Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1065594.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi, F/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Scott_McCall, Allison_Argent, Isaac_Lahey,
      Danny_Mahealani, Aiden_(Teen_Wolf), Ethan_(Teen_Wolf), Lydia_Martin,
      Sheriff_Stilinski, Melissa_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Christmas_calendar_project, Dancing, Fluff, Post_3a, Minor_Danny/Ethan,
      Minor_Scott/Allison/Isaac, Minor_Lydia/Aiden, Minor_Melissa/sheriff
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-01 Completed: 2013-12-25 Chapters: 25/25 Words: 59134
****** Dances With Wolves ******
by ZainClaw
Summary
     (Sterek Christmas calendar project)
     Two months after the events of the Nemeton, it’s safe to say that
     Beacon Hills has gone back to the small and quiet town it once was.
     No animal attacks or strange deaths. No creepy blind man or maniac
     teacher running about. For the first time in nearly a year, Stiles
     and his friends can go back to the lives of ordinary teenagers.
     (Despite half of them not being ordinary at all.) Christmas is
     coming, and the news of a winter school dance at the end of the
     semester leaves Isaac terrified and Stiles unbelievably dateless.
     It’s funny how both their problems are solved by the same person.
Notes
     This is a fanmade Sterek Christmas calendar, a project made possible
     with the help of several writers and artists in the fandom. Our last
     year’s calendar (The_Christmas_Howl) was such a success that we
     decided to run again this year. “Dances With Wolves” is however not a
     sequel to what we made last year, but a new story set about two
     months after the events of 3A.
     Check out our official blog for the calendar and all the art here.
***** Chapter 1 *****
 
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: ninakask
Author: zainclaw
 
Stiles can practically hear his father’s voice in his head as he rounds the
last corner and heads down his street, muttering something about people being
crazy for already starting their Christmas decorations practically as soon as
Halloween was over. While he agrees that it is pretty early – it’s only just
started to get cold and he realizes now he should’ve picked a thicker hoodie –
he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy the decorations. Some of his
neighbors are really passionate for it too; Christmas lights lining every edge
of the porch and branch of a tree. His dad would never put so much money or
work into something that would only stay relevant for one out of four seasons.
The sheriff’s car is parked in the driveway next to the Jeep when he reaches
the house, breath catching in his throat. He fades his run to a slow jog before
coming to a full stop at the door, digging in his pocket for his phone to stop
the running timer. He’s thankful to not have to dig for his keys and bursts
inside. For it being the sheriff’s house, the front door isn’t locked as often
as it should be.
He heads straight for the kitchen, lungs burning and breath coming out in short
pants. Normally he’d choose several other things over water to quench his
thirst, but he can’t be bothered to take the two tiny remaining steps to the
fridge. He grabs one of the big beer glasses from the dish rack and puts it
under the cold water flow, causing a mess at the sink because his movements are
sloppy and erratic.
Apparently he must’ve made a lot of noise because in the next second, his dad
appears in the doorway. He’s got his reading glasses on which indicates his son
just interrupted his sacred crossword puzzles. Apparently a ten hour long shift
at the station hadn’t satisfied his need to solve problems.
"Where’ve you been?" The sheriff asks, sounding anything but off duty.
"I went for a run," Stiles informs in a breath, downing the whole glass in a
few rapid heartbeats.
"Again?" His dad asks, eyebrows arching up.
"Lacrosse won’t start up again until January," Stiles explains. whipping his
sleeve across his mouth. "Coach pretty much forces us to do cross country in
the off season so we won’t lose our physique. Not that I can get fat… unlike
some people," he adds, and his dad meets his significant look with a glare.
"But you know. I wanna get in shape."
And by that he means, 'gain some muscle and finally give my teammates some
competition'. It isn’t exactly fair with four of them being
freaking werewolves. Danny is the only one playing according to human rules,
but it’s still not fair. Stiles pretty much considers those abs to be just as
supernatural as emigrating sideburns.
Stiles shrugs, avoids his father’s eyes, and says, “Besides, it helps me
sleep.”
At that, his dad’s face softens. Maybe it’s unfair of him to use it for an
excuse because Stiles knows his father suffers from his sleepless nights just
as much as he himself does, but that doesn’t make it any less true. It came as
a big relief to him once he discovered that draining himself of his access
amount of energy before going to bed made it a lot easier for him to fall
asleep. Sure, the nightmares still come and sometimes he’ll wake up gasping for
air, but it doesn’t happen as often as it used to.
When it first started happening a couple of weeks ago, his instincts had been
to pad across the hall in the middle of the night and wake his dad to seek
comfort just like he’d done when he got bad dreams as a kid. He never did
though; he always forced himself to calm down, even out his breathing and try
to go back to sleep. Part of him still feels the urge to share the burden, but
the look his dad gives him in the morning upon seeing his bloodshot eyes has
always been enough for him not to. They may not have a brick wall of lies
between them anymore, but Stiles doesn’t want to make him worry more than he
already does.
"At least put on a jacket," his dad sighs in resignation. "It’s getting cold,
son."
"I get warm when I run," Stiles points out. "Like really warm, which is why I’d
like to take a shower now because I’m covered in sweat.”
"Yeah, my nose works just fine," the sheriff informs, pulling a face and
shooing him out of the kitchen. "Get your stinky ass in the shower. I can’t
imagine what the boys’ locker room must smell like to Scott after gym class."
"I actually asked him about that," Stiles counters, and the sigh his dad lets
out can easily be translated to'of course you did'. “He said it smells more of
teenage hormones than sweat. Of course, that was when Jackson’s pretty face was
still around. I should probably ask for an update.”
"You do that," his dad agrees, now pushing his palms firmly against Stiles’
back to shove him out of the room and toward the stairs. "After you’ve cleaned
up and had some dinner."
"Oh, you mean that ready-meal chicken you bought on the way home?" Stiles asks,
gesturing back toward the kitchen he was forced out of. "I dare you to say you
cooked it!"
"Not the point," the sheriff decides.
"You should take cooking lessons," Stiles points out. He walks up the stairs
all on his own. "In fact – I could teach you myself for a small fee."
His dad just shakes his head and waves his hand at him, retreating to the
living room where he’d been before Stiles came and disturbed his peace. Stiles
smirks to himself before dragging himself up the rest of the stairs.
It’s dark in his room and he nearly walks into a wall when he starts pulling
the hoodie over his head. He gets rid of the damp shirt underneath, almost
getting stuck with his arms, before hanging them both over the back of his
chair. He takes the phone out of his pocket and tosses it on the bed, just
about to step out of his sweatpants when he realizes he forgot to close his
window earlier, the chilly night air curling over his exposed skin and making
him shudder. He pads over to shut it and turn the heater up.
His phone buzzes from where it’s lying on the bed behind him, the screen
suddenly the only light source in the dim darkness. Stiles flops down to sit on
the edge of the bed and reaches for it, squinting his eyes toward the bright
light to be able to read the new text message.
Time?
A wide smile immediately creeps onto his lips, because Derek knows he just came
back from a run.
Derek, whom none of them have seen for two months now, but who has never left
Stiles’ thoughts. Even when things in Beacon Hills, for the most part, seem to
have gone back to the way they were before the big werewolf bomb was dropped,
before the Hales returned and Laura ended up dead in the woods, Derek still
lingers in his mind on a daily basis.
Sometimes he even walks into his room and expects to find the werewolf hiding
behind his door, scaring the living crap out of him like he used to do.
Sometimes he still tries to spot him in a crowd, feeling his heart skip a beat
at every man in a leather jacket. Sometimes when the pack is all together he
looks over to the corner where Derek should be, only to find it empty.
He’s still not sure why he sent that first text many weeks ago, when he first
learned that Derek had left town. He didn’t even believe it at first; had to
run up to the loft just to see for himself. He remembers staring at the empty
place for much longer than needed to confirm that there were no werewolves
playing hide and seek in the shadows. He’d even sent his first text right then
and there; frustratingly pulling out his phone to let Derek know that he was an
asshole for not saying goodbye.
It doesn’t feel like it’s been two months. Turns out time goes incredibly slow
when there’s no maniac running around town trying to kill you.
Derek hadn’t texted him back for a long time and Stiles had quickly lost any
hope of him to do it at all. For all he knew, Derek’s phone might as well still
have been lying around the loft somewhere, abandoned, just like all the other
things Derek left behind. 
Stiles crawls up to lie on his back on the bed, holding the phone above him and
goes back to the runner app to check before typing a reply.
34:27
He always takes the same route, checking his time and trying to beat it each
run. Derek knows this, too. What he doesn’t know is which route; doesn’t know
where Stiles’ turning point is. He doesn’t know it’s the old apartment building
in the outskirts of town and he definitely doesn’t know Stiles always stop for
a second to throw a glance up at the big glass windows before turning back
home. He doesn’t know that every time Stiles does it, he hopes to spot a shadow
there. A shape to prove that the loft isn’t empty anymore and that whoever it
belonged to is back.
It doesn’t take long until the phone buzzes against Stiles’ chest where he put
it down and he hauls it back up in front of his face to read.
You’re getting good.
There’s no one around to witness him smiling stupidly at his phone in the dark,
so it never happened.
Once again his thumbs hover over the display, once again wanting to write what
he’s meant to do for months but never did. Ever since Derek sent him that first
text after two weeks of dead silence, that had Stiles staring at the name on
his screen for almost a minute before actually reading the message. Sometimes
he types it out. Two words, seven letters. Sometimes he catches himself
halfway. He never hits send and tonight is no different. He comes to the second
‘S’ before quickly hitting the home button, throwing the phone on the foot of
the bed and burying his face in his hands.
Stiles never expected he would miss Derek, but he does.
***** Chapter 2 *****

                                        
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: the-kitteh
Author: zainclaw
 
"A dance?"
Isaac's tone is not only disbelieving but also something Stiles is quite
certain can only be defined as sheer terror. He's still standing up, the old
worn-out backpack slung over his shoulder with one hand clasping the strap
while the other rests on the back of the chair next to Allison.
He'd been called to the principal's office to get some papers for Melissa to
sign as his new guardian, and thereby missed first period where they all had
been informed of the Christmas dance at the school the last Friday before they
went on their Christmas break. They had hit him with the news as soon as he
stepped into the library.
"Yes, Puppy Eyes, a dance," Lydia answers from the other table, rolling her
eyes while changing the page in the book laid out in front of her. "You need
help looking it up in the dictionary?"
Aiden huffs beside her, and Isaac closes his mouth as he finally pulls out the
chair to join Stiles, Allison and Scott by their table. Allison pushes her mess
of books and papers aside to make room for him, but he makes no move to fish up
the chemistry book from his bag. Stiles frowns at him from across the table,
and is just about to ask if he's okay, when Isaac explains himself.
"I can't dance," he admits lowly.
"Didn't you dance at the rave?" Scott reminds him, obviously trying to cheer
him up.
"While trying to seduce Jackson?" Isaac asks, but continues quickly, not
seeming to want to linger on the memory – or the people it involves. "That was
different," he remarks. "You don't need steps to dance at parties. You just–"
He flails with his hands a little. "This is formal shit."
Stiles chuckles, as do Danny, Allison and Scott. Lydia and the twins merely
look amused. Isaac sighs, sinking further into the chair as if he could
disappear.
"Yes, and this formal shit won't be happening until the end of the semester,"
Scott points out. "Chill out. We'll figure something out. As for now..." He
knocks on his open chemistry book, then nods toward Isaac's backpack. "Try not
failing this test on Friday."
Isaac hums in agreement, exhaling heavily before giving Scott a small smile as
he unzips his bag.
"So bossy," Stiles can't help but tease, spinning the pencil in his hand while
smirking at Scott.
Scott huffs of course because despite having two months as proof for what a
great leader he makes, he still doesn't seem to like the title. At least not
seriously.
"My eyes changed color for a reason, didn't they?" The sarcasm is loud and
clear in his voice, and yet Scott must've realized what he just said when his
head snaps toward the other table to give the twins an apologetic look. Stiles
thinks it's more than they deserve. "I didn't mean–"
"It's fine, Scott," Ethan says, cutting his unnecessary apology off. He looks
like he means it, too, which can't be said for Aiden who looks like he still
doesn't like to be reminded of what color his eyes are – or aren't. "We know."
Stiles hadn't been there to see it, but apparently the twins had smashed one of
Deaton's tables in the clinic after waking up from the fight with Jennifer and
Kali to discover that their eyes didn't go red anymore, but blue.
Honestly, the variation of eye colors around the table right now could make a
whole string of Christmas lights.
Being very much human, Stiles has no clue what it must be like to rise from the
bottom to the top, and then get thrown back down, but he can imagine it's no
joy ride. But despite how much it must suck to once again be omegas without a
pack to belong in, they had not been let off the hook easily.
It had taken weeks before Isaac stopped raising his hair like a cat whenever he
saw them, and even more time until he even started to listen to any words
coming out of their mouths. Them being responsible for both Erica and Boyd's
death could never be undone, and the cold color of their eyes spoke for them
having anything but a harmless past, and yet Scott had agreed to give them a
second chance.
Ethan hadn't agreed with Deucalion and his plans for some time, and even
without the ability to listen to the werewolf's heartbeat, Stiles believes him.
He's the one who helped them out even before he switched sides, after all.
According to him, they only stuck with the Alpha pack because they owed
Deucalion after helping them climb the ranks in their former pack. They were
drunk on power as well as blood lust, but hadn't enjoyed being with the Alphas
since. They just had nowhere else to go.
When Isaac still protested, Scott had looked at him firmly and said: "About
seven months ago you had an Alpha who ordered you to kill Lydia, and you didn't
hesitate to obey him. You're just lucky Derek wasn't as bad as Deucalion was."
That had been the last time Isaac brought up the argue.
Stiles doesn't like Scott comparing Derek with Deucalion, but he does see his
point. He knows just how much power an Alpha can have over his kin, which is
something Scott even experienced first-hand with Peter during his first furry
months. At least Derek never forced any of his Betas to wolf out against their
own will, which is something Stiles wouldn't be the slightest surprised if it
turns out Deucalion did to his.
"Doesn't mean we'll study under your orders, though," Ethan adds with a sly
smile.
"How about mine?" Danny asks, bumping his shoulder against his boyfriend's
before looking up from the book he must've struggled to pay attention to with
everything going on around him.
It had been a big bomb to drop; letting Danny in on the werewolf secret. Most
of them had thought it'd be better to not tell him, but Scott had persisted
that it would be the only right thing to do if Ethan wanted to stay with him.
After all, both he and Allison know from experience what a nightmare it can be
to keep the other in the dark like that. Ethan had agreed, and Stiles is pretty
sure he even looked relieved; like he'd been longing to tell Danny the
truth. He was probably the reason Ethan finally dared to go against his pack in
the first place. Maybe because he finally had something -- someone -- to fight
for.
Ethan smiles, tilting his head to the side to meet Danny's eyes. "Don't I
always follow your orders?"
"Please shut up," Aiden groans just as Danny's dimples appear, ducking his head
to return his focus on the chemistry book, which seems to please Lydia who gets
a satisfied look on her face.
Stiles huffs, shaking his head as he follows the others' example and tries to
focus again. Once the silence falls, it's easier, but his thoughts still
wander. His eyes moves down the page, seeing the words without really reading
them.
Instead he can't help but notice the snow swirling outside the windows in the
corner of his eye that only started falling this afternoon, or thinking about
the fact that the only reason he's sitting by Scott, Allison and Isaac's table
is not to separate any of the couples. Danny, Ethan, Aiden and Lydia are taking
up the four seats by the other table, and Scott, Allison and Isaac leaves just
one empty chair for him – the only single in the group nowadays.
It's interesting, to say the least, how Scott and Allison had not only gotten
back together, but had also included Isaac in their relationship. Stiles didn't
even know it was possible to have an actual polyamorous relationship – a
romantic relationship involving not two but three people – in other than
fiction. He's not exactly surprised though; he always knew Scott and Isaac had
grown really close really fast, just like him and Allison had done, and Isaac
had been Allison's tether in the sacrifice to the Nemeton. During the last two
months, they had come to terms with all three of them wanting to be together.
He reaches almost unconsciously for his phone.
No new messages.
 
 
Stiles makes a mental note to himself on his way home to dig out his thicker
jacket from the closet before tomorrow because it's freaking cold. A Jeep isn't
exactly the best vehicle of choice during the winter season, but usually he
manages to pull through. Snow isn't always a certainty in Beacon Hills, and
while it's not much falling yet, he's still happy to get any at all. As cold as
it may be, it won't stick around for long anyhow.
He realizes there probably won't be a run tonight, but figures it's not the end
of the world. The only downside will be not being able to share his time with
Derek, but he shrugs the disappointment off as he turns onto his street.
The McCall's car is parked in front of the house when Stiles pulls up the
driveway, and it confuses him at first before he figures out that it's not
Scott, but Melissa who decided to pay a visit. He huffs a little to himself,
wondering what kind of conversation about supernatural beings they've had this
time. A few weeks ago, he and Scott walked in on them discussing the
possibility of zombies, and no matter how hard they both tried to ensure their
parents that there is no such thing, Melissa kept bringing up strange cases
with former patients to the point where Stiles' dad broke it off because it was
getting really creepy.
First thing Stiles sees when he walks through the front door, is Melissa and
his dad standing in the hallway wearing matching Santa hats. They both turn
their heads toward him, whipping the fluffy, white tips of their hats, and a
laughter bursts out of Stiles.
"Oh my god, what are you doing?" He wonders.
"I came over to give John a Santa hat," Melissa replies cheerfully. "We're
handing them out to patients at the hospital, but we got a bunch of spares. Not
as many people having strange accidents these days," she says with a
significant thank-god-for-that eye roll. "Here, there's one for you, too."
Stiles open his mouth to protest that it'll ruin his hair, but Melissa has
already pulled a red hat over his head. He sighs, thinking it doesn't matter.
The snow had already ruined it, anyway.
"Thanks," he says sarcastically, but makes no move to pull it off.
Melissa steps back, looking pleased. His dad is smiling warmly behind her and
it's downright impossible not to mirror it.
"Oh!" Melissa suddenly exclaims, grabbing him by the shoulders to shake him.
"Are you excited for the dance?"
"How do you know about it?" Stiles asks just as his father asks, "What dance?"
She rolls her eyes, looking between them with a typical motherly expression.
"The Christmas school dance at the end of the semester? Scott texted me."
"Why can't you keep me informed like that?" His dad asks.
"I would, if texting was actually a thing you do," Stiles counters.
The sheriff smiles and waves with his hand because he knows it's true.
Technology isn't exactly his father's strongest point.
"Well?" Melissa urges on, and Stiles has to rewind to her original question.
"Can't say I'm excited, no. I mean, I don't even have someone to go with."
"It's not for weeks, son," the sheriff says reassuringly. "You'll find a date."
"Yeah," Melissa agrees. "I'm positive there's a bunch of girls who'd love to go
with you."
"And boys," Stiles' dad adds casually.
Stiles stares as Melissa goes oh.
"Seriously, dad? Now you wanna have that conversation?"
"I can help," Melissa twitters.
"There's no need for a conversation," his dad assures, giving him a light
smile. "You know I don't care who you come home with as long as he's no less
than ten years younger than me."
Stiles swallows. Melissa snickers, turning around to look at the sheriff.
"You said he," she points out.
He just shrugs. Stiles isn't sure why he's suddenly got butterflies in his
stomach.
***** Chapter 3 *****
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist:  finduilasclln
Author: vanehwasreal
 
"Stiles."
"Yo, what's up, the one McCall to rule them all?" Stiles says with a grin as
Melissa just gives him a look and opens the door to let him in.
"He's upstairs. He's really excited that you're coming to pick him up,
seriously, I do not get you two..."
"'Course he is. I'm awesome. That's why he ditched his better... halves?"
Melissa and Stiles share a thoughtful look at that because really, what is the
appropriate thing to call them? 
It's Melissa who first changes the subject.
"Stiles, hey, wait... I know things have been kind of... tense lately because
after the whole--" she does some weird, weird jiggly thing with her fingers
here that Stiles isn't even sure what it's supposed to mean, "nemeton thing, I
know you've all been a bit out of sorts. So just. Please try to have fun. Both
of you."
"Miss McCall. Melissa," Stiles says seriously as an embarassed Scott comes
thundering down the stairs, probably having heard everything. "Do I look like a
person who even knows the meaning of boredom? Would I let Scott, my best
friend, my brother from another mother get bored? Perish the thought. I swear
upon my honor as a Stilinski. We are an honorable breed."
Stiles doesn't even know who Scott's embarassed by the most anymore as the
werewolf throws on his clothes at lightning speed, his mom or his best friend.
"Indeed," Melissa agrees with a tiny smile, but the tension in her shoulders
has let up a bit and Stiles counts that as a victory. If you can't dazzle them
with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.
"Bye mom," Scott shouts over his shoulder, dragging a grinning Stiles after him
into the snow.
"Why are you the way you are," Scott asks desperately as he shoves Stiles into
the driver's seat of the jeep, putting on his seatbelt for him.
"Dude," Stiles says, because, what.
Scott blinks for a few moments before groaning loudly. 
"This whole alpha business is fucking with my instincts, man, it is not cool to
soccer mom everyone around you."
Stiles keeps quiet as the werewolf grumpily enters the passenger seat.
"Well..."
"Shut up."
"Wh-- rude! You don't even know what I was gonna say, man!" Stiles objects as
he starts the jeep.
He's missed this. He's missed the easy friendship they had before all this
began. He's missed just being stupid with his best friend because for the past
couple of months, they've been under constant fucking threat and that's made
Scott 'Little Ray of Sunshine' McCall grow up.
Stiles hates it. But it's awesome and badass sometimes. But he hates it.
Shut up.
Scott rolls his eyes, Melissa-style.
"Like you weren't gonna say something about how cool an alpha Derek made."
Stiles pouts as they set course to buy sleds for the huge pile of snow that
Stiles suspects Allison's gonna try and kill him in, now that Scott and Stiles,
bestest of friends, have found their way back to each other again. You know.
Since there aren't any scary monsters around anymore.
"...Derek was the worst," Stiles settles for saying. Which, yeah. Of course
Scott sees right through it. Bro-connection stronger than the cerebro and all.
"He really was," Scott agrees. "But you still think he was super cool. Don't
even try to lie to me, dude. You didn't even try to defend yourself by bringing
up the million other alphas that showed up not getting in people's faces over
traffic safety."
"Just because of that, I'm picking the color of your sled."
Scott just gives him one of his shit-eating grins. Stiles hates this guy.
 
 
“Okay, we can do this.”
Scott snorts loudly from where he’s standing a bit away from his two partners
and sends Allison a fond glance. She’s not even trying to sound convincing as
she stands with her arms crossed over her chest, eyeing the tiny pink saucer
doubtfully.
“I really don’t think we can,” Isaac replies and the soft amusement Scott hears
in his voice melts him into a puddle of goo.
“You guys are ridiculous, you know that, right?” intones a fond voice. Stiles
joins Scott in staring at the (sorry Allison) quite amusing argument his
partners are having.
“Shut up, they’re freaking adorable,” Scott says with a grin that makes his
friend roll his eyes.
“Well, why are you standing all alone over here? Go join them,” Stiles says
with a snort.
Scott feels his grin take on an edge as he advances on Stiles, his friend's
eyes widening in alarm.
"Well, friend, whose fault is it that we only have one tiny pink plastic
saucer to share between the three of us?"
"Well, Scott, really now," Stiles says, laughing nervously as he backs slowly
away. "Why would you want to put distance between yourself and your lovers. In
fact, if you think about it, I'm just doing you a favor."
"So sweet," Scott says, before pummeling Stiles into the snow.
 
 
“Geronimo!” Stiles and Scott holler at the same time like the glorious,
glorious man-children they are as they start speeding down the hill towards the
bottom where the others are.
Stiles can see Lydia's unamused look from up here, which is truly an amazing
feat considering the fact that he can barely see Lydia herself.
He's pretty impressed with the golden trio though because, really, how the hell
did they manage to fit three people on there?
Allison’s manning (ahem) the front, laughing and flailing as they pick up
speed, leaning into Isaac that’s wrapped around her with a wry grin. Scott’s at
the far back, laughing into Isaac’s neck as he holds onto the other werewolf
tightly.
Stiles can only imagine how majestic he himself looks on his bright purple
saucer as he grips the handles on either sides and the whole fucking thing
spins out of control like these things tend to do unless you're a werewolf,
because apparently cruise control is part of the package if you're a
supernatural creature going sledding.
So, to be fair, the golden trio would probably have had a way easier time
seeing him coming considering that Stiles is currently completely snowblind.
It goes so fast that it doesn't even hurt; one second he's just going down the
hill and the next he's sprawled all across someone.
He can hear the stupid trio of joy and happiness and stupid laughing and
being stupid and happy way a bit further back, so he focuses on the person he
just tried to kill.
"I think I can actually feel your abs through your winter jacket. How are you
even real," Stiles says with a frown as the two try to detangle their limbs
from each other. Danny gives a small huff of laughter in reply, and those
dimples oh my god.
"Not sitting on a bench is the key to success," he supplies with amusement and
pulls Stiles up.
"You are an actual hawaiian god," Stiles says, awestruck. It's the only
explanation for all of this perfection.
Lydia's unimpressed face swims into view once again.
"You are an actual regular goddess, don't worry," Stiles says, patting her arm.
She does look a tiny bit placated at that.
"Save it, Stilinski," Danny says, throwing an arm around Lydia's shoulder. "We
know you're waiting for your One God."
And of course, that's when the creepiest twins on earth show up. 
Ethan looks furious.
"What happened to you?" he asks through gritted teeth, staring at Danny's hand
with both worry and fury and when Stiles follows his glare and sees the blood,
he feels kind of bad.
"Oh, dude. I am so sorry, I didn't know I'd--"
"You're sorry?" And whoa, if Stiles had known that the fury would turn from the
hand to Stiles himself then he would have let Danny's hand fend for itself.
"Ethan," Danny says firmly, almost sounding like a warning.
The werewolf doesn't seem to take it that way though.
"This is exactly why I've been--"
"Don't you start!" Danny snaps, grabbing a hold of his creepily overprotective
boyfriend's arm before dragging him a bit further away, the two having a hushed
conversation.
"Don't mind him," Lydia says in a bored tone. "The twins are idiots."
"Gee. Thanks," Aiden appears out of nowhere, forcing the words through gritted
teeth. Wow, you can really see the family resemblance. The werewolf throws down
an assortment of sleds and saucers and things Stiles hadn't even seen before
onto the ground and to be honest, Stiles thinks Lydia made him buy them all
just to annoy him.
“I am not sitting on any of that,” Lydia says after barely ten seconds, voice
dripping with venom, proving Stiles right. She crosses her arms over her chest
and narrows her eyes, shifting so that she stands clearly allied with Stiles;
because Stiles obviously looks like a strong, capable fellow, able to defend
them both if needed be.
Ah, wherever the twins go, happiness and rainbows are sure to follow.
Aiden's already sunny disposition turns even happier at that.
“Look, I’m sorry that it’s not made of gold or something, but it’s the same
ones that everyone else has got,” he says with a frustrated wave in the
direction of the others (the idiots) speeding down the hill.
“You know that. You told me specifically where, in a store three towns over, I
could buy these stupid things."
“Yeah and somehow you managed to buy the only defective ones,” Lydia replies
sharply, her glare so withering that Stiles is pretty sure that Aiden only
survives by virtue of being a werewolf. Stiles glances at their sleds and he
can’t actually see anything wrong with any of the million of things, but he is
not going to speak up and risk getting his head bitten off (ironically, by
the non-werewolf of the two).
"Oookay, so, how about this," Stiles says, linking arms with Lydia. "Lyds, you
come with me and ride my super awesome, battle tested, never been defeated war
horse, okay?"
"Hey--" Aiden says sharply, but Stiles just gives the creepy, creepy dude a
smarmy grin as Scott, thanks to their awesome cerebro-mind-link-bro-connection,
appears as if out of nowhere, taking Lydia's other arm.
Stiles can feel her smugness the entire climb up the hill, and to be honest, he
thinks she might have been aiming for Aiden's car at least the last three
times.
 
 
 
 
Stiles looks over his group of friends. They seem to be divided into two parts;
one that's having their party mood totally wrecked by the stupid werewolf duo-
- though, to be fair, Ethan seems to be more worried while Aiden seems to be
more... douchebag-- and one part that's radiating more adorable happiness than
the Teletubbies-sun. 
 
Stiles figures that Danny and Lydia are on their own. It's not like the twins
will listen to and respect Stiles' awesome and logical thoughts on the matter,
so he won't push it he thinks to himself, chooses to ignore all the haterz, and
turns to the happier people. The ones merrily destroying everything in their
path as they fly down the hill on a by now seriously distressed-looking pink
sled they stole from Lydia.
 
He knew they secretly liked the whole pink thing. Ah well. Requiescat in
pace, pink saucer.
He can't even try to stop himself, really, it's too stupidly adorable. He
reaches for the phone in his pocket, hastily hauling it up to snap a picture of
the renamed Adorable Trio when they get close enough, rushing down the
hill. His fingers move easily over the screen as he attaches it to a message,
all too familiar with it by now.
Sledding. Wish you were here.
Stiles grits his teeth as he hits send and looks up at the scene before him
again, seeing the three lying in a mess of limbs and laughter and snow a bit
further down. The phone stays in his hand even after the display has gone dark
and Stiles can feel the small tingle in his gut just like every time he sends
Derek something. Even after many weeks it still appears: the fear that Derek
won't answer him this time. That this time he'll be gone for good.
But then the phone buzzes in his hand and he looks down, heart pumping warm
blood so fast it unfreezes his cold limbs, and he smiles.
Me too.
***** Chapter 4 *****
                                        
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: kala-fiorek
Author: zainclaw
 
It'd seemed like a good idea at the time. Awesome, even.
Besides, it's only fair. Stiles has received several pictures of Derek's face
in the run of the last couple weeks they've been texting... Well, it had been
Derek's number, but most of the time it had been Cora stealing her brother's
phone to send silly pictures, which Stiles has no clue how she
even survived taking.
About the first dozen of them had been little else than death glares and Stiles
hadn't been able to stop himself from grinning at them all. It was so familiar
and something he, for some insane reason, had found himself missing.
Then Derek had stopped glaring and instead, Stiles had gotten pictures of the
werewolf eating, reading, and even sleeping. They were all sneaky pictures,
sometimes with the corner of a table close to the lens or from a doorway. It's
obvious Cora must've been a skilled paparazzi to avoid the deadly glares, but
on some of the pictures Stiles could've sworn that Derek was actually aware of
the camera and yet he didn't seem to want to attack the photographer like he
did in the beginning.
Sometimes Stiles gets pictures of Derek smiling and there's no proper word to
describe the emotions swelling up inside him whenever he does. For the first
time, it's not the sarcastic or cocky Alpha-grin that Stiles has experienced
first hand more times than he could count during their banters. Rather it's
small, innocent and warm smiles; sometimes just the corners of his mouth
twitching. Sometimes Stiles is convinced Cora must be the queen of Photoshop
because a smile that genuine looks so out of place on that face.
He's tried to get used to it, to not be equally surprised every time he's
presented with a new photo of the past Sourwolf doing things that Stiles never
thought he'd see him do, but it leaves him baffled each time. With every new
picture of Derek smiling – to the camera or to himself – Stiles can't help but
think that he never got to see it with his own eyes. He never got to return it
with the smile now growing on his own face whenever he sees it.
So it's only fair that he's now sitting on his bed with the lights on at 10 pm,
hair still full of gel and wearing one of his favorite shirts while pulling off
some kind of one-man photo shoot.
(And okay, it's nothing like the pictures he's been getting of Derek because
he's never the one pushing the button, but it's not like he can ask Scott or
his dad to snap a picture of him to send to Derek Hale. This whole thing is
weird enough without someone having to remind him.)
He just figures it's his time to remind the Hales what he looks like. During
the past weeks, he's only sent a few candids of Scott and Isaac eating
disgusting burgers and his neighbor's fat cat. It never really occurred to him
to flip the camera around and show his own face. Not until tonight, when he
spots himself in the mirror over the sink and realizes that he's actually
changed a bit since the two of them left town. And he totally owes Derek a
selfie. Or a few.
It doesn't take long until his very good idea turns into an awfully bad one.
Stiles clicks away with his phone in his outstretched hand for quite a while,
trying out different settings for the photos. He looks into the camera, he
looks up, he looks down. He smiles, he frowns, he goes for a more neutral
expression. He wiggles his eyebrows at the camera, he glares at it, he pretends
to be surprised by it. He runs his fingers through his hair, he scratches his
chin, he even makes a damn peace sign in lack of ideas toward the end.
Funny how fast one's self-esteem can fall from top to bottom in just a matter
of seconds. As soon as Stiles stops to look at them all more closely, he feels
ridiculous and quickly decides that none of them will ever reach Derek. It's
silly and stupid and oh my god, how could he ever think this would be a good
idea?
Derek won't appreciate them, anyway. What was he even thinking taking selfies
for Derek freaking Hale? He laughs stiffly at himself, dropping the phone on
his bed and heads into the bathroom to wash out the gel from his hair.
He doesn't realize he's blushing until he looks up into the mirror a while
later and he sends himself a glare before drowning his flustered face in cold
water.
***** Chapter 5 *****
                                        
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: xiaopa25
Author: zainclaw
 
The snow has been falling all day, covering the land in fluffy white flakes.
Away from the cities and streetlights, out in nature where it otherwise would
be dark and ugly; the snow and the starry sky above help to illuminate the
forest.
It's cold and most people in the area are likely curling up in front of their
fireplace right about now. It's a shame only the wild animals get to see it;
how beautiful pure nature can be without the fires of men.
Derek sees it because he's there; out in the woods, walking under the snow and
glowing moon. His shoes soaking wet and snowflakes landing in his hair and on
his neck, cold and wet as it melts thanks to his body heat, but it doesn't
bother him. It lands on his face as he lifts his chin up to look at the moon.
It's not even on its first quarter yet, nearly two weeks to the next fullmoon,
but that's where his thoughts wander anyway. He wonders where he'll be that
night. Where Cora will be.
He lets his eyes fall shut for a moment, coming to a stop somewhere in the
middle of the forest. The trees above him are partly blocking the sky, but he
can still feel the moonlight on his closed eyelids.
 
He'd planned on taking her to New York, just like Laura had taken him there six
years ago, but it seems like history can only repeat itself to a certain
extent, and perhaps Derek should be grateful for that. Besides, it's not all
the same as it was back then. While Laura was an alpha, he's once again just a
beta. He can't provide Cora with the same protection and strength as Laura gave
him.
They were not a pack anymore. Just two lone wolves.
Cora never called Derek and herself Omegas out loud, and Derek thinks it's
because she knows how much he despises the word. He wouldn't blame her if
that's what she thought of herself as, though. She still put on a good face and
smiled quite often – even more often if it was one of those days she stole his
phone to text Stiles. But despite the way she tried to hide how much it
bothered her, she wasn't used to this life; had never been without an Alpha or
pack before.
They never reached New York. Another pack sought them out as soon as they
entered their territory when crossing into Nebraska, and after being surrounded
by a dozen werewolves, Derek hadn't expected it to end in any other way than a
bloodbath. The two of them were greatly outnumbered, and it was a fight they
could never win, but that didn't stop them from extending their claws and
flashing their fangs.
But no blood was shed that day, or any of the following days they spent with
the pack. Their Alpha was a man whom Derek had never heard of before, but he,
on the other hand, recognized their scent from when he'd met the Hale pack and
Talia many years ago. They were offered to stay in the area, and though both
Derek and Cora were on their guard at first, they soon realized they were out
of harm.
Derek could tell how much Cora loved it; being a part of something and being
surrounded by more of her kind. It brought back dusty memories from before the
fire, when she had been a careless child who bared her fangs in play with their
younger cousins. Seeing her laugh and her hair fly like flames in the wind as
she ran between the trees to outrun the wolf boys made Derek's heart ache
with relief.
He was the only one among them with blue eyes, but no one demanded to hear the
story. If anyone would've asked, he wouldn't have told anyway. Despite the
pack's good will, he still didn't trust them. There were only a few people in
this world he'd come to trust, which was why he couldn't stay in Nebraska when
winter came.
Cora didn't want to go back with him, and Derek didn't argue. She's not a
little girl anymore, even if that's all Derek can see sometimes. She does what
she wants – or in this case doesn't want to do. If she stayed with the pack,
she would be safer than he could ever keep her on his own. And with Boyd dead,
she said there was nothing and no one left for her there.
"Don't you miss any of them?" He'd asked, the night before he left.
She had chuckled.
"You're the one who's missing them, Derek. I never knew them like you did."
"Not even Isaac?"
Cora shook her head. "No."
"Scott?"
"That kid got on my nerves," she'd reminded him with an arched eyebrow.
Derek had huffed, pausing a little.
"Stiles?"
Because in a way it felt as if Stiles was still with them both, thanks to all
the texts and ridiculous pictures. Derek knew Cora liked Stiles at least more
than the other teens because it's Stiles and it's kind of impossible not to.
Still, all she did was smile at him when hearing the name.
"There's only one of us returning to Beacon Hills to spend Christmas with
Stiles and company, and it ain't me."
 
