There’s nuzzling. Stiles is- he’s being nuzzled. Definitely. And not by, like, a drunken cheerleader or even a newborn kitten. Oh no. It’s an alpha werewolf, of course, nosing across Stiles’s chest and oh holy God this is not going to help with trying not to think the bad thoughts about Derek.
“Derek,” he says, low, tries again to reach the man he knows is hidden beneath the surface of whatever freaky curse was on that arrow.
There’s a crash in the hallway outside and he freezes. And man, is it hard to be silent and still while a hot dude scents pretty much all the parts of your body that are within reach. Happily, the rest of the pack must actually be following the plan and drawing the witches away from the school to finish this, because there’s a burst of rapid footsteps, getting fainter and fainter. “Derek.”
“You like it,” the older man murmurs, and oh shit. Of all the strangeness that has happened to him since Scott got the bite, this has been the one constant. Derek never mentions what he knows, what he has to know, the alpha is classy enough never to throw Stiles’ attraction in his face, never smirks, never even hints.
“Derek,” he chokes out. “Derek man, don’t do that. This is our fight club, okay, we don’t talk about this.”
Stiles slams his eyes shut when the alpha just migrates south. Okay, okay, he can handle this. Janitor’s closet at high school, this is practically a rite of passage for an American teenager, totally normal. His shirt rucks up and he whimpers a little, because now there is skin on skin contact and he is seventeen, okay, and can get an erection when a cool breeze moves over his skin but instead it’s the hottest person he’s ever seen-
He bursts into speech out of sheer self-preservation, because his own stupid thoughts are gonna make him come if he doesn’t. “And no matter how much I might like it, and let’s face it, we both know I do, you’re gonna hate yourself tomorrow, whole new levels of Grumpy Alpha Face™ and then there’ll be the awkwardness and the avoiding which, you know, never actually works out for us because there will inevitably be some new monster-of-the-week and you’ll be all, ‘Stiles, we need your mad research skills’ and oh holy god tongue-”
His hand shoots out, totally involuntary, and next thing he knows is Derek’s hair beneath his fingertips, a rough half-growl of approval that he is never going to forget if he lives to be- well, even twenty-five is looking like an unrealistic goal, given his environment.
They are face to face in an instant, and Derek’s eyes are, hey, they’re not glowing – red or any other color – they’re his normal mysterious grey-green, but his pupils are dilated in arousal and fixed firmly on Stiles’ mouth. Stiles’ mouth.
Oh, fuck these witches, because this is just unfair. Why couldn’t they just try to kill him instead of serving up all of his fantasies come true and giving him memories like this to jerk off to for the rest of his natural life? He was already ruined for normal relationships, assholes, no need to rub salt into his gaping wound.
“This isn’t you,” he manages to choke out as Derek leans forward. “You don’t want this.”
The alpha’s eyelids dip, heavy, and one corner of his mouth twitches. “Don’t be stupid, Stiles,” he says, and his voice is exactly the right kind of rough. Stiles licks his lips and Derek- Derek leans in, intent.
And right then, of course, right then is when Jackson kicks the door open.
The silence from Derek is, well, only slightly deeper than normal. He’s never going to be a chatterbox. In fact, ‘uncommunicative’ would be a step up from Derek’s normal level.
The cleanup and injury-treatment stuff is pretty standard. (Yeah. He has a standard for treating injuries and hiding property damage.)
The silence from Derek is, well, only slightly deeper than normal. He’s never going to be a chatterbox. In fact, ‘uncommunicative’ would be a step up from Derek’s normal level.
Even Jackson’s douche-baggery is fairly normal. Only difference is, of course, this time Stiles is truly bothered on several levels by what happened – can’t pretend Derek doesn’t know and what did he mean ‘don’t be stupid’ – being just two of them.
But the big difference comes when Jackson pushes, as always, just a little too far. The other betas are already shifting uneasily, probably from having to breathe in Stiles’ half-hour old arousal and fresh, hot embarrassment
“...take a friggin’ shower Stilinski, ‘cause you reek like-”
Derek doesn’t move. Which, when Stiles thinks about it later is pretty frickin’ impressive, considering that he just turns his head and every. Single. Person. Freezes.
“Jackson,” Derek says. His voice is silky-soft and Stiles shivers at the menace it contains.
The beta is stuck, mouth half-open, and he has a definite oh, shit look on his face.
The silence plays out, making everything deeper and wider and more. Then Derek tilts his head and says, still soft, “Do you imagine that you are without weakness? That you have no vulnerabilities at all?”
Jackson swallows. Derek just watches and waits, the physical embodiment of threat, and finally he forces himself to answer, “No.”
“And do you imagine that anyone in this pack doesn’t know exactly where to press to make it hurt?”
Stiles can hear Jackson’s breath now, the short pants of near-panic. “No.”
“Then perhaps it would be wise for you to pay them the same courtesy they pay you.” And wow, where has this low, reasoned and absolutely fucking terrifying voice of Derek’s even come from? For the first time Stiles can see some resemblance between the old alpha and the new.
“To stop baiting the very people who stand at your side in a fight, and watch your back every day of your life.”
Jackson just nods, shakily. And it’s then that Derek moves, he just appears right there in Jackson’s space quicker than Stiles’ heart can beat. He leans in, face close to Jackson’s in a parody of a kiss. Over Derek’s shoulder Stiles watches Erica reach for Boyd’s hand, then Isaac’s, all three of them trembling together.
“I could be a very different sort of Alpha, Jackson,” Derek grits out. “You. Should. Take. Care. Pup.”
Jackson whines and drops his head, the most complete display of submission Stiles has ever seen and Derek just snarls silently at the bare, vulnerable throat, fangs extending but not touching.
“Get out,” he says, and Jackson goes.
There’s a long, trembling moment of silence and then Stiles says, “Holy fuck. Derek.”
The alpha snarls again, head snapping up and away, and he doesn’t look at Stiles.
“You,” he swallows, but presses on because for some reason out of the entire pack, he’s the only one not currently pissing his pants. The others seriously look like they think Derek’s one second away from ripping their throats out. “You don’t need to- Don’t do that. For me, I mean. Jackson’s a dick, we all know this, you don’t have to wolf out on him and terrify the shit out of the rest-”
He stops abruptly because Derek is snarling again, angrier and louder than before and the others are looking at Stiles like he just made things about ten thousand times worse.
“What?” he starts to ask when Derek turns to glare at him.
“You reject my protection? You refuse me?” he growls, and wow, that sounds like a lot more than Stiles had meant to say.
Disconnected words tumble out of his mouth, “What- wait, no, I don’t um, there’s no rejection-”
But Derek snarls one last time and then he’s just gone.
There’s stunned silence for about three seconds and then Erica spits, “Stiles, you dumbass.”
His brain is standing on the side of the road looking at the clue bus and refusing to get on. Nuh-uh. No way.
Ten minutes later the betas have all stopped shaking, but the glaring is continuing apace. Stiles is pretty freakin fed up, truth be told. At least his Dad is on the night shift and so he has the hours and hours of time to spare, to sort out yet another pack-related drama.
“What the hell did I do? What is going on here?”
Erica is still glowering at him, snapping, actually snapping with teeth at Isaac every time he tries to reach out.
“He doesn’t know, Erica. He doesn’t understand.” It’s Boyd, Voice of Reason, and Stiles turns to him gratefully.
“Right. Exactly. I don’t understand so will someone please explain to me what the hell just happened.”
Boyd sighs and exchanges glances with the others. “You... challenged Derek’s right to protect you.” He’s speaking carefully, like there’s whole volumes of information in that pause right there, and Stiles’ eyes narrow.
“No- I mean, I guess I kind of did? But I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, wow, over-reaction much? Jackson runs off at the mouth like, three times an hour so...”
“Jackson knows better,” Boyd says shortly. “Every one of us could sense how deep the shame went, he should have shut his mouth long before he was told to.”
Ugh. Now is the time they choose to talk about this?
Whatever. Face burning, Stiles folds his arms and says, “Look, I think shame is kind of ...overstating. Sure it’s... a little embarrassing to know all of you can smell how much I liked being locked in a closet with Derek.”
He tries for an airy hand wave that he realizes a second later just looks incredibly camp, and soldiers on, regardless, “But, y’know, it’s not like you couldn’t tell before, and I am long since resigned to having, like, no secrets and no dignity left to my name, although, I gotta say this was a lot easier to handle when we all stuck to the if-we-don’t-talk-about-it-then-it-never-happened rule...”
He trails off, a little disconcerted at having three werewolves glaring at him with varying levels of Stiles, you dumbass all over their stupidly attractive faces. “What?” he says. “What?”
“We’re not talking about your emotions, Stiles,” Boyd says, and actually pinches the bridge of his nose like this is all too much to have to explain. He generally only sees that gesture on his Dad, right around parent-teacher conference time.
