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Endless Beings

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“Emergency numbers are on the fridge, there’s a twenty under the freeze-pops in the freezer for pizza but there should be enough food in the house for the weekend, and if he gives you any trouble please don’t hesitate to call me. Any meetings can wait.”

Derek gave an impatient roll of his eyes behind Sheriff Stilinski’s back. It was the sixth time since Derek had gotten there that they’d gone over it. He had covered for Laura before, and sure this kid was a bit older than the nine year olds Derek had watched, but the logistics were still the same. Probably.

“I’m sure it will be fine.”

The Sheriff turned from where he was slipping his coat on and gave Derek a look he didn’t know how to interpret.

“This is Stiles. I’ve kind of accepted that he will never make things easy on anyone. I don’t think he even realizes half the trouble he gets in is actually, y’know, trouble.”

Oh, so his name was actually Stiles. Derek hadn’t been sure he heard Laura right when she told him he was babysitting a Stiles, because that was totally not a name.

“He’s sixteen,” the Sheriff continues, “so he’s not into the whole babysitter thing but he’s got two broken arms and I’m gone for the weekend. I would have left him with his friend Scott, but you know how it is.”

Derek didn’t, but he nodded his head yes anyway.

“Anyway, I should probably get going, don’t want to be late,” the Sheriff says, and Derek agreed.

It felt like he was totally unwilling to leave his son alone, and while Derek hadn’t experienced those kinds of parents yet, Laura told him the horror stories. Though those seemed to be centered more on an unwillingness to leave their kids alone with Laura, while Sheriff Stilinski seemed more like he was afraid to leave Derek alone with Stiles.

“Stiles! Get your butt down here!”

There’s a shuffle and a thump from upstairs before a bedroom door opens.

“I’m sorry, he isn’t usually this rude, but he’s annoyed that I wouldn’t leave him home alone.”

Derek was hoping he was reclusive, the easy kind of kid to babysit where you’d put them in a room with some toys and they were fine. Sure, Stiles was older and would probably need some different toys, but Derek was nothing if not inventive.

Feet hit the stairs and the Sheriff winced when it sounded like a herd of elephants coming downstairs, but Derek shrugged. He had younger siblings and they sounded just as loud.

And well, when Stiles turned the corner to head into the door entryway, Derek thought he was going to have to rethink calling him a kid so much in his head because considering anyone a kid when he was a little (just a little) attracted to them opened a whole can of worms Derek wasn’t willing to look at. Ever.

It wasn’t so much that he was attractive then, because Stiles was definitely the epitome of awkward, gawky teenager with limbs longer than he’s used to and ears that stuck out a little farther than they should’ve, but there were things that Derek noticed and he knew that when Stiles finally grew into them he’d be really attractive. And it was that older Stiles that he could see in glimpses, that he liked. Though it was hard telling his body that Stiles wasn’t grown up yet, that was for sure.

“What’s the matter?” The Sheriff asked and Derek nearly jumped straight into the roof because how on earth was he supposed to say that whatever face he just made that the Sheriff noticed was because he was attracted to his underage son. But he wasn’t speaking to Derek.

Sheriff Stilinski had a hand against Stiles’ forehead, and it was then that Derek noticed that Stiles’ eyes were a little glossy and red rimmed. Stiles shrugged him off, eyes glancing over at Derek before he scowled at his dad.

“If you’re getting sick I can stay home. I’m sure the folks at the other end of the meeting will understand.”

Stiles shifted from side to side and glanced over at Derek again, who nearly rolled his eyes. He was at that age where he apparently had to prove to the older kids how cool he was.

“No, I’m not sick. I’ve just been really tired today. Stayed up too late and all, so I’m fine. Go to your meeting, Dad.”

“Well, okay. If you’re sure.” The Sheriff seemed reluctant to leave, especially now that his son looked like he did. And to be honest, as nervous and guilty as Stiles was looking, Derek thought he’d been up to something entirely different than sleeping because he was tired.

“Yeah, get going dad, you’ll miss your meetings,” Stiles said with a grin, but it looked strained even to Derek’s eyes and he didn’t even know the kid.

They hugged and Derek had to avert his eyes at how awkward it looked, with Stiles trying to avoid the whole thing and the Sheriff trying to hold on as long as possible.

And when the Sheriff officially left and they heard the cab peel out of the driveway, there was a heavy silence in the air, Stiles kicking at the wood floor with his socked feet and glancing up at Derek a few times before dropping his eyes back to the floor.

“My Dad, uh, he’s a hugger,” Stiles eventually said, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “But not like, a treehugger or anything. Just a people hugger. Er, well a me hugger.”

Derek snorted because he didn’t have anything else to add. If Stiles was a kid, like a little kid, he’d have grabbed a boardgame or a toy or something and asked if he wanted to play. But he was pretty sure that wouldn’t go over well with a sixteen year old. It felt like he was trying to talk to one of his younger brother’s friends, and well, he usually ignored them when they came over to the house. He had no freaking clue what to do.

“You wanna, um, watch a movie or something?” Stiles asked, and Derek was grateful to jump on the opportunity. And seeing as Stiles was older, he wouldn’t have to suffer through Gumbo’s Quest for the Golden Rabbit or The Wolfling’s Forest for the four thousandth time practically.

Stiles put in a horror movie, because apparently the genre was his favorite, while Derek situated himself on one end of the couch.

