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Walking into a room full of supernatural criminals wasn’t Stiles’s worst plan ever, but it was in the top ten, at least. Based on the glower a certain sourpuss was sending his way, Derek thought so, too. Avoiding the glare Derek— and frankly those of all the other supernaturals—was shooting at him, Stiles kept his head high as he marched toward the first face he saw that wasn’t openly hostile towards him.
“Which stall would I buy enchanted salts from?” Stiles asked a portly, older man smoking a cigar near the entrance.
The man stared at him with a look of utter bafflement for so long, Stiles was sure he was going to have to embarrass himself and go from person-to-person until he found someone helpful or stumbled upon the right merchant himself. But finally, the man just raised a knobby finger towards a woman behind a stall in the middle of the pack of other sellers.
“Thank you.” Stiles dipped his head in a bow and wished he hadn’t when the man shook his head in response.
The woman looked old enough to be Stiles’ grandmother, but he imagined that she might be even older than her appearance and yet powerful enough to beat his ass if she found his negotiation attempts unsatisfactory.
“Hello!” Stiles injected as much cheer into his voice as his nerves would allow. “I’m the McCall pack emissary.”
“Do you see anyone here who cares, boy?”
Stiles really didn’t appreciate the emphasis she put on the word boy .
“So, I’m looking to buy some salt.”
“You can buy salt at the grocer.”
“The salt I’m looking for probably doesn’t qualify as kosher.”
Heavy steps and a warm presence at his back alerted him that someone had come to interfere in his sad attempt to buy supernatural goods. The muscles in his back started to tighten in fear of having to face down another supernatural, who was probably (okay, definitely) displeased about his presence here, until he felt warm breath ghosting over his neck and smelled leather and aftershave.
Ah, so this was Derek. Come to scold and to rescue in equal measure.
“Hi, Derek,” Stiles said brightly, not bothering to turn around. The crone’s brows rose either at the fact that Stiles recognized Derek without looking or the nonchalance with which he greeted the grumpy werewolf. Joke was on her. Derek was mean and annoyed all of the time, but he’d never really hurt Stiles. He spent too much time saving Stiles and being saved by Stiles to kill him.
“Stiles, you’re supposed to be at home.”
“You expected me to listen? You didn’t tie me down, so I assumed you must not have been that serious about the whole ‘stay home’ order,” Stiles said.
Their little spat was beginning to draw a crowd, murmurs racing through the small marketplace. A man muscled his was next to the salt merchant and angled his body between hers and theirs. Clearly, he passed as her security even if he had been hanging back while she made sales.
“Hale, you allowed this outsider to come here.”
Uh-oh. This man was puffing himself up, clearly angling for a fight. Stiles didn’t think he was a werewolf, but he was concerned about all the nostril-flaring and fist-clenching going on.
“I did say I was a pack emissary, didn’t I?” Stiles pointed out when Derek answered the man’s accusation with barely concealed wolfy teeth and nothing else. Once he spoke up, Derek mimicked the other man’s stance by positioning himself slightly in front of Stiles to indicate who the bigger threat was here. Annoyed or not, Stiles was part of Derek’s pack, and Derek would fight his way out of here on Stiles’s behalf, which was sweet if Stiles thought about it but not helpful when he needed this woman to sell an extremely hard-to-come-by ingredient to him.
Stiles pressed himself to Derek’s side and dragged a hand under his shirt. Scott was always going on about skin-to-skin contact between pack members being calming, and he hoped that for once his best friend knew what he was talking about.
“Cool it, Sourwolf. We want to de -escalate this situation,” Stiles murmured to Derek.
The man and the salt merchant both narrowed their gazes on the overly familiar contact. Stiles had clearly made some type of error, but Derek hadn’t shaken him off, and Stiles might be imagining it, but Derek appeared marginally less murderous. Skin-to-skin contact for the win.
“Stiles is part of my pack, which makes him welcome here,” Derek said. Finally, intelligible words.
If Stiles was expecting immediate acceptance and apologies, he was thoroughly disappointed. Stiles ran his fingers in circles on the warm skin of Derek’s back: he hoped this kept cool, calm, collected Derek in the building, but it also gave him something to do with his fingers that desperately wanted to fidget with his mounting nerves. The muscles under his fingers tensed as Derek stiffened, which was the opposite of what Stiles had been aiming for, so he forced his fingers to still.
“Emissaries aren’t pack,” the man snarled at the same time the woman responded with a cool, “Pretty friendly for an emissary.”
Dammit. If emissaries weren’t pack, and he wasn’t being a particularly convincing emissary, then…
Stiles slipped his hand from Derek’s back until he was holding the opposite hip and hoped his dad was right every time he told Stiles he had a flair for the dramatic.
“Well, I was trying to keep it on the DL because this was a professional errand, but really, who could keep it professional around this hulking hunk of werewolf, am I right, Gladys?”
The woman hadn’t actually told him her name, but she felt like a Gladys.
Gladys raised an unimpressed eyebrow in Stiles’s direction then glared at the hand he had wrapped around Derek’s waist as if the appendage had cursed her and her entire bloodline. Her scrutinizing glare slid between the two of them. Stiles kept a congenial smile on his face like he couldn’t be more pleased that Gladys was in on their little secret; Derek hadn’t moved except for a pointed eyebrow raise in Stiles’s direction. He didn’t outright contradict Stiles, so hopefully, their audience read into the motion the fond exasperation of an overprotective werewolf boyfriend over his human boyfriend’s antics rather than the incredulousness over Stiles’s stupidity that Derek surely meant it as.
Surprisingly, Mr. Huffing and Puffing recovered first, and the words out of his mouth nearly had Stiles blowing his own cover.
“You don’t smell like him.”
“I showered?” He knew werewolves and other assorted supernaturals had mega sensitive noses, but it still seemed rude to comment on someone else’s smell.
Derek closed his eyes like he was in physical pain, and Stiles knew his hand was itching to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“That’s not what he means,” Derek said through gritted teeth.
Oh. Oh .
“Well, that’s very much none of his business.” Stiles could feel the red burn of his blush creeping up his neck and cheeks.
“When you date a werewolf and enter supernatural spaces, it becomes everyone’s business.”
Stiles racked his brain for excuses as to why he wouldn’t smell like Derek , and for the first time in his life, he was coming up totally blank. The best he could do was I’m waiting for marriage , and Derek would for sure step aside and let them beat his ass if he said it.
“We didn’t come here for you to question Stiles’s place in my pack or to be gossip fodder. If you won’t sell to us because of your biases, we’ll take our business elsewhere,” Derek said.
Yes, Alpha. Stiles peeked through his lashes to see a muscle fluttering in Derek’s jaw, and Stiles’s pulse fluttered in response. Down, bad Stiles.
Gladys rolled her eyes as she waved off the crowd and nudged Mr. Huffy away.
“Enough dramatics. You two, come this way.”
Stiles immediately moved as commanded, but Derek clamped a hand on his elbow, keeping Stiles close until Mr. Huffy sighed and followed Gladys. The two led them down a hallway tucked back from the main market, and Stiles wanted to run his hand along the wall as the darkness stomped out the light: only Derek’s touch kept him from highlighting his human weakness, but his steps were still uncertain. The cherry on top of this whole debacle would be tripping and eating shit in front of Derek and Gladys.
When Derek realized they were falling behind their guides, he leaned down next to Stiles’s ear and whispered,“Stop smelling nervous.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and responded as quietly as he could.
“Derek, I have anxiety. I’m sure I smell low-level nervous all the time, and this is a stressful situation. I’m not sure how to make myself less nervous right now, let alone how to send that message to my bodily secretions or however you smell emotions.”
Actually, figuring out how werewolves smelled emotion would have to go on Stiles’s priority list of research topics.
Derek huffed before he reached out and tugged Stiles into his side. Stiles stayed very still trying to figure out why he wasn’t moving his arm, but Derek propelled him into motion, so they could walk side-by-side while Stiles kept staring at Derek’s arm around him like he thought it was going to bite him.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, alarmed at Derek’s sudden and unexpected affection.
