When he gets home, Stiles sits in the Jeep for a few minutes, gathering the courage to go inside. A few minutes turns into fifteen, then thirty, and then his phone rings.
"Are you coming in, or do I need to send out a rescue squad?" his dad asks, and Stiles looks up to see him standing at the front door, phone pressed to his ear.
"No, no," Stiles says hurriedly, and winces at the way his voice comes out, high-pitched and breathy. He can see his father frown.
"You feeling all right? You don't sound like yourself."
"Ha ha," Stiles says nervously, running a hand over his hoodie. "There's just - just something I need to tell you. Promise you won't freak out."
There had been, Stiles tells his father carefully, a mix-up at Deaton's. A mix-up, his father says flatly, and Stiles says, yeah.
Maybe mix-up was the wrong word to use. A flub of extraordinary proportions, maybe, or, a fuck-up the likes of which you've never seen, or maybe even, a crazy stupid amount of magic that ricocheted off Deaton's ward, mutated, and turned me into a girl. Scott hadn't stopped laughing until Stiles kneed him in the balls, which had been oddly satisfying. Allison had given him a high-five.
"A girl," his father says, in that same flat tone. Stiles has heard that tone a lot in the past few years; when he told his father about werewolves ("Werewolves," he'd said, not a question), or when Stiles told him he was dating Derek ("Derek Hale," he'd said, stonefaced). Oh god, Derek. He hadn't even thought about Derek's reaction. Good thing he wasn't getting back into town for a few days. "Stiles," his father says in his ear, and Stiles' attention whips back to him. "Come inside."
That's a tone that books no arguments so Stiles sighs and hangs up the phone, then slips out of the Jeep. It's a longer fall to the ground that usual; he's lost several inches. His pants sag around his ankles now, and around his suddenly slim hips - he'd had to borrow a bit of rope to supplement his belt, which didn't have enough notches for his sudden tiny waist. He didn't like the feeling of his breasts bouncing as he hit the pavement either, and it was all he could do to keep himself from crossing his arms over his chest as he darted up the drive to the house, grateful his hoodie and baggy pants would keep his new features hidden from any prying neighbors' eyes.
His dad steps back to let him inside, a curious wooden look on his face.
"Dad?" Stiles asks hesitantly. "Are you going to kill me?"
His father exhales slowly. "Have you seen yourself?" he asks, shutting the front door.
"No," Stiles says, patting his face nervously. "Why? Am I hideous?"
His father shakes his head and gestures wordlessly toward the bathroom. Stiles gives him an anxious look and trots down the hall. He closes his eyes before he looks into the mirror, afraid of what's going to be looking back at him. When he does open his eyes, it's worse than he thought.
His face is smaller, smoother, still flecked with moles, his chin more pointed, less severe. His mouth is much the same, lips still red, maybe a little fuller, and his eyes are still his, though his lashes are even longer, somehow. He knows why his dad had that look on his face, though; he's nearly the spitting image of his mom, and with the way his hair is still short, he looks like her when she first went into the hospital, face still full with life. It hurts. His father stands in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed over his chest, and Stiles turns to look at him, eyes burning.
"Dad," he says hoarsely, "I'm sorry - "
His father shakes his head. "No," he says softly. "Not your fault."
"I - " Stiles bites his tongue. He doesn't want to make his father any more miserable. "Deaton's looking for a cure."
"All right," his dad says quietly, and disappears into the kitchen. Stiles stares after him feeling sick to his stomach. He slips upstairs and sits on his bed for a while, unhappiness sinking into his bones. He hadn't thought about how his dad would react. Scott had laughed and Stiles had too, once the initial shock wore off. His life is ridiculous; how big of a deal could being a woman be? Just another moment to look back and laugh on - he'd thought. It hurt his dad to look at him and he had no idea how long he'd be like this.
What if he was still this way when Derek came back? What would Derek think? Stiles digs his teeth into his lip and checks his phone. Derek's in Sacramento, forging an alliance with the pack that runs Sacramento County. Stiles doesn't want to tell him what's happened - he wants Derek to concentrate on the pack, making sure they're protected, not worry about him. There are no messages from Derek, but one from Allison:
Bringing some stuff over for you!
Stiles sighs and texts you don't have to. this isn't going to last long.
Too bad, she replies. On my way already!
Stiles gives up. He's laying on his bed when Allison comes in, a bag slung over her shoulder. "You okay?" she asks immediately, because she's Allison and she's like an emotional shaman, in tune with the earth and how everyone's feeling. Stiles thinks someday her talent is either going to end up with her very rich, or having been punched in the face by a lot of people. Personally, he's leaning toward the punching right now.
