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We'll Stay Where We've Gone

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Beacon Hills is a small town in Northern California, ten miles in from the coast but hidden away somehow amidst trees and backroads. For nine months out of the year, the town is quiet and isn’t known as a vacation spot by any means of the word. That is, until it’s time for the Rennaissance Faire. Just outside of town, deep in the woods just off the highway lies standing structures year round that are only used for a few weeks out of the year.

Stiles grew up doing the faire with his mother. Every fall, they would do workshops and rehearsals together, along with other locals and people who traveled the United States doing other faires. People came from all over to come to the faire, and it brought tourists into the town as well.

During nine months out of the year, he was plain old Stiles Stilinski, the sheriff’s son who barely warmed the bench for lacrosse games and couldn’t manage to get a date to save his life. During the faire, though, he was someone else completely. He’d done it each year since he could remember, at first holding the hand of his mother dressed in period clothes she’d made him.

Now, he was eighteen, and it would be his first faire without a guardian. Stiles was ready to run amok; he was free.

Stiles dressed in period clothes, much like the others who worked at the faire. He wore a tunic, long-sleeved though he normally rolled them up to his elbows, with a lace up vest along with breeches that were cross gartered up to his knees and kept in place with a leather belt that held a pouch to hold odds and ends. He wore a biggins that hung loose around his head to keep his unruly hair in check, along with soft sole low cut leather boots. Sometimes he wore a hat over his biggins, but usually he opted not to because as a peasant, he felt like it would be too much for the character he played.

As a character, Stiles usually roamed the faire freely, except for key points in the day that he was expected to participate in specific duties such as walking in the morning procession that opened the faire each day, rousing the crowd before and during jousts, a lunch performance of sorts that consisted of shouting insults and possibly instigating food fights, and then closing the day out with another parade. Apart from that, Stiles was background, ambiance to the faire. He helped set the tone, bring life to it and that was why he spent his weekends doing it, why he did it year after year. He liked feeling a part of something, like he belonged.

Opening day was a big deal. There was a morning meeting, just like there was before every day that the faire opened, but the first official day open had everyone buzzing. There were hundreds of people that worked at the faire, from merchants to professionals such as the jousters to characters like Stiles. Everyone had their part to play, and everyone was essential.

Next to Stiles stood his best friend, Scott, who was like Stiles, a character who roamed the faire. They usually hung together, playing off each other and improving small skits for entertaining guests a la Rosencrantz and the Guildenstern. They goofed around, made people laugh. Even behind the scenes, as announcements were made, they couldn’t seem to break character since they were so similar to their normal selves.

Stiles was elbowed and hushed from behind by one of the merchants.

“Stilinski, I swear to god,” they hissed, without malice, as they shook his shoulders. Stiles grew up around these people and they were more like a family than anything else.

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles mumbled, though he kept laughing as he looked to Scott who had his hand over his mouth to keep from bringing more attention to them. While successfully blocking out most of the daily announcements, Stiles scanned the crowd. Everyone was huddled close together, having just eaten breakfast that had been served from the kitchens. Stiles was full of eggs and potatoes, enough to keep him going until lunchtime. Around him, others had coffee, served black. He hated the taste, so he usually declined the offer even though it was free.

His gaze cast over the faces of the actors, those who played real historic figures such as Queen Elizabeth I and her court, catching on the jousters. They weren’t like the others who were either locals or ran the Renaissance circuit. The jousters were a contracted company that traveled around to different faires on their own, trained professionals who would rather spend time alone tending to their horses than mingling with townies like Stiles.

That didn’t mean Stiles didn’t like looking, though. The knights were hired for a reason, and that reason was that they were fucking beautiful to look at. Sure, they had a pretty precise skill set, and were amazing horseback riders, but Stiles wasn’t naive to the fact that crowds reacted superficially to the jousters just as they did to the Queen’s court, her ladies-in-waiting. Stiles and Scott both spent their formative years pining after the Queen’s court, their characters fawning over them, though they never so much as batted an eye at them since they were nothing more than mere peasants.

That was besides the point.

The real point was, it was the jousters that made Stiles realize at a rather young age that he swung both ways, straddling the metaphorical fence that was sexuality. He could fawn over the Queen’s court all day, or he could get hard watching knights battle. He wasn’t picky.

In years past, the faire had used the same jousting company, but this year they contracted a different company so none of the faces were familiar to Stiles. Sure, they were at the workshops, but they practiced separately. They spent their time practicing with their horses, sparring each other, and other knightly things of which Stiles wasn’t a part. He barely interacted with them, and yet one kept catching his attention.

Derek Hale hadn’t spoken a word to Stiles in the weeks leading up to opening day, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t shared moments. There had been a few run-ins, as Stiles called them, that usually ended with a death glare of some sort from Derek. Stiles liked to call his reactions manly, but really what they were could only be described as ‘fear boners’.

Stiles caught Derek staring, so he winked at him, proud of the fact that he got a derisive scowl in return before Derek turned his attention back towards the announcements. When they were done, the crowd dispersed, leaving everyone to do any last minute preparations before they opened the gates and started the procession.

Scott jumped up and down, letting out his excess energy as Stiles stretched, doing his own personal form of yoga that looked more like his limbs were flailing every which way.

“So,” Scott said with a grin on his face. “Freedom.”

“Freedom, my good sir,” Stiles joked, slapping Scott on the arm, poking him repeatedly afterwards. “Freedom from my dad will be glorious,” Stiles sing-songed. “This year is going to be the best year for us, Scotty.”

“Do you think I’ll finally get with Allison?” Scott asked wistfully as he looked towards where Allison stood off to one side, talking with her father. Allison was a Rennie, homeschooled and traveling the country with her family who sold weaponry. Allison was an excellent swordsmith, learning from the best, and had quite a skill at throwing daggers. She scared Stiles, if he was being completely honest.

“Dude, you could get it if you, you know, talked to her,” Stiles pointed out encouragingly. It wasn’t that Scott hadn’t talked to Allison, it was that he only did it when he was in character. To Stiles, that wasn’t the same at all. When he stepped through the doors that lead out to the faire, he wasn’t really Stiles anymore. He would say and do things out there that he wouldn’t when he was at school or at home hanging out with his father. He was more confident while working at the faire, as was Scott. “Now’s the time, Scotty,” Stiles said, nudging Scott towards Allison. “Get in there before someone else does.”

With a lopsided smile, Scott headed for Allison as everyone got ready to open the faire. Stiles wasn’t left alone for long, because Kira came along. Kira was a fairy, and spent most of her days surrounded by children at the faire, handing them paper flowers and generally being the adorable pixie that she was.

“Ready for another year?” she asked, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. Stiles grinned as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Last year they’d gotten close, especially during the school year because Kira had been new to Beacon Hills.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, looking over at Derek one more time before the parade procession lined up. “Definitely.”


As far as first days went, Stiles considered it one of the best. He and Scott had quite a crowd going as they entertained by the Sword shop that Allison worked at. Scott even caught Allison watching, which Stiles knew would brighten his friend’s day. The first luncheon had been a success, with their faux fight well received by guests.

After the first joust of the afternoon, which was an exhibition of the knights’ skills more than anything, Stiles found himself backstage for a break, lounging by one of the tents, laying on the ground. He’d forgotten how easy it was to fall into the comings and goings of the faire. It reminded him of his mother, which always left a somber note on the day.

Stiles craned his neck, lifting his chin to see upside down when he heard hushed voices that threatened to become louder. It was Derek, along with one of the other knights, a man named Boyd, who seemed to be going at it about something or other. Stiles twisted his body, rolling over onto his stomach as he watched, eavesdropping as best he could despite the distance.

“You sure you’re okay with it?” Boyd asked as Derek shrugged a shoulder, clearly put off by whatever they were discussing.

“I don’t have a say in what she does or doesn’t do,” Derek said, his face pinched. Stiles thought that Derek had a perma-scowl, just by the way his mouth was always down turned and his brow drawn together. Stiles wasn’t sure who they were talking about but that didn’t bother him. He decided then and there that what he wanted most was to get Derek to laugh.

He only had to be smart about how he went about it.

Stiles spent the early afternoons, after luncheon, in the Queen’s gardens where he helped facilitate her afternoon tea by mingling with guests, as ambiance. Usually he spent it giving furtive glances to Lydia, but he found himself instead thinking of ways to grab Derek’s attention.

It wasn’t until his short break before rousing the crowd just before the main joust of the day that he even got a chance to be near Derek. He was merely backstage to get a drink of water and use the bathroom when he ran into him on accident. By run into him, Stiles meant that he literally smacked right into Derek.

Stiles ended up on the ground while Derek hovered over him, his eyebrows drawn together and his mouth a thin line, clearly unamused.

“Holy shit,” Stiles said, not really expecting the sheer muscle mass that made him end up on the ground. Derek was built like a mack truck, apparently. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

“Obviously,” Derek said, sighing. Stiles was surprised when he offered a hand to help Stiles back to his feet.

“I’m Stiles,” Stiles said as he let go of Derek’s hand, then dusted off his ass. Derek watched Stiles do it as he flexed his hand as if burned by Stiles’ touch.

“I know,” Derek said, lifting an eyebrow. Stiles’ jaw dropped, only for a moment, out of shock. He had no idea that Derek knew he existed. “Peasant, rabble rouser, runs around with the moppy haired kid--”

“Scott,” Stiles interjected, then closed his mouth, biting his lips at the glare Derek gave him.

“Right,” Derek said curtly, looking away from Stiles as if bored. When his gaze returned, he lifted both eyebrows as if surprised Stiles was still standing in front of him.

“Oh, okay, I get it,” Stiles said, pointing towards the gate that lead back to the faire. “I’m just gonna-- go.”

For the joust, Stiles was a crowd rouser for the red knight, a man named Ennis, who was bigger than Derek, which Stiles thought was impossible. Ennis’ knight name was Sir Hector.

As a crowd rouser, it was Stiles’ job to give a backstory, shouting for all of his section to hear as he made up stories about Sir Hector, while heckling the other knight’s and making the crowd laugh so they wouldn’t get bored before the festivities began. When Stiles saw Derek, named Sir Blackwell, in blue, Stiles decided that he’d choose Derek to poke fun at.

“Sour knight’s have no friends!” Stiles called out, cupping his mouth with his hands. He was pretty sure Derek heard him. Turning back towards his crowd, Stiles put his hands on his hips.
Sir Hector, Ennis, was technically one of the ‘bad’ knights, so Stiles had to play up his faux evilness as much as possible before the joust started.

“Blood makes the grass grow, kill! Kill! Kill!” Stiles had the crowd shouting. Once the joust started, Stiles found himself cheering with everyone else, and booing when any knight who wasn’t the red one got points. There were four knights competing, red, blue, yellow, and green, and unfortunately for Ennis, he was the first out, having been forced off his horse during one of the runs, giving Derek points for dismantling Ennis.

Stiles watched on, cheering and jeering throughout as it came down to Derek and Boyd, who was the green knight.

“2, 4, 6, 8 who do we decapitate?” Stiles shouted as loud as he could, jumping up onto the wooden fence that separated himself from the joust. “Sir Blackwell, Sir Blackwell, Sir Blackwell kill him dead!”

The crowd behind Stiles erupted in boos as Derek burst his lance on Boyd’s chest, winning him the joust. Stiles scowled, sticking his tongue out as he thumbs-downed the winner as he made his victory lap around the small stadium. Everyone then quieted down as the Queen congratulated him. Derek was given a prize, his section cheering loudly for him.

As the crowd subsided, Stiles made his way to the backstage area, grabbing water for his parched throat after all the yelling he did. Scott came bounding over, beaming because he’d been Sir Blackwell’s rouser.

“Did you see that?!” Scott asked, shaking Stiles as he too, grabbed water, gulping it down. “He was awesome.” Stiles shrugged as the knights filtered through, sweating with their armour on, holding their helmets.

“It was okay, I’ve seen better,” Stiles said, catching Derek’s eye as he walked past. He smirked as soon as Derek had his back turned. If he couldn’t make him laugh, then taunting him was definitely the way Stiles wanted to go.

The rest of his afternoon was easy peasy, as far as he was concerned. He and Scott walked around, gathering a small crowd for a short improv that had everyone laughing before they ended the first day at the faire with the closing parade. Before Stiles knew it, the sun was going down and the gates were closed.

He was tired, but the good sort of tired that had him smiling as everyone helped close up the faire for the night before heading back towards the camp. Even though Stiles lived in town, he and Scott camped out for the weekends on the lot of the faire with everyone else because it was easier, and this was the first year he’d get to do it.

