Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/556854.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Sheriff_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Canon_Compliant, Frottage, First_Time, Unresolved_Sexual_Tension, Sharing
      a_Bed
  Collections:
      TWFallHarvest
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-11-07 Words: 15130
****** See Right Through You ******
by marguerite_26
Summary
     With the Alpha pack constantly circling, Derek enlists Scott’s help
     to ensure everyone is ready for the worst. Scott and Stiles have
     other plans, though, and Derek is not impressed when he finds out
     they are plotting behind his back.
Notes
     Alby_Mangroves, it was a such a pleasure to write this for you. I
     hope this meets a couple of your prompts at least. Thanks to my beta
     readers who never fail to impress me with their suggestions.
See the end of the work for more notes
The forest held a scent of anticipation. It was mid-July and rain hadn’t fallen
in weeks. Derek crouched, grabbing a leaf from the powdery dirt at his feet. It
crumbled between his fingers. He glared up at the cloudless sky, squinting at
the merciless rays, and made a mental note to tell the pack to be on the
lookout for forest fires.
He’d tell Scott first if Scott was where he was supposed to be. Derek inhaled,
searching beyond the crisp threatening dryness for the familiar scent of his
pack. He found it; it was faint, though, days old already. Derek gritted his
teeth around the roar building in his chest.
He knew the pack’s complaints. The Hale property was massive; add to that the
full reserve, and they had acres and acres of territory to cover each day, but
Derek refused to back down on this point. With the Alpha pack circling Beacon
Hills like vultures, their marks had to be fresh. He knew they had summer jobs
and lives outside of the pack. But they wouldn’t have those if they were dead.
He could run the perimeter himself. Mark it off like he’d done so often this
summer when Isaac and Scott had to work late, or do whatever it was teenagers
did these days. Instead, he settled in against the base of a thick oak and
waited, his mood darkening with each passing moment.
Scott was a wildcard. He’d been willing to band together with Derek’s pack once
again when the Alpha pack had moved into an old farmhouse on the outskirts of
town, but Derek was careful not to trust him. Especially when Scott agreed to
do the things Derek had suggested. Loud arguments he could fight against;
silent nodding could mean Scott was already traveling down some other road.
That much Derek had learned.
He’d nearly given the day up for lost (he’d run the perimeter himself -- and
would make sure Scott heard about it) when the hairs on the back of his neck
rose at the scent of another wolf approaching. Then two sets of footfalls
carried through the woods. Derek’s nostrils flared at the distinctly human
scent muddling Scott’s.
Stiles. What was Scott thinking?
They were still a mile off to the south, approaching not nearly as fast as they
could be if Scott were alone. As he should have been.
Derek could hear Stiles struggling for each breath, panting as Scott burst
forward. “I’m going to have a heart attack,” Stiles shouted for all to hear, as
though his frailty wasn’t already filling the air.
They were treating this as a game. The territory had to be marked with their
scent, the scent of the pack, at all times. “That's how we'll show our
strength,” Derek had told them.
He had lied. None of them were skillful enough to see it.
They weren't strong. The Alpha pack could crush a better and bigger pack
without even trying. They didn't stand a chance. But maybe, just maybe, if the
Alpha pack decided they needed to be taken down, the rich scents in the air
would confuse them, distract them enough they wouldn't know which way to go,
enough to give Derek's pack precious moments to escape, hidden as they would be
with their own scents spreading in all directions.
Stiles' human scent was only muddling the air, ripping through the desperate
layer of protection Derek was trying so hard to build.
“Dude.” Stiles gasped. “Wait up.” They were only half a mile off now, and a
fair distance separated Stiles from Scott.
“I have to finish this round,” Scott called back.
A soft thud and a crinkle of leaves said Stiles had collapsed. “Why are you in
such a hurry, anyway? It's not like you have a girlfriend to run off to.”
That stopped Scott. Derek could easily imagine him trying to glare Stiles into
remorse, with all the fire of a battery-run puppy.
It must have worked because Stiles turned defensive. “Hey, try no girlfriend
ever and no legs. Because that's how I feel right now.”
Scott sighed and walked back to Stiles. He flopped to the ground. “I have to
pick up my mom from work.”
“I don't know why you even bother with the car when you can run so fast.”
“Too much running on all fours hurts my back.”
“Really? I was wondering about that.”
Scott snorted. “No.”
There was a pause. “I hate you.”
For long moments Derek could hear nothing but Stiles groaning as he massaged
his limbs. Then Scott's heart rate picked up. “Are you sure we should go
through with our plan? I think Derek’s expecting me to go behind his back. And
it’s not the best plan.”
Derek froze, every muscle in his body tense like the second before a car crash
where you can see it coming but can’t stop it. Bile rose bitter and all too
familiar in his throat as he waited for more.
“It’s a good plan, buddy,” Stiles said. “We gotta do something. Derek’s shit at
this.”
“If the plan fails, we’re dead. If it works... Derek’s still going to kill us.
You know that, right?”
Derek’s fists clenched; he was hyperaware of the half mile between them, of how
he’d love to close the distance and prove Scott right.
“No, no. He's gonna kill you. Because you'll serve as diversion like a good
friend while I run off to get police custody.”
Scott must have glared again because Stiles’ tone was more serious when he
spoke next. “It’s a good plan,” he said, grunting as he stood up. He jumped up
and down as though testing his legs. “It’s the only way. You know Derek’s not
making good decisions right now. He’s so hung up on defending his territory or
whatever he’s not thinking big picture. We’ve tried talking with him--”
“And I tried to punch him.”
“Very true!” Stiles chuckled. “And very fun. Though, not for you, I guess.”
Derek wanted to punch them both right now. He wanted to rip their arms off.
Scott stood. “It's his own fault.” He was apparently warming up to the plan
again. “And I can run really fast.”
“Exactly,” Stiles said, then quieted his voice as though just now remembering
they were on Derek’s territory. “I’ll see what I can do tonight. And if it
works, it’ll be all over and done with by the time Derek finds out.”
“It had better.” Scott was already starting back on his route. He turned to
add, “Because I don't think police custody can save you.” His footfalls faded
in the distance, and Stiles -- with a barely audible mumble of “No respect for
the Beacon Hills Police Department, that one,” -- made his way in the other
direction, probably back to his Jeep.
The forest was alive around Derek, too hot and dangerously close to lighting
ablaze, but Derek shivered. The icy cold sting of betrayal slipped down his
spine, familiar and inevitable.
It was a long time before he was able to move from that spot.
--
He needed to be alone with his thoughts. He still had time to get a step ahead
now that he knew what was coming. Unfortunately, the house wasn’t empty.
Peter was typing away on his laptop in the kitchen, working on the only
functioning outlet in the place. Derek would draw more attention to his mood if
he hid upstairs. A quick drink of water and a nod would keep up appearances.
It took only one look for Derek to realize his mistake. Peter glanced up as
Derek walked past and Derek knew instantly that Peter saw right through him. He
grabbed a bottle of water and downed half of it. He had one foot back in the
hallway when Peter finally spoke.
“Your little soldiers not obeying their General, Derek?”
Derek took another drink, keeping his expression calm and heart rate steady. He
expected this much. “Scott brought Stiles along on his perimeter marking.”
Which was true and also upsetting enough that Peter would hopefully buy it.
Peter hummed. “You made it sound like a game. And they treat it as such. I bet
they sometimes piss on trees to 'mark the territory and show their strength.'“
He paused, eyes lighting with amusement. “Why not tell them the truth?”
Why not admit there was nothing he could do? That was what Peter was asking.
But trying to save their lives wasn't nothing, so Derek had nothing to admit.
He met Peter’s gaze head on. “I don't trust Scott. And I don't trust others not
to trust Scott. If he realizes that we don't stand a chance, that I'm prepared
to run, he'd have the pack running tonight. They'd be scattered and
defenseless. Sitting ducks. We won't run unless we have to, and if we have to,
we run together. As a pack.”
“He's not in your pack, remember?”
Derek kept his face blank and turned to leave, wishing Peter had stayed dead.
Guilt choked him at the thought. For six years he’d have given anything to be
able to have a conversation with Peter, for him and Laura to have roots beyond
each other. He’d come back to Beacon Hills sometimes just to visit Peter. He’d
spent countless hours sitting at Peter’s bedside, pouring his soul out to
someone who couldn’t judge him, ignoring Peter’s blank expression and hoping
he’d respond one day. Only now those confessions lay behind Peter’s knowing
eyes. Every one of Derek’s fears, hopes, dreams and regrets waiting in reserve
to be used against him.
Peter knew the power of that information and Derek should never underestimate
how easily Peter could read him. Derek walked out, not exactly a tactical
retreat, but Peter had the upper hand at the moment and Derek had other things
to worry about.
“He could be, you know.” Peter spoke softly, but the words carried easily from
the kitchen. Derek stopped. He didn’t turn back and Peter went on, “And I think
you know exactly how to do it.”
The muscles in Derek’s shoulders tightened; he knew what was coming and waited
for it.
Peter moved to stand before Derek in the hallway, not blocking his way, but
making it harder not to meet his gaze. “You're an Alpha. You have the power to
control the pack, to make them do whatever you wish.” His voice was lyrical.
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “That is the power of an Alpha. Those you have
turned are yours to command.” Peter lifted his hand to show off his claws. “All
they need is a little nudge.”
Derek struggled to stay still. They'd been through this before, and the
discussion always ended with Derek's fist slamming into Peter's jaw. He was too
tired for that tonight. He picked the easiest argument. “I didn't bite Scott.”
That didn’t sidetrack Peter. “You could bite Stiles.”
Derek almost laughed. “The Sheriff's son?”
“The way to Scott. The way to having control over every beta in this town.”