“I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I?” He spoke quieter against his ear. “Touch will help mask your scent, and maybe it’ll be more believable if you actually smell like me.”
“Maybe you werewolves should just learn to keep your noses to yourselves,” Stiles muttered. It suddenly seemed wildly unfair that he was the only one in the room—well, maybe not only because he wasn’t sure if all the supernatural creatures in the room had super smell— without the same baseline knowledge as everyone else.
Stiles had always been a step or two out of sync with everyone else. Scott was his best friend, and he still caught moments where Scott looked at him with the blank stare of a person that didn’t know how to tell you that what you just did wasn’t normal. Then, Scott became a werewolf, and Stiles got to help him while he was out of sync. Stiles wasn’t a supernatural, but he’d fit better in the supernatural world than he ever had in the halls of Beacon High. But in this room, it was clear how out of his element, out of his depth that he was. Sure, when fights broke out, it was Stiles and his trusty baseball bat versus claws and teeth, but he made it work. This was something else. Stiles had just waltzed himself into a world where he was the only one out of the loop on a whole new set of unspoken social decorums.
Logically, he knew there was no reason that he should know the social behaviors of werewolves because most of the werewolves he knew didn’t know the social behaviors of werewolves. Illogically, he couldn’t help but remind himself that even when he was in a room full of normal humans, he was still playing catch up and what was and wasn’t acceptable or likable behavior.
Gladys gestured for them to take a seat, and Derek pulled out his chair across from her. Stiles was pulling out the chair next to him when Mr. Huffy sat down on Stiles’ other side, which Stiles did not care for. At all. He hesitated halfway into his seat, and either Derek noticed his discomfort or he didn’t want him so close to the immediate threat (Stiles hesitated to call him the biggest threat in the room, which he was still convinced was Gladys, but Mr. Huffy seemed more inclined to hit first). While Stiles waffled with whether it would give [the man] the upper hand now to move to Derek’s otherside, Derek hooked a hand around his waist and dragged him into his lap with a pointed growl at the other man. If he interpreted it as a warning to stay away from Stiles due to Derek’s possessiveness or overprotectiveness, he didn’t comment, but he didn’t try to move closer to the now nestled pair.
Fuck. This was a whole new sort of problem. If they can scent fear, Stiles is pretty sure they can smell arousal. And as embarrassing as that was, it might help their current predicament, but the one person who absolutely did not need to know about Stiles’s highly inappropriate thoughts about the older, broody werewolf was the werewolf in question.
He was so focused on curbing his body’s reaction to sitting on Derek’s lap, he missed the question that Gladys asked him.
“What?”
Derek pinched the side of Stiles’s thigh, and Stiles knew it was his way of saying Pay Attention. However, what Derek was about to learn was that this was a terrible move on his part because his whole body jerked, and he had to bite down hard on his lip to prevent a very inappropriate sound from escaping.
“What kind of salt are you looking for, boy?” Gladys very much resented having to repeat herself, but Stiles kept his attention on the matter at hand this time.
“Obsidian.”
Gladys raised a brow.
“What do you need obsidian salt for?”
“I thought discretion was the better part of valor around here,” Stiles said. If Gladys refused to sell to him, Stiles was going to have a major headache to deal with, but he knew better than to answer questions willy nilly.
Gladys shrugged.
“It’ll cost you.”
“The discretion or the salt?” Stiles asked.
Gladys leveled a cool stare in his direction that answered that question quite succinctly: both .
“We’re good for it,” Derek told her since he would be the one fronting this purchase. Thank you, Hale family fortune.
“How much do you need?”
Stiles flicked his eyes towards Derek’s face when he answered.
“100 grams.”
Gladys whistled low, but Stiles couldn’t focus on her because Derek chose that moment to run his hand down Stiles’s side. His heart stuttered then galloped hard in his chest. He knew Derek was trying to keep up the ruse and return the favor from earlier by keeping Stiles calm, but that was not at all how his body decided to interpret it. Stiles’s body decided that the slow drag of Derek’s palm was possessive, and it liked that. A lot.
Stiles knew the moment Derek smelled how Stiles was feeling about the snuggling situation when Derek stiffened underneath him.
Fuck his absolute life.
It’s just a biological response. It doesn’t mean anything. He wanted to project the thoughts into Derek’s brain. He couldn’t explain himself here; it would blow his newfound cover story, but he also didn’t want this to be a blemish on their future friendship? Allyship? Semi-cordial working relationship?
Gladys listed some absurd number, and he distantly heard Derek agree—without haggling even a little, for shame—and all Stiles could think about was how awkward the car ride home was going to be and how he could possibly explain himself. Derek didn’t even know he was bisexual, let alone that Stiles had idly thought about jumping Derek’s wolfy bones for the better part of their time spent together. Probably best to leave out that second part. Not even Scott knew about the second part.
The weight of Mr. Huffy’s attention was bearing down on the side of Stiles’s head. He clearly did not buy their forbidden pack emissary and alpha romance. Stiles could practically hear him weighing the pros and cons of picking a fight with Derek about it away from the eyes and ears of the entire market. Stiles had full faith in his Sourwolf, but fighting in here would definitely cause problems with their sale and prevent any future attempt to buy from this market again. There were other markets that catered to the supernatural, but this one was closest to Beacon Hills. Stiles had an idea on how to convince the other man, but he wasn’t sure if he could count on Derek to continue playing along.
Only one way to find out.
“Please don’t kill me.” Stiles hoped his whisper was quiet enough for only Derek’s ears.
Stiles used the collar of Derek’s leather jacket and hauled the bigger man into his body, stretching to close those few inches between their mouths. At first, Derek froze, and Stiles was sure that they were caught, the jig was up, and Derek was definitely going to kill him. Stiles had finally, truly gone too far. Then, Derek settled his hands on Stiles’s back, and his mouth moved over Stiles’s like it was the thousandth time and not the first. Now that his brain was caught up with what was going on, Derek controlled the kiss, and Stiles valiantly fought to keep up.
It wasn’t that Stiles hadn’t ever kissed anybody before (though if he had to wager, he’d definitely kissed fewer people than Derek had): it was that this was Derek Hale. And the only place where Stiles thought he’d ever kiss Derek Hale was in his wildest dreams.
When it computed that Derek was kissing him and not reeling away in disgust and horror, Stiles let go of his collar and slid his hands up and around his (incredibly broad) shoulders, settling them around his neck. If this was the one and only time he’d ever get to kiss Derek Hale, he was going to make the most of it. He let his fingers slide through the hair at the nape of his neck, and his position on Derek’s lap meant he could feel the shudder this elicited. His hair was softer than he expected.
Stiles slipped a tentative tongue between his lips, and Derek didn’t need further prompting. The hands he’d placed on Stiles’s back became the solid bands of his arms as Derek swept his tongue through Stiles’s mouth, exploration and ownership in every pass. Stiles fought to keep still in Derek’s lap, and it was a battle he was quickly losing when Derek remembered that Stiles needed air at some point. Without looking, Stiles could tell his lips were red and swollen, and his lungs worked double-time to replace the oxygen he’d been depriving them.
Derek nuzzled his face into the soft flesh where Stiles’s shoulder and neck met, further scent-marking, but all Stiles focused on was the scrape of Derek’s stubble against the sensitive skin and what it would feel like trailing a path down his torso towards his—
“I think they believe us now.” Stiles felt an affectionate warmth curl through his belly at the amusement in Derek’s voice.
“Well, you certainly put on a believable performance.” The words were more for Stiles’s benefit than Derek’s. He was whispering directly in Derek’s ear, but the words were loud as a gunshot in the suddenly quiet room.
They broke apart when someone cleared a throat, and Stiles found Gladys staring at them with her mouth pursed and a single brow raised. Her hand was clenched around a bag that contained salt so black that it absorbed the meager light in the room.
“Here,” Gladys tossed the salts across the table as she spoke. “Next time, you want to play tonsil honkey with your boytoy, don’t bring him here.”
The reprimand was clearly for Derek, but Stiles responded before Derek could.
“But, Gladys, it’s about the thrill. They say variety is the spice of life.”