“I’m sorry about the previews, but our DVD player refuses to skip them,” Stiles mumbled as he sat down on the opposite side of the couch.

“It’s fine.”

Two previews passed before Stiles spoke up again. “Do you want some popcorn or anything? It doesn’t have butter on it because my Dad needs to eat healthy though.”

Derek looked pointedly at Stiles’ arms in their casts and said, “You going to be able to carry it out?”

Stiles frowned. “I’m not an invalid, despite what my dad thinks. I can wipe my own ass and everything.”

And to prove it, Stiles brought out a giant bowl of popcorn and set it on the cushion between them. It didn’t have butter on it, but Derek tolerated it.

“Your voice doesn’t really match your body you know,” he said when the movie finally started. Derek was the type of person who needed to have all their focus on the movie and hated it when others talked so it was a wonder that he didn’t threaten to bite Stiles’ head off, but he’d seen the movie before. “Like, you have this really intense body but your voice sounds like it should belong to a baker or a teacher or something.”

Derek’s heart picked up for a beat or two when Stiles mentioned his body, and it was stupid and he felt stupid because it was a sixteen-year-old boy telling him it, and it was in the midst of an insult. He should want to punch him, not get the urge to push him against the couch and hump him into oblivion. “Yeah, well I guess we all aren’t as lucky as you to have a voice that matches their body.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you look like you sound, a kid.”

“Fuck you, I’m sixteen!”

Derek snorted and turned back to the TV screen. Yeah, that was what Derek kept telling himself. “You don’t even look like you’ve hit your first heat yet.”

Stiles went weirdly quiet, and Derek’s thankful he could finally focus on the movie again.

On some level he’s kind of glad Stiles chose a horror movie. His sister’s the type to cling to everyone and anyone every time something jumps across the screen and startles her, and Derek kept thinking about Stiles doing it. There was a scary part coming up soon, and Derek imagined Stiles jumping up and knocking over the popcorn bowl in an attempt to get close enough to cling to Derek, his arms wrapping around his shoulders and his face pressed to Derek. His mind quickly made the jump to something else where Stiles would need to hold onto Derek like that, and he shut down that train of thought immediately. He was sixteen, Derek reminded himself.

The scary portion came and passed, and Stiles did not grasp at Derek, hell he didn’t even scream or jump or anything. He was embarrassed that he felt so disappointed about it, but it was probably for the best.

He peered over at Stiles out of curiosity, who was pressed tight against the opposite arm rest, mouth open and face flushed in the little light the TV gave off. His eyes burned holes into the TV but it didn’t look like he was really watching it, and his left hand rested in the popcorn bowl.

It was really stupid, but Derek stuck his hand in the popcorn bowl, telling himself that he was really hungry and craving popcorn like nothing else, even though it was cold and unappetizing at that point in the movie. He brushed Stiles’ cast by accident, but Stiles didn’t move so Derek did it again, testing the waters. His fingers ran up Stiles’ middle finger in almost a caressing gesture, but it wasn’t. Derek was just getting popcorn, of course. And the quiet shuddering breath that came out of Stiles’ parted lips wasn’t that at all, Derek told himself.

The popcorn wasn’t even all the way in his mouth before he had his hand in the bowl again, running his fingers across the back of Stiles’ hand right where it met the cast. It didn’t have the same effect as last time though. This time Stiles let out a keening whine and Derek’s hand shot back, heart hammering away in his chest.

There was a sex scene on the TV, the blonde girl exposing her breasts to the viewers while the protagonist plowed into her from behind. In a minute or two after the movie fulfilled its obligatory titillating scene for the sex starved teens watching, the blonde girl would get stabbed in the back, blade going through until the end came out of her chest right between her bouncing breasts.

Stiles didn’t know that though, Derek realized. Stiles was sixteen and there were boobs on the screen. That’s all it was. The noise wasn’t from Derek and his stupidity, it was from the boobs. Derek remembered being that age, when even the slightest glimpse of ass or boobs or pubic hair had Derek running for his bedroom and reaching for his belt buckle.

And hell, Stiles was sixteen.

“I’m, uh, I’ve got to go pee,” Stiles said and his voice sounded so wrecked that it sent a shudder down Derek’s spine. He refused to watch as Stiles, wide-eyed and flushed, got up and made his way to the bathroom. He didn’t need visual confirmation that Stiles was liking that part in the movie, it was bad enough having the itch to jump him, a sixteen-year-old, as it was.

Why the hell was Derek even acting like that? It almost felt like he’d hit his heat, but this felt milder than that and it wasn’t supposed to hit for another week. Apparently Derek just had a thing for teenaged boys he definitely couldn’t touch because he was supposed to be babysitting him, not entertaining ideas of sticking his dick in said teenager’s mouth to chase after the popcorn he’d just stuck in there.

Holy hell. He was so going to hell. But somehow Derek couldn’t bring himself to care.

The blonde girl got stabbed and screams replaced the wanton moaning.

He shook his head to try and dissipate the fog. Maybe Stiles really was sick and had infected Derek. Yeah, that had to be it.

While Stiles was up Derek took the half empty popcorn bowl to the kitchen. When he was that age the popcorn wouldn’t have had time to cool even the slightest bit before he was done with it, but maybe Stiles didn’t have that kind of appetite or maybe he was feeling a little too sick.