“But.” He blinks. “But then-”
He does some more blinking.
His brain is standing on the side of the road looking at the clue bus and refusing to get on. Nuh-uh. No way.
“You mean- Derek?”
Eye rolls in triplicate.
“But. But Derek. He doesn’t-” do emotions, Stiles almost says. But that isn’t particularly true, or fair. For a start, the guy clearly had some pretty major feels about his family, Laura, Peter, the whole shebang. And he has been trying with this pack, Stiles can tell. He’s just... really crap at being around people, most of the time. Besides, Boyd had said-
“Why would Derek feel shame about what happened in the-” he waves a hand, damned if he was going to say closet one more time, insert gay joke here. “I mean, he must have been able to tell I was, uh, into it. And what even was that, on the arrow,” he adds suddenly. “I mean if they can roofie werewolves that easily then we gotta work out a cure, because man, he was really, um, gone, if you know what I mean...”
“It wasn’t a roofie,” Isaac said softly. “It was a binding, and it only works if there’s already-”
“Isaac-” Erica said sharply.
“What?” he spread his hands and shot her a look. “You think we can keep this from him, at this point? Really?”
“It’s Stiles,” Boyd added. “He’ll figure it out anyway, if we don’t tell him.”
“It’s not our place,” she said firmly. “And if he can’t figure it out for himself,” she shoots another snide look toward Stiles, “then he doesn’t deserve-”
“He can’t sense what we can, Erica,” Boyd sighs, “he doesn’t exactly have all the facts.”
“He has everything he needs,” she half-shouts. “For Christ’s sake, he has the couch and the stupid slow cooker thing and the freakin’ games and-”
“What the hell are you talking abou-”
And Stiles just stops. Because everything is suddenly slotting into place, like turning a kaleidoscope. The way Derek had changed the layout of the pack’s TV room when Stiles had gotten a headache from the glare on the screen. The family sized crock pot that had appeared after Stiles had bemoaned the lack of chilli in the middle of winter. The pile of games next to the TV that was an identical match to the pile in Stiles’ own freakin bedroom.
“Oh. Oh my God,” he says.
Derek’s voice, rumbling low in his ear while he navigates ten different Google search tabs and finds the close proximity not at all weird.
“There,” Erica says, and flings a hand in the air. “Finally.”
“Oh my God.”
Grey-green eyes, gleaming up at Stiles as he says don’t be stupid.
“Oh my. God.”
Big hands that press him firmly against the wall, but somehow never leave bruises.
“Uh, guys. I think we maybe... broke Stiles.”
"You’re not that type of guy. You’re emotionally constipated and you wallow in your guilt like a dog rolling in shit and oh my god you cannot communicate to literally save your own life."
He’s probably a traffic hazard the whole way there, but he and the Jeep make it to the Hale place, half-renovated, and he stares up at the windows with his heart hammering. Here goes. He lets himself inside, quiet, and realizes swiftly that Derek is showering in the upstairs ensuite, and is possibly unaware Stiles is even here.
Oh, he is totally going to take advantage of that.
“So. What exactly was the big plan, here?”
Derek stills in the bathroom doorway, hand pausing for a second and then he resumes towelling his hair like Stiles shows up in his room all the time.
Heh, score one for turning the tables. Of course, he’s a little... distracted by, hmm, all the... abs. So many, very many abs. He should really be immune by now, considering the amazing evaporating shirts Derek seems to favor. But then there’s also the thin trail of hair leading down down down and the droplets of water on those shoulders just asking to be licked.
He swallows once, then again to try and remember – why was he here, again?
“Stiles,” Derek says, carefully casual, and leans back to toss the towel back into the bathroom. See, he’s not perfect, he throws his towels on the floor. Get a grip, Stiles. “Did you need something?”
For a moment Stiles is foundering, half-way to backing out and then he sees the faint flush across Derek’s cheekbones, and remembers that he’s not the one hiding something. This time, anyway.
“Jackson stopped running yet?” he asks, suddenly re-thinking his strategy. Derek has ten foot brick walls around that heart of his for good reason. He’s not going to suddenly fling caution to the winds, no matter how winsome he finds Stiles’ – whatever it is about Stiles he finds attractive.
He half turns to survey the rest of the room, pretends not to be achingly aware that Derek is, after a brief hesitation, dropping the towel around his waist and turning his back to pull on a pair of soft cotton boxers.
Oh God, oh Jesus, that ass. Even glimpsed out of the corner of Stiles’ eye it’s a minor miracle. Please, please, let me get better acquainted with that ass.
“Not if he knows what’s good for him,” Derek says, reaching for a pair of jeans.
“He really pissed you off.”
“Yes,” Derek says, yanks his jeans up and raises an eyebrow. “He did.”
“Is it bad if I admit how much I enjoyed seeing you put him in his place?”
He watches Derek’s shoulders tighten, the way he shoves his hands into his back pockets. “Really. You... didn’t exactly give that impression.”
He shrugs and turns away again, “Well. It was kinda weird to see you... change like that, I guess. I mean, I know in my head you’re the alpha, you’re my alpha, but.” He stops, blinking as he thinks it through. “You don’t... grind your pack down, you don’t try to take away who they are. And you totally could, couldn’t you?” He turns back, leans back against the desk and curls his hands around it. So far he’s done a great job of playing it cool – well, good enough, anyway – but now Derek’s standing there, shirtless and slightly damp, and Stiles’ throat is dry like the Sahara and between them, like it’s outlined in flashing lights with neon arrows is DEREK’S BED.
He swallows again. Because though he started this conversation as a kind of red herring, there’s more to it than he’d realized. Stuff that needs to maybe be said before- Before.
“I’m not interested in enslaving anyone,” Derek says tightly, as if Stiles had accused him of something.
“No. I can see that. I mean, I think we all can. But that’s gotta be hard, right? I mean, knowing that you could. Temptation, yeah? With great power comes great responsibility...” He trails off when Derek gets that look, that longsuffering you are an idiot look that Stiles is beginning to suspect the alpha uses to hide deep affection. For Stiles.
“Spider-Man? Seriously?” He’s relaxed now, sure they’re back on normal footing.
“Hey, don’t knock the classics, man.” Stiles grins, then whammies Derek without a second’s remorse. “Because, it’s just now occurring to me how hellishly awkward it would be for you to start dating.”
Derek freezes. His eyes flick to Stiles’.
“I mean, your two choices are to find someone inside the pack, or outside the pack. Now, outside the pack is a world of choice, sure, but it’s also a buttload of hiding who you really are and trying to figure out, at what point do you tell the truth and risk your secret? And there’s the old putting-them-in-danger angle, of course. Plus, honestly? I can’t see you getting past third date territory with the number of times you’d inevitably have to cancel for a pack-related emergency.” He eyes Derek’s chest, “Okay, well, maybe the werewolf enhanced pecs would get you a few date’s grace. But five dates, max. Barely enough time to get any play.”
“I don’t- it’s not because of the wolf. I work out,” Derek mumbles, affronted, and he has that slightly lost look a lot of people get when Stiles really hits his monologuing stride.
“Which leaves you with dating inside the pack,” Stiles goes on, and he does not miss the way Derek’s body goes suddenly still. Okay, so he’s been a completely oblivious dumbass, apparently. He’s gonna blame that on proximity to Scott. But he’s paying attention now.
“And it’s only tonight that I realized how damn difficult that would be, too. I mean, they’re all attractive, don’t get me wrong,” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Derek’s jaw tightens. He looks away.
“But.” Stiles suddenly gets serious. “You could make them. Couldn’t you. If you decided you wanted, say, Isaac. You could make him respond to you, make him yours. No matter what he’d felt or wanted before that. No matter if he hated you, or if he was straight. He’d want to please you, want to obey your orders.”
Derek doesn’t answer. His hands are clenching and unclenching.
“Derek,” Stiles says softly, and doesn’t move. “Isn’t that right? If you wanted to be with one of the pack, hell, if you wanted to be with all of them, you could.”
“I would never-”
“I know that,” Stiles says gently. “I know that as well as they do. You’re not that type of guy. You’re emotionally constipated and you wallow in your guilt like a dog rolling in shit and oh my god you cannot communicate to literally save your own life. But you’re decent. Right down to the bone.”
“Scott isn’t so sure of that.”
Derek is staring at him, confused and offended and a million other things, but he’s not running, and that’s the only thing that gives Stiles the courage to push off the desk and step forward.
“Scott is angry and confused and you’re a convenient target. Now stop trying to distract me from my point.”
Derek’s eyebrows somehow say, you have a point? which Stiles ignores.