They changed into regular clothes, then headed for the bonfire that had been lit. Meals were provided, which was a godsend during the day when they were busiest. It was a tradition to order in pizza on opening faire day from a local pizzeria, which happened to be Stiles’ favorite. He grabbed three pieces, one pepperoni, one veggie, and one cheese, then sat down in front of the fire.

He was minding his own business, halfway into his third slice, when Derek sat down next to him, his hair wet from a quick shower. He was shirtless as well, wearing only a pair of sweatpants and shoes. Stiles’ mouth hung open at the sight, and he wasn’t the only one. He caught some of the merchants ogling Derek as well, so he didn’t feel quite so bad.

“Have a problem?” Derek asked as he lifted his pizza, taking a big bite of it. Stiles shook his head, downing his drink in order to look away from his chiseled chest, with hair Stiles wanted to run his fingers through.

It wasn’t fair.

Stiles couldn’t even grow a shitty mustache, didn’t really need to shave and here Derek was, hairy chest, scruff that would leave stubble burn, and Stiles really needed to excuse himself. Smug, Derek grinned as he took a sip of his own drink.

Stiles looked around, finding the other knights all sitting together a ways away.

The faire became a sort of commune, where everyone camped out together and spent their nights conversing and having fun. Stiles had always wanted to join in, but his father insisted they go home once the gates were closed for the day. In a way, Stiles knew exactly why his father wanted to keep him away from it, but it made Stiles want to camp out with everyone all the more.

Stiles could hear people having sex in tents nearby, and could smell pot from where he sat. Everyone around them had alcohol, even Derek probably had something in his cup. It wasn’t that Stiles never drank, because that would be a lie, but high school parties where they snuck alcohol was different than this.

“What are you drinking?” Stiles asked, emboldened by his new freedom. Derek lifted an eyebrow, looking down at his cup.

“Coke,” Derek said tersely.

“Coke and--?” Stiles asked, leaning forward, wiggling his eyebrows, taunting Derek. Derek scoffed as he took another sip.

“Jack,” he said, his face close to Stiles’. Stiles’ cheeks reddened, but he didn’t back down, he couldn’t.

“Care to share some with me?” Stiles asked, tilting his cup back and forth. Derek let out a laugh, which made Stiles grin. Mission accomplished.

“It’s back at my trailer,” Derek said with a tilt of his head, as if calculating. Stiles couldn’t look away from Derek’s lips, licking his own as he nodded his head.

“Okay,” Stiles said, his voice breathy. Derek stood up, walking away from the fire. Dazed, Stiles shook his head, not believing that this was happening. He watched as Derek threw out his paper plate, then turned back to make sure Stiles followed him. Stiles scrambled to get to his feet, almost tripping on nothing as he caught up to Derek, weaving in and out of the crowd of people, though they were spread out across the camp site. His and Scott’s tent was in the opposite direction, but he was sure that he’d be able to find his way back to it afterwards.

Derek’s trailer looked like any other trailer, Stiles was sure of it. It had it’s own mini kitchen, with a fridge, and a bathroom, which Stiles was jealous of. He’d need to become best buds with Derek so he could use it instead of using one of the porta-potties to take a dump in. They were disgusting.

Stiles watched as Derek opened one of the cupboards, finding it stocked with different kinds of alcohol. Derek seemed to favor whiskeys, from what Stiles could see. Derek reached his hand out for Stiles’ cup. Stiles handed it over to him, their fingers brushing together as Derek took it from him, pouring Jack Daniels liberally into the mostly empty cup.

Playing it off as if it was no big deal, Stiles swept his hand back, scratching along the nape of his neck as he watched Derek pour more and more alcohol into his cup, then he added some Coke. Stiles lifted the corner of his mouth, a small smirk at the splash of Coke atop his almost full cup of Jack.

“Trying to get me drunk?” Stiles asked, licking his lips before he brought the cup up to his mouth. It tasted strong, way stronger than Stiles cared for, but he wasn’t going to turn it down. Derek watched Stiles drink, his face impassive as ever. Stiles didn’t break eye contact as he kept drinking, making a face when he finally swallowed down a big mouthful. The burn made his eyes water. He coughed, which wasn’t what he had planned on doing. That made Derek grin.

“Here,” Derek said, pouring more Coke into Stiles’ cup. “I think I made that a little strong.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek, because he’d known full well how strong he’d made it. He’d just wanted to see Stiles choke.

Stiles reddened as he turned towards the door, ready to make his way back to the party, when he noticed that Derek had an XBox 360 hooked up, along with a nice size screen considering it was a trailer.

“Holy shit,” Stiles said, turning back towards Derek. “Isn’t that the game that came out yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, shrugging a shoulder. Stiles hadn’t saved up enough money to buy it yet, and his hands itched with the need to play it. “Want to play?”

“Hell yeah,” Stiles said, sliding onto the bench, putting his cup down on the table, facing the TV. Derek slid in next to him, their shoulders bumping together as they both squeezed into the small space. Even their knees knocked together as Derek handed Stiles a controller.

He felt a pretty good body buzz going by the time he was on his second drink, couldn’t even feel the burn as it went down anymore. Stiles lost track of the time as he and Derek played, not even carrying his phone with him to check for texts or missed calls.

“We should get back,” Derek said, bringing Stiles out of some sort of drunken stupor where he’d apparently been staring at the blank TV. Stiles nodded his head numbly as he got off of the bench. Derek held out his hand for balance, helping Stiles stay upright as he laughed at himself, wobbly on his own feet.

The fire was burning low when they returned to it, and Scott wasn’t in sight. Stiles hadn’t really been paying attention as he walked, Derek in tow, as he continued sipping on his drink. He could hear people having sex around them in the tents as they passed, along with others playing music by the fire. Pockets of people sat around chatting, passing around a bowl. Stiles could smell it, his nose scrunched up.

He was the son of the sheriff in more ways than in others. Alcohol he’d drink, but he’d never get away with smoking pot, ever. Stiles turned his head back to make sure Derek was still with him. It wasn’t until then that he realized that he’d been leading Derek back to his tent, their fingers intertwined. Stiles looked down at his hand in Derek’s, staring at it for far too long to be considered normal. Derek tugged him closer, his face hovering near Stiles’. All Stiles had to do was lean in, and his lips would be on Derek’s. It would be that easy, as Derek’s gaze stayed on Stiles’ mouth. Derek took the initiative, leaning in further, but Stiles turned his head away at the last minute. Derek’s mouth grazed Stiles’ cheek, his nose brushing across Stiles’ ear as he kept Stiles close.

Stiles closed his eyes as Derek mouthed down his neck, barely touching him. Stiles’ hand covered Derek’s as his heart hammered in his chest. He’d almost kissed Derek Hale. Derek had wanted to kiss Stiles, and that should be okay, it was more than okay if that happened. One night stands happened at faire, casual sex was a thing, a thing that Stiles definitely wanted.

When Stiles turned his head in search for Derek’s he found Derek’s mouth easily, his lips catching on Derek’s in an open-mouthed kiss where Derek tilted his head perfectly in sync with Stiles’ movement as if he’d been waiting for Stiles to make the move. Stiles smiled against the kiss as he pressed his body against Derek’s.

As the kiss ended, Stiles let out a low moan, his lips trailing after Derek’s. Derek put a hand on Stiles’ cheek, holding him back as they made eye contact.

“Do you taunt everyone you want to sleep with?” Derek asked as he brushed a thumb across Stiles’ kiss reddened lips. Stiles grinned, teasing Derek by almost biting his thumb in return.

“Wouldn’t the question be ‘who don’t you taunt?’. Sleeping with you has nothing to do with who I taunt.”

“Really,” Derek said, his other hand at the small of Stiles’ back. “So you calling me a Sour Knight is what you’d call anyone.”

“No,” Stiles said, tilting his head back as he gave Derek a cheshire cat grin. He slipped a hand into the back pocket of Derek’s pants, confident in the move by how Derek was holding onto the back of Stiles’ neck. “You’re the Sour Knight. Boyd, well, I haven’t got a taunt for him yet.”

“So I’m right,” Derek stated.

“You win the prize,” Stiles said a little too loudly.

“Which is?” Derek asked. Instead of answering, Stiles kissed him because it felt right to do it. His mind was hazy, but Derek’s hands on him felt amazing. Their kisses became hurried as their hands began to roam. One day at faire, and Stiles was already getting some. He fucking loved being eighteen, it was like an entirely different faire already.

“My tent,” Stiles said.

“I won your tent?” Derek asked, his teeth raking across Stiles’ bottom lip. Stiles groaned as he rolled his eyes.

“No, ass,” Stiles hissed. “Let’s get in my tent.”

“Wouldn’t my trailer be better?” Derek asked. Stiles didn’t have time for logic like that, he wanted to get off.

“Too far,” Stiles said, dragging himself away from Derek enough to get them moving once more. His eyes scanned the rows of tents, grumbling to himself about how they all looked the same. When he found it, he lifted his hands up in triumph, effectively spilling his drink.

“I found it,” Stiles declared, about to open it when he stopped dead in his tracks. There were noises coming from his tent. He looked to Derek, who had his hands shoved into his pockets with a smirk on his face. “Someone’s in my tent.”

“I can hear that,” Derek said, smug. Stiles’ cheeks reddened at the moans coming from it.

“Oh, Scott!”

“Oh god,” Stiles said, covering his mouth with his hand as he fake gagged. “Oh god, Scott’s having sex.” Derek laughed as he pulled Stiles away from the tent. He and Scott were definitely brothers from another mother, but he decided he didn’t ever want to hear Scott having sex again. That was crossing a line he’d rather not cross.

“I’ve been sexiled,” Stiles said. “On the first night!”

“You’ll be fine,” Derek surmised as he guided Stiles back towards the trailer. “We’ve got room.”

“We?” Stiles asked as they stepped back into the trailer. Stiles’ eyes widened when he saw Boyd sitting down at the table, eating a sandwich. “Ah,” Stiles said, leaning against the door. Boyd lifted an eyebrow at him as he took a bite of his sandwich.

“What’s going on?” Boyd asked Derek.

“Stiles needs a place to crash,” Derek said, his demeanor completely shifted to the semi-camaraderie Stiles swore he felt between the two of them moments before, along with when Derek had his tongue down Stiles’ throat but hey, he could have made it up.

“Already?” Boyd asked.

“Sexiled,” Stiles said, forlornly. Boyd gave an understanding nod.

“You better not snore.”

Stiles didn’t know what he really expected the sleeping situation to be in the trailer, but apparently the table folded down and the bench sort of went away and cushions appeared to make some sort of surprise couch. It was all very technical and to be honest, Stiles wasn’t paying attention because of the alcohol. Fact was, Stiles’ bed was not, in fact, a sleeping bag on the floor, but a surprise couch that came from nowhere. Stiles wasn’t complaining, not one bit. The only thing that he could complain about was the fact that he had blue balls, but he decided it wasn’t the time or place to take care of it.

He’d wait until morning, or a shower.

Stiles woke up to the sound of someone banging around. He opened his eyes, squinting as he frowned, to the sight of Derek in sweatpants, yet again with no shirt on. Stiles groaned. Derek turned his head to look at him, but seemed unimpressed with Stiles’ inability to move quite yet.

“Do I smell coffee?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, and it’s not the shit they give us for free,” Derek mused as he turned around fully, leaning against the small counter space to give Stiles a full view of him. Stiles almost had that last night, from what he recalled. “We have about an hour before the gates open.”

“Oh, good,” Stiles croaked.

“Want to shower?” Derek asked. Stiles fell off the couch.

“Together?” Stiles asked. Derek’s mouth was a thin line, clearly not a joker first thing in the morning.
“Haha,” Stiles said to himself as he got up. “Alright, no humor in the morning, got it. Yeah, a shower would be great.”

“Don’t use all our hot water,” Derek said as Stiles stretched, excited to get an unexpected shower out of his weekend. Stiles stripped down, stepping into the spray. The shower stall was tiny he wasn’t sure how Derek or Boyd fit in it to begin with since they were both bigger than he was. He barely fit in height wise, but he had a hard time turning around in a circle. At least the water pressure was okay, he’d half expected for it to trickle out of the spout.

Stiles was going to jack off, he really was, but then he decided that he didn’t want to risk it, what with the walls of the trailer being so thin and the fact that he was not at all quiet; he was a moaner and he knew it. That didn’t mean that his dick wasn’t interested, though, because it was. Stiles teased himself by stroking off a few times, but thought better of it. Stiles used a towel to dry off as quickly as possible before he put his clothes from the day before back on. When Stiles emerged from the world’s smallest bathroom, Derek was no where to be seen.