Derek stooped down and pressed his forehead to the cool surface of the counter top. It was so warm in the sitting room, and Derek didn’t know why. Stiles was probably feverish, that was the only reason he could think of for him, but Derek? He was either sick with whatever Stiles had or his own heat had come early, but both were unlikely. But Derek had control. He was in control. Whatever was happening would blow over by the next morning and he’d be able to look Sheriff Stilinski in the face when he came back at the end of the weekend. It had to.

He sat back on the couch a little closer to where Stiles was sitting before, and it wasn’t so he could feel the heat Stiles left coming off the cushion. That was an added bonus that he chose to ignore, but it certainly wasn’t the whole reason. Derek sat closer because Stiles was clearly feeling sick and Derek needed to be in a place to help him if he passed out or threw up or needed someone to cling on because the movie scared him. Obviously.

Only Stiles didn’t sit on the end of the couch when he came back. He walked right past that spot, stiff and looking very red, and sat in an armchair on the other side of the room, curling up in a ball so his knees came up to just under his chin.

He couldn’t have been able to see from there, the way the chair was angled at the TV, and Derek almost told him to come back over so he could see the movie, but he restrained himself. Derek needed to let this blow over and space was probably the best answer.

Stiles sat that way until the movie ended.

“I’m not feeling so well so I think I’m going to head onto bed, sorry,” Stiles said and Derek made the mistake of looking over at him. His face was flushed and sweaty, and his lips parted and rough, like he’d been chewing all them all night. He looked like sex and Derek had to claw himself in the thigh to keep from wanting out loud.

Stiles stood up on wobbling legs, and Derek was suddenly reminded that, oh yeah, he’s supposed to be looking after this kid. If Stiles fell his two broken arms would do nothing to catch him and that wouldn’t be good at all.

“Let me help,” Derek breathed out and was by Stiles’ side in an instance, reaching out to steady Stiles by his shoulder.

“Don’t!” Stiles yelled and jumped about two feet to the left of where he was, away from Derek’s hands and help. Derek didn’t know how to react, so he left his arm hanging there, hand poised where Stiles’ shoulder would have been had he not moved.

“I’m, uh, I don’t want to get you sick,” Stiles said quietly, his eyes turned to the wall somewhere to the left of him.

“Maybe I should call your dad.”

“No, uh, don’t do that. He needs this business trip.”

“Yeah, okay,” Derek said, swallowing. A dull throb started up in his arm and he remembered it was still sticking up. He let it fall down to his side, embarrassed.

Stiles made it to the stairwell before he spoke again, back to Derek. “There’s blankets and stuff in the closet next to the downstairs bathroom,” he said, and he walked up to presumably his room.

Derek waited until he heard the bedroom door shut before he let out the breath he’d been holding.


There was something pressing against his bare cock, an unbearable heat and slickness. And fuck did that make a nice dream. He thrust up long and slow, trying to milk the sensation for as long as he could as his cock tangled in wiry hair and soft cotton cloth on the body above him.

“Fuck, you’re so loud,” a voice whispered against his neck, and it was so wet and sloppy that Derek couldn't help pressing up against the lips

“I thought you were checking me out y’know, when I was saying goodbye to my dad.” Then there was a breathless laugh and fingers on Derek’s dick, maybe his own. It distracted him enough from the words that he didn’t question them. “And then there was that hand thing you did with the popcorn bowl, oh God that hand thing. I couldn’t even watch the movie after that.”

The weight above him shifted and the head of his cock was being guided somewhere, pressed against something.

“But I still wasn’t sure you wanted me, not until you came up here fucking aching for it.”

Derek pushed his face up against a shoulder and just breathed. The scent of sex and sweat filled his nose, and a tangy smell he can’t really place until it hit him that it was Stiles.

Fuck. Stiles. The sixteen-year-old kid he was supposed to be babysitting.

The last thing Derek remembered was laying down on the couch, his head at the end where he had sat during the movie because having his face against where Stiles had been sitting, and aroused at the sex scene, sounded like the worst idea ever. It was bad enough that his smell was already all over the house, let alone his scent when he’s turned on.

He did not remember being in a bed with Stiles, that was for sure.

Derek jolted up, eyes open, and pushed at the body above him. “Wha…?” he started but it cut off into a painful yelp when his movement caused Stiles’ fingers to slip against him and scrape the sensitive flesh of his dick with his cast

“Sorry! Sorry!” Stiles said above him, eyes wide, and his fingers moving over the scrape to try and soothe the burn.

Derek rolled over, trapping Stiles with his hips (and shit, their pants were shoved down to mid-thigh, cocks mingling in the space between) and his arms framing his face (and Stiles looked so thoroughly fucked between his arms with his flushed cheeks and blown pupils that Derek nearly lost himself and dove in).

“What the hell are you doing, Stiles,” he managed to force out, and he’s proud that it didn’t sound as turned on as he felt.

“Me? I wasn’t the one who climbed into my bed and started humping my ass in some sort of stupor.” Stiles hit him in the chest lightly with his cast. “Because that was all you, buddy.”

“I didn’t—“ Derek started but Stiles broke it off with a startled moan, and it’s at that point that Derek realized he was pressing his dick into Stiles’ again. And it felt so fucking good that he couldn’t help thrusting down once, twice, against Stiles, who grappled onto Derek’s ass and pushed his hips up, the beginnings of claws pressing into the muscular flesh.