“Now, me, on the other hand,” he goes on, “I’m like, the opposite of you. I mean – born communicator. You want quantity or you want quality? Well, I’ve got both. I can make complicated ideas clear to Scott, which is no laughing matter. I’m pretty in touch with my emotions, too, if I do say so myself. For instance, I realized over a year ago that guys light my fire just as effectively as the ladies do. But then,” he pauses and shoots a direct glance Derek’s way, “you already knew that. Right?”
“Stiles-” he begins, uneasy.
“So, with you being who you are, and me being who I am, I thought I should come on over here and clarify just exactly what happened back there at the school. Because if I don’t I’m pretty sure you’ll convince yourself that you assaulted me tonight, or some other kind of garbage.”
Derek’s jaw clenches.
“That’s what you’re doing, right? Telling yourself that you’ve turned into the Big Bad Touch Wolf?”
“You were pretty clear-”
“It wasn’t my consent I was worried about, Derek. It was yours.”
Derek stops mid-scowl, blinking. “What?”
“I liked you touching me tonight.” He drifts closer, heart starting to speed up and he knows Derek can hear it, hear the truth behind Stiles’ words. “I liked you holding me down, and scenting me or whatever that was, in fact I’ve liked it every time you ever slammed me into a wall or shoved me into a car – okay, maybe not that time with the steering wheel, but apart from that. I. Like. Your. Touch.”
“I always- I just imagined there’d be stubble, if this ever, y’know maybe through mistaken identity or accidental exposure to sex pollen, actually happened.”
Derek just stares, and Stiles swallows, hard. Okay. So he’s – y’know. Done the mature thing. He’s gone first. Admitted his... whatever. Made himself vulnerable. To a supernatural creature who could make a steady living as an underwear model. Oh geez, what is he even doing?
They stand there, frozen like the dummies Erica would no doubt say they are, and then finally Derek says, “My consent?”
Stiles takes a deep breath. “I thought you were- drugged, maybe. Or under some kind of spell. I mean you’ve never- before tonight I never had a clue that you might, maybe- that you.”
Oh God, kill me now. He scrubs a hand over his face and says it all in one rush, “Thatyoumightlikeme.” And if Derek doesn’t say something soon Stiles will kill him and then this godawful night will at least have ended for one of them.
Derek stares some more. “You didn’t... know?”
“No, I didn’t know!” And then he flushes all over because that was – wait, that was Derek admitting it, right?
“How could you not know?”
Stiles gapes at him, triumph swamped by sheer aggravation. “How could I – oh for God’s sake are you kidding me with this? Words, Derek, where are your words? Or, I don’t know, you could have groped my ass or kissed me or something, considering I must smell like a whorehouse half the time I’m around you. I mean, I don’t know what goes on inside your head but some people require more of a hint than sweet gifts and symbolic gestures.”
“The entire pack knew-”
“Because they can smell it on you and oh, out of respect for the freakin’ alpha nobody said a goddam word.”
“Scott.” And Stiles blinks because, yeah, wait a second, Scott must’ve known the same way the others did. “Scott never said a word,” Stiles says slowly, and meets Derek’s eyes. “Okay,” he says, nodding, “okay so there are gonna be words over that one, believe you me, because clearly he is mad enough at you to cockblock me for months.”
Derek just stands there, hopeful and yet still wary.
Stiles licks his lips and tries to work his way through that. “So you... you thought I knew and I was... trying to spare your feelings by not openly rejecting you?”
Derek spreads his hands. Of course. Only Derek could manage to be that attractive and that clueless. And Stiles thought he had self-worth issues.
“Even though I was clearly panting for it?”
“You’re seventeen,” he says, and shrugs helplessly.
Maybe it’s the helplessness that gets to Stiles because suddenly everything else just disappears and he’s left with the only important thing out of all this. Derek wants him. Derek. Wants. Stiles.
“Okay,” he says, words tumbling out of his mouth in a hurry. “I suddenly do not give a shit about any of that because it’s dawning on me that you like me, and I like you, and here we are on this fine evening in your bedroom and I have not yet even been kissed.”
Their eyes meet and suddenly they’re pressed together, no idea who moved first. Stiles freezes, staring right into Derek’s eyes and swallowing hard. He’d kind of imagined being thrown onto the bed and just fucking ruined, but instead the alpha closes his eyes and leans in, forehead pressing against Stiles’ while he just breathes, hands clutching hard.
Okay. Stiles breathes in, shaky. Okay. He is apparently living in a gay Harlequin romance, because his heart is going to beat right out of his frickin’ chest and they haven’t even kissed yet. He doesn’t have to ask to know that this is a Derek no-one else ever gets to see. And shit, shit he just cannot keep the words inside when Derek is like this.
“I thought you didn’t want me,” he whispers.
“Of course I want you,” Derek whispers back, and his fingers dig into Stiles’ nape. “You drive me crazy. I thought I was- too much. Too intense, too much baggage-” His voice breaks a little on the last word and Stiles just cannot stand to hear that, tilts his head back and stops him with his mouth.
Oh. Oh God.
Soft lips, so deceptively soft for all that scowling and threatening. They brush, whisper-quiet against Stiles’ mouth, and he just – just collapses against Derek, totally undone by gentleness where he’d expected dominance. “Derek,” he breathes, “oh God, Derek.”
He makes a soft, low sound, his stoic alpha wolf, and half-nuzzles his way across Stiles’ jaw, nipping and licking as he goes. Stiles swallows hard and tips his head back, painful understanding suddenly bursting through his mind, sweeping it clear.
Everything in Derek’s life is hard.
Always fighting and training with the pack. Always strong and certain in front of the Argents, defiant and ruthless in front of witches and trolls and hobbits and whatever the fuck else is coming for them next week. No family left to dole out hugs or give advice or a simple well done.
Everything Derek has, he has fought and bled for, and every day he starts over again, defending against old threats, internal pack threats, fighting new battles, every day, just to keep it.
He rubs his mouth over Derek’s, side to side, savouring the taste and the intimacy and then suddenly, he can’t hold back a startled half-laugh. Derek pulls back, frowns a little, “Stiles?”
He shakes his head, a silent sorry if I ruined the moment. “No stubble,” he says, and rubs a thumb over Derek’s cheek. “I always- I just imagined there’d be stubble, if this ever, y’know maybe through mistaken identity or accidental exposure to sex pollen, actually happened.”
“You... imagined this?”
“Duh,” Stiles says, and grins. “Yeah. Um. Like, a dozen times a day.”
Derek eyes close for a moment, and then the tiniest curl appears at the corner of his mouth before it disappears. “I did too.” He doesn’t say anything else, just stares down at his hands on Stiles’ waist like he’s committed some horrible crime by having a fantasy life. Stiles has never seen him this... vulnerable, it’s like admitting he wants something has left him no defences at all.
“Well yeah,” Stiles says around the lump in his throat. “Because apparently you can’t resist the Stiles Stilinski charm. Any minute now Jackson, Erica and Lydia are all going to admit my awesomeness. Mr Harris will cancel all my detentions. Miranda Kerr will ask me to prom.”
“I’m finding you less attractive right now, however,” Derek mutters.
“Well now, that’s a lie,” Stiles says and goes back to the kissing.
“Did you honestly describe me as a dog rolling around in shit?” Derek asks in a kind of dazed wonder, later. Much later.
Stiles snorts. “I – yes?”
“Smooth with the words. Lucky that, of the two of us, you’re the big communicator,” Derek says wryly. He runs a thumb down the line of Stiles’ throat, sweeping off to trace the shape of his collarbones. Stiles concentrates on not whimpering. “But I may be able to give you some answers as to why you never succeeded with Lydia Martin.”
He summons a smirk. “Well, it worked on you, didn’t it. Which is all that really matters.”
“It didn’t work, you moron. There is no possible way that describing the object of your affections as a dog would ever work. I’m here in spite of it.”
“Wooed and won, my friend. Wooed and won,” and Stiles is still laughing when Derek crowds in close and silences him in the best way possible.
“I promise not to make jokes about your dick to the pack,” Stiles offers handsomely. For at least a week, he adds silently.
“You haven’t even seen my-”
“Derek, my little lovemuffin, no-one is going to believe that. I am a hormonal teenager and you are insanely hot.”
It’s a long, reluctant walk to the car. Fingers drift along skin and over clothes, lips and feet tangling.
Once he’s pressed against the Jeep Stiles gets the sudden urge to suck a hickey into Derek’s neck. He lifts his head when he’s done and the realization that the mark won’t stay hits him like a blow. He watches it heal, mouth compressed. When he looks up, Derek is staring down at him, frowning his worried-but-can’t-say-it-frown.
“It happened. This. Us.”
Derek blinks. “I know.”
His voice bursts out of him, harsher than he meant it to sound. “You can’t pretend it didn’t. Tomorrow. You can’t just-”
The frown clears. Derek gives one short nod. “I won’t.” He watches Stiles face, seems to get that the sudden terror that swamped him isn’t just receding and he says more gently, “Stiles. I wouldn’t. I promise.”
