Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/599171.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Time_Travel, Future_Fic, Older_Stiles, Younger_Derek, Angst, Frottage
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-19 Words: 2376
****** Shadow Boys Break All The Locks ******
by dedougal
Summary
     Stiles thought he'd left Beacon Hills behind him ten years ago.
Notes
     Fuluoliang made a comment over on Twitter about how there's never any
     Older Stiles/Younger Derek fic. And this happened. I wasn't intending
     it to be quite so angst-ridden. Title is sort of nicked from "Time"
     by Tom Waits.
     Just to highlight: this story mentions past underage as well as
     present and whilst it is consensual, a character thinks of it in ways
     that may suggest an element of dubious consent, especially when
     contemplating the levels of power difference.
There was a certain inevitability that Stiles did not end up becoming a cop. He
also did not end up being a fireman or a lawyer or really anything that he’d
once claimed he wanted to be. Equally he was not a superhero nor a ballet
dancer (that had been a totally valid phase).
He ran a coffee shop for someone else and dabbled with magic on the side.
It wasn’t exactly glamorous.
But that was his life. Coffee shop, occasional supernatural spell casting
session, catch up on TiVO. Feed the cat. Lock the door. Finish his book waiting
for customers. Finish his book waiting for his life to begin again.
 
Ten years ago, Stiles very nearly almost became a superhero. But, in a twist of
fate, his best friend did instead. And then his best friend became something
else. And then they were no longer best friends. Step by step, everything
Stiles had held firm and honest and true was stripped away until there was only
him.
 
He wasn’t sure what the kid was doing on the floor of the stockroom but he
shouldn’t be there. It was when the kid looked up, eyes flashing blue and then
back to that indefinable color that Stiles hadn’t seen for almost ten years
that he realized who the kid had to be. He still freaked out.
He’d only known this Derek in passing. Stiles had been a kid, in middle school,
attending high school football matches with his dad and his mom and idolizing
the star player. No one got past Derek Hale and Stiles went through a rather
weird period where he wanted to be Derek Hale before it all got sorted out in
his head and then there was the fire and he vanished and Lydia happened and
that was history. But this Derek, still soft around the edges, was there in
Stiles’s memories too. It wasn’t puppy fat. There was just something unfinished
about him. His cheekbones weren’t razor sharp. He had no stubble. His hair fell
in soft waves around his ears.
“Hey, mister. I’m sorry. I don’t-“ The kid – Derek – looked around, scared and
a little worried and his chest started to heave.
“Derek, right?” That made him look at Stiles, mouth opening and closing. This
Derek wasn’t the creepy but confident adult Stiles had the pleasure of being
slammed into walls by. And then ignored by. This kid didn’t know anything about
hunters or alpha packs or fucking mermaids or anything. Stiles felt his heart
clench in his chest. “Let’s get you a drink.”
 
The boy was nearly lost in the overstuffed armchair Stiles pushed him into. His
shift still had an hour to go, and then he was responsible for cashing up,
closing the store for the night. He couldn’t really afford to call out, not
this month. So he settled Derek in the chair, handed over a chai and watched
him out of the corner of his eye.
There was something in the way he moved that stirred feelings Stiles was sure
he’d long buried. Things to do with Derek’s mouth and eyes and his fucking hair
and everything that he’d long since locked away in a box in his mind that he
kept booby trapped and triple locked. He didn’t need all that Beacon Hills shit
in his life. He had his pet, his apartment, his job.
And, when he finished up, he also apparently had a teenage version of Derek
Hale.
 
Food was the first order of business after Derek had established the pecking
order with Buster the cat. Stiles was too busy flicking through his contact
list wondering who would be able to help and who would answer his call. His
finger paused above the H section.
He’d kept an active number for Derek for years, getting it second hand through
Lydia and then through Allison. He hadn’t called. Part of him wanted to. Part
of him always wanted to, if he was being perfectly honest.
Teenage Derek had a healthy appetite and worked his way steadily through half
the menu from Panda Kingdom. Then, when he was sated and he’d stopped freaking
out over Stiles’s gaming system (technology waited for no man. Sometimes Stiles
forgot what life was like ten years ago), he finally answered Stiles’s
questions.
 
