Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/590216.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Sequel, Series, Masturbation, Spoilers, Angst, Unresolved
      Sexual_Tension, Touching, Frustration, Past_Abuse, Sexual_Content,
      Developing_Relationship
  Series:
      Part 2 of in_spite_of_all_terror
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-11 Words: 10623
****** The Other Side ******
by rispacooper
Summary
     A sequel to Life is the Thing. Stiles literally knocks down walls,
     Derek tries to argue with him anyway.
Notes
     Fucking hell, I did not mean for this to become a series, and yet it
     kind of is. It needs only one more story (I hope). But I have no idea
     what that will be yet. Don't say I didn't warn you.
  This work was inspired by
      Life_is_the_Thing by rispacooper
Stiles was laughing. Derek couldn’t tell if the laughter was happy or just
hysterical, but it was the first sound he became aware of after his ears
stopped ringing and the brick and wood around them creaked and settled and
finally stopped. He couldn’t lay his ears flat as he was, but he shut his eyes
as his sensitive ears picked up an ominous groan from the timber across his
back, and held his breath. He seemed to be the only one worried about the rest
of the house falling down on them; Stiles was warm and alive and still
laughing. Like a crazy person. Like Stiles.
His breath tickled, hot against Derek’s neck until Derek turned and opened his
eyes. There were thin streaks of light coming in from several directions, along
with hints of fresher air, but the near dark meant less to him than it would
for Stiles. Stiles looked uninjured, though dusty, week-old and mostly healed
scratches at his neck were his only obvious wounds. Derek didn’t have x-ray
vision. He couldn’t tell more than that, if the laughing was a sign of shock or
something worse. At this point he couldn’t even rule out magic. The only thing
he could do was shift in the small space as much as he could to bring his hands
up. When he touched Stiles’ face, Stiles stopped laughing and gave the most put
upon sigh Derek had ever heard.
“So what, we’re trapped here right? Of course we are or you would have moved by
now.” Stiles looked around, but Derek could tell from the way he moved that he
was effectively blind. Even when his eyes adjusted to the darkness, it was
doubtful he’d be able to see much. But after a small pause Stiles faced
straight ahead and inched his head up, and Derek realized Stiles felt his
breath on his face. “Since you haven’t run away I am just gonna assume that you
can’t.”
He punctuated that with a small wriggle. Stiles was partly propped up on
something solid, probably a piece of furniture, but his long legs were pinned
underneath Derek. He was hot. He was always hot, as if he was a wolf in
disguise, or always running a temperature. Derek could lick the heat in the air
around Stiles if he wanted to. He eased back down a little and took a moment to
consider how much space he had to move without disturbing whatever was above
them. Stiles had been downstairs when the ceiling and part of the wall had
given in with no warning. Derek didn’t know if Stiles had done something to the
structure or if the burned, hollowed out wall had just chosen that moment to
give way. With Stiles’ luck it could have been either, but then there was also
the chance that it wasn’t a coincidence at all. Derek thought of the symbol
drawn onto the front door and held his breath again, to better listen for any
new threats.
The house protested, groaning in quiet agony as it had always done since the
fire. The wind swept through the trees outside. Stiles’ heartbeat was quick.
Derek couldn’t hear anything else.
“Are you all right?” Derek asked at last without raising his voice and felt his
own heartbeat slow down to something slightly more normal. If Stiles was
complaining, Stiles was probably fine. It could easily have been worse. If
Derek hadn’t been here…
The anger was sharp and welcome. It was red and hungry and overtook the soft
waves of relief that had been making him dizzy and lightheaded. Anger at Stiles
for being here where he hadn’t been invited and anger at even the possibility
that someone had someone had dropped the wall on Stiles on purpose and anger at
himself for failing to be faster to get them both out of there. He should have
been faster. If he hadn’t been staying away from Stiles he might have been
close enough to get them away. If he hadn’t been staying away from Stiles,
Stiles wouldn’t have come here at all.
Stiles put his head back. After a second he let out another laugh. This one was
smaller but louder. Derek could hear the edge of discomfort in it this time.
“Of course,” Stiles whispered, probably to himself, though Derek heard. It gave
him another spark, plain fury directed at Stiles for thinking sarcasm was any
kind of defense, and it allowed him to breathe. For the first time since he had
leapt across the room to cover Stiles’ body with his own, Derek could breathe
without wanting to howl. Looking around for things to enrage him never used to
be a pastime. Now it was habit when he was near Stiles.
“You could have died,” he bit out, neglecting to ask what was so funny. He’d
never understand. Even if he got a straight answer, Stiles was too quick for
him.
Just saying it made him scowl, which, even if Stiles could have seen it,
probably wouldn’t have impressed him.
Stiles wet his lips, sputtering at the ashy dust he must have tasted, then
shrugged. “So what else is new? News flash, Derek, but someone dies every week
around here.” His shrug was twitchy, and his heart rate was still elevated. The
heat was spilling out from him, pouring off his skin and filling their small,
dark shelter. Derek couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment but he didn’t think
it was, not after last week. If he pushed down he would feel if Stiles was
aroused or not, if he was hard.
Derek’s hold on his anger slipped at the memory of Stiles panting against him
and telling him his dick was hard because of danger, because he was alive,
because of Derek.
Derek had been sixteen once. His dick had gotten hard for everything. It didn’t
mean anything, despite whatever Stiles thought. He narrowed his eyes but the
memory of Stiles warm and eager on top of him was difficult to shake off with
Stiles underneath him. They’d had this same argument then too, but Derek didn’t
stop himself from repeating it.
“No one asked you to be a part of this, Stiles.”
Stiles let out a huffy little breath and rolled his eyes. His gaze settled on
Derek with more awareness, most likely as his human eyes got used to the dark.
There was no telling how much he could see. But blind or not, Stiles had to
know Derek could see him, so he worked his jaw stubbornly then lifted his chin.