And Stiles, because he is an asshole, says, “Pinky swear?”
By the time he gets Derek to talk to him again, Stiles is thinking ruefully that the guy probably would have a point, now, in pretending it didn’t happen. “I said I’m sorry,” he repeats.
“How sorry,” Derek glowers, arms crossed defensively.
“Sorry enough to promise not to make jokes about your dick to the pack,” Stiles offers handsomely. For at least a week, he adds silently.
“You haven’t even seen my-”
“Derek, my little lovemuffin, no-one is going to believe that. I am a hormonal teenager and you are insanely hot.”
He gets a flat stare and tries again, “Honeycake?”
The alpha’s eyes narrow and there’s something deeply wrong about how much Stiles is enjoying this.
“Come on, give me something. Jellyroll?”
“That’s a jazz musician, not an endearment.”
“But it’s better than the others, right?”
“I’ve got a few names for you, actually,” Derek began.
“Well now, let’s not use up all our affection in one go,” Stiles butts in hastily, completely undone when Derek actually smiles. It’s a startling thing of beauty, wide and open. Oh God. He’s in so far over his head, this isn’t some little crush, not for either of them, apparently, if Derek can find him amusing even when Stiles is being deliberately annoying.
He takes in a deep breath and blurts out, “I really like you.”
Derek blinks at him. “Uh, thanks?” Not the best response ever, but okay, it had kinda come out of left field.
“No, you don’t get it,” he stumbles on, “I mean, way more than just some casual- I really like you.”
Derek sobers abruptly. He gives Stiles a long, level look that manages to convey both terror and surprise. Right. He’s rushing things. And yet. He absolutely cannot get into the Jeep now and drive off with these thoughts in his head.
“I’m not saying- I mean, no need for matching rings or anything-”
Oh God, he is actually making things worse, which shouldn’t have even been possible.
“Stiles,” he says slowly, “we just kissed for the first time an hour ago. You’re underage, I’m-”
“I know,” he says helplessly. “I know I’m rushing things. But now I’m freaking out and I can’t pretend I’m not. I’m a terrible liar and we both know already I have no sense of self-preservation.”
Derek’s face is stony. “Yeah,” he says, “bad combination if you want to date me.”
Oh, hell no he didn’t. “Derek,” Stiles snaps, “get a grip. And don’t you dare insult my taste like that, there is nothing wrong with you.”
He takes a deep breath the settle himself and gets back to the point. “Look, I’m not asking for a commitment, I’m asking you to tell me that you’ll at least try. Because I am not signing up for some lighthearted groping and a head-swimmingly fast breakup. If I wanted to be emotionally kicked in the nuts I could always detour past Jackson’s locker at school. I am telling you this so that you don’t go inside that house of pain and brood yourself out of this, and tomorrow try and deny me the incredible emotional frustration and even more incredible make-out action I’m assuming is in my future.”
Derek is staring down at the grass. His shoulders are tense again.
Stiles takes a deep breath and crowds in closer. “Can you do this?” he asks, cupping Derek’s face. “Can you trust me enough to let me in?”
The silence pools around them. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can,” Derek says, the words more breath than air. There’s real fear there, but for some reason Stiles can’t get past the implicit rejection.
Stiles drops his hands, makes a jerky self-mocking gesture and says, “Hey, no it’s cool. I mean, I get it.” He starts to pull back and Derek’s hands fly to grip his.
“Stiles I wasn’t-” Derek grinds to a halt and sighs, and for a moment he’s about to help out and then he thinks, no. Sooner or later the alpha’s gonna have to be able to do this. If not for Stiles then for the rest of the pack.
“Use your words, Derek,” he says lightly, careful not to mock. “C’mon, man.”
“I thought you were just-” and he gestures, something weird, but coupled with the look on Derek’s face and the flush rising from his throat, Stiles somehow gets it.
“You thought I was just... hot for your body?”
He shrugs. “You’re a teenager.”
“Well, yeah. And I mean, I guess that’s part of it? Because, y’know, have you seen you? But no it’s,” he takes a breath, feeling ridiculously shy, “definitely more than that.”
“Is it?” And he’s looking anywhere but at Stiles. “Because it is. I have no right to feel that way... but it really is. For me.”
Stiles stands there, gaping. Later, maybe he’ll be giddily happy. Right now, he’s just stunned.
And then Derek swallows hard, “And I can’t mess this up because it would destroy the pack, if I drove you away.”
Stiles blinks at him. “What?”
His eyes are locked stubbornly on his bare feet now. “So, if. If we do this and you decide you don’t want – I mean, you’ll go away to college and stuff, of course I know that, but. This can’t end in some kind of...”
Scorched earth, Stiles thinks with a wince. Fucking Kate Argent. She is seriously messing with Stiles’ karma because he already hated her like hell on fire, and now he has whole new reasons to hate her.
“Derek. I think, look. If this doesn’t work, well. We were friends and allies first, right? Pack first. And I mean, I’m pretty sure neither of us would ever endanger that.”
Derek is breathing shallowly, eyes still on the ground, but he drifts closer as Stiles spoke.
“And, I mean if I mess this up you know you have their loyalty first. There’s no pack without you, so, just, don’t worry about it.”
That, finally, get him eye contact. Derek gives him an incredulous look. “Stiles.”
And he sighs, longsuffering. I can’t believe you’re making me say this. “You’re the heart of us.”
Stiles drives home that night with a giant goofy grin on his face and a low thrum of want in his stomach. It’s... nice, it’s better than nice, it’s amazing. He already knows that the hot-and-heavy stuff with Derek is going to be mind-blowing. Lord knows he can come hard enough to pass out when he’s alone and just thinking about the guy, pretty sure there’s not gonna be a problem when Derek’s right there in the same room.
But tonight had been... different. And he’s still a guy, okay, he’s not actually growing a vagina here but the fact is that life with the pack is generally hard and violent and mean. They kill stuff, they break things, they lie to everyone and there’s an edge to almost everything they do.
The stakes are really frickin’ high.
To just kiss, slow and easy, voices quiet, hands moving slow across each other’s skin, it had been a little like... rebirth, maybe. Like finding a Stiles and a Derek they’d forgotten ever existed, or maybe, that never had a chance to exist, ‘til now. And Derek, he’d looked just, kinda stunned that anyone would choose to do that with him. That Stiles wasn’t just demanding some kind of internet-sex-tape-worthy performance right off the bat.
Stiles is betting the Kate Argent interlude was some kind of freaky game-playing shit right from day one, and he aches at picturing a Derek younger than Stiles is now, just buying every damn thing that bitch was selling.
So yeah. He’s gonna make it special. It’s gonna be fucking magical, this thing between Stiles and Derek because the alpha sure as hell deserves it, and you know what? So does Stiles.
Stiles feels the hurt prickle over his skin, which is ridiculous, considering he already knows he’s not getting rejected by Derek. But what the hell is Scott’s deal, coming out with that crap?
“So... Derek,” Stiles says, and carefully doesn’t look up when Scott freezes. He decimates Scott’s sniper on-screen, enjoying the tiny payback way too much.
“Uh. Derek?” Scott asks, trying to sound casual and failing pretty miserably. He swears under his breath and refocuses on the game, fingers flying on the controller.
“Yeah. I’m totally gonna hit that, I decided.”
“What?” Scott’s shooter staggers in front of a tank and Stiles bites back a snicker.
“Yeah, man, I’m sick of being a virgin and I’m pretty sure older guys, like, know stuff, if you know what I mean.” He waggles his eyebrows for effect and Scott’s reflection in the glass cabinet doors goes about three shades paler, which is no mean feat for him. “Anyone who looks like that has to have had some pretty wild encounters, right? I mean, especially considering he landed in New York as a teenager. I’m thinking he could open up my horizons some, so why not, y’know? Live a little.”
There’s a short pause, and then Scott says, like the dick he is, “But, Stiles man, what are the odds he’d be interested in you?”
Oh, no he didn’t. That is just fucking it. It is on.
“I mean, pretty awkward if you come on to him and he rejects you, right? Then you have to look him in the eye later on... Why don’t you ask Danny-”
Stiles feels the hurt prickle over his skin, which is ridiculous, considering he already knows he’s not getting rejected by Derek. But what the hell is Scott’s deal, coming out with that crap? Stiles clenches his jaw and goes straight for the jugular. “I don’t know, I’m pretty sure even super-hotties don’t turn down offers of unconditional blow jobs.”
Scott visibly gags. “Oh, Stiles, man, don’t, please don’t put that image in my head,” he moans.
“Like I haven’t heard more than enough of the details of your sex life,” Stiles retorts, and feels bad a moment later because Allison and Scott’s situation is still kind of- messy.
“Except that Allison isn’t some kind of creeper stalker who shows up uninvited in your room every week and oh, who also lied about helping me get the cure,” Scott fires up.