“No,” Derek panted, and suddenly he found enough willpower to move, throwing himself across the room and into Stiles’ desk. Stiles tried to follow, but his limbs flopped over and he landed stomach first against his bed.

Stiles was sixteen and Derek was being paid to watch him, not fuck him.

But he could watch him with his pants around his ankles, his body writhing across the bed while Derek fucked him onto his cock.

“I can’t…we can’t do this, Stiles,” he said, and Stiles nodded his head, but it was too enthusiastic for Derek to believe he was listening.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles groaned out, and the mattress started squeaking with the force of Stiles’ hips undulating against the bed. It’s wild and uncontrolled, like he couldn’t help himself, and Derek’s practically shaking at the sight of it.

“It’s not a good idea,” Derek continued, but it sounded so weak even to his own ears.

“Yeah,” Stiles said again and Derek knew he wasn’t agreeing with him. His hips stuttered and his eyelids fluttered and Derek knew exactly what was happening.

“Stiles,” he whispered weakly and it sounded so thick and turned on. And Stiles fucking lost it, head thrown back with his mouth open and eyes pinched and his hips doing one languid sweep against the comforter. The soundless scream he let out nearly punched Derek in the guts, it left him so breathless and wanting for more.

His hand found it’s way to his cock, and he started up a quick pace because fuck, he couldn’t get that image out of his head. It wouldn’t hurt if he jerked off to that. Derek needed it. Besides, he wasn’t touching. He was watching, just like he was supposed to be doing.

Stiles’ eyes opened up just enough that he could zero in on Derek’s hand working his dick and he let out another moan. His hips started up again, like he was imagining he was on that, that Derek was inside him, and Derek nearly lost it.

Stiles’ face started twisting in pleasure and that was when it hit him. Stiles was still going. Derek’s hand slowed to a stop and Stiles whined at the loss in visual. Stiles was still humping the bed. He’d just come and he was still trying to get off. It clicked then, the whole reason Stiles had been acting so sick.

“Stiles,” Derek said, but Stiles didn’t stop moving. “Stiles,” he tried again. The third Stiles, the loudest, got his attention.

“Yeah?” Stiles said, and it was breathless but it had enough of a questioning tone that Derek figured he was listening.

“Are you in heat?”

Stiles’ hips stopped moving, and his face twisted in confusion. Derek tried to push out the image of Stiles coming, because his confusion face was only an open mouth and a slight tilt to an eyebrow off from his orgasm face.

“I, um, I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve, uh,” Stiles started, his eyes turned away from Derek’s form. “I’ve never had one before.”

“What?” Derek asked before he was able to stop it from spilling out of his mouth.

Stiles shifted against his bed, like he was embarrassed, and he refused to look Derek in the face. “Shut up. I’m a late-bloomer.”

Yeah, by about three years. Derek had his at fourteen, and Laura at twelve since she was an alpha. But a first time at sixteen? Never even heard of it.

Derek became increasingly aware that he was totally and thoroughly out of his element, and hell if he wasn’t embarrassed to admit that he was going to run to his big sister to help fix it.

It was probably on par on the stupidity level with his deliberate hand touching in the popcorn bowl, but Derek ran out of Stiles’ bedroom like the devil himself had lit a fire underneath his ass, pulling his pj pants up with each step.

He found himself in the kitchen, standing in front of the freezer with a handful of freeze-pops in one hand, pressed against his neck to try and ward off the heat, and his cell phone in the other. It was shitty of him to leave a kid lost and confused about what his body was doing alone up in his room, but God he had no idea what to do. He felt even worse about wanting him so bad too, but that didn’t dissipate with his run downstairs. He wanted Stiles just as fucking bad, and that was the worst thing.

Okay, so it was two am and Derek hadn’t really thought the whole calling his sister thing through. Her phone was off and he kept getting her voicemail, but that didn’t keep him from redialing her number and leaving increasingly frantic messages.

It was after either the thirty-third or the thirty-seventh time (he’d lost track when he heard some shuffling and moaning from upstairs) Derek tried calling her that Laura called him back.

“Derek, it’s two am and I’m trying to get some alone time with my date, this better be important.”

“He’s in heat.”

“What?”

“Laura, he’s in heat.”

Laura let out an exasperated sigh and Derek didn’t understand how she could be so annoyed at something that was obviously a big deal.

“So cart him off to his heat room. It’s seriously that easy.”

“Laura, it’s his first heat.”

“Then you call his dad, ask where the heat room is, and then lock him up in there. It is seriously that easy.”

There was some thumping upstairs and a noise Derek recognized as the bed creaking under Stiles’ weight, not to mention the sounds Stiles was producing himself. Sheer want settled low in Derek’s gut and it took so much will power (and maybe a little bit of thinking about his sister) not to drop his phone, run upstairs, and show Stiles how to handle a heat.

“It’s, uh, not that easy,” Derek said, his voice gravely and rough.

“And why isn’t it?”

Derek blushed and kicked absentmindedly at the fridge door with his toe. He did not want to talk about his sex drive with his sister.

“He, um—“

“Derek just get on with it.”

“—Fine. He made my heat set in early.”

“So restrain yourself, put him in the heat room, and then you continue to restrain yourself until his dad gets back from his business trip or I come cover for you.”