Derek’s temper flared. That was not how he wanted to run his pack. The Hale
pack hadn’t worked like that. His father would have never bitten someone
without consent, let alone try to control them in the way Peter was suggesting,
in the way Peter had tried to control Scott and make him kill his friends.
Scott. Peter's mistake. A bite given to someone who didn't want it, by someone
too unstable to properly establish a bond between Alpha and beta. Peter's
mistake but now Derek's mess to clean up.
“You know what’s at stake here, Derek,” Peter said. “I'm telling you how to
keep them alive.”
“No, you're telling me how to become you. And you… you know, you didn't
actually do so well when--”
“I'm alive, aren't I?” Peter's eyes almost softened. With pity, no doubt. He
was being pitied by someone whose ultimate plan had worked in the end, even if
he’d been dead and buried for a part of it. “Fine. Don't use my methods. But in
the absence of an actual plan, you might need a backup plan. Are you sure your
pack will listen whether you tell them to fight or run? You know that no matter
what, Scott will try to make them do the opposite because that's just your
luck. At least set the board, arrange your pawns. Bite Stiles.”
Why was he even standing here, listening? Was he truly that desperate? Or maybe
his current anger at Scott and Stiles was making him wish he could just make
them fall in line. Biting Stiles might do that, but an Alpha securing his
dominance over a beta was a tricky thing. Peter had proved that. Hell, Derek
had proved it twice over with his own runaway betas.
Anyway, it didn’t matter. “Stiles would never say yes,” he said.
Peter chuckled. “Then don't ask. Beneath it all, he wants it.”
For one bright moment, it seemed like there was a good idea hidden in Peter's
psychotic babble. Maybe Stiles did truly want to be a werewolf. He could want
it. After everything that he had seen and experienced, he must crave power,
crave protection, even if he broadcasted otherwise. Derek could bite him; he
was stronger now than he’d been when he’d bit the others, the ability to
control a new beta would’ve increased. Then Stiles would join his pack. And
Scott would follow.
Maybe that could actually work.
Or maybe he could just kill them both. That would work too. Before they went
through with their stupid plan, whatever it was. He knew, without a doubt, that
this plan would get them all killed.
Unless Derek stopped Stiles. Or killed him. Or bit him. It all seemed so
tempting.
As though he could read Derek’s mind, Peter’s voice drifted into the hallway.
“Don’t take too long deciding.”
--
Stiles’ window was wide open. Likely he was trying to catch a bit of the
afternoon breeze, but as someone who was about to betray an Alpha werewolf,
Stiles had to have a death wish.
Derek carefully traversed the landmine of muddy shoes and dirty t-shirts that
littered Stiles’ bedroom floor. Beyond the scent of sweat and mud and week-old
sheets, there was Stiles, his dad and Scott. Nothing suspicious, except that
his closet smelled like something had crawled in there and died. But Derek had
once been a teenage boy and knew there was nothing suspicious in an odd smell
coming from a sixteen year old’s closet. He remembered, a lifetime ago, his
mother cuffing him on the back of the head for leaving his room like this even
though Laura’s was always worse. A sharp stab of regret reminded him to keep
focused.
Either Stiles was the biggest slob Derek had ever seen or he was a bit of a
genius at hiding things because it took a surprisingly long time to find what
he was looking for. Under a layer of comic books, a healthy eating cookbook,
and oddly enough a book on cephalopods, Derek found an old book of spells.
He knew just enough Latin to guess the marked off pages had something to do
with concealment, which did nothing to assuage Derek’s conviction that Scott
and Stiles were in over their heads.
He didn’t get much further with the book when a car pulled into the driveway.
Derek listened to the Sheriff making his way into the house. From the scent,
Sheriff had his hands full of some type of deep fried diner-fare. He considered
his options for a moment, but as tempting as the window was, he wasn’t ready to
leave. If this was happening soon, which it clearly was, he didn’t have the
luxury of letting it rest.
He put the book back, re-piling the mess in some likeness to what it once was,
and stood by the closet, ready to slip inside at the sound of steps. Not ten
minutes later, Sheriff trudged up to Stiles’ room. Derek watched through the
crack in the closet door as Sheriff dropped a basket of folded laundry a foot
inside the door with a look on his face that said he didn’t dare venture
further.
With a slight screech and a jerky stop, Stiles’ Jeep pulled up not long after.
The front door banged open and shut again, a bag was tossed to the floor and
the first words out of Stiles’ mouth were, “You are not eating that,” as he
stomped into the kitchen
“I’m working nights this week, Stiles.” Sheriff talked around a mouthful,
making Stiles' point moot. “A salad’s not going to get me through the night.”
“Mel’s has a chicken caesar wrap that you said last week was actually pretty
tasty.”
“I lied. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept.”
There wasn’t a lot of ice to the Sheriff’s tone, but the sudden pounding of
Stiles’ heart said there was truth enough to hurt anyway.
“Tomorrow,” Stiles said, not letting himself get derailed. “Tomorrow you are
eating a salad wrap.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll survive my twelve hour shift on rabbit food tomorrow
night if your room is spotless before I have to leave.”
“What -- I -- I have things...”
There was a crinkle of something being dug from a take-out bag. “Jimmy was just
telling me about this new place on Main with the best bacon double--”
“Fine!” Stiles said, defeated. And Derek’s opinion of the Sheriff went up a few
notches. “Fine. Oh my god. You are evil.”
Sheriff stopped chewing long enough to say, “It’s called parenting.”
“Evil parenting.”
“I’ve found that works best with you.”
Stiles grumbled all the way up the stairs, a bag clanking at his side with each
step. From the vantage point of the closet, Derek watched Stiles walk smack
into the laundry basket. His arms flailed. The bag in his hands crashed to the
floor. In a blur of limbs, he tumbled after it.
Candles spilled from the bag, rolling across the floor and the basket of
previously folded laundry was a tangled mess on top of Stiles' legs.
This, Derek huffed, was the mastermind about to put an end to the generations
old Hale Pack.
“I brought up your laundry,” Sheriff shouted from the kitchen. Derek was
starting to really like him.
“Thanks ever so.” Stiles scrambled to stuff the dozen or so candles back into
his bag.
Stiles was a bit of mess, more so than usual. He shoved clothes into drawers at
breakneck speed, kicked dirty shoes under his bed and kicked his dirty clothes
in the direction of his closet.
“Bacon double cheeseburger,” he muttered, his cheeks hot and angry. “That is
not happening.”
It struck Derek then how fiercely Stiles protected his own -- whether his dad
from clogged arteries or Scott this past year. A person like that would be good
for the pack. But a person like that picked their own, picked the ones he’d
protect. Derek would never be able to force it on him.
Sheriff popped his head in a few minutes later. “I’m off. Are you staying in or
do I need to keep a look out for your red hoody at every disturbance call?”
“Me? Nope, I’ll be right here. Safe and sound.”
“Alright, have a good night, then. And if Scott comes over, you stay out of
trouble and out of my liquor cabinet.”
“Dad! You know me better than that.”
“Why does that not reassure me?”
Sheriff turned to leave, shaking his head and Stiles blurted out, “Be careful
out there.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s my line.”
“Sorry, it’s taken.”
Sheriff grinned, then looked around the room, which looked more rearranged than
cleaned. “Spotless. Twenty-four hours.”
“Yeah, yeah. This is just the first layer, you know.” Stiles kicked a balled up
sock across the room and it hit the closet door. Derek slunk further into the
shadows. “Now go. You’ll be late.”
Sheriff paused like he wanted to say more but instead gave Stiles an odd smile
that Derek couldn’t decipher, and he left. A moment later the front door
slammed shut and Stiles exhaled sharply.
Reaching for the bag, Stiles said, “Time to save some lives.” He sounded
resigned, tired. Derek wasn’t sure what to think anymore; he watched in
silence.
Stiles pulled out candle after candle, positioning them in a loose circle in
the center of his now-cleared floor. “This better not burn down my house,
Deaton, or my father is going to be so pissed.”
Derek stared through the slits in the door. A headache bloomed behind his eyes
at the thought of Deaton’s involvement in this.
Across the room, Stiles continued to talk to himself as he prepared for...
whatever Deaton had suggested.
Once the room was set up, Stiles grabbed his phone. Derek could hear Scott’s
voice on the other end. “All set?”
“I had my last little pep talk with Deaton. I’m going to try it out now on my
Furby.” Stiles held the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he grabbed a
black and white stuffed animal off his bookshelf and held it up by the ear. “If
this works, it’ll be you tomorrow.”
“All right,” Scott said. “Good luck.”
He closed the line, tossed his phone to his bed then set the Furby down in the
center of the candles. “All right, Bright Eyes, this shouldn’t hurt a bit. In
theory.”
Stiles found the spellbook under the pile by his computer and began flipping
through the pages, talking himself through it. The room filled with an endless
flood of mumbled words as he tried either to memorize the passage or to psych
himself up for the spell. Derek wondered at what point he needed to stop
watching this happen and actually stop it from going too far even though the
idea of an enchanted Furby didn’t manage to inspire much fear.
Stiles lit the first candle, trembling a bit. His voice was high-pitched,
nervous, as he said, “You just sit still, Bright Eyes, and if this works, Scott
and Stiles are going to pay a little visit to that mean old Alpha pack.”
Derek cursed, squeezing his eyes shut in disbelief. He half-wondered if he’d
heard wrong. He knew Scott had never wanted to be part of his pack, that Stiles
could barely scrape together a spoonful of apathy for Derek, but to make a deal
directly with the Alpha pack... None of this made sense.
Then again, it was Stiles; sense was a foreign concept.
In all the guessing he’d done in the last few hours about what Scott and
Stiles' plan might be, Stiles contacting the Alpha pack had never even crossed
his mind. It was suicide. It would get them all killed. Sooner than Derek
expected. The Alpha pack seemed to have been at least pretending to evaluate
Derek’s capabilities as an Alpha before they struck. This would be the end of
all pretenses.