Derek opens his eyes again, blinking away the snow stuck in his lashes. His
heart is beating a little faster than it should be, but there's no one around
to hear it and question why. And even if there were, Derek wouldn't know the
answer.
He remembers receiving the first text from Stiles after they left, asking him
why he'd gone without saying goodbye. It took him two weeks to gather the
courage to reply with the truth.
If I had, I wouldn't have been able to leave.
Because he wouldn't have. He's good at running away and he doesn't have good
memories of telling anyone goodbye.
He'd said it to his parents as he left for school and another time when Laura
went back to Beacon Hills, and never saw any of them again.
He wouldn't have been able to look into Isaac's eyes and tell him goodbye. Or
Scott's. Or Stiles'.
Derek flinches as his phone buzzes in the pocket of his jacket, and he's once
again pulled back to the present. He lets out a sigh, pushing the thoughts of
the past away. None of that matters anymore because he's going back. He's going
home.
It's a good thing his phone isn't all too sensitive to water or he'd never pull
it out from the dry safety of his pocket.
His heart skips half a beat when he sees it's Stiles texting him, but it's not
from surprise.
Do werewolves have any traditions for Christmas?
Derek snorts out loud, but doesn't even have time to start typing that he's
being stupid before receiving another message.
Scott is wondering.
Barely ten seconds pass by before he adds further.
Actually, I'm the one wondering, but I bet Scott would wanna know so he won't
go breaking some sacred werewolf code.
Derek allows a smile to creep onto his lips, rolling his eyes to himself in the
middle of the forest because that's just so typical of Stiles. He's tempted to
respond that none of them won't have to worry since he will be there, but that
would ruin the surprise. Instead he goes with dry wit.
Don't kill anyone before Christmas Eve.
He's halfway to putting the phone back into his pocket when it buzzes again.
Not sure I wanna know what happens afterwards. Do you eat someone's heart?
Derek scoffs.
Yeah. Biggest one we can find. So you're in the danger zone.
He hits send before he realizes what that implies. 
***** Chapter 6 *****
 
                                        
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: winterkiss
Author: watchthewolvesrun
 
“Remind me why I’m here again?” Stiles asks, trudging along after Scott, who is
sniffing at the air like some kind of overly large, puppy-ish bloodhound.
“In case I miss something,” comes Scott’s quick answer and Stiles blinks in
surprise.
“Out of the two of us, which has the werewolf senses?” He asks, note of sarcasm
creeping into his voice.
Scott keeps sniffing. “Me, of course.”
“Then how do you think I could possibly catch something that you miss?”
“Dunno,” Scott shrugs. “You’ve managed to do it before.”
“Yeah,” Stiles reasons, “When I’m not being dragged halfway into the preserve
in the middle of winter, at night, because you ‘smelled something weird’.”
“The air quotes hurt, dude,” Scott answers, placing a hand sarcastically over
his heart. 
“They should,” Stiles says darkly, in stark contrast to his thoughts. Because
he was mature like that.
Scott chuckles.
“What’s so funny?” Stiles asks, fed up with his best friend’s… everything.
“You’re just pissed that I dragged you out here when you were in the middle of
your marathon texting session with Derek.”
“Am not,” Stiles complains even though they both knew it was true.
Scott had insisted he leave his cellphone in the jeep, saying that he didn’t
want to alert whatever he’d been tracking through the woods to their presence.
Stiles told him he’d put it on silent. Scott had shook his head.
“Even if you do, you’ll still be checking it every five seconds. I need you to
pay attention. It won’t take that long, I promise.”
Stiles had narrowed his eyes at his best friend skeptically, but in the end he
did as Scott asked. Stiles knew he was getting better with the whole “true
alpha” thang, but for the most part, he was still trying to figure out his own
suddenly strengthened abilities. So when he needed the extra hand, Stiles was
always willing to give it. That’s what best friends are for, right?
Right.
Even still, that doesn't stop Stiles from being pissed about it. For all he
knows, there could be a message there from Derek now, waiting for him. He wants
to hurry this up as much as possible to check.
“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?” Scott says as he bends down to
sweep the leaves away from some buried tracks. He sniffs.
“Every time you remind me,” Stiles replies, shoving his hands into the pockets
of his hoodie and glowering at the back of his best friend’s head. He
suppresses the desire to whack him across it with a stick or something.
As they keep walking, with Scott stopping every few minutes to sniff at the
ground or a tree just off the path, Stiles starts to look around. At some
point, he begins to recognize things. He can't be sure, really, because, well,
nighttime, but it looks like they’d just crossed into the outskirts of the old
Hale property. When Scott leads him down a small embankment, and over the
barely discernable line of the familiar icy creek at its base, Stiles has his
confirmation.
“Scott, do you know where we are?”
“The preserve. Why?”
“No, I mean, I think we just crossed into Derek’s old property.”
Scott looks around.
“Yeah, I think you’re right. Smells vaguely familiar. How’d you tell?” He turns
to look at Stiles quickly, who jerks a thumb over his shoulder.
“The frozen creek back there. I remember it from those county maps we used to
find the currents earlier this year. And we were somewhere near here the
morning after you were bitten, looking for your inhaler.”
“Oh yeah,” he intones, looking around, “I don’t know how you remember that
shit, dude,” Scott shrugs and turns back around to try and pick up the trail
they’d been following for the last twenty minutes.
“It’s a gift.”
“So modest,” Scott muses as he sniffs at the ground. “Damn, I think I lost it.”
“Lost what?”
“The scent. It’s gone.” He stands up and looks around, trying to see if any
remnants still linger in the air. He takes a deep inhale. “Wait…” He pauses. “I
think- I think I caught it again. I can’t tell. Back up for a sec, would ya?”
Stiles does as he's told, used to being ordered around by werewolves these
days. Odd requests were kind of the norm.
“What is it?” he asks, about ten feet back from Scott, who is bent down and
sniffing at the leaves near his feet again.
“The scent. I think I caught it again,” he says, volume of his voice a hair
above usual. “I can smell it a little clearer now.”
“Was I stinking up the place or something?” Scott shrugs, but doesn't say
anything. Stiles looks for that stick. “So what? Am I just supposed to follow
you from all the way back here, or …?” Stiles shrugs as he trails off. Scott
doesn't even bother answering.
“Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Wha- Why?” Stiles complains. “I’m not letting you leave me here.” He isn't
thinking about how he’d left Scott alone last time, and his best friend had
been werewolf-ified before he’d seen him again.
“Just shut up and trust me,” comes Scott’s response.
“Ugh,” Stiles sighs because obviously he is obligated to do that, being his
best bro and all. “Fiiiiiine,” he whines. “But if I get mauled, remember it’s
on you.”
“You’re not gonna get mauled, Stiles,” Scott reassures him, crawling over a
large log that had fallen across their path a little further along.
He's probably right. Ever since the nemeton and the whole Darach disaster,
Beacon Hills had become surprisingly quiet, aside from the slight bustle it
adopted as the holidays neared. But that wasn’t nearly as terrifying. Except
when you accidentally run into certain lacrosse coaches at the mall carrying
something in a pink Victoria’s Secret bag. Then you suddenly wish for evil
druids and their associated murderous rampages. Aside from that, and he and
Scott’s little nighttime hike this evening, all is essentially well for Stiles.
Sort of.
“Yeah, but if I do-” Stiles calls after him, almost out of sight.
“I’ll bear the shame of your death ‘til the end of my days,” Scott replies
sarcastically and, with that said, disappears.
Stiles laughs quietly to himself. Scott was finally getting better at the whole
sarcasm thing. So he stands there and does what his alpha told him to.
After a few minutes of kicking idly at the half-frozen dirt with his shoe, and
freaking out at yet another harmless shadow, Stiles wishes he’d 1) brought a
heavier jacket because his hoodie was just not cutting it, and 2) had his
phone, so he could text Derek something snarky about his current predicament.
He’d have gotten a kick out of it for sure.
Stliles lets his mind drift back to when he’d caught sight of Derek looming at
the edge of the clearing where Scott had dropped his inhaler a few hundred feet
behind them in the woods. He’d looked younger then, but his face had been
harder. More pained. Knowing what he knows now, Stiles understands why. He
wishes he hadn’t been so quick to judge the brooding werewolf.
His train of thought leads him from Derek, to where he’d buried Laura, which
was right next to his old house and Stiles wonders where exactly that is.
He looks around, tries to see if he can orient himself relative to where he
thought the derelict structure was. He figures it's about thirty degrees off
his current heading toward the right. You know, sort of.
He's trying to landmark it out when there's a sharp snap of a twig behind him,
and he freezes.
“This is still private property.”
Stiles’ heart stops dead in his chest because the voice behind him is
familiar. He knows that voice; remembers how it first spooked the hell out of
him every time he heard the raw sound of it, which later had faded as it
stopped insulting him and instead told him to get to safety. These days, he
reads most texts he receives with that very voice in his head.
“Derek?” He breathes out, part of him still in denial as he turns around.
In the pale moonlight, a few feet from where he's standing, Stiles can see the
werewolf’s slight smile curl into his lips. And not the cocky alpha smirk or
flirty fake grin he'd seen before, but the smile he's only seen on pictures in
his phone; the small, genuinely warm smile that Stiles had given up all hope on
ever seeing with his own eyes.
"Hi, Stiles."
For the first time in Stiles’ life, he has no comeback. No greeting, no awkward
wave, nothing. His heart has recovered from its earlier spasm and is now
sprinting at full gait. Too many thoughts stream across his mind to address any
of them at once.
Without thinking twice about it, Stiles takes three big steps and
just lunges himself at Derek who utters a sudden 'oomf' as they make contact.
Derek staggers, but Stiles' arms firmly wrapping around him prevents him from
falling. Stiles locks his arms around Derek's neck, clutching the fabric
between his fingers as if fearing he'll disappear again if he doesn't hold onto
him hard enough. He can't hear anything over the hammering sound of his own
heartbeat, but as he inhales deeply with his face buried in the crook of
Derek's neck, he smells the piney undertone of wood, leather, subtle tempered
cologne and something that's purely him.
Derek is back, he thinks to himself, but he still can't believe it.
The sound of Scott calling something in the distance snaps Stiles back to
reality, and it hits him what he's really doing. He's hugging Derek, who's
stiff in his arms and is in no way returning the embrace. Stiles can't see his
face, but he can bet those eyebrows are doing something in confusion. Heat
creeps onto his cheeks as he swallows before quickly detaching himself from
Derek, embarrassed of his instinctive action. Just as he does, however, he can
feel Derek relax against him, hands brushing his sides as if he's just about to
hug him back, but it's too late.
Stiles stumbles back and Derek swiftly catches him by the arm just as Scott
reappears. 
"What are you- Derek?" He asks, though there's no real reason to make it sound
like a question.
"Yeah," Derek confirms with a huff as he rights the flustered human next to him
gently. He let's go of Stiles' arm and Stiles can feel the ghost of his touch
across his skin, even through the fabric of his hoodie.
Scott slides up wearing one of his giant smiles that more resembles a puppy
than a pack leader, offering a hand which Derek shakes heartily.
"I didn't recognize your scent," he points out, looking curious, once they let
their arms drop to their sides. "It's... different. Why is that?"
"It's not different," Derek assures him. "But these woods have always smelled
like me and my family, so it's not very strange you couldn't pick out my
scent."
"There's something else though," Scott insists, still looking thoughtful.
"Yeah," Derek nods. "That's probably the smell of the other pack."
Stiles and Scott look at each other, eyes widening.
"The other pack?" Stiles repeats.
"You're in another pack now?" Scott asks.
"No," Derek says, shaking his head, and Stiles feels strangely relieved to hear
that. "Cora is. We met them in Nebraska on our way to New York, and stayed with
them for a while." He pauses for a moment, and Stiles can see something flicker
in his eyes, though he's not sure what it can be identified as. "She didn't
want to come back with me, so she stayed." Then he looks at Scott with that
light smile again. "I guess I still have their scent on me. Must've been what
you picked up."
"And you had a Stiles attached to you,” Scott points out.
Stiles shoots him a venomous look, which he ignores. He catches Derek’s light
shrug out of the corner of his eye.
“It’s good that you’re keeping an eye on things,” Derek comments as he
absentmindedly rubs at the side of his neck, where Stiles’ face had just been
buried. Stiles risks a look at the werewolf and thinks he sees the same ruddy
red flush across his face that he was currently sporting himself, but he
couldn't be sure.
“Thanks,” Scott replies with a stupid grin and Stiles rolls his eyes. He knows
that any compliments his best friend gets on his newfound alphadom, especially
from another former alpha, probably means quite a bit.
"So," Stiles starts, almost scared to ask. "You're back?"
Derek meets his gaze steadily, and Stiles can feel a familiar stir in his gut
as their eyes lock. Again because they've done it countless times before, only
this is different. Anyone who says their relationship hasn't changed due to
their texting during the last two months would be lying.
"I'm back," he agrees.
Scott claps him on the shoulder, stealing Derek's attention off Stiles.
"Just in time for Christmas," he reminds. “It’s good to have you back, man."
Derek scoffs lightly, the corners of his lips once again lifting into a soft
smile. His gaze returns to Stiles' face, which is suddenly a thousand degrees.
Stiles' heart skips a violent beat, but Derek doesn't look away.
"It's good to be back," he replies. "Good to see you guys again."
Stiles feels like, on some level, those words are meant for him. Or, rather,
that's what he hopes.
***** Chapter 7 *****

                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: agbywolf
Author:  zainclaw
 
The others learn about Derek's return the following day. It's a Saturday, so
they don't get together like they would in school, but Scott and Stiles agree
that they all deserve to be informed, and therefore text Allison, Lydia and
Danny about it. They would've done the same to the twins, but figure they'll
find out through their partners anyway. Besides, they may not exactly bounce
with joy over the news.
Apparently that's just what Isaac did when Scott came back home last night with
Derek's scent all over him. Stiles can picture it perfectly.
While Danny only replies with a simple confirmation, Lydia decides they should
all come together and redecorate Derek's loft; it's obviously not fitting for
Christmas. Stiles calls her up, trying to convince her that Derek isn't really
the type to fill his home with colors and glitter no matter the occasion, but
she won't budge, however, stating it'll only be good for the group and old
rivalry's sake.
Stiles sends Derek a text to warn him, and is surprised by the casual 'OK' in
response.
 
 
A few hours later, Stiles finds himself back in Derek's now barely recognizable
loft, surrounded by werewolves and humans and boxes of Christmas decorations.
When asking where the hell Lydia got it all from, she just shrugs and states
that these were her family's old stuff that had just been gathering dust in the
basement. May as well put them somewhere useful.
Stiles definitely thinks it's useful because it turns out beautifully.
Allison, Scott and Isaac are wrapping thick silver tinsel all around the spiral
staircase, which is a job that certainly doesn't require three people but they
don't seem to care. Isaac has gone back to his old self after being a bundle of
nerves over seeing Derek again.
He'd rushed toward the man as soon as they entered the loft, but despite him
looking like all he wanted to do was throw his arms around Derek, he came to a
halt before him. Even without a werewolf's super senses, Stiles could tell
Derek had been uncertain how to greet him as well. There had been an awkward
tension in the air when they finally settled with shaking hands, but their
smiles and greetings seemed genuine.
Stiles knows the two of them hadn't really been the best of friends toward the
end, but even if Isaac still hasn't forgiven Derek for some of the things he
did – even if it was to protect his pack – it probably means a lot to him to
have his first and original Alpha back in town. The one who turned him. Stiles
can't imagine what that must be like.
Danny is standing with his hands full of Christmas lights wires and his head
tipped back to keep his eyes on his boyfriend and his brother as they climb
like animals to wrap the light chains around the pillars all the way up to the
ceiling. It's a little disturbing to think that they probably learned that
Spiderman shit from Kali, but at least they're putting it to good use.
The twins had been clever enough not to be snarky when walking into Derek's
place with the others. Derek had stared them down, but didn't seem all that
surprised to see that they were sticking around. Scott had explained how they
had been given a second chance, and apparently that had been enough for Derek
not to greet them with claws and fangs. Aiden made it clear that they're not
really a part of Scott's pack though; something Ethan had looked like he wanted
to argue with but didn't.
Thankfully the mood had changed when Danny called Derek 'Miguel' and Stiles had
to explain himself to the whole group while desperately fighting the blush
insisting on spreading across his cheeks.
Lydia is flying around putting further decorations and paintings on every
colorless surface, complaining about the cold and only rolling her eyes when
being reminded that werewolves don't freeze easily. She still thinks the place
needs heaters, and a Christmas tree. A big one because the ceiling is high and
they've got plenty of spare bulbs.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Stiles asks teasingly as he helps Derek plug
in the wires for the Christmas lights, claiming to save him from having to deal
with electricity. (Derek had rolled his eyes at that remark, but didn't argue.)
"Make this place smell like the woods. I bet it smells all dusty and boring
now."
"It smells like you," Derek says from where he's crouching next to Stiles,
plugging the wires into the wall.
Stiles scoffs. "Yeah, because I'm right here; my stench right up your nose,
buddy."
He opens the hatch to the electricity cabinet and is just a little disappointed
not to hear Ethan and Aiden howl in pain or something.
"No," Derek says, shaking his head. "I mean before." He stands up again and
Stiles turns his head to meet his gaze with a frown. "When I first came back
here last night." He gestures around him without breaking eye contact. "This
whole place smelled like you."
Stiles can feel his heart skip a beat long enough for it to almost stop, and
for a moment he's got no clue what to say to that. His hands have stilled, and
Derek's just standing there looking at him. The others are still moving and
chatting amongst themselves in the big room, not seeming to notice them in the
corner on the other side of the destroyed brick wall.
"Well," Stiles eventually manages to say, attempting to get back to work. "In
case it escaped your attention, I actually spent a lot of time here a couple
weeks ago. With Scott and your creepy uncle and the whole bunch. Ringing any
bells?"
"Scott's scent had faded," Derek presses on, voice still calm. "So had the
others'. Not yours."
Stiles stills again, pursing his lips and exhaling through his nose with his
eyes fixed on the inside of the cabinet in front of him. He's never thought of
that; his scent lingering on the place after all the runs he's made here, or
how he was probably the last person inside the loft after the Hales left.
He swallows, reminding himself that the Derek standing next to him right now is
the same one he's been texting with for two months. The one who knows his run
times and sends the most basic emoticons in response to his jokes. The one he's
wanted to tell 'I miss you' but never dared. The one whom he's wished for to
come back and now he has.
"Maybe I came here after hearing about you leaving," he says, forcing himself
to turn and look Derek in the eye, "Hoping it wasn't true."
Derek stares at him, doesn't even blink, and Stiles knows he can hear the
pounding heart inside his chest. He waits, but neither of them say anything for
a long time. In the end, Derek nods a little, and strangely enough that's all
Stiles needs to start remembering how to breathe again.
"Guys!" Scott calls over to them, startling them both. "Do you need help?"
"No, we got it!" Stiles calls back, returning his attention to the cabinet and
starts flicking some switches. Judging by the gasps from the group, it worked.
Stiles risks a glance at Derek before they both go to join the others in the
middle of the main room.
The lights and colors makes the otherwise dark place look a lot warmer, and it
feels almost cozy – which is something you couldn't say about it before.
"Now all you need is a fireplace and it's almost habitable," Lydia says.
"Could use a lot of other stuff," Scott remarks. "Like a TV."
"Or an actual kitchen," Isaac adds in.
"I do have a kitchen," Derek protests, almost sounding defensive and it makes
Stiles grin to himself.
"You have a bench and a coffee maker," Isaac insists.
Derek rolls his neck in defeat.
"Oh my god," Allison says, pointing to a shelf in a corner that Stiles has
never paid attention to before. "You have a vinyl player."
"Do you even listen to music?" Stiles asks.
"Of course I do," Derek snorts.
"Please don't talk about music," Isaac groans as he flops down on the couch.
"You're just reminding me of the dance."
The teenagers chuckle, but Derek looks confused.
"What dance?" He wonders, and Stiles realizes then he never mentioned it over
texts.
"A school dance," Ethan answers, seeming to finally have grown some balls to
cut in on something. "At the end of the semester."
"And Isaac is freaking out because he can't dance," Allison says, sinking down
next to him and poking his cheek.
"I'm not really an expert either," Scott admits, steadying himself on the back
of the couch, looking down on both of them.
Stiles knows he's not really good at formal dancing either, but he's not
worrying. He won't even have a date to dance with in the first place, so why
would he?
Derek looks thoughtful for a moment as silence reigns.
"I can teach you," he then says.
Every pair of eyes in the room is staring at him in the next second.
"What?" Stiles asks flatly.
"Dancing," Derek says calmly, crossing his arms as he meets his stare head on.
"I can teach you how to dance."
Another silence follows due to everyone's surprise as they look at each other.
"You do realize that we're talking about formal dancing, right?" Stiles asks,
because wow. "We don’t need help to shake ass in a nightclub – everyone can do
that. This is waltz, slow dance–"
"I'm aware," Derek cuts him off, voice still calm but firm as if he's growing
short of patience. "And I said I can teach you."
Stiles blinks. "Wow."
Because honestly – Derek Hale slow dancing? That sounds like a terrible joke he
could've come up with, except that such a thought never would've crossed his
mind.
"Great," Lydia decides, clapping her hands together. "Shall we set up a
schedule? How about afternoons right after school, yes?"
***** Chapter 8 *****
                                        
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist:  ninakask
Author:  zainclaw
 
There's a lot of things Stiles has grown familiar with during his time running
with werewolves. Like being unable to whisper something in the back of the
classroom without four nosy werewolves catching every word, which has proved to
be extremely useful when he needs to communicate with the pack during lessons
of course, but that's not the point. The point is that Stiles isn't startled by
much anymore because his life is basically a sci-fi show. He herds werewolves
on a daily basis.
He's not, however, familiar with Derek appearing in his bedroom and giving him
a heart attack by suddenly just being there. Even with the werewolf's creeper
behavior being on hiatus, with him being out of town and all, Stiles should
have been prepared for it at this point. But on the other hand; no sane person
should ever be okay with a man climbing through their window and sneaking into
their bedroom.
Careful what you wish for, he supposes.
"Jesus Christ," Stiles gasps when he spins around in his chair at the sound of
a rumbling voice behind him, spotting Derek standing by the open window, shoes
wetting the floor.
Derek hums, sounding amused as he closes the window. "I heard he was born this
month."
"Hilarious," Stiles offers, sending him a stern look. "You scared the crap out
of me."
"I can tell," Derek says while stepping out of his shoes and leaving them under
the window. "Your heart is racing like a rabbit's."
"Okay, great, now stop listening to my pulse," Stiles says dryly. "I get enough
of that in school. It's the twins' favorite game."
The corners of Derek's mouth twitches into a sly smile at that and Stiles
automatically returns a smile. He guesses his heart isn't any less like a
rabbit's, but he can't help never getting used to the sight.
"You didn't answer my question," Derek remarks lightly, arching an eyebrow as
he sits down on the edge of Stiles' bed.
Stiles' eyebrows shoot up. "There was a question? What, about Jesus Christ?"
Derek shakes his head with a soft expression on his face. "You kind of cut me
off with you squealing like a pig."
"Enough with you comparing me to animals," Stiles says.
"As soon as I've made up for all your dog jokes, " Derek counters, and that's
a smirk.
Stiles scoffs despite himself. "Point taken." He sighs, leaning forward to rest
his sleeves on his thighs, mirroring Derek sitting on the bed. "So, what was
the question?"
"Did you find the present for Isaac?" Derek asks.
"Yeah. Right." Stiles nods, only feeling a little stupid for not remembering
that Derek wanted to give his blessing on their choice before he and Scott went
to buy it. "I took a picture for you." He waves at his phone lying on the
pillow next to Derek. "Look for yourself. I'm just gonna–"
He gestures to the laptop which he'd been typing away on before Derek showed
up, turning back to it. Derek hums in agreement behind him, so Stiles finishes
the whole paragraph he'd been interrupted right in the middle of before
spinning back around.
Derek's sitting with Stiles' phone in his hand, eyes still looking actively
down on the screen. Stiles' eyes wanders for a bit, first now registering that
Derek is only wearing a sweater and no jacket. It's not particularly weird;
werewolves run hot to the point where Scott and Isaac could make snowballs in
their hands without gloves the other day, but it's the sweater itself that
catches Stiles' interest. It's not one of his ordinary ones, so thin it leaves
nothing to one's imagination, but a thicker and more worn-out one. It's loose
on his stomach where his clothes are usually hugging his abs, and Stiles has to
blink twice when he notices Derek even has the slightly-too-long sleeves rolled
up a bit to be able to hold the phone properly in his hand.
He looks... comfortable. 
Stiles snaps out of it, shaking himself internally for paying so much attention
to something so insignificant as Derek's clothes. Then he frowns, still
watching Derek, because that's an awfully long time to approve of a simple
backpack.
"Don't you like it?" He asks.
For the first time ever, Derek flinches in surprise by his voice, and when he
looks up to meet Stiles' wondering gaze he looks bewildered, as if he just got
pulled out of a daze.
"Yeah, no, I do," he clarifies. "I just–" He drops his eyes back to the phone,
an unreadable look on his face. "There are a lot of pictures of you on here."
At first Stiles only frowns, deeply confused before he makes the connection.
Once he does – recalling the night he'd filled his gallery with embarrassing
selfies that no living soul was supposed to ever see – he can feel the heat
rise to his cheeks.
"Oh my god," he says as he slaps a hand on the side of his face. "Um, that's– I
was– Those are just– They were meant to be for you, but–"
Derek looks at him and Stiles can see the amusement turn into surprise.
"Me?" He asks, frowning.
"Yeah, um." Stiles slides his hand back to scratch the side of his neck, gaze
drifting anywhere but to Derek. "I was gonna send you one. Because, you know…,
but it's stupid, so yeah. I never did."
He chuckles, swallowing. Derek is still watching him in the corner of his eye
and Stiles just wants to disappear.
"Well," Derek eventually says, eyes once again returning to the device in his
hand. "Better late than never."
Stiles opens his mouth, ready to agree that it was silly and laugh it off
because that's what he'd expected Derek to say.
"W-what?"
Derek doesn't look up, thumb darting over the display.
"You can send me one now."
Stiles waits for him to laugh.
"Are you serious?" He then asks when Derek doesn't make a sound. "You want one
of those?"
Derek shrugs. "I need a new contact picture for you anyway," he says simply.
"You've still got the buzz cut on the current one."
Stiles is a little baffled and doesn't quite know what to say for a while. He'd
expect Derek to laugh like any other normal person would.
"Um," he tries, still looking at Derek who's flipping through his embarrassing
collection of selfies with a soft smile playing on his lips. "Okay," he
decides. "So, which one?"
It takes a second for Derek to either decide or find the one he's looking for,
but in the end holds up the phone for Stiles to see, showing the one with him
doing the peace sign. Stiles can't help but snort a laugh and Derek is smiling
all the way to his eyes when they look at one another. Stiles nods because he
has no idea what to say.
After sweeping his thumb over the screen a few times, Derek puts the phone back
down on the bed. Stiles can hear Derek's own phone buzz in his pocket as the
werewolf stands.
"It's perfect," he says.
"What?" Stiles exhales, heart skipping a beat.
Derek looks at him, eyes drifting a little. "The backpack," he clarifies. "It's
a great present for Isaac."
"Oh," Stiles says. "Yeah. Right."
"Buy it and let me know what I owe you," Derek continues, walking back to the
window.
"Sure," Stiles says, nodding as he watches Derek step back into his shoes with
incredible grace.
Part of him wants to come up with a reason for Derek to stay just a little bit
longer, despite the late hour and the fact that he really needs to finish his
homework and catch some sleep before class tomorrow. It's not the first time;
ever since Derek came back to town Stiles has found himself not wanting to let
him out of his sight, thinking he may take off again. And it's only been two
days, for Christ's sake. It's stupid, of course. Even if Derek were to leave,
it would be none of his business.
Derek pauses with his hands on the windowsill and for a second Stiles thinks
that maybe he's not the only one not wanting him to leave yet.
"Rabbit," he says quietly, eyes watching the falling snow outside.
Stiles hadn't even realized his heartbeat had quickened. He smiles to himself,
putting a hand on his chest in an attempt to shut out the sound to the
werewolf's sensitive ears.
"Sorry."
Derek huffs softly, hands finally taking hold of the window to pull it open.
"That wasn't a complaint."
The cold wind from outside makes its way into the room and the shudder that
goes through Stiles prevents him from responding as he instinctively starts
rubbing his bare arms. Derek is outside the window in one swift movement,
looking back inside to give him a small smile.
"Catch you tomorrow, Stiles."
The window closes and Derek's gone. Stiles is left alone in his chair with his
arms still wrapped around himself.
Yeah, he thinks to himself. Maybe even literally.
They're starting with the dance lessons tomorrow.
***** Chapter 9 *****
                                        
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist:  finduilasclln
Author:  zainclaw
 
Stiles can't say what he'd been expecting when he and the pack went to the loft
after school for their first dance practice, but it certainly wasn't Derek
standing in the middle of the room in sweatpants with no shoes on.
There's not much furniture in the room to begin with, but every piece of it has
been moved to outline the walls, leaving an open floor space in the middle of
the room. It's still daylight outside and it casts a shadow of Derek's figure
where he's standing with his arms crossed waiting for them.
"Dump your stuff over there," he orders, extending an arm to point to the spot
next to the door they came from. "And take your shoes off."
"What?" Echo the twins, who miraculously tagged along despite insisting they
already know how to dance and don't need any 'stupid lessons'. Stiles is
convinced that Lydia and Danny both have unlocked achievements in persuasion.
Derek just looks at them calmly, as if daring them to argue with him. They
don't say another word.
"Not to hurt your feelings or anything," Lydia says, ignoring the wolves'
stare-off. "But your place isn't exactly clean."
"I cleaned the floor," Derek says.
"You–" Stiles cuts himself off, clenching his jaw instead of letting it drop.
"Aren't we gonna be wearing shoes at the actual dance though?" Scott asks, but
is already stepping out of his sneakers.
"You will," Derek nods. "But I can assure you that there will be an awful lot
of toe-stepping here today, so to spare you the pain: shoes off."
Everyone obliges at that and Derek looks satisfied once they're all standing
spread out on the floor before him. He nods simply and walks over to the vinyl
player he must've dusted off since the last time Stiles saw it. He must've
prepared the record and track too, because all he does is let the disc start to
spin and sinks the needle.
Notes of classical music fills the room, and Stiles feels like, yet again,
dropping his jaw in disbelief. It's not like he'd expected them to dance to
metal or old school pop or anything, but he just can't wrap his head around the
fact that this is something Derek owns and listens to.
Perhaps Derek can sense his surprise and strong urge to grin because he sends
him a sharp 'shut up' look when turning back around to face them. Stiles purses
his lips, but he's pretty sure he's not imagining the twitch in the corner of
Derek's mouth.
 
 
As it turns out, waltzing is not that hard.
Sure, Derek is taking it easy on them and only going through the absolute
basics, but still. Counting isn't hard and the basic steps are easy once you've
memorized them. Which, okay, takes a while, and Stiles is quite certain that
he'll forget them till next time, but by the end of the lesson he's still
positive they've all learned loads. 
They've been switching dancing partners frequently because according to their
coach it's important to learn the dance itself and not just how your one
partner handles it. Aiden thinks it's stupid (shocker!) seeing as he'll only
dance with Lydia at the school dance anyway. And while that's true Stiles is
grateful that Derek ignores the complaint because if that was the case; he'd be
dancing by himself even here.
Lydia and Allison are awesome and despite them being the ones supposed to walk
backwards and follow the male's lead, Stiles feels as if they're the ones
leading him. With only two ladies in the group he gets to dance with all the
guys as well, and they all take turns leading.
Danny is smooth and elegant, of course, and Stiles calls bullshit in him
stating he's simply a quick learner. Aiden and Ethan are not very willing, but
seem to have given up on trying to have a say in the matter. Isaac is a tall
bastard who steps on Stiles' toes more than anyone, and Stiles is incredibly
thankful for the lack of shoes.
Scott and him are a mess, but a glorious one at that. No matter who's supposed
to lead the other, they're just kind of going with it, pushing and pulling
equally. The only difference is who walks backwards or forwards. They trip on
each other's toes and chuckle at their sort of tug-of-war to the point where
Derek drops Isaac, pushes him to Scott and catches Stiles' hand.
Derek is the only one of the guys Stiles doesn't need to ask who'll lead. His
hand settles comfortably on Stiles' waist, and Stiles only has a second to try
to recall if it's really necessary to be that low before they're moving and he
has to focus on the steps.
It's easy with Derek; easy to let him take control and just follow his lead.
Stiles wishes he could see the werewolf's expression as they go, but he's too
busy glancing down between them to watch his feet.
At the end of the hour they're all tired and Stiles can feel his shirt starting
to cling to his warm skin.
"Bring workout clothes next time," Derek advises, letting his hands fall as he
steps away from Stiles.
"What, like gym class?" Isaac wonders. Apparently being a werewolf did little
for him because he looks flustered.
"We're not gonna be wearing sweatpants on the dance, Derek," Scott points out.
"No," Derek agrees with a sarcastic smile that Stiles, for some reason, feels
proud of. "Which is why you should try working up your stamina and adapt it to
the dance so you won't sweat in your fancy shirt at the dance, right?"
Stiles can practically see the light bulb appearing above Scott's head as he
nods.
 