He threw in a wink for good measure and hoped that Derek was blushing through his stubble.
“Get out of here.”
“Pleasure doing business with you.” Stiles scooped the salt off the table, and he and Derek slipped out the back entrance [name] indicated as quickly as possible without running. Stiles was suddenly very glad he had Lydia drop him off instead of bringing his Jeep because he didn’t think Derek would have let him drive home in a separate car. The werewolf dogged his steps until he could block Stiles from everyone’s view as he scrambled into the passenger seat and tucked the obsidian salt into the glovebox.
When Derek settled in the Camaro, the silence was oppressive. Derek flicked on the radio to a classic rock station.
Stiles understood that Derek was clearly not pleased with the events of the evening—even though they got what they needed— and he needed a minute, or he was going to strangle Stiles. But thought reminded Stiles of the other man’s rough palm scraping against the sensitive skin of his neck.
Stiles adjusted his seat. And fiddled with the volume on the radio. And turned on the heat because the cool night air had permeated the car. His leg was bouncing a mile a minute. He was flipping through radio stations when Derek finally spoke.
“Stop it.”
“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled. But it wasn’t long before his fingers were back to their anxious dance, and his knee jackhammered at the same pace as his pulse.
Derek let him stew for a minute, but he slammed his hand down on top of Stiles’s knee; Stiles had to consciously relax his fingers from where they’d clenched on top of his thighs. Stiles breathed deeply through his nose and tried to visualize anybody else’s hand on his leg with limited success.
“So, do we want to just mutually agree to forget everything that just happened in there? Forgetting would work really great for me,” Stiles said, fighting to keep his tone light.
Derek didn’t respond for long enough that Stiles debated throwing himself out of the car to end this night. If he survived, he’d walk home. In the end, logic won over the impulse if only because he knew he’d have to explain to Scott why he’d jumped out of Derek’s speeding Camaro, and Stiles would rather face down a Kanima again.
When it was clear that Derek simply wasn’t going to respond at all, Stiles propped his head against his hand and stared out the window and tried to get his brain to focus on something–anything–else.
He just kept replaying the kiss in his mind. He thought Derek would be reluctant at best, but he was an enthusiastic participant after he’d gotten over his initial shock. Or at least, the kiss felt enthusiastic. If Derek hadn’t been having a good time, he was a hell of an actor.
Suddenly, all of Stiles’s previous fantasies felt like pale imitations. None of them took into account how substantial a presence Derek was, how solid his chest was against Stiles or how unforgiving his arms had been wrapped around him. Derek hadn’t needed to be aggressive to completely dominate Stiles’s senses. And his hair was soft. Stiles’s subconscious hadn’t imagined Derek’s hair to be soft.
Stiles’s body jerked against the seatbelt, and he grasped the “oh shit” handle when Dereke abruptly swerved the car off the road. Stiles looked around to see if there was a deer or an ax murderer he was trying to avoid, but Derek just put the Camaro in park. He left the keys in the ignition and threw the door open before stomping out of the car. Stiles froze for all of a heartbeat before he scrambled out of the car, trying to see what the danger was that had Derek pulling over in the middle of nowhere.
But instead of Derek on high alert, Stiles found Derek pacing with his hands clutching his hair, which was infinitely more concerning.
“What’s happening right now?” Stiles asked.
“Get back in the car, Stiles.” Derek spoke through gritted teeth.
“Yeah, I’m gonna need some more details here, Sourwolf. Use your words.”
“Get. In. The. Car.”
But they’d already established once tonight how terrible of a listener Stiles was. He walked closer to the agitated werewolf, hoping to use the skin-on-skin InstaCalm trick again, when Derek spun toward Stiles. He managed not to step back automatically, but his eyes were wide as Derek moved quickly towards him.
Stiles found himself pushed against the hood of the Camaro with Derek caging him in, preventing any kind of escape.
The moist heat of Derek’s breath on his face had a flush crawling from Stiles’s chest all the way up to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
“Why did you say I was your boyfriend?” Derek asked. There was no disguising the growl in his voice.
This wasn’t an entirely fair question since Stiles never called Derek his boyfriend. The others had just assumed boyfriend, and Stiles didn’t correct them when he realized that letting them think that was going to be easier. Derek didn’t look like he was in the mood for semantics though.
“It was just a cover story, Derek.”
“Of all the cover stories, that was the best one you could come up with?”
Stiles pushed aside a twinge of hurt about how upset their little act had made Derek. Sure, the two of them were an extremely unlikely pair, but he didn’t think Derek would be so offended at the notion that people thought Stiles was his boyfriend.
“Maybe not, but it was the fastest. I didn’t think they were going to need so much proof when they had jumped to the conclusion in the first place.”
“And kissing me?”
Maybe Derek wasn’t upset about what the lie was as much as he was bothered by the impromptu kiss. He’d gone along with it in the moment, but Stiles should have gotten a clearer ‘yes’ before kissing him.
“Kept our cover. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“Mhm.” Derek’s chest rumbled with the sound. “And that’s the only reason you kissed me?”
Stiles suddenly felt exactly how rabbits must when they’re caught in the sights of a wolf. His heart was pumping adrenaline through his body, and if bolting had been an option, he would have booked it— no matter what NatGeo said about how running engaged a predator’s hunting instincts.
Stiles swallowed hard at the thought of Derek hunting him.
“Of course,” Stiles said, and he was proud of how steady his voice was.
“I can hear your heartbeat when you lie.”
Fuck.
“Stiles, the scent of your desire has saturated the whole car.”
Double fuck.
“Derek, I—” Stiles needed to apologize, but his throat swelled around the words.
“How am I supposed to focus on driving with such a distraction?” His voice was whiskey and gravel and tortured.
Wait. What.
The taller man leaned down to run his nose along the sensitive skin of Stiles’s throat, and he felt more than heard Derek inhale deeply. Stiles was not a strong enough man for this kind of torment, and his knees buckled shamefully in response.
These were not the actions of a man who Stiles had made uncomfortable. His brain couldn’t catch up to what was happening fast enough to respond.
Derek’s hands slid up from the back of his knees until he could grip each one of Stiles’s thighs, and he lifted him onto the hood of the car. Stiles was going to melt into a pile of Stiles-scented goo. Because all the kissing and touching and flirting back at the market had been for show, Stiles told himself, but there was no one else here. No one to fool, except maybe themselves. Derek had no reason to touch him this way unless he wanted to. Unless there was something else going on that Stiles didn’t understand, but if that was the case, he wanted to live in this blissfully ignorant fantasy for one more minute.
He wasn’t too ashamed to admit how many of his Derek-centric fantasies included this car.
Stiles’s breath hitched when he felt teeth scrape against his clavicle, so close to the skin protecting his jugular. He ran his hands over the butter-smooth leather covering Derek’s arms and clung to Derek’s shoulders for dear life. Derek ghosted his lips back up the column of Stiles’s throat until his mouth hovered over his ear.
“What should I do with you?” His warm breath fanned his ear, and Stiles arched further into the heat of the other man’s heat.
“Kiss me on the hood of your car.” Not the smoothest delivery, but it was the most honest answer Stiles could offer.
Slipping his hands under Derek’s shirt, Stiles dragged them up the defined ridges of his torso, his fingertips lingering over the scars he found. Derek flexed with each pass of his fingers, and Stiles idly wondered why he was holding himself back when he was practically trembling with the force of his restraint.
“Derek,” he breathed.
Derek devoured him. He was just this side of reckless with his fangs as he utterly consumed Stiles’s mouth. The kiss in the marketplace was positively tame compared to this wreckage of Stiles’s system. All Stiles could do was dig his fingers into Derek’s broad back as the other man used the grip on his thighs to ease Stiles back against the hood of the Camaro. Derek barely eased off only to pull Stiles’s bottom lip into his mouth and suck—hard. The moan that left Stiles was fucking obscene, but Derek approved based on the way that he ground his stiff cock into the open space he’d created for himself by holding Stiles’s thighs around either side of his hips.
Derek pressed a series of brutal, claiming kisses into his neck, lingering over Stiles’s jackhammer pulse. If Stiles could think clearly—which he couldn’t and wouldn’t until this ended—he’d worry about how he was going to hide or explain those marks to Scott. Or worse, his father.