Laura sounded so steady, so nonplussed, and Derek just couldn’t understand how. He was seriously seconds away from his control slipping and running upstairs to join Stiles in his frantic humping. And she’s telling him to restrain himself.

“Laura, I’m not an alpha. I can’t just turn if off or keep it under lock and key.”

Laura sighed before answering, “He’s a sixteen year old boy, I’d have thought you would have better control than that.”

Yeah, Derek thought so too. But his hand was in his pants and it was only his sister’s voice keeping him from jerking it to the muffled noises Stiles was making upstairs. He’d never been around someone else in heat while he himself was in heat, and sure it wasn’t as bad as the heats in his teenaged years, but Derek was almost in pain with how much it took to hold back from touching Stiles.

“And what,” Derek started, but stops when it comes out on the tail end of a moan. “What if I can’t?”

“Lock yourself in a closet or something, I don’t know, Derek. I’ve told you what you need to do and I can’t do anything more. Just call his dad and don’t be a dumbass.”

Derek had been nothing but a dumbass all night, but he’d try.

“Okay,” he breathed out and Laura made an affirmative noise.

“Good. Bye, I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Laura hung up and Derek slowly set his cell phone on the countertop next to the fridge. God, he couldn’t do this. His face felt so hot and it was taking everything in him just to form coherent thoughts through the fog of lust that took precedent in his head. Everything smelled like Stiles, and his body was telling him to just go upstairs and take and take until they were both satisfied. There wouldn’t be any future babies coming out of the exchange, but God would Derek try. Or hell, Stiles would try.

Derek let out a steady exhale and focused on grabbing his cell phone again, not his dick like he wanted to. He needed to call Stiles’ dad.

He stood in front of a closet, poised to leap in if the urge to mate got a little too strong. Locking himself in sounded like a pretty dumb idea, if it was even possible, but his sister probably had more of her brain on her than Derek did at the moment so he decided he’d at least try it out.

Swallowing, he pressed the call button on his phone and let the number Derek had been staring at for the last few minutes or longer connect.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“This is Derek. I’m your son’s babysit—“

“Yeah, I know who you are, but Jesus, Derek, when I said anytime I didn’t mean,” there was some shuffling noises before the Sheriff continued, “two am.

“Um, yeah sorry about that.”

Stiles’ moan filtered in from the stairwell and Derek barely kept from letting out an answering moan of his own, turning it into a breathy exhale instead. The Sheriff could probably hear both and all Derek wanted to do was crawl into a hole and die. Or bring Stiles with him into said hole and try to make all those babies his body was promising him.

“What is going on?” Sheriff Stilinski asked and his voice was so stern that Derek had both no clue and all the clues about the unspoken words underlying what he said.

“Congrats, your son is a man now,” Derek said and he didn’t mean for it to come out as sarcastic as it did.

“What?”

“I mean,” Derek started, running a palm across his face. Talking was so damn hard when he was fighting his body for control. “Your son started his heat.”

“Shit,” the Sheriff said and Derek was in complete agreement with the sentiment.

“Where’s your heat room?” he asked, voice blank because remembering to ask what Laura told him to was already hard enough.

“We don’t have one,” the Sheriff admitted and Derek nearly died. “I’m a little too old for those things and Stiles’ doctor told us he wouldn’t ever go through one.”

“Shit.”

That meant Derek would actually have to watch him to keep him from going outside and embarrassing himself or impregnating, or attempting to impregnate, some poor person. He wasn’t going to last. Derek was going to end up being a dumbass, exactly what Laura told him not to be.

“Are you an alpha?” the Sheriff asked and he sounded so hopeful that Derek very nearly said yes just to keep him happy, but he didn’t.

“No, a beta.”

It could be worse though. If Derek was an omega, or hell, still a teenager, the pheromones Stiles was giving off would have set him off immediately and there would have been absolutely no hope for any semblance of control on Derek’s part.

“Are you attracted to girls?” the Sheriff continued, and Derek knew he was testing the waters. Werewolves in heat didn’t care much who they were taking it from or giving it to, but they could have a little bit of control around others in heat that they weren’t attracted to. It was just too bad for the Sheriff that the answer he was fishing for wasn’t going to be one he liked because Derek was definitely attracted to his son.

“Yes,” Derek began, and Sheriff Stilinski let out a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. “But I’m also attracted to men,” Derek finished, and the noise the Sheriff made in response wasn’t nearly as happy.

“I can move all my meetings to tomorrow, probably, and be back by tomorrow night or early Sunday morning. Is your sister going to be able to come back and take over for you?”

“Not ‘til tomorrow afternoon.”

That was twelve hours away at least, and Derek really didn’t think he was going to make it.

It was quiet on the other end of the line and Derek tried to pick up on the Sheriff’s heart or breathing or literally anything so he could take his focus off of Stiles’ harsh pants and his pleasured noises from upstairs.

“Okay. I’ll call you if I’m able to come back earlier.”

They said their goodbyes and Derek immediately shoved himself in the coat closet because he couldn’t risk hearing or smelling Stiles while he had no other tasks to do, nothing else to worry about except to keep himself away from Stiles. While somehow still watching him and keeping him out of trouble.

Derek pressed his forehead to the wooden door, closing his eyes even though the closet was in complete darkness. This was going to suck


A coat closet may have worked as a suitable container if the whole thing didn’t reek of Stiles. Shoes, jackets, old forgotten Halloween costumes, and some random knickknacks Derek couldn’t place in the tiny bit of light streaming in from underneath the door, lined the inside of the small space. It was both heaven and hell for Derek trapping himself in that space.

