Scott any way I can," Stiles says, and leans back against his desk. This is his room, his, so why is it always like every room Derek is in he owns? God, it pisses Stiles off. "So you should leave now, 'kay, and we'll talk later, so bye," Stiles is firm when he says it, but Derek isn't moving. He is staring at Stiles, and as Stiles watches he takes a deep breath.

Derek's eyes track up from Stiles chest, where his heart is beating erratically, to his eye. "I'm guessing you mentioned your idea to Scott, and he then did some research, argued, and convinced you it was a terrible idea by getting angry and losing control," Derek says, and swings his legs over the side of Stiles' bed to stand, which is somehow much, much worse than him lying down.

"It's not like either of us planned it to go like that, dude! And it is a terrible idea, pretty much for the reasons that we argued about. I mean, I'm not like you, how can I hope to even - okay, why are you transforming holy shit please stop," Stiles' voice gets higher because of the hysteria he feels bubbling up in his throat, and to his surprise, Derek does stop. He takes one deep breath, and then another, and Stiles feels the calm settle.

"I'm beginning to think that there's been a misunderstanding, here," Derek says, his voice raw. He takes one step closer to Stiles, and another, like he's worried about spooking him, which Stiles thinks is absolutely hilarious considering that there's one animal in the room, and it's not the metaphorical elephant. The elephant is Stiles' gay for Derek, Stiles' mind helpfully supplies, as Derek stops in front of him, barely a breath away.

"Oh, yeah?" Stiles asks, swallowing heavily. He's trapped between the desk and Derek, and when Derek's hands come up to rest on his hips, Stiles whimpers a little.

The sound makes Derek smirk. "Who's the only person who can actually get your idiot best friend to do anything?" Derek asks, but Stiles is distracted by Derek's thumb, which is up under his shirt, rubbing Stiles' hip with firm strokes. "Stiles, hey, give me an answer," Derek says, and the rubbing stops. Stiles shifts forward before he can think about it.

"Alison, I mean, he doesn't even listen to his mom usually anymore," Stiles says, and sucks in a breath as Derek leans forward and pins Stiles against his desk, his cheek rubbing against Stiles' as he speaks directly into Stiles' ear.

"Or you," Derek says, and Stiles kind of...stops. He can get Scott to do things, but that's because Scott trusts him and usually lets Stiles manipulate him. Which kind of puts a new spin on this whole pack dynamic thing that he wasn't expecting, and that Scott definitely won't be expecting.

"Wow," Stiles says, and awkwardly grips Derek's shirt. "But I'm not a chick," Stiles says, and since he's hard against Derek's thigh, he's pretty sure Derek knows. Derek kisses him faster than Stiles can imagine, holding him in place with firm hands on his hips when Stiles tries to get closer.

"Neither am I," Derek says, and it's interesting how his whole body rumbles under Stiles' hands, as he gets them under Derek's shirt. He's not leaning Stiles over the desk and just taking, which Stiles is kind of surprised about, but he takes it as a sign to lean forward and catch Derek's lips again.

"Okay, I know, I just," Stiles just has certain assumptions about the lore he has read, and being a female seemed kind of important. He stops talking when Derek growls, but it doesn't make Stiles feel unsafe, even when he nudges Stiles' jaw up, makes him tilt his head back, and when he nips at Stiles' neck. "Oh," Stiles says, and god, he's spreading his legs so Derek can get in between them before it's a conscious thought.

Stiles has to admit to himself that he would even if it were a conscious thought. "I can smell your arousal," Derek says as he takes a deep breath against Stiles' throat, though his nose, and breaths out hot to make Stiles shiver. "In the car, I could smell your arousal, but you're as self aware as a door," Derek bites him to make a point, it seems, and Stiles knows that when his pulse jumps Derek can hear it.

"I'm plenty self aware," Stiles insists, and gets bitten harder for his trouble. "No marks, god, my dad would kill me. Or you," Stiles adds as an afterthought, and slumps against his desk when Derek laves at him with his tongue.

"Come on," Derek doesn't quite lift Stiles, but guides him firmly off the desk and toward the bed. Stiles braces himself for the fall when Derek pushes him, and starts to spread his legs again for Derek. "Uh-uh," Derek says, and just leans over to kiss him again, biting Stiles lip when he opens his mouth to Derek's tongue. "Roll over."