He left the trailer without a word, walking his way through the camp. Some watched him head towards his tent, others went about their own business. After all, he wasn’t the only one that would be doing some form of a walk of shame. Only, there as no shame involved. People had sex, most of it casually at faire, and besides he didn’t. They hadn’t even done anything. He’d been sexiled, in fact.

When he got to his tent, Scott was just getting dressed as well.

“Dude,” Stiles said as he climbed in, zipping it up once he was inside. They couldn’t really stand up straight, so it was more like a crouch, but still. “It smells in here.”

“I’ll air it out,” Scott said. “You’ll never guess--”

“Allison,” Stiles said as he rummaged through his duffel bag, stripping down once more in order to change. “I heard.”

“Oh, well, yeah,” Scott said, sounding hurt for a moment before he broke out into a grin. “It was amazing.”

“Sounded like it,” Stiles said, finding his mood diminishing. Derek had acted standoffish, in a way, which was disconcerting. He wasn’t a fan of the hot/cold thing, alcohol or not. Stiles let out a sigh as he began fastening his crossed garters.

“Where’d you go?” Scott asked.

“Found a place to crash,” Stiles mumbled. “No biggie.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Hey, no problem, no cock blocking here,” Stiles said, giving Scott a grin so he wouldn’t think Stiles was put out by Scott finally getting with the girl he’d liked for years. “Next time a heads up, though? I got a crick in my neck from sleeping funky,” Stiles said, tilting his head to one side.

“Sure thing,” Scott said, clapping Stiles on the back before he headed out of the tent to get breakfast.


Day two of the faire was a lot like day one, only this time at the jousts, Stiles ignored Sir Blackwell completely, instead taunting Ennis’ character. Stiles was on the green team, so Boyd was his man. Stiles screamed himself hoarse, so he spent the remainder of the afternoon miming his way around the faire.

When he went backstage, he didn’t stay long. One of the merchants, a woman named Marin who told fortunes and did palm readings, gave him tea with lemon and honey. They sat together on one of the picnic tables that were strewn about backstage as Stiles sipped at the tea. Marin traveled the circuit, but Stiles knew her well from his childhood. She’d always talk with his mother, which calmed his nerves.

Marin looked at Stiles in a calculating way, as if reading him. Stiles shrugged it off, squinting his eyes as he looked around him, people watching. His cheeks tinged red when he saw the knights emerging from the stables where their horses were kept, Derek among them. Marin’s eyes cast over to them as well, a knowing smile crossing her lips as she held out her hand.

“Let me see,” she said, her voice smooth as butter. Stiles flopped his hand onto the table unceremoniously as he sighed, drinking more of the tea. As the knights passed them, Stiles refused to look up. It was childish, but Stiles didn’t care. Marin dragged her finger across his lifeline, down the center of his palm. “Your palm reminds me of your mother’s,” Marin said. Stiles felt the urge to tug it back towards himself at Marin’s statement.

“Not your lifeline,” Marin said, as if realizing what it had sounded like. She pushed Stiles’ fingers close, giving him his hand back. “When she met your father, she fought how she felt.”

“How do you know how they met?” Stiles asked her.

“They met here,” Marin said, her hand indicating their surroundings. “Didn’t you know?”

“No,” Stiles said, wondering why that had been kept from him. “They told me they met in town, my father wasn’t even a deputy yet. He worked at the hardware store on Main.”

“Your mother had already been doing the faire for a few years,” Marin reminisced. “The day the year they met, he came to the faire almost everyday. At first it was with his friends, but eventually he came alone, all to see your mother.”

Stiles wiped at his eyes, though he knew he had no tears in them. It felt like the thing to do, in order to keep from letting it affect him. He had so much history with the faire, he wished it lasted more than a few weeks out of the year. Stiles finished his tea, thanking Marin for it.

The afternoon went by in a blur, Stiles seeing his mother everywhere he turned as he ambled around the faire with Scott. By the time the closing parade started, he almost forgot his drunken night of almosts.

They had dinner with everyone, sharing cramped tables and laughing loudly with friends. The faire was big enough that Stiles didn’t need to see Derek if he didn’t wish to. Stiles and Scott could easily spend the night again instead of packing up and heading into town, but Stiles missed his bed, and his father.

After dinner, he and Scott broke down their tent and gathered their things, packing up Stiles’ Jeep. He had to make one more trip, to grab his duffel bag, so he ran through camp. Everyone who wasn’t a townie stayed at the campsite throughout the week, making more merchandise, resting, going through the motions of their nomadic lifestyle that Stiles wished he was more a part of.

As he passed by the firepit, Stiles caught a glimpse of Derek with his arm around someone, the fire’s glow capturing his features in a way that made Stiles’ stomach churn. He looked away, forcing himself to continue on his way to the Jeep. He met Scott at his Jeep, where Allison stood nearby, the two of them whispering to each other, her hands in his. Stiles tried not to roll his eyes; it wasn’t Scott’s fault he got some and Stiles didn’t. There was always next weekend.

“Ready, Scott?” Stiles asked. With a kiss goodbye, Scott climbed into the Jeep with a grin on his face.

“Is it Friday yet?” Scott asked. Stiles snorted as he turned the Jeep on.

“You wish,” Stiles said.

“You okay?” Scott asked, concerned as they made their way back to town. Stiles shrugged; he didn’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t like Derek did anything wrong, because he hadn’t. They made out, that was all. He offered a place for Stiles to crash, which was honorable and not a douche thing to do at all.

It was Stiles who seemingly had a stick up his own ass about the morning after. He didn’t know what he had expected from Derek, but apparently he had to lower his bar of expectations when it came to him.

“Just tired,” Stiles said. “I didn’t have your snoring to help me sleep.”

“Hey,” Scott said, shoving Stiles. Stiles grinned.


Stiles’ father was on duty when he pulled up to their house. He had left the porch light on, though. Stiles dumped his duffel bag in the laundry room, then went straight into the bathroom for a nice, long shower. It didn’t take long for Stiles’ body to catch up to the weekend of no jacking off as the water flowed down his body. Stiles shut his eyes as his hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking it as he thought about making out with Derek. It had been heady, yet languid like Derek hadn’t been in a rush. Stiles moaned as he thought about Derek, shirtless, and how much he’d have liked riding him, or sucking him off.

It wasn’t until Stiles pictured Derek on his knees that Stiles began jerking off faster, his chest heaving as he let out moan after moan. He watched as his come spilled onto the floor of the tub, washing away in the spray of the shower. Stiles stood there, panting, unable to move. It was going to be a long week.

After graduating high school, Stiles decided that he didn’t know what the fuck he wanted to do with his life, so instead of spending his father’s money, he got a job and took classes at the local community college. He worked at Beacon Hills’ only non chain coffee shop as a barista. He spent most of the down time concocting his own drinks, which he tried selling. The owners had put a couple of them up on the official menu, which made Stiles happy. He knew it was only a part-time gig, something to help get by on, but he enjoyed it. They didn’t mind him taking off weekends during the fall, considering they had been friends of his mother’s. Everyone seemingly had been, but Stiles supposed that was the way with small town life.

People knew everyone’s business. Especially when it came to his life, since he was the sheriff’s son. His mother had been a librarian, and Stiles had spent most of his childhood sitting in the stacks, reading books way above his grade’s reading level after school after he finished his homework.

He was linked to the town, to the faire, woven into it by his past and his family.

“How was the first weekend?” a woman, Stacy, asked him. Stiles smiled at her as he made her one of his daily specials.

“It sold really well,” Stiles said, which wasn’t untrue. “It doesn’t feel like fall until the faire starts up.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” she said, thanking him after he handed her the cup. Most people stopped by the coffee shop to actually sit and read, or work. They had free wifi, which was practically unheard of in their small town, and comfy couches and chairs. They used real mugs, unless a customer asked for their drink to go. Stacy made her way over to one of the chairs, making herself comfortable as she pulled out a book.

Stiles’ week had gone by quickly, what with the three classes he was taking along with his shifts at the coffee shop to take up most of his time. Stiles looked up from making himself a drink, which he was allowed to do, when the door chimed, letting him know someone had walked into the shop. Stiles put on a smile before he looked up, then promptly dropped it when he saw who had walked through the door.

Derek, along with the same woman he’d had his arm around on Sunday night. Stiles steeled himself, then brought his mask back up, forcing himself to smile.

“Hey guys,” he said, hoping he sounded genuinely happy to see them. “Care to try one of my daily specials?” Stiles asked, pointing to the chalkboard beside him on the counter.

“Hmm,” the woman said, looking him over. “You look familiar.”

“I work at the faire,” Stiles pointed out, his fingers drumming against the counter. Instead of looking to Derek, he kept his attention on her. “I don’t think we’ve properly met, though. I’m Stiles.” He offered her his hand, which she took, giving Stiles a smile.

“Nice to meet you Stiles, I’m Cora,” she said, giving Derek a look. “I think I’ve seen you walking around.”

“Yep,” Stiles said, finally looking at Derek, who had his hands in his pockets, looking around the shop instead of at Stiles. “Can I get you something?”

“Tea, please,” she said with a smile. Stiles wasn’t sure, but he thought she could be on the Queen’s court. She definitely looked familiar.

“What kind?” Stiles asked, turning around to point at their options. “We have them all listed at the top--”

“Earl Grey is fine,” she said, then looked to Derek. “What are you getting?”

“Nothing,” Derek said, his perma-scowl resurfacing. Cora rolled her eyes as she took out her wallet.

“He wants a medium dark roast,” she stated, handing Stiles a ten. Stiles looked to Derek who said nothing as he watched her pay for him. Stiles said nothing as he handed her the change, then went about pouring his coffee, then her water and grabbing her a tea bag. When he brought the mugs over to the counter, they both stared at them as if he’d handed them something alien.

“Oh,” Cora said, taking her mug.

“Did you want them to go?” Stiles asked.

“Obviously,” Derek grumbled. Stiles bit his lip, scoffing at Derek’s tone.

“Listen,” he said, his temper getting the better of him. His voice was hushed, so he wouldn’t disturb anyone else in the shop. “We try not to be wasteful, alright? I can transfer them over-- it’s not a big deal.”

“We’ll stay,” Cora said, taking her mug off the counter, dunking her tea bag in it. “We’ve been walking around all afternoon.” Stiles and Derek stared at each other, their jaws clenched.

“Fine,” they both said at the same time, Stiles’ eyes narrowing. After Derek turned his back to him, Stiles decided to run to the back room really quick, to grab a couple more towels. Once he was back there, he stuffed his face into one of the towels and screamed. He was frustrated in more ways than one. For one thing, Derek was infuriating. He hadn’t done anything, and Derek seemed like he was trying to kill Stiles via Jedi mind powers. For another, Stiles’ dick seemed to find that enticing, because he was half hard in his pants.

When Stiles calmed down enough to emerge, he wiped down the counters, then did a few dishes. He didn’t realize someone had been trying to catch his attention until they cleared their throat. Stiles turned around, almost jumping out of his skin when he saw Derek with two empty mugs at the counter.

“Here,” he said. Stiles lifted his eyebrows, surprised Derek returned them considering there were bins by the trash cans that said ‘place dishes here’. He took them from Derek.

“Thanks,” he said, adding them to the sink.

“See you tonight?” Derek asked, his voice softer than it had been before. Stiles gave him a stiff nod, then watched as Derek and Cora walked out the door, the chime ringing in his ears as they made their way down the street.

Stiles leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. Derek’s hot and cold tendencies were bound to make him sick. It was Friday, so he and Scott were heading back to camp as soon as his shift was over in about an hour. He was already packed and ready to go once he picked Scott up from the vet clinic that Scott worked at during the week. As the clock slowly ticked by, Stiles found himself wondering what the fuck Derek’s problem was exactly.

By the time he clocked out, he was starving. His relief had been ten minutes late, so he in turn was late picking up Scott. The sun was almost down by the time they pitched their tent and Stiles was already tired enough to crawl into it and pass out.

Instead, they found Kira, Allison, and Isaac who worked in one of the stage acts. They were making hot dogs, sausages, and other phallic type foods that could easily be cooked over an open flame. Scott fit in easily with them, while Stiles sat off to the side, waiting for his own hot dog to heat up. They had quite a set up, with ketchup, mustard, relish, onions, and other toppings to choose from.