And okay, suddenly this is way less funny and Stiles has lost all perspective. “No, of course not, Allison’s just a sweet fluffy bunny who shot you and Derek with arrows and then stood by while her crazy fucking aunt chained Derek up in a basement and tortured him-”
“I notice you’re not fighting me on the lying part, though,” Scott snipes and suddenly Stiles is on his feet, controller dropping to the floor with a clatter.
“You know what, Scott, I have had enough of this bullshit. Did you even once think that brilliant plan of yours through? Of course not, becauseyou never do.”
Scott’s jaw drops open and Stiles doesn’t even pause for breath.
“What if the old legends were wrong? What if you killed Peter – which, by the way, did you even think about? Do you really think you have it in you to kill someone in cold blood? Because I’ve known you all your life, Scott, and you don’t even like watching fish wriggle on the end of a hook. And let’s just say you did do it - yay for killing someone - and it didn’t work. What then, Scott? You’d be the fucking alpha, that’s what. Not just stuck being a werewolf, which was not Derek’s fault, by the way, but stuck leading a pack of your own, or at the very least, fighting off wannabe alphas at every step. So tell me again, Scott, how all of this is Derek’s fault because he ruined your genius plan of committing murder in order to turn back into a real boy.”
He’s panting when he stops, and more than a little stunned at himself.
Scott, typically, misses the point. “You’re sticking up for him? He lied to me.”
“He made a judgement call, and Scott,” Stiles swallows hard, “I think he made the right one.”
Scott gets slowly to his feet. “You’re choosing him over me?”
“I’m telling you I think he did the right thing that night, that’s all. There’s no choosing going on here,” Stiles manages to say, horribly afraid he’s tempting fate by saying it. “You’re my best friend, you always will be. But you’re determined to blame everything that’s hard in your life on Derek, and it’s not getting you anywhere, Scott.” He swallows hard. “I’m your friend, and that means I won’t just smile and nod when you make a bad decision.”
“Like fantasizing about an alpha werewolf who’s too old for me, dangerous to be around, and a total head case, you mean? That kind of bad decision?”
“No, like dating a guy who has saved our lives more than once and is trying to dig his way out from under a metric shit-ton of grief and loss.”
“Dating? You want to date him? What happened to unconditional blowjobs? You don’t even know if he’s interested in you-”
And Stiles’ heart, or Stiles’ scent, maybe, must do something to give him away because Scott halts mid-sentence and visibly starts to think. He eyes Stiles and then freezes, eyes narrowing. “You- you’re already- you asshole,” he says, realizing everything all at once, and thumps Stiles’ on the arm.
Stiles spares him a glance, brows raised, and Scott has the grace to flush.
He raises his hand and points sharply at Scott. “Dick move, man,” he says, flat and sure, “and you know it. You knew he liked me and you knew I had no clue. What the hell?”
Scott frowns. Glances away. After a long, awkward pause, he says, “I just. I didn’t know for a long time. I mean, I’ve been avoiding him as much as I can.”
“I noticed,” Stiles says dryly. “But obviously at some point you figured out he was into me. And you just decided it was information I didn’t need. That I was better off thinking this was a pathetic one-way crush, and that I was going to die alone, and a virgin.” And now the rage is mostly gone, but not, he realizes with surprise, the hurt.
And that’s what has Scott looking regretful, he knows. He can be oblivious and selfish, but he’d never hurt Stiles on purpose. Never.
Scott sighs, shoulders slumping. “It’s just like- he’s just everywhere, y’know? His scent is already all over you and Isaac and the others, it’s in your room and in your car. His name comes up all the time... I just didn’t...”
“You didn’t – what?” He thinks it over. “Didn’t want to share me?”
Scott flushes deeper and glances sidelong at Stiles. “I... guess?”
Stiles shakes his head. “Okay, first of all, that’s a little eww, because boyfriend and best friend, totally separate categories and there’s definitely room for both. Second, dude, hypocrite much? Do you have any recall at all of how many the times you’ve ditched me since Allison showed up in town?”
Scott’s mouth drags down.
“And don’t even start with the ‘he’s bad for you, he’s too dangerous’ crap, mister In-Love-with-a-Hunter. Okay?”
Scott flinches a little at that, and says, reluctantly, “Okay.”
“Okay,” Stiles says, a bit more forcefully than was necessary.
There’s a pause. “O-kay?” Scott says, a bit uncertain, but his eyebrows are mocking at the same time, and he gestures to the game frozen on-screen. “So. Uh.”
“Oh for God’s sake,” Stiles says, interpreting that with no difficulty. “Yes, we’re fine,” and sits back down, picking up his controller.
They play in silence for a while, and then Scott says, “So, like, it’s just, I mean. Nothing’s actually happened yet, right?”
“Scott, my friend,” Stiles shakes his head, “you have no idea. Derek punched my v-card in the back of the Camaro during the last full moon with Taylor Swift playing on the radio and red rose petals scattered all over -”
“Ugh,” Scott moans, scrunching up his face. “Please don’t.”
“It was beautiful,” Stiles says. “Sweaty handprint on the window and everything. We both wept.”
Regretfully, he lets Derek untangle their limbs and do some deep breathing. At least he doesn’t try to leave the bed. God knows, that had taken long enough to negotiate, it’d been like the freakin’ Kyoto Protocol for a while there – birthdays, hands, mouths, clothes, orgasms. Or rather, no orgasms until after birthdays.
“I want to tell my Dad about us,” he says out of nowhere, and he can hardly blame Derek for tensing up, considering Stiles is pretty surprised himself. Regretfully, he lets Derek untangle their limbs and do some deep breathing. At least he doesn’t try to leave the bed. God knows, that had taken long enough to negotiate, it’d been like the freakin’ Kyoto Protocol for a while there – birthdays, hands, mouths, clothes, orgasms. Or rather, no orgasms until after birthdays.
“Uh,” is all the alpha manages to say.
Stiles takes a moment to think, so as not to step all over Derek’s important shit!Dad - no, wait - shit!Sheriff freakout, and thinks it over. Nope. Not regretting that. He means it.
“Not right now. I mean. Y’know. Let’s enjoy this for a while before there’s curfews and frowning and stuff. But, uh. It’s just. This is one thing I can tell him, y’know? I can come out, I can tell him I have a boyfriend.”
And wow, that last word sounds a lot more significant now he’s said it aloud. He’s maybe rushing things here, or- not? Because, they had that whole conversation back when this started about how they’re exclusive and how important it is they not act like boneheads and screw this up because it’s bigger than the two of them. They’re kind of already past the first tentative stages of dating and straight into relationship turf.
There’s a pregnant silence, and then Stiles says, “I just said all of that out loud, didn’t I?”
Derek sighs at the ceiling, long-suffering. “Don’t you always?”
Stiles rolls onto his side and props his head on his hand. He sweeps his eyes up and down Derek’s body, then does it one more time for luck. And again, because he can. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but that scowling thing you do, is such a good look for you, I can’t even-”
“Stiles, shut up.”
“No, but seriously. If you, like, ever have to seduce someone over to the pack or something, that is definitely the approach you should take. I mean, if there’s touching I will put wolfsbane in your frickin’ toothpaste, man, don’t get me wrong, but –”
“Stiles, shut up.” And Derek rolls toward him with a growl but there’s a gleam of laughter in his eye that only Stiles ever gets to see.
The crescent moon has risen by the time Stiles brain resurfaces from Derek’s long, drugging kisses, and he’s pretty sure there’d been no moon at all when Derek climbed in his window. Stiles nuzzles closer, needing more contact like a magnet needs metal, and drags Derek’s shirt up over his head between kisses. Thank God his Dad was called out to some rave-gone-wrong. Yay for moronic teenagers that are not Stiles and his buddies.
“Stiles,” Derek says, breath stuttering as he spreads his legs wider to let Stiles closer. The desk is sturdy, thankfully.
“Babe. I just... want to touch you, need to feel you,” he murmurs, fingers gentle on Derek’s scalp, his free hand smoothing over Derek’s back, the taut muscles there. He grins against Derek’s lips, “I swear, sometimes I don’t know whether I’d rather kiss you or just lick you.” His hand skates around to Derek’s belt and at that exact moment the evening goes straight to hell.
Every muscle in Derek’s body – and man, he seems to have more than most – just locks up as his body arches away. The alpha’s breathing is deep and too fast. For a moment Stiles just goggles and then his brain catches up, recognises the abortive movement of Derek’s arms from many, many sparring sessions. Derek is straining not to shove Stiles away and possibly hurt the poor breakable human.
“I’ve got you, Derek, I’m here, I’m with you.” He moves back swiftly to give the other man some room, and Derek shifts sideways to put his back against the wall, still holding himself in so tightly.
“Stiles,” he says, low and shaken.
“What? What is it?”