In theory, they were supposed to protect their kind, get rid of wild packs,
keep the questionable ones in line, make sure the werewolves stayed hidden. But
Derek couldn't trust they'd think twice before striking if given even the
slimmest of justifications.
This teenage idiot had no idea who they were dealing with.
With each candle now lit, Stiles sat cross-legged in the center of the circle
in front of the creepy stuffed owl-thing. “I feel fucking ridiculous,” he said,
panic adding a bit of sing-song rhythm to his voice.
Derek was pretty sure that Stiles didn’t have enough magic in him to do
anything seriously dangerous -- the plan, more than the magic, would be what
got people killed. There was a tremor in Stiles' voice as he stumbled over the
Latin. Nothing happened.
Stiles took a deep breath. “Okay, Stiles. You can do this.” Stiles read the
passage in the book open in front of him one more time, sounding out the Latin
slowly. Finally, he scrubbed his hands over his face, and said, “You just need
to believe.”
He took three more tries, growing more frustrated, his pronunciation more
sloppy each time. He had no handle on his power (if he had any to begin with -
- Derek was not sure who’d convinced him he did). He could see the panic start
to settle in. Stiles was fumbling in the dark, trying to believe in himself
enough to make this work.
Stiles paused again, tucked his knees under his chin and wrapped his arms
around his legs like he needed to hold himself tight or he’d fall apart. Derek
looked away. It was over. Whatever the spell was meant to do, it had obviously
been essential to their plan. He’d call them out in the morning for being
idiots, but for now Derek breathed a sigh of relief that they hadn’t gotten
anyone (or everyone) killed.
But when he looked back, Stiles' expression had hardened. He was back to
sitting cross-legged. A whispered saying slipped from his lips, repeated
continually just under his breath like something he’d been forced to memorize
by some therapist years ago. But it was working. Stiles' eyes were set,
determined. When he spoke in Latin, the words came out clear and focused. The
room flared with heat.
A wave of something hit Derek in the chest, knocking the breath from his lungs
and throwing him against the back of the closet. Gold flashed, momentarily
blinding him, and then everything went black.
--
When Derek woke, the room was silent and dark.
It didn’t appear he’d been discovered, as he was still lying on the floor of
Stiles’ closet. Odd thing was, the closet door was now open. How Stiles missed
the unconscious werewolf lying in his laundry, Derek had no idea.
He crawled out soundlessly.
Stiles was asleep in his bed. The candles were arranged under Stiles’ desk and
the spellbook hidden out of sight again.
The clock on the nightstand read midnight. He’d been out for a few hours, then.
He wondered just how much he’d missed and if Stiles' spell had worked when he’d
been knocked out. Bright Eyes was back on the shelf without so much as a scorch
mark on its ridiculous ears, so Derek doubted it. It was time to end this
insane plan of theirs.
“Stiles.” Derek tapped Stiles' face until he stirred. When Stiles' eyelids
fluttered open, then shut again, Derek added a second sharp, “Stiles!”
Stiles flailed and sat up. He blinked and then blinked again, looking around
the room, mouth open.
Derek stood back, arms crossed over his chest. He glared, waiting for Stiles’
heartbeat to spike and for that scent of fear, shock and annoyance Stiles got
every time Derek was unexpectedly in his room. Stiles’ eyes darted around the
darkened room a second time. He squinted right past where Derek stood.
Stiles’ breath steadied. Derek frowned, his eyes narrowing as Stiles flopped
back onto the bed with a whispered, “I’m going insane.”
To Derek’s shock, Stiles simply turned over and burrowed deeper under his
covers.
Derek snapped his jaw shut, realizing he was gaping. Through clenched teeth he
gritted out, “Stiles!”
Stiles jumped comically, arms and legs thrashing out.
“Jesus. Fuck.” Stiles held his chest like his heart might pound right through
it. He scanned the room. “Derek?” He neck craned to look in every dark corner.
“Where are you?”
He pounced, his forearm pressing straight across Stiles’ throat. “Tell me why I
shouldn’t rip your throat out right now.”
Stiles gasped, tapping at his arm, his eyes wide, panicked and confused. Derek
glanced down at Stiles struggling against… nothing. It took a moment to process
what he was seeing: Stiles struggling against nothing. Even though Derek could
feel himself pressing down on Stiles, feel Stiles’ fingers digging into his arm
to get him to ease up, below Derek there were only Stiles’ hands, pulling at
what appeared to be thin air, like he was a mime pretending to be choked.
Stunned, Derek eased the pressure on his throat. He didn’t move away. “What the
hell is going on?”
Stiles gasped for breath. “Derek? You’re…” He sucked in another lungful,
slapping at Derek’s arm, squeezing up his bicep to his shoulder. “You’re
invisible.”
Derek smacked Stiles' hands away as they reached his jaw. “What the hell have
you done?”
Stiles didn’t seem to share Derek’s panic. His face lit with a bright smile.
“Holy shit, the spell worked!” He hollered, squirming out of Derek’s grasp to
sit up. “On the wrong person, but it worked.” He reached out again, hands
spread wide until he made contact with Derek’s chest. His laugh was a touch
hysterical. “How amazing am I?” Stiles looked up, his eyes focused somewhere
over Derek’s shoulder. “Pretty amazing, am I right?”
Derek slammed him onto the bed to get his attention back. “I should kill you
where you stand.” His voice was rough, low. He knew his eyes were flashing red;
though, no one could see.
Stiles' mouth dropped open, smile gone. “First, not actually standing,” Stiles
said. It came out no more than a squeak. “And second, you are possibly more
terrifying while invisible. That’s got to be some consolation for you, right?”
“You were going to betray me,” Derek growled. “You and Scott. I heard you.”
Stiles swallowed. “Oh, that.”
“Yes, oh that.” Derek’s claws tightened around Stiles’ neck.
Stiles' eyes flickered helplessly around the room, and the panic on his face of
not being able to read Derek at all was very satisfying. His hands scrambled
uselessly at his neck to loosen Derek’s grip. “It wasn’t like that,” he rasped.
“Tell me.” Derek pressed down until Stiles winced, then eased up to let a bit
of air through. “I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Stiles’ heartbeat was frantic, his breath coming fast and shallow. He opened
and closed his mouth a couple times and Derek growled his impatience. “Look, we
tried to work with you.” The words tumbled out, quick and honest. “Two weeks
ago! We suggested a treaty. You wouldn’t listen.”
“A treaty won’t work.” He’d told Stiles that a dozen times already. “A treaty
will be taken as an offer to surrender my pack to them because they won’t treat
me as an equal in any negotiations. They don’t think I’m competent.”
“I’m sorta seeing their poi--” Stiles stopped at Derek’s growl. “Okay,” Stiles
went on, a nervous laugh slipping out. “We were talking to Deaton.”
“Deaton. You do not talk pack business --”
“Dude. I’m not in your pack.”
Derek’s mind flashed to Peter saying, “so don’t ask.” And he wondered if Stiles
had any idea just how tempted Derek was to make him eat those words. “Don’t
push me, Stiles.”
“We had to talk to someone who would listen, okay? The pack was falling apart
and you weren’t even seeing it. We talked to Deaton about how to be seen as
strong.”
“I was already doing that.” In that moment, Derek was glad Stiles wasn’t a
werewolf, or else he might see right through the lie.
“And we were looking to see if it could be done without taking forever.”
“Not everything happens in an instant, Stiles.”
“I’m talking about no death and gore looming around every possible corner for
months. I’m talking about more brains and less slicing people open with your
claws.” Stiles smacked at his arm. “Can you ease up on the death threats for a
second and let me explain? It’s a good plan. And if you don’t think so, you’ll
get plenty of chances to kill me after. For fuck’s sake, you’re an invisible
werewolf. I have no chance in hell of even making it to the door.”
Derek huffed, but stood back, looming over Stiles and hating a bit that Stiles
couldn’t see the expression on his face to know how pissed he was right now.
“Scott and I were thinking… If we could get behind their defenses.”
“Impossible.”
“I know, right? That place is like Fort Knox.” Stiles snorted. “But if we
could, you know... get in there, and catch them while they’re vulnerable and
not do anything. Then we could earn their respect and show them we’re
peaceful.”
Derek snorted. Peaceful. Stiles might as well send them flowers. “First of all
it’s impossible and too risky. The house is too secluded. They’d sense anyone
within a hundred yards of their building. And to risk everything to do nothing
when we got inside? What’s the point?”
“Hence the spell! Invisibility is awesome!” Clearly this was the part of the
plan Stiles liked best because he was suddenly animated, hands waving. “I was
going to make Scott into the Invisible Man. He was going to go in, grab
something.” Stiles grinned. “Like a pair of one of their boxer shorts -- the
ugly one with the scar and the hair, him -- I bet he’s got My Little Pony
undies or something. Anywho... When you show off the… the thing to the pack the
next day, you prove you could’ve killed them in their sleep. And you didn’t!”
Stiles beamed up at him, still not quite looking in the right spot. “And
they’ll be convinced you are an okay Alpha since you pulled this off and
they’ll get the fuck out of Dodge.”
Derek blinked, a bit stunned at the plan, which was actually far cleverer than
he’d imagined. “David and Saul.”
“Right! What?”
“David and Saul.” Derek rolled his eyes. “It’s a story. King Saul was hunting
David. While he slept, David snuck into his camp and could easily have killed
Saul. Instead, he crept close and cut off a piece of Saul's cloak. Then he
showed it to Saul in the morning.”
“Um, totally what I was thinking.”
“And you and Scott were going to give me the...”
“The My Little Pony undies.”
“The personal item,” Derek corrected because there was no way stealing an
Alpha’s boxers was happening in any plan he was going to be a part of. They’d
have to take something useful, something that would give them leverage.