Derek had been driving home from practice. There had been a light and he’d
stopped the car and investigated. Then he’d found himself on the floor of the
stockroom and “you came in, Mr Stiles.”
“Stiles is my first name. I’m…” Stiles wondered what he should say, then
shrugged. “Stilinski. That’s my surname.”
“The sheriff in my town is called Stilinski. You related?” Derek wrapped his
mouth around the straw in his soda and sucked. Stiles crossed his legs.
“Yeah.” That was safe. Admitting nothing. Especially not now when he was
imagining teenage Derek’s mouth in all sorts of other inappropriate sucking
scenarios. Shit. This wasn’t Stiles – this wasn’t him. He scrubbed his hands
over his face, trying not to watch as the boy stretched his arms high above his
head, revealing the soft cut of his abs. They weren’t like they’d been when
Stiles had first known Derek, when they’d been as toned and hard as the rest of
him.
Stiles berated himself. Derek was sixteen. He was the age Stiles had been when
Derek had kissed him, jerked him off, taught him what sex was about, if not
exactly what love was. Derek looked over, his nose twitching and a confused
expression on his face. “You okay, Stiles?”
Nope. He was fucked. Really fucked.
 
Derek seemed to run out of energy all at once, going from inquisitive and
heart-breakingly open and easy to read to nearly asleep in an instant. Stiles
vaguely remembered feeling the same, once upon a time. Possibly a different
lifetime. Stiles’s jaw ached in sympathy when Derek’s jaw stretched wide in a
yawn.
“C’mon. You can have the bed.” Stiles resigned himself to the sofa. He’d slept
on it often enough. It just wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world.
Derek looked up at him sleepily, eyes dark. Stiles had a flash of uncomfortable
imagination again, of Derek kneeling before him and looking up at him like that
just before sucking his cock down. Stiles turned away and stuck his glass in
the kitchen sink.
He heard Derek push up off the sofa and follow him through to the kitchen. When
Stiles finally looked at him, Derek was hovering just inside the doorway, the
wrappers from their meal in his hands. Stiles pointed to the garbage and pasted
a smile on his face. Derek yawned again and stumbled a little as he followed
Stiles through to the bathroom, a million miles away from the smooth,
confident, arrogant bastard he’d always known.
Except… he’d known this Derek too. A little. Just enough.
There was a spare toothbrush, wrapped, in his cabinet and Stiles handed it
over. He grabbed his own pajama pants and shirt while the kid was in the
bathroom and shucked his own clothes before he could really think too much
about it. He was kicking his clothes in the direction of the washing pile when
Derek stumbled through, holding his jeans in his hands. Stiles closed his eyes,
trying to take back the image of smooth thighs, muscled and lean.
“Stiles? Is this okay?” Derek sounded so young and hesitant and innocent.
Nothing like the growl and the spat “Get out, Stiles” which had been the last
time he’d spoken to his Derek.
“Yeah.” That came out low and breathy. Stiles flicked on the bedside light and
slipped out of the room.
 
He was staring at the wall behind his TV when he heard Derek pad out of his
bedroom a few hours later.
“Stiles? Can I…?” Derek was wringing the bottom of his t-shirt in his hands.
Stiles sat up. “I could have been asleep.” Derek was backlit by the light
seeping through the drapes over the window and Stiles couldn’t see his face.
Then there was the hint of teeth, a grin. “I could tell you were awake. I mean,
you know. About the whole…”
“Werewolf thing. Yeah.” Stiles adjusted so he was more comfortable. “What is
it?”
“I was- I miss them. My family. I just wondered…” Derek sounded desperately
young and another punch of inappropriate lust shot through Stiles. “Could you
come and talk to me? Your bed is big enough, right?”
Stiles scrubbed his hands over his blankets for a moment. Derek was asking,
really nicely, but still asking for him to come to bed with him. Other Derek
had been less about the asking and more about the pushing and shoving,
especially when they were both high from the adrenaline of escaping yet another
probable deadly situation. He was a grown ass man. He could do this.
 