"I don't need anything," he mumbles into his pillow. "It's going to wear off eventually."
Allison plunks herself down on the bed next to him. "Scott says he tried to call," she says. Stiles glances at his phone and sees three missed calls, all from his best friend. "Deaton thinks it's just residual magic. It should go away within a few days."
"Right," Stiles says. "So I don't need anything. Thanks, though."
Allison nudges him with her bony elbow. "Come on," she placates. "This is your chance to have a little fun! I brought you some clothes - don't you want to see Derek's reaction to you in a dress?"
"No," Stiles says immediately, bluntly, and he feels guilty at the way Allison's eyes go wide.
"Are you going to tell him?"
"No," Stiles says again, softening his tone. "I just - he's got a lot to worry about, and if this is going to wear off in a few days, maybe he never needs to know."
"Are you afraid he's not going to like you any more?" Allison asks and Stiles wants to say fuck you and your intuition. He doesn't say anything, though, and Allison puts a hand on his shoulder. "He's not going to care."
"You don't know that," Stiles argues. His heart hurts. "I don't know how he feels about women. It's never come up! I mean - no offense, but your aunt burned down his house. Maybe that's soured him! Maybe he'll take one look at me and puke all over the place and never talk to me again!"
"It's only a few days - "
"What if it's not?" Stiles pushes back. "What if it's not, Allison, and I'm stuck like this forever? I'll have a dad that can't stand to look at me and a boyfriend who doesn't want me!"
"Stiles, Stiles," Allison say soothingly. "You're guessing. You don't know how Derek's going to react. Do you want me to talk to him?"
"No!" Stiles shouts urgently. "No! If anyone is, it's going to be me, and it's not going to happen because I am going to be me again when he gets home."
"Okay," Allison says, shrugging a little. "That's fine. It's your right to tell him."
Stiles subsides a little and Allison gives him a hesitant smile. "Can I just show you what I brought, though?"
That's how Stiles ends up in the bathroom with a bag of women's clothing on the counter in front of him. He picks up a lacy bra and swallows. Allison had tried to come in with him, but he'd fought her off. She'd sighed, frustrated, and said, "It's not like I haven't seen girls naked before," and Stiles had said, "Yeah, but I'm not a girl; I'm your boyfriend's best friend and I don't think he'd appreciate you seeing me naked, lady bits or not."
Now he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, unzipping his hoodie and slipping off his t-shirt. He fumbles with the rope holding up his pants and lets them fall to the floor, dropping his boxers after. Stiles stands there for a long moment, eyes shut, skin pebbling as he stands naked in front of the mirror. He doesn't want to look, but he does, unwillingly forcing his eyes open.
He looks like himself but not, like he's tried to described himself to a stranger and they built him as a Sim, a little alien. Definitely female, though, he thinks, touching a curious finger to his left breast. Figures that the first boobs he'd get to touch were his own. Just another milestone in his ridiculous life. He's still lean, slim at the hips - but then, he's always been kind of spindly - and it's weirder than anything not to see his dick hanging between his legs, just a shock of dark hair. He brushes a finger against it and shudders at the heat there.
"Are you okay?" Allison calls through the door and he flushes, red heat flaring down his neck.
"Yeah," he calls back hurriedly, and fumbles through putting the bra on. It's one of Allison's old bras; she'd guessed that they were about the same size and it appears to be true. Stiles is almost a little disappointed he doesn't have huge boobs; if he was going to be turned into a girl, the magic could have made it worth it. He digs through the bag for underwear and slips on a pair, then looks at himself again.
It's worse, somehow. Like, before he'd put on the clothes he could have squinted and blurred his vision and maybe still looked like himself, if a little shorter, but there's no mistaking it now. It's like looking at an old picture of his mom and he suddenly, violently misses her.
"Hey, hey," Allison says, suddenly in the bathroom with him. Stiles doesn't know when he started crying but there are big, fat tears rolling down his face, making his face go red and blotchy and ugly. "Being a girl isn't that bad, is it?"
For once, Allison's intuition has failed her and Stiles is meanly glad, glad he can just nod and not have to tell her about his mom. "Wish I'd just gone to Sacramento with Derek," he says, and hates how high his voice is.
Allison stills, her arms around him. Stiles stills too; he hadn't meant to let that slip and he wishes he could reel it back, garbled, backwards words like rewinding a cassette.
"Derek asked you to go to Sacramento with him?" Allison asks slowly.
"Yeah," Stiles says, sinking out of Allison's grasp to sit on the edge of the bathtub. She sits next to him, watching him rub a hand over his face. She looks worried. "I - I think I hurt his feelings when I said no. He hasn't said much since."