“Like there was any keeping me out of it,” he announced boldly, though he
ruined the effect by adding, “It’s a little late to opt out now anyway,” under
his breath. Then he raised his voice again. “Derek in case you don’t realize
it, I am all in, or some other poker metaphor that means I’m in this no matter
how much damage over time I accumulate.”
“This isn’t a game.” Knowing it was pointless to argue didn’t stop him from
arguing. Stiles was as tangled up in this as anyone who had chosen life in the
pack, as if he had chosen life in the pack. Knowing that Stiles had, in fact,
chosen this life, if not Derek’s pack, made Derek shut his eyes and turn his
head.
Young and loyal and too smart for his own, Stiles had chosen this. They all had
except for Scott. But Stiles didn’t get any of the things the others had. For
Stiles there was no strength and no healing to let him take the brunt of impact
from a falling wall, nothing to stop him bleeding out from a hunter’s arrow.
But he did it anyway. He showed up anyway, defiant and in Derek’s face, and
there, for the past week always there, waiting for Derek to be half as brave as
he was, and not getting how stupid it was to be brave. Even werewolves could
die, and there was a sign on Derek’s door now to remind him that death was
getting even closer.
As he was, Stiles was weak. Derek knew it because he was weak, and getting
weaker. An Alpha with a reduced pack was nothing, and with him gone that left
Peter or Scott to protect the others. Peter or Scott or Stiles, one psychotic,
one too young, and one… human. Derek opened his eyes to look at the broken,
charred wood of his family’s home and thought about pack, and the gift of the
bite, and Stiles with increased strength and the bright eyes of a beta.
His shiver of fear was not a surprise. Neither was the lick of heat down his
spine, the satisfaction he knew he would feel as his teeth sank into Stiles and
he lapped at his blood. Stiles’ blood would taste of safety and protection and
family. He dreamed about biting Stiles sometimes, even knowing that Stiles
would hate having to listen to him and hate him more for taking him away from
Scott.
Derek flinched away from the thought of Scott, though another shiver went
through him to think of Stiles under his control. He hated himself a second
later for wanting it. He’d spent too much time listening to Peter.
He could hear Stiles pushing his palms against the floor, scraping them in dirt
and dust and ash as he tried to adjust his position. Stiles’ body was strong,
planes of muscle that no one else had ever seen outside of a locker room hidden
beneath his baggy pants and his loose t-shirt. Derek had seen them, and felt
the surprising heft of his cock. He’d curled his fingers around it, carefully,
shyly, in ways that made him hate himself now. Tentative and awkward, barely
getting a grip on him his fingers had been so slick, his thoughts nothing but
fear and the desire to make Stiles come.
He could remember being that eager before, but not anything like Stiles whining
to be allowed to kiss him, and never Stiles astride him, licking into his
mouth, scrambling to tear off his clothes and whining more when he couldn’t.
It didn’t mean anything except that Stiles was young. Derek knew that. But the
memory made him flush, and when he started to angle his body away from Stiles,
Stiles pushed against the floor and tried to sit up.
The drywall and wood around them creaked, as did the beam just above Derek’s
back that was holding the worst of it from them. Dust poured in through a few
of the cracks, some landing in Derek’s hair. He shook it off, irritated and
animal, aware that his anger wasn’t the anchor it should have been. He glared
at Stiles for it, first into his eyes and then at his throat, and the
skittering temptation of his pulse. One bite and Stiles might be strong enough.
It would be a gift, even if Stiles wouldn’t think so at first. But then Derek
most likely wouldn’t be around to deal with his wrath.
He exhaled, rough and close, and Stiles responded to the breath at his neck by
lifting his chin.
“Don’t.” Derek managed the one word while the house continued to groan above
them. Things felt shaky, or that was Derek fighting off the effects of being
crushed by falling masonry. The dust in his nose and mouth tasted like charcoal
and forest fires, like burnt flesh, though that was his imagination. He’d
always had too much imagination, been the kid Laura had thought it was funny to
scare with horror stories, the kid who had thought he was in love when he
wasn’t. The wall had probably been primed to fall, first burned out and then
left to the elements for years. There was nothing here but coincidence and a
wall that Stiles had brought down. Derek was not imagining that at least, or
what Stiles would have to say about it when the shock of almost dying wore off.
Stiles had to be in shock, because not even a horny Stiles would be wriggling
against him right now for any other reason.
“Stiles.” Derek pushed down without thinking, forcing Stiles into stillness and
familiarizing himself with his leanness at the same time. Stiles wasn’t hard,
but he was close, pounding and hot where Derek fitted against him. “Are you
okay? Are you hurt or is this just shock?” Derek wasn’t going to call it what
Stiles called it, The Danger Boner, but when he eased up and slid carefully
onto his knees so that he wasn’t entirely in Stiles’ lap, Stiles let out
another small laugh. This one was incredulous.
“Am I hurt?” He looked straight ahead, with eyes that were almost wild. “Uh no
Derek, because you tackled me and shielded me with your body right before a
giant freaking wall fell on me. I’m great. Never been better except for how I
am inhaling dust and probably asbestos and can look forward to a future with
mesothelioma.” He coughed and turned enough to spit before immediately turning
back. Derek realized that Stiles the heat spilling from Stiles was fury right
before he continued. “How are you? Here’s a revelation for you, buddy, Derek
Hale is not frikking Superman.” Whispering only made Stiles seem angrier.
Derek snorted before he could stop himself. He was well aware that he wasn’t
Superman, though his knowledge of Superman was limited to a vague memory of
Christopher Reeve and an orphaned baby lifting a car.
Stiles went silent at the sound of Derek’s amusement and leaned his head back
again to give Derek a serious, frustrated look. Derek turned his gaze to the
piles of wood that had trapped them. Stiles took his time assessing Derek,
keeping still except for the restless twitch of his fingers against the floor
and his unsteady breathing. It was a surprise when he brought his hands up, but
they brushed over Derek’s chest and then his back before resettling on the
floor.