He pressed his face into a sweatshirt and just let himself relax into the scent. Stiles let out a guttural cry from upstairs, probably hitting his peak again, and Derek panted out a response of his own into the worn material against his lips. His tongue poked out of his mouth and started licking the sweatshirt, as if he could taste the sweat and heat right off of Stiles’ skin through the material.

Derek’s hand snaked down to his pajama pants and pressed down on his hard cock. Just a little touching wouldn’t hurt anything. And sure he’d be thinking about Stiles while he did it but if anything the Sheriff should be thankful that he wasn’t really fucking his underage son. And hell, Derek could really use an orgasm to take the edge off.

He fell to the floor, knees pressed against various shoes, with the sweatshirt in hand. Derek wasted no time slipping his hand into his pants and pulling his cock out, taking the time to give it a few tugs in his pants while he mouthed at Stiles’ sweatshirt, the scent and taste of Stiles mingling on his tongue.

One of the sleeves brushed against his chest, and Derek moaned into the material, into Stiles. He couldn’t help wishing he had an extra hand to press and rub the sleeve into his nipple while he fucked his hand with his cock and held the sweatshirt up to his face to just breathe in Stiles.

Fuck it.

His forehead hit the back of the closet wall, lips pressed tight against the drywall, and he ran the sweatshirt down his chest. He brushed by a nipple and barely stifled a moan, but he didn’t stop moving the sweatshirt downward until his cock was nestled inside. A spot against his dick was wet with his spit and he could help but imagine Stiles on his knees, lip darting out of his mouth to slurp Derek into that ridiculous open mouth.

“Jesus,” he groaned, and he swore he heard Stiles moan his name from a floor up.

The sweatshirt was worn and rough against his sensitized flesh, but that didn’t stop him from clenching it tight around himself and thrusting in. His dick was going to smell like Stiles, and the thought nearly set him off, it was so hot.

After a few (twenties of) thrusts, the closet smelled more like Derek and his arousal than Stiles, and well, Derek couldn’t have that. He brought the sweatshirt back up to his face and breathed in deeply, the scent of Stiles’ sweat and Derek’s arousal mixing deliciously. The sweatshirt was wet with his own pre-cum but he pretended it was Stiles’, salty and bitter against Derek’s tongue when he sucked it out of the fabric.

Derek shifted against the shoes on the floor, knocking one over directly under Derek’s cock so that the opening brushed against Derek’s balls. Fuck. Stiles’ essence wafted up from the sneaker and Derek’s eyes rolled back into his head at the strong smell of it. His need for Stiles in that instance overwhelmed his common sense and he shoved his dick in the shoe.

It was loose and had a strange texture against his cock, but Stiles was getting all over his dick. He nearly came knowing that when he was done his dick was going to carry the tangy scent of Stiles. Derek pressed the heel of his palm against the laces, and oh did that feel great.

Next time Stiles put his sneaker on his toes were going to smell of Derek and his fucking need for Stiles. He imagined his cum, still warm and wet, coating Stiles’ foot and mixing their scents together, telling everyone that Stiles was his, and Derek Stiles’.

“Fuck, Stiles,” he grunted, and he gave into oblivion, rolling his hips deep into the shoe and shooting his load in Stiles’ sneaker.

Derek’s head cleared a little with his release, and he fell back against the closet door, panting and spent. Jesus he felt stupid, a balled up sweatshirt covered in his own juices and Stiles’ basic wear and tear against his face and in his mouth, and a sneaker hanging loosely from his softening cock, covered in lukewarm and cooling cum.

The sneaker fell onto the floor when Derek’s penis was no longer rigid enough to support its weight, and Derek just left it where it fell because he just fucked a sneaker, and it was still one of the hottest experiences he’d had despite its ridiculousness. He dropped the sweatshirt between his legs and shifted so he could pull up his pants.

He didn’t have the overwhelming urge to fuck everything anymore, but a rolling wave of emptiness had crashed onto Derek Island in its place. In thirty minutes he’d probably feel like running upstairs and joining Stiles again, and hell, maybe he’d end up fucking the other shoe and make a matching pair. It was going to be a long twelve hours of blind humping and shame at wanting to hump an underage kid in his first heat after he’d come.

It was eerily quiet upstairs, and Derek was worried that Stiles had slipped out while he was, erm, busy, but his heartbeat was coming in loud and steady, if not a little fast.

It was time to face his fears and confront Stiles, who was hopefully recent enough from an orgasm to be coherent. But Derek remembered his teenage days and knew that the clarity from coming only really lasted a few minutes before the short refractory period made everything hell again.

Well, he would’ve, had the door opened when he turned the knob. Huh. Apparently he had somehow locked himself in. In hindsight Laura would probably think it was funny, but Derek was going to do a ridiculously bad job keeping Stiles in check if he was locked inside a closet for the next twelve or so hours.

He tried the doorknob again. Still stuck.

Derek might have started panicking a little, had the door not opened maybe thirty seconds later, light pouring in and revealing a flushed and shy looking Stiles.