 
It's almost dark when Stiles and Derek exit the apartment building. The snow
has stopped falling for now, which is greatly appreciated by Stiles who'll be
driving. It's not as cold today either, so the lingering snow on the ground may
be in danger of melting away soon. Stiles hopes not.
"Thanks," Derek says as they stop right outside the gates.
Stiles shrugs, offering a small smile. "Don't mention it."
The others had been in a hurry to leave as soon as Derek had declared their
first lesson over, but not before they had agreed to meet up at the loft every
afternoon after school from now on. Stiles had unintentionally ended up alone
with Derek and had offered to help move the couch and the rest of the furniture
back into place. Derek hadn't pushed him away; quite the opposite in fact.
There had been a warm smile stretched over his lips that had convinced Stiles
to stay until every last piece of furniture was back in place.
"Won't you be late home?" Derek asks.
"Nah," Stiles sighs. "I'm not going straight home anyway. You know the backpack
we're getting Isaac?" Derek lifts his eyebrows a little. "Well, Scott went home
with him so he wouldn't suspect anything. I'm just heading to the mall to get
it myself."
"I could come with you?" Derek asks, sounding hopeful, and it does something
funny to Stiles' stomach. "I mean, I was gonna share the payment anyway so I
may as well help you buy it."
"Yeah, okay, sure," Stiles agrees, nodding maybe a little bit too much. "So,
um, I'll see you there?"
Derek opens his mouth, seeming hesitant. "Actually, can I get a ride?"
Stiles frowns a little in question. "Sure, but…" He throws a glance down to the
parking lot, but there's only his Jeep all by itself. "Where's your car?" He
asks, looking back at Derek.
"I don't have one," Derek shrugs, starting to walk down the stairs, heading for
the Jeep.
"What?" Stiles says, falling into steps at his side. "What happened to your
soccer-mom car? Which I still can't believe you switched for the Camaro, by the
way," he adds before Derek has a chance to answer.
"It was practical," Derek defends, sending Stiles a half-hearted glare, but
there's no real heat in it. "I had a pack and a teenager who needed a ride to
school."
Stiles goes silent for a moment and they reach the car before he speaks again.
"That's why you got rid of it," he says, stopping to look at him properly.
"Because I don't have a pack," Derek agrees, voice low. "Yes." Then there's a
change in his expression as well as his tone. "So can I get a ride or do I have
to run alongside you on the road?"
The sarcasm in his voice makes Stiles' mouth pull up into a smile.
"Could we race if you did?"
"No," Derek says, probably going for grumpy but failing horribly.
"Buzz-killer," Stiles sighs, rolling his eyes as he plays with the keys in his
hand, walking around the car to the driver's side. "Alright, get in. Just don't
shed on the seat."
"You know I don't shed," Derek remarks, opening the door to the passenger's
seat.
"I do," Stiles agrees with a wide smile once they're both seated inside the
car. After all, this is far from the first time Derek has been in his Jeep.
"But you keep surprising me, so you'll never know, right?"
Derek rolls his eyes softly, looking out the window. "You're ridiculous."
Stiles scoffs, shrugging as he turns forward and starts the car.
"And you can stop trying to make it sound like an insult."
***** Chapter 10 *****
                                        
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: cutewolfboys
Author: youremylittlemichael & zainclaw
 
Derek's out jogging, headphones plugged into his ears with soft music matching
his every step, when his phone buzzes in his back pocket. He assumes, even
before he checks the caller ID, that it's Stiles, because no one else would be
calling him this late at night.
Well, Cora could, but they haven't been apart long enough for her to check in
on him yet.
He stops in place, turning the music off and hitting the green answer button.
Before he can say a word, loud thumping music fills his ear and he jerks the
phone away.
"Derek! Ay, Derry. It's Stiles. You know, Stiles?" Stiles' voice comes out
broken up and slurred down the phone and Derek understands full well what's
going on.
"Yeah, Stiles, are you drunk?"
He rubs the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead, grey t-shirt stuck
firmly against his back and running shorts moving against his legs in the wind.
If he hadn't been a werewolf who neither felt the cold or had the ability to
get sick, he would've been an idiot for not wearing more halfway through
December.
"Am I drunk? Pff, nah, me? Never." Stiles dissolves into a fit of laughter. "Of
course I'm drunk! I'm at a party, silly, who isn't drunk?"
Derek sighs into the phone. "Is Scott with you?"
"Ah, Scotty. No. Well, he was," Stiles informs, "But he disappeared. Poof! He's
probably getting laid, and I didn't exactly wanna interrupt the love fest, you
know?"
"Unfortunately," Derek mutters. "Where are you?"
"Told you, I'm at a party," Stiles says, as if that held all the needed
information. "Someone from school threw a Christmas party. Lydia made us come,
okay? I don't know where, exactly." Then he pauses. "Why do you wanna know
where it is? Do you wanna–"
"So I can come and drive your drunk ass home," Derek interrupts.
"How the hell are you supposed to do that?" Stiles wonders, sounding horribly
confused. "You don't even have a car."
Derek rolls his eyes a little, even though Stiles is right. "Where's your
Jeep?"
He doesn't hear anything for a moment besides Stiles' loud breathing and the
ridiculously loud music until Stiles clears his throat and says, "I parked
outside 7/11. It's not far from here. I can see it, even."
Derek's already turned around and headed in that direction. "Can you walk
there?"
"I'm pretty sure I can, yeah," Stiles agrees. "I have legs."
"That's great," comments Derek, speeding up his pace. "Go to your Jeep and I'll
meet you there, okay?"
"Okay," Stiles sighs, and for some reason it sounds so content that it makes
Derek's heart feel a little heavier.
He takes off at a run, staying on the phone with Stiles to make sure he doesn't
trip on his way.
 
 
When he sees Stiles ten minutes later, he's got his head in his hands, one
curled around his phone as he talks to Derek about something Derek can barely
even understand through all the laughter and cut off words. Something about how
he and Scott had gotten separated and Stiles had had a couple of beers.
Derek clutches his phone tightly to his ear and just kind of looks at Stiles
for a minute. He's in his red skinny jeans and one of his dozen plaid shirts;
hair all tousled, of course, but Derek bets it had looked really nice a few
hours ago. He's leaning against the side of the Jeep in a corner of the nearly
abandoned parking lot.
"Hey, look up," Derek quietly breaks through Stiles' rant about the injustice
of Scott not only being in a relationship with one gorgeous person, but two,
while Stiles can't even get someone to talk to him.
Which Derek can't wrap his hear around, by the way.
Stiles' head whips up and he jumps to his feet, bouncing like a little kid as
he spots Derek across the street. He waves his free hand around like a lunatic
and laughs giddily down the phone, right into Derek's ear. Derek crosses over
to Stiles before the dumbass tries to do it himself and gets run over or trips,
and hangs up before coming to a stand before Stiles, who still has his phone up
to his ear.
"You can hang up now," Derek says with a raised eyebrow. Stiles doesn't pay any
attention to him and certainly doesn't hang up. Instead he rakes a look over
Derek before whistling loudly.
"Oh, did I interrupt somethin'?" He jokes, tugging at Derek's sweaty shirt.
Derek bats his hand away. "I was running, jackass."
He holds up his open palm for Stiles who, surprisingly, hands over the keys
without Derek having to ask and finally hangs up his phone. Derek gestures to
his light clothing.
"Aren't you cold?"
"Nope."
He even sounds proud.
"Stiles, it's the middle of winter," Derek points out, though he knows there's
no use due to the alcohol in the boy's system. "Don't you have a jacket?"
"Yeah, but it's in the car," Stiles complains, sounding really depressed upon
recalling that fact.
Derek arches an eyebrow. "You mean the one you're standing right next to?"
"Oh," Stiles says, widening his eyes before chuckling. "Right. You're a smart
one, Derek."
"No doubt," Derek sighs.
He steps up to the driver side door, gently pushing Stiles to the side with his
elbow to unlock and open it. Stiles doesn't complain, still close enough for
Derek to feel his warm presence brush against his arm as he reaches inside to
grab Stiles' jacket. Why the hell did he even leave it in the Jeep in the first
place?
"Put this on," Derek orders, pressing the jacket against Stiles' chest until he
takes it in his own hands.
"Bossy," Stiles mumbles, but does as he's told.
Well, he tries.
His arms get stuck and he starts flopping it violently in an attempt to get
free. Derek grabs a hold of him before he hurts himself, noting how his fingers
don't reach all the way around Stiles' bicep like they used to. It's not too
noticeable when hiding under his loose plaid shirts, but Stiles is not as small
as he was.
"Stars," Stiles mumbles when Derek helps him put the jacket on, sounding dreamy
with his head tipped back and eyes on the night sky. "Wow, there's a lot of
them."
Derek is unable to hold back a short laugh.
"Yeah, they're beautiful," he says flatly as he zips the front of the jacket.
Stiles snorts, turning away from him. "Your face is beautiful."
At first Derek means to tell him that's not how you insult people, but for some
reason no words come out when he opens his mouth. There's a funny feeling in
his gut, but he shrugs it off. Stiles is so drunk.
"Wrong side," he tells Stiles who was about to take the wheel.
"Oh, yeah, right," Stiles slurs. "Drunken friends don't drive with other non-
drunken friends in the car. Good point," he says, sounding impressed with
either himself or whoever said it first.
Maybe he's actually capable of walking himself, but Derek doesn't want to take
any risks. He loops an arm around Stiles' waist and leads him around to the
other side of the Jeep without a single complaint from Stiles, which is a
miracle unto itself.
Stiles launches himself into the passenger seat and it takes three tries before
he buckles his seatbelt correctly. Derek just rolls his eyes before walking
over to the other side of the Jeep again and climbing into his respective seat
to start the car.
"So you were out running," Stiles says just as they drive out of the 7/11
parking lot. Derek's got his eyes on the road, but can see Stiles' grin in the
corner of his eye. He knows where this is going; he can practically see the air
quotes. "And you just 'happened to be nearby', right?"
Derek aims a withering glare his way, no real heat behind his words when he
says, "Shut up."
Stiles throws his head back and laughs, Adam's apple bobbing in his long,
slender throat. It's not nearly that funny, but Derek can feel the corners of
his mouth twitch at the sound of Stiles' pure laughter. It dawns on him then
that he's never really heard it before. Stiles jokes around, scoffs and
sniggers, but he doesn't laugh. It's light and childish, and yet Derek can't
help but to feel just a little bit sad when it eventually ebbs out.
After driving two blocks, Derek decides to break the silence.
"So if you didn't call me for a ride home, why did you even call me in the
first place?"
"It's called drunk dialing, Derek," Stiles explains, as if Derek is being dumb.
"When you call someone you never would've dared call when you're sober."
Derek blinks, eyes still on the road. "You wanted to call me?" He asks
carefully, thinking he might've misunderstood.
He can see Stiles nodding beside him. "Like, every night," he says, then
scoffs, as if that's stupid.
And maybe it is stupid, but that doesn't stop Derek's heart from jolting. He
knows it's true; partly because alcohol does little to prevent someone from
spilling secrets, but also the steady pounding of Stiles' heart. Either he
doesn't care or he simply doesn't realize what he just confessed.
Derek swallows, tightening his hands on the steering wheel. He knows he
shouldn't take advantage of Stiles being drunk, shouldn't push the topic
further, but he just can't leave it at that.
"If you had called me," he says lowly, looking at him, "What would you have
said?"
Stiles lets out a heavy sigh, sinking down in his seat and kind of nuzzled into
the door. He absently taps in the windows with his eyes watching the world
rushing past them outside.
"I missed you."
Derek's breath catches in his own throat at the breathy admission; Stiles looks
about as surprised as Derek feels. His heart clutches painfully in his chest
and his stomach flutters until Stiles opens his mouth again and completely
ruins the moment.
"I think I'm gonna be sick…"
He clamps a hand over his mouth and Derek turns sharply to the left, thankful
there aren't any cars behind or in front of him, and leans over Stiles quickly
to open the door for him. He's barely got his seatbelt off before he's
stumbling out of the car and puking his guts out.
Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.
He knows Stiles means what he said and part of him feels guilty for getting it
out of him in this state, but as wrong as it may have been, Derek is glad that
he knows now because Stiles obviously didn't have the courage to admit it
otherwise.
He missed Stiles, too, and Derek plans on telling him that. Just not tonight.
It takes a couple minutes for Stiles to pull himself together and climb back
into the seat, arm wrapped loosely around his stomach and head pillowed on the
headrest behind him. Derek leans over with a napkin he'd found jammed into the
center console and wipes Stiles' mouth and down over his chin. He still looks a
little green around the edges when Derek sits back in his own seat, so he takes
it slow as he signals back onto the road.
"You okay?" Derek asks quietly.
Stiles shakes his head and then groans loudly. "M' dying."
Derek softly rolls his eyes. "Such a drama queen."
Stiles takes a few breaths in and sighs out, "You know, I never told you this,
but that stuff that happened? With that whole darkness shit?" Derek immediately
turns to look at him, eyes shifting back to the road every few seconds. Stiles'
jaw is clenched, but set in a determined manner. "I haven't been sleeping well.
Or not at all, really." He chuckles humorlessly and stares down at his fingers,
expression sobering.
Derek knows about the Nemeton and the sacrifice Scott, Allison and Stiles made
for it in order to save their parents nearly three months ago. He knows about
the 'darkness' that Stiles is talking about, which is also the term Deaton used
when describing it to him afterwards, but he's never been able to fully imagine
how exactly it would affect the three of them. Until now.
"Some nights are worse than others though," Stiles goes on. "All ain't that
bad. There are things that can help. It's why I started running because it
drains me out, so there's a smaller chance for nightmares. Also… whenever
you've texted me right before I go to bed."
Derek swallows hard at the confession, wishes Stiles would look at him as he
says it. It hurts to know Stiles is obviously mentally struggling with the part
of him that's still affected by the Nemeton. He's a little pissed Stiles hadn't
mentioned this beforehand. If he had known, he wouldn't only have texted Stiles
every night - he would've called him.
But Stiles isn't a big fan of revealing secrets, and neither is Derek, which is
why he doesn't tell.
He turns left, heading toward Stiles' house before realizing the Sheriff's
cruiser is parked out front.
"Your dad's home." Derek's voice sounds strangled even to his own ears.
"Shit, what?" Stiles jerks forward and hisses as soon as he does. "He'll ground
me for life!"
"He'll shoot me," Derek tries to say, but it gets lost in the panic jumble of
Stiles' babbling.
"He had the night shift! He said he wouldn't be home until like five in the
morning! Oh, God, this isn't happening. I slipped into a coma and I'm dreaming
and none of this is real."
Derek reaches over and lightly pinches Stiles on the arm and says, "You're not
dreaming, idiot." Stiles screeches indignantly and slaps at Derek's hand as
Derek pulls into his driveway.
The Sheriff answers the door with a stern frown and a shake of his head. He
doesn't even look at Derek at first as he hauls Stiles inside and points a
lecturing finger in his face.
"We're gonna talk about this in the morning, son."
"About what?" Stiles asks, playing dumb. "I haven't done anything. I'm not
drunk! Look, I can walk."
"It's a Tuesday night, Stiles!"
"We got tomorrow off school," Stiles protests.
"I don't care!"
The sheriff sighs and looks over Stiles' shoulder at Derek, who feels a little
awkward for being present.
"Did you bring him to a party?" He asks firmly.
"What–" Stiles starts protesting, but no one pays him any mind.
"With all due respect, sir," Derek says, "Does it look like I just came from a
party?"
The man looks down at Derek's running shorts and shirt that is still damp with
sweat and actually huffs, his expression softening a little as he shakes his
head.
"Well, thanks for bringing him home, Derek. I appreciate it."
Derek stands there dumbstruck, not sure what to say. He'd been expecting
Stiles' dad to maybe draw his gun and handcuff him, not congratulate him on
bringing his drunken son home. He nods, offering a weak smile as he backs off
the porch.
"Bye, Derek!" Stiles calls before being pushed into the house by his dad.
Derek lifts his hand, scoffing and turning to jog down the street; not
realizing he's still smiling until the muscles in his face go sore.
***** Chapter 11 *****
 
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: takeshii
Author:  zainclaw
 
Wednesday morning starts with a pounding headache, which Stiles professionally
deals with by slapping himself across the face the second he's conscious enough
to remember last night. It would've been even worse had his dad not forced him
to drown about six glasses of water to sober him up before giving him
permission to pass out. Stiles decides to start the day with thanking him for
that, and getting the pissed-off-father-and-irresponsible-son talk over with.
Stiles has the day off from work and he has no plans for leaving the house
for any reason. Scott doesn't seem to care, though, because he calls him up
around noon – clearly in a lot better shape than Stiles – and tells him they're
all heading downtown to check out the new coffee shop and that he
simply can't say no. Stiles can say no, however, which is what he does for
about five minutes before his headache gives in to Scott's chanting and he
agrees.
He's got no clue if Derek will be there because Scott didn't define 'all of us'
and Stiles just can't make himself send Derek a text and ask directly. He's too
embarrassed.
But he finds out soon enough as he gets a ride downtown by his dad – who
doesn't trust him to drive the Jeep just yet despite Stiles insisting that he's
clear in the head – and enters the cute little café in a corner of the square.
The group is standing gathered by the counter as he walks through the door,
lifting their heads to greet him with smiles and nods. Stiles counts to eight
and swallows hard; they really are all there. His gaze is immediately drawn to
Derek who is standing next to Scott with his hands in his pockets.
Stiles can feel his face go hot because he remembers everything that happened
last night. At least he hopes he does. He remembers how words he's been wanting
to say for weeks just slipped out of him without a second thought, and how
Derek had just listened, probably having no clue how to counter any of it. He
remembers stumbling out of the car to throw up, and how Derek had wiped his
face afterwards. He remembers that he'd called Derek beautiful, but hadn't been
able to see his reaction because he'd turned around, shrugging it off.
Derek offers him a weak smile as Stiles joins them, looking as if nothing has
changed since dance practice yesterday afternoon when they last parted ways
sober. Stiles lets out a breath of relief, returning the gesture gratefully.
The shop is small and surprisingly empty considering the season and the fact
that it's freshly opened. A fake little Christmas tree made of plastic is
standing on the counter along with green tinsel hanging by the windows sets a
cozy Christmas mood. It's a lot nicer than the café that was there before the
new owner bought the place.
Stiles doesn't bother browsing the menu of various coffee and milk drinks; he
just wants a plain coffee with two sugars. He feels awake, but the headache
kind of came back the moment he walked into the shop, and he's not sure whether
he should blame the overwhelming smell of coffee beans or Derek. He also orders
not one but three chocolate muffins because he's starving.
"You hungry or something?" Lydia asks with a raised eyebrow, taking her big cup
of coffee latte with an impressive, yet completely unnecessary, leaf in the
milk foam from the counter and heads for an empty table.
"Like a wolf," responds Stiles mechanically, receiving a handful of huffs from
the present werewolves while the barista chuckles, thinking she got the joke.
Poor thing.
They have to unite two tables in order to all sit together, and they do so
without getting in trouble. Stiles is still surprised by the lack of costumers
when he starts sipping his coffee because it tastes like heaven, but
understanding dawns on him as people start dropping in and out to order paper
cups to go.
They only talk briefly about last night because Danny mocks the puppy-triangle
about having a good time wherever they ran off to. No one asks Stiles how he
got home, and somehow Stiles gets the feeling that they just know. Derek
doesn't address it either; just sits there and sips on his black coffee.
A thought hits Stiles; that once upon a time he would've taken the opportunity
to joke about Derek's coffee having the same color as his everything else, but
now it's irrelevant, so he doesn't.
He must still be a bit out of it, because he loses track of time and the line
of conversation around the table. Once he's finished his coffee and two of the
muffins, Lydia, Allison and Aiden get up to leave.
"Well, we've got some Christmas shopping to do," Lydia announces, swinging her
bag over her shoulder.
"Why are you tagging along?" Ethan asks Aiden. "To carry the girls' bags?" He
teases.
"The girls can carry their own bags," Lydia tells him firmly. "He'll carry his
own, too." Then she grabs both her boyfriend and Allison's hands and walks out
of there.
Isaac and Scott wave while Danny huffs. Only a short moment goes by before
Scott stands as well.
"Actually, we got some business downtown as well," he excuses, poking Isaac.
"I guess we're all off then," Danny sighs, putting down his empty cup with a
content sigh and reaches for his jacket slung over his chair.
"Not me," Stiles says drowsily, only sinking further into his seat by the
thought of getting up and going out in the cold.
"You sure?" Scott asks as all the boys get to their feet.
All but Derek.
"Yeah," Stiles says, swallowing. "I got a muffin to finish."
Scott and the others snicker on their way out, the bell above the door ringing
as they exit the shop. Stiles is surprised he didn't notice it when he first
walked in with his sensitive ears.
Once the door shuts behind Isaac and everything goes quiet, Stiles notices
they're the only costumers left in the shop. The barista has left the counter
to fumble with the coffee machines, and her work is the only sound apart from
the muffled voices from the people on the streets outside.
Stiles keeps his gaze down, feeling his heart speed up without his approval as
he furiously stares at the untouched muffin before him. He can't tell where
Derek is looking from this angle and it may just be his imagination, but he can
practically feel his heavy haze on him. He knows Derek has already finished his
coffee long before Stiles even did, so he's got no reason to stay. Other than
to keep Stiles company, of course, which is a thought that's not as insane as
it used to be.
He's embarrassed, and he's pretty sure he should say something about last
night. He could pretend like he doesn't remember or that he didn't mean what he
said, but he's not a good enough liar to make Derek believe him. He should
definitely apologize, seeing that he'd been a jerk for calling Derek at all.
There would be no jump in his pulse over that.
Just as he opens his mouth and inhales a breath to start speaking, though,
Derek breaks the silence.
"Ethan wants to join Scott's pack, along with Aiden."
A deep frown seeks its way to Stiles' forehead, confusion catching his tongue.
He tilts his head up and finds that Derek is not looking at him anymore, if he
ever were. His eyes are fixed entirely on the window to their left.
"How do you know that?" Stiles asks, still frowning. "I don't even know that."
Derek locks eyes with him then and there's a small tug in the corner of his
closed mouth.
"He just said so. He's right outside, talking to Danny."
"Oh," Stiles says sarcastically. "And naturally you can't help but to
eavesdrop?"
"It's no effort," Derek says, but actually does sound a little bit guilty.
"It's like breathing to you."
"Huh," Stiles says. "And you felt like sharing this information with me
because..?"
Derek shrugs, eyes dropping to the empty mug still in his hands.
"Wouldn't be the first time we exchanged unnecessary information," he simply
remarks.
Which, no, it wouldn't. Between their texts about Stiles' running or Stiles
commenting on one of the many ridiculous pictures Cora sent, there had been a
lot of random texts that held no purpose whatsoever. The kind of things not
worth gathering a crowd for but still something you'd like to share with
someone. Like how much Stiles hates doing the dishes, or how pizza tastes like
heaven, or that there's a new mailman who looks like Beacon Hills' next serial
killer. Stiles finally thinks he understands why some people get a Facebook or
Twitter. But he doesn't want others to read his random thoughts, even if it's
just a handful of them. It's been enough to only share them with Derek.
His heart flutters a little at the thought that it's something Derek still
wants or expects them to be doing. Maybe he should say something, but they end
up sitting in silence for quite a while. He doesn't realize he's still watching
Derek until he looks up again.
"Ethan wants Danny to take the bite," he says, sounding alarmed but also
thoughtful.
"Ah," Stiles says, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks back down at the
damn muffin. "Yeah. I've figured that one out myself already."
"And?" Stiles looks back up, arching an eyebrow in question. "Shouldn't one of
you talk to him?"
"And say what, Derek?" Stiles asks, realizing his voice is a little too loud
for the given topic when the barista glances over. "That's their business,
isn't it?" He adds in a lower tone.
"Stiles, we can't be sure if Danny would even survive the turn," Derek hisses,
leaning forward over the table and suddenly bringing their faces closer, which
makes Stiles' lips part as he exhales. "And if he does… he'll be a werewolf."
"No shit, Sherlock," Stiles pretends to gasp and Derek actually glares at him
this time. "Look, it's not like he'd ever bite Danny without his permission,
okay? He's offering – to a guy who's well aware of the history and consequences
of lycanthropy as well as being old enough to make that decision himself."
"Stiles–" Derek tries, but Stiles interrupts him.
"No, Derek, I don't think you get it. Things aren't black and white, alright?
Especially not when it comes to the twins." He slumps a little, frustration
fading completely into tiredness. "Things haven't exactly been easy around here
just because the big bads are gone."
"I never said it's been easy, Stiles," Derek says firmly, weight in every word.
He seems to hesitate, voice going deep and lower as he adds, "I know things
haven't been easy."
Stiles swallows. They're still looking at each other across the table and
Stiles can tell they're both thinking about his struggle with the darkness
without either of them having to say it out loud. Derek knows now and Stiles
feels more relieved about that than he ever thought he would.
A moment of silence passes by and eventually they both sink back in their
chairs.
"Do you still want to call me?" Derek eventually asks, and it's barely a
murmur.
Stiles feels his heartbeat quicken, but ignores it.
"No," he says, shaking his head. "You're here now. It's not the same anymore."
Derek nods slowly, and Stiles realizes his heart is pounding. He sighs in
frustration at himself, knowing it'll only get worse if he tries to make it
slow down by will. Instead he figures he may as well say what he's been meaning
to say on the topic from the start.
"Look," he begins. "I'm–"
"You don't need to apologize," Derek says.
Stiles blinks, not really agreeing, but he can tell by Derek's expression that
he means it.
"Okay," he says dumbly. "I just… I mean, I meant it, okay?" He says instead
because no matter that he never would've dared to say those things when sober;
there's no way he's going to deny them.
Derek's gaze drifts between his eyes.
"I know you did."
Of course he does. Stiles manages to nod, swallowing and then letting out a
heavy breath. He hasn't felt this relieved, this light, in a long time. Perhaps
Derek can tell because he gives him a faint smile. It looks like he's
considering saying something more, and Stiles patiently waits for it, but in
the end he's pretty sure Derek change his mind, because his expression changes
and his voice is much lighter when saying:
"So are you gonna eat that muffin or should we ask for our money back?"
Not sure what he'd expected, Stiles tries to shrug off the faint
disappointment.
"Hell no, I'm gonna eat it," he assures with a snort.
Derek innocently holds up his hands in defeat, sinking back in his seat with a
relaxed smile. His hands don't return to clutch the long-empty cup but slide
into his pockets instead.
Stiles eats the last muffin despite the butterflies in his stomach and he eats
it way too fast without chewing properly, which ends up with him getting the
hiccups. Just his luck.
"Oh my – hic – god," he groans when Derek cracks a wide smile, and that just
makes him chuckle. Which is worth it, in a way, but it's still a pain in the
ass.
"Sorry," Derek says, forcing himself to be serious. "That must be really
annoying."
"You don't – hic – know?" Stiles asks.
The corners of Derek's mouth twitch, but he restrains himself from smiling.
"No, we don't–" He throws a glance in the barista's direction, but she's busy
counting coffee beans or whatever so she's not paying attention to their
conversation. "Things can affect us, they just don't last."
"Is – hic – that why Scott's barely – hic – hung-over today?"
Derek nods. "We're not easy to get drunk."
Stiles points a finger at him, sneering.
"I know you wolfies can – hic – get drugged with wolfs bane though. Be – hic –
afraid."
"I'm mortified," Derek says, and this time he's not even trying to hold back
his amusement.
After another five minutes of Derek being entertained by Stiles' violent
hiccups, however, he starts to realize how frustrating it is for Stiles and
instead tries to help him cure it.
They ask for a glass of water, which he nearly chokes on. Stiles tries holding
his breath despite Derek insisting it's dangerous. He orders Derek to scare
him, which the werewolf says is impossible nowadays. Stiles tries breathing and
swallowing with different techniques.
But none of it helps.
Derek lets out a deep sigh, leaning over the table on his elbows. Any trace of
him still enjoying this are gone and he's probably more irritated by the silly
little yelps by now than Stiles himself.
"Okay, here's the deal," Derek says, meeting his eyes steadily. "Stiles? If you
do it one more time, I'm going to kiss you."
Stiles gulps, cold shock washes over him and gives him goose bumps. He stares
at Derek who stares right back. His heart is suddenly pounding against his
ribs. He waits. Derek waits.
Nothing happens.
After more than twenty seconds in absolute silence, Derek lets out a heavy
breath, offering him a smile. Perhaps it's only Stiles who's still high on the
shock, but he thinks it looks a bit shaky.
"Looks like I'm still capable of scaring you after all," Derek huffs, leaning
back again.
With his heart still hammering in his chest, Stiles manages to snort and roll
his eyes. He leans back against his chair too, trying to tell himself it's a
big relief to get rid of the hiccups. There's a funny feeling stirring in his
gut, and no matter how hard he tries to laugh it off at first, he soon realizes
what it is.
He feels disappointed.
A knock on the window has him jerk in surprise, and Scott standing outside
looks just a little guilty for startling him. Not as much as he looks amused
though.
"You guys still here?" Scott asks through the glass, and it's perfectly audible
even to Stiles' ears. "We're heading to the loft."
"The loft?" Stiles repeats, frowning.
He can see Derek looking at him in the corner of his eye but he doesn't look to
meet him.
"Yes, the loft," Scott confirms, nodding as Isaac and Allison come into view.
"Dancing time."
Right. Stiles mentally slaps himself. He'd totally forgotten about that.
"Do you remember the steps?" Derek asks as they're getting up from their seats.
"No," Stiles says before stopping himself.
It's a lie, and Derek can probably tell because even Stiles feels his own pulse
jump in surprise. The werewolf doesn't call him out on it though.
"Alright," he just says, waiting for Stiles to put on his jacket. "I'll just
show you again once we get there."
***** Chapter 12 *****
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: cutewolfboys
Author:  zainclaw
 
Derek isn't sure exactly how it happened, but he walks Stiles home Thursday
night.
Scott had given him a ride to school that morning and as always, they had gone
straight to the loft in the afternoon. After their dance rehearsal Scott had
prepared to drive him home, but Stiles had declined, claiming that he'd like to
walk now when the snow prevented him from running. Derek had offered to walk
with him before realizing what significance it might hold. It just slipped off
his tongue. Stiles hadn't hesitated to say yes though; giving him a thankful
smile while smelling all warm and happy.
It's already dark and it's started to snow again. Not lightly either; big
fluffy flakes are falling down to the ground already covered in white. There's
a slim path through the snow on the sidewalk, made by the footsteps of whoever
walked there before them, but even those are about to disappear under the snow
that just keeps pouring down. It's cold, too, which Derek isn't as troubled by
as Stiles waking next to him.
"You know," Stiles says when they're somewhere downtown, and thereby breaking
the silence that had lasted for the past ten minutes. It hasn't exactly been
awkward, but Derek still appreciates Stiles' choice of trying to start a
conversation. He's always been good at that. "I kind of love winter, but right
now I kind of wish I had accepted Scott's offer for a ride."
Derek huffs out a cloud of smoke.
"I don't like winter," he admits.
"What?" Stiles says, glancing over to him in disbelief. "Dude, winter is
awesome. How can you not love winter?"
"It's wet," Derek points out, looking over to cock an eyebrow at him.
"Only if you go outside," Stiles points out, returning his look with equal
sarcasm. "Which I always forget," he goes on. "It's way nicer to look at the
falling snow through a window than to actually be showered by it. The key is to
stay inside."
"And do what?" Derek asks, eyes back on the path, but his attention on Stiles.
"Watch a movie?" Stiles suggest. "Eat food? Drink hot chocolate? Build a
blanket fort; I don't know!"
"I don't have a TV," Derek reminds him.
"Which should be a crime."
"I haven't needed one," Derek shrugs, his elbows accidentally bumping against
Stiles' side, and the teen elbows him in return.
"Guess you'll have to come over sometime and watch something on my TV then,"
Stiles decided casually, but the next second Derek can hear his heartbeat
speeding up.
There's something funny going on inside his own chest, but Derek doesn't let
his thoughts linger on it.
"Okay," he says simply.
Stiles doesn't say anything else, just nods and lets the silence take over
again, but the way his heart skips a beat at Derek's reply doesn't go unnoticed
by the werewolf.
They make a left turn and takes a shortcut through the park. There's few people
around, and Derek suspects most of them have already gone home for the night.
"So what do you want for Christmas?" Stiles suddenly asks.
"W-What?" Derek says, completely caught off guard.
"Well, there's this ancient tradition where you give people gifts for
Christmas," Stiles deadpans. When Derek doesn't say anything, he looks over to
catch the look on his face, and his playful façade drops. "Wait, you didn't
think I'd get you something for Christmas?"
Derek looks away from Stiles' face, feeling a warm tingle inside him over the
fact that it's apparently obvious to Stiles.
"No."
"Dude," Stiles says, almost sounding a bit offended. "We've been texting each
other more over the last two months than Scott and I have for the last year,"
he says voice growing deeper as he goes on. "Of course I'm planning on getting
you a Christmas present."
There's something clenching around Derek's heart by the thick emotion in
Stiles' voice and the steady rhythm of his pulse.
"Those are meant to be mutual, right?" He asks because he doesn't know what
else to say.
Stiles shrugs at his side. "I guess."
"I'll think about it," Derek says.
"You don't have to give me anything," Stiles hurries to reassure.
Derek scoffs lightly, throwing him a weak smile. "I meant what I want."
"Oh," Stiles says. "Well, that's not a very hard question, is it? I mean,
knowing what you want is easy, right?"
"These days, no," Derek says truthfully, and that's the end of that
conversation.
It's impossible to miss the way Stiles forcibly swallows, but Derek focuses his
senses on their surroundings before he reads too much into it.
They walk on in silence for a bit more, passing by a bench that's practically
repainted in white due to the layers of snow. Something has been written on the
seat, probably by some kids who'd played in the park before their curfew and
they had to run home, but it's barely visible under the snow that's been piling
up since. Derek feels the corner of his mouth twitch up in a smile.
He gets a few steps further before noticing Stiles is no longer next to him.
Thinking he may have picked up on a too quick pace, he glances over his
shoulder, but there's no Stiles in sight. Derek stops dead in his tracks and
spins around.
Stiles has stopped by the bench, but he's not admiring the soon-to-be-covered
doodling in the snow. His head is tilted back, chin lifted upwards as he looks
up at the lamppost next to the bench. There are thankfully quite a few of them
around, creating spots of light In the otherwise dark park.
Derek cocks an eyebrow to himself before replacing his questioning expression
with a sly smile as he walks back to where Stiles is standing.
"What is it?" He asks, seemingly drawing Stiles out of a deep thought. "Did you
discover Narnia?"
"What," Stiles snorts. "No, you idiot." Then his eyes widen a little. "Wait,
you've read Narnia?"
"No," Derek replies, maybe a little too fast. (He may have read it once,
alright? It's not his fault Laura was so fascinated with storybooks.) "So
what's with the look on your face?"
An expression that Derek can't quite identify creeps onto Stiles' face, and he
bites his bottom lip as he glances around them, throwing the lamppost one last
look before holding out a hand. Derek stares at his open palm in confusion.
"Come on," Stiles says, smiling weakly. "Let's dance."
Derek's jaw drops. "What?" He asks flatly.
"C'mon," Stiles presses on. "I gotta get used to other surroundings than the
loft, right?" Which, okay, point. Stiles gestures to the open air around
himself. "This is perfect."
"This is in the middle of a park," Derek counters drily.
"Yeah," Stiles nods because of course he's aware of that already. He doesn't
seem the slightest put out by it. Quite the opposite, Derek notices, and maybe
that's the point. "Come on, Derek," Stiles says again, still with his hand
reached out for him to take. "You're the teacher. It's not like you will be the
one who's got anything to be ashamed of if someone walks by."
Derek sighs, exhaling through his nose. The pleased look on Stiles' face says
he already knows he's won.
He closes the final distance between them, sliding his hand into Stiles' before
placing another on his side. Stiles' heart jolts as he lands his own free hand
on Derek's shoulder and steps up to leave only a thin space of air between
their fronts, and Derek does his best not to dwell on it.
"There's no music," he points out.
"Not a problem," Stiles shrugs. "I usually shut your music out and just count
anyway."
"Careful," Derek warns, but there's amusement in every corner of his voice.
Sties huffs, and they're close enough for his warm breath to curl over Derek's
mouth.
"So defensive." He gestures to the way they're just standing pasted together.
"Now please move before I freeze to death. Dancing actually warms me up pretty
good, in case you haven't noticed."
Derek has noticed, because he's ended up dancing with Stiles more than any of
the others during their rehearsals this week. He's noticed the way Stiles'
pulse quickens, how his palms go hot and the flush that spreads across his face
and neck.
"I know," he murmurs, not even sure if Stiles can hear it or not, and starts
moving.
The falling snow blocks his vision a bit, but Derek manages to keep them under
the light of the streetlamp without backing Stiles into a tree or tripping over
the bench. At first it's a bit irritating and he's pretty sure he's scowling at
the snow falling in his face, but after a while he gets the hang of it and they
start to move more smoothly. Snowflakes swirl around them and they're stomping
up a circle as they go.
Derek notices how Stiles is still set on looking at his own footwork, which
he's been doing since day one.
"Don't watch your feet," he advices, and Stiles looks up. "Eyes on me."
It takes a second or two, but then Stiles' face lights up in a sly smile.
"I can do that."
Derek ignores the way his own heartbeat seems to react to that.
They're familiar with each other by now, but this is the first time they're
dancing without the others around, and Derek realizes that this is something
entirely different. Even if Stiles is still learning, this feels far from
another dance lesson. If it had been Scott asking, Derek knows he would've said
no.
He hears Stiles' phone go off a second before Stiles does, and they come to a
stop.
"Probably my dad," Stiles says with a weak smile.
Derek nods as he lets him go and awkwardly steps back to put more space between
them. Stiles looks like he wants to say something, eyes lingering on Derek's
face even after they've parted, but then he shrugs the thoughtful look off his
face and digs for his phone.
"Yo," he greets once putting it against his ear.
"Stiles, where are you?" Derek can't help but hear the sheriff demand on the
other end. He doesn't sound as mad as he could've, but there's a sharpness in
his tone.
"Oh, you know," Stiles says casually. "I'm just walking the dog."
Derek scowls at him. Really? Stiles gives him an innocent smile and a shrug
before turning away.
"Scott?" The sheriff guesses.
"No, the big one," Stiles replies.
"Derek," his father says, and it almost sounds like a sigh to Derek's ears.
"Bingo," Stiles congratulates. "I'll be home in a bit. We're playing fetch in
the park right now."
"Just come home at some point," the man on the other line begs, sounding tired.
"Coming, dad," Stiles finally promises in a more serious tone.
They end the call after that, and Stiles shoves the phone and his hands down
the pockets of his jacket before turning back to Derek.
"So, thanks for walking with me this far, but you really don't have to follow
me all the way to my doorstep," he says with a wide smile.
Derek wants to protest at first, insist that he had indeed planned on making it
all the way to his doorstep, but he doesn't.
"Sure," he says instead, returning Stiles' smile with one of his own.
Stiles huffs, smelling happy, and waves a little as he steps backwards before
turning around to continue in the direction they had been heading for.
Derek watches him go for a moment, then drops his gaze to the ground where
they've shoved snow around as they danced and created a circle. It's already
about to be buried under the new snow falling down. Before turning around to
walk in the opposite direction, Derek throws a last look up to the lamppost,
the only witness to what just occurred. 
***** Chapter 13 *****
                                        