It's more difficult that Stiles expected, breathing while Derek's fingers stretch him and lube him up. "Ah, fuck," he says, pushing his face into his forearm. His breath hitches every time Derek hits that spot in him, the one he avoids thinking about because of the detailed anatomy classes he's taken. "Please, please, please, just - oh," Stiles moans when the fingers inside of him press hard and firm, and constant pressure that has his dick twitching.

He wants nothing more than to jerk himself off while Derek's fingering him, but he's holding himself up with one hand, and Derek has his other in a tight grip, forcing Stiles to help hold himself spread for Derek's fingers. "Keep begging," Derek says, and shoves in deep, three fingers into Stiles up to the knuckle, unless Stiles lost count and he's one digit away from getting fisted, because holy fuck. There's a burn, but it's not exactly painful. It's like the feeling he gets after running hard at practice only much better, for a much cooler reason. He's not going to be a virgin for much longer.

Stiles grins against his arm and rocks back onto Derek's fingers. He's so full, it's so foreign, but it feels so good. "Please Derek, please, don't stop, oh god," Stiles doesn't need to be told to continue begging, because he's not sure he can shut up. He's rarely able to normally, and it seems like each time Derek moves, he's drawing a sound out of Stiles.

"You're tight," Derek says, and Stiles feels tightly wound, but not tight. He moans at the loss of the feel of Derek's fingers as they slowly pull out, but they come back quickly and they're even wetter. He's probably using Stiles' full bottle of lotion, and these sheets will have to be changed before his dad's home, but it's so worth it to feel Derek pressing deeper inside him and setting off sparks of pleasure.

"I - yes, oh please," Stiles says, and tries to spread a little wider, wanting more of Derek deeper. "Please, Derek," he's still begging, wanting more, but he clenches around Derek's fingers at the thought of Derek's cock. Maybe he is tight, Stiles thinks, because the idea of a dick going into him is a strange mixture of scary and mind-numbingly hot.

"I'm sure you read a lot these past days," Derek starts, and Stiles can't control his full-body shudder at the particularly deep and forceful thrust into him, oh god with Derek's pinky sliding inside. Stiles is moaning loudly, so glad that his dad isn't home, Derek is practically taking apart Stiles' sanity with his fingers. "But when this happens," Derek continues speaking, leaning over Stiles to say it directly into Stiles' ear, "you're mine, and no one else's. No girls at school, no boys, just me."

The bones in Stiles' hand creak with the force of Derek's grip, and Derek's words bring a clarity to his brain, like a penlight through the sex-haze of his mind. He's always had a thing for Lydia, always. It wasn't even conscious, it was just there, always in the back of his mind. Sure, Stiles knows that isn't healthy, but he's in bed with a werewolf who is about to fuck him raw, and claim him as part of his pack.

Healthy is relative, Stiles supposes, and he whines high in the back of his throat as Derek's fingers - god, half his hand is in Stiles' ass - curl into Stiles' prostate. He shivers as a drop of body-heated lotion slides out of him with Derek's fingers, and drips down him, leaving a cooling trail on his balls. It's strange how it's slightly heartbreaking, and feels like how infidelity must feel, but Stiles knows that he can't live without this, and that Lydia could never give him this, and that she would never try. Derek will give him this and wants to, wants it as much as Stiles does.

Maybe more than Stiles does, but only because Stiles probably doesn't grasp what pack truly means, except that he'll never be alone again and he'll always have a place to go, and that he'll always have this.

"More," Stiles grunts, and knows that this is the bravest thing he has ever done, and the stupidest, and the most selfish, but god. Now that he knows this feeling, and knows that it's only going to get bigger, and more, and better...Stiles is impatient to get Derek inside of him, so that he can have this feeling again later, and tomorrow, and after that. "Please, please, I'm ready and I want more, and," Stiles cuts off, moaning as Derek lets go of his hand. His bones pop when he clenches it, and moves it down to brace himself as Derek slowly pulls his fingers out of Stiles' ass.

"Good," Derek growls, and it sends a shiver down Stiles' spine, like it's a warning and a promise. He takes a deep breath, and then concentrates on how much he wants to be full again, and on the sounds of Derek, god, slicking his cock.

Stiles tries, mostly in vain, to spread his legs wider. He gasps at the feel of Derek, the head of his cock bumping against Stiles so hot and slick. Derek spreads him with one hand and lines up with the other, pushing in at a slow but undeniable and firm pace. "Motherfuck," Stiles says, because he just had four fingers in his ass, and it's still not an easy adjustment to get the head of Derek's dick into him.