“Whatever. Yes.” Stiles waved off Derek’s complaint. “We figured once we had
the personal item we’d be able to convince you it was a good plan.”
“Before I killed you for going against my orders.”
“That was our hope. Yes.”
“You two are idiots.”
“But it’ll work, right? I mean. You’re invisible, dude.” He poked at Derek,
hitting him just above his navel. Stiles flashed a grin like a child’s proud I
did that. “That’s pretty cool, right? And even your scent is masked. It’s a
kickin’ spell. Admit it!”
Derek sniffed his arm, realizing for the first time that he wasn’t able to
detect his own scent. This might actually work. He must have made some sort of
sound of approval because Stiles' arms shot in the air like he’d just won the
State Championship.
“You think so too! I’m so fucking awesome.” He laughed, giddy with relief. “So
now that we know it works, tomorrow night Scott can come over and--”
“No.” Derek grinned. “I’m doing this now.”
--
Derek grabbed Stiles’ elbow and directed him to turn onto Maple Drive.
Stiles tripped and huffed at the sudden invisible tug. It was probably good
that it was well after midnight and the streets were mostly deserted. Only one
person walked passed them, a guy stumbling home from the club, swaying enough
that Stiles complaining to himself about not being allowed to take his Jeep
didn’t even register as odd.
As the drunk tossed his cigarette butt into the brown grass, Derek silently
left Stiles for a moment to stomp out the ember before the grass caught a
spark. He sniffed, thinking again how the air was desert-dry and that he’d
forgotten to warn the pack to be on the lookout.
As they approached the townhouse complex, Derek whispered, “There. It's parked
behind the red van.”
Stiles let out a low whistle. “You sly dog, you. You try to be all mysterious
like you Apparate from place to place, but it’s just strategic parking, isn’t
it?”
“You could stay home, you know.”
“We discussed this. You need me. You driving around invisible is going to
attract attention, don’t you think? The unwanted kind, like the police? And the
farmhouse is twenty miles out of town. Not exactly great for a quick getaway on
foot.”
“I could do it.”
“And I could drive my Jeep.”
“No.” Derek did not want Stiles tied to this in any way if it went wrong, and
that Jeep was far too recognizable. He unlocked the car and his heart broke a
bit as he watched Stiles get into the driver’s side. “Not a scratch.”
“What are you Han Solo, now?”
Derek growled and leaned across to put the keys in the ignition.
Stiles' heart rate sped up. “Whatever, dude.”
“Just be careful.” Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand and led him to the invisible
keys. He moved Stiles' fingers to turn the ignition, and the Camaro rumbled.
Still leaning in close for no other reason than to see Stiles squirm, he
whispered, “Keep them in the ignition. Do not take them out. We don’t have time
to search for invisible keys if we want a quick getaway.”
Stiles let out a shaky breath. “Right, yeah.” His eyes darted to where Derek
was leaning into his shoulder and again his heart thudded loudly. Derek knew if
Stiles could see Derek’s raised eyebrow, he’d be blushing. It wasn’t just
nerves making Stiles shake at the moment. Derek tucked that bit of information
away for later.
He reached into the back and placed Isaac’s ball cap on Stiles' head. It wasn’t
exactly a disguise, but on quick glance through the darkened windows, it would
be enough to make Stiles barely recognizable.
Stiles managed to pull out of the parking lot without hitting anything and
Derek relaxed a bit. “It’s a good plan.”
To Stiles’ credit, he kept his mouth shut. But Derek still rolled his eyes at
the huge grin that spread across Stiles’ face.
Two miles down the stretch of highway that led to the farmhouse, Derek told
Stiles to pull over.
“This is close enough,” he said, grabbing a black bag from the backseat. He
checked to see what would happen if it was slipped under his shirt.
“Whoa,” Stiles said as the bag disappeared from view. “That is so cool.”
“Turn the car around and wait. If I’m not back in an hour, get the fuck out of
here and tell the pack to be ready for the fallout.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
Stiles had a stubborn look in his eyes that said that was the best Derek would
get. Derek didn’t need to listen to his heartbeat to know he’d do what he
wanted no matter what Derek said.
--
The farmhouse appeared abandoned from afar. The Alpha pack was careful to keep
any candles or flashlights in the few rooms with blacked-out windows. Their
vehicles were parked in the dilapidated barn so as to not draw attention from
the locals who frequented the highway a half-mile from the house.
Derek sniffed his way through the cornfield, the brittle stalks snapping as he
bent them. The ground was dusty beneath his feet. There were guards posted
along the narrow drive, and a couple more standing just inside the front door.
The storm cellar entrance would be the easiest way in, but it had a well-worn
path from the barn and Derek guessed they used it as a main entrance to the
house. He opted to climb the lattice to the roof and slip in a front-facing
window.
The bedroom he entered was empty. A few messy piles of blankets said someone
used this room to crash. Likely, they spent more time in the cool cellar during
the heat wave. The boarded up house was stifling. A quick look showed him
nothing relevant to grab. He checked three more rooms until he caught the main
Alpha’s scent in the largest.
Unlike the others, this room was well used. There were books piled in every
corner, the drawers were filled with clothes and unlit candles scattered every
surface. Derek took a moment to flip through the books on the overturned crate
by the bed. One was well worn, with a wispy thin writing decorating every
margin. Another was a leather bound notebook, in which the last filled page was
titled Hale Pack (2012). Derek didn’t bother starting to read; a quick glance
told him the book contained dirt on at least hundred packs in North America.
Derek ripped out the last page before he slipped the books into his bag.
On the blank sheet he wrote:
If you want to discuss a treaty
Tomorrow, noon
Beacon Hills High lacrosse field.
On the way back to the front room, the creak of stairs stopped him in his
tracks. He pressed himself against the wall of the hallway, clutching the bag
under his shirt. The Alpha, a lower member of the pack who Derek hadn’t seen
very often, passed by without a second glance.
Derek let out a quiet exhale and crept to the window. With every step he
distanced himself from the house, his confidence grew.
He was back at the car less than forty minutes from when he’d left.
Stiles was waiting for him, still wearing Isaac's hat. It was too big for him,
falling over his ears, making him look even younger than usual. He was playing
with his phone, oblivious to Derek standing just outside his window. Derek
wondered how he’d ever made it through the last few months with his complete
lack of survival instincts.
Derek smacked the driver’s side window with his palm. Stiles screamed. His
phone flew up, first hitting the roof then smacking the floor and sliding under
the seat.
Still high off the success of the heist, Derek let himself enjoy the moment.
Stiles scrambled to roll down the window.
“Derek?” he called out into the darkness. “Are you laughing? Is that your
laugh? I’ve never heard it and I’ve got to say it’s the creepiest fucking thing
ever.”
Derek opened the passenger side door and sat. Stiles head spun a hundred and
eighty degrees and Derek was only sorry Stiles couldn’t see the grin that was
on his face right now; he was sure it was wolfish.
“Asshole.” Stiles did a full-body shiver as if he needed to release a bit of
adrenaline from the fright. “So?”
“I have something of theirs they are going to want back.” He reached forward to
turn the ignition. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” Stiles pulled them back onto the road, fishtailing off the
dirt shoulder.
Stiles was buzzing, his hand tapping the wheel, even though the radio wasn't
on. His eyes darted to his rearview mirror, to his side mirrors, and back to
the road in a nervous pattern. Derek wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and
tell him to calm the fuck down, but he doubted that would help.
Stiles glanced in his direction. “Anyone see you?”
Derek rolled his eyes, but when he remembered it couldn’t be seen he just
cuffed Stiles on the back of the head.
“Hey!” Stiles scratched at his short spikes.
He slowed as they entered the town limits and something rattled on the floor
with the speed change.
“Oh shit, my phone.” Stiles leaned forward and reached down to pat his hands
along the floor.
Derek cursed, grabbing the wheel as the car swerved into the lane of oncoming
traffic. “Are you insane?”
“My phone is precious, okay?” Stiles reached under the seat. “I’m not losing it
in your car.”
“Fine.” Derek yanked Stiles back up. “I’ll get it. You drive.”
He felt around, his face pressed to Stiles’ knee, his hand reaching between
Stiles’ legs. Stiles' scent was strong and musky from adrenaline and lust.
Derek had to remind himself that now was not the time to get distracted. His
fingers closed on the slick hard plastic just as Stiles muttered, “Oh shit.”
Only then did Derek see the red and blue lights reflecting off the dash. He sat
up and carefully placed Stiles' phone on the console between them as Stiles
pulled over to the side of the road.
Derek was grateful he was invisible or there was no way he’d be getting out of
this without the Sheriff’s gun pointed in his direction. “How fast were you
going?”
“I don’t know! You had your head in my lap, okay? I was distracted! This isn’t
how this particular fantasy usually ends.” Stiles shot a look at the cruiser
pulled up behind him. “Oh, god. I am grounded for the next forever.”
With a blinding wave of his flashlight, Sheriff stepped up to the car.
“Stiles?” His tone was somewhere between ‘why am i not surprised' and 'you've
got to be kidding me'.
“Hey, Dad!” Stiles waved; his voice cracked a bit.
“Nice hat.”
“It’s Isaac’s.”
“Isaac Lahey?” Sheriff’s eyebrows shot up.
Stiles took one look at his dad’s face and winced, knowing that had been the
wrong answer.
“Do I even want to know?” Sheriff’s flashlight moved systematically through the
interior of the Camaro.
“My Jeep’s got a flat. So yeah. Derek’s car.” Stiles tapped the dash and
flashed his father a grin. “Camaro. Nice, eh? Want a ride?”
Derek almost choked.
Sheriff’s face hardened. “Derek Hale? You are driving around at two AM in Derek
Hale’s car, wearing Isaac Lahey’s ball cap. You realize I’ve recently brought
in both those people for questioning in murder investigations?”