Stiles kissed any semblance of a train of thought goodbye when Derek tugged his earlobe into his mouth and grazed it. With. His. Teeth.
Of all the times Derek had ever threatened him with his teeth near his neck, this was not what Stiles had in mind.
His blood was a steady hum in his veins as Derek eased away from his neck and leaned his forehead next to Stiles on the hood, but the grip on Stiles’s thighs was still bruising. Stiles hoped he found all ten dark circles on his thighs tomorrow as proof that all this was real.
Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek was signalling a delay for a breather or if he was offering a nonverbal end to the interlude. Stiles would cope either way, but if Derek thought he was distracted by the scednt emanating off Stiles before, then the rest of this car ride home was going to be a doozy. Also, he was still pressed between rock-hard werewolf and the rapidly cooling Camaro, which was not helping cool his libido. He wanted to squirm up into Derek for any type of friction or reassurance: his brain couldn’t muster up the courage for either, so he lay there, still hard and trying to not to breathe as hard as he did after Coach made them do suicide runs.
Stiles didn’t think it was fair that now he could include “incredibly sexy heavy breathing” into his fantasy catalog dedicated to this man. Werewolf. Whatever.
“Derek,” Stiles said. His voice sounded like he’d been tongue-fucked within an inch of his life, which was an accurate description of what happened.
“I need a minute.”
And normally, Stiles would totally respect that (read: lie), but he’d waited in sexual frustration and abnormal stillness for more than a minute already, and he needed some clarification.
“A minute as in you need a minute to compose yourself before we separate and get back in the car for an incredibly tense ride home or you need a minute before you continue because I’ve so teased you with my charms and lithe form?”
Why the fuck did he say that?
Derek lifted his head to glare at Stiles, but Stiles was distracted by the red glow of Derek’s eyes. Alpha eyes.
Oh shit.
“Am I about to get turned into a werewolf?” Stiles asked, way more calmly than a guy who absolutely did not want to get turned into a werewolf ought to sound.
“No,” Derek ground out.
“Cool, cool, cool.” If Stiles was willing to remove his hands from Derek’s muscles, he probably would have flashed some finger guns, too. Ya know, to show how cool and casual he was about this.
Either Derek was in denial about his wolf control—a very real and altogether unpleasant possibility—or he was being vague and cryptic about wolf secrets. In either case, Stiles decided that being still and quiet was in his best interest to get answers and possibly more kisses.
“Stiles, if what just happened is all you’re interested in happening tonight, then I’m going to let you down, and you’re going to very calmly get back in the car while I go run off some steam.,” Derek said. Definitely a lot of wolf going on right now.
Stiles considered this option: it didn’t sound like this option included a mature, vulnerable conversation about what this new development meant for them going forward. But Derek had said “tonight,” implying that Stiles could be interested in more happening another night.
“And what’s behind door number two?”
“I put you down long enough to get the lube from the glovebox before I bend you over the Camaro and fuck you until you can’t walk, and you experience a werewolf knot for the first time.”
Record scratch.
“Werewolf knot?” The quiver in Stiles’s voice was half trepidation, half excitement.
“The base of my cock will swell once I’m fully inside you and lock us into place until we’ve both relaxed. It’s meant to make sure that a werewolf’s mate doesn’t lose any of their cum, but for you, it will just trigger another orgasm every time you fidget while my cock is buried inside you while I keep pumping more cum into you.”
Stiles forgot how to breathe, and only the rhythmic up-and-down motion of Derek’s chest on top of him reminded him that he needed life-saving air in his lungs. His first response to this declaration was, Scott absolutely never mentioned this shit to him, because this was not a tidbit that Stiles would ever have forgotten. His second and more situationally appropriate response was, Fuck yes, followed by, please, please, please .
Stiles had to swallow several times around the sudden dryness in his throat. His dick was in an all out war against the zipper of his jeans. Stiles could not think of one cool, clever, coy, or suave response to Derek’s words, but he conveniently remembered that he had never been cool, clever, coy, or suave in his life. If that was what Derek was looking for, he had absolutely no business offering to fuck him.
“The second one. Definitely the second one.” Stiles clamped his lips shut before he babbled more desperately horny nonsense.
Derek lifted Stiles back into the air by his thighs then let him slide down the length of his body until his feet were back on solid ground. The older man kept his hands plastered to Stiles’s hips until Stiles locked his knees, so he wouldn’t melt to the ground in a pool of hormonal jelly once Derek let go. When Stiles nodded, Derek walked to the passenger side of the Camaro, stripping his jacket as he went. He tossed the leather into the passenger seat and rummaged in the glovebox until he emerged triumphant with the said lube.
Note to future Stiles: ask Derek why the fuck he had lube in his glovebox.
Derek walked back to Stiles, who was rooted to the spot, with purposeful strides, but he stopped when he was arm’s length away, setting the lube in arm’s reach on the hood.
“Are you sure, Stiles?”
Now would be a terrible time to detail the laundry list of things Stiles wanted to do to this man and wanted him to do to Stiles in turn. Right before two people had sex for the first time was not the moment to share that he’d had an embarrassingly huge infatuation with this man, and that infatuation had only turned into something bigger and scarier as he had gotten to know the man before him as an ally, leader, and friend. But Derek Hale, the boy who’d been spurned by love before and who’d spent over a decade trying to find a semblance of a pack and a family again, was standing in front of him. There was a determined set to his jaw, and his shoulders cut a confident line; however, Stiles could see the hunger and loneliness in the clenching of his fingers as he fought his werewolf instincts that told him to hunt and claim to make sure that Stiles could change his mind if he wanted to. Stiles didn’t owe this man anything, but he wanted to give him a small kernel of the truth even if Derek couldn’t give it back to him.
“I want you, Derek. As you are, werewolf and all. I… have wanted you for a long time now.”
Stiles lost his courage after that, but it was enough.
Derek threaded his fingers in the back of Stiles’s hair and pulled his head back to look the taller man in the eye.
“I haven’t been able to look away from you for a long time. As soon as I saw you tonight, I should have known that things would be different.”
Stiles wanted him to keep talking, to explain that further, but it was too late because Derek was bringing their mouths together in a clash of teeth and tongues. The grip Derek had on his hair gave him complete control over the kiss, and Stiles was drowning in the taste and feel of him. Stiles wrapped his fingers in the worn fabric of Derek’s shirt, trying to pull him closer, but Derek separated from Stiles long enough to yank it over his head one-handed. That worked, too. It was too dark to admire him properly, so Stiles had to settle with exploring with his hands. Stiles traced defined muscles and scar tissue and found a trail of hair that abruptly ended when Stiles ran into the top of Derek’s jeans.
Stiles reached for the button of his pants automatically, but Derek caught his wrists and raised them above his head. When he was satisfied that Stiles would follow the silent order to leave them there, he tucked his hands under Stiles’s shirt and slowly slid the material up and over his head and arms, tossing it in the same direction as his own shirt. His shoulders hunched as he realized that he might not be able to see Derek very well in the dark, but his werewolf sense would allow Derek to see Stiles with perfect clarity.
Before Stiles could cover his upper body with his arms, Derek maneuvered them, so his hands were gripping the hood behind him. Derek gripped Stiles’s chin in a firm grip, holding eye contact, while he knelt to the ground.
“Fuck,” Stiles said, his voice strangled.
Derek released his chin, so he could unbutton and unzip his pants then ease them and his boxers down Stiles’s legs. He also pried off Stiles’s shoes and socks until Stiles was completely naked before him. Stiles really, really wanted to thread his fingers through Derek’s hair, but he wanted to please Derek even more, so he clenched his fingers around the hood in an effort to follow orders.
For once.
Derek saw the white-knuckled grip Stiles had on the Camaro, and a smug expression stole across his mouth before he dug his nails into the cheeks of Stiles’s ass and swallowed the tip of his cock. Stiles bucked his hips instinctually, and only Derek’s controlled grip prevented him from gagging the other man.
“Sorry,” Stiles gasped out.