"Shut up," Derek says, low and panting now, "because I'm fighting every instinct I have by going this slow," slow is good, Stiles thinks, because Derek keeps going, and then keeps going some more, pushing into him and Stiles feels so full. "If you beg for it now I'll just give it to you," Derek's voice is as dark and deep as Stiles as ever heard it, and he knows a warning when he hears one.

He just usually ignores them. "God, please, Derek, I want," Stiles says, but the rest is lost in his garbled scream as Derek snarls and shoves in. He's so deep inside Stiles that Stiles feels broken, like Derek took him apart and is in the process of rebuilding him, with a place for Derek inside.

It hurts so much, way more than he thought, but then one of Derek's hands slide down to Stiles' cock and just pets it, cards through his hair down there and tugs, before jacking him off. Stiles moans weakly, his hips held firm in Derek's grip, Derek's cock heavy and thick and so fucking big inside him. Derek doesn't stop moving inside him, and each stroke of his cock feels like it's pulling Stiles apart, but it's good in a way he's never felt before because it's in him, rubbing against that spot inside him viciously.

"You fucking idiot," Derek says, and then Stiles is flattened to the bad from the force of a thrust, and another, and Derek's moving so fast inside of him, using him, and Stiles still can't move his hips from Derek's grip. The hand on his cock is still, but that isn't as important as the cock that's fucking into him so forcefully, moving his entire body with the thrusts.

"It's been said," Stiles agrees with him, moaning, the words muffled by the bed his face is pressed against. Derek is owning him, claiming him, and it's getting to be too much. Stiles is going to come soon, and he wants it, wants it so badly, and when he clenches on Derek's cock he gets it. Stiles' body tenses, and the drag of Derek in and out of his body is almost painful again because he's so tight. Derek snarls, his body draping over Stiles, breathing deeply against Stiles' back. "Derek, please," Stiles begs, and Derek's hand moves over Stiles dick, through the come on it, and jacks him while he's still shooting. He stops thrusting while Stiles comes, and Stiles wonders how it feels, the way his body is clenching around Derek's cock.

"Goddamn it," Derek growls, and Stiles can feel him, the shaking of tensing hard to keep still. Stiles is nearly boneless after, and Derek smears his come up his chest, gripping a slick hand around his throat to pull him back hard. Stiles moans, so sensitive now, so fucked out and pliant that Derek can move him however he wants, and it feels wonderful to be manhandled like that, to just have to lie and take it. Derek's grip is firm on his neck but not hard, and Stiles leans into it, resting against it, happy with the way Derek tugs him back onto his cock. He couldn't move on his own if he tried.

It's so hard for him to think now, and he never stops thinking really, but now he's sort of floating, trapped happily between Derek's hand on his throat and the cock in him, rubbing him inside. It feels so good, like he could stay under Derek forever and just have this. Stiles does wince when Derek starts to come, because he shoves in hard, pulling Stiles against him, strength barely reigned in, and Stiles can feel the tips of claws that miraculously don't sink into his skin. "Oh," Stiles says, because he can feel Derek coming inside him, pulsing long and deep and sloppy as he gives a few more short thrusts.

He doesn't do more than bury his face in between Stiles' shoulders and growl, his whole body rumbling when he's done. His weight presses Stiles down into the mattress, but it's not uncomfortable until Derek lifts up off of him and carefully pulls out. "Shh, you're okay," Derek says roughly, his hands coming to rest on Stiles' hips.

"Mm, yeah, I'm great," Stiles agrees, sore in all the right places. He's sated and tired, and would like Derek to lie down so he can - "Whoa," Stiles says, his eyes flying open at the feel of Derek's hands spreading his ass. "Not that great, man," Stiles manages, shuddering at the feel of Derek's thumb rubbing against him.

"Shut up," Derek says, but this time there's some fondness in his voice that Stiles is pretty sure he's not imagining. "I got rough," he explains, though his voice is kind of distracted, and Stiles can feel him push a little harder, and knows that Derek's watching his come leak out of Stiles and feeling all alpha about it.

"Come here, be smug later," Stiles demands, and shifts so that when Derek does lie next to him that they can kiss. Derek lets it happen Stiles' way for longer than Stiles expects, before he moves Stiles' body the way he wants. Stiles lets himself be sprawled on Derek, and props himself up on the werewolf's chest for more making out. He's pretty sure that Derek's still being terribly smug, but as long as he continues to multitask, and as long as he's out of the house before Stiles' dad comes home, they're okay.