Stiles stood over the condiments, contemplating what he wanted on his when someone bumped into his shoulder. He couldn’t help but let out an audible scoff as he reached for the ketchup. Derek had knocked into him, seemingly on purpose, his upper body touching Stiles’ as he reached across the table for the mustard.

“Can’t wait in line like a normal person?” Stiles asked.

“You’re hovering like you don’t already know how you take your own hot dog,” Derek pointed out as he shook the mustard, then uncapped it, making little zig zags along his hot dog like a pro. Stiles watched him, forgetting about his own hot dog. At least Derek was wearing a shirt this time. “Mustard?” Derek asked, holding the condiment up. Stiles took it from him, his lips a thin line. Derek infuriated him. Stiles bit into his ho tdog as Derek sprinkled diced onions atop of his, then a little bit of relish. Stiles made a face.

“So, you’re a townie?” Derek asked after he took his first bite. Stiles lifted his eyebrows, surprised that Derek had instigated conversation with him. Stiles licked his lips, because he felt like he had mustard on his face.

“Yeah,” Stiles said after he swallowed a bite. “Born and raised.”

“But this isn’t your first faire,” Derek pointed out. Stiles eyed him, at Derek’s relaxed air as they began migrating away from the condiment table, walking around the area slowly.

“Nope,” Stiles said, popping the ‘p’. “Been doing this faire since I was about five.” Derek smiled at him, which threw Stiles off.

“Same,” Derek said.

“Really?” Stiles asked after he finished off his hot dog. Derek did as well, taking the last half in one large bite. Stiles looked down at his feet instead of watching Derek chew. It felt too personal to watch him do that.

“Yeah, my family are all Rennies,” Derek said, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. Apparently when not in costume that was all he wore, Stiles couldn’t blame him, though he had been wearing jeans, a Henley, and a leather jacket when he’d come into the shop earlier. “What’s town life like?”

“You have to know--” The look on Derek face was plain as day: he didn’t know what it was like. “Okay, well... Beacon Hills is small, my dad’s the sheriff, and everyone knows everything about everyone,” Stiles sighed. “The only good thing is, most of them don’t know what life is like outside their little town, so they can only see as far as their noses.”

“What do you mean by that?” Derek asked, laughing. Stiles shrugged as he continued walking, bumping shoulders with Derek again. Stiles bit his lip as he thought about just putting it out there, considering they’d already made out.

“I mean, like, how the town has seen me holding hands with girls, so they think that’s that-- that I’m straight. Sure, they know about homosexuality but bisexuals aren’t even on their radar.”

“Are you trying to slip to me that you’re bi?” Derek asked, amused. They’d stopped walking and were facing each other. Stiles wasn’t even sure how that had happened.

“Yeah,” Stiles admitted.

“Interesting,” Derek surmised, then started walking again. Stiles rolled his eyes as he followed. They were heading back towards the trailers, obviously going to Derek and Boyd’s. Stiles had half a mind to tell Derek he was mad if he thought Stiles was going to mess around with him after ignoring him last Sunday, but as soon as Derek turned his head to make sure Stiles was following him, Derek had him hooked.

The trailer was empty, with Boyd nowhere to be found. By the time Stiles entered, Derek was pulling two glasses down and pouring Jim Beam into them. When Derek handed him a glass without a word, Stiles took it, sipping at it.

“Where’s Cora?” Stiles asked. Derek’s brow furrowed as he drank, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“I don’t know,” Derek said apprehensively. “Why? Want her instead?”

“What?” Stiles asked, laughing awkwardly as he shook his head. “I don’t want your girlfriend.” It was Derek’s turn to laugh, well, snort into his glass.

“Not my girlfriend,” Derek mumbled, finishing off the glass. He hadn’t poured much into it, so it was no wonder he could finish it quickly. Stiles wasn’t sure Jim Beam was his drink of choice.

“Fine, your--”

“Sister,” Derek filled in. Stiles’ jaw dropped as he watched Derek pour himself another drink. “Little sister. Laura, my older sister, is one of the singing wenches, you know--” Derek waved towards the faire. “Washer wenches. She travels with Cora. We don’t do the same circuit,” Derek said in the midst of a sigh like it was a hardship for him to say so much in such a short amount of time.

“Cool,” Stiles said. Derek shook his head, bringing the glass up to his lips. “I mean, that your whole family does it. My dad used to, uh, do it, but he doesn’t really have it in him anymore.” Stiles really didn’t want to tell Derek that he’d just turned eighteen. Stiles swallowed down the rest of his drink, setting it down for Derek to pour more. If they were going to bond over family shit, he needed at least a buzz going. “My mom was the one that always brought me, when I was younger. I do it because it’s something of hers that I can keep doing.”

Derek seemed to understand, seemed to get that she wasn’t around anymore. At least Stiles didn’t need to say it. Derek lifted his glass, waiting for Stiles to clink his against it. Stiles did it, looking Derek in the eyes.

“To family,” Derek said, his voice barely audible.

“To family,” Stiles whispered before he threw it back, swallowing the glass of Jim Beam down as if it had been a shot. Stiles shook his head after, his body writhing at the after taste. When he opened his eyes, Derek was smiling at him. Stiles grinned back, then leaned in, kissing him. It was easy, not thinking about it. He could just take, damn the consequences. Derek moved against him, his hands on Stiles’ body as the kiss deepened. Stiles moaned as Derek tugged at Stiles’ jeans, linking his fingers around Stiles’ belt loops as he mouthed at Stiles’ neck.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Stiles found himself saying as Derek lead him back towards the bed. Derek sat down first, his knees hitting the mattress as Stiles climbed on top of him, straddling him. Derek grabbed onto Stiles’ ass, squeezing it as Stiles rocked his hips against Derek’s lap.

Derek made a noise deep in his throat, a sign of approval it seemed, as Stiles slipped his hands beneath the fabric of Derek’s shirt. Moaning into Derek’s mouth, Stiles pushed against Derek’s chest, forcing his back onto the bed as they continued kissing.

Stiles had done this before, many times, in multiple positions, but casual wasn’t what he was used to. He was used to holding hands, going on dates, sneaking around in order to find a place to make out. This-- this was new, and Stiles liked it.
Stiles lifted Derek’s shirt, exposing his stomach so that he could undo Derek’s jeans while he sat on top of him, his knees on either side of Derek’s thighs. Derek, too, set his sights on freeing Stiles’ erection from the confines of his jeans. Fumbling, Stiles bit his wet, already swollen lips.

“Oh, god,” Stiles moaned when Derek managed to wrap his hand around Stiles’ cock. With his other hand, Derek cupped Stiles’ ass, making him shimmy closer to him, so Stiles was straddling Derek’s chest. Panting, Stiles watched as Derek took his dick into his mouth while stroking him with his other hand. Stiles’ hands shot out to Derek’s head, raking his fingers through Derek’s hair as Stiles slowly began rocking his hips, enjoying the feel of his cock hitting the back of Derek’s throat.

Stiles’ jeans were half shoved down his thighs, his ass exposed as Derek gripped his cheeks, fingers teasing him as Derek continued blowing him. Stiles couldn’t stop licking his lips, his mouth falling open as he watched his dick disappear into Derek’s mouth. As Derek brushed a finger against Stiles’ hole, he shuddered, his hips stuttering.

Derek took a breather, his lips teasing along Stiles’ length as he looked up at him, his mouth red and wet. Stiles rocked his hips as he hissed, his stomach in knots as he got closer to coming.

“Let me, let me--” Stiles said as he scooted down Derek, somewhat awkwardly because of how his jeans were shoved down, until he managed to lay beside him, a leg draped over Derek’s thigh. Stiles slipped his hand beneath the elastic band of Derek’s briefs, his fingers brushing over the head of Derek’s cock. Derek groaned, his mouth finding Stiles’ as Stiles wrapped his hand around Derek’s erection. Stiles could feel the wetness of Derek’s briefs where precome had seaped into it, giving him an easier glide of his hand. Derek turned towards Stiles, grabbing onto his ass once more, slotting them together so that they could move against each other.

Stiles moaned, tipping his head back so Derek could mouth at his exposed neck as they both rocked their hips against each other, seeking friction. Derek raked his teeth across Stiles’ shoulder as Stiles shoved Derek’s briefs down enough that their dicks were touching. With frenzied movements, Stiles tried climbing into Derek’s lap. Instead, he rolled on top of him, their limbs tangling. Stiles could feel beard burn on his neck and cheek as he searched for Derek’s mouth once more, his thrusts stilted as he came in a rush between them. Derek pressed a finger between Stiles’ cheeks as he nipped at Stiles’ jaw, then covered him with an open-mouthed kiss before adding his mess to Stiles’.

As their movement slowed, coming down from their climaxes, Stiles rolled off of Derek, sighing, his limbs limp and heavy. Most of the mess was on Derek, his shirt shoved up his torso, his cock laying limply against his stomach. Stiles licked his lips as he managed to look over at him, his hair a mess and mouth completely fucked out, swollen and red. Stiles smiled to himself, biting his lip as he turned his gaze towards the ceiling.

Derek sighed as he got up, using baby wipes to clean up the mess. Stiles never thought of using them, but he still lived at home and considered tissues and lotion a viable option. Riding a post-climax high, Stiles watched Derek redress himself, running his fingers through his own hair in order to fix himself up. It wasn’t until Derek tossed Stiles a wet nap that he realized that he should be getting dressed, too.

Stiles wiped himself off, then stood up, pulling his jeans back up and putting himself right again. He chanced a glance in the mirror, and he’d been right about the beard burn. With reddened cheeks, he followed Derek into the small kitchenette where they’d left their drinks.

“So,” Stiles said as Derek drank down a glass of water. Derek gave him his patented raised eyebrow, then his gaze caught the sight of Stiles’ marked neck, a grin appearing.

“So,” Derek said, refilling the glass and handing it to Stiles. Stiles took it, sipping at it so he had a reason to stick around. “Let me know if you want to do that again.”

So it was going to be that simple, apparently. Stiles nodded, handing the glass back to Derek.

“Sure thing,” Stiles said, smirking. He looked at Derek’s lips, lips that had just been around his cock, and leaned in, kissing him one more time. “I’m up for it.”

“Good,” Derek said as Stiles headed for the door. With one last look, Derek leaning against the counter, Stiles left the trailer and headed back towards his tent. It was going to be a great weekend.


“Dude, you look like you got mauled by a bear,” Scott said, making Stiles laugh. They were getting ready for bed, using a battery operated lantern in order to see.

“It’s not that bad,” Stiles said, putting his hand over the beard burn that was still tender. Scott scoffed at him, poking Stiles in the neck on the other side.

“Those are teeth marks,” Scott said, then moved his finger down to his shoulder. “And that is a hickey. Were you making out with a vampire?”

Stiles howled with laughter as he climbed into his sleeping bag.

“No,” Stiles said. “I was just messing around.”

“With who?” Scott asked.

“Someone,” Stiles mumbled, fumbling with his pillow. “It’s casual, so it doesn’t really matter--”

“I told you about Allison,” Scott pointed out.

“No, no,” Stiles said. “I heard you with Allison.” Scott rolled his eyes at Stiles, who then stuck his tongue out. “I’ll let you know if it becomes something.”

“Fine,” Scott said before he turned off the light. Stiles laid in bed, listening to the sounds of people talking off in the distance, as well as the sounds of the forest around them, wondering what the fuck Derek was up to.

Stiles was so screwed.


Stiles could have been making it up, but when he saw Derek the next morning at breakfast he swore he saw Derek smile at him, a genuine smile. Now, that could have been for a multitude of reasons. Either a) Derek was happy to see Stiles from across the yard, b) he thought Stiles’ meager attempt at covering the beard burn was in vain, or c) well, he could have been smiling at someone else who was over Stiles’ shoulder.

It was up in the air, really.

Stiles’ half assed way of dealing with the hickey, bite marks, and beard burn was popping his collar and wearing a knitted scarf that he borrowed from one of the vendors. It was a cool morning, so Stiles could probably get away with it, but he wasn’t sure how he would fare once the sun had a chance to rise.

Instead of hiding, because Stiles really had no reason to, he winked at Derek as he passed. Boyd saw, but Stiles didn’t really care. They’d had fun, and that was what really mattered.

During the first joust of the day, where they showed off their skills by putting their lances through stationary hoops, then ones that were tossed into the air as they rode horses, Stiles had the chance to cheer for Derek. Technically he was red again, rooting for Ennis, but during the skills portion they weren’t really rallying against other knights. It was Stiles’ first chance that he actually cared about watching how all the knights did.