Derek chuckled with his lips still wrapped around Stiles, and Stiles dropped his chin to his chest and had to breathe deeply to keep from orgasming embarrassingly early. Stiles needn’t have bothered because there was nothing he could do to prepare himself for how effectively Derek took him apart. He swirled his tongue around Stiles’s tip like a fucking ice cream cone then slid all the way down Stiles length until his nose bumped against the sensitive skin of Stiles’s lower abdomen. Instead of bobbing his head, Derek used his grip on Stiles’s ass to pump him in and out of his mouth: an imitation of Stiles fucking his mouth where Derek had all the control. Stiles opened and closed his mouth, trying to suck in air, trying not to cry out. Derek’s green eyes locked onto him through his lashes, which was all the warning Stiles got before Derek hollowed his cheeks and sucked the soul right out of his body.
Stiles moaned through his orgasm, and it turned into a whine of oversensitivity when Derek kept his dick pressed all the way in his mouth as Derek swallowed over and over. Stiles stopped breathing until Derek pulled off of him. Stiles slumped back against the Camaro, and he was glad his hands were still locked around the hood to catch him as his knees gave out. Derek sucked and nipped all the skin available to him as he rose from the ground, and Stiles yelped when Derek’s teeth caught around his nipple.
But then the heat of Derek’s body was seeping into him, and the scratch of Derek’s jeans had Stiles’s dick twitching in interest. Derek grabbed Stiles’s hands and massaged the tension out of his palms. He slid his hands roughly up Stiles’s arms, and both his palms wrapped around either side of Stiles’s head as he kissed him. The tang of Stiles’s cum was still on his tongue, but Stiles didn’t care as he wrapped his arms around Derek and stroked the skin between his shoulder blades where his triskelion tattoo was. Derek broke the kiss, and Stiles made a noise of complaint in the back of his throat.
Derek stepped away, shucking off his pants, boxers, shoes, and socks with brutal efficiency, all Stiles could do was stare. It wasn’t even fair that one man could be so handsome and perfectly sculpted everywhere . In his limited bisexuality, Stiles hadn’t really daydreamed about dicks so much as the feeling of it inside him, but looking at Derek’s, he knew he had the perfect one even if the idea of it inside him was more than a little daunting. However, what Stiles couldn’t tear his eyes away from was the promised knot, slowly swelling at the base of Derek’s cock.
“I really want to suck your cock.”
Derek groaned.
“Next time, when I’m not teetering on the edge and already have plans for you.”
Next time? Stiles thought
“Next time?” he asked out loud because he’d never had good impulse control.
Derek raised a brow, and Stiles couldn’t interpret the look. The next words out of Derek’s mouth made Stiles decide it was a matter for another time.
“Turn around.”
Stiles complied. The heat and bulk of Derek surrounded him, and the heat of his mouth at his ear had the breath hitching in Stiles’s lungs.
“Palms flat on the hood.”
His chest heaved as he followed suit. The car had been off long enough that the metal was cool under his fingers now, but Derek, the werewolf space heater, prevented the night air from chilling him even as the werewolf took a step away from him.
“Spread your legs.”
Stiles had enough distance between him and Derek to finally feel a little awkward about being naked and bent over on the side of the road that he only shuffled his feet apart a little bit before he stopped.
“Wider.”
The alpha growl in Derek’s voice made it marginally easier this time to open his legs as wide as was comfortable. Derek pressed his hand down, down, down, until Stiles had his chest flush against the hood of the Camaro and his spine arched, and his ass rested snugly in the cradle of Derek’s hips. Once he was in a position Derek liked, Derek began running his palms in possessive sweeps over Stiles’s exposed skin, his rough palms catching and turning Stiles’s blood molten.
“Good boy.”
Oh, yeah. That definitely worked for Stiles.
Derek’s hands left him momentarily before Stiles heard the snick of the lube cap opening that sounded like a gunshot going off in the quiet night. Derek laid a palm flat on his lower back and rubbed in soothing circles.
“It might be cold at first,” Derek said.
“Okay,” Stiles responded.
Derek slid a single finger between the cheeks of Stiles’s ass, and Stiles hissed in a breath at the shock of the temperature. The broad finger moved in teasing circles around the hole until the lube warmed up, and Stiles relaxed. Eventually, Derek added more pressure until he was easing the finger in up to the first knuckle. Stiles panted and tried not to clench down.
“Breathe for me,” Derek said. His voice was a murmur. “You’re doing so well for me.”
Stiles moaned at the praise as he breathed through the odd new sensation. Derek waited until his breathing was even then thrusted his finger the barest amount. When Stiles didn’t immediately bear down, Derek thrusted again and again until he was buried past the second knuckle.
“Another, Derek. Please.”
Derek pulled out his finger and when he eased it back in, he added a second finger. He repeated the same pace as before, slowly picking up speed until there was no resistance at all. Then, Derek added a third finger, and the burn added a painful edge to the pleasure. When Derek curled his fingers upwards and rubbed, Stiles had to rest his head against the hood of the car as a continuous stream of moans left his lips.
“Derek, I need more. I need you.”
“I don’t know if three’s enough for my knot.” Stiles moaned at the idea of something stretching him even more than he was right now. “I don’t want to hurt you, Stiles.”
“Sourwolf. That’s very sweet, but if you do not fuck me right now, I think I’m gonna die.”
“You and your smart mouth,” Derek muttered. But he pulled all three fingers from his ass, and Stiles heard the lube cap opening again. Then there was the slick sound of Derek pumping his cock with more lube. Derek wrapped one hand around one side of Stiles’s waist; Derek’s chest pressed into his back with every ragged inhale.
“If at any point you want me to stop, say the word, and we stop, okay?”
“I will,” Stiles said.
Derek kissed the juncture of Stiles’s neck and shoulder, and he guided the tip of his cock until it was swallowed up by Stiles’s asshole. Derek pressed his hand flat to Stiles’s lower stomach and stroked and back down as he eased his way into Stiles.
Stiles knew when Derek was as deep as he could go without shoving his knot inside when he felt the bulge of the knot teasing the outside of his rim. If it weren’t for the blinding lust, Stiles would probably be more nervous than he actually was. As it stood, he only spared a split second to be worried about whether the knot would fit before he was lost to the sensation of Derek pulling out part of the way and driving back in.
Stiles was shaking all over as every stroke managed to brush his prostate. On the next pass of Derek’s hand, he paused to pinch one of Stiles’s nipples. That bite of pain made Stiles shove back onto Derek’s cock, and Derek changed his pace from full, measured strokes to shorter but merciless. Stiles’s mouth hung open while unintelligible words poured from it.
“Let’s give your smart mouth something to do, shall we?” Derek’s lips brushed against his ear. He shoved three of his fingers in Stiles’s mouth.
“Be a good boy and show me how you’ll suck my cock.”
His moan was muffled by the fingers in his mouth, and he valiantly fought to close his lips entirely around them. Derek wrapped his other hand around his throat, not applying any pressure but hinting at the fact that he could. Stiles jolted with every thrust, and drool was now dripping down his chin. He kept his arms locked at the elbows while the tops of his thighs kissed the grill of the Camaro. Tomorrow, his skin was going to be a veritable map of debauchery for him to retrace the night’s events.
“Are you about to come?” Derek asked, and Stiles nodded frantically.
Derek pulled his fingers from Stiles’s mouth, and he immediately missed them. Derek didn’t deprive him for long because he wrapped his now wet hand around Stiles’s aching cock. The slow pump of his hand was a maddening dichotomy against the rough pounding his ass was getting.
“When you come, I’m going to work my knot into you,” Derek said. “Do you still want it?”
“Yes,” he answered in an uneven gasp.
“Come for me, baby.” The alpha growl was back in Derek’s voice, and Stiles was helpless against it.
Stiles began to twitch with his second orgasm of the night when he felt the overwhelming pressure of Derek’s knot squeezing into his ass. The low grunts in his ear had him pressing his ass back into the sensation, and heat flooded his ass when the knot was fully inside, his hips flush with Derek’s.