Stiles shrunk in his seat. “I need new friends?” He gave his dad a weak smile,
pulled off the cap and tossed it into the back. “And... I’m returning the car
now?”
Sheriff nodded like Stiles had picked the only possible correct answer. “How
about a police escort for that?”
“Not necessary, Dad.” Stiles used that weird drawn out voice he got when he was
trying to sound convincing, but it came out more like begging. “You’re a busy
guy.”
Sheriff was unconvinced. “I think I can make the time to ensure my son hasn’t
committed grand theft auto. You’re important to me like that.”
He walked back to the cruiser, shaking his head and muttering about years off
his life.
Stiles took a minute to smack his head on the steering wheel a few times before
he started the engine.
Derek broke the silence first. “You can’t lie to save your life.”
Stiles’ lips pressed tight. The look he shot Derek was fierce. His voice was
gravelly as he said, “I think you’ll find that I can.”
His face seemed to lose his boyish charm more frequently lately. His cheekbones
were a bit more sunken but that might be the play of the shadows as they drove
through the streets of Beacon Hills and off to the preserve.
They didn’t talk the rest of the way out to Derek’s. Sheriff followed them
right up to the Hale house, parking just behind the Camaro.
Stiles put his phone into his pocket and got out, saying, “Derek’s probably
sleeping. You know. Like any sane person at this hour, am I right?”
Sheriff looked up at the burned out wreck of Derek’s family home. “Hale lives
here?”
“Yeah. No... Er, he just asked me to leave the car here... with the key under
the visor.” Stiles glanced back into the car, eyes wide and apologetic. He
mimed taking the keys out of the ignition and flipped the visor up.
“I’ll drive you home.”
“Police escort door to door! You do love me!”
“Get in the car.” Sheriff’s pulse rose every time Stiles opened his mouth.
As though he couldn’t help himself, Stiles asked, “Do I have to sit in the
back?”
“Stiles!”
Derek waited until he heard the crunch of gravel beneath the wheels fade in the
distance, then he took off at a run.
--
He crawled through Stiles’ bedroom window just as the Sheriff turned the corner
onto their street. The cruiser pulled up and parked, but Sheriff wasn’t done
with the lecture he was giving. Derek lay on Stiles’ bed, arms crossed behind
his head, and tried not to listen to Stiles sitting in his driveway, getting
grounded.
Eventually Stiles trudged up the stairs. His face as he entered the bedroom was
pale and drawn.
Derek stayed quiet, letting him have a moment. It had been a long time, but he
still remembered how harsh words from his father had sunk deep. Stiles kicked
off his shoes and collapsed onto the bed.
His elbow grazed Derek’s side but he didn’t seem to notice. Scrubbing his face
in his hands, he said, “Fucking Derek.”
Derek simply leaned forward and whispered. “I slashed your tires.”
Stiles inhaled sharply, but to his credit he barely flinched. “You are such an
asshole.”
“Just helping you keep up appearances in case your dad checks.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Stiles said, with as much sarcasm as he could muster when he
had hardly enough energy to keep his eyes open. “You’re a true friend.”
“The meeting with the Alphas is set for noon tomorrow. Reverse the spell; I
need to get the pack ready.”
Stiles sprang to sitting. “Oh shit.”
“Stiles.” Derek stretched out the name with a rumble of warning in his chest.
“Oh shit, what?”
“I haven’t actually looked that part up yet. I was going to test the reversal
on Bright Eyes after.”
“Stiles!”
“I didn’t even think I had the turning invisible bit working! Why did I need to
stress about reversing it? How was I supposed to know you were within range of…
Wait a minute. Where were you, anyway?”
“Closet.”
“Ah, now that’s not creepy at all.”
“Focus, Stiles,” Derek snapped. “You need to change me back right now. If I
can’t meet with the Alphas, they will attack. It won’t be pretty.”
“Over boxer shorts?”
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t steal underwear, dumbass. I
took something important. Something that would give me power over them. God,
you and Scott would have fucked up this plan so badly.”
“Hey! You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do know that.” The words were coming sharp and clipped. As he spoke he
darted forward, so Stiles would feel his breath on his cheek. “Now change me
back.”
Stiles shrank away from Derek until he tumbled off the bed. “Fine. It’ll be
fine. I’ll just... “ He scrambled to standing, grabbed the spellbook and
started to flip through pages. “Okay. I just. I don’t do well under pressure.
So fuck off with the growling.”
Derek clenched his fists, resisting the urge to strangle Stiles.
Stiles read the details of the reversal spell aloud, nodding, repeating parts
over and over. He grabbed the candles from earlier, looking a bit more
confident; though, his heart rate was through the roof.
Derek sat on Stiles’ bed, his arms crossed as Stiles again formed the circle
and lit the candles.
“Alright, I’m ready,” Stiles said, though he sounded anything but. “Stand in
the circle.”
Derek complied, reaching out to brush Stiles’ hand so he knew Derek was there.
Holding the book open in front of him, Stiles read out the spell. His voice was
flat.
Nothing happened.
It was like he wasn’t even trying. “Stiles!”
“Sorry!” Stiles took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. He read it again,
whispering it to himself before trying once more, louder but shaky. Nothing
happened.
Stiles was panicking. Derek could see it clearly. Giving into his instinct of
threatening Stiles into making it work was going to get him nowhere. So he
tried not to think about how he had to get back to his pack; they needed to be
prepared for what was going to happen. He had to be visible by noon tomorrow
(which was now only eight hours away) or the Alpha pack wouldn’t accept his
terms for a treaty. If they knew he’d been enchanted by someone too weak to
even reverse his own spell, he would be a laughing stock.
He tried to stay calm, but the longer he waited, the less control he was
feeling.
Stiles kept trying, shooting nervous looks in Derek’s general direction as each
attempt failed. He let out a mangled sound. “I need to try something different.
Don’t bite off my arm.” He reached his hand out so that it rested on Derek’s
chest. “I need to focus on something and you’re invisible. It’s making this
really fucking hard.”
Stiles’ hand was a warm, steady weight that Derek could lean into, concentrate
on. It was grounding.
“It’s fine.” Derek hoped he sounded reassuring, but given Stiles’ flinch, the
thickness in his voice was misunderstood. “I know you can do this,” he added.
It wasn’t even a lie; he did believe that. Eventually, Stiles would get this
right.
He was determined; Derek would give him that. They’d been standing in the
circle of candles long enough that the wax had begun to drip messily on the
carpet; Derek kept a close eye on the one getting too low.
But Stiles was starting to wane. He swayed, blinked slowly and Derek had to
catch the book as it fell from his hand.
“Stiles,” Derek said, soft.
“Sorry.” Stiles shook his head and opened his eyes over-wide. He grabbed the
book from Derek. “I can do this.”
It was past four AM and he’d already done one bit of powerful magic today. He
was tapped.
“You need to rest and we’ll try again later,” Derek said, even though his
instinct was to just shake the magic out of Stiles. “It’s dangerous for you
to—”
“No. No, I can do this.” Stiles’ eyes cleared. His mouth pinched in a thin
line. “I can do this.”
Derek sighed and stood still, placing Stiles’ hand back on his chest since that
seemed to help them both.
Stiles focused on his hand, pressing hard against Derek’s chest and spoke the
Latin, his voice clear. The air in the room stirred, and Derek thought maybe.
Stiles’ face went from intent to pale and slack. Then Derek was reaching out,
catching Stiles as he fell. The book hit the floor with a thud, knocking over a
candle that went out with a splash of melted wax. Stiles was out cold.
Derek was still invisible.
A drip of blood trickled from Stiles’ nose. Derek used his sleeve to wipe it.
Stiles was heavier than Derek expected, deadweight in his arms as he carried
him over to the bed and laid him out. His breathing was slow, his heartbeat
weak. Compared to the frantic rate Stiles’ heart usually pumped and the nervous
shallow breaths Derek had gotten used to, it was unsettling.
The nosebleed stopped but Derek couldn’t be sure what else might be going on
inside. He pressed his ear to Stiles’ chest, then to his temple. Everything
sounded normal -- more normal than Stiles usually sounded. That might be the
lack of chatter.
He could smell broken blood vessels clotting, the faint tang of the Adderall in
his blood. All other indications were that Stiles had simply collapsed from
exhaustion, which was good because getting Stiles to the hospital while
invisible would be complicated.
Dawn was only a few hours off. Even if he could wake Stiles now, there’d be
risk of permanent damage to him if he tried magic again so soon. They had been
reckless to try the reversal spell tonight. Derek settled in beside Stiles,
propped up on the headboard, with one hand on Stiles’ neck, at his pulse point.
Guilt nagged at his mind as he tried to find a way to make sure they all made
it through to the other side of tomorrow.
He’d simply need to find a way to accomplish the plan even while he was
invisible. They had to meet the Alpha pack and return the book. A
representative might work; Peter was out of the question because he’d clearly
take advantage of the situation. Derek’s betas were all too weak and
inexperienced to face down an Alpha pack in treaty negotiations. Scott, well,
Scott they might see as an Alpha in his own right and that would certainly
complicate things.
Derek sighed. They’d figure out something.
He let his head fall back and his eyes close. Stiles’ pulse beat a steady
rhythm under Derek’s fingers as he drifted off to sleep.
--
A dog barked in the distance and Derek stirred. He needed a moment to orient
himself. The wind had picked up overnight and a cool morning breeze swept
through Stiles’ open window. It was a sharp relief to the heat at his side.
Through the night Stiles had curled around him, his cheek pressed to Derek’s
stomach, his hand wrapped around Derek’s thigh. They’d slept in their clothes.
Derek was sticky-hot where they were tangled together, his jeans fused to his
skin. He was still invisible. He blinked down at Stiles who appeared to cling
to nothing even though Derek could intimately feel every place they touched.