Derek and Boyd both caught their rings in the air, which got them both rounds of applause. There was a portion where Derek and Ennis’ knights got into a fight and they ended up in a sword fight on the ground, showing off that skill. It was all faked, of course, but Stiles found himself enraptured by it just the same as the audience was. He even forgot he was supposed to be rooting for Ennis when Derek won the battle with Ennis on the ground, Derek’s sword pointed at Ennis’ throat.

Afterwards, backstage, while Stiles was on break with Scott, Derek walked by, giving Stiles a once over. He carried his helmet in his hand, and was covered in sweat. Stiles thought he’d never looked more fuckable. Stiles smiled at Derek as he walked by, shaking his head to himself as he looked down at the small snack he had been nibbling on.

“Oh my god,” Scott said, his eyes wide. Stiles looked up, giving Scott a confused look. “You fucked Derek.”

“We didn’t fuck,” Stiles said, pouting. “And besides, you’re wrong,” he added as an afterthought.

“No,” Scott said, shaking his head. “I’m so right. He looked at you, then you looked at him-- you’re messing around with a knight.” Stiles shrugged, his cheeks reddening. “Oh my god.”

“Will you stop,” Stiles hissed as he leaned forward, looking around. Thankfully no one was listening to them. “It’s not anything, alright?”

“Right, like you said.”

“Casual,” Stiles said in a whisper as Derek reappeared, dressed down in normal ren faire attire, breeches and a linen shirt with a vest. Bangable. Stiles looked away from him, standing up in order to throw his leftovers away. “Come on, Scotty, we have guests who need a good laugh.”

Scott looked at Derek, then rolled his eyes, following Stiles back out into the masses. They set up by Allison’s family’s booth again, until lunch time when they started a verbal brawl between themselves.

While calling Scott medieval names from across a massive picnic table, Stiles caught a glimpse of Derek and Boyd, who were among the patrons watching. Stiles got cold feet, stumbling over his jibe. Instead, Stiles threw a piece of bread at Scott.

A food fight ensued. It happened more often than not, but Stiles hadn’t been prepared to be watched by Derek.

Stiles got cleaned up backstage afterwards, where there was a changing station and a bathroom with running water. He had a wipe that he was cleaning the stew out of his shirt with when he looked up to find Derek staring at him via the mirror. He let out a manly yelp, then gave Derek a menacing glare. He had about ten minutes to get back out into the crowd.

“You guys look like you have fun,” Derek supplied after Stiles was at a loss for words.

“We do,” Stiles said, giving Derek a look. “Don’t you?” Derek shrugged, pushing himself away from the doorway that he’d been leaning on. Derek did a lot of leaning, Stiles noted as he stepped forward. Stiles turned around in time so that Derek’s chest pressed against his own, their lips crashing together in an intense kiss. Stiles was hoisted up onto the counter, Derek’s hands on his thighs as he fit between Stiles’ legs perfectly. Stiles moaned against the kiss, smiling as Derek slowed them down. Stiles fought back, pressing his tongue into Derek’s mouth, cupping his hand against the nape of Derek’s neck. Derek started it, and now Stiles didn’t have any intention on stopping.

“How much time do you have?” Derek asked, his voice hot against Stiles’ ear as he rubbed the palm of his hand against Stiles’ crotch. Stiles thought about it, shaking his head as he sought out Derek’s mouth.

“Not long,” Stiles said with a huff, squeezing Derek’s ass. He didn’t have time to think about this, let alone actually get off. All he knew was he liked how Derek kissed, open and needy, and he liked the way Derek pressed his body against his own, the way his hips moved. Stiles groaned as Derek began mouthing at his neck, pushing his shirt aside in order to bite and mark. Stiles pushed Derek away, searching his eyes for something, anything.

“I have to go,” Stiles whispered.

“Later,” Derek promised. Stiles nodded as he hopped down from the sink, adjusting his pants in order to hide his erection. Derek watched him, his smirk apparent. Stiles scowled at him, looking in the mirror as he righted his outfit.

“Root for me?” Derek asked as Stiles made his way to the door. Stiles rolled his eyes as he grinned.

“You wish.”


Before the last joust of the day, the big hooha as Scott called it, Stiles sought Isaac out. Isaac was on the docket to be Derek’s crowd rouser, and Stiles needed to figure out how to switch with him.

“Isaac, my man,” Stiles said as he cut out in front of Isaac before he took his place on the blue side. Isaac didn’t look amused, not by how he crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows at Stiles. Stiles cleared his throat, patting Isaac on the arm.

“I need a favor,” Stiles said, breaking the ice. Isaac’s scowl deepened.

“What?” Isaac asked.

“Let me be blue.” Isaac scoffed at him, rolling his eyes. “What? Come on, you know you want to root for the evil team.”

“No,” Isaac said. “I’m blue.”

“Oh come on,” Stiles groaned. Isaac looked at Stiles’ neck, a look of realization dawning across his face.

“Oh, ohhhh,” he said, looking towards the entrance that they knights would be coming from. “I see.”

“What? No,” Stiles said with a wave of his hand.

“You want to be blue, huh? Like blue balls blue?” Stiles narrowed his eyes at Isaac, grumbling as he walked away. “I’ll be sure to tell Sir Blackwell about his biggest fan!” Isaac called out as Stiles made his way around the area towards the red knight’s stand. Stiles’ heart just wasn’t in it. In the long run, it didn’t matter anyway because the yellow knight won, but still.

After the gates closed for the day, Stiles was ready to get off. He was keyed up after their run in in the bathroom, but apparently the Rennies had another idea. It was Chris Argent’s birthday, so everyone was celebrating it by throwing a party. Stiles lost himself in a sea of cake, barbecue, and conversation. It wasn’t until late that he realized he hadn’t seen Derek at all since the joust.

With the moon high overhead, Stiles made his way towards Derek’s trailer. The light was on, so he knocked three times. Derek answered it, wearing sweats and an oversized sweatshirt that made him look younger.

“Hey,” Stiles said, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

“Hey,” Derek said, his voice raspy as he carded his fingers through his hair. Something was off, but Stiles didn’t know Derek well enough to know what was eating at him.

“You okay?” Stiles asked, concerned. The look on Derek’s face told Stiles everything he needed to know: no, he wasn’t okay. “Mind if I come in?” Stiles asked tentatively. Instead of answering, Derek opened the door and let him in. There was a mug of tea on the kitchen table, steaming, along with a book that had been cast aside with haste. Stiles liked that Derek was a reader. Derek sat down at his spot, putting the book to rights as he sipped at his tea, avoiding Stiles’ gaze.

“Listen, I’m not really up for anything tonight--”

“I didn’t-- we don’t need to do anything,” Stiles said, hoping he sounded sincere. Sure, he’d wanted to get laid, but that wasn’t imperative. “I noticed you weren’t at the party, so I wanted to check in on you.” Derek’s features softened as he put his tea down, nodding his head. After an awkward silence, Derek spoke up.

“I’m not the biggest fan of the Argents,” Derek said as he sighed, looking up at Stiles through his downcast eyes. “I have a past with one of them, and it caused some shit a few years ago. I’d rather just-- keep to myself.”

“Okay,” Stiles said. He didn’t need an explanation, and could tell that what little Derek had just said was tearing him apart. “Then how about a movie? Do you have Netflix?”

Derek gave him a small smile. They ended up rearranging the kitchen by putting the table away and bringing up the fold away couch, the both of them somehow fitting on it. Derek had his back against the half wall, while Stiles reclined against Derek, fitting between his legs with his back against Derek’s chest. They hadn’t started out that way, but Derek had instigated it, maneuvering Stiles easily once the movie started.

They both woke up sometime later when Boyd came home, rolling his eyes at them as he made his way to the back room. Groggily, Stiles made his way back to his tent where he passed out on top of his sleeping bag.

On Sunday, he didn’t run into Derek once backstage, and again he wasn’t on the docket to root for the blue knight. He didn’t even have a chance to talk to Derek before he and Scott headed back to town for the week.


Stiles’ week dragged by. He had a test to study for, and his shifts at the coffee shop seemed to be endless. He made dinner for his dad one of the nights, and even went to the movies with Scott during another. If Derek came by the coffee shop, it hadn’t been while Stiles had a shift. By the time Friday rolled around, Stiles was ready to get lost in the weekend. He felt like he was on autopilot, unpacking the Jeep and setting up their tent for the weekend. For dinner, they’d brought sandwiches from a sub shop in town, eating them at one of the picnic tables as they watched everyone else from town setting up their own space for the weekend. Overhead, the clouds rolled in.

The last thing Stiles wanted was to spend the weekend in the rain, but it always tended to rain at least one of the weekends of the faire. He tried not to think about it as they mingled with everyone, chatting away until the sun started going down. As if on cue, the rain started. Scott was invited to the Argents’ trailer, but he declined, having solidarity for Stiles. Stiles appreciated it, not being left alone to the confines of their tent as the rain picked up. They had a deck of cards, along with a lantern for light, to keep them occupied. Then rounds into Old Maid, the first clap of thunder rumbled overhead, making them both jump.

“Dude,” Scott said. “We’re gonna get flooded.”

“It won’t last long,” Stiles said, unsure. “Let’s switch to Go Fish.”

Barely ten minutes later, their tent started leaking.

“This sucks,” Scott whined as they got a little too close for comfort. Stiles was wearing multiple layers and could already feel a chill in his bones. It was going to be a long night. Lighting lit up the sky outside, the thundering booming overhead. Stiles never really realized how much solid walls and a roof buffered the noise of storms before. He felt completely exposed.

They both screamed when someone unzipped their tent unexpectedly. Derek stood there, soaking wet, despite carrying an umbrella, the rain cascading down his face and off his chin. He was talking, but Stiles couldn’t hear him over the sound of the storm.

“What?” Stiles asked, coming towards the opening, getting soaked in the process.

“You two need to find shelter,” Derek yelled, grabbing onto Stiles’ arm. “Flood warning.”

“Shit,” Stiles said, yanking himself from Derek’s grip so he could grab his duffel bag. Scott scrambled to get his things as well.

“I’ll make a dash for the Argents,” Scott said over the sound of the storm. Stiles nodded his head as Derek took his bag from him, slinging it over his shoulder. It was then, as Stiles left the safety of his tent, that he saw how bad the storm was. Derek’s umbrella had been turned inside out, broken by the wind. Sure, he’d known it was windy out, but he’d naively been hopeful it would blow over without a problem. Derek had discarded the useless umbrella, instead taking hold of Stiles’ hand as he lead him through the camp. It looked like all the tents had been vacated, with no lamps or lanterns lit. Scott had taken their lantern with him to help light the way to Allison’s trailer. Stiles half wondered if he should just head back to town, to the safety of a real house. Derek’s hand in his deterred him, though. He wanted to stay with Derek.

The walk to the trailer seemed longer than normal, but Stiles was pretty sure that it was due to the storm. Once inside, Derek put Stiles’ bag down and immediately started stripping down. Stiles, his teeth chattering, watched him in awe. Boyd was no where to be seen.

Derek was down to his briefs, which were a dark grey due to being soaking wet, when he started tugging on Stiles’ clothes, shaking him out of his daydream.

“What’s happening?” Stiles asked, his body shaking like a leaf. He was freezing. It was supposed to dip down into the 40’s, but it felt colder due to the rain.

“You need to get naked,” Derek insisted. Stiles laughed as Derek peeled Stiles’ jacket, hoodie, then flannel off of him. Stiles was all awkward limbs and pruney fingers, unable to help as much as he would like. Stiles was still laughing as Derek shoved Stiles’ drenched jeans down his thighs. All Stiles could think about was how good Derek looked on his knees as he held onto Derek’s shoulders as he stepped out of them.

“Come on,” Derek said, leading Stiles towards the bathroom. Stiles thought, vaguely, about the size of the shower when he remembered that they were in the middle of a storm. He so badly wanted to get under the warm spray to warm up, but as Derek draped a towel around him, he felt better. Stiles dried himself off, but practically purred when Derek rubbed his hands against Stiles’ towel covered shoulders, warming him up.

Once they were towel dried, Derek gave Stiles a pair of sweatpants and the same sweatshirt he had on the week prior. Stiles didn’t want to free ball it, but his clothes were wet. He figured Derek would understand.

They laid out Stiles’ faire clothes, hanging them up in the bathroom in hopes that they’d dry by morning, before curling up on the couch while Derek made coffee. Stiles hummed with happiness as he wrapped his hands around the warm mug. The storm was still raging outside, but it felt better inside with Derek.