Stiles felt more and more of Derek’s weight against his back as the other man shifted to be fully bent over Stiles with his hands on top of Stiles’s on the hood. Their heavy breathing carried throughout the night air, and Stiles drifted back into his own body, drawn to the heat of Derek pressing into him. They stayed still and silent like that for a long time until Stiles tried to adjust one of his legs, and the movement caused a third, weaker orgasm from his spent cock; Derek groaned as the orgasm made Stiles squeeze around the knot and more cum flooded his ass.
“Don’t move,” Derek said.
“Ay, ay, alpha.” Now, all Stiles really wanted to do was move. “Quick question: how long exactly will we be stuck like this??
“As long as you stay still, maybe another ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?” Stiles squawked. “Also, what do you mean ‘maybe?’”
“It’s not an exact science, Stiles. It varies between werewolves, and there are a lot of factors to take into consideration.”
Stiles wanted to ask what those factors entailed, but he had more pressing questions. He fully intended to launch a full-scale investigation into werewolf knots later, and Scott would get an earful from him for hiding vital werewolf lore from him. Once Stiles worked up the courage to explain his newfound knowledge of them.
“Well, what is your average wait time?” That sounded like Stiles was in line at the DMV and not bent over a car with a dick up his ass. Also, he kind of wished he hadn’t asked because now he was thinking about Derek with his knot lodged in some other nameless, faceless person, and it made Stiles want to squirm away from the feeling.
“I wouldn’t know,” Derek said.
“You don’t even have, like, a rough estimate?” Stiles asked. That one was totally fishing since Stiles was apparently a glutton for punishment.
“I’ve never knotted anyone before. It’s not something most werewolves do casually because you have to trust your partner and, more importantly, your partner has to trust you enough to try it.”
Derek’s voice quieted towards the end of his sentence. The unspoken words, You were my first , and all the implications of that statement were swirling between the two of them even though Stiles was still facing the Camaro, locked in an embrace where he couldn’t see Derek’s face.
Stiles knew he wasn’t ready for any more emotional vulnerability right now, so he fell back on his tried and true “humorous deflection” method.
“So we both popped the knot cherry, so to speak?”
Derek huffed, used to Stiles and his sarcasm by now.
“If that’s what you want to call it,” he said.
Stiles thought being bent over and stuffed on the hood of Derek’s car for an indeterminate amount of time would be much more uncomfortable than it actually was. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he started to feel the tension and soreness from staying in this position for so long—and from being fucked within an inch of his sanity—-but it was about that time when Derek’s knot began to soften inside him. After an experimental tug to see if it triggered any more orgasms that pulled on the abused rim of his asshole, Derek pulled out, and the tell-tale flood of cum and lube dripped out of Stiles’s ass.
“Ugh.” The sound came from Stiles unbidden, and it was less about the cum, and more about the idea of having to put his clothes back on and sit in this on the ride home. Actually, Stiles really liked the idea of being messy and marked with Derek’s cum, which was something he was going to have to examine about himself when he could have a crisis in peace.
Derek grabbed Stiles’s hands and slowly pulled him to standing upright where Stiles felt a twinge in the muscles of his lower back. Derek manipulated his arms until they were crossed in a X across his chest with Derek and his larger arms holding him in place. He rubbed feeling and warmth back into Stiles’s arms and nuzzled the top of his head.
Stiles hadn’t thought of Derek as being particularly cuddly before, but he was glad for the connection and touch after the intensity from before. There was still the faint hum of a current running through Stiles, and Derek acted as a grounding force while Stiles figured out how to steady himself.
“Stay right here, okay? I’m gonna grab a towel from the trunk.”
“Boy scout,” Stiles muttered, but Derek was already striding, naked, to the back of the car.
Stiles reached a hand out for the towel, his cheeks already burning with the idea of wiping Derek’s cum from between his legs with Derek standing right there , but Derek batted his hand away. He knelt in front of Stiles for the second time and used a gentle hand between his knees to separate Stiles’s legs. Derek wiped with as little pressure as possible, but Stiles gasped at the brush of cotton on his oversensitized hole. The other man wiped away as much of the mess as he could and stood. He kissed the top of Stiles’s head then began collecting their discarded clothes, handing Stiles things back to him. Derek folded the towel and tucked it in the backseat.
Stiles was a little lightheaded at the idea that Derek’s car would now smell like the two of them fucking, at least until Derek washed the towel and aired out the Camaro.
They both got dressed in silence. Stiles wrestled with questions that he wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure if those questions would ruin what had just happened between them and lead them back to an even more awkward car home. After Stiles shook as much dirt and detritus off his shirt as possible, he slipped it over his head and got back in the passenger seat without prompting.
Derek slid in the driver’s seat a moment later, stretching an arm behind Stiles to grab his leather jacket, but he didn’t put it back on. Instead, he wordlessly handed it to Stiles, who blinked in surprise at the garment in his lap. Derek didn’t wait for Stiles to remember how to put on a jacket as he turned the key in the ignition and eased the Camaro back on the road. Stiles put the jacket on, resisting the urge to press his nose into it and breathe the scent of Derek deep into his lungs like an addict.
The rock station fizzled in and out on the drive back to Beacon Hills, but Stiles didn’t mind. He was surprised he also wasn’t bothered by the silence between the two of them as he relaxed into his seat. Sure, he was a little uncomfortable and stiff in the lower back and ass area, but all in all the ride home was off to a much better start compared to when they left the supernatural market.
Stiles didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he stirred as a pair of arms lifted him from the passenger seat. He was cradled against a warm body that smelled familiar, so he snuggled closer, his mind still caught in the fog of sleeping. The person jostled him a little bit, but then he heard a door being closed behind him in that pointlessly slow way like when Stiles is trying to sneak back into the house. The thud of boots against the house’s old stairs belied the attempt to be quiet at the door. He was trying to decide whether he needed to be awake for this or not when the arms gently laid him in a bed. His shoes were tugged off his feet, and his jeans were pulled down his legs. Stiles tried to help by kicking the fabric down, but a hand stilled his movement. Once his pants were off, a blanket was pulled up around his shoulders. He could sense more than he could hear the person moving away from him.
Stiles flung out a hand, his eyes trying to flutter open but fighting it as sleep waited to drag him fully back under. His hand grazed someone else’s warm skin.
“Stay,” The word was muffled, and he wasn’t sure if his tired mouth actually formed the word correctly. It didn’t seem to matter because the other person paused then said.
“Okay, Stiles. I’ll stay.”
There was some rustling, probably the other person removing shoes and trying to make themselves comfortable for bed. Then, the mattress dipped, and a large body laid down next to Stiles.
Stiles shifted and turned on his side until he was tucked into the man’s warmth. The man laid a broad palm on Stiles’s back.
“Goodnight, Sourwolf.”
The man’s chest shook with repressed laughter.
“Goodnight, Stiles,” he whispered.
~
Stiles woke to the sun streaming through the window directly into his face like a fucking asshole. He rubbed his face, torn between falling back asleep and getting a head start on the ritual now that he had the obsidian salt. He froze when he felt the brush of leather against his face. Stiles fell asleep in a leather jacket. Derek’s leather jacket.
As Stiles pieced together the events of last night in his barely awake brain, he looked around and noticed there was no scowling werewolf to be found. He sort of vaguely remembered falling asleep against a hard chest, but when he looked at the open curtains of his window, he figured that must have been Derek’s escape to avoid the sheriff. The clock on his bedside read seven in the morning, and Stiles wondered how early in the morning Derek had left.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and any notion that last night was an intense wet dream flew out the window at the ache spreading throughout his ass and lower back. Stiles put the leather jacket on his bed and went to shower. While the water heated up, he had a moment of hesitation. He didn’t want to wash away Derek’s scent, but if he ran into any of the other werewolves before he talked to Derek that could get awkward. Besides, outdoor sex and a long car ride left a thin layer of grime on Stiles’s skin—not to mention remnants of bodily fluids and lube that Derek’s towel ministrations last night couldn’t completely clear away.
Stiles probably stayed under the spray of the water far too long, but the heat reminded him of the heat of Derek’s bulk pressed against him. He wasted time remembering all the ways Derek had touched him before he focused on washing.