"Why did you say no?" Allison asks quietly, her brow furrowing. "I mean, it's kind of a big deal that he asked you, Stiles. That means - "
"I know what it means," Stiles says bluntly. He winces at the memory of Derek, the way his face shut down when Stiles said no. He says, softer, "I got scared."
Allison's silent for a long time before she asks, "Have you told Scott?"
Stiles shakes his head.
"Scott can't understand," Stiles spits. "He just - he questions everything Derek does, even now, after everything. He doesn't - " He sighs in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "He thinks Derek's a joke. He wouldn't understand how serious it was he asked."
Allison's face softens in sympathy. "He's kind of thickheaded sometimes," she agrees.
Stiles sighs again, giving up now. "And now look at me," he says. "Complaining about my boyfriend in the bathroom. If we were at school right now, this would be the ultimate cliched teen movie moment."
Allison doesn't laugh, though the corners of her mouth quirk up like she wants to. "Is that why you're scared of how he'll react?" she asks. "Because you think he's mad at you already?"
Stiles sighs for a third time. "I don't know. Everything's so confusing right now." He wants Derek suddenly, wants to curl up in bed with his heavy arms around him, wants to feel the heat of his body. When Allison finally leaves, hours later, Stiles has a bag of clothes he doesn't really want or know how to wear, and an ache in his heart. He checks his phone to see a message from Derek and his heart lifts slightly. It's simple: had dinner w/ alpha, talks went well, but as Stiles sits there, staring at the screen, his phone buzzes again and there's another message that just says i miss you.
Stiles exhales quietly and types back miss you too.
It's rare for Derek to say things like that, especially after this weird week. Stiles lays on his back in bed and stares up at the ceiling, thinking about Derek leaving the house after Stiles had said no to him, his back ramrod straight, stiff with anger. That had been the day before he left, and since then Stiles had heard from him exactly three times: one quick made it, and the two messages tonight. When Stiles told Allison Derek hadn't said much since, he hadn't been exaggerating.
He dreams Derek takes him a place somewhere in the woods and when Stiles turns around, Derek's gone and never comes back, no matter how long or loud he shouts. When he wakes up the next morning, Stiles still has a vagina and his phone is clutched tightly in his hand. There are no new messages.
He spends the next two days lounging around the house, avoiding his dad and ignoring Scott's phone calls. His conversation with Allison has not left him feeling super endeared to Scott. He's glad it's summer vacation and Scott's working at Deaton's a lot. His dad, though, is a much more difficult problem. Stiles spends a lot of time in his room and when he does emerge, he wears a sweatshirt with the hood up so his dad doesn't have to see his soft face. His dad won't meet his eyes, and it hurts a lot.
Two days after his magical transformation, Stiles texts Derek, are you coming back soon? Derek doesn't respond and Stiles tries not to let it bother him, but it does. They've been together for nearly a year, but Derek still gets weird sometimes, stops talking. Stiles tries not to let it bother him; for all he knows it's a werewolf thing, or maybe it's just a Derek thing, and he understands that even though he likes to talk out his problems, not everyone is like that. It's just - it's not like he meant to hurt Derek's feelings before he left; like he said to Allison, he got scared. Scared because what Derek was asking was more than just a pack thing; it was a mates thing, and they hadn't even talked about that. He feels like it was unfair of Derek to just spring the visit on him.
He's laying on his bed, stomach down, face buried in his pillow with his hoodie pulled over his head when his dad knocks on the open bedroom door.
"Stiles," he says quietly. "Derek's here."
Stiles' heart bursts into overtime but he stays completely still. Maybe his dad will think he's asleep and send Derek away. Oh, god, he hopes so. Derek is back way too early and Stiles is definitely still a woman. Or in possession of boobs and a vag, anyway.
"Hmm," his father says, and Stiles hears him go downstairs. He relaxes a little - until he hears footsteps come back up the stairs and down the hall. Derek is quiet - he could move through a house where every floor board produces a musical note and not make a noise - but sometimes he is deliberately noisy, when he thinks it'll put people at ease, and Stiles recognizes his too-heavy footsteps and panics internally. He's not ready for this. After the initial panic during Allison's visit, Stiles hadn't actually given Derek too much thought. It made him freak out, for one, and for another, he'd thought he'd have more time, that he'd be back to a man's form long before Derek got back. He was supposed to stay in Sacramento at least a week and a half, and if Stiles has it right it's only been five days. He's really regretting not giving the situation more attention.
"Stiles," Derek says from the doorway, soft. He sounds unhappy, and Stiles thinks that's unfair of him. "I know you're not sleeping," he says. Derek and Allison need to team up, Stiles thinks bitterly. With his senses and her intuition, they'd probably make great marriage counselors or something.
