Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1062979.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Scott_McCall/Derek_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Spiritual_Incest, Violence_to_Leather_Interior, post_season_two, handjobs
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-29 Words: 3481
****** Brotherly Bonds ******
by tsukinofaerii
Summary
     Family has a different meaning for werewolves, and comes with some
     very different benefits.
Notes
     Happy (late late late) birthday, Dan!
     This hopefully bridges the end of S2 and the start of S3 (which never
     happened la la la la), and maybe could be used to explain how Scott
     goes from YOU'RE NOT MY ALPHA to letting Derek use a blowtorch on
     him.
Scott hunched his shoulders and watched the rain pour off the overhang just a
few inches in front of his nose, splashing across the canvas sides of the
grocery bags at his feet. He was giving some serious thought to just waiting
for it to pass. It was one of those summer showers that was like stepping into
a waterfall; he could actually see cars that had stopped on the side of the
street rather than drive in it. Most of the time, that sort of storm didn't
last more than a few minutes.
The problem was that sometimes they lasted all day, and the ice cream wasn't
going to stay frozen forever. He wasn't sure why his mom needed triple fudge
brownie ice cream—and he wasn't going to ask—but he was pretty sure triple
fudge brownie soup wouldn't be an acceptable substitute. At best, she'd
probably give him that little smile that meant he'd fucked up but she loved him
anyway. Scott really hated that smile.
Just as he'd decided to just make a run for it, a top of the line mom car
pulled up right in front of him. Scott grabbed his bag and danced back to avoid
the inevitable discharge of hyper children and aggravated spouse.
Instead, the window rolled down.
"Need a ride?" Derek leaned forward to look at Scott through the passenger side
window.
Scott clutched the ice cream to his chest and stared. "My mom always told me
not to get in cars with strangers," he said, and then mentally kicked himself.
What was he, six?
The corner of Derek's mouth twisted up. A second later, the locks on the door
popped loudly. "Good thing I'm not a stranger then, isn't it?"
Door, Derek. Derek, rain. Rain, door. Scott's eyes wandered between them for a
long minute. Stiles probably would have said something about most murders being
committed by people you know and that was even more reason not to trust Derek
Hale and his Broody Eyebrows.
But Stiles wasn't there. He was doing the Good Son thing at home this summer,
and didn't really have time for Scott or Scott's ice cream or Scott's Lack of
Car Keys Because Kidnapping Is Still Kidnapping Even If It's For Good Reasons.
Not that Scott could blame him, since everything that had happened with the
Sheriff made some bonding time way over due, but if Stiles had been there Scott
wouldn't have been trying to pick between a walk home in the rain and hitching
a ride with Derek.
What Scott was thinking must have shown on his face, because Derek rolled his
eyes so hard they probably hurt. He took his foot off the break, and the car
started rolling forward. "Fine. Walk."
It was only a quick leap in between the sidewalk and the door, but the rain
still managed to soak Scott to the skin by the time he got the door open and
was safely seated with the bag between his feet. Before he could second-guess
himself, Derek had already locked the doors again and rolled the window up.
Because that didn't at all back up the Stiles-voice in Scott's head that was
screaming Stranger Danger and pedowolf.
"You can calm down. I'm not going to bite you." Derek flipped on the turn
signal and was waiting for his chance to pull out of the parking lot. He didn't
even look at Scott as he spoke, which was weird. Boring holes in Scott's skull
like he could stuff it full of knowledge was at least half of how they
communicated. There wasn't even much traffic to speak of; Derek could have
stared at Scott and not been in any danger.
"Your uncle already did that," Scott muttered, sinking down in the seat. It was
a really nice once, warm and soft and leather. It kind of sucked that such a
nice seat had to belong to someone like Derek.
"I'm not Peter."
Scott bit his lip and looked away to watch the water pour down off nearby
roofs. There was no happy ending for that talk. Anyway, Scott had an
uncomfortable feeling that he was on shaky moral ground when it came to biting
people, and he really didn't want to try and have that argument when he hadn't
even worked out his side yet.
The car jerked as Derek pulled out into traffic at a snail's pace, sliding in
behind a pickup truck that had its emergency lights flashing. The air got thick
as neither of them said anything. It itched over Scott's skin, weighed down on
his shoulders. He could feel it trying to squeeze words out of him. Even the
ice cream that was slowly turning his ankles into chunks of ice wasn't enough
of a distraction. There were words that wanted out, but they were words that
really, really didn't need to be said, words about blame and mistakes and
family.