Stepping out of the shower, the reflection in the mirror startled Stiles. His skin was littered with the bruises of Derek’s hands when he let his control on his werewolf strength slip and beard burn from Derek’s five o’clock shadow. Also hickeys. Many, many hickeys.
But more than that, Stiles couldn’t believe how… relaxed he looked. Content.
Usually, Stiles was harried, worried, sleep-deprived, exhausted, stressed, anxious… A laundry list of other words that were the opposite of relaxed and content.
Stiles hurried through the rest of his morning routine in record time. With every task he completed, he grew a bit angrier. How dare Derek fuck his brains out then dip before they even had a chance to talk about it? Presumptuous, arrogant werewolf. And he knew that the other man hadn’t woken up to proof of his and Stiles’s roadside tryst; any sore muscles and random bruises he had accrued during had disappeared overnight because of his stupid werewolf super-healing. And Stiles didn’t want to admit it even in his own head, but he wasn’t really angry. No, he was afraid that Derek regretted having sex with him, and he hoped Stiles would get the hint and forget if he left before Stiles woke up.
Either he regretted it or he had some other perfectly logical reason to leave his bed like a thief in the night, but Derek was going to have to break Stiles’s heart to his face if it was the former.
As he was leaving his room, he noticed Derek’s leather jacket strewn across his bed. He grabbed it, figuring Derek would want it back no matter how this conversation went.
Stiles almost missed the last three stairs with how fast he went down them. He vaguely heard movement in the kitchen. His dad would notice something was up right away from Stiles’s appearance and the frenzy he’d worked himself into while getting ready. Plus, having a normal breakfast with his dad would give him time to think and question himself.
“Hi, Dad. Bye, Dad,” Stiles called.
“Bye, Stiles,” his dad said, entirely used to Stiles’s shenanigans by now.
Stiles peeled the Jeep out of his neighborhood and drove a solid 20 miles over the speed limit all the way to Derek’s loft. He parked haphazardly and patted the dashboard, an apology to his beloved car for the rough treatment. Then, he practically threw himself out of the car, so he couldn’t talk himself into putting this off for another day. Stiles loosened his grip on the leather jacket before he could damage the garment. He rode the elevator, tapping his foot and shaking out his empty hand and generally being an anxiety-ridden disaster until the door opened to the top floor.
Stiles bypassed knocking in favor of using the “for emergency only” key Derek had given everyone in the pack. It wasn’t the first time he’d let himself into Derek’s apartment, but it was the first time he’d let himself in alone under the assumption that Derek was also here alone without an imminent danger threatening death or dismemberment.
What he wasn’t expecting was for Derek to be nowhere to be found. What he forgot to expect was Isaac standing in the kitchen because he was staying with Derek for the time being. Fuck.
Stiles and Isaac were frozen in place: each were staring at the other, waiting for them to break the silence.
“Uh. Did I miss a life-or-death memo?” Isaac asked with a coffee mug halfway to his mouth.
“No,” Stiles said.
Isaac nodded even though Stiles’s answer didn’t clarify anything about this situation.
“Where’s Derek?” That seemed like a harmless enough, totally standard kind of question for Stiles, but Isaac tilted his head, which immediately let Stiles know that he’d fallen short of the norm around here.
“He came in a couple hours ago, showered, changed, turned down coffee when I offered, and left. He seemed even less talkative than usual, so I didn’t ask any further questions.” Isaac studied him for a long moment. “What’s going on Stiles?”
“I just need to talk to Derek. Ya know, emissary to alpha type stuff. I’m sure you understand, but if he’s not here, then I guess I’ll just…” Stiles trailed off as he gestured towards the still-open door behind him.
He was almost in the clear when Isaac spoke again.
“Is that his jacket?”
Stiles couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t because Derek’s scent had to be deeply ingrained into this jacket by now.
“Yep. He… uh, left in the Jeep the other day, so I was just gonna return it.”
Isaac nodded—again—-but slower this time, and his brow furrowed like he was debating saying something and whether it was worth Derek’s wrath if he did. He’d seen this look on Isaac’s face before, and he knew Isaac usually opted to speak first and ask for forgiveness from his alpha later.
“Derek smelled different this morning. At first, it was so shocking that I didn’t even realize what I was smelling, but you standing there with his jacket just made it click. He smelled like you .”
It was half discovery, half accusation. Stiles wasn’t sure how Isaac was going to take the news that he’d fucked the pack alpha, and he definitely didn’t want to talk to Isaac about this before Derek. But now he was trapped here until he responded because no response would be an answer to Isaac’s unspoken question in and of itself. Isaac would be able to tell if he lied, so Stiles decided that less was more and hoped Derek forgave him for cluing in Isaac.
“We were together last night.” There. That was innocuous enough, right?
“You slept with Derek.”
Welp. There went that hope.
“If I lied right now, would you pretend to believe me?” Stiles asked in a last ditch effort.
“No,” Isaac responded, unrepentant.
“Then, yeah, I slept with Derek.” Admitting it out loud made butterflies run amok in his stomach.
“Alright.” Isaac finally sipped his coffee, turning to the fridge.
Well, that was underwhelming.
“That’s it?”
“Did you want something different?” Isaac asked.
“I guess not.” Stiles waited for a minute while Isaac started pulling out ingredients for breakfast.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Isaac asked when he realized Stiles was still standing there.
“No. I need to talk to Derek first.”
Isaac raised his brows as he cracked eggs into a bowl. He beat the eggs then chopped some tomatoes and mushrooms.
“So, you guys finally took the next step, huh?” When Stiles didn’t respond, Isaac tried a different tactic. “Are you staying for breakfast?”
“Uh, no.”
Isaac nodded. He ignored Stiles while he continued to make his own omelette. Stiles didn’t want to wait here: one, he would definitely lose his nerve if he just sat around in Derek’s loft, waiting for him to show up, and two, he didn’t want to have this conversation with Derek in front of Isaac even if he was being weirdly chill about finding out about his and Derek’s hookup.
“Could you…” Stiles trailed off, unsure how to ask this favor. “Could you keep this to yourself for now? The only one who knows about me being bisexual is Scott, and I haven’t told him about Derek, yet.”
Scott would definitely pout if he found out Isaac knew about Derek before him.
“Sure, man.” Isaac shrugged. “For the record, no one in the pack will be judgemental. Though a couple of them might have an opinion about your choice in partner, but most of us kind of already assumed.”
Stiles’s whole body jolted.
“What are you talking about, Isaac?”
Isaac tilted his head, and Stiles wondered if bitten werewolves adopt mannerisms from the werewolf that bit them or if Isaac just spent so much time with Derek that he started picking up the subtle movements.
“You and Derek? You’ve been dancing around each other for a while. Everyone could tell because your scents always changed when you were around each other. Scott may not have noticed because Scott doesn’t really pay attention to Derek when he starts talking about Werewolf 101 stuff, but the others and I definitely did.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? Stiles asked.
“It didn’t seem like any of our business. We figured if you wanted us to know, you’d say something.”
Stiles secretly wished they had said something because until last night he’d had no clue about how much his scent revealed or that Derek felt anything for him besides annoyance and pack obligation to save his life. He still didn’t know what Derek felt for him, and if he didn’t want to hear it from the alpha himself, he’d ask Isaac to expound upon what he meant.
“Besides, have you met Derek? He’s not really the gossiping, talk-about-his-feelings type,” Isaac said, huffing at his own joke.
Stiles laughed, finally dulling the edge on the frantic energy he had when he drove to the loft. And it suddenly became abundantly clear exactly where Derek would have gone this morning if he’d been sorting through any of the same feelings Stiles had woken up with.
“You gonna wait for him here? I could clear out,” Isaac said.
“Nah. I know where he is. And Isaac?” Isaac stopped, his egg mixture poised above the pan on the stove. “Thanks for this. I’m glad Derek asked you to be part of the pack. You’re good people.”
Isaac smiled, a small, private thing.
“You too, emissary.”