Stiles doesn't move and Derek sighs. He crosses the room and hesitates before sitting on the bed, the mattress dipping next to Stiles. "Talks went well," he says after a long pause and Stiles fists his hands under his pillow, because of course Derek talks about the Sacramento pack, not them. "The pack's strong. It's going to be a good alliance."
He sighs again, waits a long, quiet beat before he touches Stiles, slides a hand against his shoulder blade. Stiles tenses and Derek pulls his hand away quickly. "Did something happen while I was gone?" he asks slowly, almost hesitantly. "You smell different."
Fear sweeps through Stiles, sudden and sharp. He bites down on his cheek, tears welling against his closed eyelids and Derek says sharply, "Stiles."
"Leamme alone," Stiles mumbles into his pillow, forcing his voice low, hoping Derek will just take the hint and get the fuck out. He doesn't, of course, because it's Derek and Stiles is probably the most stubborn person he knows, but Derek's right up there with him.
"Stiles," Derek says again, tugging at his shoulder, trying to get him to flip over. "What is wr - "
Stiles can't fight his stupid werewolf strength. He goes limp, letting himself be pulled onto his back, and Derek cuts himself off abruptly when his eyes land on Stiles' splotchy red face. Stiles stares up at him miserably as Derek's lips part soundlessly.
"Sorry," Stiles says quietly.
"What," Derek says furiously, red light flickering in his eyes, "what the fuck happened? When did this happen? Why the hell didn't you say anything?"
"I'm a girl; it's gonna wear off," Stiles mutters. "I didn't want you to be distracted."
"Distr - " Derek breathes through his mouth, exhaling heavily. He closes his eyes, just for a moment, but Stiles remains still, staring up at him with his heart caught in his throat. This is it, he thinks, terrified. The moment Derek tells him he can't be with a woman, or he doesn't love him and oh, fuck, Derek's never said that before but Stiles suddenly, desperately wants him to, and his eyes burn with fresh tears. Derek opens his eyes and looks down at him, the line of his mouth grim, but instead of what Stiles expects to hear he asks, "Why are you crying?"
"I - " Stiles blinks, tears spilling over his lashes. "I don't want you to leave."
"Why would I leave?" Derek asks, looking exasperated. "Stiles, I - " he cuts himself off, looking irritated, and rises to his feet. Stiles watches him cross the room silently, afraid he is going to leave, but Derek just shuts the door and comes back to sit beside him, his expression softer. "You think I'd leave because you're a girl?"
"Am I really that easy to read?" Stiles mumbles.
"Yes," Derek says simply. He puts out a hand, rests it against Stiles' stomach. Stiles can feel his warmth even though his hoodie and a t-shirt and it calms him. "I'm sorry," he says, and Stiles tenses before Derek continues, "for bringing the trip up out of the blue. I should have thought - but I didn't. I just - the negotiations would have been better, easier with you there."
Stiles is silent for a while. Derek won't meet his eyes but he doesn't take his hand off Stiles' stomach and Stiles takes comfort from that. "Sometimes," Stiles says, his voice sticking in his throat, "you do these things, dude, and you never say why."
"I - " Derek begins, looking hunted, but Stiles cuts through him.
"The thing is, I know why you asked me to come with you. And I - " Stiles licks his lips nervously. "I'm barely eighteen, dude. We haven't talked about - about anything, and you just sprang that on me."
"I'm sorry," Derek says again, his voice low. He lifts his eyes to Stiles', looking deeply unhappy. "If you don't want to - If I'm not what you want, I - "
"Stop," Stiles says bluntly. "That's not what I'm saying at all. I just wish you'd talk to me sometimes. Tell me what you're thinking."
"Like you told me about this?" Derek asks wryly, nudging his knuckles against Stiles' ribs. Stiles slides his hands over Derek's and sighs internally when Derek flips his hand so they can twist their fingers together.
"This is temporary," Stiles tells him. "I didn't want you thinking abut me when you should be thinking about the alliance."
"I'm always thinking about you," Derek says, his voice dropping lower, acquiring that gravelly tone that makes Stiles' stomach twist. Derek tilts his head and adds, "But I'll try. To tell you what I'm thinking."
"Okay," Stiles says. "And next time you go somewhere...I'll come with you."
Derek's eyes narrow, then widen in quick succession as he realizes what Stiles means. Stiles stares up at him nervously. "You mean that?" Derek asks hoarsely. Stiles nods and Derek hesitates for a moment before leaning down, pressing his mouth to Stiles'. Stiles tilts his head up into the kiss, fingers tightening around Derek's. Derek's teeth catch on his lip before he pulls back just far enough to say, "I don't care what fucking gender you are. I want you, Stiles."