But they kept building, a knot growing in his chest until Scott had to say
something, anything. What he ended up blurting out was, "Thank you!"
The car jerked a little as Derek tapped on the breaks in shock. They were going
so slowly that he was able to turn and stare at Scott with a single raised,
incredibly sarcastic eyebrow for a whole minute before he had to look back at
the road. "For?"
For not fucking up even worse than you already did. "For... giving me a ride."
Bonus points for being true. If it wouldn't have been too obvious, Scott would
have patted himself on the back. "Walking home in this would have sucked. It
was really lucky that you were there."
Derek's silence stretched just a second too long. "Yeah. Lucky."
Scott frowned. A suspicion crept over him. Except it wasn't a suspicion,
because suspicions were for people who didn't have a history of terrible
things. "It was luck, wasn't it?" he asked sharply, sitting up straighter in
the seat. "You weren't, like, stalking me or something? Planning to ambush me
in some sort of werewolf training thing again, were you?"
Plastic creaked as Derek flexed his hands on the steering wheel and kept his
eyes on the road.
"Were you?" Scott pressed.
Being the worst liar in the world, other than Scott and Stiles, Derek broke
fast. "I wasn't going to ambush you."
"But you were stalking me!" Scott went for the door handle and jerked at it
before he remembered the door was locked and—after pressing the button a few
times—Derek had child safety locks. Damn it. "Let me out."
"I was just checking in on you," Derek snapped, eyes flashing red and a hint of
fang slurring his speech. He hit the signal to get into the left turn lane.
Scott's turn was three blocks down on the right.
All of Scott's warning signals were flashing danger, danger. He yanked at the
handle again, more to make a point than because he thought it would suddenly
work. "There's this thing called Facebook, Derek. Or email. Or the freaking
phone, not—"
Derek's Momobile jerked into the turn so suddenly that Scott had vivid
flashbacks to childhood and a rising threat of if you two don't settle down
right_this_second. He squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered, braced against the
g-forces. Derek whipped into a small dirt road that was made nearly invisible
from the road by a copse of trees and the pounding rain that was, if anything,
getting worse. Scott kept his grip on the door handle, claws scratching into
the hard plastic as they jerked top a stop in the middle of the road.
The sound of Derek breathing was heavy even over the rain, close and hot and
very, very much like impending death. Scott had an incredible urge to roll over
and bare his belly, and that was just—no, never, not happening. If Scott ever
rolled over for anyone, it wasn't going to be for Derek Hale. They set there
for a moment, Derek's hands flexing on the steering wheel, Scott clinging to
the door.
Slowly, Derek's hands unclenched with an audible sound of his knuckles popping.
He swallowed and unclenched his jaw long enough to say, "I'm sorry."
Scott blinked. He hadn't known Derek even knew that phrase. "You're sorry?"
A short, sharp nod was his answer. "I forget, sometimes." Derek still wasn't
looking in Scott's direction, but Scott could actually feel the tension levels
falling. The hairs on the back of his neck stopped standing up. "That you don't
understand."
"Maybe if you explained?" One finger at a time, Scott followed Derek's example
and let go of the door handle. He didn't particularly want to, but the line of
Derek's shoulders softened, and that probably meant it was a good move. "You've
got to give me something. I'm not trying to stay in the dark here." This time.
Derek sniffed, like he could scent the lie there. And he probably could. "We're
brothers," he said, the words dragging out of him like they had to be pulled on
hooks.
"Yeah, you've said that before, I know—"
Somewhere between one breath and the next, Derek was across the center console
and straddling Scott's lap, the points of his claws digging into Scott's jaw
and his eyes burning red. Immediately, Scott went still, head falling back,
nostrils flaring to take in Derek's scent. He wanted to cower and to snap, to
push away and give in. The dissonance kept him frozen, even when the claws
flexed ever so slightly.
"I've said it, but you didn't listen." Five prickled points of contact slid
down Scott's neck to his collar bone, hooking in his shirt. The damp fabric
ripped as they yanked down, but when Scott instinctively curled his lip to
snarl, the claws on his skin stopped him cold. Derek trailed his fingers into
the spot on Scott's side that Peter had ripped into so many months ago, which
was smooth, scar-less thanks to werewolf healing.