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: reborngp
Author: zainclaw
 
Derek hates how familiar it feels to go through those glass doors and just
looking at the pristine white walls is giving him a headache. The smell is
awful; all pain and agony mixed in with bleach and antiseptic. He clenches his
jaw as he brushes the snow off his shoulders, reminding himself that he's not
here to see one of his own family members. None of them are withering away in a
hospital bed. Sadly that's only a small comfort.
He shuts out the noises of rattling wheels, beeping machines and the great
amount of hearts beating throughout the building. Instead, he only focuses on
one of them; a young and strong one whose sound is familiar to his ears and
unlike the rest, it doesn't stress him out. Quite the opposite. Despite knowing
the way, he follows the steady rhythm of that heart up to the second floor to
the ER waiting room.
Stiles isn't sitting in one of the chairs with his head in his hands like Derek
had feared. He's standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips and eyes
lost somewhere on the ground. His backpack is lying in a corner, looking as if
it's been tossed there. Derek can't decide if that's any better.
His head shoots up when Derek walks through the door, and his scent changes
from anxiety to surprise as their eyes lock.
"What are you doing here?" Stiles asks, voice weak as if his throat has gone
dry.
Derek waits to answer until he reaches him, fingers itching with the
uncertainty of whether he should touch Stiles or not.
"Scott told me you got pulled out of class," he explains. "He wanted to come,
as did the others, but they weren't allowed to leave school."
He shrugs lightly, as if to state that at least he could be there. Stiles
swallows, his Adam's apple bobbling.
"You didn't have to come," he mumbles, almost sounding apologetic.
"Well, I am here," Derek points out and then hesitates. "But I'll leave if you
want me to."
Stiles' eyes are a little too shiny as he looks between Derek's eyes,
considering. He doesn't smell of surprise anymore, but only weakness and worry.
Derek hates it. Eventually Stiles shakes his head slowly, dropping his gaze
back to the floor. He walks over to the row of chairs and sinks down in one of
them, arms hanging limp on his thighs. Derek follows.
"Is Melissa with him?" He asks as he sits down next to the slouching boy.
Stiles nods, pulling at loose threads on his jeans while staring absently in
front of him.
"Yeah. She promised me she wouldn't leave his side."
Derek nods, even if Stiles can't see it. He's not sure if Melissa will be able
to keep that promise, but he figures she told Stiles what he wanted to hear. No
one can blame her for that.
"Are you okay?" He asks further, once again considering reaching out a hand,
but closes it to a fist instead.
"Yes," Stiles says with a heavy breath. Derek waits him out. Stiles bites his
bottom lip when it starts to quiver. "No," he then mutters, sounding defeated.
He stands up again, hands back on his hips. "No, I'm not okay, Derek!" He looks
down at him, eyes glazed and Derek sees as well as smells the panic. "I almost
had a freaking panic attack on my way here. This was not supposed to happen.
Especially not now. It's ruining everything."
He's practically spitting out the words, a wrinkle on his forehead and Derek
knows it isn't directed toward him but it still hurts. Stiles tries to laugh,
but it's hollow and only makes Derek's stomach twist in discomfort.
"It's Christmas and we–" He shakes his head in denial, fury turning into
sadness once again. His voice loses its volume, too. "I can't lose him just
before Christmas," he mumbles.
Derek gets out of the chair as well, not taking his eyes off Stiles for even a
second when stepping up to him. This time, he doesn't hesitate to put his hand
on Stiles' shoulder, holding it firmly.
"You're not going to lose him," he says steadily, hoping that it's not a lie.
"He'll be okay."
Stiles stares at him, looking like he either wants to punch Derek in the face
or break down crying. Whichever it is, Derek will take it; Stiles has already
punched him in the face and Derek knows how that goes. He's seen Stiles like
this before, has seen him in tears over his dad. It's one of the worst feelings
Derek has ever sensed from another person.
In the end, Stiles just purses his lips and ducks his head. Derek lets his hand
linger before squeezing lightly and sliding it off Stiles' shoulder. He's got
no idea what Stiles needs, but he should at least try to stay calm. The last
thing they need is him getting a panic attack.
Derek looks around the small and abandoned waiting room, spotting a coffee
machine in a corner.
"You want coffee?" He asks carefully.
Stiles drags his sleeve across his face before looking up, avoiding to meet
Derek's gaze, but still unable to hide his red, swollen eyes.
"That one is broken," he says, lazily gesturing toward the machine.
"I can go and get you some from the cafeteria," Derek offers.
Stiles blinks, still not looking at him. "You don't have to," he mumbles.
"No, but I'm going to anyway," Derek sighs, giving up on trying to catch
Stiles' eye and heads for the door he came from.
"It's down the hall–" Stiles starts behind him.
"I know where it is," Derek assures, hating the fact that he does, and leaves
the room.
It's exhausting being able to hear and smell and sense so many people while
walking down the hallways. Derek forces himself not to frown at it all; the
sickness and the pain, the sound of too slow or too quick heartbeats echoing
throughout the building.
Even with this much distance between them, he manages to pick out Stiles' pulse
among it all. He stays with it, listening to his breathing and the rhythm of
his heart. It's not even, but it's the only thing Derek cares to hear in this
place.
He doesn't realize he knows Stiles' coffee order until he's on his way back to
the ER floor with two paper cups in his hands; one plain black and the other
with two sugars.
Stiles is sitting again when Derek returns, looking up when the door opens. His
eyes are still a bit swollen, but there are no tears to be seen. The corners of
his mouth twitch in an attempted smile when Derek hands him the cup. He doesn't
say anything, but that's okay. At least he's not yelling.
Derek sits back down by Stiles' side, and they both remain quiet as they drink
from their cups.
"I hate hospitals," Stiles says after a long silence, voice broken.
Derek swallows a big sip of hot coffee. "Me too," he agrees with a soft sigh.
 
 
Coffee, as it turns out, doesn't have the save affect on Stiles as most people.
About half an hour later, he's on the brink of nodding off. Derek figures it's
not all that strange, considering he's been here for a few hours already, and
he's all worked up because of his worry.
Stiles is slumped back in his chair, the back of his head against the wall and
sleeves resting on his spread thighs. Derek can only see him in the corner of
his eyes because he's looking at the big clock on the opposite wall. He's not
even sure whether Stiles' eyes are open or not, but he can sense the tiredness
on him. His breathing is slow and heavy and it's strangely calming.
"They'll get off school soon," Stiles murmurs.
"I know," Derek replies, sounding drowsy himself. Scott and the others always
finish school at half past three and usually show up at the loft about ten
minutes later.
There's a pause.
"You're gonna be late for practice."
His voice is even lower now and Derek isn't even sure he would've heard Stiles
at all if it hadn't been for his good hearing being focused on the boy. Then
the weight of Stiles' head lands on Derek's shoulder, but since Stiles' heart
doesn't speed up nor skips a beat, Derek can't tell if it's intentional or not.
It doesn't matter; Stiles is sleepy and it's not like Derek would pull away.
"No practice today," he responds simply.
Stiles just hums and doesn't say anything further.
The silence roams for a long time after that, though Derek can't really tell
how long exactly because he's not watching the clock anymore. Well, he is, but
his focus is on Stiles' breathing getting heavier and slower by the second.
Eventually, he's got no idea if he's still awake or has fallen asleep.
Carefully, Derek tilts his own head to the side, resting his jaw on top of
Stiles' head. The only heart skipping a beat is his own. He swallows, closing
his eyelids with a soft sigh, allowing himself to relax, too.
 
 
Derek's eyes snap open at the sound of approaching footsteps. He blinks, not
sure if he actually fell asleep or not until he looks back up to the clock and
realizes it's been another twenty minutes. Stiles is still sleeping heavily on
his shoulder and Derek can't help but notice the way his heart clenches at the
sight.
Melissa appears as she rounds a corner, and Derek immediately jerks his head
up. She's got a warm expression on her face, however, so there can't be bad
news. Thank god.
"How is he?" He asks mechanically before remembering he's not the one who
should be asking, even less to receive the answer. He looks down on Stiles.
"Should I–"
"No, don't wake him up," Melissa hisses, waving her hands. "I don't want to
disturb him." Derek can't help but to feel a little moved by how he's obviously
not the only one concerned about Stiles' sleeping problems. "Just... tell him
that everything is alright when he wakes up, okay? He's ready to get out of
here in a bit, he's just getting some beta blockers right now." Upon Derek's
frown, she adds: "Pills. Those are pills, Derek."
Derek scoffs lightly, nodding. "Thank you."
She looks as if she's about to object, but just gives him a smile before
disappearing around the corner again.
Once alone again, Derek looks back down to Stiles. His own arm has fallen
asleep under Stiles' weight; these chairs aren't exactly the most comfortable
kind and most of his muscles are screaming with the need to move, but that's
all fine. Unless Stiles is having a bad dream, he should remain asleep and calm
as long as possible.
Stiles' hair is standing on edge, and Derek is pretty sure it's his doing.
Carefully he reaches over with his free arm to run his hand through the soft
hair, evening it out somewhat. But even when there is no reason to, he repeats
the motion, sliding his fingers over Stiles' scalp while watching his eased
face. He looks so peaceful. Careless. He looks like a boy, and by his age that
should be normal. The sad truth is that Derek rarely see a boy when looking at
Stiles. He see a man because he's been through more than most grown-ups ever
will. Sometimes Derek will feel guilty about that, but deep down he knows that
this – this boy – is not his fault.
His hand stills inside Stiles' thick hair when suddenly he realizes that their
two heartbeats are in sync with each other, then Scott and Isaac burst through
the door and Stiles jolts awake.
"Oh," Scott says, stopping when he sees Stiles shift into sitting up straight
and receiving a glare from Derek. "We just– We wanted to come as soon as we
could. Are you okay?" He asks as he and Isaac walk over to them.
"I'm fine," Stiles groans, voice thick with sleep as he rubs his eyes and the
side of his neck. Derek can hear that he's not lying this time. "I must've– I
have no idea what's going on," he says, and the stench of his worry is back.
"My mom won't reply to my messages," Scott says, sitting down on Stiles' other
side. Isaac remains standing. "I mean, I know she can't have her phone with her
at all times, but still. I thought maybe–"
He doesn't finish, just purses his lips.
"Your mom was just here," Derek informs, and suddenly he's got all three boys'
attention. Stiles' pulse quickens, and his fear as well as hope fills the room.
Derek moves his eyes from Scott to look straight at Stiles. "Your dad's fine.
She said he'll be ready to go as soon as he's gotten some meds."
Stiles remain paralyzed for another moment, staring at him. Then he lets out a
heavy breath, dropping his head in the process. Derek picks up on the
overwhelming relief flooding through him, and can't help but letting it become
his own, too.
Approaching footsteps make all four of them look up, and as soon as the Sheriff
and Melissa appear around the corner, they shoot up to stand. Except for
Stiles, of course, who throws himself forward at his father. The man nearly
stumbles as their bodies collide, but Stiles' arms are preventing him from
falling as they embrace.
"You're okay," Stiles breathes, and Derek almost feels bad for being able to
hear it when he probably wasn't supposed to.
The sheriff lets out a light laugh, wrapping his own arms around his son and
hugging back.
"Of course I'm okay," he says, and it's nearly heartbreaking how convincing he
manages to sound. "Jesus, Melissa shouldn't even have called and gotten you out
of school in the first place," he says, pulling back enough to give Stiles a
reassuring look. "I'm fine. You know I wouldn't miss out on Christmas, son."
It's a lie. Derek can hear it loud and clear; the skip of the sheriff's tired
heart. He's well aware of just how serious the heart attack had been, no matter
how small or short-lasting, and that Melissa had every right to notify his son
that he was on his way to the ER in an ambulance.
And even though Stiles just nods, Derek knows he's smart enough not to be
fooled.
 
 
The sheriff is eager to leave, saying he'll probably vomit if he has to spend
another five minutes in that hospital. Stiles doesn't seem like he wants to
linger either, and Melissa order Scott and Isaac to go home and start dinner,
so they all get shooed out of the building.
It's dark outside because it's late in the afternoon in the middle of December.
Derek realizes he's spent most of his day in that waiting room with Stiles, but
finds himself not minding it.
He doesn't expect Stiles to stop in the parking lot and turn to him, but he's
happy when he does. Stiles offers a weak smile, digging his hands into the
pockets of his jacket.
"Sorry I drooled on your jacket," he says, voice not really fitting the joke.
Derek returns the smile equally, wanting to point out that he didn't drool
anywhere, but he knows that's not the point.
"Don't worry about it."
Stiles nods, dropping his gaze to the ground. He pauses, as if he's about to
say something else, but in the end he just meets Derek's eyes with a final
small smile before turning around and heading for his dad's cruiser. Derek
remains motionless, still listening to his heartbeat as he walks away.
"Thank you."
Derek actually flinches because somehow he never noticed the sheriff standing
so close to him. He turns to face him with a frown.
"For what?"
"For staying with him," the sheriff responds.
Derek looks at him with a blank expression before closing his mouth, not
expecting that. The sheriff gives him his own small smile, which is so similar
to Stiles' that Derek feels something inside him flip, before even he heads for
the car. Derek catches Stiles' eye from where he's already sitting in the
passenger seat, and maintain the eye contact for a few long seconds before
dropping his gaze and heading into the shadow of the trees.
As the sheriff's car drives off, the sound of its engine fading away as well as
the throbbing of Stiles' heartbeat, Derek actually laughs at himself. He
wonders when exactly he started to feel like something is missing when that
sound no longer is filling his ears.
***** Chapter 14 *****
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: kaciart
Author: vanehwasreal
 
"'Sleeping With Wolves'? Really?"
"Oh, come on, it's a joke," Stiles says, rolling his eyes at his dad who sighs
and leans back in his chair. Stiles doesn't move from where he's still standing
in the doorway where he'd stopped as soon as his dad's head had shot up from
the newspaper to ask what the hell he meant by asking for permission to 'SWW'
before he'd even entered the kitchen. "And I meant sleeping – as in laying my
weary head to rest, dad, so don't you cry no more."
Stiles hadn't expected him to like the idea of a sleepover, so he's not
surprised by the concerned look on his dad's face.
"That's not really how it works for you though, is it?" He points out quietly,
giving Stiles a soft look.
And Stiles had prepared to have to fight his dad for this, but he hadn't
expected that. His shoulders drop, as does his heart.
"Dad... I'm better," he says, which isn't a lie. The dreams aren't as frequent,
nor as bad, these days and every now and then he even gets a night without any
disturbance at all. "Haven't you noticed?"
"Of course I've noticed, Stiles," his dad says, voice firm but not really
harsh. "That's why I'm not exactly leaping with joy about you spending the
night somewhere other than your own bed. What if it gets worse again?"
"Why would it?" Stiles wonders, leaning against the door frame with his hands
in his pockets.
"I don't know," his dad says in a tone much lighter. "How am I supposed to
know? You're asking to have a sleepover with a pack of werewolves, Stiles. You
gotta understand I'm a little worried."
"Scott will be there," he offers.
"And?"
"And he's the Alpha now," Stiles says, quirking a smile as he imitates Derek
from several months ago. It's one of those things he'll probably never forget.
Hell, he'll probably never let Derek forget either.
The sheriff just raises his eyebrows. "Is that supposed to make me feel
better?"
Stiles sighs dramatically and finally leaves his spot in the doorway, entering
the kitchen to flop down on the chair across from his dad.
"It's not in some haunted mansion in the middle of nowhere," he points out.
"It's at Derek's."
At that his dad looks thoughtful for a moment and the silence makes Stiles feel
the butterflies stir in his belly. He knows his dad doesn't really hate Derek.
Other than being responsible for the wet shoe marks in Stiles' room by the
window, he's got no real reason to. Besides, what happened yesterday at the
hospital must have some impact in his father's view on the werewolf.
"You've been better since he got back," his dad finally states, giving him a
look.
Stiles swallows just in time with his heart skipping a beat, sending a silent
but very, very sincere thank you to Nayru, Farore and Din for the fact that his
father doesn't have super hearing.
What even is his life that he has to worry about super hearing.
"Yeah," he croaks out.
It's taken him time to even dare admit that fact to himself, but he knows it's
the truth. Just like staying in touch with Derek and texting him when he was
out of town had helped him sleep at night, his return has pretty much doubled
the effect. He's got no clue how it works. He just knows it does.
His dad nods, and Stiles wonders how and for how long he's known it, too.
Maybe his dad's been a bit more blessed by the goddesses than Stiles has, which
is so totally unfair because Stiles has been praying to video game divinities
since he was like four.
"Alright," the sheriff says with a final nod. "Then tell him I'll ask him
tomorrow how you slept."
"Wha--" Stiles gapes. "Why can't you just ask me? Your beloved son?"
"Because unlike you and Scott," his dad says, giving Stiles a wholly
unimpressed look, "He won't actually dare to say anything but the truth."
"Your bullets can't kill him, foolish mortal," Stiles points out childishly.
His dad huffs, grabbing the newspaper from the table again.
"That's not what I think he's afraid of."
Then he simply returns his attention to the newspaper, leaving Stiles blinking
in surprise over how little convincing it took as well as confusion as to what
the hell that's supposed to mean.
 
 
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope,” Stiles says, popping the 'p'.
Neither Lydia nor Danny, both of them having arrived together with one half of
the freaky and not at all gross and pseudo-incestuous werewolf transformer-duo
were apparently feeling very merciful, choosing to leave a seriously
constipated looking Ethan with Stiles and Scott at the entrance of the loft.
Stiles wonders what Ethan could possibly have done to anger Danny so much that
he’d leave his boyfriend alone with him and Scott.
The two share an evil grin (Scott, who has yet to master that particular skill,
looks completely demented) before turning back to the other werewolf, ready to
start up the Stilinski/McCall torture fest.
“Scott, Ethan; they need help piling up all the mattresses, pillows and
blankets on the living room floor. Lydia’s decided that’s where we’re going to
sleep because that doesn’t have the potential to become awkward at all.”
Stiles groans and turns around angrily to face Derek, knowing without looking
that the temptation of mattress jumping would be too much for his friend.
“Go,” Stiles finally says with a sigh.
“You’ll join me after though, right?” Scott asks after barely a moment's pause.
Stiles is insulted. This is a disgrace. He makes sure to look seriously
affronted as he turns to Scott.
“Would I turn down the lure of bouncy mattresses and millions of pillows?” he
asks solemnly, receiving a smile in reply; he approves of how it takes on an
edge as he turns to (what has to be a seriously confused) Ethan, eyes flashing
red as he says, “Let’s go.”
“Ah,” Stiles says fondly as the other two leave. “He’s almost worse than you
were.”
Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s an idiot. You’re an idiot. I
honestly cannot believe how the two of you are this idiotic,” he says,
gesturing for Stiles to follow him. Apparently putting distance between Scott
and Stiles was all that Derek the Traitor wanted to do, because he’s pretty
sure he’s just being kept away from Scott.
“It’s because watching the two of you talk to each other literally hurts,”
Derek supplies because he is an actual mind reader.
Rude.
“Well, at least that one managed to land not one, but two smoking hotties,”
Stiles points out with a nod to where Scott is enthusiastically jumping up and
down on one of the feathered mattresses while pummeling a miserable looking
Isaac with a pillow, Allison grinning in delight a safe distance away.
 
 
“No television.”
“Yes, Scott,” Derek answers dryly. Scott seems at a loss, so Stiles takes over.
He can do this. He hopes to god that he can do this.
“Ah, but…” he says, looking from his friend’s huge eyes to Derek’s amused
(rude!) ones.
“No television.” Stiles thinks he can hear Danny and Ethan laugh from their
corner of tears and misery, but whatever.
“Yes, Stiles,” and Derek sounds even more amused now. He’s parked himself right
next to Derek on the unfairly comfortable couch. He doesn’t care to know where
the traitors Danny and Ethan are, and Scott, Allison and Isaac are taking up a
ridiculous amount of space by the large windows. All of them (bar Lydia, who
is, as always, lovely, and Derek, who is, as always, shirtless, which is also
lovely) are wearing the stupidest looking pajamas they own, apparently.
Stiles wears his Grassman t-shirt with pride, though.
“You know, we could do something else,” Lydia says. Scott makes a pained noise
and Stiles wholeheartedly agrees.
“But how does he play video games if he has no television?” Stiles asks in an
attempt to make her understand, not even bothering to mask the distress in his
voice, as Scott nods enthusiastically in agreement.
Lydia looks from one to the other and in the flickering candlelight, it looks
even more menacing than usual.
“How about this,” she says pleasantly. Oh no. Oh no. “Either you two come up
with another suggestion and stop filling the room with stupid ideas or I’ll
make sure you won’t be able to do it anymore.”
And she must have well and truly reached her limit; Stiles can actually see her
perfect composure crumbling because that is definitely a jaw clench.
“Right! How about--” Stiles scrambles for something to say, throwing Scott a
look. Think, good man, think. And thank god and all that is holy because
Scott’s eyes widen as he understands the urgency of the situation and together,
they start spewing ideas in the form of word-vomit.
Ah, friendship. It warms the cockles of Stiles’ heart, it truly does.
And this, this is routine.
Some of these people have never witnessed this good old Stiles’n’Scott method
of… solving… boredom…before…?
Anyway. Some have (these people, like Isaac, Allison and Lydia, can be
identified by their pained expressions) and some have not (also easily
identified by the looks of horror on their faces as they look from one to the
other and back again).
“Jenga!”
“Baking!”
“Jogging!”
It doesn’t matter how stupid a suggestion is. If you think of it, you’ve gotta
say it. Those are the rules.
“Jogging?” he hears Ethan ask in disbelief and okay, seeing as Derek’s huge
windows make the fact that it’s snowing pretty impossible to ignore, he’ll let
it slide this once. Gotta keep going anyway. They’re obviously on a roll here.
“Gardening!”
“Cleaning!”
“Nay!” Stiles vetoes enthusiastically as he sees Derek’s eyebrows shoot up in
interest at that suggestion.
“How about ghost stories?” Intones an amused voice. And okay; it’s okay,
Stiles. Allison doesn’t know the rules. You've just gotta tell her so that next
time, she knows better than to interrupt brainstorming time without following
proper protocol.
“Sounds good,” Isaac agrees, looking up at his girlfriend from where he’s
pillowed on her thigh as people murmur their agreement.
“I vote yes,” Stiles says gleefully because…
“I vote no,” Scott groans, burying his face in Allison’s other thigh. She just
pats him on the head with a fond look as Scott attempts to speak again.
“Last time I ever help you out, Stiles.”
“Filth and lies,” Stiles says with a grin as he flops down on the couch,
burying his toes under Derek’s thighs. (Stiles doesn’t notice the sharp inhale
or the surprised look thrown his way, and he misses the smirk Lydia sends Derek
and the glare he gives her in return.)
“Can I start? I read so much creepypasta on the internet man, you guys have no
idea,” he says instead, grinning down at Scott from the couch. Scott looks
seriously constipated. Stiles loves it.
...Which makes the description used a bit awkward.
“Go for it, man,” Isaac says curiously, settling in and drawing the blankets
more comfortably around himself and Allison, making sure that Scott does the
same on his side.
Stiles kind of wants to punch a wall to feel manly again. He clears his throat.
“Right, okay. Let’s go then...
“There was this hunter in the woods who, after a long day of hunting, found
himself in the middle of a huge forest. It was getting dark and he was a bit
lost, so he decided to just pick a direction and stick to it until he got out
of the thick of it.
"He walked for what seemed like hours before coming across a small clearing, in
which there was a tiny little cabin. Since it had grown quite dark, he decided
to try to see if he could stay there for the night, but as he approached the
door to knock he found it already slightly ajar.”
Stiles pauses to glance at the people around him. He can see Scott’s lips turn
down unhappily at the corners and Isaac’s body tense. Allison and,
surprisingly, Lydia, look interested, Derek and Danny sharing looks of boredom
while Ethan looks completely skeptical.
“He entered to find there was nobody inside; the single room of the cabin was
tiny and he didn’t have to look around for long to see that. The hunter flopped
down on the bed and decided that he would explain himself to the owner in the
morning.
“As he looked around, he was surprised to see that the walls were adorned by
rows and rows of portraits, all painted in such incredible detail; and without
exception, they all appeared to be staring down at him, their faces twisted
into expressions of absolute, pure hatred.
“As he stared back, he grew more and more uncomfortable, until finally he
turned to face the wall, tried to ignore the faces, and eventually fell into a
restless sleep.
“Waking up face down in the unfamiliar bed, he turned around, blinking the
sunlight out of his eyes only to discover that the cabin had no portraits. Only
windows.”
Scott looks like the grumpiest puppy on earth.
“I liked it.” Allison says with an exaggerated shiver.
“It’ll do,” Lydia says sounding bored, but Stiles doesn’t miss the way she
pulls the covers a bit tighter around herself. “Next.”
“Ah, well,” Allison taps her lips thoughtfully “I don’t know any ghost stories
or stuff like that, but my dad told me about this police case where we used to
live, when he sold arms to the police. There wasn’t anything supernatural about
it that he could tell, it was just really strange. Neither he nor the police
ever managed to figure it out. It’s kind of freaky?”
“Sure,” Isaac, Danny and Lydia say at the same time, one trying to mask his
horror, the second sounding like it’s not scary at all, and the last one
sounding interested. Ethan, apparently, has no opinion at all.
“Let’s not,” Scott suggests instead.
Allison, however, is glancing at Derek, hesitation evident in her eyes.
Stiles only feels Derek’s muscles tense because he’s literally planted his feet
under them, but Derek still gives Allison a small nod.
“Sure.”
“I honestly can’t remember exactly when or where he said it was. It was before
I was even born, that’s how long ago it was. What I do know is this: it started
out as any other murder case. The body of a woman was found in the kitchen
stove of a small farmhouse. The police also found a video camera using VHS
tapes in the kitchen, standing on a tripod and pointing at the oven, but there
was no tape inside.”
Scott’s giving Allison a truly betrayed look while Isaac’s completely white in
the face, reaching up and gripping Scott’s arm. Allison the Unmerciful Queen
continues.
“It was labelled a homicide and that was it, until-- and this is where my dad
became interested-- an unmarked VHS tape was discovered at the bottom of the
farm’s well, which had apparently dried up earlier that year.
“I remember this bit because my dad said it was one of the few times the
hunters within the police actually take outside help-- one of the guys on the
force was one and apparently they’re really stubborn, but they needed all the
help they could get at that point, because he really couldn’t figure out if
there was anything supernatural involved.
“The tape they found was a bit banged up and there was no audio, but you could
still see what was on it; a woman recording herself with a video camera,
seemingly using the same camera the police found in the kitchen.
"After positioning the camera so that you could see both her and the kitchen
stove in the image, the tape then showed the woman opening the door, crawling
inside, and then closing the door behind her.
"Eight minutes into the video the oven could be seen shaking violently, after
which point it started emanating thick black smoke. The camera then continued
to point at the oven for another 45 minutes until the batteries apparently
died.
“To avoid disturbing their little community the police never released any
information about the tape, or even the fact that they’d found one. Neither
police nor hunters ever managed to determine who put the tape in the well.
“Or why the physical stature of the woman on the tape did not in any way
resemble the stature of the woman found in the oven.”
What the hell. Stiles doesn't really know what to say, choosing instead to bury
his toes deeper under Derek’s thigh, staring at Allison who simply shrugs.
The silence is broken by Scott groaning loudly, drawing everyone’s attention
away from his girlfriend, before mashing his face into Allison’s thigh,
muttering what sounds like a very muffled 'but how' and pulling a tiny, floral
patterned blanket over himself.
A snort of laughter escapes Allison before she manages to control herself,
biting her lip before patting the curls of a no-I’m-cool-I-always-look-a-
little-twitchy-I-swear looking Isaac occupying her other thigh.
Stiles doesn’t have any such reservations however, and doesn’t feel bad at all
for the laughter bubbling up. Jesus Christ, what an awesome alpha.
When the laughter finally dies down, he looks at Derek to seek solidarity
because Allison’s glare is saying both ”I feel you, but I have to be a good
girlfriend” and ”Stop that right now or I’ll start laughing, too” and Stiles
knows that neither Danny nor Lydia will come to his rescue.
When he looks at Derek, however, he sees such fond exasperation as the man
glances from Allison to Stiles, setting his eyes on the latter when he notices
him looking. Stiles can’t believe how far he’s come that, after a story like
that, he’s still able to look this happy. He can feel his grin turn
stupid. Fuuuuuuuck.
“Now it’s Derek’s turn,” Danny interrupts. Stiles gives him a grateful smile
because if whatever the hell that’d been doing had gone on for just a bit
longer, it would have just been embarrassing, Scott-levels of schmoopy.
Danny grins back at Stiles, giving him a wink.
“What?” Derek snaps angrily out of nowhere.
What the hell? Lydia rolls her eyes, and whoa, did she just punch Derek’s leg?
“Well, I’m not going to, and do you honestly expect one of those two to tell a
story?” she asks with a nod in the direction of the boyfriends currently
looking one horror story away from a nervous breakdown.
“I resent that,” Isaac says, but it’s not very convincing since he's crawled
around and is now hiding under the flowery blanket with Scott, who doesn’t even
try to defend his honor.
“Or wait,” she continues, ignoring Isaac, instead gesturing to the other two
boyfriends. “Maybe you meant Mr. and Mr. Enthusiasm over there.”
“Damn,” Danny deadpans.
“She got us there,” Ethan drawls.
Derek frowns, looking to Stiles for help. He’s not getting any. “Come on,”
Stiles says.
“You gotta have some scary werewolf story, right?”
The look Derek then proceeds to give him is practically screaming ’are you
fucking kidding me’ and okay, Stiles has to admit, if he were to follow that
description he could probably just pick any day of his life.
“Okay, yeah, okay I get it, just... you know what I mean, stupid werewolf,”
Stiles says, withdrawing a foot and kicking Derek’s unfairly, totally, what the
hell how is he even real solid thigh, seriously, the only thing soft about it
is the sweatpants oh my god?
There’s a tiny huff of laughter from Derek before he places a warm, large hand
around Stiles’ ankle, pulling it into his lap. Stiles’ heart flutters. He
should seek help.
“Well, there was this one story that Peter told me and my sisters when we were
out camping one night because according to him that’s a rite of passage
everyone has to go through…”
Derek then seems to realize something. His eyes widen a fraction and he glances
to the side.
“Oh, just go on,” Lydia huffs. Derek hesitates for a second before picking up
where he left off.
“He said that it really happened to one of the Hales that’d died a couple of
years previous, that he’d told him and my mom himself, that the experience
drove him insane for a long time and when he came back he still wasn’t put
together quite right.
"We all called bullshit, of course. Even after we’d heard the story we weren’t
scared. We were used to being underestimated, after all.”
Stiles is practically holding his breath. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard
Derek speak this much at once before, and about his past at that?
“But then we came home, and mom found out… she was furious with him. We asked
her what she was so mad about and she told us it was nothing. We got nervous
and asked her if it was true, but she wouldn’t say anything about it, and that
freaked us out more than anything. I think that was the first time we actually
felt fear."
Stiles can feel the tension in the room kick up a notch.
“Peter claimed he told us the same way he himself had been told, so I’ll just
do the same because I’m not good at telling stories. I just remember this one.
“I’d been lying down for hours. It was 5:35 AM and there wasn’t anything I
could do. Do you know what the worst part was? That I was in the same room as
my parents. They kept looking at me, and I couldn’t help but look back and try
not to cry or scream. Their eyes were focused on me, their mouths wide open.
The scent of blood was strong in the air and I was paralyzed with fear.
“Here’s the thing. The second I made any hint that I wasn’t asleep anymore, I
knew that I was completely fucked. I would die and there would be nobody around
to save me. I’d been trying to think of a way out, but the only idea I’d had so
far was to rush for the door, then the front door, and then scream for help. It
was a stupid plan but if I stayed there, I didn’t know what would happen.
Surely, I’d die, right? He was waiting for me to wake up and see his
masterpiece.
“This was the last peaceful moment that I would have for a long, long time, so
let me wind back a bit.
“About three hours earlier is when I heard screaming from the other side of the
house. I got up to check on the noise, but when I opened my bedroom door I
found the hall outside stained with blood.
“I stumbled back to bed, hid under the covers and tried to convince myself to
go back to sleep, that this was just a very vivid dream.
“But then I heard my bedroom door open. Like the terrified child I was, I
peeked from under my blanket to see what was going on. I could see something
dragging my dead parents into the room. It wasn’t human, I can tell you that.
It was hairless, with no eyes and no clothes. It walked like a caveman, its
back slouched as it dragged my paremts. But this thing was much smarter than a
caveman; this thing was aware of what it was doing.
“It took my dad first and propped him up on the edge of my bed, and made him
face me. Then it sat my mother down in my desk chair, dragging it over and
positioning her toward me as well. Then it started rubbing its hands upon the
walls, drawing a symbol I have never seen again, never been able to find, to
this day. It had made what it would probably call its masterpiece and to finish
it off, it scribbled a message onto the wall that I couldn’t read in the
darkness at the time.
“Then it dragged itself in under my bed, positioning itself, waiting to strike.
“That was three hours ago. The scariest thing now was that my eyes had adjusted
to the darkness since then and that I could read the message. I didn’t want to
because it was absolutely terrifying; but I felt that I had to, I needed to
see, before I was killed.
“So I opened my eyes and peeked at the smeared letters by the creature’s
masterpiece:
‘’I know you’re awake.’”
…How about no.
Stiles doesn’t have to look around to know that he’s not the only one with an
expression of pure horror on his face as he looks at Derek.
“Dude, what the hell?” Stiles asks, because, really, he thought Derek had said
something about Peter only becoming fucked up after the fire.
“Allison, is that a real thing?” Isaac whines, finally having given up all
pretense of bravery in favor of clinging to Scott like a lifeline.
“And if it is, please hunt that instead?” Scott says, clinging back just as
much. Allison’s got her hands in both of their hair and for the first time,
even she seems affected. Lydia is wide eyed and- hell, even Danny seems a bit
uncomfortable, squirming against Ethan’s (he- is he fucking sleeping? He is!
He’s fallen asleep!) side.
Derek shrugs. “You guys wanted a story, I just told you the only one I know.”
“Danny,” Lydia says.
“Aye aye,” the other instantly replies, squirming away from the werewolf he’s
attached to and making his way to the redhead, crawling under her covers
instead. “That’s enough ghost stories for today.”
“It was enough before Stiles even started,” Scott wails, prompting Allison to
lie down on his other side to comfort him. Ah, big bad alpha strikes again.
“Oh, come on, if you really didn’t want to listen, you could have left,” she
says fondly as she hugs him.
As all the others become immersed in their own conversations, Stiles turns to
Derek.
“Okay, spit it out. Was all of that true?” Stiles questions.
Derek raises an eyebrow. “Would I lie to you, Stiles? Of course it was. We were
scared for weeks after. Cora and I kept sneaking into Laura’s bed, and all
three of us would braid each other’s hair and cry about how we were too scared
to howl and run freely under the moon now.”
Stiles is left gaping. Derek smirks.
“You!” Stiles says accusingly. “You sit on a throne of lies! I’m not talking to
you anymore, I’m gonna sleep now on the count of you suck.”
That’s when Stiles notices how everyone’s fallen quiet around them. Apparently,
in a matter of seconds, everyone save for Stiles and Derek somehow manages to
fall half asleep. The problem with that is that no one seems to be sticking to
just one mattress, everyone choosing instead to lie all over the fucking place.
“Uh,” Stiles says eloquently. Derek seems to understand what he means, judging
by the roll of his eyes.
“I’m not a blushing 16th century maiden, Stiles,” he says before pushing a
yelping Stiles off the couch.
“Man down, man down!”
“Ha ha,” Derek says and Stiles is impressed because he has never actually heard
someone sound that unamused before.
Stiles grins, tugging a couple of pillows out from under Isaac’s arm.
“Okay then, manly man, get down here. Just remember if you wake up with a
Stiles-shaped octopus in the middle of the night, you brought this upon
yourself.”
“I’ll live,” Derek says, sounding bored, but there’s a small blush spreading
high on his cheeks. Stiles isn’t even going to point out the irony.
Trying to make place is a bit hard since everyone’s already grabbed theirs,
plus the fact that they are lying like fallen dominoes.
As they have to lie a bit closer than they would have perhaps otherwise gotten
opportunity to, though (and maybe Stiles shuffles backwards and plasters his
back against Derek’s front, he’s not even ashamed to admit it because look at
that impressive front) he's willing to admit that it all works out in his
favor.
Especially when he and Danny, who apparently wasn’t as asleep as he thought,
share another grin he’s pretty sure he receives a mental high five to boot.
 