"Fuck," Stiles mumbles, lifting his free hand to grasp the back of Derek's neck. "I missed you."
"Missed you too," Derek rumbles before leaning in again, kissing him hungrily. Stiles lets himself relax completely as Derek moves to straddle him, curling his arms around Derek's broad shoulders, letting his heat settle around him like a blanket. He likes the way his body fits against Derek's, the way Derek's fingertips catch against the soft skin of his stomach. He sits up so Derek can pull his sweatshirt off and he likes the way Derek groans quietly when his t-shirt rides up, exposing his pale skin.
"Missed you," Derek says again, before ducking his head and biting at his hip bone.
"Mm," Stiles agrees, back bowing under the touch of Derek's mouth. "I - Gentle reminder that my dad's home."
"Gentle reminder that you should keep quiet, then," Derek retorts, slipping his fingers under the waistband of Stiles' sweatpants, folded over several times so they won't fall down his narrow hips.
"Asshole," Stiles says cheerfully, wriggling out of his t-shirt. It leaves him only wearing a lacy grey bra and he doesn't miss the way Derek's pupil expand, filling his eyes with darkness. There's red licking around the edges of his irises again and Stiles shudders reflexively; that's not anger - that's lust.
Derek abandons his pants, sliding a hot hand up his stomach, over the bra, cupping his right breast. He squeezes gently and Stiles hisses at the sensation.
"Sorry. I know they're not like, huge," he starts apologetically, but Derek shakes his head.
"There's nothing to apologize for," he says, and tugs the bra down so Stiles' nipple pops out. Stiles whimpers when Derek flicks his thumb over the dark nub and Derek grins, feral. "Lift your shoulders," he commands, and when Stiles does Derek slips a hand under him, unclasps the bra with a one-handed ease that leaves Stiles vaguely jealous. The feeling disappears when Derek yanks the bra off and leans forward, laving his tongue over Stiles' nipple before latching his mouth over his breast, sucking at him until Stiles is gasping underneath him, hands fisted in his hair.
"Fuck, Der," Stiles pants, tugging on his hair until Derek meets his mouth with bruising force. Stiles moans into his mouth because even then Derek won't leave his breasts alone, cupping and grasping and thumbing at his nipples before his hand drifts down, slips into his underwear, between his thighs, and - "Jesus," Stiles cries, hips rising off the bed as Derek's finger slides against the wet heat of him.
Derek groans into the side of his neck. "Your dad," he reminds Stiles, sounding a little wistful, like he'd like Stiles to be loud. Stiles would like to be loud too, but he's already made his dad unhappy enough this week, so he bites down on the thin skin of his wrist as Derek slides his sweatpants down, slipping down his body to kiss at his skin as more of it comes in to view.
"You're fucking beautiful," Derek says to Stiles's thigh, sinking his teeth into the skin there just hard enough to make Stiles' back arch. "You always are."
"I - I resent that," Stiles says around his wrist. "I am not a beautiful dude."
"Let me be the judge of that," Derek rumbles, pulling Stiles' legs over his shoulder as he settles between his thighs. The first gentle swipe of his tongue to Stiles' clit has Stiles clamping his teeth down on his wrist, heels digging into Derek's shoulder blades. Derek pulls back, smiling faintly.
"Have you touched yourself in this form?" he asks. Stiles shakes his head and Derek's smile widens. "Hold on, then," he says, and Stiles wants to tell him that's an awfully cocky thing to say but then Derek's mouth is on him again, licking and sucking and pressing, rough and gentle in one. Stiles arches under his touch, moaning around his wrist bone and fuck, Derek's making noises too, quiet, ecstatic groans like he's died and gone to heaven. They vibrate against Stiles' clit, Derek's stubble burning a fire up his spine, and Stiles comes without warning, his entire body folding in a spasm of violent golden pleasure. Derek follows him, keeping his mouth between Stiles' legs until Stiles kicks at him, too sensitive to continue. Derek sits up then, his mouth and chin shining with wetness, which he wipes on his shoulder. He looks utterly content, Stiles thinks, watching him as the last sparks of his orgasm flicker through his fingertips.
"You got condoms?" Derek asks, licking his lips.
"We've had this discussion," Stiles replies. "We don't - "
"You want to get pregnant?" Derek inquires, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh yeah," Stiles says, slumping. "This is only temporary. I mean - "
"How long is temporary?" Derek cuts in.
"I don't know," Stiles says moodily. "I don't have any, anyway."