Teenage Derek curled into his side, hand sneaking under Stiles’s t-shirt.
“I can’t work out if you need to touch because of werewolfy reasons or if
you’re being a tease,” Stiles ground out. His cock didn’t seem to care,
stiffening to half-hardness just from the cool smoothness of Derek’s hand,
which froze on his skin before becoming cocky, sliding up across Stiles’s
belly. Stiles trapped it before it went any further and rolled over to look
straight into Derek’s eyes. “We can’t.”
“I’m not that young. I can smell you want me.” Derek swallowed and Stiles
fought with his conscience.
“People must want you all the time. You’re popular and hot and you’re athletic.
High school must be heaven.” It hadn’t been for Stiles but that was nothing
new.
Derek sighed, teenage all over again, any trace of the cool seducer gone. “They
think I’m weird. And I can’t tell them about…”
“Your time of the month. Yeah.” Stiles lay back. He had the chance to do
something here. If he…
So. Stiles was basically justifying giving in to Derek Hale, jailbait, so that
Derek Hale, jailbait, did not let Kate Argent get under his skin when he was
transported back to his own time and therefore Derek would never suffer the
loss of the family he was missing already and wouldn’t become an emotionally
constipated idiot. He wouldn’t become the most useless alpha in the world.
Scott would never be bitten by a rampaging Peter because there would be no body
in the woods. All Stiles had to do was roll over and let Derek take what he
wanted. Again.
His damned traitor of a cock twitched.
In the end, Stiles didn’t need to roll over. He just didn’t need to say no.
Derek crawled on top of him, lowered his mouth to Stiles and kissed him. There
were less teeth involved than Stiles had remembered. He finally gave in,
skimming his hands over Derek’s t-shirt before creeping underneath and stroking
upwards, tracing the points of Derek’s vertebrae. Derek even smelled similar,
wild and fresh underneath the remnants of the mint toothpaste. Stiles took
control of the kiss, slowing it down, making it last for as long as he could.
Derek’s hands were everywhere – wrapping long fingers in his hair, on his neck,
arms, shoulders. Then Derek raised up and shoved impatiently until Stiles’s
pants were around his thighs. Derek let out a shuddering sigh into Stiles’s
mouth as Stiles pushed down Derek’s boxers, grabbing the meat of his ass to
pull him close, to build a rhythm. It had been too long for Stiles to remember
when he’d last done this and he wasn’t going to last. It didn’t feel like Derek
was either, given the way his hips were frantically shifting, rolling faster
and harder. Derek was losing control, but his teeth didn’t come out to play and
neither did his claws. Instead he kissed Stiles harder as he came, slick, wet
and warm against the cut of Stiles’s hip. Stiles held him close until he
finished, the thrusts made easier by Derek’s come. And that thought dragged
Stiles’s orgasm out of him.
They lay panting, Derek still sprawled across him, sticky and gross, until
Stiles pushed at the boy to roll him off. Stiles pulled his shirt off, wiped
his belly and Derek’s, ashamed and guilty. Derek patted at him, uncoordinated
and half-asleep again.
“Don’t, Stiles. Was good.” His voice carried the hum of the truly happy. Stiles
envied that simple, uncomplicated joy, the way that sex just felt good and
didn’t hurt or hurt others or just be because the other person needed it and
didn’t really want you. Derek curled against him again, warm and soft and
nearly purring. His Derek had never cuddled. Never held him close and gentle.
Stiles was too old to cry over spilled milk anyway.
 
He woke to an empty bed. That was good. That meant Derek was home and happy and
would hopefully stay away from blonde women who offered virginity losing and
murder services. Stiles was still sticky, come dried on his skin. He should get
up, shower, start his day. Instead he lay back and watched the pattern the
drapes made on the ceiling.
A mug being placed on his nightstand made him sit up, shocked. Derek was there.
Not Derek the teenager but Derek. The real Derek. Stiles had a wild moment of
wondering what the hell was going on when memories that weren’t his and were
and brought him right here made him feel like his head was going to explode. He
was shaking when he could open his eyes again but the shudders were helped by
the fact he was being held tight by Derek. This Derek had laugh lines at the
corner of his eyes and a few grey streaks in his hair and even in his eyebrows.
This Derek was everything the boy had promised to become.
 
The house had still burned. Some things were never destined to change. But
Derek hadn’t left, hadn’t forced him out. It had taken time. Time that had made
it something real and unbreakable.
 
“Thank you,” Stiles had said.
“Anytime,” Derek had replied, kissing him lightly on the brow. Then the kiss
traveled, butterfly light, over his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, before landing,
firm and true on his lips. “Anytime.”
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