Disclaimer: the creepypaste was written by anonymous, I only rewrote them to
fit the story.
***** Chapter 15 *****
 
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: the-kitteh
Author:  zainclaw
 
Derek isn't a morning person. He never was.
When he'd been younger, he had once shared a room with Laura and he'd wake
every morning to her jumping on his bed. Usually this followed with the two of
them wrestling and eventually ended up in a mess on the floor, and Laura
praised herself for successfully getting him out of bed.
These days he can manage getting out of bed on his own, and there's no one
around to get on his nerves or tease him for his morning-mood. He can take his
time because he's alone.
Only this morning he isn't.
Slowly, he becomes aware of the scents and sounds of movement around him, still
not fully awake and his eyelids heavy with sleep. There's a warm presence
somewhere nearby, and that would've had him jolt wide awake if it hadn't been
obvious that there's no threat. Derek let's a humming sound slip out of him as
he becomes more conscious, and the responding mumble coming only inches away
from him is what finally makes him snap his eyes open.
The first thing his eyes land on is Stiles' face because it's right in front of
him. Derek blinks the sleep out of his eyes, feeling how his heart jolts a
little in surprise. They're lying on their sides facing each other, and Stiles
is using Derek's outstretched arm as a pillow. His warm cheek is resting on
Derek's underarm, and Derek can feel a chill run down his spine as the boy
softly breathes hot air that curls delicately over his skin.
Derek angles his head as much as he dares without disturbing Stiles, making
sure there's no one around to hear the way his heart rate escalates. He can't
see much, but the sounds and collection of heartbeats coming from the kitchen
speaks for all of them being gathered there already. There's a twist in Derek's
stomach by the thought of them getting up earlier to see the position he and
Stiles are in. Heat rises to his cheeks, but he aggressively ignores it.
His gaze is drawn back to Stiles' face, once again holding the same peaceful
expression he'd had in the ER waiting room the other day. His pink lips are
slightly parted, his eyelids closed, but muscles moving behind them. Stiles
is dreaming, Derek realizes, but when he tries to pick up any negative vibes,
he finds nothing. It isn't a bad dream and the moment Derek comes to that
conclusion it also hits him that Stiles is actually sleeping.
His first thought is that it'll be a relief to be able to tell the sheriff
that, and the next is the fact that he hadn't gone to sleep in his own bed last
night. He doesn't remember his own reasons – if there had even been any. Stiles
had pulled him down with him on the mattresses and Derek hadn't even tried to
protest. Not even when Stiles had shuffled closer to press his back against
Derek's chest. They must have moved quite a lot during the night to end up as
they are now, and the flush returns to Derek's face as he wonders just in which
positions they had channeled through.
Stiles' body rises and falls with his heavy breathing, and Derek can't help but
let his gaze wander. He notices how the worn-out t-shirt Stiles is sleeping in
is too big for him, despite his newly gained muscles. It's hanging loose on his
torso, folding in layers around his hips. Derek thinks they're close enough for
him to reach out and put his hand there, right in the dip of Stiles' waist. It
wouldn't be the first time.
But then someone drops a plate in the kitchen, and the clashing sound echoing
through the loft as it breaks on the floor has Derek gritting his teeth and
Stiles sucking in a sharp breath as he starts to move, clearly pulled out of
his heavy sleep.
For a second Derek panics, not sure whether he should stay where he is and let
Stiles deal with the situation like he had or flee. He'd make it to the door
before Stiles is awake enough to notice he'd ever been there in the first
place. Or maybe he should just run over to his own bed and pretend he'd moved
there as soon as Stiles was out last night?
You're being ridiculous, he angrily tells himself, but that doesn't change the
fact that having a sleeping Stiles on his arm will be nothing compared to
having an awake Stiles on his arm.
Right before Stiles blinks his eyes open, Derek yanks his arm away. Stiles
doesn't seem to notice, just lets out another one of those soft sighs that
makes something tug at Derek's gut and stretches out on the mattress before his
eyes slowly open. Derek knows it changes little because they're still in the
same space in the corner of a field of mattresses, and he's still watching
Stiles' face when he looks up. Stiles frowns, reaching up to rub his eyes with
the back of his hand, seeming confused as to why he's waking up to Derek's
face. Then the confusion is replaced with flushed cheeks and a skipping
heartbeat.
"Um," he says, voice thick with sleep. "Morning."
Derek drags his eyes off him, responding with a wordless mumble. He tries to
act casual as he rolls onto his back before shifting into a seated position,
ignoring the way his heart is starting to speed up. Stiles sits up as well,
still smelling tired but now also faintly embarrassed. He glances around them
in an obvious attempt to cover it up.
"The others are up already?" He asks, and Derek can see him glance his way in
the corner of his eye.
"Yeah," Derek replies in a murmur.
"Well, you're obviously not a morning wolf," Stiles sighs. "I suddenly remember
why I used to call you Sourwolf."
And that actually makes Derek feel a little bad. He doesn't want to push Stiles
away. Not really. He just... He was not prepared for this. Obviously, he hadn't
thought through this whole thing before agreeing to have a sleepover with a
bunch of teenagers. Especially since one of them is far under his skin.
"I just need my coffee," he excuses, throwing Stiles a quick glance. His hair
is a tousled mess, standing in all directions. Derek can feel his fingers itch
with the sudden urge to slide through it. He's still close enough to reach.
"Ah," Stiles says, sounding a lot lighter than just now. "So once you've gotten
your dose of caffeine you'll go back to being the joyful ray of sunshine as you
always are, huh?"
Derek actually huffs at that, and immediately the tension is gone. "Right," he
agrees with a  soft sigh, standing up. Then he hesitates for a second or two
before reaching out his open hand for Stiles. "They're in the kitchen," he
says. "And I'm pretty sure someone broke one of my plates."
Stiles scoffs as he accepts Derek's hand, allows himself to be pulled up to his
feet. Them holding hands is far from foreign at this point, but it's usually
for dancing purposes. (And earlier saving-each-other's-life purposes, of
course.) Once Stiles is standing upright Derek lets his hand fall heavy and
slip free from Stiles' fingers.
"At least you have plates to break," Stiles points out. "I mean, you're really
moving up in the world." Derek rolls his eyes and starts to look for the shirt
he'd shed somewhere last night. Stiles glances around them once again. "I can't
believe I'm the last one up," he says, sounding almost amazed.
Derek smiles to himself as he finds his shirt under someone's pillow and yanks
it down over his head. Judging by the scent, it's Isaac's sleeping spot, and
the thought of his first beta snuggling up to his scent-marked clothing –
possibly intentionally – warms his heart.
"Yeah, well," he says, turning back to Stiles. "Looks like you got a good
night's sleep."
Stiles smiles. "Yeah," he agrees. "Tell my dad that when he calls for your
report."
"You don't think that was just a bluff?" Derek asks, stepping off the mattress
and onto the cold floor.
"My dad doesn't bluff," Stiles assures, falling into steps behind him as they
head for the kitchen. "He'll call."
Derek tilts his neck carelessly. "I'll answer."
He can't see Stiles' face, but he can hear the steady heartbeat and the smell
of delight from behind him.
***** Chapter 16 *****
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: indecentdrawer
Author: watchthewolvesrun
 
They just finished that afternoon’s practice, and Derek is already busy
straightening and sliding the furniture of his loft into their rightful places.
Thankfully, there isn't that much to move, so the process doesn't take too
long. Usually that wouldn’t bother him so much, but it does today because his
mind keeps returning to Stiles.
His dancing is improving, to say the least, but Derek still thinks he need
work. There was a point during practice when he even had to break Lydia away
from him, and take her place, to talk Stiles through the footwork he’d just
shown the rest of the group. The instant he’d placed the teen’s hand around his
own waist, Derek was struck by his scent. Normally strong, and constantly
ebbing and flowing with Stiles’ thoughts, it filled his nose, filtered in
through his pores, and made him want to breathe deep, while making him feel
like the wind had been knocked out of him at the same time. It made
him want. It took everything he had to concentrate.
Derek’s mind keeps jumping back to Stiles’ sweet, heady scent, laden with the
thick tinge of arousal. He figured it had to be from Lydia, the residual effect
of her proximity to the normally flail-tastic teenager. Derek is no stranger to
Stiles’ ‘ten-year plan’ with the near-genius-level girl who didn’t give him the
time of day. Inexplicably.
Whatever, Derek can't get his scent out of his nose all afternoon.
Derek resumes straightening his furniture and suddenly realizes that it's still
there. It actually smells like Stiles is still in the room. His heart jumps at
the notion, as he glares around his apartment, and sniffs, trying to satisfy
himself that Stiles is not, in fact, hiding in a corner waiting to jump his
bones, which is admittedly, a prospect he wouldn't mind. Derek shoves the couch
back to its normal location with a final, heavy push, and surprises himself as
he see Stiles’ red hoodie peaking out from where it seemed to have fallen next
to it.
That's it. The source of the lingering scent. The citrus-and-cinnamon, sweat-
and-flannel, goddamn perfect scent of Stiles Stilinski. It's an odd aroma,
sure, but for Stiles, it kind of works. Okay, it definitely do more than that.
Even when tinged with exertion, or stale exhaustion, or the odd subtleties of
arousal, or happiness, or even anger, or an overabundance of adderall, it seems
as though his scent always sort of fit, whenever Derek’s nose caught a whiff of
it.
He finds himself picking the worn red hoodie up off of the floor, and running
the old fabric of it through his fingers. The lining is rough and touch-worn,
comfortable in it’s own way, Derek supposes, considering how much Stiles wears
the thing. He can almost feel where Stiles’ skin had pressed into parts of it.
Derek runs his fingers over where Stiles’ neck had been grazed by the seam of
the hood on blustery days, where the sleeves sat against his perfect,
articulate wrists, or high on his elbows, or where the hem of it had rested at
his hips, pulling any other shirt over with it as he moved. From each spot,
there were warm, strong, almost untamed scents literally pouring out of the
fabric, like those particular points were where the pheremonal eux de
Stiles leaked constantly; the points that always drew Derek’s eye, the perk of
his ears, the sniff of his nose, or the internal lick of his tongue.
Derek wants to bury his face in it, to drink in Stiles’ scent-heavy jacket
until he could taste it. So that’s what he does, making sure each and every
breath he takes is soaked in the warm, perfect aroma, until everything is
drowned out around him. Even his wolf is starting to enjoy it, letting a deep,
unconscious hum of contentment slip up from the depths of Derek’s chest as he
press the sweater to his nose.
“Derek what're you--" says a familiar voice.
Derek freezes as his senses return to him. He can literally hear his heart stop
in his chest as panic begins to overtake every nerve he owns.
"What? Nothing!" He answers the unfinished question, aggressively dropping
Stiles’ jacket back to where he found it and standing up, probably making it
more obvious than anything else that he was, in fact, burying his nose into the
worn outerwear. How the hell did Stiles slip back into the loft without him
hearing?
"Uh-huh," Stiles intones, narrowing his eyes at the werewolf suspiciously.
"Well, if you're done sniffing it--” Derek feels his ears heat up because of
course Stiles seeing it. He wonders how long he’d been standing there before
he’d said something. Stiles continues. “Mind if i get it back? You know,
because it's all winter and stuff outside?"
"I wasn't sniffing it,” Derek argues, trying desperately to sound incredulous
at the suggestion.
"Right," comes Stiles' totally unconvinced response.
"I was just trying to figure out why the apartment still smelled from
practice," Derek shrugs, in what looks like a very deliberate attempt to pass
off the entire thing. Smoothe. Derek thanks the powers that be that Stiles
isn't a werewolf. “Now I know.”
He bends down to retrieve the garment, corner of his eye catching what looks
like something like hurt, or even disappointment flash across Stiles’ face.
Derek almost did a double-take. Almost.
"Oh, I thought that you were-- You know what, never mind."
"What?" Derek asks, That I was nose-raping your jacket? That I really missed
the fact that nothing has smelled like you during the time I was away? That
your scent does things to me that I can’t even explain? That-- He had to stop
himself; his heart was skipping several beats in the awkward silence.
"Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Stiles dismisses, backing toward the half-open
door. “On second thought, it's really not that chilly. I'll be fine. Keep it."
His ears are a shade of pink that Derek hadn't noticed before. So are his
cheeks. The werewolf cocks an appreciative eyebrow before he starts to protest.
“Stiles, it’s like forty degrees outside,” he reasons.
The human waves him off. “I’ll be fine. I’m pretty resilient.”
Derek scoffs. “I highly doubt that.” And cue the guilt. Be nicer, damnit.
Stiles doesn't seem to notice. “Please, I’ve been running around with
werewolves for the past year and a half. Some of your… wolf-magic was bound to
rub off on me eventually.” Derek’s mind immediately latched on to the thought
of rubbing up against Stiles. He shook it off as he felt heat begin to slip to
his face… among other things. Wolf-magic?
“I don’t think it works like that,” Derek replies with a soft chuckle, still
vaguely aware that he was holding Stiles’ hoodie tightly in his hands. He had
to remind himself to loosen them.
“Whatever dude, I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?” Derek asks, hoping silently that Stiles would say yes.
“Yeah.”
Stiles pulls open the door a little wider, and Derek opens his mouth to say
something, anything, to let him know how he feels, how he really had missed
Stiles and his scent for those two months. But the words catch in his throat.
He sighs. Coward.
“Derek?”
Derek’s ears perk up. “Yeah?”
“Today was… It was fun. I’m-- Thanks for helping me out. You know, with the
dancing.”
“Don’t mention it,” Derek answers, his mind screaming for him to say anything
else. But he didn’t. All he got out was a spineless, “See you tomorrow,
Stiles.”
“See ya, wolfie.”
Derek’s heart flutters as he turns away, unable to watch Stiles leave. He
can't. There's a soft rustling, and the sliding of the door closing on its
track as Stiles leaves. Just like that, Stiles is gone, leaving Derek standing
there, holding his hoodie in his hands, the scent in his nose still so strong
that it seemed like the human had never really left in the first place.
He looks down at the faded red hoodie in his hands, and whispers quietly, “I
missed you too, you know.” It kind of feel like he's saying it to Stiles
himself. For now, that is all he can do. He presses the sweater to his face one
last time before turning to hang it on the hook next to his own--
He stops, looking at the empty hook where his leather jacket normally hung next
to the door, and realizes that Stiles had taken it. Figures, he thinks with a
snort. It's freezing outside, and no matter what Stiles said, he isn't as
resilient as he’d made himself out to be.
But then again, neither is Derek. That’s why he smiles, and shrugs Stiles’
hoodie on over his own shoulders, and spend the rest of the night pretending
that Stiles is wrapped around him.
***** Chapter 17 *****

                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: xiaopa25
Author: zainclaw
 
It's just a Tuesday, but it's the first night in a long time Melissa is off the
night shift, so Stiles' dad invites the McCalls over for dinner. Stiles knows
he's wanted to for some time now; has eavesdropped on him asking her on the
phone several times last week, but their different work schedules never wanted
to cooperate.
Scott is the first one through the door, opening it the moment Melissa rings
the doorbell. She lands a punch on her son's bicep and reminds him to show
manners, but they all know Stiles and Scott are a lost cause. Stiles even got
a key to their front door, so Scott barging in like he lives there isn't a big
deal.
Isaac appears looking as if he's not sure he's even invited, but the sheriff
puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him inside without any hesitation.
"It's a full moon tonight," Scott reminds them while taking off his jacket. "I
figured we shouldn't be separated," he explains, looking over at Isaac who's
unwrapping the scarf around his neck. "Just in case."
But the sheriff just waves it off. "No excuses needed," he assures. "Isaac, you
are always welcome here," he says, giving Isaac a light smile. Funny; Stiles
always thought of Isaac as a puppy, but this time he looks more like a kitten.
"But I do agree that sounds safest."
"Me too," Melissa agrees. "And wherever the other wolves in town are, I hope
they'll hold hard onto their anchors as well because I really need this night
off."
A chuckle surges among them, and Stiles' dad starts herding them toward the
kitchen.
Stiles had actually forgotten about the full moon, and for a moment he feels
really bad about it. Since the last two full moons had passed by without any
chaos, he's simply stopped paying attention to the moon cycle. All werewolves
in the area are in control, have their anchors, so there hasn't really been a
reason to count down or dread the full moon nights.
He thinks about the twins for a moment, wondering if their anchors would've
changed after the showdown with the Darach. Scott's hadn't changed, just
extended. As long as it works, Stiles isn't gonna question it. He just hopes
that Lydia and Danny are smart enough – which he knows they are – to deal with
their werewolf boyfriends in whatever way that keeps them from going on a
rampage. They've been fine for the past two times, after all.
"Alright, let's eat," the sheriff declares and none of them hesitate to obey.
 
 
The weather had been bad when the teens went to Derek's loft earlier in the
afternoon, but by the time they finish dinner it's blown up to a full snow
storm. The wind is whistling and the snow tumbling around outside, and Stiles
feels genuinely pleased to be inside right now because he'd probably blow away
in the harsh wind.
Melissa suggests she and the boys better head home before it gets worse, but
the sheriff protests that it's already worse and insists on them staying for
dessert. He's always wanted to try his hand at cheesecake anyway. Stiles
signals quickly to Melissa to hurry after him to help – AKA save the
cheesecake.
Stiles goes to look out through the window, and the first thing that catches
his eye is the big circle in the night sky. He would call it beautiful if it
hadn't been for all the trouble it's cost, so he just glares.
He sees Isaac sneaking his hand to Scott's thigh under the table in the corner
of his eye, but he pretends to be oblivious.
The cheesecake is done only minutes before the power goes out.
 
 
"Bring more candles!" Stiles yells after his dad when he heads back into the
kitchen with the empty sauce pan to prepare to make another round of hot
chocolate over the fire.
"Stiles, I think this is enough," Melissa remarks, gesturing to the dozen of
candles on practically every even surface in the room, glowing like stars in
the dark.
"There can never be enough candles," Stiles argues even though he's pretty sure
these are all candles they own, so he'll let it slide for now.
Melissa scoffs and wraps her blanket righter around herself, shifting to sit
just a little bit closer to Scott next to her on the floor to make up for the
cold spot the sheriff had left. She's not even trying to be subtle about it;
not ashamed to take advantage of her son's abilities, which in this case is the
fact that he works like a heater.
Stiles, however, still has some pride left and therefore only scoots closer to
the fireplace rather than his best friend or his boyfriend. He's put on a
hoodie and has a blanket of his own wrapped around him, but it's still cold as
hell. Scott and Isaac are still in their t-shirts, those hot bastards.
"What time is it?" Isaac asks.
"A little past ten," Stiles' dad calls from the kitchen before either of them
have a chance to reach for their phones.
"Damn," Scott breathes. "I have an assignment due tomorrow."
"They'll probably close the school if this keeps going much longer," Melissa
says, "So don't worry about that, honey."
"You'll stay in my room if it goes past bedtime," Stiles decides.
"This is past bedtime," Melissa remarks, but the boys don't pay her any mind.
"What about me?" Isaac wonders, coking his eyebrow and somehow managing to look
both offended and threatening at the same time.
"I was talking about both of you," Stiles declares. "Oh my god, I'm not so
stupid I'd cockblock you on a full moon night."
"Stiles!" Both mother and son sighs in unison. Isaac looks plainly embarrassed.
Their following accusations are interrupted by the sound of someone knocking
loudly on the front door. They all freeze, listening to the raging storm
outside and looks uncertainty at each other.
"Was that actually a knock or just a tree that fell on our door?" Stiles asks
because who the hell would even be outside right now?
"Pretty sure that's a knock," Melissa says. "Like, 85% sure."
"Stiles, can you get that?" His dad calls from the kitchen, clearly not picking
up on just how creepy it is.
"This is like a horror story," Stiles complains as he has to release himself
from the cozy blanket to stand up.
"Which one?" Scott asks.
"I don't know," Stiles admits. "But I'm positive there's one that goes very
much like this."
The hallway is pitch black, and if he didn't know this house as well as he
does, he probably would've tripped more than once while making his way to the
door. There's nothing but the storm blowing outside to be heard, and Stiles
wishes they had one of those peepholes so he could see if there's actually
someone out there before unlocking the front door. Clearly the town's sheriff
should have one, and not just for his son's entertainment.
His plan is to only crack the door open enough to peek out, but just like most
plans lately it all goes to hell when the strong wind slams the door wide open
the second he presses down on the handle, and the loud bang as it collides
against the wall makes Stiles fear it'll fall off its hinges. At least it's
open, he figures, and it turns out it was a knock because standing on the porch
with a bewildered expression is Derek.
Then his eyes flash blue, and Stiles gets a vivid déjà vu from that one time
when the werewolf had showed up dying in the school's parking lot and ended up
spending most of the day in his Jeep.
"Derek? Oh my god." Stiles instinctively grabs him by the arm and yanks him
inside before struggling to shut the door. "Are you crazy? What are you doing
outside in this weather?"
Derek doesn't even get a chance to answer before Isaac and Scott appear, their
eyes glowing like lanterns in the dark.
"Derek?" Scott echoes. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Derek says, but sounds like he's talking through gritted teeth.
Stiles can hear muffled voices from the kitchen, figuring Melissa has gone to
join his dad to make sure none of the sacred ingredients for the cocoa is
forgotten (it has happened) or perhaps she heard who was at the door and left
the living room to give them some space. Either way, she's awesome.
"Well, you can't just stand here like a wet dog," he says, nodding down the
corridor where a warm light can be seen at the end. "Come on."
Derek doesn't even try to object, just lets himself be lead back to the living
room where the candles are still burning and the flames are still dancing in
the fireplace. Blankets are thrown everywhere, pillows in disarray on the two
couches and empty, dirty mugs spread out all over the place. Stiles realizes it
looks like a slumber party.
He pushes Derek to sit on the closest couch and wraps a blanket around his damp
shoulders, debating whether he should go fetch a towel instead.
"You know I can't really get sick, right?" Derek wonders in a light tone,
meeting Stiles' gaze over his shoulder, and his eyes are back to normal now.
"For the sake of my sanity, let's pretend that you do," Stiles says firmly
before reaching for his own blanket.
Scott and Isaac have returned to their spots on the floor, so their
supernatural heat is out of Stiles' reach. Luckily he's got another hot
werewolf (pun intended) next to him on the couch, and he shamelessly snuggles
into his side. Derek doesn't protest.
The grown-ups reappear a while later, and Stiles is a little curious of what
took them so long, but he doesn't call them out on it. The new mug in his
father's hand speaks for him both acknowledging and accepting the addition to
the group, which is a relief. Still, this is a golden opportunity.
"Dad, I found a wet dog on our porch," he announces, and the wolves on the
floor snicker. "Can I keep him?"
He's not sure, but he thinks he can feel Derek stir next to him.
"Sure," his dad replies with a shrug. "He's allowed on the couch but not in
bed."
Stiles blushes too hard that for a moment he feels like opening up a window.
 
 
Around midnight it's been decided that the McCalls will spend the night, and
one by one they leave the living room to prepare themselves for the night. They
still don't have electricity, but the fireplace has at least helped spread some
warmth throughout the house. Stiles' dad even found their little battery driven
heater they usually bring on camping trips and has let it run in his bedroom
for the past hour, saying Melissa should stay there with him instead of taking
the cold guest room. Isaac and Scott promise to keep Stiles from freezing to
death in his room, and that's good enough for the sheriff.
Stiles isn't even surprised when he and Derek end up on their own on the couch
after the others have run off because it's been happening a lot lately. There
had been a time when he'd considered being left alone with Derek a punishment,
but now it feels like the complete opposite.
Derek has barely moved since he got there, just remained where Stiles put him.
He appears to be relaxed, but Stiles can feel him tense up against his side now
and then, and his eyes have changed color more than once since he entered the
house. If it hadn't been for the obvious fact that he's unharmed, Stiles would
assume he's been shot by one of those wolfs bane bullets again because that's
the only time he's seen Derek without total control.
A heavy silence hovers between them for a long time because Stiles isn't sure
if he should ask or not, but then Derek flinches at nothing again, sending a
small vibration through Stiles' arm that's pressed to his side.
"I thought you didn't get affected by the full moon," he says carefully,
tilting his head to look at him.
"All werewolves are affected," Derek replies, eyes absently watching the fire.
"I feel the blood lust just like everyone else. I've just been able to shut it
out, to stay in control."
"Well, no offense, dude," Stiles says. "But you don't look like you're in
control right now."
Derek swallows so hard Stiles can hear it travel down his throat. He stays
quiet for such a long time Stiles thinks he won't answer at all.
"It's… my anchor," he finally says, voice low. "Just like Isaac and Scott
should be together and ground each other tonight, I—" His eyes flicker to meet
Stiles' gaze. "I came here."
Stiles blinks, trying to process and understand just what it means; that Derek
came here to anchor himself on a full moon's night.
"I don't get it," he admits. He's frustrated because he wants to understand,
but he also doesn't want to push Derek too hard since he's not a man of many
words in the first place. "Your anchor..?"
Derek averts his eyes from Stiles again, hanging his head.
"It's not the same anymore," he mumbles.
And that's a lot for Stiles to take in because he realizes so much about Derek
has changed since he was just the grumpy older werewolf he and Scott sought
lessons in lycanthropy from. The born werewolf who'd seemed to know exactly who
he was and how to deal with his powers. He who used his anger not to lose grip
on humanity. None of that applies anymore.
"Is that why you came back?" He asks. "To be anchored?"
"I came back for you," Derek says, looking back to lock their gazes again.
Stiles' heart stops. Then Derek must've realized his mistake. "All of you," he
clarifies, but his voice is unsteady. "We may not be pack anymore – if we ever
were – but with Cora gone, you guys are the closest thing to a pack I have
left. You, Scott and Isaac."
Stiles blinks, amazed by how he can tell Derek isn't perfectly honest despite
his lack of superpowers.
"I'm your anchor," he breathes, and it's not really a question.
Derek shifts in his seat, avoiding Stiles's eyes.
Holy fuck, Stiles thinks as with his heart jolts violently. Maybe it's not as
big of a deal as he thinks it is because him being what keeps Derek grounded
and human would only be logical as he is human, and no doubt the closest one to
him – but that doesn't keep Stiles from being overwhelmed.
"I should go," Derek suddenly says, standing up abruptly.
Stiles bounces to his feet as well, wrapping his fingers around one of Derek's
wrists in a firm grip because the guy looks like he's about to bolt. The
werewolf could easily escape if he wants to, because despite Stiles' new
muscles he's still nothing compared to Derek, but he just stops dead in his
tracks the second their skin make contact.
"I think we both know that wouldn't be a good idea," Stiles says pointedly,
cocking a significant eyebrow.
Derek looks at him then, face so open and chest heaving. For a second he looks
like he wants to deny it, shrug it off with a snort like Derek Hale used to do.
Before they got to know each other. Before he learned that Stiles isn't someone
he can push away. Before he learned that Stiles will always stay and never run
or hide, like he had.
"You should sleep," he mumbles.
Stiles releases his grip on Derek's arm since he no longer looks like he's
about to flee with his tail between his legs.
"I can still sleep with you in the house," he points out.
"No, I— I don't want to be a bother," Derek protests. "You already have Scott
and Isaac to spend the night."
"Yeah, and those two are probably rutting against each other in my bed at this
point," Stiles scoffs. He gestures to the couch. "I'm gonna take the couch,
because this room is warm. And, you know, if it helps…" He swallows,
butterflies swirling in his belly as he nods to the other couch. "You could
take that one. I mean, you don't have to sleep," he hurries to add. "But I'd
prefer that over you standing above me watching me sleep. It'd give me the
Twilight-creeps."
Thankfully there's a smile tugging at the corner of Derek's mouth because
Stiles' face is burning again, and even if his flush can't be seen in the warm
light of the fire, he knows Derek can still sniff out his embarrassment.
"I'll sleep," Derek says. "But only if it's okay with your father."
Stiles' heart is just about to sink but is interrupted by the voice from the
dark doorway.
"I'm okay with it," his dad informs calmly. "It's the couch, isn't it?" Before
Stiles has the time to say anything, the man continues. "Stiles, you know where
the sheets are. Goodnight."
And he's gone.
Stiles slowly blinks at the empty hallway before turning back to Derek who
looks just as surprised as he feels.
"Well," he says, voice a little tight. "That wasn't awkward at all."
Derek huffs, ducking his head, and Stiles lets out a breath of relief. He's
happy that even though Derek's shoulders still look tense, he does seem to
relax a little. The butterflies in Stiles' stomach go crazy at the thought of
it being because he'll be close to Stiles tonight.
"I'm gonna go fetch the sheets," he excuses, already halfway out of the room
when he adds "Stay!" in what's supposed to be another dog joke, but the word
comes out a little heavier than intended and causes his stomach to knot.
 
 
The fire has nearly died by the time Stiles returns because he freaked out a
little about only having Marvel hero covers and had tried to find something
else for Derek, but in the end he'd given up and decided Wolverine would do.
Derek is still standing up, which is ridiculous because it's been minutes. He
looks up as soon as Stiles reappears, and his face looks like a big sign
reading I'm sorry.
"Alright," Stiles says, dumping the pile of sheets on the closest couch with a
sigh. "Stop looking like you've kicked a puppy. You haven't done anything
wrong."
His voice is almost sharp because he needs Derek to understand. He looks like
he thinks he's a burden and Stiles hates it.
"Haven't I?" He asks flatly.
"No," Stiles replies easily, taking one step closer but still leaving a few
feet between them. "And if your little light show tonight was because you
feeling guilty about bothering me, then let it go."
Derek stays quiet for a moment.
"You're really okay with it?"
"Am I okay with keeping you human and preventing you from going on a killing
spree? Yeah, I believe I am." Then he pauses. "I mean... I don't really have
to do anything, do I?"
He feels a bit awkward for asking, but he has no clue how this thing works.
"No," Derek says hurriedly, shaking his head. "Nothing."
"I mean, I could," Stiles clarifies, heart pounding. "If I just, you know,
knew what."
He remember Allison holding Scott's hand on more than on occasion to calm his
wolf, and the thought of doing the same to Derek has his heart hammer like
crazy against his ribs.
"Stiles," Derek says, voice so deep it sends a chill down Stiles' spine. His
eyes flash blue again, but it doesn't last for more than a second, and it
doesn't look as strained as the previous times. "You don't have to do anything.
You— You're enough. You've always been enough," he breathes, eyes still meeting
his steadily. "You didn't need to do anything for the past two full moons and
you won't have to this time."
Stiles blinks, letting it all sink in while Derek's still standing only a few
feet in front of him, chest heaving. How long as he been Derek's anchor
exactly? Since he left? Before that?
"You missed me," he finally says, and it's barely a murmur.
"Of course I missed you!" Derek hisses, gritting his teeth as if half of him
doesn't approve of the secret spilling from his lips. "Fuck, I've missed you so
much it's been driving me insane!"
It's only a sharp inhale of breath later that Stiles steps forward, closing the
final distance between them and does what he'd done when he first saw Derek
again in the woods that night, only this time he's actually aware what he's
doing. And this time Derek doesn't hesitate to hug him back.
He nuzzles into Derek's shoulder, feels the arms around his waist tighten as
Derek does the same. Stiles breathes out, letting his eyes fall shut and relax
against Derek's solid heat. He can feel Derek relax into the embrace as well;
can feel the hot breath through the fabric of his shirt as Derek exhales
deeply. His shoulders gradually drop and soon his head goes heavy on Stiles'
shoulder.
"You're an idiot," Stiles sighs.
It's just a whisper, with his face half buried in Derek's shirt, but the
werewolf must've picked it up because he hums in agreement.
 