"I'll pick some up later, then," Derek says, leaning forward to kiss Stiles, slow and tender. Stiles reaches for his pants but Derek pushes his hand aside, pulling down his underwear and taking himself in hand. He jerks himself off as they make out, coming with a strangled grunt across Stiles' stomach and chest. Stiles sighs as Derek licks him clean, tangles his finger in his soft hair.
"Missed you," he says again, voice little more than a whisper.
Derek looks up at him, half smiling. "We should get dressed," he says. "Your dad said to come down for dinner after we talked."
"Oh my god," Stiles sighed into his pillow. "There is no way he's not going to know what we just did. You think taking a shower would be too conspicuous?"
"Probably," Derek says, grinning.
"Asshole," Stiles mutters, but he's smiling.
There's a pack meeting the following night. There hasn't been much going on in town but Derek's going to talk about his trip to Sacramento and the new alliance.
Stiles dithers in his room for a while. He hasn't gone outside since his change and he's not sure what to wear. Pants and a hoodie would probably be the wisest choice but he thinks of Allison's words. This is your chance to have a little fun! Don't you want to see Derek's reaction to you in a dress?
He does, Stiles decides. Who knows if he'll ever look like this again? He goes into the bathroom and shaves his legs - because why not - and defiantly puts on a dress. He stands in front of the mirror, mouth tight as he smooths wrinkles out of the rusty red cloth, which gathers under his breasts and falls halfway down his thighs. He looks - he looks good, which is faintly surprising; he's not as beautiful as Lydia or Allison, but he's pretty. It's weird; he's never thought of himself as good-looking before. He hopes Derek likes it. Fun, right? He was having fun.
He's glad his dad's working; he looks more like his mom than ever and it means he doesn't have to sneak out. Dinner with his dad and Derek the night before had been awkward enough. His dad didn't really like Derek all that much, and Stiles having lady parts seemed to make his father even more unfriendly, for some reason (or possibly it was the fact that he knew what they'd been up to upstairs, what with Derek's mussed hair and the new bruise shining just below Stiles' ear).
Stiles drives over to Derek's loft but has to steel himself before he goes in. Even without werewolf hearing he can hear Scott laughing inside, Isaac half-shouting something unintelligible, Boyd's low voice underneath. Scott and Allison were the only ones at Deaton's the other day and while Allison seems to have kept her word, Stiles is one hundred percent certain Scott told the other betas.
He's right; when he pulls the door open, Isaac whistles and Erica chokes on a laugh. Boyd doesn't react, but stares like he wants to. Cora gapes at him, open-mouthed. Lydia raises her eyebrows, but all she says is, "Those shoes with that dress?" and he can't tell if it's a compliment or critique.
"Stiles," Scott says weakly. "Don't you think you're getting a little too into this?"
"Fuck you," Stiles says defiantly.
"I think you look really nice," Allison says.
"Nice enough to eat, little red," Erica crows, and Stiles flips her off. Derek comes out of the kitchen, a box of pizza in his hands, and pauses when he sees Stiles. Stiles watches him nervously, heart leaping at the way Derek's eyes go dark, his nostrils flaring. Derek finally half-smiles, raising his eyes to the ceiling, where his bedroom lies - a question of intent. Stiles nods quickly, grinning, and goes to join Allison and Erica on the couch.
There's pizza and soda and Boyd brought brownies and glares darkly at anyone who tries to joke about him in the kitchen. Derek leans against the desk in front of the big glass window and tells them about his trip and the alliance he's forged. Stiles is proud of him; Derek's finally growing into his role as alpha; even Scott looks faintly impressed.
Stiles isn't comfortable, though. He can feel the eyes of the pack members on him, curious and, he thinks, judging. Erica leans over as the meeting winds down and Boyd puts on a movie.
"I think my boobs are bigger," she says conversationally.
Stiles bites down on his tongue and says, "I didn't exactly get to choose my size."
"Don't worry about it, Stilinski," Isaac says cheerfully. "I don't mind small boobs. I'd still fuck you."
"Fuck off," Stiles snaps. Over by the desk, Derek rumbles low in his chest and Isaac is suddenly very interested in selecting a fresh slice of pizza. Stiles glowers at his back and gets to his feet, stomping into the kitchen. Derek drifts in after him a few moments later, his face dark.
"This is not a joke," Stiles snaps at him.
Derek leans against the counter next to him. "I know," he says.
"Dad still won't look at me," Stiles says, suddenly tired. His shoulders slump. "I think I'm cursed."
"You're not," Derek says, slipping an arm around his waist. Stiles turns into him with a sigh, twisting his hands in the front of his henley. Stiles closes his eyes as Derek presses a kiss to his forehead, listening to the quiet sound of him breathing and the noise of the pack watching the movie out in the common room.