He shakes his head, eyes down and Stiles swallows, edging close again. “Derek. Hey. Sourwolf, it’s just me. No threat here,” his fingers brush over Derek’s bare stomach and he feels the flinch, startles back a little himself. Woah. “Derek?”
There’s still silence and Stiles feels something turn over in his stomach. He takes a step back, mouth turning down in shocked hurt. “Derek?”
“Wait,” he says, pleads really, and the alpha’s hands snake out to grip Stiles’ wrist. “Don’t- don’t turn away.”
He holds there for a second and then just has to say something. “Are you- I’m a threat?” He hadn’t meant to sound so hurt and accusing but shit, that’s just- after everything-
Derek shakes his head wordlessly, face creased in pain or anger or both.
He takes another step back this time, pulling against the hands. “I should-”
“Don’t,” Derek grinds out and grabs blindly, “Stiles, please. Stay here, stay with me.”
He hesitates. “Look, I, I think maybe not all of you is exactly on board with that. So if you, y’know or when you figure out-”
“I want you, want you here, I do.” And Derek sounds agonized, Jesus, this is awful.
“Derek,” he says, and spreads his hands, helpless. “What can I do, man? What the hell is going on?” he takes one shaky breath and says, “Derek, you’re kinda making me feel like I’m,” he swallows down bile and says, “forcing myself on you, so-”
“No,” he says, loud and sharp, “no, just-”
“Kate,” he chokes out, and oh fucking hell, no.
“Kate?” He’s halfway across the room by the time the name emerges in a shout.
“She- I haven’t. Christ,” Derek groans, hands to his head. “Please don’t go. Just, give me a minute. Please.”
Stiles takes a few deep breaths to himself. Okay. Time to try and deal. Derek is – well, he’s a head-case. They all know this, what the hell else could he be after the fire and the manipulation and then the extra loss and betrayal of Peter that got piled on top of that?
Stiles spins away and tries to think. What’s different this time? Derek’s shirt off- it’d been off before, surely? That first night. But then, they’d only kissed. Stiles going for his belt, that was the only thing he could think of-
And all of a sudden it dawns on Stiles that Derek was Kate’s prisoner. Stiles never saw where he was kept, didn’t talk to him after, really. He got the barest details from Scott, and a few uncomfortable confessions from Allison. Enough to know Derek had been at Kate’s mercy for a while... oh God. Now he really is feeling sick.
“Kate,” he says, more carefully, stomps down firmly on his jealousy and tries to think. “I did something to remind you of Kate?”
Derek drags in an enormous breath. When Stiles risks glancing his way, the wolf raises a hand and takes a step toward Stiles. He nods, slow and shaky.
Stiles licks his lips, thinking furiously. He takes Derek’s hand in his but keeps space between their bodies.
“Okay,” he begins, talking as slowly as he is physically capable of doing. “I’m gonna need you to talk to me, a little. When you’re y’know, ready. What do you need right now, though, can you tell me what you need me to do? Stop talking, back away, get you some water, what?”
“You’d actually stop talking?” Derek says, and wait, was that a joke?
Stiles gapes, and Derek squeezes his hand in apology. “Don’t go.” That seems to be all he can manage for now, so Stiles just stands there and tries not to think.
“Can we.” Derek takes a breath and then gives his head a sharp shake. “My shirt.”
Stiles nods. “Sure.” He dives across the room for it and hands it to Derek, who pulls it on slowly, face still taut with, if Stiles has any instincts at all, is mostly self-directed anger.
He slants a tentative look at Stiles “Couch?”
He nods immediately, a little relieved at the change of venue. Maybe they’ll both calm down a little on the walk downstairs. “Okay.”
When they’re side by side on the couch Derek sighs, runs his thumbs over his eyes and slumps back against the cushions. “Shit,” he says. “Just. Shit.”
Stiles hesitates, then says, “Look. I’m pretty sure you’re beating yourself up right now because that’s like, what you do. But this is maybe both our faults, because I probably should have realized that-” he hesitates but Derek’s shoulders are getting looser with every word so it seems like a monologue is okay for now. “With the... uh, dark? shit in your past that there might, maybe be some triggery stuff we should discuss. So. Y’know. Nothing’s broken. And we can, like, talk this out, or huh, maybe I’ll talk this out and you’ll, I don’t know, hold up flash cards or something if I get close? Give a baseball signal?”
Derek’s mouth twitches and he glances sidelong at Stiles. They sit in silence for a while and then Derek sighs. “I didn’t- didn’t know I had a... thing,” he says with a grimace. He hates that this is even happening, that much is pretty clear. “I didn’t-” he shrugs helplessly.
“This never happened... with anyone else?” Stiles asks carefully, trying not to feel too crappy about that. Yay. What the hell do they do if Stiles is too tied up with all the newly created bad memories?
Derek shook his head, lips pressed together. Stiles waits. It’s hard, but he waits.
“I’ve never – I guess, this is the first, uh. Relationship? Since then, since Kate.”
Stiles’s eyebrows travel up to meet his hairline. “Sorry?”
“People I’ve been with in New York... it’s been, uh. Fleeting.”
Oh. Yeah. That fits. Derek, punishing himself with a life of fuck-n-run and refusing all intimacy.
“Never anything longer than a week or two, and never-”
“Y’know.” He gestures awkwardly. “Not alot of, uh.”
“Feelings?” Stiles guesses.
Derek shrugs. “I guess. But I meant.” He stalls for so long that Stiles just knows this is important, and he doesn’t even try to help out. Sometimes it just has to be all Derek. “Tenderness.”
Stiles sinks back against the cushions. “So...” he says, trying to figure this out. “You got creeped out because I was too... gentle?”
“No,” Derek says immediately. “I like that. I really-”
Stiles takes a breath, a little relieved. He wouldn’t have believed it before this started, but. He likes that they’re taking it slow. That they’re careful with each other. It’s a side of Derek no-one else ever sees, most would never even imagine could exist.
“But. I guess. I haven’t been touched like that since.” He swallows hard. “In the basement.”
“And then.” His voice tightens up. “You said, um, about the licking.”
“Licking is bad?” Damn.
“No, licking is-” Derek shakes his head, exasperated and half-amused. “It’s fine.” He takes another steadying breath. “It’s just- what you said, the actual words. She said that to me, almost exactly. Not back then, but- when I was.”
Chained up in the basement. Ugh. Right. He can just see it, the taunting, husky sex-talk segueing effortlessly into psychosis. Scott has talked a lot about Allison’s crazy Aunt Kate. There was probably touching, too. And Allison said, or at least implied, torture. Yeah, pain and sex. A bitch like that wouldn’t have many boundaries, especially with a goal in sight, information to gather.
“Okay,” Stiles says, blowing out a huge breath. “So. What, uh, what do you need me to do? Do differently, I mean?”
“Nothing,” Derek says immediately, which- Stiles calls bullshit.
“Okay, no, see, that’s not going to happen. I know you think you can like, force your emotions and thoughts to do what you want with sheer awesome wolfpower, but not only is that not true, it’s not healthy. We have to actually talk about this. Because Derek - first of all I don’t ever want to see you like that again if I can do something to stop it but I also really, really don’t ever want to feel like I made you go to the bad place, even if it was by accident. So.”
He crosses his arms and gives Derek The Look.
It loses its power immediately because Derek is staring back at him with undisguised affection.
“What?” he asks, immediately wary.
“Nothing. Just- thank you,” he says, gruff.
“What I’m here, for, babe,” he murmurs back. They stay as they are, close enough for comfort, for a very long time.
His father covers his face with his hand. “Please stop talking now.”
Stiles taps his fingers on the kitchen bench, the edge of the stove, the pockets of his jeans, uncomfortably aware it makes him look nervous, and yet totally unable to stop.
“Hey, Dad,” he tries for nonchalant and misses by about an octave, “Beacon Hills safe for all those tax-paying voters once more?”
“Stiles,” his Dad says from the back door. “You cooked?”
“Hey, what’s with the note of surprise. I cook.”
“Not in the past few weeks, you don’t,” his Dad says wryly. He angles a glance at the omelettes and his shoulders slump when he spots the turkey bacon already on his plate, next to the salad.
“Yeah, well, uh, y’know. Busy times,” Stiles mumbles guiltily, head down as he gathers the flatware.
“Uh-huh,” his Dad says, knowingly. Of course, he pretty much always sounds like that and Stiles has learned to ignore it. At least some of the time it’s a bluff.
They settle at the table and Stiles thinks about waiting, then just takes a deep breath. If he doesn’t do it now he’ll lose his nerve.
“So, uh,” he begins, and has to swallow. “Busy. The way I’ve been, it’s um, there’s a reason for it. And that is, the reason, it’s because – good news – I’ve finally managed to develop a social life. Yay for Stiles.”