Stiles’ breathing was deep and natural, his heartbeat strong. By the way Stiles
shifted in his sleep, slowly waking, Derek guessed he’d recovered just fine.
Stiles’ fingers curled at Derek’s inner thigh, and the relief that had begun to
make Derek relax quickly morphed into a surge of unexpected warmth. His body
stiffened in panic. Stiles was young and innocent, and more importantly, not
quite awake; Derek’s guilt took on a new form, settling like a heavy weight on
his shoulders. He grabbed Stiles’ wrist from where it was creeping up Derek’s
inner thigh and he moved down the bed so they were face to face.
“Stiles.”
Stiles stirred, stretching his body out. Derek froze. Things went from awkward
to complicated fast as Stiles’ hips shifted. Then Stiles moaned and heat flared
low in Derek’s belly at the sound. A mix of human want and the wolf’s need
fogged his judgement; he didn’t move away. Stiles rocked again, his morning
wood rutting against Derek’s thigh. Derek ached from the tension of not moving.
He clenched his fist to keep still and not give in to instinct, not grab Stiles
and press him closer, not flip them so Stiles was pinned to the mattress by
Derek’s body until they both found relief. It had been a very long time since
he’d been touched by anything other than a fist or a claw and no matter how
much this screamed wrong, he couldn’t find it within himself to wake Stiles.
Not until Stiles squirmed, hand drifting down Derek’s abs, fingers brushing the
waistband of his jeans only a hair’s breadth from Derek’s straining cock.
He’d already let it go too far.
“Stiles.” Derek twisted to grab him under the arms, trying to get some distance
between them.
Stiles’ eyes fluttered open. He blinked wide-eyed a couple of times. The
friction at Derek’s thigh stopped immediately. It took an impressively short
amount of time for Stiles to figure out what was happening. His hand tightened
on Derek’s abs for a second before he pushed himself away with a squeak,
twisting to hide the bulge of his jeans.
“Oh, God.” His cheeks went blotchy pink. “I did not mean to use you as a...
Shit.” His hands flew to hide his face.
Derek looked away, ashamed that he’d let it go too far. That he’d let himself
enjoy the contact for a moment. Invisibility hid his reaction from Stiles. He
was grateful for the imbalance. “You were asleep, Stiles.” That excused one of
them, at least.
“Right.” Stiles peeked between his fingers. “It’s not my fault you’re hot even
when you’re invisible.” His mouth opened, and a beat later he said, “Oh, shit.
You’re still invisible. We are all going to die horribly.”
“Calm down.” Derek reached out to stop Stiles’ flailing, and he stilled the
minute Derek’s hand touched his shoulder. “We aren’t dead yet.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Stiles said after several deep breaths. He looked
at the clock. “It’s eight! Four hours until the meeting. Fuck fuck fuck.”
“You were bleeding from your nose.” Derek made the words low and calm. It
seemed to work as Stiles’ attention refocused on him. “You’d passed out because
you were exhausted. I wasn’t going to wake you up so you could try again and
give yourself brain damage.”
Stiles tried to sit up. “I can --”
“No.” Derek’s fingers curled at Stiles’ shoulder and kept him from getting up.
He was still pale, though, his pulse was no longer weak. It was safe to leave
him. “We’ll figure something else out.”
“But I can try again.”
“No. It’s not worth... It’s not worth the risk.”
They were lying close. Derek’s hand was still on Stiles’ shoulder, anchoring
them both for the moment. Stiles was looking at him, looking at nothing really,
but his eyes were soft like he could see Derek anyway.
Derek didn’t look away. There was no point.
Stiles smiled. And he whispered the spell again.
“You shouldn’t --” Before Derek could react, a wave of heat crashed over him.
He gasped, trying to find his breath again. “You shouldn’t have tried that!”
Stiles lifted Derek’s hand and it took a second of blinking down at his
knuckles for him to realize he was visible again.
Stiles grinned and slow-blinked his half-lidded eyes. “Yeah, I’m the man.” The
words were drawn-out and sleepy.
“You shouldn’t have tried.” Derek’s heart lurched as he swiped a drip of blood
from Stiles’ upper lip. He stared at the blood on his fingers. “You’re such an
idiot,” he said, both fond and sad.
“Was my fault.” Stiles’ eyes fell shut.
Derek sighed, cursing Stiles for being reckless. For being frail and human. He
traced Stiles’ lips his with thumb, reassured by the tickle of Stiles’ warm
breath. Stiles’ eyes fluttered and his lips moved, pressing a kiss to the pad
of Derek’s thumb.
“Shit,” Stiles mumbled, more asleep than awake, “didn’t mean to do that.”
When Derek didn’t move, Stiles did it again.
Derek snorted softly. He watched the steady rise and fall of Stiles’ chest,
knowing he had other places to be, important things to do. But he took the
quiet minute anyway. Stiles would be fine after having a chance to sleep it
off; though, he should probably take a few weeks off from playing with magic
Before he could stop himself, he was reaching forward and tracing Stiles’ cheek
with his finger. “Thank you.”
“Felt that,” Stiles breathed, not quite awake.
Derek tensed but Stiles’ breathing evened out into a proper sleep and he
figured plausible deniability was on his side. He checked Stiles’ pulse again.
He had to have been too focused on the steady thump, thump of Stiles’ heart
because it wasn’t until Scott’s feet hit the floor in front of the window that
Derek heard him.
Scott’s fangs descended as he looked at Derek and Stiles on the bed. “What the
hell?”
“Scott.” Derek rolled over, meeting Scott’s gaze head on. The urge to protect
surged inside him, unexpectedly fierce. He moved to block Scott’s view of
Stiles.
“I fell asleep!” Stiles head popped off his pillow. “Again.”
A low growl emanated from Scott’s chest. “What have you done?”
Derek felt his fangs elongate at the challenge in Scott’s voice.
“Nothing! God, Scott.” Stiles sat up, straightening his clothes. His heartbeat
picked up at the sight of Scott’s claws. “You can put those away.”
Scott inhaled, eyes narrowing. “You’re human.” His stance changed immediately.
And Derek took the opportunity to shoot a look over his shoulder at Stiles. He
had bags under his eyes but he was wide awake.
“Yes? Have been all my life.”
Something clicked in Derek’s head before Scott even opened his mouth. “Peter.”
Scott tore his eyes from Stiles and nodded to Derek. His face was back to human
again. “He texted me this morning. Said you didn’t come home last night. Said
you’d gotten desperate. That Stiles...”
Derek shook his head bitterly. “He was trying to set me up.”
“Derek?” Stiles tugged at his elbow, but Derek’s shook him off and stood.
“He’s been trying to convince me that biting Stiles would solve all my
problems.”
“What?” Stiles scrambled to sitting.
“I’d kill you.” Scott stalked towards him, his eyes flashing again. “You know
that, right? I’d fucking kill you for biting Stiles.”
“You’d try,” Derek said, then rolled his eyes at Scott growl. “I wasn’t going
to bite Stiles! It’d be a disaster.”
“Hey!” Stiles stood up, swaying a bit. “I’d be an amazing wolf!”
Derek scowled. “Did you miss the part where Scott would kill me and Peter would
dance on my grave, then he’d bide his time and kill Scott?”
Stiles blinked. “Still. I’d be an amazing wolf.”
“With Peter as your Alpha?”
Stiles shivered, sitting back on the bed. “Right.” He face was ghostly.
“Rest.” Derek’s voice went softer than he’d intended. He cleared his throat.
“You look like you’re about to pass out. Again.”
“Again?” Scott darted to the bed. “Stiles, what does he mean again.”
“We don’t have time for this.” Derek grabbed Scott’s shoulder. “I’ll catch you
up at the pack meeting.”
“There’s a --”
“Yes. Right now.” Derek pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text then
pulled the black bag from where he’d hidden it under Stiles’ bed.
“I want to be there,” Stiles said, his pale lips thin and determined.
“No.”
“Because I’m human.”
“No, because you can barely stand, idiot.” Derek headed to the window. “We have
to look strong, or this was all for nothing.”
Stiles tried to stand again to prove Derek wrong, but couldn’t manage it. “I
concede your point,” he said, already falling face first onto his pillow.
“And you need to clean your room.”
The muffled, “Damn right,” came just as Derek and Scott leaped from the roof.
--
The morning air hung heavy and humid around them as they ran through town and
into the forest. It made Derek’s hair stand on end with anticipation.
“Stay close today, Scott. I need you right beside me in this.”
“You smell like Stiles.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Why do you smell like Stiles?”
Derek stopped. He focus on the sounds and smells around them to ensure they
were alone. “I don’t have time to explain, but we need to be a united front
today in front of the Alpha pack and in front of Peter.”
“The Alpha pack?”
“That thing you and Stiles were planning to do behind my back?”
Scott’s face scrunched up. He gave a sheepish, “Um.”
“Well, when Stiles accidentally turned me invisible last night, let’s just say
I moved up the timeline a bit.”
“You mean...” He motioned to the bag. “You have their underwear in there?”
Derek stared up at the dark grey sky and prayed for patience. “I did not steal
underwear. I took something that will guarantee they will listen. Now, will you
stand at my right hand today?”
“I’m not –”
Derek held up his hand. “Save me the ‘you are not my Alpha’ speech. I got it.
This is about defending our territory. Beacon Hills is ours. Yours and mine. We
don’t have to be in the same pack to defend it together.”
“Do you believe that?”
“We’re going to prove it today.” Derek’s voice was deadly serious. “Are you
with me?”
Scott had a strange habit of letting his face tell everyone what was happening
in his head. It was really something he should work on, but for now Derek was
grateful he could read him so easily.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he said, a pleased grin lighting up his face. “Let’s tell
these fuckers to get out of our town.”
Derek tapped Scott’s shoulder with his fist, enjoying the rare moment of shared
purpose. “I think for the first time we might just understand each other.”