"You look really nice," Derek adds, one of his hands slipping down Stiles' back to rest just above the curve of his ass (Stiles has a nice ass as a lady; he's inordinately proud of it). Eyes still closed, Stiles tilts his head automatically so Derek can nose along his jaw, breath humid against his ear.
"Thanks," Stiles murmurs, fingers tightening in Derek's shirt. "Wanted to impress you."
"You did," Derek says, so soft Stiles can barely hear him. His teeth graze Stiles' neck and he has to bite his lips to contain a quiet noise of pleasure. "I want to rip it off you."
"Sounds like a plan," Stiles mumbles as Derek turns, pressing him into the counter. He breathes out softly, curling a hand around Derek's neck as Derek licks into his mouth, seeking warmth that Stiles will gladly give. He likes the way Derek grips at his hips, slides his hands up and down his thighs. He likes the security of him, solid and hot like a living wall. He likes the way Derek can curl his hands under his legs and lift him onto the counter without any effort at all. Stiles grins into Derek's mouth, hands cupping the side of his face.
"I like dudes that can pick me up, did I ever tell you that?" Stiles asks Derek, who grins.
"Cut it out!" Scott bellows from the other room. "We can hear you getting sappy!"
"More than that," Stiles mutters as Derek rolls his eyes and leans in to lick a hot line down his throat. He hums when Derek's teeth scrape over the bruise he left there the night before, crossing his heels over the small of Derek's back. Stiles' breath hitches when Derek slides a hand up his thigh, under his dress, brushing the tips of his fingers against the curve of his pelvis.
"You're wet," Derek breathes into his skin, almost a groan. "You're so fucking wet."
"Mm," Stiles agrees, not trusting his voice to speech. He bites at Derek's jaw when Derek pulls his underwear aside and presses a finger inside him, stifling a desperate noise. His hips jerk, needing, wanting. "Fuck," Derek's hissing frantically, his other hand pushing at Stiles's dress, yanking his bra out of the way, seeking the touch of more skin. "Fuck!" The finger he has inside Stiles curls and Stiles curls with it, unable to stop the high, breathy noise that escapes him, heels digging into Derek's back, blunt fingernails catching against his skin.
"Dude, no!" There's a distressed voice from the doorway. Derek pauses and Stiles lifts his head to see Scott in the doorway of the kitchen, looking horrified. He can't see much - Derek's body is in the way - but Scott's other senses will make up for that… Stiles grins wickedly.
"What's wrong, buddy?" he asks innocently.
"I just wanted some soda!" Scott groans. He twists around and yells, "Stiles and Derek are ruining movie night again."
"Again?" Stiles repeats, offended. "This is Derek's apartment! We can do what we want." Derek, his forehead resting against Stiles' shoulder, snorts and wiggles the finger he's still got buried inside Stiles. Stiles moans like it's been punched out of him and Scott's face goes cherry red.
"I'm out!" he says hurriedly and scrambles for the door, quickly followed by the rest of the pack. In thirty seconds Stiles and Derek are alone.
"Awesome," Stiles says. "Now we know how to clear 'em out when they're being obnoxious." He feels Derek grin against his skin and smacks him on the shoulder. "Derek Hale, you planned that!"
"Guilty," Derek murmurs. He sounds a little resentful when he says, "I never said it was movie night."
"Devious." Stiles nuzzles against Derek's hairline, breathing in the fresh scent of him. "Want to keep going?"
"Yes," Derek says decisively, and yanks Stiles forward off the counter. He doesn't let him fall, though, strong hands under his thighs keeping him upright. Stiles wraps his arms around his neck as Derek carries him out of the kitchen and toward the stairs. Derek sets Stiles down next to his bed, carefully tugging the dress over Stiles' head and lets Stiles pull off his shirt before he's pushing Stiles to sit on the edge of the bend, kneeling between his thighs. He pauses there, though, looking up at Stiles with an unfamiliar look on his face. It's not a bad look - it's closer to fondness than anything - but it still makes Stiles hold his breath.
"Hey," Derek says, like he doesn't already have Stiles' attention. "I love you." It's so simple, so Derek, so perfect. Stiles feels like he's being filled with light.
"Yeah?" he breathes, leaning toward him. His heart feels like it's about to burst out of his chest. "Me too. You, I mean. I love you too."
Derek smiles then, one of his rare true soft smiles, and presses a kiss to the inside of Stiles' knee. He pauses, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. "You shaved your legs."
"C'mon," Stiles complains. "You tell me you love me and then ruin the moment by asking if I shaved?"