His father swallows the mouthful and Stiles really hopes the look on his face is because he misses real bacon. “A social life,” his Dad says. Old interrogation technique, reflecting the suspect’s words back at them so they’ll enlarge on the topic and incriminate themselves. Stiles, thankfully, is immune, due to long exposure.
“As in, you’re dating.”
At least he didn’t make it sound like, As in, you’re huffing paint thinner.
“Exactly,” he replies, and takes a sip of water. “Top-notch investigative skills there, Dad. And, so, second piece of related news, uh, the person I’m dating is- is a guy.”
His heart is hammering, though he’s not really sure why. Stiles and his Dad have had more than enough conversations about dumbasses and their prejudices, he knows how his Dad feels about this stuff, he’s pretty sure this is gonna be cool. But still. It’s- weird, to say it.
His Dad just nods.
“And, finally,” Stiles gestures, and why is he suddenly sounding like such an idiot, why all the counting all of a sudden? “The name. Of the person. The person that I’m dating.” He takes another sip of water-
“Derek Hale,” his father says, and Stiles chokes.
It feels like days later that he can breathe again and his father has stopped pounding on his back.
“Okay,” Stiles manages. “Really, really top-notch investigative skills. Holy crap, Dad. Did you have to whammy me like that?”
His father raises a brow and sinks back into his seat. “Surely it can’t have been that big a shock that I might have sources in this town that would clue me in?”
Considering Derek hadn’t reported being shot, Stiles thought that yeah, he was entitled to his surprise.
“How long have you known?”
His Dad raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t you tell me how long his has been going on, first. Then I can evaluate my network’s usefulness.”
“Um. A while?”
“A while.” His father gives him a flat glance.
Stiles swallows. “Don’t I get any points for telling you voluntarily?”
“I’m assuming Hale knows both your age and my inherent fondness for firearms.”
“He does,” Stiles says fervently. “He really does. And I promise, we’re behaving ourselves. I mean, he’s all over the age thing, way more than me, I’d totally-” His Dad’s eyes narrow and he says hastily, “But I haven’t, we haven’t, which is the important thing here.”
His father pokes at his food for a while in silence, then he pins Stiles with a look and says, “Derek Hale. Seriously?”
“What, you’re gonna argue I could do better? He’s like, the hottest guy in northern California, Dad.”
“There’s more to a person than looks, Stiles.”
“I know that, geez, take a joke. And yeah, I totally,” he trails off, flushing. “Look. I doubt you really want to hear me rhapsodizing about my boyfriend or whatever but Derek, he’s like, a really incredible person once you get past the stony facade.”
“Well he certainly excelled at exercising his right to silence,” his Dad says, dry as dust.
Stiles winces. “Yeah. Look. I know, um, that’s hardly ideal.”
“And then I thought to myself, well, Mark, look on the bright side. At least you’ve met him. And more than once,” he says levelly, and Stiles winces.
Okay, he’d known that part was going to be... crappy. Yeah, clearly it wasn’t great that Stiles’ Dad had arrested Derek. Twice.
He swallows. “We both know he was innocent of everything he was accused of. Sometimes... a person just gets caught up by the circumstances around them. And, uh,” he takes another deep breath, “Dad, he really is good to me. I mean, we talk about college and stuff, he’s really careful about distracting me from school, there’s no pressure to, uh, put out, so to speak-”
His father covers his face with his hand. “Please stop talking now.”
“What I’m trying to say is that you can trust us.”
“Oh, of course,” his father says, and gives him a look as he grabs his plate and gets up from the table. “I trust you to be home every school night by ten, I trust you to be back by midnight on weekends, and I trust you to drag him over here for breakfast this Sunday. I trust that every store in town will supply me with a list of all the alcohol Hale buys from now until your 21st birthday, and-”
“Okay,” Stiles says faintly before his Dad can start in on condoms and/or sex toys. “Sure. Um, he actually doesn’t drink at all so you probably don’t need to worry about that one.”
His Dad shakes his head and bends down to slide his plate into the dishwasher. “Not really up to you what I worry about, son. Parent’s perogative.”
He nods, hesitates, then says, “Dad.”
His father looks up.
“He’s good to me,” Stiles says, face hot. “I’m happy. Really.”
He sighs, straightens and leans back against the kitchen counter. “You are.” He scans Stiles closely, lips pursing, then gives his head a little shake. Stiles doesn’t know what he sees, but when he’s done his father sighs again and says, “Fine. How’s this. First time I catch him here with his shirt off, I won’t shoot him.”
“Can’t say fairer than that,” Stiles agrees.
Derek’s eyes drop to his pale chest, and the heat that flares there is no less confusing despite that it’s familiar. Derek looks at him like he’s Channing Tatum or some other impossibly cut hottie.
Stiles will never understand how he got so lucky.
So, just to be clear, rating has changed, there is explicit content in this chapter. In fact, it's pretty much all explicit content. The ceiling is still PG, but that's about it.
The lean warm length of Derek’s body presses him into the bed as they kiss. They’ve been doing this for two months now, slowly working their way past gentle make-outs and Derek’s boatload of Kate-issues. It’s been a slow build to this point, where they’re both getting hot and heavy and no-one’s trying to slow it down.
Stiles wouldn’t have hurried this for all the world.
He sighs a little, pure bliss, as his wolf nibbles his way down Stiles’ throat, hot kisses blooming across his collarbones. The last two buttons that had still been fastened on his shirt mysteriously come undone and he grins up at his bedroom ceiling. Ten seconds later, he is moaning softly, completely undone by Derek’s teeth worrying at his abdomen and the point of his hipbone.
“Stiles,” he rumbles, “Stiles.”
“Yeah,” he gasps back.
Stiles presses his hand over his eyes, trying to hold it together. Sometimes the visual of Derek is just too much, coupled with what the older guy can do to his body. There’s been a few damn-that’s-another-pair-of-pants-ruined moments for both of them. “Yeah,” he grinds out, writhing, “I want, I want you too, oh, just, just give me a minute.”
“I want to, want to taste you,” Derek says and Stiles’ brain comes to a screeching halt.
“You have to ask me that? Are you kidding?”
“Jesus, yes, please, God why are we still taking about this, consider yourself having an open invitation for any and all tasting,” and as he babbles Derek’s hands swiftly unfasten his jeans, open his fly and part the fabric. “Oh,” Stiles says faintly, looking down at those big hands, hovering over his straining erection. “I don’t think, oh God if I watch this I’ll come before you even touch me.”
Derek stares up at him, eyes black with arousal. “No,” he says, “you won’t.” His voice is low and very certain.
“You won’t let yourself come before you’ve felt my mouth around you, my tongue tasting you-”
“Oh Jesus Christ, stop talking like that or I might.”
He lifts his hips higher and the alpha tugs roughly at his jeans, baring more skin before he yanks down Stiles’ underwear, the most hurried Derek’s ever been in bed and he has just a moment to think someone likes the dirty talk and then-
Derek locks his eyes on Stiles’ face and licks a long strip from the base of Stiles’ cock to the straining tip.
“Oh, oh, oh God oh God oh God.” The words fall from his lips without thought. Derek doesn’t look away, he stares flatly at Stiles as he swirls his tongue around the head and then just sinks that hot mouth down over him, and then his eyes flutter closed and Derek fucking moans around Stiles’ cock.
“Derek,” he whines, loud and unashamed. “Oh my fucking God, Derek,” and he falls back against the pillows, eyes slammed shut so that he can feel absolutely everything about Derek’s miraculous mouth.
He twitches and shouts, completely undone, fingers clawing at the sheets as the pleasure pools in him, getting hotter and hotter and higher and higher and Stiles has to- he shoves an elbow into the mattress for leverage, gets the other underneath him and levers himself half-upright so he can see the body sprawled over his legs, the throat working, the hands holding him down.
“Derek,” he gasps, “Babe, I’m gonna-”
And Derek hums around him, eyes flashing open for a second. The hands at Stiles’ hips tighten, nail biting into skin just slightly and that’s it, game over, Stiles cries out and pulses into Derek’s waiting mouth, utterly helpless with ecstasy.
He collapses back against the mattress, panting. His eyes fix on the ceiling – hey ceiling, things have changed a little since we last met – and though it takes some willpower, he reaches down with a hand to pet Derek’s head.
“Come up here,” he rasps. Yeah, he might have hurt his throat while coming his brains out. Who knew?
Derek crawls up his body like a porn star and Stiles’s brain says oh my god so fucking hot while his body says jeez you whore, give me a minute.
“You,” he says aloud, and points a finger at the wolf currently straddling his hips. “You are a sex ninja. Holy shit.”
Derek’s eyes are hooded with arousal, satisfaction all over his face. He likes having made Stiles woozy with the sex, that’s for sure. That’s nice, Stiles thinks, good that we like the same things.