A warm buzz flared out from where Derek's fingertips touched the spot. "You
feel that?" Warm, faintly minty breath brushed over Scott's neck. "Right
there?"
The air was starting to feel thick again, with something that smelled wild and
tasted like that very first full moon when Scott hadn't even known how to try
to be in control. He swallowed back the groan—growl?—that tried to work its way
out of his throat and nodded. "Yeah. It's—what are you doing?"
"You were bitten by a Hale alpha." The pads of Derek's fingers kept tracing a
spiral, three spirals, the soft skin followed by a drag of claws. They burned
lines into his side so sharp, Scott half expected to look down and see scars
forming. "From my mother, to my sister, to Peter... and then to you. That's
something that you can't run away from, even if you refuse to be part of the
pack."
It wasn't just a touch. Touch was physical, could be traced. Scott could feel
Derek under his skin, little hooks where they were connected. The back of
Scott's throat suddenly felt dry and rough, his tongue clumsy. He pressed his
hand against the center of Derek's chest. It was like pushing against a brick
wall, back before he could actually take down a brick wall. "And what does that
mean?"
Derek's claws flexed into the bite mark, and Scott could have sworn it lit up.
His stubble scratched over Scott's jaw as he leaned in to murmur, "Everything."
There was no way that should have made Scott shudder. Shouldn't have sent
prickles of sensation sliding over his skin. He was acutely aware that his
shirt was barely a shirt anymore. It wouldn't have qualified for a dishrag. And
Derek was right up against his chest, hot and firm and—
"So," Scott choked out, sounding only a little like he was swallowing his
tongue, "you do this to all your brothers?"
"It's different with wolves." The hand at Scott's waist dipped down to the
front of his jeans. Scott tried to sink back through the seat in complete
mortification, but that didn't save him from Derek getting a handful of
evidence that Coach Finstock was a wiser man than anyone knew. "Do you want me
to stop?"
Scott thought about Allison, about how completely messed up everything was,
about how many times werewolf crap had nearly killed him in the past four
months. But there was Derek, staring at him, waiting with his hand on Scott's
freaking dick and Scott's side still tingling and he could feel him. Right
there, not just the weight on his lap, but a sort of Derek-ness that felt like
a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It was warmth and belonging and, if
Scott was honest with himself, he'd been feeling it for a lot longer than just
this car ride.
Later on, Scott was totally going to corner Stiles to ask about the guy on guy
stuff. With as much as he'd been asking about it, there was basically no chance
that he hadn't scoured the far corners of the internet.
"No." Licking his lips nervously, Scott looked up at Derek and tried to look
more certain than he felt. "Don't stop."
Sharp white teeth peeked out when Derek flashed him a quick grin. It vanished
when he ducked his head, jaw scraping across Scott's neck, leaving a swath of
scent behind that would last even when the car was opened up again. His fingers
slid along Scott's dick, nails dragging over the denim just heavily enough to
be felt. The vibration from it went straight through to his dick, which was
starting to ache where it was pressed against his zipper.
Instinctively, Scott arched up, then hissed when the seatbelt kept him trapped.
He could see Derek's hard-on, pressed tight against the front of his jeans, and
that couldn't have possibly been comfortable. His hands twitched, claws—claws?
When did those appear? —flexing against the leather seats. "What do you want?"
"Little late to be asking that now." A claw flashed. The button on Scott's
jeans popped off, bouncing down to the floorboards with a little jangle. Soft,
human fingertips stretched down into Scott's jeans where the loss of the button
made them gape. "What do you want?"
"I'll let you know when I figure it out." Not sure if he was feeling brave or
stupid, Scott reached for Derek's fly. It was easier to open than the tightness
of the denim made it seem, the buttonhole worn and soft, giving way without
ever having to actually slice off a button.
Dark hair trailed down Derek's abs, vanishing into a plain gray set of boxer-
briefs. Swallowing back a sudden, terribly timed urge to giggle, Scott palmed
Derek through his underwear, fingers splayed out to keep the tips safely away.
The cock behind the cotton was as burning hot as the rest of Derek. It was like
he ran ten degrees hotter than anyone else Scott had ever met, and it spiked
with every beat of his pulse against Scott's palm.