 
Later, after they've awkwardly stepped out of each other's personal space and
put out the fire in the room, Stiles lies wide awake under the covers. His gaze
is on the other couch, and the two glowing blue eyes meet his in the dark. They
don't say anything, but Stiles is pretty sure his racing heart speaks more than
enough.
And that's when Stiles realize: he doesn't want to find a date for the dance on
Friday. He doesn't want to dance with anyone else. He wants to dance
with Derek.
***** Chapter 18 *****
                                        
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: daunt
Author: zainclaw
 
It's the second time Derek wakes up all wrapped up in Stiles' strong scent and
presence, but this time he's not the first one to open his eyes.
A hand settling on his shoulder is enough for him to snap his eyes open, his
heart stopping dead in his chest when he finds Stiles' face only inches in
front of his own. He's smiling, face lit up from the daylight streaming in
though the windows, and maybe he's said something Derek didn't catch. Waiting
for him to repeat it, Derek's heart starts throbbing in a steady pace as he
takes in their surroundings.
Stiles is crouching in front of Derek's couch, his own a mess with wrinkled
sheets. There's a Christmas tree in the corner which Derek hadn't noticed last
night due to the lights being out, but the power must be back on because the
tree's beautiful lighting makes it feel like the center of the room.
Well, not entirely, Derek decides as he swallows and returns his focus to
Stiles.
The hand on his shoulder loses its weight, as if Stiles is about to withdraw it
now that he doesn't need to shake Derek awake, but it lingers there for a
moment longer.
"I thought you'd be gone when I woke up, to be honest," Stiles eventually
confesses with a soft scoff.
Derek hesitates. 
"That was the plan," he admits.
Stiles blinks. "Oh," he says, seeming unsure whether or not he should be
disappointed.
Derek hadn't meant to stay because he feared he would handle this morning
awfully. He'd meant to just wait for Stiles to fall asleep and then he'd leave
before dawn arrived, but he'd been so tired, so exhausted after struggling with
both fighting and accepting what anchored him last night and Stiles had lulled
him to sleep. His sweet scent, his warm presence and his soft breaths. It had
been hypnotizing, and eventually he'd just given up and let his wolf drift off
to sleep.
"I can't remember last time I did that," he mumbles, still with one cheek on
the pillow. "Fell asleep during a fullmoon."
Stiles just smiles widely, and Derek's heart flutters as he smiles back.
The boy's hair is a mess again, and Derek only spends a short moment keeping
himself from reaching out to stroke it back in place before realizing that
maybe he's actually allowed to. Carefully and ready to be rejected, he lifts
the arm he's not currently lying on and reaches up to run his fingers through
Stiles' tousled hair. Stiles doesn't protest. In fact, his eyes flutter a
little at the touch and Derek can hear both their heartbeats speeding up at the
contact.
"You guys up?" Comes Scott's voice from the other room, along with the sound of
him tumbling down the stairs.
Derek jerks his hand back by pure reflex, and Stiles sighs a little as he
finally slides his hand off Derek's shoulder. He smells of disappointment, and
it makes Derek feel oddly content.
"We're up," Stiles confirms just as Scott appears in the doorway, getting up
from the floor. "And starving."
"Good thing I'm here then," Melissa comments, who is also coming downstairs
with the sheriff and Isaac judging by the horde of footsteps. "I'm in the mood
for making pancakes."
Derek hurries to sit up on the couch, not very keen on remaining in a
horizontal position when the others join them in the living room. He's still
wearing the clothes from yesterday; the ones he'd worn while cowering in the
loft before fleeing out in the storm. Being a warm-blooded werewolf, he usually
sleeps with much less clothing and he runs even hotter on full moons. The
fabric is clinging to his hot skin in an uncomfortable and nearly damp way, but
he does his best to ignore it.
"Don't you two have to get to work?" Stiles asks.
"Not before breakfast," the sheriff decides firmly. "And by the way; school's
out today. We just got the call upstairs."
"Oh thank god," Scott breathes out.
"We'll still have dance rehearsal this afternoon though, right?" Isaac wonders.
"Do you think we need to?" Scott asks, seemingly directing the question to both
Isaac and Derek.
"Of course we do," Isaac answers before Derek has a chance. "The dance is in
two days!"
"And you're more than prepared," Derek assures as he comes to a stand,
straightening his shirt. "Trust me, you'll dance way better than most of your
classmates."
Isaac looks a little overwhelmed by that, and Derek offers a small smile for
added reassurance.
"I'd actually want a rehearsal today, too, though," Stiles admits. "It could be
the last one."
Scott shrugs. "Sounds good to me."
"Terrific," the sheriff agrees. "Now can we please move our asses to the
kitchen?"
They all huff in agreement and start moving toward the kitchen. Derek feels a
twist in his gut, suddenly reminded by the reality of the whole situation.
He wants to join them. He wants to sit down next to Stiles by the table
and remain. He wants to stay close to Stiles. He wants to keep touching him.
"Actually," he croaks out. "I think I should go."
They all stop to look at him in surprise, but it's only one of them Derek looks
to meet. Stiles' expression makes Derek's heart ache because it's practically
screaming 'please don't fall into denial'.
I won't, Derek tries to tell him without having to say the words out loud.
He's done denying. He's been denying; all those weeks he was out of town when
Cora and the other pack had gotten to see his eyes change blue on more than one
occasion because he'd refused to accept the fact that his anchor had changed.
He'd refused to admit that what reminded him of his humanity, and kept his wolf
in control, is no longer anger, but this kid he'd left behind in Beacon Hills.
He won't deny what was said and done last night, but he needs to give them both
some time; needs to put some distance between them before he takes more than
Stiles is willing to give.
Stiles' dad gives him an understanding nod. "Okay, Derek. Thanks for last
night."
Derek opens his mouth to protest that he should be the one saying that, but
then the man claps his son on the shoulder and it's nearly ridiculous how much
he obviously understands.
"Thanks for having me," he still says, nodding to all of them. "See you guys
later."
He heads for the door, but there are steps following all the way there. It's
not Stiles – which Derek can't decide is a relief or the opposite – but Scott.
He doesn't look mad but there's a sharp vibe oozing from him. Derek stops by
the door to turn and face him.
"What," he asks flatly, his voice sounding just like he feels: defeated.
"I hope you're not running away," Scott says.
"I'm not running away," Derek promises, hesitates, then adds, "Especially not
from him."
Scott actually looks relieved by that, his shoulders sinking as he breathes
out.
"Then what are you doing?" He demands, voice hushed.
Derek exhales deeply, hanging his head for a bit before meeting Scott's steady
gaze again.
"I'm giving him space," he explains. "Time to think. I don't want to— I don't
think he realizes just how much this means to me."
What he means to me, he corrects himself inside his head.
As soon as he's gotten the words out, it hits him that Scott was never part of
the anchor confession last night, but he doesn't look either confused nor
surprised. There's not even the hint of a skip in his pulse.
"Derek, he's been around from the start," he reminds him. "He was there when I
first started to turn. He knows what Allison meant to me, and how important she
was. Hell, he was the one figuring out she was my anchor before I even did!
Trust me; Stiles knows what it means."
"Maybe the importance of it," Derek argues. "Not how much I—"
"Derek—"
"No, Scott, you don't get it," Derek interrupts, feeling a small panic grow
within him.
"I do though," Scott insists firmly. "Honestly, if you don't think you and
Stiles are aiming for the same thing here you must be blind." The butterflies
in Derek's stomach go wild from hearing someone say it out loud. "You two have
been dancing around each other all month; literally and metaphorically."
"There's nothing that—"
"Everything," Scott protests with a simple nod. "Seriously, don't make me write
you a list."
Derek sighs in defeat. He wants to believe it; wants to believe that Stiles
actually wants the same thing he does. There's a warm tingle of hope in his
stomach at hearing Scott insisting on it, but he can't let it take over.
"I won't be the one to take the last step," he says quietly. "I'm not gonna
risk what I have with him now. He's okay with it. He's okay with… me." He
swallows at the lump in his throat. "If he doesn't want to go further than
this, I'm okay with that."
"Well, I'm not okay with that," Scott groans. "And I really need to shut up
right now because I shouldn't be the one to tell you this," he adds.
"He should. Just—" He flops with his arms helplessly. "Trust me, okay? Trust
him, too."
"I do trust you," Derek says warmly, meaning it. "Both of you."
Scott smiles, bright and wide, and Derek huffs in response. Underneath the
strong leader there's still a young pup who probably could run a pack on his
cuteness alone. Derek never thought the kid he saved from the Argent's arrows
on his first full moon would turn into what's now standing in front of him.
Derek claps him on the shoulder as he finally opens the door. "See you this
afternoon, Scott."
 
 
When the teens arrive at the loft a few hours later, things don't feel too
different from yesterday's lesson. Lydia casually informs that her boy toy
won't be showing up because they're both more than good enough. She only came
to be of assistance to the others and because she's out of homework to do.
(Derek can't argue with that.) The rest of them are there, and despite the fact
that he saw three of them this morning, Derek still figures it'll be like any
other rehearsal.
He couldn't be more wrong.
Since Isaac appears to be more in distress than any of them, Derek grabs him as
soon as the music starts. Usually he'd pair himself up with Stiles without a
second thought – as if on some kind of instinct – and he notices the surprised
look he receives in the corner of his eyes. He pretends not to, but he's pretty
sure Isaac can tell how his heart sinks when Lydia puts Stiles' hand on her
side.
Part of him is aggressively refusing to call it avoidance, but that's
definitely what it is.
He spends most of the hour dancing with Isaac, and using him when reminding the
group of certain steps. Scott suggests they switch partners – using Derek's own
words against him – and Derek silently agrees only to take Allison from him.
It's not that he doesn't want to touch Stiles. Fuck, all he wants to do is
touch him. It's nothing new; the way he reacts to the boys scent. Derek can't
tell when it started happening, when he really started noticing, but he's
pretty sure it's been there for a long time. Now it's different because now
he's got permission to touch, which is why he keeps himself from doing it
because he doubt he'll be able to stop.
He wants to dance with Stiles only to drop his hand to the dip of Stiles'
waist, thumb tracing his hipbone through his thin shirt. He wants to slip his
other hand out of Stiles' and slide it into his soft hair, watch his eyes
flutter shut in sensation like they had this morning. He wants to feel Stiles'
heart hammer against his chest as they press together, Derek leaning into the
curve of Stiles' neck to inhale him.
But Stiles may not approve of that, so he stays away altogether.
When there's only a few minutes left of the hour, however, Stiles surprises him
by suggesting another switch and this time heads straight for Derek, leaving
him no choice but to either accept his outstretched hand or turn it down. And
he may have been avoiding taking Stiles' hand all lesson but he can't turn him
down. He hadn't one week ago in the park and it's hardly gone backwards from
there.
He takes Stiles' hand, stepping forward into his personal space and gets a
lungful of his intoxicating scent.
"Can I lead?" Stiles asks just as Derek's about to place his hand on Stiles'
side.
Derek blinks in surprise; not once during these past two weeks of dancing has
Stiles ever asked that.
"Sure," he says, attempting to shrug carelessly, but it probably looks more
like a chill running down his spine – which isn't too far from the truth.
His hand lands on Stiles' shoulder instead, and when a firm palm is spread over
his ribs, Derek knows he's screwed.
They start to move on Stiles' count, and Derek half expect to bump into one of
the other couples dancing around them, but they don't. Stiles has his gaze
locked with Derek's, not glancing down at their feet even once, and Derek feels
hypnotized by his intense stare. He knew Stiles had gotten good, but
not this good. He moves in nearly perfect rhythm to the music, each step
confident and steady. Derek just follows, relaxing in Stiles' grip and letting
him take complete control. Stiles' face is twisted in concentration, but
there's also a smile resting on his lips, and Derek's heart jumps at all of it.
He loses track of time, lost his Stiles' eyes, but is pulled out of his haze by
Stiles suddenly stopping dead in his tracks and dipping him. Derek sucks in a
sharp breath in shock, thankfully not letting out more embarrassing sounds than
that. For a second he's certain he's gonna fall to the floor, but Stiles has
his hand spread out across his shoulder blades, right above his tattoo,
steadying him on one arm. The fact that Stiles is strong enough to hold him
like that is enough for Derek to catch his breath all over again.
Stiles leans down over him, pride shining all over his face.
"Gotcha," he says lowly, sounding a little out of breath himself.
Derek blushes, and is only a second from wriggling himself free before Stiles
pulls him back up. When they've straightened, Derek notices the others have
stopped moving around them and are watching the two of them with impressed
stares. Derek can feel the heat rise to his face even further, and he steps
back from Stiles as soon as he's regained his balance.
"We're done here," he informs, going to turn the music off.
"So, what about tomorrow?" Isaac wonders. "It's the last day before the dance."
"I've nothing more to teach you," Derek says.
He's still got his back turned to them, but he can tell they're exchanging
looks. The room is full of different emotions: mostly amusement, but tinged
with a stench of anxiety. Derek knows who it's coming from.
The teenagers start to clear out and Derek watches them leave. Scott catches
his eye and gives him a significant raise with his eyebrows. Derek has no clue
what it means, but judging by the twitch of his mouth it's probably something
like positive reinforcement.
Unsurprisingly, Stiles stops in the doorway after the others have already left.
Derek meets his eyes from all across the room and every fiber in his body is
screaming at him to run to him and stop him from leaving – like some freaking
romantic comedy. But since it isn't, and he's a coward, he stands frozen.
"I have two things to say to you," Stiles says after a while, and it occurs to
Derek he might have waited in silence for so long on purpose until the other
wolves were out of hearing range. He doesn't sound upset, thank god, but
determined. "First: you're an asshole."
Derek doesn't disagree.
"Second: I don't need super hearing to eavesdrop in my own house."
Then he turns on his heel and is gone, leaving Derek with only the matching
sound of two racing hearts – one in his chest and the other fleeing down the
stairs.
***** Chapter 19 *****
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: takeshii
Author: watchthewolvesrun
 
I am never going to let him forget this, Derek thinks as he fights down the
smile threatening to curl at his lips.
He’s perched on the roof outside of Stiles’ window, watching him waltz around
his room. Well, not really. He’s attempting to waltz. It’s difficult to tell
with him glancing back at his computer and trying to piece together the dance
that the partners on the screen were doing. Derek thought it odd, given how
good he had gotten in their last practice, even managing to lead and sink Derek
into a low dip that left him a little more hot and bothered than he cared to
admit.
Against his better judgment, he reaches up and taps a knuckle against the cool
glass. Little did he know, it was probably the best decision he had made all
day.
The flail from Stiles is as immediate as it is spastic. Somehow he manages to
jump two feet into the air at the sound, trip backwards over his desk chair,
then, in a vain attempt to keep himself from toppling to the ground, he tries
to grab hold of the mess of tangled comforter sprawled across his bed. The end
result has Stiles laid out haphazardly on the floor, appearing through the
window as only a pair of awkwardly flopped legs poking out from behind the bed.
The entire situation is made even more glorious by the highly undignified
squeak he'd uttered as he'd toppled to the floor. Seriously, Derek could hear
it from outside it was that loud.
Derek tries the window and unsurprisingly, it's unlocked. He pulls himself
through and does his best to suppress a snicker.
“Stiles?” The only response is a muffled groan. “You okay?”
“No,” Stiles hisses from where he lay, “I’m dead.”
Derek bites down on the inside of his cheek to stifle the laugh building in his
throat.
“You don’t sound dead,” Derek ventures, closing the sash of the window against
the chilly air and leaning up against the wall next to it.
Stiles still doesn't move. “You can’t prove anything, Hale.”
“Well, I can hear your stupid heart thumping away in your chest,” Derek
answers, as he quietly strides around to where Stiles is lying. He's hiding his
face underneath the comforter, making it entirely too easy for Derek. “And
you’re talking to me right now…” Derek reasons, his logic unassailable as he
edges closer until he's right next to Stiles, hovering over him silently.
He bends down slowly, careful to keep the fabric of his jacket from creaking,
until he’s mere inches from the teenager’s face. Then, with as much wolf as he
can put into it, he takes the deepest, loudest intake of breath.
Stiles screeches and yanks the blanket back from over his head with a
franticness Derek has only seen in the eyes of would-be prey.
“What the— Holy shi— Goddammit. You can’t keep doing that to people!” He yells,
trying to kick away from Derek violently before he remembers that he isn't
actually going to die at the hands of the werewolf. “Why the— What the hell was
that for, anyway?” He asks, breath heaving in his chest.
Derek stands back up and shrugs in response. “What? You didn't smell dead. I
just had to make sure.”
Stiles shoots him a glare that could have murdered kittens, but he takes
Derek’s hand anyway as the werewolf pulls him to his feet.
“So I see you've been practicing,” Derek intones, nodding toward the disheveled
looking computer screen, frozen on two random celebrities whose names he can't
remember midway through a mediocre waltz.
Stiles shrugs, a hint of color rising to his cheeks as he straightens his
customary flannel. Now that it was actually getting chilly out, he seems to be
more comfortable in it.
“It’s well documented that I have two left feet and am completely arrhythmic,”
Stiles protests halfheartedly, his voice taking on a tinge of sarcasm.
“Bullshit,” Derek responds. “You were dancing circles around me only
yesterday.”
Stiles shrugs. “Regardless, I need all the help I can get if I—” He stops
short. Derek hears the faintest uptick of his rabbit heart in his chest and
cocks an eyebrow.
“If you… What?” he asks, crossing his arms against his chest as Stiles balls up
his comforter to throw back onto his bed.
“Nothing. Just forget it.”
“What?” Derek persists.
“Nope,” Stiles answers, stoic in his trademark Stilinski stubbornness.
“C’mon, tell me,” Derek complains, as Stiles moves to the computer to minimize
the video.
There’s a pause, followed by a sigh, and Derek knows he’s broken whatever will
Stiles had to keep his little secret… well, secret.
“Okay,” he pauses and turns around to face Derek, face blotchy again with
color. Derek searches his big, amber-brown eyes for a hint, any clue of as to
what is happening behind them. “I wanted to make sure I had it absolutely
perfect, but seeing as how the dance is tomorrow and that is
definitely not gonna happen…” He drops his eyes to the floor, kicking a foot at
the carpet in a way that Derek's never really realized being as adorable as it
is. “And there’s no way that I could like, dance on your feet or anything—”
Derek snaps back. “Wait, what? Why would you need to do that?”
Stiles slaps a palm to his own face, white skin of his hand a stark contrast to
the lobster-red skin underneath.
“I’m an idiot. Oh, god I can’t believe I— I’m just gonna go flush myself down
the toilet now.”
He turns, and Derek catches his shirt and yanks the teen back with a little
more strength than he had intended to use.
Stiles staggers as he’s whirled backward, sort of falling against Derek with a
small, strangled noise and a clatter of flailing limbs. For a moment he kind of
rests there, caught by Derek’s solid form, and despite the frantic beating of a
heart (Derek isn't sure whose it was), doesn't move.
He doesn't try to pull away or step back. It's just like the awkward morning
after the pack sleepover they had last week, when they had woken up wrapped
around each other. Stiles is just kind of standing there, with Derek holding on
to him, arms bracketing him in, uncertain scent tingling in Derek’s nose.
“Stiles?” He asks, not wanting to dislodge the human from against him. He
doesn't really expect an answer of course, but Derek had a hunch as to what
Stiles was getting at. He sighs into the small space between them. “My answer
is yes, by the way.”
Stiles makes no attempt to move, his voice coming out muffled from where he had
sort of face-planted into his shoulder.
“Yes to what?” He asks.
Derek shakes his head. “To the dance, to you asking me. That is what you were
getting at, wasn’t it?” The sudden flush of doubt in his mind forces a cold
touch of panic into Derek’s veins.
Stiles still says nothing, and Derek is about three second away from aborting
the whole thing and hiding under the bed, until he feels the bob of his throat
as Stiles swallows against Derek’s chest. The quiet, almost whispered answer
comes as he lifts his head off of Derek’s shoulder, decidedly not looking the
werewolf in the face.
“Uh, yeah. I mean, if you want… I just… I’m pretty much hopeless when it comes
to any of the actual dancing itself, though.”
Derek chuckles before tilting his head to brush his nose against Stiles' cheek.
The boy smells happy and relieved, even if he's obviously still oozing of
anxiety. Derek breathes it all in; still overwhelmed that he can be so close
without Stiles ordering him away.
“First of all, you don’t give yourself enough credit.” He pauses. “Second of
all, if you really think you suck that bad, which you don’t, you can always
just dance on my feet.”
The feeling of Stiles smiling into his neck is warm and, now that Derek thinks
about it, kind of perfect.
“You sure?” Stiles asks.
“Of course,” Derek answers, a smile pulling at his lips. He’s suddenly
conscious of the fact that Stiles hasn’t pulled away yet. “Now get some rest,
fool. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When slowly stepping back, Derek's lips brush against Stiles’ cheek, now
flushed and hot with color, There's a loud skip of a heartbeat, but once again
Derek can't tell who it belongs to because theirs are beating in sync. But
that's fine; he doesn't need to know. He slips back out the window.
And despite the fog forming on his breath, and the cold bite of the chilly,
nighttime air of late December, Derek can't help but feel like he's anything
but warm.
***** Chapter 20 *****
 
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: needklainenow
Author:  zainclaw
 
Stiles can't believe it.
It's Friday night and he's in his room getting ready for the dance and waiting
for Derek to pick him up and he still can't believe it.
At first he didn't know if it was a sign of him getting better or not, but
recently on their dance lessons Derek had grabbed him and pulled him in
whenever he was to demonstrate a new move to the others. At first he'd told
himself that's it; he's the right height, light enough for Derek to drag along,
and at least good enough for Derek to use when rehearsing the steps for the
whole group. But there's always been a tiny voice in the back of his head
telling him there was more to it than that; telling him that Derek picked him
because he wanted to dance with him specifically.
It was weird enough for him when discovering his crush on Derek, but even
weirder to find out that the thing is mutual. He wasn't sure if that's what it
was at first, the other night of the full moon. He'd figured that he could be
Derek's anchor without it meaning anything else than that he simply kept Derek
human, grounded, because he's the only human around. But from what he'd
overheard from Derek and Scott talking that morning, he'd jumped a gun and
asked Derek to be his date to the dance. (Well, that depends on how you define
asking…)
He had said yes. Derek Hale is going as his date to the school Christmas dance.
And maybe it isn't weird. Maybe this is where they've been headed all along, he
just didn't realize until recently. It's all so new.
Not the fact that he's attractive. Stiles had noticed that when he and Scott
first met Derek in the woods nearly one year ago already – he's got eyes, thank
you very much – but the guy has kind of evolved like a freaking Pokémon since
then. Stiles had no clue it was even possible for a person to get better-
looking by simply growing a beard.
But that's not all there is. There are plenty of hot men in beards but none
have reached all the way into his heart like Derek has. Stiles can't even tell
when exactly he stopped hating Derek's guts and started loving them instead,
but now he knows that's the case. Sometime during his run with werewolves he'd
fallen in love with one of them.
There's a knock on the door and Stiles groans loudly when jolting forward to
open it.
"Dad, I told you I'm—" He cuts himself off, because it's not his dad standing
in the hallway outside his bedroom. "Derek?"
And not just any Derek, but a very formal-looking one. Stiles can't help but
let his jaw drop because he never even stopped to consider what Derek might
look like in suit jacket and tie. Incredibly handsome, as it turns out, even if
Stiles has never complained about his torn v-necks.
"Hi," he greets vaguely, looking horribly out of place.
"Derek," Stiles repeats, now with more panic than shock. Heat is rising to his
cheeks and he's suddenly feeling the urge to cover up what the three top
buttons on his shirt left undone don't. "You said you'd be here at seven. It's
6:50," he says. "I'm not ready!"
"I didn't want to be late," Derek says, shifting on the spot. His eyes darts
over Stiles' exposed chest and Stiles' heart jumps at the way his eyes seem to
darken. "I can wait downstairs," he offers.
"And leave you with my dad?" Stiles points out, opening the door enough to push
Derek inside. "No way. I'm not that cruel."
Derek huffs, not complaining about being shoved. Once inside, however, he puts
both hands in the pockets on his pants and just awkwardly stands there. It's
funny how a guy who's invited himself through Stiles' window on more than one
occasion suddenly looks uncertain if he should be here. Stiles returns to stand
in front of the mirror and quickly buttons up the shirt.
"Did you run here?" He asks, looking at Derek standing behind him in the mirror
while adjusting his collar. Derek's reflection is already watching him, but
ducks his head as soon as their eyes meet. Stiles knows the skip of his heart
is obvious.
"Shouldn't I be a little more drenched if I ran? It's snowing."
"You could've worn a jacket," Stiles shrugs, reaching for the tie hanging over
the back of his chair.
"Someone stole my jacket," Derek says casually, eyes wandering around the room.
"I took a cab."
That's a surprise, but Stiles can't feel anything but flattered over the fact
that Derek cared enough to keep his clothes dry and clean to pay for a cab to
come and accompany him to the dance. (Stiles would love to use the phrase 'pick
him up' but since Derek doesn't have a car that's not gonna happen. Not that he
needs it. His reality is already close enough to a teenager chick flick.)
He fumbles with the tie, wrapping it around his neck and folds up the collar.
It's not the first time he's wearing one, but it really isn't often. He doesn't
even own one of his own – it's one of his dad's. So is the shirt, though it's
been a few years since the sheriff has fit into it. Stiles remembers when he
was a lot smaller and swore he'd never fit into his dad's clothes. It's strange
sometimes; to look into the mirror and see his own reflection all grown up now.
Apparently not grown enough to tie a tie with a hot guy in the same room though
because his hands are unsteady and he just can't get it right.
"Let me," Derek eventually says, voice soft, and Stiles swallows.
He turns around to face him, dropping both hands to his sides in defeat.
Derek's got a small smile on his lips as he steps forward, hands reaching up to
adjust his collar and work on the tie. Stiles keeps his gaze lowered, not sure
he'll be able to handle it if he looks up to meet Derek's eyes. They're so
close, and even if they've been closer during dance practice, this is still
different. Whatever cologne Derek is wearing it's all up in Stiles' nose now
and he's inhaling it like it's all he needs to breathe.
"You're nervous," Derek points out.
Stiles swallows again, his Adam's apple bobbing against Derek's knuckle.
"Yeah," he admits.
"Me too."
He can't help but to look up then; eyebrow raised in wonder. Derek looks
straight at him, but he actually looks nervous. It makes everything a little
easier, and at the same time a lot harder.
"We don't have to go, you know," Derek starts carefully. "Not if you don't want
to, I mean. We could just stay in. Watch a movie."
Stiles cocks an eyebrow and gives him a sly smile. "Watch a movie?" He asks.
"You have a TV," Derek shrugs, focusing his gaze on his hands again.
A chuckle slips out of Stiles, and Derek smiles widely. He folds down the
shirt's collar and gives the tie a final tug before seeming satisfied. Stiles
expects him to remove his hands and step back but he doesn't; he just remains
there with one hand loosely holding the tie and one palm flat on Stiles' chest.
It takes a moment before Stiles realizes his heart is going wild just
underneath it.
"You didn't teach me how to dance only for me to bail," he finally says. "Come
on."
"I taught you to dance because I wanted to," Derek protests, looking up again.
"You don't owe me anything."
Stiles considers it; staying home with Derek and forgetting all about the
school dance. They could pop some popcorn and keep his dad out of the living
room, sprawl out on the couch and watch a movie, shed their ties and loosen up
their buttons. With all that's been said and done the last few days it's
tempting to see where such a night would lead, but deep down Stiles knows he'd
regret it later. Also he's not convinced his dad would leave them alone even if
they took claim of the TV.
"We're going," he says concluding. "I want to dance with you tonight, and not
just on our own."
Derek's face lights up with a smile, as if he'd been hoping for Stiles to say
just that. It's a bit unexpected, considering how Derek doesn't usually involve
himself in social activities, but Stiles is happy and relieved that he doesn't
seem to want to do this just for his sake.
"Okay," Derek sighs, hands finally sliding off Stiles' chest. It's cold where
his warm palm had been resting. "You're driving."
"Obviously," Stiles scoffs, swaying a little when turning away to reach for his
tuxedo jacket. He's pretty sure he'll take it off within the first hour, but he
still wants to wear it. Firstly because he's finally grown into it, and now
secondly because it'll go well together with Derek's own jacket. "I'm not
letting you drive Roscoe."
"I already have," Derek points out, then frowns. "Wait, did you name your car?"
"Let's go," Stiles decides, heading for the door and brushes past Derek who
softly huffs.
As expected; the sheriff is standing in the living room when they come
downstairs. He's got his arms crossed over his chest, looking as if he's
watching a suspect enter the interrogation room. Stiles is almost surprised
he's not wearing the badge and gun to scare Derek even further.
"We're taking the Jeep," Stiles announces, trying to sound casual and as if
that's all there is to it.
Of course it isn't.
"Hold your horses, young man," his dad orders, holding up a hand to stop them.
Stiles groans, feeling heat rise to his cheeks in embarrassment already. "I
expect you to be home by midnight." He turns his steady gaze to Derek. "Did you
hear that, Derek?"
"Yes, sir," Derek confirms, and Stiles wants to sink through the floor. This
is not happening!
"Good," the sheriff says with a nod. "You do well in remembering my title," he
continues, eyes watching Derek steadily, and Stiles bites his tongue. "But you
should call me John."
What? Stiles thinks so loud he's surprised neither of them can hear it. Derek
looks baffled as well, not doing anything for a moment before nodding curtly.
"Okay."
Stiles' dad smiles then, and it's warm and relaxed; in other words anything but
what Stiles had expected.
"Alright," he sighs, stepping aside to shoo them toward the front door instead.
"Away with you."
"Thanks, dad," Stiles says honestly.
His dad just smiles even wider, gently clapping Stiles' shoulder as he walk
past him. "You look good," he compliments. "Now go have fun."
"We will," Stiles promises, sighing happily with a glance at Derek.
 
 
Arriving at school with Lydia Martin in the passenger seat of his Jeep to the
formal had been a pretty glorious moment for Stiles last year, but that's
nothing compared to arriving with Derek Hale.
Most of his classmates probably don't know who he is, but that doesn't matter.
He's obviously older, and ridiculously handsome, so naturally everyone is
staring as he climbs out of the Jeep. Stiles is pretty sure he's never received
this level of attention before, and while it makes his cheeks flush and stomach
to twist, it's still flattering and makes his heart throb with pride.
"Perhaps I should've shaved," Derek mumbles when falling into steps beside him
when they head for the entrance.
"No, you really shouldn't," Stiles averts, shoving both hands into his pockets
and lifting his shoulders in an attempt to shut out the cold.
"I would've looked younger," Derek points out.
"I don't care," Stiles says shortly.
Derek hums. They're not really touching, just their arms brushing against each
other every now and then as they walk because they're walking just a little too
close. Stiles doesn't mind one bit. In fact, every time Derek's elbows bumps
against him a wave of warmth runs through him and makes him forget to freeze.
Isaac, Scott and Allison are standing just inside the doors waiting for them.
Neither of them look surprised by who he shows up with, and at this point
Stiles has simply given up. Apparently the only person not seeing the two of
them ever happening had been himself. Typical.
Lydia barely even looks at Derek when she arrives, clearly not finding his
presence surprising either. She's got a dress which looks far too cold to be
wearing in winter and her boyfriend on her arm. Stiles still isn't quite sure
why she keeps him around. Sure: he's hot, and the sex is probably amazing, and
he may be just a little less dumb than Jackson, but Aiden is still an asshole.
The less-of-an-asshole brother shows up with Danny shortly thereafter, and at
least they are nice enough to give Stiles and Derek a proper look when spotting
them standing together. Stiles is pretty sure he receives the mental high-five
all over again.
"Well, let's go then," Scott urges once they're all gathered. "Or are we
waiting for someone else?"
"Yeah, I thought we were waiting for Greenberg," Stiles jokes as they head for
the gym.
Danny grabs Ethan's hand as they walk through the school's corridors, and
Stiles – who just happens to walk right behind them – can't keep his heart from
skipping a beat. Derek is at his side, close and warm against his arm, and
Stiles feels the strong urge to intertwine their fingers as well. He's quite
certain it wouldn't be too weird, because they're each other's date after all,
but in the end he's just not bold enough. He tells himself he'll do it later
when people have stopped staring – if they ever do.
At the entrance of the gym there's a set up with a camera, and couples are
posing for pictures with drawn Christmas trees in the background.
"What is this – prom?" Stiles asks as they all come to a stop.
"Relax," Lydia says, rolling her eyes. "It's nothing mandatory. They must've
figured some of us would want our picture taken tonight."
"I'm not posing for a picture," Stiles says firmly.
"Shame," Lydia shrugs as she drags Aiden with her toward the line. "You've
never looked better."
"She's right," Danny comments simply as he and Ethan follow.
Stiles just scoffs at both of them, shaking his head. Allison seems to have
convinced Scott and Isaac to go for a picture too, and they join in. Derek and
Stiles stand by and wait for them to finish, as the photographer seems to be
very quick in his work and the line moves forward pretty fast.
"I disagree," Derek says, confusing Stiles who looks up at him with a frown.
"You've always looked good," he clarifies.
Stiles blushes violently, trying to laugh it off. "Even with the buzz cut and
the round face?"
"Yep," Derek nods, smiling. "Even then."
"You're aware that it would've done wonders for my self-esteem if you'd ever
actually told me that, right?" Stiles remarks.
"Do you even remember what we were like back then?" Derek ventures, cocking an
eyebrow. "You drove me crazy."
"Don't I still?" Stiles jokes, not catching the pun until it's too late.
"You do," Derek agrees, voice deep just like his eyes. "But in a completely
different way."
 
 
To everyone's surprise: Isaac is the first one to enter the dance floor during
the first waltz song. He drags Allison with her while Scott sinks down next to
Stiles with a happy sigh, watching them with a big smile. Danny takes the spot
on Stiles' other side, all three of them just sitting in silence for a moment
whilst watching the dancing couples in front of them.
"Where's your boyfriend?" Danny asks eventually, turning to Stiles with a sly
smile.
Stiles rolls his eyes softly, heart thumping away in his chest. "I don't know.
I think he went to get something to drink. Where's yours?"
Danny huffs, pulling a touché-face. "Yeah, I think he went for the drinks too."
"I'm not sure we should leave those two dogs alone," Stiles deadpans
thoughtfully.
"They'll be fine," Scott says, eyes somewhere in the crowd.
Stiles hums with a shrug. He's not really worried; the two of them have kept
themselves from killing each other for the past two weeks, so hopefully tonight
would be no different. He can't help but to curiously turn to Danny though.
"Does Ethan still wanna bite you?" He asks.
Both Scott and Danny turns to him, and a lot of the people around them probably
would have done the same – if the music hadn't been so loud and they could
actually hear what he's saying.
"I mean," Stiles attempts to explain himself, "you don't seem as upset with him
as you were a while back. I just figured you guys agreed on something."
"We did," Danny nods. "He doesn't want me to turn anymore."
"Thank God," Stiles breathes out, and Scott looks relieved too. "What
happened?"
"Nothing," Danny shrugs. "I think he just finally understood that I'm not
totally useless or fragile just because I'm human. Despite the fact that
werewolves are freaking awesome," he huffs, "I like being the way I am. I don't
want anything above that. I guess he gets it now."
Stiles punches him gently on the shoulder.
"Good, because I'm so done dealing with newborn were-pups."
All three of them chuckle, and eventually return their attention to the dance
floor. Couples are still waltzing, and Stiles realizes that most of them are no
better than him and the others who've been practicing. Obviously there had been
no need for Isaac to panic, but he looks happy and confident on the floor right
now, so at least it wasn't all for nothing.
Definitely not all for nothing, Stiles decides firmly.
He stands up. "I'll go find my dance partner," he excuses.
"You do that," Scott beams.
 
 
Derek is standing by the table with drinks when Stiles finds him, a red paper
cup in his hand that probably doesn't contain anything but soda. It takes a
while for Stiles to spot him in the crowded gym, but once his eyes land on him,
he finds Derek's gaze already on him. It makes him blush, and no doubt his
heart race like a rabbit's again, but he tries to ignore it while making his
way to him.
"Aren't you gonna ask me to dance?" He breathes out as soon as he reaches him,
before losing his nerve.
People around them turn their heads to look, and Stiles wants to slap himself
because he totally forgot about him and Derek being of such interest tonight.
Making a fool out of himself had been okay before because no one had paid him
any mind, but now they were staring. The fear of being rejected in front of so
many people adds to the fear of Derek changing his mind and fleeing the scene.
But Derek just smiles, his pointy canines peeking through.
"Wanted to," he says, putting down the cup without taking his eyes off Stiles.
"Just thought maybe you got cold feet and wanted you to make the call."
"My feet are anything but cold," Stiles assures, reaching out to wrap around
Derek's wrist. "C'mon."
Derek obliges, only turning his wrist to instead hold Stiles' hand, fingers
interlacing as they move to the dance floor. They almost bump into one of the
couples moving around, because Stiles is a little too focused on them
actually holding hands, and once they reach a free spot he goes to put his hand
on Derek's shoulder without hesitation; giving him the lead. Derek smiles
again, which is a look on him that isn't as foreign as it used to be these
days, and steps forward to place his free hand on Stiles' waist before they
start dancing, too.
It's nothing like practice. Even with the few others present during rehearsal
at the loft, and that one night in the park, it still feels like the first time
he's dancing with an audience. All the sound and movement around him makes the
butterflies go crazy in his stomach, and he does his best to just focus on
Derek and relax. He doesn't fall or screw up, which is a freaking miracle
because he's not even sure if he's breathing properly the whole time.
"You don't want to dance on my feet?" Derek suddenly asks, eyes bright and
beautiful.
Stiles laughs, louder than he intends but that's okay. He doesn't mind people
hearing it.
 