Stiles couldn’t see so he’d sought out an answer in another way, Derek told
himself, bearing each clumsy touch and waiting to exhale until Stiles was done.
“I’m fine,” he insisted then, though there were blooms of heat across his
shoulders and back, and a spiraling pain in his hip that meant a fractured bone
was healing.
If he was reassured by that, Stiles gave no sign, not even in the beat of his
heart. He waited another few seconds then waved vaguely without taking his hand
far from the floor. “How bad is it? Can you move at all? Should I try calling
Scott? The strength of two wolves has to be better than one.”
Derek didn’t think Stiles knew what he was saying, or exactly how true it was.
“It’s always better to have a pack than to be alone,” Derek told him anyway,
and focused on finding a way out when Stiles went still to give him another
careful look. “I could probably push the beam off me, but I can’t tell if that
would make it worse or better.” And he couldn’t guarantee that he could cover
Stiles, though he didn’t say that. Stiles was already pulling his phone from
his pants pocket, ready to call Scott, who might answer for Stiles but wouldn’t
for Derek.
“Call Isaac.” Derek kept his eyes down, watching Stiles’ chest go up and down
as Stiles considered what he was asking. Derek didn’t ask for Boyd or Erica,
though he should have. He didn’t ask for Peter. Of them all, the only one who
hadn’t betrayed him outright was Isaac, but they both knew Isaac was probably
with Scott. “If he doesn’t answer… I’ll think of something.”
Stiles took a breath. He looked insultingly doubtful when Derek glanced up but
didn’t comment. “You just assume I have Isaac’s number,” he muttered instead,
his face blue and radiant as his phone screen lit up. They both listened to the
rings before it went to voicemail. Stiles’ voice was cool, only cracking once
toward the end as his urgency became more obvious. “Hey there, Isaac, your
Alpha and I request that you get your ass over to the Hale place as soon as
possible. And hey, why not bring Scott if you want. We can all have a picnic as
soon as you get me out from under the pile of rubble where I am currently
buried alive. If it’s not too much trouble, if just once someone I know could
answer their phone when I call.”
He made another call, and left another message that was about the same on
Scott’s voicemail, though he left out the phrase “your Alpha and I” and didn’t
look at Derek until he was done.
“If I weren’t so used to it, I’d start to think I had the plague,” Stiles
remarked as he ended the call and slid his phone back into his pocket. He left
his lips parted and didn’t seem to care that Derek was still on top of him and
could feel his every reaction.
Derek thought about telling him that sarcasm was not a real defense. He thought
about telling him that this was his fault for avoiding him all week, or that
what seemed like the end of the world in high school usually wasn’t. But he
didn’t say anything. Stiles didn’t seem to expect him to. It was enough to make
Derek wonder exactly what Stiles had been following him around for.
Stiles scowled at him, obviously remembering that even though he couldn’t see
much, Derek could see just fine.
“Your house fell on me,” he pointed out, as if Derek had planned it. Derek
ducked his head even though he hadn’t. If he hadn’t avoided Stiles, Stiles
wouldn’t have been there. Derek couldn’t control Stiles’ actions, couldn’t even
try to anticipate his thinking, but if he hadn’t run, Stiles wouldn’t have
chased.
He fought off the urge to apologize in the face of that and scowled back.
“That’s my fault?” Once upon a time, the walls had been solid. Derek had been
the one to leave them hollow, and who had let a damn teenager knock them down.
Stiles lowered his voice even more. “Yeah it is when I only came here to look
for you.” He stopped to swallow. His eyes swung away though there was nothing
in the dark for him to focus on. “I don’t exactly give up easily, okay? It
might take me years of sitting on the bench, but I’ll… I’ll… get there
eventually.” He swallowed again, but angled his chin up. “I have a plan.”
Derek was familiar with Stiles’ plans, mostly as he overheard them. The idea of
being one of them made him reach out. He wanted to grab onto something solid,
brick, cement, even the lump of furniture that was holding Stiles up, but his
hands slid over the floor, nails and pieces of drywall, splinters, until he
forced himself to be still. Narrowing his eyes, thinking about his house
collapsing on top of Stiles because Stiles was too stubborn to give up even
when he knew better, should have made him furious, but ash was on his tongue
and it smelled like smoke when he inhaled. His hands stayed human and empty.
”You’re a little old to be playing Hardy Boys,” he said quietly, not as strong
as he should have been. Laura had been strong but she had been alone. She
should have made a pack. She would have done a better job of it. She shouldn’t
have waited for Derek.
“Hardy Boys?” Stiles scoffed. “Dude, I only understand that reference because
of my dad and a joke on South Park, but I do get that you’re a little young to
be talking about the Hardy Boys.”
Derek considering telling Stiles that he was older than he liked to think, or
that it was more than years between them. But Stiles was studying him again, so
he cleared his throat to keep his voice even. “South Park, that’s a cartoon
right?” he wondered dryly, and was unprepared for the small hitch in Stiles’
breathing, as if Derek had surprised him.
“Oh my God,” Stiles moaned, not quite exasperated, too excited for how he tried
to sound irritated. “No, you do not get to do that after running from me for a
week.” He pushed up and for one second didn’t seem to give a damn about the
building that might still fall down around them. “Don’t even deny it, Derek.
Don’t even try. Look I am the virgin here,” he declared, his voice cracking for
a moment before logic made him roll one shoulder. “I mean, I was.” His grin was
brief but blinding. “I am supposed to be the one with second thoughts,” he went
on, his heart strong despite the throb in his voice that meant outrage,
bravado, hurt. They didn’t have a distinct sound or smell but Derek knew they
were there. Stiles didn’t seem to care that Derek knew that. “Normally I can’t
get away from you, so trust me I know the difference. Trust me. Ha. Do you hear
me? Telling you to trust me?” Stiles finished by hitting the floor hard with
his palm, then wincing.