Stiles didn’t wait around for more pack bonding. He stabbed the down button on the elevator repeatedly until it lit up. As soon as the elevator reached the ground floor, he was back in his Jeep and back on the road at a much more reasonable speed this time. When he pulled up outside the Hale house, he spotted Derek’s Camaro parked outside. Once the Jeep was in park though, he wasn’t sure if it was better to wait for him out here—since Derek certainly would have heard the Jeep coming down the path—or walk into the house uninvited.
Derek made the decision for him when he opened the front door and sat on the steps leading up to the porch. Stiles sucked in a deep breath and held it in his lungs til the count of five then released as he pushed the car door open. Stiles settled himself next to the other man with his leather jacket in his lap.
“You left.” The words were not quite an accusation, but they lacked the anger that Stiles had wanted them to have.
“Yeah,” Derek said, his shoulders hunched. He scrubbed his hands aggressively through his hair.
“Why?” Stiles asked. “Nevermind. Better question: did you leave because you regret what happened last night?”
“No, Stiles. I don’t regret you.” His voice was firm, but Stiles could tell that this was an incomplete thought.
“What do you regret?”
Derek’s laugh was bitter rather than amused.
“That’s a loaded question so early in the morning. I regret plenty of things,” he said.
Stiles sat in silence—a feat for him—while he waited for Derek to decide what he felt like sharing. If Derek hadn’t wanted to talk, he’d have fucked off into the woods. Derek had been an unflinching presence in his life since that first time he’d seen him after Scott had been bitten, and now it was Stiles’s turn to be that for him.
“Stiles, I killed the first girl I ever loved, and the second girl burned my entire family alive. The third was a durach hellbent on revenge, willing to hurt the people I cared about to get it. I’ve learned over and over that romantic relationships end badly for me. And you’re my pack emissary, and I need you. The pack needs you. I thought before it didn’t matter that I wanted you because you were not an option. You were in love with Lydia. You might have been attracted to me, but that’s not the same thing as wanting me. Not the way I want you.
Then, last night you acted like I was your boyfriend, and I was mad at you for showing me exactly what I couldn’t have. And then your scent in the car… I lost control of myself. I don’t regret what we did, but I would have gone about things differently if I had been thinking clearly. You’re not someone I can be casual about, and if that’s what last night was for you, so be it. It just can’t happen again.”
Stiles couldn’t remember if Derek had ever said so many words to him in one go.
“Last night, you talked about a ‘next time.’ Did you mean that?” Stiles asked.
Stiles had been prepared to wait him out, but Derek responded immediately.
“Yes.”
Okay, it was Stiles’s turn to be brave.
“Derek, I haven’t felt casual about you since you dragged yourself back to Beacon Hills. I’m not sure how precise of a mood ring my scent is, but it’s not just attraction. Maybe at first it was, but it’s been more than that for a while. You might be standoffish and broody, but I think you’ve earned the right to be. Despite being the moodiest werewolf I’ve ever met, you do right by your pack—a pack you put together by yourself by offering a family to people who know what it’s like to be alone. I trust you to save me, and I do my best to save you back. I thought you didn’t even like me and saved me, anyways; I never in a million years would have imagined that you were even remotely an option for me. So, no, Sourwolf, this has never been nor will it ever be casual for me.”
Derek stared at him: his mouth didn’t hang open in shock, but it was a near thing. Stiles has used up all his courage, and his knee began the incessant bouncing that arguably caused the whole car incident last night. Stiles would be tapping his fingers in random patterns if they weren’t still clenched in Derek’s leather jacket.
“Also, you, uh, left this last night,” Stiles said, offering him the jacket. Technically, Stiles had still been wearing it when Derek left this morning, but it hardly felt like a time for semantics.
Derek’s green eyes flicked from Stiles’s face, to the jacket in his hand, to Stiles’s mouth, then back to the jacket. The other man’s shoulders settled as he finished whatever mental calculations he’d been doing.
“Keep it.”
Stiles’s eyebrows rose on his face. When Derek kept his gaze steady like he was trying to import information right into Stiles’s brain without saying a word, a manic grin stole over Stiles’s face as he shrugged the jacket on.
“Does this mean we’re going steady?” Stiles asked. It really felt like he was being handed the team captain’s letterman jacket.
Derek rolled his eyes.
“Shut up, Stiles.”
“You like me. You like like me,” Stiles taunted.
“Yeah,” Derek said, sounding defeated as he leaned his head all the way back. Stiles was immediately drawn to the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
“Does that mean we can make out now?” Stiles didn’t bother to disguise the eager note in his voice.
“Yeah,” Derek said, much more enthusiastically this time. He slipped an arm between Stiles’s back and the step and half-lifted, half-dragged Stiles onto his lap. Stiles squawked before straddling Derek more comfortably with his hands on his broad shoulders. Stiles had no skill for poetry, but he could write a sonnet about Derek’s shoulders.
Derek dragged his hands up and down Stiles’s sides under his T-shirt, staring at Stiles in his jacket.
“Possessive werewolf feelings?” Stiles asked.
“Yes,” Derek said, the werewolf growl prominent in his voice.
Stiles had more flirty quips prepared, but Derek captured his mouth before he could talk again. Then, Stiles was too absorbed in kissing Derek to think of anything else for a while. He couldn’t get over how thorough and attentive this normally reserved man was while his hands clutched at Stiles’s back and his tongue plundered his mouth. Stiles’s hips had a mind of their own and started rocking back and forth on Derek’s lap. He switched his hands from gripping Derek’s shoulders to desperately clutching his hair.
He tore his mouth away to drink in life-giving air but got distracted by Derek’s Adam apple as it swallowed down a groan. Stiles used his grip on his hair to tilt his head back and place a kiss right on the bump, feeling where stubble ended and smooth skin began. Stiles spent a long time laving Derek’s throat with attention: Stiles was selfishly enjoying himself, but he also wanted to chase the flutter in Derek’s pulse every time he found a particularly sensitive spot. When Derek’s hands slid to inappropriate places, Stiles leaned away, his chest struggling under Stiles’s rapid breathing.
“Absolutely yes to that, but I’m not having sex outside twice in the span of 24 hours. I’ll start to garner a reputation.”
“Reputation with who?” Derek asked, his voice a distracted mumble as he tried to recapture Stiles’s mouth.
Stiles winced. Derek caught it and leaned back with a raised brow.
“I may have gone to the loft first and run into Isaac. He, uh, put two and two together,” Stiles said.
“Anyone else know?” Derek asked, his voice carefully blank.
“No. I wanted to talk to you first, and Isaac knows I need to tell Scott before the rest of the pack figures it out by themselves.”
God, they were going to be intolerable.
“That is, if you want the rest of the pack to know?” Stiles wasn’t sure how to acknowledge the alpha and pack emissary dynamic between them, and that Derek, for all his talk about not being casual, might not want to tell the pack yet.
“We won’t be able to hide it,” Derek said, dryly. “But also, I wasn’t planning on keeping it a secret, so you better tell Scott. Later.”
“Later?”
Derek stood, lifting Stiles with him and setting him down when he reached the bottom of the stairs. He pressed a firm kiss to his mouth.
“Later. Isaac better have cleared out otherwise he’s getting kicked out when we get to the loft.”
It took half a minute for Stiles’s brain to reboot and get on board with the rest of him. Stiles nodded and shot a text to Scott to meet up around dinnertime. Hopefully, that was enough time for Derek’s plans. He shot a text to Isaac for good measure, politely suggesting that if he was still at the loft to make himself scarce. Stiles looked up and found Derek studying him like he was pressing the image into his mind for safekeeping.
“Next time that I tell you to stay, I better wake up with you,” Stiles said.
“I don’t know if the Sheriff will approve of this plan.” Derek quirked his lips. “May I remind you that he’s arrested me before? And that he has a gun?”
“I’ll protect you, seeing as you are my boyfriend now,” Stiles said, backing away towards the Jeep. “Race you to the loft?”
“What do I get if I win?” Derek asked.
“Whatever you want.” Stiles winked.
“Dangerous thing to offer,” Derek called as he opened the door to the Camaro.
Stiles shrugged before he hoisted himself into his car.
“I’m good for it.”