“It’s going to be a slow day at the faire,” Stiles surmised as he looked out the window.

“Perhaps. Sometimes they don’t care,” Derek said as he looked at Stiles.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, sometime later, when he moved from coffee to hot chocolate.”

“For what? The hot chocolate?” Derek teased.

“For coming to get me,” Stiles said from over his mug where he had it pressed against the side of his face. “You didn’t need to do that.” Derek gave him a look that he couldn’t describe, then sipped his coffee. Stiles scooted closer, thriving off of Derek’s body heat. Derek pressed his nose against Stiles’ cheek, then his neck, finally kissing him on the lips.

“I wanted to,” Derek said, his voice hoarse. Stiles smiled against Derek’s lips, his mouth opening to let Derek’s tongue caress his own. They set their mugs down, both of them cupping the other’s cheeks with their hands as Stiles climbed into Derek’s lap. Stiles liked that Derek was so climbable, that they fit together so well. They kissed languidly on the couch, taking their time getting to know each other’s nuances, like how Derek breathed in through his nose sharply when things sped up, how he gripped Stiles’ ass tight, and liked to drag his beard across exposed skin. Stiles’ breath hitched in his throat as Derek flipped them downwards onto the couch so he hovered over Stiles, laying on top of him, his legs slotting between Stiles’, the heat between them palpable as they both began to rut against each other.


Stiles’ cheeks flushed with heat as he was engulfed in Derek’s scent. Wearing Derek’s clothes was like being wrapped in a cocoon of safety and comfort, and as Derek’s hands snaked up Stiles’ torso, beneath the fabric of his sweatshirt, Stiles’ back arched.

As Derek grazed over a nipple, Stiles bit his lip, his mouth open wide in a moan as Derek pushed the sweatshirt up to Stiles’ armpits, mouthing at his nipple. Stiles was hard, already dripping with precome as he bucked his hips upwards against Derek, seeking friction. Stiles gasped as Derek dragged his stubbled chin over a sensitive nub, grinning up at Stiles.

“I wonder what other noises you make,” Derek said, pondering as he outlined Stiles’ cock with his hand over the fabric of his sweatpants. Stiles licked his lips, laughing as he panted, his eyes closing as Derek rubbed his palm over Stiles’ erection. “What noises I could fuck out of you.”

Stiles shuddered at the thought, wanting nothing more than to come underneath Derek. Stiles let out a breathy moan as he nodded his head before Derek captured his lips in a heady kiss, dirtier than their leisurely makeout session.

“I’d like you to find out,” Stiles said, smirking as he carded his fingers through Derek’s hair. He was heavy on top of him, pure muscle, but it was the sort of heavy that Stiles liked, knowing that Derek could probably pick him up without a problem and fuck him against a wall. Derek practically growled, biting Stiles’ bottom lip as he thrust his hips against Stiles, scooting him further up the couch.

Derek pulled Stiles up off of the couch, leading him down the narrow hallway towards his bed. Stiles discarded the sweatshirt, making a pile on the floor. Derek mouthed at Stiles’ exposed shoulder as he wrapped a hand around him, shoving his hand beneath the fabric of his sweatpants, stroking him. Stiles pressed his back against Derek’s chest, where he could feel Derek’s erection pressing against his ass.

Stiles leaned forward, putting his hands outward on the bed, getting on his hands and knees for Derek, his head hung low as Derek slid Stiles’ sweatpants down, then discarded them completely. Derek’s hands on his bare ass had Stiles spreading his knees further apart, his back curving as Derek brushed his fingers over Stiles’ exposed hole. Stiles turned his head to watch as Derek uncapped lube, spreading it on his fingers, then drizzling a little over Stiles’ ass. Stiles moaned as Derek pressed inwards with one finger, his free hand on the small of Stiles’ back.

He was going to be fucked by Derek in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Stiles whimpered as Derek pressed in two fingers, circling them around his hole, opening him up.

“Fuck,” Stiles said, pushing back against Derek’s fingers, fucking himself on them. He let out a litany of noises as Derek pressed in a third finger, curling them just right. Stiles crumpled against the mattress, his own hand wrapping around his cock, fondling his balls as he moved back against Derek’s fingers.

“Yeah, fuck,” Derek said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Look at you.” Stiles could only imagine what he looked like, spread out for Derek, moaning for more. He buried his face against the mattress, shouting in protest as Derek withdrew his fingers. “Hold on,” Derek said as he gave a shake to one of Stiles’ ass cheeks. Stiles watched, craning his neck, as Derek ripped open a condom then slid it on, lubing himself up before he grabbed onto Stiles’ hips, lining himself up. “You ready?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded his head as he tugged on his balls, rubbing his own erection. He’d never been so ready to be thoroughly fucked.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, belatedly as Derek pressed inwards. He barely got his head in before he pulled back out, fucking into him so shallowly Stiles would consider it teasing. Stiles let out a groan as he pushed himself up by his elbows, rocking his hips backwards in an attempt to get Derek to fuck him deeper. Derek held onto Stiles’ hips, stilling him. Stiles let out a frustrated groan, looking over his shoulder at Derek, who was watching his cock slowly disappear into Stiles, then reappear again.

“You gonna fuck me?” Stiles asked, his voice completely fucked out. Derek bottomed out in one fluid movement, pressing Stiles against the mattress. “Oh, fuck!” Stiles shouted. “That’s what I wanted.”

“This what you want?” Derek asked in Stiles’ ear as his chest was pressed against Stiles’ back, his thrusts quick and deep, barely pulling back before he fucked into him. Stiles nodded his head as he moaned with each breath he took, getting louder with each graze over his prostate. Derek put a hand over Stiles’ mouth, his fingers slick against Stiles’ lips. Stiles groaned, his eyes closing as he completely let go. Derek’s pace was relentless as the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the trailer. Stiles was pretty sure they were shaking it, but his mind was completely overtaken by the need to come, of Derek filling him and fucking him raw.

“You going to come for me?” Derek asked, pressing his nose against Stiles’ wet cheek. Stiles didn’t know he’d been crying but he blamed the intensity.

“Yeah, make me come,” Stiles begged, turning his head so that they could kiss. It was chaste, considering Derek had been fucking him relentlessly. Derek wrapped a hand around Stiles’ middle, shifting them and rolling them over so that Derek was on his back and Stiles’ feet were flat on the bed. He held himself up by putting his hands on Derek’s thighs, thinking he’d get to fuck himself on Derek’s cock but Derek had other plans.

“Put your hand on your cock,” Derek said as Stiles rolled his hips, his head hung down as he watched his cock bounce. Derek held onto his hips as Stiles stroked himself. Derek fucked up into him, making Stiles throw his head back, his mouth hanging open.

He came seconds later, making a mess of his stomach and hand. Derek groaned, stilling his movements as he held Stiles down on his cock. Stiles panted as Derek came inside of him, his limbs like jello as Derek pulled out. Hazy, Stiles kissed Derek languidly, unable to keep from grinning as he lay next to Derek, a leg draped over him. He needed to clean up, and Derek needed to get rid of the condom, but neither of them wanted to move.

Stiles was riding the best post-orgasm high he’d ever had as Derek placed soft, open-mouthed kisses across Stiles’ cheek and neck, affectionate and warm. Eventually they needed to move, but as the storm raged outside, Stiles didn’t really care.


Stiles could barely walk.

That was a bit of an overstatement, but he was definitely sore. He hadn’t been fucked in a while and Derek wasn’t necessarily gentle. He winced as he got dressed and walked towards the backstage area for breakfast. It was a foggy morning, drizzling, but at least it wasn’t pouring. Sitting was also uncomfortable, so Stiles stood as he ate his eggs and bacon. He downed two cups of horrible coffee in hopes that he wouldn’t looked so, well, fucked out.

He left while Derek was in the shower, the room smelled of sex. Stiles probably smelled like it too, but when he woke up beside Derek, he’d had a short moment of panic. They were casual. There were no promises of more, no indication that it wasn’t more than just two people getting off. Waking up next to Derek made Stiles want more, wanted it to be more.

Sure, the sex had been great, but what he wanted was the privilege to wake up next to Derek, to see him that peaceful and sleepy when he woke up, his hair a mess and voice scratchy from sleep.

Basically, Stiles was ruined. Derek was a Rennie, he traveled the country with his company and performed all year long. Stiles was a townie, and he’d remain one long after Derek left. Stiles was stuck in Beacon Hills with his community college credits and coffee shop job.

Derek was free.

As the day went on, the fog lifted but the rain remained. It was a mist, barely a drizzle, but it was constant, meaning less patrons than a normal day. Stiles was chilled, walking backstage and shrugging on a normal jacket during his break, grabbing hot chocolate that was provided as he sat under a tent, out of the mist for a few minutes. He wished he had gloves. It wasn’t freezing out, just cool and wet. It made Stiles tired.

When it came to the days’ jousts, Stiles found himself once more on the side of Ennis the red knight. Apparently he wasn’t ever going to be Derek’s rabble rouser. He screamed himself hoarse, then spent most of the afternoon butchering a pantomime routine.

By the time the gates closed, he was exhausted and ready to go home. They tent was wet, but they packed it up anyways. Stiles changed into normal clothes, layering up as best he could. He didn’t expect to see Derek before he and Scott left, but just as they managed to pack the tent up and put it in the Jeep, Derek showed up in jeans and a leather jacket. Stiles gave him a lopsided grin as he walked over, his hands shoved into his hoodie.

“Hey,” Stiles said, gnawing at his bottom lip. Derek’s eyes cast downwards, staring at Stiles’ mouth.

“Hey,” Derek said, stilted. Stiles looked to his Jeep, where Scott stood waiting for him. It was a little awkward.

“So,” Stiles said, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I work at the coffee shop in the afternoons, you should stop by.” Straight forward and to the point. Stiles only had a few weeks left with Derek, he didn’t want to mope: he wanted to get laid.

Derek smirked, nodding his head once.

“I’ll see you then.”


Stiles wasn’t really expecting to see Derek on Monday, so when he showed up, alone, Stiles mentally jumped up and down at the sight of him in normal clothes. He loved Derek in his armour, he really did, but the way jeans hugged Derek’s thighs and ass was a godsend.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Stiles teased as he leaned over the counter. Derek grinned at him, surprising Stiles by kissing him. The shop was slow, with only one person seated in on one of the comfortable couches, but they weren’t paying attention. “Hey,” Stiles whispered against Derek’s lips.

“Hey yourself,” Derek said, still smiling as he pressed his lips against Stiles’ once more.

“What can I get you?” Stiles asked as he stood up straight, the bell ringing indicating that someone else had walked into the shop. Derek shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter.” Stiles gave him a look.”Your favorite drink.” Stiles beamed because Derek wanted Stiles to make him whatever he wanted. Stiles nodded.

“I’ll bring it out to you.” Derek offered money, but Stiles waved it away. He wouldn’t make Derek pay. Instead, Derek put it in the tip jar, which had Stiles’ cheeks reddening as Derek stepped out of the way, letting the person behind him order.

Stiles made both of their drinks, Derek’s a special he’d concocted himself, then brought them out to them. Stiles hovered by Derek, nervous that he wouldn’t like it.

“It’s very sweet,” Derek said.

“It’s salted caramel, with some butterscotch.”

“It’s good,” Derek said, sipping it. Stiles wished he could sit down and talk with him, but he had work to do.

Derek ended up staying for an hour. He returned Tuesday, then Wednesday. On Thursday, he didn’t show up when he had the days prior. Stiles figured he wouldn’t come a fourth day in a row, but as Stiles was cleaning up for the night, right before he flipped the open sign to closed, Derek walked in.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Stiles admitted aloud. Derek had no indication to his feelings on the matter, his face completely unreadable.

“Well, I thought I’d stop by at closing in hopes of coercing you into having dinner with me.”

Stiles’ face broke out into a grin as he nodded his head, taking off his apron, flipping over the sign so that they were officially closed.

“Hell yes, I want to get dinner with you. I know just the place. Have you had Big Guys Pizza yet?” Stiles asked as he walked back to get his coat.

“No, I haven’t,” Derek said, clearly amused at how excited Stiles was.

“Well, it’s the best pizza in town. The slices are as big as your face.”

They got a booth in the back, and ordered a medium pizza to share. Stiles couldn’t stop looking at Derek as they talked. He kept busy by shredding his straw paper, then his napkin. They were on a date.

“So where do you go after this?” Stiles asked.