 
Less than an hour after their first dance Stiles takes off his jacket, because
it's getting hot in here.
He also changes his mind about the photo and drags Derek back out of the gym to
pose for a picture. Once it's their turn he gets nervous about which pose to
ask for exactly, but Derek nudges him for them to stand beside each other, and
puts a warm and heavy hand on his shoulder. Right before the camera flashes,
however, his hand drops down to settle on his waist. Stiles bets he's got an
idiotic expression on the photo but he doesn't care.
 
 
Stiles kisses Derek for the first time after their third dance.
The song is dying out, and they're just stepping back from each other when a
ballad comes on. Derek's hand tightens on Stiles', not letting go just yet.
Stiles' heart jumps madly when meeting Derek's gaze. His eyes are dark, and
Stiles can tell it's not all thanks to the low lighting in the gym. He doesn't
even need to say anything; doesn't need to ask or say what he wants. Stiles
just desperately tries to swallow the heart in his throat and steps forward
again to wrap both arms around Derek's neck and bring them close again.
He knows how to slow dance even if it's a dance they never practiced. It
doesn't take much, which is good, because Stiles practically melts against
Derek. He closes his eyes, shutting out all the people in the room, and buries
his face in the side of Derek's neck. The skin there is hot and soft and smells
like pure Derek, and Stiles can't help but hum into it. It's not loud enough to
be heard over the music, but he knows Derek caught the vibration going down his
throat the way they are pressed together. Derek is nuzzling into him in return,
seeming to breathe him in with his nose inside Stiles' hair.
It feels like much longer than a song, because Stiles is aware of every rise
and fall of Derek's chest against him. Just like he used to shut out the music
and just focus on counting his steps at rehearsal he's now shutting out the
music and everything else to only focus on Derek.
When Derek tilt his head back before the song ends, Stiles feels his heart jolt
in anxiety. But Derek doesn't let him go; doesn't pull away. His arms remain
around Stiles' body, holding him firmly. Stiles lifts his own head, meaning to
cock an eyebrow at him in wonder, but the look on Derek's face steals his
breath right out of his chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind he's
registered that they've stopped moving.
Derek's hot breath curls over Stiles' face, and it's sending chills down his
spine. His heart is racing, and he's pretty sure he can hear and feel Derek's
going just as wild. They're so close and it's making Stiles' head spin as he
suddenly remembers that they're not alone. Derek's eyes flutter close for a
second before leaning in to brush their noses together.
"Derek," Stiles whispers, throat dry. "Everyone is staring."
"Let them," he simply murmurs before closing the final distance between them to
press his mouth on Stiles'.
A soft moan slips out of Stiles, and he can't even be bothered to be ashamed by
it. He kisses Derek back, first only by pressing their mouths together but soon
parts his lips. Derek makes a small sound that sends a vibration down Stiles'
throat. It makes him smile as well as shudder, because he's never heard Derek
sound like that before, but he's loving it already. He pulls Derek in even
closer with his arms still wrapped around his neck, and Derek slides one of his
hands up to cup Stiles' cheek while the other holds onto his hip.
It's slow and careful and incredibly overwhelming. Stiles has to break apart
eventually to catch his breath, doesn't want to pull away and put more space
between them. Derek rests his forehead against Stiles', both of them breathing
heavily into each other's face. Somewhere in the distance Stiles can hear his
name being mumbled, but it doesn't matter.
"I don't want to be home by midnight," he breathes out.
Derek scoffs, still sounding out of breath. He drags his thumb along Stiles'
jaw in a way that makes Stiles shiver.
"Your dad is gonna kill me."
"He doesn't have the bullets for it," Stiles insists, bumping their noses
together again.
"That's not exactly what I'm afraid of," Derek mumbles.
Stiles chuckles, heart throbbing against his ribs. He moves one hand to the
back of Derek's neck, grasping the hair there and watching Derek's eyes flutter
at his touch. It makes him want to touch more; makes him want to learn exactly
how Derek reacts to it all.
"I'll take the blame," he persists. "I just— There's no way I'm just gonna let
you kiss me goodnight and spend the rest of the night without you."
Derek lets out a heavy breath at that, dark eyes watching him intensely. Stiles
can feel the hand on his hip tighten his hold; thumb tracing his hipbone
through the shirt and he has to bite his lip not to make an embarrassing sound.
Eventually Derek just groans in defeat. "You'll be the death of me," he murmurs
before kissing him again.
Stiles is okay with that.
***** Chapter 21 *****
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: kala-fiorek
Author: watchthewolvesrun & zainclaw
 
Derek wakes first.
He's pleasantly greeted by the warm mass of human that's sprawled awkwardly
across his chest, breathing soft, steady puffs of warm air against his skin.
Unlike the first morning when he woke up with Stiles, this time he doesn't
panic and tries to come up with an escape plan.
He sighs, and for a second he thinks maybe last night was a dream. One of those
hyper-realistic ones that leaves you disappointed with reality when you finally
wake up. But the steady thrum of Stiles' heartbeat against his own ribs tells
him otherwise, and he's far from disappointed.
Stiles is here. It had happened. It was real.
Derek smiles at the thought. Despite the drafty, winter chill of the loft, and
the fact that the covers are kind of uselessly tangled around their legs, there
isn't a single part of him that isn't permeated by Stiles' sleepy warmth. Even
his wolf can feel it, somewhere deep down inside his chest, humming contently
like a freaking puppy.
Is this what happiness feels like? He wonders as Stiles nuzzles his face
against him in a drowsy state. He can still pick up the faint aroma of his
cologne and hair gel mingled throughout the teen's usual scent, still taste the
residue of his mouth on his lips. With his free hand, he runs a finger across
them, letting his mind drift through the memory of the night before.
Despite how much both of them had longed to get on their own, away from all the
prying eyes, they had stayed at the dance for hours more after their kiss on
the dance floor. It had not been Stiles' idea. They would've been at the loft
before ten if he'd gotten his way. But Derek insisted that he shouldn't run off
and miss out on the rest of the night with his friends just because he wanted
to go home with Derek.
We got time, he had said to convince him to stay. We got all night.
And they had have all night, but they hadn't done much else than sleeping. By
the time they got back to the loft it was way past midnight and Stiles had
almost been too tired to drive. He'd turned off his phone and pulled Derek down
with him on the bed, cutting off Derek's concerns with sleepy kisses and saying
his dad could probably figure out where he was. Perhaps Derek would try and
convince Stiles to at least call his dad and tell him where he is if it hadn't
been for the fact that he'd never seen Stiles so ready to pass out before.
Derek had half expected the sheriff to burst through the doors any second
during the night. He hadn't, and Derek can't decide if that's a good or bad
sign.
He wants to stay there and let Stiles slowly wake up on top of him, watch his
eyelids ease open, and kiss the sleep from each of them as he yawns and
stretches himself awake. But if he doesn't get up now, he knows he never will.
Gently, Derek eases out from underneath Stiles' comfortable warmth, taking
extra care not to wake him. The teen lets out a muffled, sleep-addled groan as
he squirms adorably against the sheets to find a new position. Derek freezes.
It isn't until Stiles settles into his warm, vacated spot and begin to snore
that he dares to move. And even then, it isn't voluntary. The chilly morning
air that'd crept into the loft makes him shiver, so he reaches for the closest
article of clothing he can find to lessen its bite. Amidst the tangled heaps of
dress clothes he'd exhaustedly cast aside last night when they got back,
including the ones Stiles had discarded, he finds the sleeve of the teen's red
hoodie; the one that he'd left at the loft after practice earlier that month.
Chuckling, he shrugs it on, happy that he doesn't have to leave Stiles' scent
behind in bed while he makes them breakfast. Quietly, he makes his way to the
kitchen and sets about it, nuzzling at the collar of the touch-worn jacket
absentmindedly.
After a few minutes, one cup of coffee, and the brewing of a second, Derek has
everything just about ready. Fried eggs are simmering on low heat in one pan,
while a few strips of bacon sizzle and pop in another. As if on cue, Derek
hears the quick uptick of Stiles' sleepy heartbeat, and the rustle of sheets as
he stretches across the bed with a yawn.
"Derek?" He asks the empty indentation where the werewolf had been lying.
"Where're you at?"
"Over here," Derek calls, cracking another egg on the rim of the frying pan he
was already using to cook the bacon.
Slowly, Stiles groans and sits up, his hair wild from sleep. Derek suppresses a
laugh. Somehow, in just a simple undershirt and boxers, with heavy eyelids and
wild, sleep-mussed hair, he manages to be more appealing than he was last
night, when he'd been dressed to the nines in his suit and dancing at a near-
professional level.
Derek actually stops to watch as he yawns wide and stretches again, arching his
back in just the right way so the small strip of hair that connects his navel
to his waistband peaks out from underneath his shirt. Stiles reaches back to
gather the comforter over his shoulders and wraps it around himself securely
before trudging slowly across the loft.
"Morning, beautiful," Derek intones with a laugh. He means it, too.
"Shut up," Stiles yawns again, rubbing at the corner of his eye with a knuckle
still curled around the edge of the comforter. "Why'd you get outta bed?"
Derek shrugs. "Breakfast. Figured you'd be hungry after all the circles you
danced around me last night."
Stiles chuckles. "I thought I smelled bacon," he grins sleepily, fidgeting with
his comforter as he pads into the kitchen. "And I am hungry. Starving,
actually."
"Well, I made the works, so there's plenty. And everything's just about do—" He
reaches up to click off the burners and stops mid-sentence as Stiles comes up
behind him, and proceeds to wind his blanketed hands tightly around Derek's
waist. "...Can I help you, Sleeping beauty?" He asks as Stiles settles his chin
over the top of his shoulder. He nods adorably.
"Coffee?" He asks, without looking up.
"Brewing," Derek answers. "Want some?"
"Sure, bring it on," he replies. "But not without a sugar."
"You're the worst," Derek scoffs, rolling his eyes in typical Hale fashion.
"You love it," Stiles murmurs, and Derek's heart fluttered happily at the word
to prove it.
He tilts his head to the side and lets Stiles place a quick kiss against his
lips. It's nothing compared to the one they'd shared the night before, sure,
but it's still perfect. Just a different kind of perfect. A kind that Derek had
never really let himself want before. And suddenly, all he does want to do is
get ahead of himself. Instead he reaches over to pour a cup of coffee for
Stiles, and passes him the steaming mug, ignoring the flush of heat that's
suddenly spreading across his cheeks. Stiles accepts it happily, cradling it in
two hands in front of Derek's chest. He doesn't notice.
"Thanks."
Stiles takes an awkward sip and seems to perk up a bit, nestling deeper into
his co-opted comforter and Derek's shoulder in a way that Derek can't help but
smile at. He deposits the eggs and bacon onto a pair of plates and drops the
dirty frying pan into the sink. He'd wash it later.
"So what do you want to do today?" He asks, about to mention calling his dad up
but doesn't want to ruin the mood.
Stiles sighs peacefully as he sets down his coffee cup on the edge of the
counter.
"This."
He gives Derek a little squeeze for emphasis, nuzzling back against his neck.
Derek smiles. Well, smiles wider. He'd pretty much had a big, stupid grin
scrawled across his lips since he woke up.
Derek huffs out a small laugh. "I'm not entirely sure what this is," he
intones, tossing the spatula into the sink alongside the frying pan. He cocked
a look at the Stiles that was attached to him.
"Aggressive cuddling," Stiles remarks, as if Derek should know what the hell
that is.
"Aggressive cuddli— I'm not sure that's even a thing," he replies, eyeing
Stiles with a skeptical eyebrow-raise.
"Totally a thing. You just gotta let it happen."
"I would, if I could actually move, Stiles."
"S'not a problem. Y'don't need to move."
"You know, this'd work better if we were in bed," Derek offers.
"Yeah?" Stiles flicks him an expectant look.
"Yeah."
"Well then what are you waiting for?" Stiles asks, releasing Derek from his
grip before flying back to their vacated bed, comforter swirling in his wake.
Derek rolls his eyes, and gathers the plates as the muted fwump of Stiles
diving back into bed reaches his ears. Making sure to stuff a few napkins and
forks into the pocket of the hoodie, Derek follows him because he did not want
to be the one to have to get back up to get them later. He laughs when he sees
Stiles buried up to his neck under the covers.
"A little too cold for you?" He asks playfully before settling on top of the
comforter.
"N-no," Stiles answers, as a quick shiver betrays the lie. Derek gives him a
skeptical look. "...Yes."
He hands him a plate. Stiles scoots back, still keeping the covers pulled up as
high as he can get them while still making functional use of his hands.
"Aren't you cold, too?" He asks.
Derek isn't, hasn't been all morning, aside from right after he'd gotten out of
bed for the first time. Despite the chill in the apartment, he was oddly
comfortable. But that was probably because he could still feel the ghost of
Stiles' warm embrace around him.
"Eh, I'm good," he shrugs, easing under the covers next to Stiles. "I got your
jacket."
"It typically works better if you wear a shirt underneath it," Stiles responds
with a note of sarcasm in his tone. "And, you know, pants. Not that I'm
complaining or anything."
"Of course not," Derek remarks, making himself comfortable.
"Fork?"
"In the pocket." He nods down at his side. Stiles cocks an intrigued eyebrow.
"Don't get any ideas," he growls playfully.
"I am innocent of your dirty thoughts."
"Uh-huh," Derek intones as Stiles reaches under the covers to grab the utensils
and napkins from the pocket of the hoodie. "Just shut up and eat your food."
"Glad to see all of last night's romance is still hanging around," Stiles says
with a laugh, nestling himself up against Derek's shoulder as he starts eating.
"Hey, I made you breakfast," Derek retorts as he starts to eat as well. "That's
gotta count for something."
"You'd think," Stiles shrugs through a mouthful of fried egg. "But no. I'm
gonna need some more convincing." He swallows, and Derek watches the bob of his
throat needfully.
"Oh really?" He asks, conscious of Stiles' warmth soaking into his skin. "And
how, pray tell, am I supposed to do that?" He chews on a strip of bacon.
"I'm gonna need more aggressive cuddling." Derek shoots him a look. "What?"
Stiles shrugs as he finishes wolfing down his breakfast and sets the plate
aside. "Stiles wants to have a good time. Many, many times, actually. In
several different positions."
"Why do I get the feeling that you're not talking about just cuddling anymore?"
Derek asks on a groan, finishing off the food from his own plate and setting it
aside, too.
"Because I'm not," Stiles admits before wrapping himself back around Derek and
settling his head against his chest.
"That doesn't surprise me," Derek responds. He noses into Stiles' mop of sleep-
mussed hair and takes a deep whiff of his scent, suddenly heady with want.
"Subtlety was never your strong suit."
"Hey now, I've been pretty good since you've been back," Stiles replies
defensively. "I haven't tried to jump your bones once."
"I distinctly remember there being an attempt when you got drunk the other
week."
"You're misremembering."
"And now?" Derek asks, vaguely aware of something hard beginning to press into
his leg.
Stiles shrugs. "Distinct possibility."
"You're ridiculous," Derek replies, smiling as he pulls the point of Stiles'
chin up so that their lips meet once more.
There had been plenty of kissing last night, to the point where Stiles even
fell asleep with his lips still on Derek's cheek, but Derek can't imagine ever
getting tired of it. Even if Stiles is far from an experienced kisser, and had
to catch his breath several times last night before learning how to breathe
through his nose, Derek thinks it's perfect. He loves how much Stiles gets into
it, the push and the pull of his eager tongue. It's a beautiful mess.
Also: Stiles' hands. They're nearly just as eager as his mouth when they're
kissing. Derek hadn't even known they were able to affect him as much as they
do, but those long slender fingers sliding over his skin now are giving him
goose bumps. Stiles can't stop touching him, exploring his body with
tenderness, and the whole thing makes Derek's heart nearly ache with emotion.
He's been drawn to people before, but not emotionally drawn to. He's never
wanted anyone the way he wants Stiles.
When Stiles bucks his hips, a low moan vibrating in his throat, it takes all
Derek's willpower to put a firm hand on his waist and keep him still. He pulls
away, and the kiss is interrupted. Stiles whines, clearly disappointed, and
Derek can't help but feel just a little proud of being able to make him sound
like that.
"You're not gonna make me wait till I'm eighteen, are you?" He groans, out of
breath.
"Believe me," Derek breathes, "I won't be able to wait that long."
Stiles scoffs shakily, breath still coming out in short pants from the heated
kiss. Derek reach up to run his fingers through Stiles' tousled hair, all the
way to the back of his neck, and settles it there.
"I just don't want to mess this up," he says seriously.
Stiles' expressions softens, sighing as he cups Derek's cheek.
"Trust me," he says firmly. "You won't be the one to mess this up."
Derek smiles at him, heart pounding in sync with Stiles'. Somewhere in the back
of his mind there's a little voice telling him they should turn Stiles' phone
back on, but he pushes it further back just for a moment longer. He want to
keep Stiles for a little longer.
***** Chapter 22 *****

                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: indecentdrawer
Author: watchthewolvesrun
 
Derek's first thought is simply no.
Absolutely not. No to Stiles, no to the two pairs of ice-skates that he's
currently walking back from the checkout desk with, no to the rest of the damn
pack already out on the outdoor ice rink in the dead of winter, no to all of
it.
“Derek!” Comes Stiles’ happy yell when he sees the werewolf walking over. The
sound threatens to undo all of Derek’s stubbornness in one fell swoop. “You
made it!”
He drops the skates on a nearby bench and bounds over to wrap Derek in his
arms. One would think they hadn't just spent the entire day together in bed
yesterday the way Stiles is squeezing him as tight as he is. He is, as always,
a ball of simmering heat, even in the frigid winter air.
“How could I not?” Derek asks into Stiles’ neck, trying to hold on to his
stubborn denial and failing miserably, “You threatened grievous bodily harm to
my leather jacket if I didn’t show up.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Right,” Derek says with a glower along with a suspicious raise of an eyebrow.
Admittedly, he still got Stiles’ hoodie, so two could play at that game, if
necessary. “So we’re ice-skating?”
“Yup,” Stiles grins as they walk back to the bench where it looked like the
rest of the pack had deposited their shoes, the very same one where Stiles had
dropped the skates a few seconds ago. “Figured it’d be fun.” Derek rolls his
eyes. “What?”
“Nothing, I just can't skate for shit.”
“I’m sure you’re better than you think you are,” Stiles replies, patting his
back as they sit down to change out their shoes for skates. “Plus you’re a
werewolf. You've got all your werewolf-ish skills and whatnot. S’gotta count
for something.”
“You’d think,” Derek snorts as he slips the used skates on over his socks.
Stiles nudges him.
“Well, then it’s a good thing you got me around.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I have it on pretty good authority that I’m a great ice-skater.” Derek
shoots him a sidelong glance as he laces up his skates. “What? I can help you!”
Derek scoffs. “Yeah, by dragging my limp, unconscious body from the ice when
I’ve brained myself on it for the tenth time just trying to stand up.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “You are such a drama-wolf.”
He finishes lacing up his skates and stands up, testing the feel of them
against the floor. Once satisfied, he steps in front of Derek, who is checking
the laces of his left skate one final time, and gives him an expectant look.
He sighs because apparently Derek is just oozing light and positivity at this
point. “Tell you what, dude, if you’re really as bad as you say you are,"
Stiles sighs, "and aren’t having any fun whatsoever, we can leave and go get
some hot chocolate or something.” Now that did sound good. Derek looks up.
“Deal?” Stiles offers him a hand and Derek takes it without a second thought.
Of course, as soon as they get out onto the ice, Derek wonders just how soon he
can cash in their little bargain. Within thirty seconds, he’s already tripped
and flailing because his stupid skate got caught in one of the ridges someone
else had left when they did some kind of sliding stop, before he caught himself
on the wall. But he didn’t fall. Progress, he thinks.
Maybe he wasn’t as bad as he remembered being. That thought lasted only until
he trips the second time, and nearly takes out some lady and her little girl.
This conveniently happens while Stiles has gone to do a lap and catch up with
the rest of the pack, before returning to where Derek is currently splayed out
on the ice, hating himself and everything around him.
“Remind me again how you are a functioning werewolf?” He asks, his stupid voice
ripe with sarcasm as he skids to a stop right next to where Derek had fallen.
“Do you need to see fangs, or…?” Derek snarks as he pushes himself up, trying
to regain his footing on the slippery ice and failing.
Stiles chuckles, shaking his head. “Want some help?” He offers a gloved hand.
Derek glares up at him, stubborn wolf in denial that he is anything but
perfectly fine. Even though his last two attempts at moving on the ridiculous
skates had ended with him face-planting into the slippery-wet hard ice of the
skating rink. He reaches up and takes the proffered hand, letting Stiles finish
pulling him to his feet.
“If I’d have known," he staggers, nearly falling again, but keeps his balance
by gripping Stiles’ forearm, “that your vague-as-hell text message that you
‘had a surprise for me’ was this,” he falters again and almost takes Stiles
down in the process. “I’d have told you to nip off and fuck yourself.”
“Even after all the fun we had yesterday?” Stiles asks wryly, waggling his
eyebrows like the little shit that he is.
Yesterday was fun. There's no way Derek is going to deny that. Not that they
had done much else than proceeded with Stiles' aggressive cuddle-plan, barely
leaving the bed at all, but it had been perfect. Derek had still made sure
things didn't get too heated, but had still allowed Stiles to pull his hoodie
over Derek's head to explore his body. Derek had let him do that too; let him
slide his cold fingers over his warm skin and had watched the awe in Stiles'
big eyes as he did.
It had been the most lazy and perfect day Derek's ever had. Eventually Stiles
had to turn on his phone back on, however, and the sheriff called to order him
home almost immediately. He'd sounded more tired than mad over the phone, and
Derek just hoped he wouldn't get greeted with an ordinary bullet next time he
came for a visit.
Derek grumbles as he finally settles into a position where he isn't liable to
eat it. He's hunched slightly forward, arms and fingers splayed like there was
an invisible, solid force he's clinging to for support in case he starts to
fall again. Not that it’d matter anyway. His ankles are already trembling in
anticipation.
“You’re a work of art, Hale.”
“Shut up,” Derek growls, gripping Stiles’ arm that much tighter, hating how he
seems to be infinitely more at home in this particular situation than he was.
“I hate ice-skating.”
“You’re doing better than me, my first time,” Stiles shrugs, gingerly pulling
Derek forward on the ice.
“This isn’t my first time,” Derek growls.
Stiles suppresses a chuckle as they skid along the ice. They make a ridiculous
sight, Derek knows; him frozen in his awkward position, trying not to move too
much to prevent another makeout session with the ice, gripping Stiles’ arm like
it's the only thing keeping him alive. Which, in this case, it is.
“Then do you want some advice?”
“No.”
“Well I’m gonna give it to you anyway,” Stiles grins, before skidding to a
halt. “Relax.”
“How can I relax when I’m standing on thin metal blades on ice, with about zero
traction?”
Stiles rolls his eyes and pries himself out of Derek’s grip.
“What’re you—” Derek tries to grab him again, but Stiles shirks out of the way.
He nudges up underneath the crook of the werewolf’s arm, settling a hand across
his back to his opposite hip.
“Better?” Stiles asks as Derek settles against him.
It is, actually, but mostly because he's wrapped in Stiles’ layers permeating
warmth, which was sapping the ice's chilly bite from his skin.
“Yeah, I guess,” Derek shrugs, as he tries to ease forward.
Stiles mirrors the gesture. They get exactly three feet before Derek knocks one
of his skates against Stiles’, loses it, and goes tumbling into the ground once
more. There's a muted shriek, accompanied by a flail, as Stiles follows suit,
landing squarely on Derek’s chest and effectively crushing the air from it.
“Sorry,” he croaks.
“I told you I was hopeless,” Derek mumbles into the mop of Stiles’ hair, as if
to bookend the experience.
“Eh,” he shrugs. “You could be worse.”
“How’s that?” Derek asks, unconvinced.
He’d been here all of fifteen minutes and spent less than five of them actually
standing. He nearly took out a mother and her daughter. He’d managed to eat it
even with Stiles trying to support him, and somehow took him down too when he
fell. How could it possibly get any worse? He looks at the top of Stiles’ head
expectantly and predictably, he's silent.
“Thought so,” Derek snorts derisively. Despite the cold of the ice against his
back, Stiles, being the usual human space-heater that he was, is warming
Derek’s body quite nicely.
“Don’t be a dick, dude. Now c’mon, lemme help you up.” He pushes himself off of
Derek’s torso, but Derek catches his wrist before he stands up completely.
“What?” He asks, furrowing his brow in a moment of seriousness.
“Come here for a sec,” Derek answers, suddenly wanting Stiles’ lips on his own.
Might be the only thing that would turn this awful experience around.
“Wha—? No. There are people around. They’re starting to stare already.”
“Let ‘em,” Derek intones with a shrug, just like he had done two nights ago.
They’d been staring at his flailing, falling ass since he got here, anyway.
Before Stiles can protest further, he reaches a hand around the back of his
neck to fit their mouths together.
Stiles’ lips are chapped slightly from the cold, but his heat is intoxicating.
It washes over Derek’s nerves like water over rocks, and suddenly, he doesn't
care that he’d spent more time lying on the ice than he had been standing on
it.
That is, until Scott skates to a halt right next to them.
“Leave it to you two to wind up making out in the middle of the rink,” he
jokes, eyeing them both warily. “You guys need some help?”
Stiles answers for the both of them. “Nah, we’re fine. We were just about to
head out anyway, go get some hot chocolate or something.”
Derek notices how perfect his cheeks look flushed that ruddy shade of red.
Whether from either the cold or the kiss, he couldn't tell. 
“I could stay,” Derek ventures and Stiles shoots him a surprised look.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’m… I’m having fun,” he shrugs even as he struggles to brace himself up
on the ice as a grin curls at the corners of Stiles' mouth.
“Even with all the falling you've been doing?” Stiles asks through a laugh,
before leaning back in to press a quick kiss against Derek's lips.
Scott groans. Derek hears him say something about coming to find the rest of
the group once they finish playing tonsil hockey, and Stiles flips him off as
he skates away.
Especially with all the falling. But that had been going on since well before
they went ice-skating.
***** Chapter 23 *****
 
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: artofobsession
Author:  zainclaw
 
On Monday, 23rd of December, Melissa decides that it's just not acceptable for
a household not to have any homemade gingerbread – referring to the sheriff's
house – and gathers the pack for a big baking session at the McCalls. No matter
how much Stiles' dad keeps insisting that the bought kind is perfectly fine,
and tastes exactly the same – lies – she won't budge.
Stiles loves her.
Allison comes over to help them out, and Melissa is delighted not to be the
only woman in the company.
"I'm surrounded by teen wolves," she complains.
"Excuse me," Stiles says, pretending to sound offended.
"You eat like one," Melissa remarks, waving her hand at him.
Derek shows up too, and unfortunately Stiles doesn't make it to the door before
Scott and his dad do. He can't remember ever seeing Derek looking as scared as
he does when standing face to face with the sheriff for the first time since
the night of the dance – before disobeying orders and taking his son home with
him. There's a stare-off, but eventually Stiles' dad sighs heavily and moves
aside to let him in, mumbling something about Derek being lucky he seems to be
the only cure for his son's nightmares.
Stiles barely lets his boyfriend get through the door before leaping forward to
shamelessly embrace him. Boyfriend. He repeats the word inside his head as the
stiffness in Derek's shoulders slowly wears off and he hugs him back just as
tight, pressing his nose to the side of Stiles' neck and breathes him in.
Stiles feels his heart flutter by the way Derek relaxes against him, hands
grasping the fabric of his thick Christmas sweater.
"I almost thought you wouldn't wanna come," Stiles says into Derek's shoulder.
"This is not gonna work out if I have to hide from your father," Derek replies,
lips brushing over the vein in Stiles' neck.
Stiles shudders, smiling. "Good point."
They turn the living room into a baking factory because the kitchen isn't big
enough, all of them not fitting around the table. Melissa disappears into the
kitchen every now and then to put the next pan of gingerbread in the oven as
soon as they've filled a new one with dough in funny forms. They don't work
very fast, because Melissa and Scott seem to be the only ones who know how it's
done. Stiles is horrible, because he's got no patience with it, and Derek
spends most of the time chuckling at him – which is what makes the whole thing
worth it.
Lydia drops by to show them the pictures from the dance that she's printed out
from the high school's website. She doesn't plan on staying but Melissa insists
that they need some professional help and Lydia shrugs and says she can't argue
with that, and parks her bag by the table in the living room.
Isaac blushes over the trio's photo, but Melissa snatches it out of his hand
and says she'll have it framed and put on the wall. Scott and Allison don't
seem to mind, which is good because Stiles fails to see the point. The picture
is adorable; Isaac in the center with Scott behind him and Allison against his
front. Their faces may be a bit funny but their eyes are shining with pure
happiness, and that's what counts.
Danny and Ethan are pretty cute too, Stiles has to admit, but sadly Danny isn't
around to lay his opinion. Lydia stows it back into her bag and states that he
probably hacked into the school's database and got the picture Saturday morning
already. Then she starts adoring her own dress.
"Stiles," Melissa says a while later. "Could you go check the oven?"
"Gladly," Stiles replies, dropping the dough back on the table as he gets up.
He sees Derek watching him in the corner of his eye, and he meets his gaze. His
dad must've noticed because he sighs heavily.
"You too, Derek," he says casually, lowering his gaze back to what he's working
on. "Make sure he doesn't burn himself."
Stiles suppresses a grin and heads for the kitchen with Derek following him.
"You're the one who can't handle a stove, dad."
The sheriff just hums in response, a small smile tugging at the corner of his
mouth.
Stiles crouches down in front of the oven to look through the foggy glass. The
heat hits him in the face, and it smells wonderful, but the gingerbreads still
look more like dough than solid cookies. He straightens back up, turning to
Derek who's standing next to him.
"They're not ready yet," he shrugs.
Derek just nods. "Guess we'll have to wait then," he suggests.
Stiles looks around impatiently, wanting to sit down because he'll start
bouncing if he has to stand. There are no chairs left in the kitchen, however,
as all of them are being put to use in the living room. Two of the counters are
covered with already browned gingerbreads, but one is clean. Stiles walks over
there and hops on it, steadying himself with his hands flat on the surface.
Derek is watching him when he looks back to where he's still standing in the
middle of the room, and Stiles' heart skips a beat when realizing they're
alone. He swallows, butterflies stirring in his stomach as he spreads his legs
a little and pats on the edge of the counter.
"Come here, boy," he calls with a goofy grin.
Derek snorts, and Stiles expects him to roll his eyes and say something snarky
in return, but he doesn't. He just arches one of his ridiculously attractive
eyebrows at his joke and obliges; steps up to the counter and positions himself
between Stiles' knees. It's a surprise, but exactly what Stiles wanted, so he
doesn't hesitate to reach for him; hands immediately sliding into Derek's hair.
Derek hums contently, gripping the edge of the counter and leans into Stiles'
space. Their noses bump together, and Stiles scoffs at how silly and perfect it
is.
"You're kind of like a puppy," he sighs softly.
"I don't see you complaining," Derek counters.
"Nope," Stiles agrees, still smiling wide. "I always wanted a puppy."
Derek huffs, shaking his head just a little before his eyelids drop half-
closed. It takes a moment before Stiles realizes that Derek is looking at his
mouth, but once he does, that's all he needs before pulling him in for a kiss.
It's slow and tender at first; Derek's hands still on the counter and letting
Stiles tilt his head for a better angle as they part their lips. Stiles doesn't
even try to stop the happy hum slipping out of him when Derek's gently sucks
his bottom lip, which only seems to be appreciated because Derek makes the
exact same noise in return. He leans further forward, the warmth from his body
reaching through the thin layer of air between them that just keeps decreasing.
Eventually Stiles can't take it anymore and tries to shuffle closer to the
edge, hands sliding down the werewolf's neck and to his shoulders for support.
He almost expects Derek to pull away or keep his hands from roaming too much,
because he's still got his rules for how far is too far, but he doesn't. If
anything; he seems to be just as lost in it as Stiles is.
A dull growl vibrates in Derek's throat, and then his hands are leaving their
safe place on the counter and instead slide up Stiles' thighs. Stiles groans
happily, his tongue colliding with Derek's in a wet and hot battle. Derek lets
his hands linger on Stiles' thighs for a while before moving them further up
again, reaching back to grab his butt and swiftly pull him all the way to the
edge of the counter where he collides with Derek's front.
Stiles moans in surprise as well as approval, feeling his blood rushing south
and straight to his privates the way they are flushed together now. His mouth
falls open, and Derek takes the opportunity to thrust his tongue inside and
make Stiles repeat the same sound again, now muffled against Derek's mouth. The
hands on his butt keep roaming; one of them clutching at the hem of his sweater
in a half-heartedly attempt to lift it up. It doesn't go very well, because of
how they are pressed together, and Stiles can't make himself pull away enough
quick enough to let Derek slip his hand inside his shirt.
"Oh my god!" Scott shouts from the doorway, and Stiles is so startled he's
pretty sure he lifts from the counter. "Guys, please, this is my house!"
Derek growls lowly, hands retreating to the edge of the counter but ducks his
head down to hide his face in the curve of Stiles' neck. He can feel the heat
from Derek's cheek against his skin, and they are both breathing heavily with
their hearts still pounding against their ribcages.
"You and Isaac slept in my bed," Stiles counters, sending his best friend a
glare while grasping the hair in the back of Derek's neck, keeping him in
place.
Scott's cheeks flush a little, but his determination won't budge. "You weren't
present!" He points out.
"You weren't present twenty seconds ago!" Stiles argues.
"I smelled burned cookies," Scott explains sharply, nodding to the oven.
"Oh, shit," Stiles curses, but doesn't push Derek away.
***** Chapter 24 *****
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: needklainenow
Author: zainclaw & watchthewolvesrun
 
Stiles comes downstairs Christmas Eve morning to find his dad and Derek sitting
by the kitchen table. He freezes in the doorway, cold panic washing over him in
a sharp heartbeat because this surely means trouble. Derek cranes his neck to
look at him over his shoulder before the sheriff even notices he's there. It's
his scent, Stiles realizes, and maybe also the sound of his racing heart.
"What's going on?" He asks warily despite his mind going: this is it, the gun
will be drawn and shots fired.
"Breakfast," his dad replies, gesturing to the table while giving him a look as
if he's being silly.
That doesn't really help much. Derek offers him a small smile, and at least
that's comforting enough for Stiles to let out the breath he's been holding and
enter the room. He looks curiously between the two, but both of them act like
nothing is off. It is though, because Derek Hale is having breakfast in the
sheriff's kitchen. Not that Stiles is complaining about his father and
boyfriend being in the same room without both looking like they wish to bolt,
but there's something seriously odd about that.
He heads for his usual seat, which is the chair next to Derek's, and he can't
help but slide his fingertips over Derek's shoulders as he passes by. It's
meant to be comforting, even if he doesn't seem to need it as much as
yesterday, and Stiles catches the twitch in the corner of Derek's mouth as he
sits down.
"I just invited Derek to join us for dinner this evening," his father explains.
"Really?" Stiles asks, because that sounds just a little too good to be true.
"Christmas dinner?"
"Unless you mind?" His dad wonders, raising his eyebrows.
"No," Stiles hurries to say, looking at Derek who looks worried for a second.
"No," he repeats, sneaking one hand under the table to grab Derek's while
meeting his gaze firmly. "That's— I'd love that."
Derek smiles, looking relived as if he hadn't been sure Stiles would approve.
"Great," the sheriff agrees gleefully. "Derek, could you pass me the bread?"
Stiles feels Derek's fingers twitch as if he's about to let go of his hand to
oblige, but then he reaches for the bread with his other hand instead, only
squeezing Stiles' hand even tighter.
 