Derek pressed in closer, wrapping his hand around Stiles’ wrist until his
fingertips were against his veins. If he was thinking he wouldn’t touch Stiles
more than he had to. Trying to stay away from Stiles for his own good and
inviting Stiles along seemed to get Stiles just as beat up. Stiles might assume
that Derek wanted that, and Derek could accept that if it worked, but like
always, it didn’t seem to. Stiles was gulping down air, was pale in the dark,
ghostly white except for his hair and his eyes.
“Stop flailing around. The house isn’t safe,” Derek reminded him, feeling
stupid and slow. He let go of Stiles and looked away, though he kept his tone
scathing and his body poised over Stiles. “Do you even know how to keep still?”
“Unbelievable. For once in my life, I am not the problem,” Stiles murmured,
barely audible. Derek wasn’t even certain if he was meant to hear him. But then
Stiles’ hands were flat on the floor and Stiles was pushing up again. Derek
tensed, but nothing creaked around them, and only a tiny bit of dust fell down
to lighten Stiles’ hair. Stiles’ breath puffed over his mouth as Stiles stared
at him, at the outline of him or whatever it was Stiles saw. Nothing about him
smelled like smoke although he was covered in ash.
Derek focused on his mouth and his warm, wet breath.
“I get it, okay Derek,” Stiles admitted, as if Derek was keeping up with him
and knew what he was talking about. It could have been anything. Derek could
read every book he could get his hands on and he’d never be as fast as Stiles.
Once he got going, Stiles was faster than Peter, possibly even as ruthless.
Derek hadn’t forgotten Stiles telling Allison to shoot him. He didn’t think he
ever would.
It was another in the long list of reasons to avoid Stiles. The list was so
long now that even Stiles saw it. But looking away meant Stiles’ breath on his
neck, Stiles parting his lips in shock and edging in so that they were almost
touching. Looking away meant Stiles’ mouth nearly at his pulse, and Stiles
measuring his heartbeat to catch him in a lie.
Derek shivered with real fear like he hadn’t felt since first confronting
Peter. He didn’t know where Stiles had learned that trick, but he remembered
Stiles using it in his bed a week ago, like he remembered Stiles falling asleep
on top of him--and waking Stiles up when he’d heard Scott arrive and demand to
see his best friend. Stiles had woken up groggy enough to let Derek button him
up, too groggy to even realize the dried mess was still on his clothes, that
Scott would smell it on him. Derek hadn’t needed anything to drive Scott
further away, but he hadn’t denied the challenge in Scott’s posture, the fury
that had only been tempered by his surprise and confusion.
Derek had expected Scott to come after him. It was no less than he deserved.
Stiles was a teenager, and he’d been drugged. No explanation Derek had was good
enough. But Scott hadn’t. Stiles had shown up in the station and at his house.
Stiles had waited for the Sheriff to leave for the night and then yelled out
his window into the night like he’d known Derek had been hidden and listening.
“I can feel you.” Stiles jumped at his own words, almost as much as Derek did.
“I can feel your heartbeat, I mean.” His lips were barely there, or not there,
Derek wasn’t entirely sure what was real. Even if Stiles had been wolf, Derek
wouldn’t have felt his mouth go this dry.
“Stiles.” The name got under Derek’s skin like nothing else ever had. Like a
burr. He had once thought Kate was a pretty name. It had never made him want to
kill. He held back a growl and the urge to shake himself free. Doing that would
only have made it worse. Even with Stiles’ mouth at his throat, he was too
aware that biting was the least of the things Stiles could do to him.
“I’m not stoned this time, if that was your problem with what happened before.”
Stiles was hesitant, strange for him, and for anyone in his position, but he
never did what Derek expected. “And I don’t care that you don’t have a lot of
experience. Though uh, how and why have crossed my mind now that I can really
think. I mean, look at you. I’d wolf whistle, but… yeah.”
Derek’s pulse was a giveaway, a heavy thud against Stiles’ lips as it started
to speed up. He moved away, too late, and Stiles fell back to stare at him. He
looked sort of stunned, though Derek didn’t know why, because elevated pulse
aside, he’d given nothing away. But he looked at Stiles for a long time and
then turned his head.
“You don’t know whether to kill it or lick it?” he asked flatly, the words
dragged from him, and Stiles made a confused, almost rude noise.
“Dude, what? What? What do you even think I want here? Did you listen to me
before? I was drugged. I can’t remember everything I said, but I doubt I was
lying or that I wanted to kill you. I know you aren’t… a monster. There is no
way, this time anyway, that I wanted you dead.”
Derek remembered nearly every word, but he didn’t understand what Stiles was
trying to say. It was possible Stiles didn’t either. He made a frustrated,
short gesture with his hands and flailed for a moment.
“You are the most…! You are so…! Argh. Why would you even think I want more
from you than you? Why do you--” Stiles didn’t trail off, he shut up, suddenly
and without warning, and pulled in a long breath. He coughed at the end, as if
the smell of fire was too much.
“Or we can totally not talk about that, if you want,” Stiles offered in the
next moment. Derek couldn’t tell if Stiles was watching him or not, but his
heart felt like it was going to burst out of his ribs. His body wanted to run,
in whatever form it could, though there was nowhere to go.
“Stiles.” Derek was happy it was growl. There was strength in that. But
ignoring the danger, or more likely, aware of the danger but taking the risk
anyway, Stiles just kept talking.
“I know it’s not a werewolf thing because of Scott,” he reasoned out loud, so
juvenile that Derek almost rolled his eyes. It took a second before he could
trust his voice.
“Stiles, you can be quiet any time now,” he grunted. Just because he was
trapped in here with Stiles didn’t mean he had to give anything away. Not even
with Stiles underneath him and evidently trying to wait him out. Stiles was
trying, and failing, to keep still. There was something familiar in his
restless, stunted motions, something that made Derek risk another look at him
even while he was becoming more aware of all the places where they were
touching. He didn’t know what Stiles’ skin felt like under his clothes, or how
Stiles tasted, but he knew how Stiles was never still. Everything in him was in
motion, the blood beneath his skin, the air in his lungs, every whisper of his
eyelashes on his cheeks when he blinked. And his scent, loud with pride and
bruises and frustration and lust.