Derek started walking in the direction of his family home. “But first,” he said
with a smirk, “I’d really like to annoy Peter.”
--
The pack was already assembled.
Peter was leaning casually against the front door. He did his best to hide his
surprise as Derek strode out from the trees with Scott only a step behind, but
Derek didn’t miss the flash of panic.
Erica and Isaac were sprawled on the steps, leaning against each other and
looking half-asleep. Jackson and Boyd stood at either end of the porch,
posturing, fangs bared.
It was no wonder the Alpha pack had come. Derek’s motley group of wayward
teenagers hardly inspired fear at the moment. But he knew they were more than
this. Better than the Alpha pack gave them credit for.
They’d each risked their lives for each other more than once. And, with the
exception of Peter, they’d earned his trust. The fact that their worth was even
being questioned infuriated him. It was going to end today.
He roared.
It had the desired effect. The pack, as one, stepped forward to greet him, each
falling into line. Even Erica kept her mouth shut as they waited for him to
speak.
“We are meeting with the Alpha pack this afternoon,” he said, and paused long
enough for them to mutter their surprise. He wasn’t going to repeat himself.
“Scott and I will negotiate the terms of a treaty with them.”
“You and Scott?” Peter’s eyebrows rose as he stepped down from the porch to
join the group.
Derek went on as if he hadn’t heard. “Our terms will be that they leave Beacon
Hills immediately and don’t come back unless they are invited to do so by
either of us.”
He turned to Scott who nodded his agreement.
Jackson spoke first. “Sorry but what? Why would they agree to that, again? We
have nothing to offer in exchange. Unless we’re offering them McCall. I’d be
fine with that.”
“In exchange for them leaving, I’ll agree not to make their lives a living hell
and get them on the shit list of every relevant pack in the country.” Derek
smirked. “Trust me. They’ll agree.”
He didn’t wait for questions. Instead, he said to Scott. “Scott? Your computer
has a scanner, right?”
Scott grinned, picking up Derek's meaning. "I do."
“We’re heading there, then.” He turned to the group. “We’ll be back here at
eleven thirty. We’ll arrive together. I expect this to be peaceful, but prepare
yourselves for anything. If you have something booked for today, cancel it now.
You’ll get time for yourselves after this is all over.”
The pack dispersed, whispering to each other. He was pleased to note they
sounded more curious and excited than skeptical.
There was one thing he needed to do before he left with Scott, though.
He caught Peter by the back of the neck before he could disappear into the
house. He dug in his claws until Peter bowed his head in submission. He leaned
in, his lips almost touching Peter’s ear. “If you ever try to set me up again,
I’ll rip your throat out and cut your body into so many pieces, there’ll be no
coming back.” His claws dug deeper and Peter whined. Derek’s fingers were
dripping with blood. He shoved him towards the house. “You will not utter a
word during the negotiations or I will make an example of you.”
Peter held his hand to the wounds in his neck. “You smell like him, you know.”
Derek crossed his arms over his chest, face blank. Peter didn’t deserve
anything more to speculate with.
Peter shook his head, amused. “I’m disappointed in myself. I didn’t see it
coming.”
Derek let that stand uncorrected.
--
Every member of both packs showed for the meeting. Derek’s chest puffed as he
and Scott made their way across the field with his pack standing tall and
menacing behind him. At the moment, he felt they made as intimating a picture
as the Alpha pack. Though he knew in a fight, his betas lacked the raw power of
an Alpha wolf.
He wasn’t worried. This wouldn’t come down to fangs and claws. His black bag
was clutched in his right hand; it was the only weapon he’d need.
Derek spent the afternoon drafting up a treaty while Scott scanned page after
page of dirt on all the largest packs in the region. They didn’t have time to
do them all but they got enough. Plenty enough that Derek could do major damage
to the Alpha pack’s reputation should they be uncooperative. It seemed the
pack's leader wasn't content to just test a pack's strength, it seemed he had a
habit of noting every intimate detail he could find about each pack he
encountered -- way more than he should keep lying around in a notebook.
“Derek Hale. Scott McCall.” The leader stepped forward. He had an imposing
half-foot and likely about twenty years on Derek. His dark hair was streaked
with grey. “I am Stephen Henrick. I speak for this Alpha pack. I think you have
something of mine.”
Derek grinned, all teeth. “You’re welcome to it.”
“On what condition?” It was the woman at Henrick’s side who apparently wasn’t
worthy of an introduction. Derek took note and focused back on Henrick. Status
counted for everything today.
“I speak for the Beacon Hills territory and all the packs therein.” He handed
Henrick a sheet of paper outlining the conditions. “We’ll return both books to
you.”
“Unread?”
Derek raised an eyebrow. They didn’t honestly think he was that stupid.
“Digital copies of your journal have been made, and backups held in safe
keeping. A little guarantee that you will keep up your end of the bargain.”
“And who’s to say that you won’t use that information against us the moment I
leave your town limits?”
“I was in your house last night. I could have done anything. Trust me, if I’d
wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.” Derek flashed his eyes red, just for
an instant. “I want...” He looked to Scott. “We want our town back. You leave.
No blood is shed. We’ll keep your secrets and you agree not to return unless
invited by either me or Scott.”
Henrick’s eyes narrowed but he took a moment to read the agreement. It was
reasonable -- a simple exchange with no excessive demands. The wind whipped the
sheets as Henrick read. Derek felt the first drop of rain.
Henrick made eye contact with the woman at his side. At her nod, he said, “Do
you have a pen?”
Scott dug deep into his pocket for a ballpoint.
It was all formality after that. A few handshakes were exchanged and Derek
handed over the books. The Alpha pack turned to leave just as it began to rain;
Derek’s pack, together with Scott, stood in the lacrosse field, ignoring the
rain pouring down on them until the Alpha pack was finally out of sight.
“Good,” Boyd said. “We needed some rain.”
--
Derek was soaked to the bone by the time he made it to Stiles’ house. He had
stopped Scott from sending Stiles a text. It had been Stiles’ plan and it
worked. Derek wanted to tell him that in person. But more than that, it was
where he wanted to be at the moment. And that truth was a bit too raw, a bit
too new to poke at just yet. He tucked it away and stared up at the Stilinskis'
modest home.
Rain pelted the hot roof, making everything the misty grey of twilight, even
though it was only mid-afternoon. The Sheriff was in the living room, snoring
softly with the TV on low. The window to Stiles’ room was open and Derek wasn’t
sure how to interpret that. It could mean anything. Then again it was pouring
rain, so he’d assume it meant he was expected -- not that he ever worried about
that before. Stiles was awake. Derek could hear him moving around his room.
He crept in and stood dripping by the windowsill until Stiles looked over.
“Hey!” He smiled, did a quick head-to-toe once-over for injuries, and the smile
grew. “You’re not dead.”
Stiles’ face was ridiculous, barely contained excitement brightening his eyes.
It reminded him of times he’d once had and had long forgotten.
Derek fought the grin that tugged at his lips. When Stiles caught it, his fist
pumped the air. He jumped high enough Derek was sure the thud as he landed
would wake the Sheriff.
“It worked?”
“They’re gone.” Derek rolled his eyes but relief mixed with Stiles’ insanity
was making him a bit stupid and he was sure Stiles saw right through his surly
tone.
“Fuck yes!” Stiles swung his hips in some kind of victory dance. Derek huffed,
making a point of looking annoyed and wondered at Stiles’ ability to be so
carefree.
“The room looks good,” Derek said once Stiles stopped dancing.
“Thanks.” Stiles beamed, looking a bit like he could take on the world.
“Feeling better, then?”
“Slept like a log up until about an hour ago. I was so wiped, man.” Stiles
straightened the pile of books on his desk, not quite meeting Derek’s eye all
of a sudden. “So yeah, better.”
Derek nodded, at a loss for anything better to say. Maybe he should leave. “I
should--” A breeze blew in from the window, catching Derek in the back and he
shivered in his wet clothes.
Stiles must have been watching him closely because he was across the room in a
second. “Ah, man.” He slid the window shut. “Sorry about that. I had the window
open for—Anyway. Look at you. You’re soaked. Here.” Digging through his
drawers, Stiles started tossing various bits of clothing on his bed. “Here’s
some stuff that might fit.”
“Are you taking care of me now?” Derek asked, genuinely confused. “Like you
take care of Scott and your dad?”
Stiles blushed. “Dude, are you kidding?” He went back to digging in his drawers
even though the pile on his bed already had four shirts and two pairs of
sweatpants. “This is entirely selfish. You are dripping all over my carpet and
my dad might think that’s considered a mess and go for the Friday night heart
attack special.”
Derek frowned as he picked through the clothing and found the least offensively
colored t-shirt on Stiles’ bed. He peeled off his soaked shirt and rolled it
into a ball, not really sure where to put it. He tossed it in the corner by the
closet.
“Totally selfish,” Stiles whimpered, his eyes trained on Derek’s chest.
Derek paused. His arms were in Stiles’ shirt but he hadn’t yet pulled it on.
Was this flirting? His mind blanked completely on how it was done. He thought
back, trying to remember if he’d ever managed anything other than threatening
or manipulating.
He put on his shirt to avoid responding. He was terrible at this. “I should
go.”
“It’s still raining.”
Derek stared out the window. It was coming down harder now. A couple inches of
water covered the street, rushing to lower ground like a shallow river. Too
much water in too short a time and the storm sewers couldn’t whisk it away fast
enough. “It might not let up for hours.”
“So? You’re welcome to just hang out, you know? No life or death situation or a
botched spell required.”
“I-- Thank you.” It was tempting. Probably more tempting than it had any right
to be. “But I can’t. I have things--” The lie turned stale in his mouth.
Stiles frowned. “So this is what we’re going to do now?” He sighed, waving his
hands between the two of them. “Awkwardness?”