“You’ve, uh, got to give it a little extra grease to the right to open it from that side,” he said, sheepishly scratching at the back of his neck, and Derek nearly swallowed his tongue. His shirt was rumbled and wet in spots, from Stiles chewing on it to keep quiet or from cum, Derek didn’t know, and the basketball shorts he was wearing were doing nothing to keep his erection hidden. Hell, if anything they emphasized it.

“Oh,” Derek choked out, and Stiles zeroed in on Derek’s throat, licking his lips. Fuck those thirty minutes of down time sure did go by quickly, because Derek could already start to feel his hardening cock pull against the material on the front of his pajama pants.

He didn’t know who moved first, but before he knew it Stiles had pressed him back into the coats in the back of closet, attached at the lips. It wasn’t a kiss Derek wanted a repeat of, it was a little too sloppy and had a bit too much tongue on Stiles’ part for it to be memorable in a good way, but Stiles certainly made up for it in enthusiasm. And, well, the way their dicks were having their own little jousting competition between their hips in a way where everyone won didn’t hurt at all either.

They broke apart to pull Stiles’ shirt off and Derek dropped his head to nuzzle at Stiles’ neck, reveling in the overwhelming Stiles-ness that took residence there.

“Yeah,” Stiles moaned against the back of his head, fingers carding through the short hairs there.

Derek bit lightly at Stiles’ neck, not hard enough to break the skin or leave a mark, but just enough to scrape at the layer of sweat and Derek wanted that taste in his mouth forever. Stiles’ right hand trailed down Derek’s shoulders, fingers slick from his time alone upstairs and leaving hot trails in their wake. He pinched lightly at a nipple and yanked at the short hairs there, and Derek moaned wetly against Stiles’ neck, hips thrusting forward with every tug of his chest hair. Fuck yeah.

“Oh shit, do my nipples do that?” Stiles said breathlessly, and palmed the nub harshly with the rough planes of his cast, sending Derek’s hips hard into Stiles’.

Derek grunted, meaning to say “Let’s find out,” but the words never formed in his throat. It was so freaking hot and stifling in the closet, Derek’s ass pressed against the wall and Stiles, flushed and nervous, holding him there while the jackets formed a restrictive sheet around them.

He licked a path towards Stiles’ nipple, circling the areola and gently pulling at the nub with his teeth. Stiles pushed his chest closer to Derek’s head, forcing him back farther into the jackets, and sighed wetly. His body went so still and Derek was worried he set him off again.

The smell of Stiles’ arousal increased, assaulting Derek’s nose and sending shocks of pleasure down to meet his cock, but he didn’t come.

“Wow,” Stiles breathed out, grinning. And fuck did Derek need to mount that, watch that grin open up in a breathless scream and see his eyebrows pinch together while Derek sent him to heaven on his own personal rocket.

“Let me,” Derek said, unsure of where he was going with the statement, and let his hands run down Stiles’ back to slip underneath his shorts, squeezing his ass when he got there. No underwear.

Stiles took a step back, forcing Derek’s hands to come out of the back of his pants and rest on his lower back instead.

“No, I,” he began and kicked at the shoe Derek fucked. He wondered absentmindedly if Stiles knew what he had done or if he’d get a nice surprise next time he put the shoe on; if it was a shoe Stiles loved and wore often and now it had a part of Derek he carried with him wherever he wore the shoe. He wanted Stiles to love and worship the shoe, love and worship the cum he’d left for him in it.

“I was gonna, upstairs I mean. But I want to—“ he reached over and grabbed Derek’s ass cheeks, squishing them together and pulling them apart as he wanted “—I need to so bad.”

He slid a finger down Derek’s crack and Derek let out a shuddery breath.

“Okay, yeah,” Derek said, angling his hips so Stiles’ finger rubbed where he wanted it. “But next time…”

Stiles smiled, wide and big, like he couldn’t believe Derek would want to go more than once with him. Fuck, Derek didn’t even have to be in his heat to want the kid. The no inhibitions part of it was nice, but fuck Derek wanted him.

They shifted positions and in all their fumblings Derek ended up with his stomach against the wall, Stiles sucking hickies onto the back of his neck. Stiles was rutting shamelessly against Derek’s bare ass cheeks, the slick material of Stiles’ athletic shorts sliding and pulling against his flesh, and every rock would rustle the jackets on the hangers around them and send Derek’s cock against the jacket pinned between his hips and the wall. He wasn’t even sure whose jacket it was, but hell if he cared. He was finally about to get off with Stiles.

“I wanna do something weird,” Stiles said on the tail end of a moan, and Derek nearly returned the moan when his cloth-covered dick, slick and wet with Stiles’ pre-cum, caught the edge of his asshole.

“What?” Derek panted and he was scared to realize that as long as he or Stiles got fucked in the end, he didn’t really care what it was.

Stiles slid down to his knees behind Derek, pebbled nipples grazing Derek’s back. He set his palm down on one of Derek’s cheeks, squeezing, and Derek pushed up against it.

“I want,” Stiles said, and his breath brushed against Derek’s asshole, warm and wet.

Derek wished he could see him, on his knees and shifting nervously behind Derek with only his hand on Derek’s ass to keep him grounded. He’d chew his lips nervously, licking them when he bit a little too hard. And then he’d just peer up at Derek, eyes wide and nervous, and ask, “Will you let me do this?” And Derek would tease him a little, wait a second or two to keep him on his toes even though Derek wanted it just as bad. The grin Stiles would have when Derek said yes though? That would make it all worth it. Well that and the tongue in his ass.