It was the horny smell of a teenager. Stiles wanted someone, anyone, who wanted
him, who found him attractive. He’d smelled the same around others, frequently
at the mention of the name Lydia. Derek inhaled the scent, musky and sweaty,
clean somehow, even filtered through char and wood smoke. There were notes in
it that were unique to Stiles, rich like his blood would be, knowledge and
sorrow and sugar, as well as something medicinal. On his clothes Derek could
smell the high school, the locker room too, but that was just surface noise.
Everything else was all Stiles, and he knew it better than he should.
Stiles smelled like sex, as if they weren’t buried under rubble in Derek’s
family’s home… what was left of Derek’s family’s home. It only smelled of fire.
Derek shook his head and bent in until all he could smell was the boy-scent of
Stiles. Kate hadn’t been able to smell Derek’s longing, but she hadn’t needed
to. He couldn’t even remember trying to hide it. He’d been just like Stiles in
that respect.
Stiles was a rush of blood and life close to him, a body trembling with
excitement. Derek was shaking too, but he didn’t think Stiles would notice now.
Stiles must have come here straight from school and then walked right in past
the warning on the door, though he had to have noticed it. The danger he was in
made it almost easy. “You shouldn’t be here,” Derek told him, and felt his
control slip when the rejection made Stiles push up against him. Stiles was
hard. Derek heard his voice crack. “Stiles you’re in danger.”
“From you?” Stiles kept trying to meet his gaze. “You threw yourself on me to
save me from a collapsing building, Derek. The jig is up.” The whisper was smug
and just irritating enough to make Derek narrow his eyes.
“Not me.” He sounded stupid, arguing with someone so young and worse, arguing
with someone who he had never won an argument with, not for long, and never
without resorting physical intimidation. Stiles was going to win this, even if
Derek was right. He knew he was right because he couldn’t remember Kate ever
trying to talk him out of anything, except for telling his parents. “You’re
young.”
Stiles made that sound again, rude and startled. He sputtered a second later,
just pissed off. “Oh yeah that’s not what you said last night. And yes, I am
aware that it was a week ago that you let me touch your dick, not last night.”
He was hot all over, but especially around his face and neck, as if he was
blushing. “Anyway Scott is young. Boyd is my age. So’s Erica.”
Derek clenched his jaw and waited to speak, even with that he got his words
wrong. “I’m not… You don’t know what you’re agreeing to.”
“But they did?” For the first time, Stiles really raised his voice. The
building didn’t fall around them, but Stiles took a breath and went back to a
whisper. “You gave them the bite. You brought them into this.” The words were
cool, like he’d thought about them, and Derek couldn’t entirely suppress a
flinch. Stiles noticed, of course he did, even in the dark. “You gave them a
choice that would affect their entire lives and you bit them. You bit them.
And…” Stiles seemed to get lost for a moment, “you bit them.”
Derek had to pull himself away. “You want me to bite you.” He wasn’t asking,
not as he imagined it, his mouth sliding over Stiles’ skin, what it would feel
like, how much he wanted to break him open and give Stiles the teeth to hurt
him.
Stiles hesitated a second too long. “No.”
Derek exhaled, not trusting himself to speak until the red cleared from his
eyes. Stiles with the gift would be a Stiles who was physically stronger, but
otherwise exactly the same. Stiles already had the focus of a wolf on a hunt.
He had probably seen the mark on the door, noted it to look up later, then
walked into the house anyway.
“You don’t need to chase me, Stiles.” Derek’s voice was aged and broken and his
words weren’t exactly what he wanted them to be. They sounded like something
Laura would tell him to say, like the teasing advice she’d given him once about
girls. He firmed his voice and his spine and looked back. “Stop chasing me,
Stiles.” That was better. He should speak like an Alpha, not a kid. Laura would
tell him that too, and probably to never turn his back on Peter.
Derek shut his eyes, tired at the thought of Peter and sick of the stench of
fire. Stiles smelled good. Derek wanted nothing more than to lean in and
breathe him in. There was no better reason to pull away. “You don’t belong in
this,” he said heavily. “The other Alphas…”
A snort interrupted him.
“We’re surrounded by ash, Stiles.” Derek went on just the same. His throat was
dry no matter how he swallowed, but the harsh words came out clear.
“Dude.” Stiles gave away a world of surprise in the single word. There was more
in the sound than Derek had expected, maybe more than Stiles had expected. Then
Stiles said the rest so easily that Derek could tell he was startled he had to
say it at all “You didn’t burn your house down, Derek. The fucking Argents did.
Kate Argent did.”
Anger. Red hot and fast. Derek shuddered with the force of it and opened his
eyes. He saw Stiles’ gaping mouth, the mole on his cheek. Stiles was still so
hot, the heat coming from him in waves, even though Derek was making him
nervous. He licked his lips and glanced over, but Derek kept his gaze safely
down, studying Stiles’ ear, the flutter of the vein down the side of his
throat, the smaller moles and freckles just visible.
“Oh,” Stiles blurted. “Guilt.” Stiles shouldn’t know anything about guilt, but
he seemed to. Saying it settled it over his shoulders and pushed them down.
Derek wanted to lift them up again.
Taking care of Stiles wasn’t Derek’s job. Derek could tell himself that all
day, but the pack bond was stronger than reason. It had been a part of Derek
before he’d ever become Alpha. The bond said Stiles was pack even if Stiles
didn’t want to be. And even if it didn’t, the kick in Derek’s chest and the icy
sickness in his stomach said that Stiles was more than that. Stiles knew
Derek’s body. If there were something greater than pack, it would be Stiles.