 
"Did he call you? Does he even have your number? Did you come to see me? How
did this even happen?"
Derek just chuckles, shaking his head at all his suggestions. He stops when
they reach the front door, and sighs as he properly turns to Stiles.
"If I'd come for you, I would've come through your window," he reminds him,
cupping one side of Stiles' face.
That just confuses Stiles further, and if it had been a more serious matter he
probably would've slapped Derek's hand away and demand a straight answer, but
it isn't. Everything is fine after all, so he actually manages to let it go;
just rolls his eyes softly and sighs while leaning into Derek's touch. He puts
his own hand on top of Derek's, feeling his hard knuckles against his palm.
Derek's smile grows wider, and for a second Stiles thinks he'll be perfectly
happy watching this man smile for the rest of his life.
"I'm gonna ask dad to let you spend the night," Stiles mumbles.
Derek hums, brushing his thumb to the corner of Stiles' mouth. His pupils are
blown under his half-closed eyelids, and Stiles feels a warmth spread inside
his chest just by seeing how he's affecting Derek. It's still mind-blowing, and
he doubts it'll ever stop to be. Despite the window in his bedroom still being
able to open, they haven't spent the night together since after the dance.
Stiles has offered, of course, but Derek has insisted that they shouldn't sneak
behind the sheriff's back like that. Thankfully it doesn't seem like Stiles'
nightmares care whether they're actually together during the night or not
because they haven't returned for over a week now.
"You do that," Derek agrees in a murmur, lifting his eyes from Stiles' mouth to
meet his gaze.
Stiles is the one stepping forward to claim Derek's lips in a longing kiss,
hard enough for their teeth to clash. It's clear that Stiles isn't the only one
who's wanted to do this since he first entered the kitchen. One day they should
probably try and kiss in front of his dad, because it's bound to happen sooner
or later anyway, but not today. At least not this morning, and Stiles figures
that's okay. They've got time.
It's with a soft groan Derek pulls away, one that indicates he doesn't want to
but still has to. Stiles doesn't chase him, just rests his forehead on Derek's
for a moment before stepping back. Derek's lips are bruised, and Stiles' can't
hold back a proud smile upon seeing it.
"See you later then," Derek sighs, thumb brushing over Stiles' cheek one last
time before actually letting him go to leave.
 
 
Stiles can't say when or how exactly it became a tradition, but Melissa and
Scott have joined them on Christmas Eve every year for several years now. He's
not even sure they got an invitation; they just show up later that afternoon.
Isaac is with them, of course, but this time he doesn't look as unsure whether
he's welcomed or not. Still, just to make sure he's got the memo, Stiles gives
him a big hug right after he's done the same to Scott. Isaac doesn't seem to
mind, cheeks going as red as Scott's ridiculous Santa sweater for a brief
second.
Derek arrives looking far more calm than he's ever looked by their front door.
He's wearing one of his loose sweaters, and Stiles decides it's sort of become
his new favorite thing. While Derek still is walking sex that Stiles wants to
jump about 85% of the time, he also wants to nuzzle into the soft fabric and
just feel cooped up in Derek's heat.
He probably makes the embrace Derek greets him with last a little longer than
necessary, but Derek isn't complaining. In fact; he smiles against Stiles'
cheek and only looks amused once the arms around him finally let him go to
greet the others.
 
 
Melissa wasn't lying when saying Stiles eats like a wolf, because he does.
Obviously Stiles and his dad didn't do it all; the McCalls contributed nearly
half of it. It's delicious, and Stiles can't be bothered by the two adults
shaking their heads at him. It's not like it's news to them: he gets stuffed
every year.
"Jesus, leave some for the rest of us, would ya?" Scott complains, but he's
grinning.
Stiles makes a face at him, not pausing from chewing on his sausages.
"You're gross," Isaac comments, then throwing Derek a glance. "I can't believe
you're kissing that."
"Rude," Stiles says once he's swallowed. "I'm perfectly civilized."
"Well, enough," Derek says with a smirk, and everyone around the table
chuckles.
Stiles tries to glare at him, but it's impossible when his stupid face is so
bright and beautiful.
A knock on the door has everyone pause and look up.(causes everyone to pause
and look up.)
"I'll get it," Stiles volunteers, hand slipping off Derek's knee under the
table as he stands up.
Derek hums lowly, which could've been just a simple acknowledgement to his
announcement, but Stiles is pretty sure it's the sound of disappointment. He
can't stop smiling to himself all the way through the hallway to the front
door.
He's a little surprised when opening it to find Allison and Chris Argent
standing on their porch.
"Who is it?" His dad calls from the kitchen.
Stiles hesitates. "Santa Claus."
Allison chuckles, and Christ reaches up to rub his chin with an amused look.
"I think I'll have to grow some facial hair before passing for Santa," he
remarks.
The next second Derek is there, warm and solid by Stiles' side. Chris’ smile
falters, and Stiles feels himself swallow hard down his throat. Oh boy. Because
despite the two of them fighting alongside each other on more than one occasion
during the past year, the relationship between Derek and Chris Argent is still
a complicated one, to say the least. Stiles is pretty sure it doesn't have to
be though. They may be natural enemies because of what they are, but when it
comes down to it; they are both just remains of two broken families they're
still desperately trying to protect. The black sheep are to blame, and that's
neither of them.
"Derek," Chris greets, but Derek doesn't respond. The hunter lifts his hands in
a peaceful manner. "I'm not wearing my gun," he informs, "and you’ve still got
your claws, so you've got me at a disadvantage." Derek's arm flexes, so little
it probably goes unnoticed by everyone but Stiles who's pressed up against his
side, and for a moment Stiles thinks he's going to draw his claws out. "But
it's Christmas," Chris continues calmly, "so I'd be happy not to see them
anywhere near me anytime soon."
That seems to make Derek relax a little, but he still doesn't look like he's
going to move anytime soon. Stiles hears steps approaching as more people join
them by the door. He doesn't look over his shoulder to see who exactly, but
judging by Allison's small smile Scott or Isaac is probably one of them.
"I'm not here for you, Derek," Chris assures. "Or your mate."
Stiles' jaw drops. "Your—"
"You just knocked on his door," Derek points out sharply.
"We're not here to stay," Allison cuts in, drawing everyone's attention to her
rather than her father. She waves with the bag in her hand. "I'm just dropping
by to give Scott and Isaac their presents."
"Bad idea," Melissa says somewhere behind Stiles. "You know they'll open them
before tomorrow."
"So little faith," Scott mutters.
The tension eases up a little at that, some of them chuckling in an attempt to
lighten up the mood. Stiles glances over to Derek who's still got his eyes on
Chris, but doesn't look like he's about to attack anymore. Gently Stiles pulls
at his arm, and Derek immediately takes his eyes off the hunter to meet his
gaze. His face goes soft the second their eyes lock, and Stiles manage to drag
him away from the door and back into the house while Scott and Isaac accepts
the gifts from their girlfriend.
Stiles throws a glance over his shoulder and catches Chris giving him a small
nod before he looks away, heart throbbing at the man's choice of words.
 
 
About one hour later, when they've finished dinner and Melissa has shooed them
out of the kitchen, the good mood is back. The Argents are gone, leaving two
presents behind that Scott and Isaac have added to the pile under the tree.
Isaac offers to help with the dishes, but Melissa refuses and orders him to go
play video games in the living room. It's something Scott and Stiles do every
year, and they're more than happy to introduce more people to the tradition of
Mario Cart.
Derek slides up behind Stiles in the middle of one of his races with Isaac,
wrapping one arm around him and leans in to rest his chin on his shoulder.
Stiles' lips pull up in a smirk but he doesn't lose control of his car. Well,
not until a few moments later. Isaac cheers in delight.
"You did that on purpose," Derek whispers into his ear, and the only reason
Isaac doesn't hear him is because he's too busy high-fiving Scott.
Stiles shrugs. Maybe he did. Beginner's luck is an awesome feeling, after all.
Derek huffs, nosing Stiles' cheek for a second before scraping his stubble
against it. His hand comes to rest on Stiles' chest, right above his heart,
which starts throbbing against his palm. Stiles sighs, lowering the controller
on his thigh as Scott seems to be coaching Isaac while pointing at the
different buttons on the controller. Usually Stiles would be bouncing in his
seat by now, impatient and eager to start the next race, but now he doesn't
mind waiting.
He sinks back into the couch and Derek's warmth, tilting his head back just a
little to rest the back of his head on Derek's shoulder. Derek's heart is
pounding against his shoulder blades, and Stiles doubt he'll ever get used to
the fact that he's able to speed up the werewolf's heartbeat this way.
Stiles' breath catches when Derek suddenly reaches down with his other hand to
slide on his thigh, because they still haven't done much of those kind of
touches. It's not that he's upset Derek has made them take things slow – he
understands why it's important to him – but naturally his heart jolts in
hopeful excitement at this.
"Derek, we're not exactly alone," Stiles reminds him half-heartedly.
"Not yet," Derek murmurs into the corner of his mouth. When Stiles frowns in
question, he only huffs, pulling back enough for their eyes to meet properly as
Stiles cranes his neck. "I kind of asked your dad if you could spend the night
at my place," he confesses.
Stiles stares. "That's why you were here this morning," he realizes.
Derek nods. "I just— I wanna be with you tonight," he goes on, voice so deep
it's giving Stiles goose-bumps. "But not without your dad's consent." Then he
gets something in his eyes. "But we don't have to—"
"Yes," Stiles cuts him off, not wanting Derek to doubt it for a second that
this is what he wants.
Derek lets out a heavy puff of air, as if he'd been holding his breath. "Okay,"
he says.
"Okay," Stiles agrees, dropping the controller on the couch. "Now?"
"Now," Derek confirms, and the want in his voice nearly makes Stiles' knees
give in as he stands.
 
 
-
 
 
They're out of the car for approximately three seconds when it starts. It's the
quick brush of Stiles' hand against the small of Derek's back as they hike up
the steps to the entrance. He lets out a huff of surprised air as electricity
arcs across his nerves.
"What the hell was my dad thinking agreeing to this?" He asks, to no one in
particular.
Derek pulls out his key and unlocks the door, extremely aware of the fact that
Stiles' hand is still pressed warmly into the small of his back, rubbing a
small, absentminded circle into the skin.
"I don't know," he breathes, pulling open the door. "You wanna go back and ask
him?"
Stiles snorts as Derek opens the door, already out of breath. "Do you?"
"I'm good," he answers, as Stiles slips his hand up underneath the hem of his
shirt. His palm is on fire, and Derek can feel the frantic beat of his heart
through the contact. He chuckles. "You nervous or something?" He asks, as they
head for the freight elevator.
"Not as much as I should be, considering," Stiles replies as Derek presses the
button.
"Considering what?" Derek cocks an intrigued eyebrow, admiring the way Stiles'
face goes instantly pink all the way up to his ears as he's caught off-guard.
It's completely adorable.
"Considering, you know, what we're going to be doing once we— Uh, get, you
know, upstairs."
"Have high expectations, do we?" Derek asks, pulling Stiles close. He feels the
slight drag of his hand as it eases over to curl around the notch of his hip.
All the nerves on that side of his body go from ‘off' to ‘high' in a fraction
of a second.
"You know what I mean," Stiles chuckles, leaning into Derek as the elevator
thrums down toward them from one of the upper floors. "I'm gonna be a little
nervous," he shrugs, kicking at the floor. "Because, you know… It's you."
Derek smiles to himself. He can't help it. Because there's something in Stiles'
voice that makes him sound like he's everything. Everything he ever wanted and
was afraid to ask for. It's too much.
Stiles sighs. "Enh, you've done this before, though. You probably don't
understand."
Derek laughs. It's small and broken, and Derek wonders when that started.
"I do though," he shrugs, pulling Stiles closer.
Stiles flicks him a look, and Derek pointedly avoids it. He's probably more
nervous than Stiles could ever be, really. He can hear his own heartbeat in his
ears, even as Stiles takes a chance and leans in, gently slotting their lips
together.
And it's different this time. Derek is very conscious that it's going
somewhere. His heart ramps up its sprinting. Stiles sort of turns to step into
him, crowding their feet together and pressing their hips deep into each other.
There's a pull at Derek's sides where Stiles' hands are resting, and he has no
choice but to sink deeper into the kiss as his senses start to black everything
out that isn't Stiles' scent, his touch, the taste of his lips, or the sound of
his heart.
He doesn't even notice when the elevator comes to noisy stop and the gate eases
open, and barely even registers when Stiles pulls him into it and pushes him up
against the wall. He does notice when Stiles' fingers begin to dig into his
skin, and the breath that filters across his tongue starts to come out in
rough, uneven puffs.
They barely make it into the apartment before the clothes start coming off.
They stumble toward the bed, locked together at the lips as they make their way
across the loft, trodding on each other's feet as they go. When they finally
get to the bed, Derek finds himself turned around and pushed down onto the
mattress, taken by the fact that it's Stiles who's doing it, standing in front
of him, shirt off, pants unbuttoned and slipped low over his hips, almost
unfinished, eyes raking down Derek's body in a way that sends shivers down his
spine. He smells like arousal, and it makes Derek want.
He kneels, wraps fists around the top of Derek's jeans, and yanks. It's rough,
but hesitant. Slow, almost. Like he wants it, but doesn't want to do it wrong.
As Derek's cock is about to slip free of his pants, he wraps a gentle hand
around Stiles' wrist.
"What're you doing?" He asks.
Stiles kind of freezes. His heart skips a beat.
"Uh, there's something called Christmas blowjobs."
Of course he went right to sarcasm. He was that nervous. Derek smiles to
himself.
"How would you know?" He quickly snarks back, and Stiles sighs. In the dim
light of the bedroom, Derek can barely make out the color that's crept back
into his cheeks.
"Ouch," Stiles says. "S'a low blow, Derek. Like under-the-belt low."
Derek suddenly feels like an ass. He backpedals.
"No, I just— I wasn't trying to—" He sighs softly. "I just don't want to do
anything you're not comfortable with."
"I'll be fine," Stiles intones, a note of confidence in his voice that Derek
doesn't expect. "At least, I hope I will be. I mean, I better get used to
having your dick in my mouth before having it in my ass, right?"
Derek lets his hands trail up Stiles' arms, pads of his thumbs tracing the long
cords of muscle thrown into sharp relief by the shadowy light of the room.
"Actually," he ventures, "That's not really what I had in mind for… you know,
this."
Stiles' tone slips seamlessly back into snark.
"Wait, you didn't have penetration in mind when coming here tonight?"
"Of course I did," Derek answers, "Just not by me." He watches Stiles freeze
and hears the loud skip of his heartbeat. "That is, if you're okay with it," he
adds. "I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to."
Stiles swallows, but Derek can tell it's not that he's against the suggestion.
Quite the opposite: he's pretty sure he can sense Stiles' arousal just getting
even more intense.
"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Stiles eventually asks, sounding
hesitant. "With my lack of… experience and all?"
Derek gives him a soft and reassuring smile. "We'll start slow," he says.
"We'll talk through it. We'll be fine." He chooses his next words with care. "I
trust you—"
He barely finishes his thought before Stiles attacks his mouth again, gripping
his jaw with both hands, trying desperately to suck whatever life Derek had
left from his lips. Before he knows it, Stiles is back to removing his pants,
this time with a tad more confidence. It's still slow, but not hesitant. The
drag of his knuckles and the fabric of his jeans down Derek's thighs makes it
seem like Stiles means to do that. Like he's trying to savor the moment. The
moment when all of Derek is exposed to him. Derek's heart skips several beats.
He's ready, but nervous. Stiles makes a quiet, throaty little sound as Derek's
cock sort of bounces free. And he's gone.
And then, well, that's it. Stiles' mouth is on his cock, and Derek can't focus
on any single one thought. His mind is too busy following the swirl of Stiles'
tongue, the almost bruising grip he's got on his hips as he eases his perfect
mouth down over the head of it, and it's got Derek's muscles going slack as he
leans back onto his elbows, letting his head fall back against the bed as
Stiles nearly swallows him whole. It's a feeling unlike any other, and the tug
of Stiles' lips, the brush of his tongue. It's got Derek twisting his fingers
into the sheets because it's Stiles.
Within seconds, Derek's arching his back, and losing more and more of himself
to the obscenely perfect sounds Stiles is making around his cock. He sits up,
and his fingers go from the sheets to Stiles' hair, to his jaw, and back again.
He's close to the edge, and all he wants, hell all he needs, is to come, with
Stiles' lips wrapped securely around his cock, making those wonderful, perfect,
needy sounds like this is all he ever wanted and more. Derek has to say his
name over and over again to keep from slipping over the edge, to keep him
grounded, anchored to himself, and eventually, as Stiles sinks into a rhythm,
it's less of a litany and more of a prayer, a constant, repeated plea for
Stiles to take everything he has, to tear him apart and consume him, swallow
him whole and never, ever stop.
"Stiles," he groans, his throat dry, "Fuck, Stiles— Stiles, you— Stop."
The deep slurping sound Stiles makes as his mouth pulls free of Derek's cock is
almost enough to make him come right there, untouched. He has to hold it back
when Stiles takes a breath, lips wet and swollen, small string of saliva
hanging between them and the crown of his cock.
"Why?" He asks, suddenly confused. "Did I— Was I that bad?"
Derek lets out a pent-up breath and shakes his head.
"Absolutely not. ‘Was good. Very good. Fucking perfect, actually. I just— I
need—"
Stiles slips his hand around the base of Derek's cock and slid it up, thumb
dabbing at a small pool of pre-come forming at the tip.
"What? What do you need?" He asks, voice utterly ruined.
"I need you to fuck me," Derek sighs, before leaning down to press his lips
into Stiles' mouth. He can taste himself on his tongue, and it was all he could
do not to sink his teeth in right then and there.
As they kiss, Derek eases his hands down past the waist of Stiles' jeans,
letting his hands follow the curve of his ass until he was gripping it securely
in his palms. Stiles moans. Derek worries at his bottom lip and lies back,
pulling Stiles down on top of him, feeling the mattress pull away from his
shoulders where the human posts up his weight, arms hemming Derek in as they
kiss. He tries to finish pulling Stiles' pants down over his thighs, grunting
awkwardly as he tries to do it without releasing the boy's lips. Stiles pulls
back to help him out, a slight smile curved into his mouth. He pulls back
completely to kick off his shoes and socks and slip the pants off over his
ankles, and Derek drinks him in, watching as random cords of muscle stand out
as he flicks the jeans off and tosses them aside, before climbing back on top
of him. He leans in for another kiss, and surprises Derek by pulling away after
a second, pressing his soft, parted lips down over the edge of his jaw to the
sensitive skin underneath, tracking his vein down the side of his neck.
Derek laces his fingers into Stiles' hair and tugs, high, undignified sounds
slipping up his throat as Stiles explores his body. After a few seconds of him
sucking bruises into the dip just behind Derek's collarbone, he can't take it
any longer.
"Lube," Derek breathes, nodding toward the nightstand. He needs it. Stiles
flicks him a questioning look.
"Wha—?" He asks, pulling his lips from Derek's skin.
"The lube," Derek repeats. "It's in the nightstand, and condoms too."
Stiles pulls himself away to reach for them.
"Do werewolves actually need condoms?" He asks curiously.
"Well, no, not really," he admits. "I just didn't think it'd be a good idea to
introduce you to unsafe sex," he points out, reaching up to take the small
bottle from Stiles' hand.
"What am I—" Stiles sort of hovers, unsure of where to go.
Derek kind of chuckles, because it's probably the most adorable thing he'd ever
seen. But he really didn't have any idea either.
"Just… come back," Derek pleads. "I need to touch you."
Stiles obeys, as Derek pulls him by his hips in between his legs and flicks
open the cap on the lube.
"Have— Have you ever done this before?" Stiles asks, as Derek draws a small
line up two fingers with the lube and reaches down to slick up Stiles' cock.
His whole body shudders and he lets out a moan. Derek growls. His cock
twitches.
"No, I haven't," he finally answers, stroking the lube on to Stiles' cock.
"Are you sure that—" His question is cut off when Derek's hand slides back up
under the head of his cock, and he has to lean forward, bracing himself on one
arm. "Are you sure that this is— holyshit that feels good." Derek grins to
himself. Seeing Stiles unravel is making him yearn. He can feel a dab of
moisture as pre-come begins to leak out of his upturned cock onto his abdomen.
"I just— Aren't you nervous?"
"Of course I am," Derek replies.
Stiles pulls back, settling onto his knees. In the half-light, he's absolutely
glorious. Everything he owns was thrown into sharp relief, and Derek's nerves
surge with a whole new sensation that cancels out any nervousness.
"Then why the hell—"
Derek cuts him off, by reaching up and settling his clean hand around the curve
of Stiles' neck.
"It's our first time," he assures him, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the
ridge of his windpipe. "We're both inexperienced here."
"That's not exactly true, though," Stiles shrugs darkly, reaching a hand up to
grip Derek's wrist.
Derek sighs.
"Stiles, listen to me," he begs. "None of them— They don't matter, okay?  I
trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone before. You're different. This is
different. It'll take some time to get used to."
Stiles stays quiet for a moment, just the sound of their heavy breathing to be
heard.
"I may be bad at it," he finally mumbles.
"You won't be," Derek says firmly, pulling him down to try and kiss away any
doubt that was gnawing at his mind.
It takes a few tries to finally get it. They have to figure out the angle, how
fast Stiles can actually push into him, what position works best, et cetera,
but Derek figured that would happen. Stiles learns very quickly that it's best
just to ask what feels good, or if he was going too fast or too slow. Derek
too, learns what it's like to feel Stiles' cock press against his hole, feel it
ease in, fill him up completely, and force the breath from his lungs as he
bottoms out. He finds that he'll never get tired of this, the way they actually
fit together perfectly, the way it feels to have Stiles' hips pressed up
against his ass as he leans over and presses in, inch by inch and torturously
slow.
"How's that?" Stiles asks, when he slips fully inside that last time.
Derek can't speak. His cock is throbbing. He nods. It's all he can manage. Then
he starts thrusting. He's leaned over Derek, heat radiating from his body as
his scent, tinged with sweat and lube and Derek's own practically oozes off of
him, and Derek can feel himself begin to melt into the bed as he groans.
Each pushscrapepull of Stiles' cock breaks the noise, the roll of his hips
just— Fuck, everything. Derek can feel every vein and ridge of Stiles' cock as
he fucks into him, each thrust pushing the breath from his lungs and all
extraneous thoughts from his brain, until his world narrows to the connection
between them, and it's all Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.
As his rhythm intensifies, each thrust pounding into Derek, the werewolf can
feel himself begin to come apart at the seams.
"Stiles," he moans, "I can't— Can't hold on for much longer."
He's not even touching himself, but with each push of Stiles inside him, he
could feel the pulse of his orgasm in the base of his pelvis. He just wants to
come, he wants Stiles to keep fucking him, to never stop, and he wants. He
wants it all.
"Me neither," Stiles rasps.
He speeds up the tiniest bit, and Derek wants more.
And he gets it.
Stiles leans down, bracing his elbows against the crook of Derek's shoulders,
fingers lacing into his sweat-matted hair as he breathes out short, jagged
breaths, swearing softly and murmuring Derek's name like a goddamn prayer.
Derek can feel him, feel his hips right up against his ass, feel the way his
skin is slick with sweat and their mingled DerekandStiles scent.  He reaches up
and grips the back of Stiles' neck and pulls their lips together, licking into
his mouth and dragging from it a perfect, sobbing, utterly ruined moan that
makes him want to fucking howl. He reaches down, and begins to stroke his cock,
aching and sore from waiting.
There's a sharp, high sound, and fingers tightening in Derek's hair as Stiles
gives in and comes inside him. His hips are pressed right up against Derek's
ass and their mouths are locked together as tight as possible. And it's good,
fantastic even, and Derek can't get enough of it as he fucks up into the circle
of his hand and back onto Stiles' cock. With each stroke he can feel the come
begin to slide out of his ass but fuck it he's so close, and Stiles is there,
all warm heat and breathing into his collarbone and—
Derek can't suppress a snarl as he comes into the small space between them,
hips bucking and thrusting as Stiles presses soft, open-mouthed kisses into the
crook of his neck. When he finishes, Stiles kind of sags into him, not caring
at all about the mess across Derek's abs, and Derek loves it.
He loves how Stiles is still breathing heavily, like he just ran a marathon,
how he's just sitting there, lips half-parted, his cock still inside his ass,
like he doesn't want to break the connection, like he wants to stay inside
Derek forever. Derek lets his aftershocks course across his body, sending
already overwrought nerves into a frenzy.
As soon as Stiles starts to display discomfort and pull out, however, Derek
reaches for his shirt where it landed earlier and uses it to clean them up. It
feels cold and empty all of a sudden, and Derek pulls Stiles close again as
soon as they've gotten rid of most of the mess.
When it's all said and done, neither of them wants to move. Derek's arms are
looped lazily around Stiles' back, enjoying the warm press of his body on top
of him as he hums contently. Stiles' breathing slowly turns steady and even,
curling warm patterns into the side of Derek's neck.
After a long moment, Derek nudges Stiles lightly.
"Well? How was it?" He asks.
Stiles shrugs. "Eh, I've had better."
Derek snorts. "I'm quite certain you haven't, actually."
"What, had better sex with someone else or had sex at all?"
"Either?" Derek ventures, cocking a quizzical eyebrow up at the ceiling.
Stiles huffs out a laugh and nuzzles closer. "Fair point," he intones matter-
of-factly. "But if you want my overall assessment, I'd say we need to do it
again. Several times. In several different positions. It's best to have an
average for these sorts of things."
Derek hums. "Okay," he agrees.
The silence roams for a while; long enough for Derek starting to expect Stiles
to have fallen asleep. It'd make sense, even Derek himself can feel the sleepy
afterglow of the orgasm starting to overtake him. But then Stiles speaks.
"Chris called me your mate," he murmurs against Derek's skin.
Derek tilts his head to bury his nose in Stiles' damp hair. "Yeah, he did."
"What exactly does that mean?"
"What do you think it means?" Derek wonders curiously.
"How am I supposed to know?" Stiles asks. "Google is pretty much useless when
it comes to the real stuff about werewolves."
Derek chuckles, hand sliding up to grab a handful of Stiles' hair and pull just
enough for Stiles to lift his head to look at him. There's not much light, but
enough for Derek to make out his eyes in the dim darkness.
"It means you're mine," he says, and his voice comes out deeper than he'd
expected, "but you can use any word you want. Mate, partner, lover—"
"Boyfriend?" Stiles suggests.
"Yeah," Derek agrees, running his fingers through Stiles' hair. "That works
too."
Stiles' eyes flutter shut at the touch. "I don't care what anyone calls it," he
mumbles. "As long as I'm yours."
Derek's heart jolts in euphoria, and the second time tonight he feels like
howling. He moves his hand to cup Stiles' face, thumb lazily stroking his
cheekbone.
"And you are," he assures. "You smell like mine. Every wolf can sense it and
every hunter can see it."
Stiles' face cracks into a smile, and it's one of the most beautiful things
Derek has ever seen. His hair and face is damp with sweat, and his eyelids
looks heavy, but the honest grin is almost enough to light up the whole room.
Then he leaps forward, claiming Derek's lips in a hard kiss, and Derek moans
down his throat while returning it for all he's worth.
***** Chapter 25 *****
 
                            view_the_whole_calendar
                                        
Artist: agbywolf
Author:  zainclaw
 
Snow is falling when the sun rises.
Stiles can't remember the last time he saw a sunrise as beautiful as this. He
watches as the sun travels higher on the orange sky, above the purple clouds,
and warmly lands on his face through the big windows. He's sitting up in bed,
and with the sheets only covering his feet he would've been freezing if it
wasn't for the space heater still sleeping next to him.
Derek is scowling in his sleep, and Stiles can't help but to smile to himself
at how silly and adorable it is. He half-expects the guy to start growling and
kicking with his feet like a sleeping dog, and Derek would probably call him
ridiculous if he ever told him that. Which he might, because he kind of likes
when Derek calls him ridiculous, because it sounds like three completely
different words.
It takes a while for him to wake up properly, slowly drifting out of sleep and
into the world of the living. He rolls onto his back, sighing heavily and
stretching. He drags his sleeve across his face before blinking the sleep out
of his eyes. Stiles waits patiently, watching him with a soft smile playing on
his lips. Once Derek's gaze focuses on him, his eyes widens.
"You're up already?" He rumbles, voice thick. Stiles would only find it sweet
if it hadn't been for the unexpected hint of worry in there. Derek pops himself
up on his elbows, as if to just get the tiniest bit closer to him. "Did you
sleep bad?" He asks. "Did you have another nightmare?"
Suddenly Derek's worry makes sense, and Stiles feels a warmth clench around his
heart by just how Derek cares. He shakes his head, still smiling effortlessly
down at him.
"No, I was just watching you," he says, reaching out to trace Derek's eyebrow
with his thumb. "Did you know you wear your grumpy face in your sleep? Did you
have a dream? Were you chasing a rabbit?"
Derek huffs, craning his neck to brush Stiles' finger off his face, but there's
nothing harsh in it.
"Don't remember," he sighs leaning back to lay down again. One of his hands
absently slides up Stiles' side and settles with his fingers resting in the ups
and downs of his ribs. "It's probably just what my face looks like," he
defends.
"I like your face," Stiles says, moving his own hand to Derek's stomach. He can
feel muscles tensing and reacting beneath his fingertips, and it brings back
vivid memories from last night that makes him go hot. "Even if I'm becoming
greatly familiar with beard-burn."
"I could shave," Derek suggests casually, stroking the skin under his fingers.
"And go back to your teenager-look?" Stiles asks, cocking an eyebrow. "It was
cute, but no." He slides his hand all the way up to Derek's chest, leaning
forward, not stopping until his palm is resting over the werewolf's fast
beating heart. "I kind of love your scruff," he smiles, hovering above him.
Derek sucks in a breath, gazing up at him.
"I kind of love you."
Stiles shouldn't be surprised, because the look in Derek's eyes whenever their
eyes met over the last few days should've been proof enough, but he still
stops. He can feel the skip of the heart beneath his hand, and he's pretty sure
he's never seen Derek look so exposed before. Even last night, when he'd been
under Stiles without a single layer of clothing to cover him up, he hadn't
looked this vulnerable. But Stiles figures it's not very strange after all.
Derek is not ashamed of his body – he's got no reason to – and taking his
clothes off is most likely not even the slightest challenge to him. But opening
up to someone, to actually use words – that's probably a pretty big deal,
considering his past trust issues.
"Yeah?" Stiles can't help but ask, just wanting to hear it being confirmed
again.
"Yeah," Derek says, swallowing, and Stiles watches his Adam's apple bob. "I
think I have for a long time now," he continues, and Stiles holds his breath,
not wanting to interrupt. "It just took me a while to figure it out."
A short silence falls between them, but Stiles can bet his pounding heart is
rather loud in Derek's ears.
"Silver Linings Playbook," he mumbles after a while.
Derek frowns, tilting his head to the side on the pillow. "What?"
"You practically quoted 'Silver Linings Playbook'," Stiles explains with a
grin.
"I didn't know," Derek says lowly, as if that's a bad thing.
"Hey, no, that's okay," Stiles hurries to assure, shifting to sit on his knees
next to Derek instead. "You should know that quoting good movies when trying to
be romantic is not a minus when it comes to me. More like a big plus,
actually."
Derek huffs and smiles, sighing softly when reaching up with one hand to slide
through Stiles' hair.
"I wasn't trying to be romantic," he states. "I was just being honest."
Stiles smiles back, incapable of doing anything else. Derek's smile is fucking
contagious.
"Well, in that case: I hope you'll keep being honest with me."
"I plan to be," Derek replies.
Stiles' heart flutters, and for a second he feels like he's about to burst with
all the emotions inside him. If someone had told him at the beginning of this
month that he'd wake up in bed with Derek Hale on Christmas Day, he would've
laughed madly into their face. It's a strange and overwhelming feeling: to
actually have something you never thought you would.
He can't say when he first fell in love with Derek, but he knows it happened.
"I love you," he says out loud, and he doesn't mean to grin like an idiot but
he really can't help it.
Derek laughs, all smooth and happy, and the next second Stiles is being pulled
down by the firm hand on the back of his neck and Derek is kissing him. It's
the best kiss Stiles has ever had, including all the ones from last night,
because this is so pure and honest. He sighs into it, sending a vibration down
Derek's throat. The werewolf groans in response. It may even be a growl, but
Stiles barely bothers with the difference nowadays. Whatever noises Derek makes
when they're kissing: he loves all of them.
Stiles yelps when the room spins, and the next second he's staring at the
ceiling on his back. Derek is on top of him, standing on his knees and elbow on
each side of Stiles' body. He kisses Stiles again, and this time Stiles moans.
His body is already hot, burning like a furnace just like every time Derek
touches him. When Derek breaks off the kiss to instead drag his nose along his
jaw and down to his throat, inhaling deeply, Stiles can't help but chuckle as
he loops both arms around Derek's neck.
"Does my hoodie still smells like me?"
"No," Derek murmurs against his skin, placing soft kisses over the vein in
Stiles' neck. "You can have it back."
"You could get another one," Stiles offers, breath catching a little at the
feel of Derek's hot and wet tongue on his skin.
"Or I'll just keep you here," Derek suggests, moving back up to kiss the corner
of Stiles' mouth.
Stiles can feel his face flush, but it's not by embarrassment as much as sheer
joy. He grasps the hair in the back of Derek's neck to make him groan, and the
body above him lowers to press down on him.
"I actually got a present for you," he says before capturing Derek's mouth in a
quick kiss again. "It's at home though, because I was too busy just bringing
myself here last night to remember taking it with me."
Derek chuckles against his lips, pushing his hips down and dragging a moan from
both of them.
"What is it?" He asks, practically panting in Stiles' face.
"Well, I was gonna give your leather jacket back," Stiles says, equally out of
breath. "But then I found something better, and I also kinda wanna keep it
because it smells like you." Derek lifts his head up to frown at him, and
Stiles can read the silent remark that he's not able to pick up on scents.
"Like leather," Stiles clarifies with a light eye roll.
Derek hums, going back to the kissing. He starts to roll his hips, and Stiles
gasps into Derek's open mouth at the sparks shooting up his spine. It hits him
just how much they have left to do; even if last night was kind of an all-the-
way thing, there's still so much he wants to do with Derek. Well, everything.
"So what did you find instead?" Derek wonders, moving down to nip at Stiles'
jaw, still with his hips moving.
Stiles doesn't reply right away, too busy moaning and finding the rhythm to
rock his own hips with Derek's.
"A coffee mug," he pants out. "That says 'I hope your day is as nice as your
butt'."
Derek scoffs and ducks his head down to laugh into the curve of Stiles' throat.
It's a wonderful sound, and somehow it only makes Stiles' blood rush south even
quicker.
"How did you know? You didn't see my butt until last night," Derek points out,
his hot breath ghosting over Stiles' pulse.
"Dude," Stiles breathes. "With those jeans, it didn't exactly leave much to my
imagination." Derek huffs, as if that's a good point, and Stiles is pretty sure
he can feel his face heating up a little. "I figured it'd cure your grumpiness
in the mornings if you had a coffee mug to smile about," he explains further,
pausing to moan when Derek thrusts down to rub their hard groins together.
"Also you didn't really give me much of a Christmas list to go on," he accuses.
At that Derek pulls back his head, stilling his hips for a moment. Stiles
groans at the loss of friction, but looks up to meet Derek's gaze. His pupils
are blown, his forehead just starting to get damp with sweat.
"As soon as I got you I forgot about being able to want anything else," he
says, and Stiles' swallows at the honesty in his voice. Derek bumps their noses
together, smiling. "And you'll be enough reason for me to smile in the
morning."
Stiles is quite certain he'll never take this for granted; the way the
butterflies dance in his stomach when hearing Derek talk as if he's the best
thing that's ever happened to him. The best thing that could happen to him.
Stiles is used to being rejected; to be the outcast and watch others from afar.
Derek makes him feel wanted, desired, and loved in ways he never thought was
possible for anyone. Least of all himself.
"You got me," he promises, and it's barely a whisper. "You got me for as long
as you'll want me."
Derek whimpers, like it's shaking him to the core, and then he's claiming
Stiles' lips with his own again.
"Forever," he pants out between kisses. "I'll want you forever."
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