“You seem pretty good at it.” Derek’s lips curled up at the edges.
“Says the king of anti-social skills.”
Derek replied with a raised eyebrow, grateful one look was all that was
required now that he was no longer invisible.
Stiles’ mouth opened and closed, soundlessly. “You know what? Fuck it.” Stiles
stepped forward with a look so intense Derek had to resist stepping backward.
Stiles’ heart sounded like the frantic beat of a rabbit’s. It made Derek’s want
to rise to match it.
“That’s right, Derek. Fuck. It.”
Then Stiles was right there, his hands wrapped around the back of Derek’s neck.
Their faces slammed together in a rough press of lips. Derek melted into it,
even though it lacked any grace, any gentleness whatsoever. What it said was
all that mattered. Stiles wanted this.
“There,” Stiles said, a bit hysterical. “I’m glad you didn’t get killed today.”
His eyes went wide like he’d just issued a challenge, like he’d just invented
communication.
Stiles moved around a lot. Sometimes it gave Derek a headache, sometimes it
made him dizzy. Right now, with Stiles fidgeting and nervous, about to run, it
was pissing Derek off. He cradled Stiles’ chin until he stilled.
Kissing wasn’t something he’d ever paid much attention to with any of his
hookups. Strangers in seedy hotels, in the toilets of bars. Kissing was
something he did if he had to. Just another thing that Kate had turned to ash
for him. But there was something in the way Stiles never seemed to calm that
made Derek want to do this properly. He moved in what felt like slow motion and
made it his mission to kiss Stiles until he stopped moving, stopped thinking.
Until he felt as dazed and stupid as Derek felt right now.
The first touch was gentle, a few barely-there brushes of lips. Stiles
immediately struggled to deepen the kiss, but Derek kept himself just out of
reach, kept the kiss achingly slow until Stiles whined for more.
Derek hummed at the sound and tickled Stiles' bottom lip with his tongue. He
felt heat rush through him at the first sweet taste. Kate had been vicious, hot
and cruel, biting until his lips bled and his eyes stung. He’d been young and
confused about how this was supposed to go, how it was supposed to feel. It
took a long time to realize how it wasn’t suppose to feel (like your guts had
been ripped out and put on display for everyone to mock).
He wouldn’t be that person for Stiles. He kissed Stiles like he was precious.
Only when Stiles finally, finally settled into the softness of the kiss did
Derek deepen it.
Their tongues made first tentative contact and the shock of it made his dick
jump. He let go of his control as his passion flared. His hands were suddenly
everywhere. His cock was trapped in cold, wet jeans but Stiles didn’t seem to
care. He pressed them together, Stiles’ thigh snug between Derek’s.
It felt like his first kiss. Clichéd as it was, he couldn’t remember a single
one that had made his body come alive like this. When he pulled back, Stiles’
eyes were glazed over. He was licking at his wet lips like he couldn’t quite
believe what had just happened.
“I’m glad you didn’t get anyone killed with your stupid plan,” Derek said,
because he was, and also because he wanted to hear Stiles squawk.
Stiles did. His forehead fell forward to rest on Derek’s chin. “Brilliant plan
you mean,” he said between breaths.
Derek kissed the spikey top of his head and whispered, “Yeah.” This was all
right, he thought to himself. He could do this. It didn’t stop him from
shivering, though. He kissed Stiles chastely on his cheek, then his jaw.
“We should--” Stiles pushed him back, until Derek’s knees hit the edge of the
bed. Stiles’ mouth found his and they lost themselves again. Stiles’ hands were
hot on his skin as they wandered under Derek’s shirt. “Yeah, we should get your
wet clothes off.” He nipped at the stubble at Derek’s chin. “You’re cold.”
He wasn’t cold. He swallowed his denial, as Stiles pulled off his completely
dry t-shirt and began biting at his shoulder.
“Stiles,” Derek said, a bit helpless. He didn’t want to stop, so when Stiles
hesitated, Derek reached for the hem of Stiles’ shirt.
“Yeah.” Stiles grinned and nodded, helping Derek get it off. “But seriously.
Not to be all forward or anything, but your jeans are soaking through my jeans.
Can we?” His cheeks went blotchy red at the jawline. It started to creep down
his neck. Derek felt a hand rest on his belt buckle, waiting.
“Yes.” Derek blinked. “If you want. We don’t need to--” Derek cleared his
throat. “It’s okay to take this slow.” He reached for Stiles’ belt.
“Sure. Slow.” Stiles stood in his boxers and bit his lip as he watched Derek
pry off his too tight, too wet jeans. It wasn’t done elegantly. “I think we
should just, um, get under the covers. You’re still cold.”
Derek smirked and watched Stiles’ hard on strain awkwardly in his boxers as he
pushed all the clothes piled on his bed onto the floor.
“Oh god, remind me to clean that up later,” Stiles said, lifting the covers so
Derek could slip in beside him.
It was hot beneath the blanket; the bed smelled so much of Stiles, Derek was
flooded with memories of waking that morning, not alone for once. Stiles was
there and almost naked, touching Derek like it was Derek who was the virgin,
Derek who needed the gentle hand. Feather light kisses peppered Derek’s cheeks,
jaw and neck.
Derek tensed, overwhelmed.
“This okay?” Stiles couldn’t hide the nervous hitch to his voice.
It was enough to snap Derek out of it. “Too good.” He wrapped his hand around
Stiles’ nape and kissed him soundly. They were pressed together, naked thighs
and chests, the thin cotton of their boxers. He could kiss like this all
afternoon.
He let his hand wander to Stiles' ass, feeling the soft, worn fabric beneath
his fingers. Stiles shifted, rolling his hips against Derek’s groin. They
gasped into each other’s mouths, kissing and licking, changing from slow and
sweet to fast and desperate.
At one point they kicked off the covers and Stiles moved to straddle Derek’s
waist, and that was even better. Stiles squirmed in all the right ways, making
Derek’s hips snap upwards. They were a bit lost after that. Their kisses became
more open-mouthed and sloppy. They breathed each other’s air as they rocked
together in search of more friction.
Stiles had to pull away from kissing to catch his breath. “Too much,” he
whined.
“We could stop.” He’d meant to say should stop, but his mouth wasn’t working
properly.
“Don’t wanna.” Stiles was never still, hands and mouth touching everywhere like
he couldn’t get enough. “You’re a really, really fucking good kisser.” He
caught Derek’s mouth and writhed, grinding their cocks together as they kissed.
Derek’s hands clutched Stiles’ hips to... stop him? Help him? Derek was too far
gone to think clearly about his intentions. He felt his balls stir, then
tighten. He couldn’t even get a warning out before his breath was stolen away
and he was coming in his shorts. Above him Stiles whimpered, ever in motion,
until he wasn’t. A final trust and his body suddenly locked. The sound he made
was something Derek would remember for a long time.
He resisted the instinct to bite, to mark. It was all moving way too fast. But
nothing about this felt wrong. When he came back to himself it felt nothing
like his first time. No shame. No worry. No secrets. He lay back and watched
Stiles’ flushed face, his mouth hanging open. Then Stiles shifted, rocking
their softening cocks together in a blinding moment of over-stimulation and
pleasure.
“Holy fuck that was hot.”
Derek chuckled into the crook of Stiles’ neck. Because, yeah, it was. He let
his eyes fall shut with a smile on his face and tried not to pout when Stiles
clambered off him.
A moment later a Kleenex box landed on the bed. He cleaned up sleepily and
filled the trash. He settled back on the headboard, wishing Stiles was curled
at his side like he’d been that morning. He could tell, even before it began,
that Stiles was going to be chatty, a bundle of unnatural post-orgasm energy.
“Your father will be up soon. I should go.”
“You’ll hear him, right? You’ll have time to hide in the closet.”
Derek wrinkled his nose. “It smells in there.”
That ripped a laugh from Stiles. He leaned in and kissed Derek. Then Stiles was
off again, grabbing his clothes from the floor and shoving them haphazardly
into drawers that wouldn’t shut properly afterwards.
When the floor was cleared, he sat on the bed, his face serious. “Were you
tempted? When Peter was trying to get you to bite me.”
“I—” How could he answer that? Part of him was tempted. “You’d make a good
wolf.”
“I’d make an amazing wolf.”
Derek smirked. “We have our own code, if you want to call it that. I won’t
become like Peter – do what Peter did to Scott. I won’t bite someone who
doesn’t want it. The bite is a gift.”
Tracing a finger down Derek’s sweat-slicked chest, Stiles said, “And you know
I’d be nothing but trouble for you if you bit me without my say so.”
“You’d be trouble either way.”
“Yeah.” Stiles beamed at Derek. “I totally would.”
“If you wanted it... If I offered?”
“I don’t want it.”
“Okay.” Derek didn’t need to know more than that. There was no hesitation, no
sign of a lie.
“Okay?” Stiles' fingers stopped moving. “Even though you think the pack would
be stronger?”
“I already knew you didn’t want the bite.” Derek held his gaze. Stiles couldn’t
hear the truth in Derek’s heartbeat but hopefully he saw it in his eyes. “It’s
not an issue, Stiles. It was Peter who was trying to make it one.”
Stiles seemed to believe him because he nodded and stretched out bedside Derek,
tangling their legs together. They were quiet for a long time and Derek dozed,
listening to the rain, the quiet noise of the TV downstairs and Sheriff’s
snores.
Eventually Stiles lifted his head. “Scott won’t ever join your pack.”
Derek shrugged. “We do alright as we are.”
Stiles let his head rest again like he understood. Maybe he did. Maybe it was
Derek that was the last to understand what Stiles and Scott had been offering
him.
He turned to watch through the rain streaked window as night fell. The forest
would be fresh and washed anew by morning. Maybe Stiles would go for a run with
him.
End Notes
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