Derek only realized he was still shaking when Stiles touched him and the
shaking stopped. Stiles’ hand was over his shirt, bent at what was probably an
uncomfortable angle until he slid it up to the side of Derek’s neck. Then he
gave a little pat, like he didn’t know what else to do. It didn’t matter; Derek
remembered him, the smell of him and his come, the greedy feel of his hands,
his sloppy, biting kisses.
Stiles was breathing hard. It could have been fear, and part of it probably
was. Derek could hear every breath rasping in and out of him and wanted to
cover Stiles’ mouth with his and breathe for him. He wanted to heal whatever
damage had been done and snarled because if anything he would cause more.
But Stiles tilted his head up and gasped against his cheek and then pushed at
the back of Derek’s neck to urge him closer.
“Stiles.” It wasn’t a whine. Derek at least managed that much. Stiles removed
his hand. He took one breath, then another, and his lips were so soft that
Derek was caught off guard when Stiles spoke in a clear, raised voice.
“You think I’ll turn to ash if you touch me?”
Air left Derek, along with the anger, rushing out of him until his vision was
gray. There was a physical pressure in his chest, like someone squeezing his
heart and kicking him in the stomach, exactly high voltage ripping through his
muscles.
“Derek?” Stiles patted him again, then stopped and left his hand against
Derek’s skin. His thumb rubbed back and forth a few times, a mesmerizing,
dragging touch, a straight line. He was so hot Derek thought about fire again,
or electricity. Stiles had been guessing and Derek had told him too much. “So…”
Stiles added a moment later. Instead of a childish reaction and savoring his
victory in getting a rise out of Derek he looked thoughtful. “Survivor’s guilt,
huh? That makes sense.”
“Try calling Scott again,” Derek growled at him. Calling for pack when
threatened was instinct and enough of his urgency must have come through that
Stiles only frowned at him before reaching for his phone and trying Scott
again. The call went directly to voicemail this time and Stiles was a lot more
pointed in his message.
“Scott I hope your mom took your phone away, because now you are starting to
freak me out and worry is the last thing I need right now seeing as I’m still
trapped under a house with Derek. Please tell me you aren’t in trouble.”
Stiles had been worried too. So if Scott was in trouble, he hadn’t been
discussing it with his best friend either. Derek wasn’t even a little happy to
hear that.
“Scott should call me if he needs help.” Derek sent a furious look at the house
around them. Walls were supposed to offer protection, not keep him from helping
a packmate. He hit the ground with his palm.
“Gee, Derek, I wonder why he doesn’t trust you? Maybe because you don’t trust
him for shit,” Stiles explained testily, but shut up and licked his lower lip
when Derek raised his head to glare at him.
Derek’s heart was trying to tear out of him. His claws were ready, but useless.
He growled again. “If he’s in trouble I can’t help him while I’m stuck here.”
He smacked the ground again. Stiles straightened and put his head up. A second
later he was shoving at Derek’s shoulders.
“So get us out of here. You can push that beam off. I’ve seen you do more than
that.”
Derek took a breath. His muscles were already braced to do it but he made
himself stop, then he shook his head. The frustrated whine was out of his
control. “I don’t know what else is above us. I can’t.” He couldn’t push it off
and cover Stiles at the same time.
“What else is super wolf strength good for?” Stiles scowled at him, looking
confused. “Dude you’ll be fine, I’ll be the one who has to… That’s what you
mean, isn’t it? You’re worried about me.” He continued to frown for a while
longer, then bit his lip before going on in an unsteady voice. “Well don’t
okay? I can take care of myself.” At another time, his posturing might have
been mildly amusing. Derek just kept thinking what a wolf he was; he understood
pack better than Scott, even if who he welcomed into his family was less clear.
“I mean, hey, Derek, we both know I’m only staying with you so I’ll survive,
right?” The words were bitter and light, but Stiles flicked his gaze up and met
Derek’s eyes. Derek didn’t react, but maybe Stiles hadn’t expected him to
because he steamrolled on. “So what do you care? Just go. I’m not pack or
anything. I’m not even a wolf like Scott.”
Derek wasn’t going to apologize for that. But he stared back into Stiles’ eyes
and didn’t move. After a few moments, Stiles shoved at his shoulders again,
with less strength this time. Then he shut his eyes and leaned forward. He
spoke into Derek’s shoulder.
“Derek.” He just breathed for a second, and for the first time Derek could hear
the anxiety, the struggle in Stiles to breathe normally at all. Derek put a
hand up to his shoulder, uncertain, but then Stiles drew in another breath and
stiffened his posture. “Whatever happens, I don’t want to die alone here. If…
something… If I do, don’t let my dad find my body here. He would totally
probably come after you. Probably to arrest you. Possibly to shoot you. Move me
somewhere. He’ll know I was moved, but oh well, what’re you going to do,
right?” Stiles took another breath.
Derek thought of his mother’s cheek against the top of his head when he was
little and he’d had nightmares. For a moment he felt buzzed hair against his
skin and then Stiles’ pulse skittered and he moved back so he wasn’t intruding
any more. If Stiles was in this, then Stiles was in this. But it wasn’t going
to come to Derek moving Stiles’ body. Derek was going to make sure of that.
“What would the Sheriff say to find our bodies here together like this?” he
asked, mean and distracting, lifting an eyebrow that Stiles couldn’t see. He
actually felt Stiles flinch against his shoulder before Stiles sat back again
to study him.
“Ouch, Derek. Ouch. Though not even the thought of my dad’s disappointment is
enough to make this go away.” He didn’t say what ‘this’ was or gesture at it,
but Derek knew what he was referring to.
“I’d ask how you still have that, but I remember being your age,” Derek
remarked flatly, not moving back because it reveal just how much he wanted to
stay. If he eased back down to rest on his legs he would be pressed against
Stiles’ crotch. If he moved at all Stiles would feel it. They would both feel
it, but Stiles would be the one shivering and struggling not to come in his
jeans.