"Stating, not asking," Derek says haughtily, then his grin turns wicked. "I'll give you a moment." He presses a hand to Stiles' stomach, forcing him to lie back while he kisses up the inside of his thigh and mouths at his cunt through his underwear. Stiles arches under him, one hand gripping Derek's wrist, his mouth open, panting. When Derek finally pulls his underwear down and Stiles gets the first touch of skin on skin, he has to bite back a scream, heels digging into the mattress.
"Fuck," he whimpers, but Derek's unrelenting, slow, teasing, dragging his tongue through Stiles' folds, flicking the tip against his clit. He's got two fingers inside him now, flexing, and Stiles sobs underneath him, fingernails digging shallow half-moons into Derek's wrist, his other hand fisted in Derek's hair. He's close, edging on orgasm, building in his toes, when Derek pulls back abruptly, chin glistening. "Don't stop," Stiles begs him. "Fuck, I almost - "
"Shh," Derek soothes. "Stay right there."
And Stiles does. He heaves a frustrated sigh but he does, watching Derek disappear into the bathroom. He reemerges a second later looking triumphant, foil condom packet held aloft.
"Oh, fuck, yes," Stiles breathes. "Put that on and get inside me, you dick."
Derek makes a face as he slips off his pants and rolls on the condom. "You sure are a charmer."
"Whatever," Stiles grins. "You love me."
"Yeah," Derek breathes, climbing on top of him. "I do."
He pulls Stiles' legs around his waist, squeezing at his ankles before leaning forward, swallowing Stiles' breath with a languid kiss as he slowly slides inside him. Stiles kisses back for all he's worth, digging blunt fingers into Derek's spine, knees squeezing at his hips. Derek is everything in that moment, the pounding in his head, the heat licking up his spine, the slick movement of skin on skin. Derek is inside him and they've had sex before, countless times, in countless positions, but Stiles will always remember this time because Derek's rolling into him, thrusting into him in long, easy waves, and he's got his head bent against Stiles's chest, murmuring, "I love you, I love you," and Stiles is filled with happiness and content and warmth. He wants to be sad when he comes, spine curving under Derek, mouth open in a wail that Derek's neighbors can probably hear, but he's not because he knows that they have time, that this is just the beginning. He slides his thumbs over Derek's cheekbones when Derek comes, hips stuttering to a halt. Derek mets his eyes and neither of them say anything; they smile and Derek presses their foreheads together.
In the morning, Stiles wakes on his back with Derek half on top of him, an arm looped around his stomach. He yawns and stretches and looks blearily at his hands. He wonders why they look so big, and slowly comes to realize that all of him is big and shifts around under Derek so he can see. He's got hairy forearms and a happy trail and junk; he never though he'd be so happy to see his dick. Stiles elbows Derek, who grumbles, "Why are you moving around so early?"
"I'm a dude again, dude," Stiles says cheerfully. Derek cracks an eye open.
"So you are."
"Oh, come on," Stiles wheedles, elbowing him harder. "Gimme a smile."
Derek bares his teeth in what could, loosely, be called a smile and shuts his eyes again.
"Come on," Stiles says again, trailing his fingers up and down Derek's ribs. "Where'd the love go? Was that just for my boobs?"
Derek huffs but opens his eyes again. "I love you," he says, and though he sounds grumpy, the slight lift of his mouth tells Stiles he's not lying. "You gonna miss it?"
Stiles ponders this, threading his hands through Derek's hair, fingernails gently scraping against his scalp. "Maybe a little," he says. "I've never come that hard before. And the boobs were nice."
"You did have nice boobs," Derek agrees sleepily, eyes closing at the movement of Stiles' hands on his head.
"Are you going to miss it?" Stiles asks him.
"Told you," Derek says. "I want you. I don't care what you've got in your pants."
"Mm," Stiles says, drifting back toward sleep. "I'm gonna miss you eating me out, though. That was awesome."
"Good thing you still have an ass, then," Derek replies. "I fucking love how you taste."
"Fuck, dude," Stiles says softly, his face heating up. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not?" Derek asks, picking himself up on one elbow. There's a placid look on his face but a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Don't believe me?"
Stiles levels him with a long look. "No," he declares. "I'm going to need you to prove it."
Later, when they finally crawl out of bed and Stiles goes to get dressed, he laughs until he cries because all he's got to wear is the rusty red dress. Derek leans against the bathroom door and grins around his toothbrush as he says, "Go on, then. You said you wanted to impress me."
It's not a bad fit, but judging by the way Derek's eyes go dark as Stiles jokingly sashays toward him, hips swaying, the dress isn't staying on for long.