“Yeah,” Derek grunted and pushed his ass closer to where he thought Stiles’ face was. Okay, so he failed at the teasing portion of his fantasy, but when he felt Stiles’ lips curl into a smile against his ass cheek, like he couldn’t contain it, he knew that second or two of waiting wouldn’t have done a thing anyway.

Stiles carefully pulled Derek’s cheeks apart, and Derek clenched them once or twice under Stiles’ hands just to feel his breathy moan against his asshole. Stiles simply breathed on Derek’s hole for a few. It was making him squirm, but Derek didn’t think he was doing it on purpose. He was just trying to figure out the best way to make Derek feel good.

“Don’t know what I’m doing,” Stiles said quietly, and before Derek had the chance to answer Stiles had shoved his face in and started licking at Derek’s hole.

“Fuck,” Derek grunted and Stiles moaned in his ass, the reverberations rocking up Stiles’ tongue and along his insides sending him into a panting mess.

He rocked into Stiles, angling his hips so Stiles’ little bit of soft teenage stubble rubbed deliciously against his flesh, and if he moved fast enough, his balls.

Stiles twisted his tongue in a way that sent shivers up Derek’s spine, probably on accident considering the jilted movements before that, and Derek gasped out Stiles’ name.

“I’m gonna…if you don’t stop,” he moaned into the wall and Stiles pulled his tongue out immediately, like he was scared he’d mess up if he didn’t do it right then. Derek sighed softly at the loss.

Stiles shifted behind him, pulling himself up.

“It was, uh, hairier than I thought,” he said, and the hand was back on Derek’s ass, steadying.

“Stiles, just fuck me,” Derek said, exasperated, and Stiles made a noise reminiscent of the one he made when Derek touched his hand in the popcorn bowl. The high pitched whine. And Derek looked over he shoulder, desperate to see Stiles’ face.

He was hunched over and grasping his middle, like someone had punched him in the stomach. His mouth was open and wet, lips forming the first syllable of Derek’s name. And fuck that mouth had just been on his ass, that tongue in his ass.

“Yeah,” Stiles said breathless, like someone had stolen all the air in the room and given it to Derek. “Okay.”


It was quiet in the closet, the air so still and thick he probably couldn’t cut it with a diamond. Stiles had a hand on his dick, spreading his pre-cum and some spit along the length, and while Derek couldn’t see it from his angle, he could hear the slick sound of skin on skin and the breathless moans Stiles let out with each slide.

Derek had a few fingers in his ass, trying to get the precursory stretching over as fast as possible. It was already hard enough not fucking himself on the fingers to the sound of Stiles fucking his hand.

“You ready?” Stiles asked, and Derek pulled his fingers out in answer. “Oh..kay.”

The warmth of Stiles’ dick replaced Derek’s fingers almost immediately, and suddenly it was all the way in and Stiles was letting out the most sinful sound Derek had ever heard.

Finally. His body had wanted this all night, wanted to fuck Stiles, and finally it was happening. It was no longer his and Stiles’ individual smells of arousal, it was theirs.

Stiles gave a few shallow thrusts that Derek returned enthusiastically, Stiles’ weight at his back a heavy warmth.

“I’m not gonna last long,” Stiles said, pressing open mouthed and sloppy kisses against Derek’s neck. He was afraid of that, but he didn’t really expect much else. Stiles was a virginal teen in his first heat, and hell, Derek had just taken that. And he had plans to be take every bit of innocence Stiles had left before his sister came to replace him as Stiles’ babysitter.

Derek forced Stiles’ hand on his dick and it was Stiles who moaned in response. He angled his hips, trying his best to get Stiles to hit his prostate when Stiles probably only vaguely knew it was there. And when it hit? Derek nearly spilled over Stiles’ fingers.

“I’m—“

And Stiles grew rigid behind Derek, groaning hard into Derek’s neck and thrusting as far as he could into Derek’s ass.

Derek wasn’t ready to come, not nearly close enough at all, but when he felt the base of Stiles’ cock start swelling inside him, stretching him wide and pressing against his prostate, Derek shot into the jacket his hips were pressed against. Stiles was tying him. He felt strong enough about Derek to consider him worthy enough to carry his babies. And hell, while he definitely couldn’t carry them, Derek was all for Stiles trying.

Stiles slumped against Derek’s back and Derek wasn’t nearly strong enough when he was being wracked with the aftershocks of his orgasm to keep them both upright so they fell to the floor, knees hitting the shoes and the jackets they’d knocked off their hangers during sex falling down with them.

“Holy God,” Stiles groaned and Derek echoed the sentiments.

“Um, I didn’t think that would happen, but, when can I move?” Stiles asked after a few seconds they spent catching their breath. He pressed his face into the crook of Derek’s neck, like he was embarrassed that he didn’t know the answer.

God. Derek had just fucked a sixteen year old and he was stuck connected with the awkwardness. Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Ten or thirty minutes.,” Derek answered, shifting to get comfortable.

“Oh. Um. Hey,” Stiles panted against his neck. “I know this is ass backwards and all, but after this do you wanna go out some time?”

Derek was going to hell already as it was; he might as well live a little before then.

“Yeah, that’d be cool,” he answered, and he felt Stiles’ lips spread into a grin.

He’d been nothing but a dumbass all night, but that grin was worth it. Stiles was worth it.