“The guys and I are headed to Nevada, making a pit stop in Vegas,” Derek said with a laugh. “Then there’s a faire in New Mexico.”

“Fun,” Stiles said, grinning. “I’ve always wanted to go to Vegas, but I can’t even step foot on a casino floor.”

“Speaking of,” Derek said with narrow eyes, though there was no heat behind them. “How shy of that are you, exactly?” Stiles cleared his throat, quirking an eyebrow in a way that he hoped didn’t convey how nervous telling Derek how young he was made him.

“I’m eighteen,” Stiles said, watching Derek for his reaction. Derek breathed in deeply, nodding his head once as he took a sip of the beer he’d ordered.

“I knew you were young, but--”

“Not so young,” Stiles pointed out. “Legal young.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Derek said, easing the tension. “I guess I should have asked.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to mess around anymore?” Stiles asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Derek said, his leg pressing against Stiles’ under the table. Stiles pressed back, smiling to himself as the waiter delivered their pizza.

After they ate, Stiles followed Derek to his car, a Camaro, where Derek pressed him up against it, kissing him. Stiles moaned against his lips, his hands cupping Derek’s face as they continued to kiss. Derek stepped between Stiles’ legs, hoisting him up the side of the car.

“I could do this all day,” Stiles said as Derek nipped at his earlobe. Derek rumbled in agreement, his hands on Stiles’ waist. Stiles panted, wishing they weren’t out in the open, though Derek was parked down an alleyway that was usually reserved for residents that lived above the shops.

“You don’t live alone, do you?” Derek asked, his hand grazing over Stiles’ crotch. Stiles groaned as he shook his head. His father was off duty tonight, and Stiles didn’t think he’d appreciate Stiles coming home with a booty call.

“No,” Stiles admitted, wincing at the embarrassment, even though he was only eighteen. It felt like a blow, coming from Derek.

“That’s okay,” Derek said, cupping Stiles’ cheek with hand, his thumb grazing Stiles’ cheek. Stiles leaned into it, wanting Derek to touch him more. “We’ll fuck this weekend.”

Stiles grinned, wishing it was the weekend right then and there.


On Saturday, they fucked backstage, with Derek’s hand over his mouth to keep him quiet and their breeches shoved down their thighs. Stiles spent the night in Derek’s trailer, where they sexiled Boyd but Stiles was pretty sure he didn’t care considering he’d gotten with Erica, one of the singing washer wenches.

Stiles fell asleep with Derek in his arms, then woke up to the smell of waffles.

“Are you serious?” Stiles asked, walking out into the small kitchen wearing a pair of Derek’s boxers that he found on the ground, his hair sticking up every which way. “Waffles?”

“I have a waffle iron, don’t tell anyone,” Derek said in a hushed tone. He too, was clad only in a pair of boxers that hung loosely from his hips. Stiles snaked his arms around Derek’s middle, pressing his forehead against Derek’s shoulder.

He wanted to stay like this, wake up to the smell of waffles and see Derek in his boxers, his skin warm from sleep. He quelled the feeling down as Derek poured him a cup of coffee, then made him a plate.

After pouring a copious amount of syrup onto his waffle, Stiles dug in, moaning as the first bite touched his tongue. Derek snorted as he sat across from him, using considerably less syrup.

“This is so good. Orgasmic good.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Derek said, clearly amused by Stiles’ morning antics. He grinned at Derek over his coffee cup, nudging Derek’s foot with his own beneath the table.

The next weekend, Stiles and Scott didn’t even bring the tent. It was a bit presumptuous, but considering he hadn’t slept in it the weekend prior, he figured it was a waste of time putting it up if neither of them were going to use it. Stiles kept his duffel bag in his Jeep, not wanting to freak Derek out by dropping his shit off like he planned on crashing with him.

Derek showed up on Wednesday, during Stiles’ shift, near closing again. They ended up seeing a movie together, then went to the diner that was open 24/7, talking until Stiles couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

So when Stiles saw Derek at the bonfire with his arm slung over someone he didn’t recognize, all of the air flew out of him like he’d been punched in the gut. Instead of jumping to conclusions like he had with Cora, Stiles walked up to the small group casually in an attempt not to freak out. Derek’s arm was over their shoulder, but they had a hand on Derek’s waist like it belonged there.

The fact that Derek and Stiles were, in fact, casually fucking was signalling in Stiles’ mind like a flashing neon sign that read ‘Stiles, you’re an idiot’.

“Stiles, this is Jordan,” Derek said, introducing them. “Jordan, this is Stiles.” Jordan didn’t come with an addendum, such as best friend or boyfriend, so as the conversation continued, Stiles’ worry wasn’t diminished. More important, Stiles needed to find a place to crash. As it got later, Stiles mingled with other groups, finally finding Scott and Allison who were hanging out with Kira.

Stiles let out a sigh, carding his fingers through his hair as he looked over at Derek and Jordan, who were still attached at the hip. Stiles’ mood soured.

“Dude, who are you sending glare daggers at?” Scott asked, craning his neck as he looked around, his eyes falling on Derek and the hand around his waist. “Oh, harsh.”

“Yeah,” Stiles grumbled, poking the ground with a stick he found.

“You need a place to crash?” Scott asked.

“Looks like it, I should have brought the tent, or a sleeping bag. This weekend is going to suck.”

“I’ve got room in my tent,” Kira said with a smile.

“Okay, thanks Kira,” Stiles said. He went to his Jeep to pick up his duffel, pointedly not looking at Derek as he passed the bonfire on the way to Kira’s tent. He didn’t know if Derek saw him, didn’t really care.

That was a lie, Stiles cared: a lot.

When he got to Kira’s tent, she was already in her pj’s which consisted of an oversized sweatshirt and shorts, her sleeping bag already open and ready. Malia, her tent mate, was ready for bed as well, with her hair up in a messy bun and her makeup off. They’d completely unzipped their sleeping bags so one was on the ground while the other could be used as a blanket.

“You guys are amazing,” Stiles said as he put his bag down, shoving it against the wall.

“We aren’t about to make you crash in your Jeep,” Malia said with a roll of her eyes. Stiles gave her an appreciative smile as he changed out of his jeans and pulled on sleep pants, plaid and flannel. He kept on his hoodie. Thankfully, he was smart enough to pack his pillow.

“Okay, how are we doing this?” Stiles asked, unsure how they wanted to sleep.

“Kira in the middle,” Malia said. “We cuddle.”

Stiles nodded his head, crawling to his designated spot without a word. Once they were all settled, they pulled up the sleeping bag cover. Stiles lay on his back, unable to fall asleep, his mind too busy thinking about Derek and Jordan. A pit grew in his stomach as his mind reminded him that there wasn’t much time left anyways, that Derek was leaving soon. It was never going to work out.

It had been fun while it lasted.

Stiles rolled onto his side, facing away from the girls as he tried to fall asleep, curling up. Morning came too fast for his liking.

He was in a funk, waking up on the wrong side of the bed considering the weekend before he’d been given waffles and a blow job before work. He poked at the free eggs and fried potatoes he was given, his elbow on the picnic table as he held his head in his hand. Scott ate silently beside him, knowing to leave Stiles alone when he was in one of his funks.

In some horrible form of cosmic irony, Stiles was the blue knight’s crowd rouser that day. Stiles wanted to kick over a trash can with the unfairness of it all. He avoided the backstage area at all costs, paying attention to the crowd instead of Derek, his chants about the other knights and decapitating them.

Stiles’ mood didn’t improve as the day went on.

He’d never wanted the gates to close as soon as possible before, never been so over faire life. He wanted it to be Sunday evening, wanted to return to his mundane life where people didn’t just fuck him then dangle someone else on their arm.

Stiles spent Saturday evening in Kira’s tent, playing games on his phone until it died, and then he sat in his Jeep as it charged. On his way back to the tent, Stiles saw a figure standing outside Kira’s tent, as he approached it, his shoulders hunched over in apprehension: it was Derek.

Avoiding his gaze completely, Stiles looked to the ground, placing a hand on the nape of his own neck as he rubbed at it.

“Where have you been?” Derek asked, the sound of concern dripping from his voice. Stiles sneered.


“Are you okay?” Derek asked. “Where’s your tent? I had to ask Scott where you’ve been.” Stiles glared at him, his jaw clenched.

“I’m fucking peachy,” Stiles seethed. “And I didn’t bring it this weekend, considering I hadn’t used it much it didn’t seem worth it.” A look of comprehension passed across Derek’s face, his eyes wide.

“You-- Stiles, why didn’t you say anything last night?” Derek asked, taking a step forward, reaching out for Stiles’ arm. Stiles shrugged Derek’s touch away.

“Because I don’t-- I’m not begging you for attention, okay? It was obvious that you had plans.”

“Plans?” Derek laughed. “You mean Jordan?”

“Of course I mean Jordan,” Stiles said, scoffing. “Who else had their arm around you, I mean it’s not like we’re exclusive or anything, right?” Stiles was working himself up into a frenzy, his heart rate skyrocketing along with the sound of his voice. “We’re just having fun.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice way too calm. It made Stiles angrier as Derek placed a hand on his shoulder. Stiles pushed it away.

“I’m just some stupid eighteen year old you get to fuck while you’re here--”

“Stiles, enough,” Derek said, finally grabbing onto Stiles’ shoulders, shaking him slightly. “You’re wrong,” Stiles said, a hand sliding up to Stiles’ face. “Jordan’s just a friend. He lives in Sacramento, came up for the weekend. He’s crashing on the couch, but that doesn’t mean-- I said he was my friend.”

“Not to me,” Stiles said, his voice losing its edge of vitrolle. “You didn’t say it to me.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that, alright? I hadn’t seen him in months.” Stiles was embarrassed about how he’d reacted, couldn’t even look Derek in the face. “Hey, look at me, Stiles.” Reluctantly, Stiles did so, his heart aching. “You aren’t a stupid eighteen year old, okay? I like you, a lot. I don’t make waffles for one night stands, and I don’t run through storms looking for people I don’t care about.”

Stiles bit his lip, his emotions swelling.

“You’re leaving,” Stiles said weakly. Derek nodded his head, pressing his forehead against Stiles’ and sighing.

“Yes, but you’re not just someone I’ve been fucking, Stiles. Don’t you get that?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, sniffing once before capturing Derek’s lips with his own. Derek kissed him back.

“Now, I wanted Jordan to hang out with you. Do you want to crash at my place tonight?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded his head. He did.

“I’m sorry for being--”

“Don’t,” Derek said, cutting him off. “Let’s make the best of the time we’ve got left, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles said as Derek took his hand, leading him towards Derek’s trailer.


Jordan, Boyd, Derek, and Stiles stayed up late. They drank, they talked, they played cards. Stiles passed out beside Derek, his arms wrapped around him as his chest pressed against Derek’s back. When he woke up, he didn’t want to move he was so comfortable.

“What if I called out,” Stiles said once he felt Derek stirring beside him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Derek said as he stretched, turning so he could face Stiles, their legs interlocked as Derek’s hand found Stiles’, their fingers intertwining. “But what if you stayed here tonight?”

Stiles tilted his head, pondering. It was Sunday, and he had class in the morning, not to mention his father expected him to be home.

“I can’t,” Stiles confessed. “But I wish I could.”

“It’s okay,” Derek said, leaning forward, placing a chaste kiss on Stiles’ lips. “It was worth a shot.”


They exchanged numbers, finally. Stiles stared at his phone when he got home, wondering if he should text Derek or not. His dad was on call, not on duty but could be pulled away if there was an emergency, so he wasn’t home alone.

Instead of texting, Stiles took a shower, a long one, where he jacked off thinking about Derek. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it, and it wouldn’t be the last. When he got out, there was a text waiting for him.

Is there a Drive-In around here? Derek asked. Stiles rolled his eyes as he sat down on the bed, his skin still damp and hair dripping wet.

There’s one but it’s janky. Stiles texted back. It’s only open weekends. There went Derek’s date idea.

There were only two weekends left before the faire closed, two short weekends. Stiles didn’t want to think about it. Instead, he texted Derek until they both fell asleep.
Friday didn’t come soon enough for Stiles. He’d had a bad week, barely passing an exam in one of his classes, then having an off day at the coffee shop where he felt like anything he did he fucked up. So by the time he and Scott pulled up to the faire campground, he was full of nerves and worry about the fact that his time left with Derek was so short.

Come to my trailer when you get in. Derek had texted earlier in the day. That alone put Stiles on edge, anxiety ridden about what Derek wanted to talk about. Stiles stuffed his hands in his hoodie pockets as he trudged through the campground. The sun hadn’t set yet, and already Stiles could see his breath in the air; it was going to be a cold night.