He locks eyes with Derek – two can play at that game – and reaches up to draw his shirt completely off his shoulders. Derek’s eyes drop to his pale chest, and the heat that flares there is no less confusing despite that it’s familiar. Derek looks at him like he’s Channing Tatum or some other impossibly cut hottie. Stiles will never understand how he got so lucky.
“Go on,” he says, husky. “Mark me. I know you want to.”
It was a guess, but from the heated look Derek shoots him it was a good one. The wolf’s nostrils flare and he hastily unfastens his own jeans, frees the impressive erection trapped there. Stiles licks his lips, and doesn’t miss the hot burst of arousal that prompts, Derek grinding his hips in a circle. He grins sly, and doesn’t have to say, next time.
Derek wraps one big hand around his erection, a low moan escaping as he does. Stiles eyes him, considers raiding his drawer for lube but there’s precum there and judging by the flush in Derek’s cheeks, this won’t take very long at all-
“Stiles,” Derek moans, back arching, “God, Stiles, so hot, so gorgeous-”
“Yeah, babe,” he husks, and palms Derek’s thighs, nails digging in. “That’s it. Come for me, come all over me.”
Derek drops forward, right hand moving swiftly while the other holds him up over Stiles and their eyes lock, his face contorts and then he’s coming, striping Stiles’ torso and belly, shaking and gasping as he watches.
Damn, Stiles thinks, watching his face. That is unexpectedly hot.
Stiles’ eyes narrow. You know what? It’s maybe time Jackson learned a lesson about the new pack dynamic.
“Derek must thank God he has a way of shutting you up, Stilinski,” Jackson says, and just to leave no doubt that he means with his cock, he gestures crudely.
Stiles’ eyes narrow. You know what? It’s maybe time Jackson learned a lesson about the new pack dynamic.
“Oh, he does,” he replies without hesitation. “Let me tell you about it, in detail.”
“Uh, what?” Jackson takes a quick step back. “No.”
Derek is there, at the top of the stairs, Stiles can tell, and his lips twitch. I can handle this, sourwolf, he tries to send psychically, not that they can do that. It’d be cool, though, if they could.
“Oh no no no,” Stiles says, returning to what he was doing. He layers chicken and lentils and onion in the crock pot as he goes on, “Since you’re displaying such interest-”
“No, there’s no interest-” Jackson begins, and he is so, so outplayed here and he just doesn’t know it yet.
“Jackson,” Stiles says, and goes to the pantry for stock, “Everyone in the pack knows your default setting is dickhead, and no-one particularly blames you for this, we’re actually getting used to your opposite-of-charm, but I can’t help feel it’s my duty to try and help you be less stupid. You know, for that fateful day when you go out into the world and are no longer the big fish in a small pond.”
He pours the stock in, his back to Jackson, and goes on, “We both know that Derek can put your insides on the outside, and that he will, if you keep up this bullshit about the beautiful blossoming that is our relationship. Of course, you can heal from that, which is, I think, one reason why you aren’t motivated enough to learn when shut your stupid mouth.”
Jackson’s voice is hard and threatening, “Stilin-”
“The thing you’re missing, lizard-brain, is that if you had to choose between the two of us, Derek and myself – well. I’m the one that can definitely hurt you more.”
Jackson snorts, smug and overconfident, as usual.
“Yeah, see,” Stiles turns, leans back against the counter and smiles, and it feels thin and mean. “There you go with the stupid again. Because a slashed open throat may heal, but Jackson, I will make you suffer with words. With information, with images. I will put things in your head you do not want there, and once they’re in, they’re there forever.” He folds his arms and raises his eyebrows. “Do you want to hear in graphic detail just how very into rimming we are? Because it’s damn near miraculous, I swear.”
“Want me to recreate Derek’s orgasm face for you? Or the noises I make when-”
“No,” he says abruptly. “Stop.”
Stiles gives him a long, level look. The kitchen is silent, and Stiles can almost feel Derek’s grin from the top of the stairs.
Jackson swallows. “Please.”
“There ya go,” Stiles says, and turns away. “Next time you’re tempted to make comments about my sex life, you should try to remember that I have audio recordings of our nocturnal activities that can mysteriously end up assigned as your ringtone, and there’s one where I’m pretty sure Derek bit through the-”
“O-kay,” Jackson says, and bolts.
Stiles waits till he’s in his car before he lets go and laughs and laughs and laughs. There are tears streaming down his face by the time Derek reaches him, and he gets a nip on the shoulder for his trouble.
“This is how you discipline the pups?” he growls. “Talking about our sex life?”
The reprimand would work a lot better if he wasn’t wrapping Stiles up in one of his Hale-blanket special hugs.
“Well it only works with Jackson,” Stiles manages, and wipes his eyes. “The others would either be scarred for life at even a hint, or kind of uncomfortably interested.”
Derek makes a strange hmm at that, and nuzzles Stiles’ neck some more while he puts the lid on the dish and starts it cooking, then turns to face his guy. They make out a little where they are, Stiles boosted up onto the counter in about three seconds flat and just as he starts thinking maybe this is gonna be a little more than a drive-by opportunity, Derek rumbles against his chest, “You made a recording of us?” He’s trying for casual and missing it by several counties.
Stiles pulls back to look at him, noting the flushed cheeks and guilty-darting eyes. He raises a brow. “Really?”
His lips twitch. “Well, actually, no I haven’t. I wouldn’t do that without talking to you first. Hmm.” He eyes Derek. “What would you even do with it?”
He shrugs again, then says, low, “You’re at school all day... sometimes it’s boring.”
Stiles starts to laugh. “You filthy, filthy man. You want sex tapes so that you can jerk off to them when your boyfriend is at school?”
Now Derek is really flushed. “Not- not all the time. Just-”
Stiles kisses him. “Shut up. And just to be clear, by filthy I meant, wow, I really approve of how you’re opening up and expressing yourself, Neanderthal wolf, you’re making so much progress, and yes, let’s do that first chance we get.”
Derek moans and kisses him suddenly, deep and lush and Stiles just melts. Lucky Jackson left, is the last coherent thought he has for a while. Because the kitchen is getting christened again, for sure.
“Oh my God,” Lydia says from the doorway, brows up to her hairline. “They’re like this all the time, aren’t they?”
His stomach growls for the ninety-eigth time in half an hour and Derek huffs out a half-laugh into his neck. “You need to eat at some point, Stiles,” he points out.
“Don’t wanna move,” Stiles mumbles into Derek’s neck. It’s been a long, lazy Saturday and he is seriously gonna pout if he has to get up to procure food. Derek pats him, a silent reassurance that yeah, the alpha is on the job and the pack will be providing or else there’ll be trouble.
For all the occasional near-death experiences and odd dynamics of being the alpha’s mate, Stiles is totally down with the conveniences that come with it.
“No-one’s gonna make you move,” Derek rumbles. “Right?”
Stiles can almost hear the eye-rolls from the pack.
“You’re lucky you cook for us so often,” Erica grumbles, already rolling out of her chair toward the take-out menus. “Hell if I know what exactly he does that merits this kind of treatment,” she mutters.
Scott makes a strangled noise at that, probably trying not to picture what exactly Stiles does for Derek.
He grins. “Well, when two pack members really love each other...” Stiles begins lazily, and Derek trails a hand down the back of his neck, nails caching just enough to make him shiver.
“Oh my God,” Lydia says from the doorway, brows up to her hairline. “They’re like this all the time, aren’t they?”
“Yep,” Scott confirms glumly.
Stiles beams at them all from the enclosure of Derek’s arms.
“Every single person in this pack is going to get diabetes,” Lydia says, shaking her head. She glances at Jackson, no doubt waiting for his usual earth-crashingly nasty remark. “Are you choking back vomit?” she asks sympathetically.
“It’s fine,” Jackson grinds out, eyes all shifty.
Every other person in the room turn to stare at him. Stiles hides his grin in Derek’s shoulder, soaks up the silent laughter causing his wolf to shake.
“Jackson? Are you... feeling okay?” And it’s just perfect somehow that it’s Allison, asking with genuine concern. Stiles snorts.
“I’m fine. It’s. They’re, y’know. Entitled to– whatever.” And then he bails, shooting daggers of pure hate in Stiles’ direction as he slams out the door.
The rest of the pack, however, are transfixed by the unfamiliar sound of Derek’s laughter.
Stiles grins, wide and satisfied and wanted. He breathes in deep, closes his eyes for a moment to focus on the warm body pressed against his side, and just lets go. He’s safe, he’s valued, he’s needed. Life isn’t always easy, the moments of terror are nothing to sneeze at, but. They’re learning to appreciate the moments like this.
“Get a double order of eggrolls,” he calls suddenly. The only thing that could make this moment better is eggrolls.
Still smiling, Derek nuzzles in close. “Triple,” he says into the skin of Stiles’ throat.