He expected Stiles to comment on his attempt at humor, or his age. Instead
Stiles was silent for a long time. When he did finally speak he was quiet. “Is
that why I had to hunt you down like a creep?”
Derek went tense. Stiles kept wetting his lips and swallowing, nervous or
trying to get some taste of his mouth. “Last week… I was stoned but I thought
you were into it too.” He didn’t wait for Derek’s reaction. His eyes went wide
and his mouth dropped open. “You were, right?”
“Do you ever stop talking?” Anger was easy to reach for this time. He wasn’t
Stiles’ victim.
Stiles pushed right past the interruption. “But I was stoned and I didn’t even
know what I was doing. And you didn’t either. And you let me… You let me.”
Stiles blinked a few times, some of his horror fading out as it was replaced
with confusion. “You were shaking.”
Derek exhaled heavily and put his palms flat on the ground, feeling dirt and
grit in his skin. It was a good way to wait for whatever was coming, whatever
Stiles was going to do or say next.
Stiles went with a question. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
There was nothing to say. Derek clenched his jaw. Stiles made a scoffing sound.
“Oh great. Stoic silence. My favorite response to an important question.”
Stiles scrabbled against the floor and leaned in, putting his mouth back over
Derek’s neck in the Stiles version of a werewolf lie detector test. Derek
considered throwing him off, throwing this whole house off and leaving him
here. He knew he wouldn’t do either thing, but he was stiff and still when
Stiles exhaled to ask his first question. “You would have killed me if you
didn’t like it, right?”
He paused, like even for Stiles that was a strange think to ask. Derek felt his
pulse skip at the thought of killing Stiles, so he shook his head. Stiles
didn’t seem to know what to make of that. “Maybe just maimed?” Stiles tried
again, his tone slightly hopeful, and Derek nodded though his pulse wasn’t
reacting to anything but Stiles’ proximity and the breath at his throat.
“Don’t tempt me,” Derek muttered when it felt the space around them couldn’t
get any warmer. It wasn’t his job to reassure Stiles either. Stiles just
snorted. His sense of humor was getting darker by the day.
“Derek,” he began after a beat, then gave a minute shake of his head and
pressed his lips to Derek’s skin. “What is your problem?” he moaned along
Derek’s the length of Derek’s carotid, then eased back so that his breath
brushed over the now-wet skin. Derek fisted his hands at Stiles’ thighs and
kept them there, even if he was shaking again. “Why can’t you just admit that
you like me?” Stiles demanded. “Because you do like me, Derek. You let me touch
you.”
Stiles had touched Derek like he couldn’t wait to, and stared at him with wide,
dark eyes, running his hands over Derek again before leaning in to kiss him
even with Derek’s face half wolf. Derek unclenched one hand and pressed it into
Stiles’ hip. He shook his head, but Stiles was monitoring his heartbeat.
“You like me.” Stiles said it like it meant more than that and Derek didn’t
have an answer, not even one that Laura could have given him. He was starting
to think that Stiles read things into his silences that he never meant to put
there, because Stiles shifted and wriggled under him.
“Stiles.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Stiles lied, shifting his hips up. Derek pushed down
without thinking and Stiles groaned, sounding grateful and tortured at the same
time. He rubbed his forehead into Derek’s shoulder and then let his mouth rest
above Derek’s skin again. He rolled his hips one more time and let out a rough
breath when Derek spread his hand out over his side and squeezed.
“Stiles,” Derek said through his teeth. Stiles’ dick was pressed up against
him. He could smell smoke and Stiles at the same time, and wet, aroused scents.
He could feel them.
“Okay.” Stiles’ eyes were unfocused. “Okay.” He put his hands on Derek’s thighs
and rubbed his palms over the denim, but he stopped rocking up. He spent a full
minute trying to catch his breath, then seemed to give up. “You aren’t going to
let this happen again for all kinds of reasons. I get it.” He didn’t sound
happy about it. His frustration made Derek shiver and curl his fingers into
Stiles’ heat. “But if it’s for my own good, I wish you’d at least touch me. It
sucks always being the only one,” he finished on a sigh and then shut his eyes
and didn’t say anything else.
Derek had been half-expecting Stiles to press his advantage, but Stiles was
sitting as still as someone with a hard-on that he couldn’t take care of could.
Derek slid his gaze down between them, to the sizable bulge in Stiles’ jeans,
then back up to the rapid rise and fall of Stiles’ chest. There were still
scratches at Stiles’ neck from their encounter with hunters the week before.
His skin was flushed along his throat and at the hint of his collarbone. His
cheeks were darker too, like his mouth now that he’d bitten it. His freckles
and moles were where they always were, in the path of temptation. Derek frowned
and lifted a hand.
At the first touch of Derek’s fingertips on his cheek, Stiles opened his eyes
and stared right at Derek for the second before he immediately shut them again.
He exhaled again, shakily, and licked his lips before leaving them soft and
open.
“It’s… this is okay.” Stiles was barely audible. If he’d been able to, Derek
would have remarked on the state of Stiles’ dick, and how he knew that already.
But he swept his thumb over the mole that was almost level with Stiles’ mouth
and then regarded Stiles’ mouth itself.
“You just want me to touch you?” Derek didn’t have any other way to phrase the
question. He knew it was a lie, that Stiles wanted more from him, but from the
way Stiles wasn’t moving it also felt like the truth.
Stiles’ whine was weak. His hands pressed urgently down into Derek’s thighs,
where his muscles were tense. He was aroused too, not hard but his body felt
heavy, like crushing Stiles to the floor and rolling into him without any kind
of a plan. Stiles wanted him to, he could tell. The sex scents were getting
stronger and Stiles was starting to pant. Stiles turned his head, tilting it
up. His neck was long and smooth, tight with tension and marred with scratches
that shouldn’t be there.