He knocked lightly on Derek’s trailer door, surprised when Boyd answered it, looming in the doorway, completely blocking it.

“Oh, hey, Boyd,” Stiles said, waiting to be let in. Boyd continued to block the entrance, his face unreadable. “Derek told me to stop by when I got in.”

“I know,” Boyd said, his voice giving away nothing. “You’re early.”

“So?” Stiles said, attempting to look into the trailer over and around Boyd’s massive form. Stiles wasn’t sure it was possible, but Boyd seemingly took up more space, making it impossible for him to look inside.

“So, Derek’s not ready yet.”

“Ready? Ready for what?” Stiles asked. Boyd rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the trailer, shutting the door behind him, draping an arm around Stiles’ shoulder and leading him away from the trailer. Stiles craned his neck, looking back towards it forlornly. “Where are we going?”

“For a walk,” Boyd said, steering Stiles down the line of trailers.


“Do you always ask this many questions?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, giving Boyd a look. He stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth set in a straight line. “What’s going on?”

“I told you,” Boyd said with a sigh. “Derek’s not ready. I’m stalling.”

“Stalling for what?” Stiles prodded. “What’s he doing--”

“He’s making you dinner,” Boyd said, his face serious. “Do you know-- no. No, you don’t know anything.”


“Don’t fuck this up,” Boyd said, poking Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles rubbed at it, making a pained face. Boyd was strong as fuck. Note to Stiles: don’t get on Boyd’s bad side he’ll fuck shit up.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Stiles mumbled. “Besides, you’re the ones leaving. I’m stuck here.”

“No one is stuck if they don’t want to be,” Boyd said. “I’m from a small town, too, you know. I got out. If you wanted, you could too.”

“Well, it’s not that easy,” Stiles confessed. “Leaving. I’ve never even gone to another state.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”


Eventually, Boyd brought Stiles back to the trailer, leaving Stiles at the door where he then walked away, more than likely seeking out Erica. This time when Stiles knocked on the door, Derek answered wearing a skin tight Henley and the jeans Stiles so wanted to peel off his body.

“Sorry about that,” Derek said. He looked nervous, which calmed Stiles down as he walked inside. Stiles’ jaw dropped at the sight. Somehow, Derek had gotten ahold of Christmas twinkle lights and strung them up around the table, where dinner was laid out along with two glasses for wine. “I wasn’t ready yet.”

“Holy shit,” Stiles said, wide-eyed as he stepped forward. Dinner was steak, with sauteed mushrooms and twice baked potatoes. Stiles’ mouth watered as he turned to face Derek, kissing him on the lips, wrapping his arms around him. “You did this for me?” Stiles asked him. Derek nodded his head, pressing his nose against his cheek before kissing him again.

“I wanted to do something nice,” Derek spoke against Stiles’ lips, brushing them across Stiles’ mouth tenderly as he embraced Stiles, pulling him close. Stiles grinned, elated that Derek went through all the trouble.

Eventually, they sat down to enjoy the dinner Derek had made. He’d borrowed someone’s grill, apparently, to cook the steaks on. He poured the wine, the two of them finishing off a bottle as they ate and talked. It felt right, sharing a meal with Derek just the two of them. Stiles wished they could do it all the time.

That thought sobered him as he spun his wine glass around slowly, contemplating. Derek’s foot against his own under the table grabbed his attention.

“Hey, I’m right here,” Derek said, bringing Stiles back to the present. “Don’t think about two weeks from now.”

“Aren’t you?” Stiles asked. “Thinking about it, I mean?”

“Of course,” Derek admitted, his hand reaching across the table for Stiles’. “But we can’t spend all our time thinking about things we can’t change. Instead, think about what we could be doing now.”

“Like fucking?” Stiles asked with a grin. Derek laughed, throwing his head back as he held his stomach.

“Exactly like fucking.”

Derek tugged Stiles towards the bedroom, where he sat on the bed, pulling Stiles on top of him. They kissed, tasting of wine and dinner. Stiles took his time undressing Derek, pressing him down against the mattress, spreading his legs as he kneeled on the floor, taking Derek into his mouth. He watched Derek with heavy lidded eyes as he licked up his length, sucking on the head of his cock. Derek moaned, letting his head fall back, exposing his neck to Stiles.

Stiles hummed in contentment as he bobbed his head, Derek’s balls in his hand as he tasted precome on the back of his tongue. Stiles didn’t think about the future, he thought about Derek beneath him, about to come with Stiles’ name on his lips.

Stiles palmed himself over the fabric of his jeans, taking a moment in order to rid himself of his hoodie as his body started to heat up. Derek sat up, his thumb brushing over Stiles’ mouth for a moment before urging Stiles to stand. Derek undid Stiles’ jeans, taking him into his own mouth, moaning as soon as Stiles head slapped against his tongue. It was obscene, the noises Derek made as he blew Stiles.

Licking his lips, Stiles pushed Derek back against the bed, then resituated himself so that he was facing away from Derek, straddling him so that he could take Derek back into his mouth while Derek could suck him off simultaneously. Derek fucked up into Stiles’ mouth as he took Stiles down his throat, the two of them moaning at each other’s taste on their tongues.

Stiles pulled back, gasping for air as he wrapped a hand around Derek’s cock, stroking him as he turned to look at him.

“I’m gonna come,” Stiles said. Up until that point, they hadn’t exchanged any bodily fluids except saliva. “Derek-- Derek--” Stiles started to pull out, but Derek gripped his ass, keeping his cock in Derek’s mouth. “Fuck,” Stiles said as his cock slid further down Derek’s throat as he came. His hand was Still around Derek’s cock, his mouth inches away when Derek came, spilling onto Stiles’ hand and lips. Stiles rolled over onto his back as he wiped his lips with his fingers, looking at Derek’s come as he panted for breath, his legs falling open. Derek sat up, catching the rest of his mess with his thumb as he wiped it off Stiles’ cheek, then kissed his lips. Stiles could taste himself on Derek’s lips, in his mouth as their kiss deepened. Stiles was all for safe sex, but that was hot. He wanted to do more, so much more with Derek.

Stiles straddled his lap, his face pressing against the crook of Derek’s neck as he wrapped his arms around him.

“Can I spend the night?” Stiles asked.

“Of course,” Derek said, kissing Stiles once more.


Stiles had never had so much sex in his life. His legs felt like limp noodles throughout the weekend, completely fucked out. His lips were numb, reddened, and his body was covered in hickeys, most of which were covered by his clothes. They’d fucked until they passed out Friday night, woke up Saturday to Derek blowing him, then managed to sneak a quick fuck backstage.

It wasn’t like it was unheard of, hell, even Stiles had accidentally walked in on two people one time when he was younger, around fifteen. He’d gotten an eye full, that was for sure. By the time Sunday came, Stiles was pretty sure he couldn’t come any more. That being said, he didn’t want to leave Derek. Leaving Derek meant there was only one weekend left to the faire and Stiles didn’t want it to end.

When he and Scott got ready to leave on Sunday, Derek met him at his Jeep. They kissed goodbye, and Stiles didn’t even care that Scott was standing there waiting for him to finish. Stiles’ heart clenched as he took a step away from Derek, his keys jingling in his hands.

“I’ll call you later,” Stiles promised. Derek gave him a nod and a small smile, waving at Scott as the two of them got into the Jeep, driving away from the campgrounds.

“What are you going to do?” Scott asked a few minutes later as they headed into town. Stiles shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road, his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel.

“I don’t know,” he confessed.

“I mean, long distance sucks, but Allison and I are going to try it,” Scott said, trying to be helpful. Stiles grit his teeth, jealous that Scott and Allison had talked about the future, way more than he and Derek had done. “Maybe you guys can, too.”

“Maybe,” Stiles said, checking his rear view mirror. “I don’t know.”


Stiles barely slept leading up to closing weekend. It was always a busy one, and Stiles pulled up to the campground on Friday exhausted. He’d seen Derek throughout the week, when he came into the coffee shop to hang out while Stiles had a shift. Derek read for hours, buying tea and coffee throughout the afternoons so Stiles wouldn’t get in trouble. Stiles ached, wishing he could see Derek come next Monday.

Now that it was the weekend again, though, Stiles went straight to Derek’s trailer without pretenses, knocking on the door until Derek answered it.

“Hey,” Derek said, looking comfortable in sweats and a t-shirt and a book in his hand.

“I want to try long distance,” Stiles blurted out, biting his lip afterwards. Derek ushered Stiles inside, where Boyd sat lounging on the couch. He took one look at Stiles and got up.

“I’m out, then,” Boyd said, grabbing his coat.

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek said, pointing towards the bedroom. “We’ll just be a minute.” Stiles’ gut clenched at the words, his stomach sinking at the implication. Boyd made himself comfortable again. “If I hear any weird noises, you’ll regret it,” Boyd called out as Derek shut the door behind them. Stiles sat on the bed, his hands in his lap as he waited for Derek to answer him.

Derek sighed, raking his fingers through his hair then scratching at the nape of his neck as he looked down at Stiles, putting a hand on his hip. Stiles looked down at the ground, scuffing his foot across the carpeted floor.

“You don’t want to date me, Stiles,” Derek said, his voice hushed. Stiles’ eyes shot upwards, his face set in a frown. “You think you do, but you don’t.”

“I do--”

“You don’t know me,” Derek said. “You know surface me, the Derek that is a knight, the one who drinks and fucks-- I’m not that Derek.”

“I know that’s not you,” Stiles scoffed. “You’re Derek, the guy that likes to cook and reads two books a week, that’s right, I’ve been paying attention. You’d rather lounge around in sweats and a tank top then put a pair of jeans on. You work out, but not really because you want to but because you have to look good for your job. The Derek I know smiles in the morning and his hair sticks up every which way. The Derek I know runs out into storms in order to go get dumb teenagers who thought they could weather a storm.”

Derek stood there, his eyes wide.

“I want to be with that Derek,” Stiles said. “And I hope he wants to be with me, too.”

“Oh, I do,” Derek said. “I want to, but my life is with the faire. I don’t know any other way--”

“So, I could join the circuit,” Stiles said, as if it was that simple. “I want to join you.”

“I wish you could--”

“I want to go to school,” Stiles prompted. “Before now, I didn’t know what I wanted to do except that I wanted to do the faire circuit. I didn’t have any real skills, you know, for faire. But I can learn them.”

Derek crossed his arms, listening intently as Stiles stood up, beginning to pace the room. “Watching Allison all faire, I think I want to learn stage combat. I want to be able to choreograph fights with swords and daggers, hand to hand, even.” When Stiles looked up at Derek, he was smiling.

“What do you think?” Stiles asked.

“I think you could do it,” Derek said with a grin. “And I know just the teacher.”

“You do?” Stiles asked.

“My friend Jordan, he’s a stage combat instructor.” Stiles didn’t want to get his hopes up about Derek, about pursuing something he was interested in that wasn’t a class he could take at the community college. Deep down, it felt right. “Do you really want that?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “But I want to be with you, too.”

“You already have me,” Derek said, kissing him on the lips. Stiles hugged him like he didn’t ever want to let go. “And I’ll help you any way I can.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said.

“How about we go talk to Argent, huh? He has contacts.”

“Sounds great,” Stiles said as Derek took his hand, leading him towards the Argents’ trailers.


Two Years Later

“Try it again,” Stiles said as he lunged at Derek. “Your reaction time is off.”

“It’s a difficult routine,” Derek grumbled. He was covered in sweat as he and Stiles practiced a new routine, Stiles’ second with the troupe. Boyd sat watching them from the sideline. He would be replacing Stiles’ part, but was watching his footwork.

“I know,” Stiles said with a grin. “People will love it.”

Stiles officially signed on with their troupe six months prior, having gone through stage combat school quickly due to having an amazing tutor in Jordan Parrish. Stiles hadn’t planned on joining Derek’s troupe, had wanted to build his own show from the ground up to take on the faire circuit, but the opportunity arose when word got out that Stiles got his certification and the troupe’s head offered Stiles a position to teach the knights new routines.

Stiles loved his job. He got to travel with the knights, with Derek, but didn’t have to be at every stop in the circuit. He could go home when he wanted, could travel with Derek when he wanted, and all before he turned twenty-one.

He was no longer the small town boy who’d never stepped foot outside of California. He was officially a Rennie, traveling the circuit with his boyfriend of two years. Stiles couldn’t be happier.