Derek's weight settled down on Scott's thighs, effectively pinning him to the
seat. Working together, they pushed their underwear down. Seeing Derek's cock
hanging out of his pants, thick and flushed, uncut because of course it was,
was somehow dirtier than nudity would have been. The heads of their dicks
bumped a little, sending sharp ripples of want through Scott's stomach. He
wasn't really sure what he wanted, but it was something, and it had to do with
Derek's hands and dick and his breath on Scott's neck. The urge to let go
writhed under his skin, a prickle of fur, a growl in his chest. He wanted to
bite and snarl and push and—
Breath catching, Scott forced the foreign instincts back down, pushing them
away until his hands were fully human again. When he'd been with Allison, it
had never been that bad. But Allison couldn't take it, he'd had to be careful,
had always been aware of his strength no matter how into it he got. But Derek
could take it. Derek could take anything.
Scott tried really hard not to think about the meaning of anything.
Needing to do something, Scott wrapped his hand around their shafts. It was too
dry and too rough, the skin tugging just the wrong side of too much. He twisted
his wrist and got a groan from Derek that rattled him all the way down to the
bite on his side.
Scott ran his thumb over the heads of their dicks, smearing the precome that
had gathered at the tips. It made his dick jump against Derek's, and the thick
scent of musk in the air got a sour-salt edge to it. "This doesn't mean you're
my alpha."
Sharp teeth—fangs, definitely fangs—brushed the side of Scott's neck. "Did I
say it does?"
Then what does this mean? Scott wanted to ask, but words were starting to get
hard. He growled in frustration, dropping his forehead to Derek's shoulder and
breathing in sex and rain and alpha werewolf.
Derek's hand settled over Scott's, fingers thicker than his, nails a little
sharper. He pulled it off their dicks and lifted Scott's hand to lick a broad
stripe across the palm. Sensation arced between Scott's hand and his dick,
making him gasp. Before it made a difference, Derek had their hands wrapped
back around the dicks again, jerking them off together. He worked their hands
faster, with more certainty than Scott had.
The slick sound of skin was audible under the pounding rain, magnified by the
close space and werewolf hearing. Scott's arm wrapped around Derek's neck,
holding him in place as they worked together. That spot on his side buzzed,
warming him with every twist of their palms.
It couldn't have been more than a few minutes later that Scott's growls turned
into a sharp bark as he came, hips jerking up into the seat belt again as Derek
worked him through it. His spunk smeared between them. It slicked the way as
Derek sped up his strokes, panted breaths desperate and sharp. His hips rocked
once as Derek growled between clenched fangs, come splattering across Scott's
abs and chest.
They sat there for a long second, panting together. The windows were steamed
up, but Scott could still hear the rain pouring down. It hadn't gotten better
in the time they'd been stopped. If they'd been able to drive in it before,
they probably couldn't now. It sounded like a total white-out of water. Derek's
knee dug painfully into Scott's hip where it was shoved between him and the
door, Scott's shirt was in tatters, and he was pretty sure he had stubble burn
on his neck. Did stubble burn from an alpha heal slow? Or did only things like
bruises and being gutted count?
Against Scott's chest, Derek stirred, pulling back to give him a confused look.
"What's wrong?"
Items started ticking off in Scott's head. I just got off with a guy for the
first time, and it was you. It was you because you said we're brothers and I
still did it. I think I'm bisexual now but I don't know if it's just a werewolf
thing and I don't know how to ask or even if you'd answer if I did. I don't
know how to ask you anything, and I really need answers. Breaking up with
Allison. Whatever Stiles isn't telling me. Gerard. My mom. Everything.
He settled for, "My mom's ice cream is going to melt."
It was hard to tell, but he thought Derek came close to cracking a smile. "I'll
buy her more." He ran his fingers through Scott's hair, somewhere between
petting him and ruffling it. Then he slid off to the side and settled back in
the driver's seat. He tucked his dick away before buckling his seat belt and
turning the key. "There's a spot back here where I keep an emergency stash. You
can have one of the shirts, since I ruined yours."
Scott followed suit, pulling his shorts up and closing them as best he could
without a button. He didn't want to think of why Derek would keep emergency
supplies scattered around the forest. He probably should ask, but... "Okay.
Thanks."
Derek did smile this time, a real smile that peeked out around the corner of
his mouth. "Don't mention it. We're brothers, now, aren't we?"
The question hung in the air, loaded with a thousand things Scott was positive
he didn't understand and really needed to. He looked away, scrubbing some of
the steam from the window to look out. "Yeah," he said quietly, pressing his
palm against his side and feeling it tingle. "I guess we are."
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