Derek bared his fangs. It wasn’t an offer for the bite but for a moment his
body couldn’t tell the difference, didn’t understand that there was a
difference. He put his hand on Stiles’ neck and felt the humming just beneath
Stiles’ skin. Stiles made a confused noise. One of his hands left Derek’s
thigh, then returned, then disappeared again. Derek heard the glide of the
zipper and the rustle of material, but he didn’t look. He kept his eyes on his
thumb, moving slowly across Stiles’ soft skin. He felt lightheaded. Stiles was
taking advantage again. He growled at that, murmured, “Stiles” as a warning,
but didn’t stop petting over another mole, or pushing his fingertips into
giving, warm skin.
“I was kind of hoping… hoping for more actually… but this is…” Stiles broke off
words in a slow rhythm, gasping in time to the movements of the hand stroking
his dick. His skin was dry, the sound like a tug, like an ache. Little slaps
and echoing motions that Derek’s could feel against his stomach, against his
fly. “Yeah this is good too.”
Derek resisted asking if it really was. He tossed his head at the heat in the
space now, the heaviness of Stiles’ breathing. Stiles was rocking his hips up
again in small, jerky motions, but Derek didn’t stop him. Stiles was flushed
and shiny with sweat, tiny droplets along his mouth and damp under Derek’s
hand. He made needy little sounds when the pads of Derek’s fingertips finally
grazed his lower lip, tracing just along the plump outside edge. Derek let out
a breath and Stiles opened his eyes to look right at him. There still wasn’t
the right amount of fear in his expression to see Derek with his fangs out.
Fear was there, but it was nothing compared to everything else. For once he
didn’t look knowing or smug or defiant or anything else obnoxious. He just
looked like if Derek didn’t keep touching him, he’d die.
“Is this what you want?” Derek tried to keep his voice distant but it came out
rough. Stiles just shook his head and tore his other hand away from Derek’s
thigh to grasp at his shirt. It was clumsy, but his finger found skin, drew a
steady, back-and-forth line just under Derek’s throat. He laid back to watch
himself touch Derek, that one confusing, hot little connection he kept making,
and then dropped his hand to squeeze hard at Derek’s thigh.
“No. Yes. Yes.” Stiles nodded. His whole body was moving, and of all of him,
his face was so hot it burned to the touch. He had some shame after all. “More
would be great but don’t stop. I’m… I’m…” He couldn’t say it, his breath
hitching. Derek pushed a hand up under Stiles’ shirt and shoved it up to his
neck. His hand was flat to Stiles’ chest. He saw pale skin and more freckles
and nipples the color of Stiles’ lips. He felt Stiles’ heartbeat, fast under
his palm and moved his thumb back and forth over the spot where the beat was
the loudest. It was barely any touch at all. Kate wouldn’t have wasted her
time. Stiles wrapped his hand around Derek’s wrist to hold it there, and bit
his lip to try to hold on a second longer. It wasn’t going to work.
Derek shifted closer, not meaning to, but needing to inhale more of the scent,
intense and delicious. He didn’t remember that from last time, he’d been
distracted, nervous. Now it made him sniff at Stiles’ hair and lean over him to
capture every last trace.
Stiles’ eyes were wide on him, half-blind and still too knowing. His teeth
released his lip so he could moan, and then with a twist of his wrist he got
himself off. Derek used his mouth to breathe, his tongue to taste, while he
stroked Stiles’ skin, all that soft, thin skin just above his heart, alive and
damp, and hot with drops of come. He stopped when it started to get sticky, the
salt and musk still gracing his tongue.
Stiles hadn’t stopped watching him, but once Derek took his eyes off his chest
and looked back, Stiles glanced to the side. His heart was still pounding. “We
didn’t do anything,” Stiles remarked, trying to reassure him, Derek realized.
“Nothing illegal anyway.” As if that was all Derek was worried about. Derek
shut his mouth, swallowing Stiles’ sex smells, and Stiles looked back at him.
“I looked it up.”
If things weren’t literally collapsing around them, Derek would have laughed,
or tried to. He couldn’t remember laughing with Kate, at least, never at the
same thing. She’d laughed a lot, at jokes he’d assumed he’d been too young or
stupid to understand.
He took a moment to reshape his face back to human and to banish his snarl.
Stiles blinked at him and froze with his hand out. He had been about to touch
Derek, touch him, and Derek didn’t think he would ever get used to that, how
much Stiles wanted to touch him even when he barely seemed like a man. Derek
had never paid enough attention to the humans in the family, had never really
noticed their differences because they had been pack. But he should have looked
closer at their strengths. It might have prepared him for Stiles.
“Can I…?” Stiles stopped and then set his jaw. “I’m going to touch you now,
Derek. Okay?”
Derek twitched reflexively when Stiles reached for his hand. He’d wiped his
hand on his stomach but his palm was still damp and hot. He smelled like
healthy desire as he tugged at Derek’s wrist. He pressed in where the skin was
softest. Derek let out a breath through his nose and waited. His blood was
throbbing around Stiles’ fingertips.
“You could be using me,” Stiles announced, bringing Derek’s attention up from
their joined hands. Derek stared at him and Stiles shrugged. “It occurred to me
that you could use my feel—this—to keep me with you, and bring Scott along for
the, uh, the ride. No pun intended.” He started to pet slowly along the inside
of Derek’s arm with his other hand, so gently that Derek wanted to growl at him
to remind him he wasn’t a child or a trapped animal.
“What?” he said instead, not quite as blankly as he should have, and Stiles
looked briefly uncomfortable, then defiant.
“It would make sense. But I figured if you were, you wouldn’t have played hard
to get quite so, uh, hard.”
“I’m not playing, Stiles.” Derek didn’t feel like acknowledging that he had
considered exactly what Stiles was suggesting. He angled his head to the side
to listen but of course there was no sign of Scott or Isaac. From the corner of
his eye he watched Stiles chew his bottom lip for a moment then push out a
sigh.
“Dude, it took a building falling on you to get you to be alone with me. I got
the message.” Stiles sighed again, but then shifted. His fingers were fierce on
the inside of Derek’s wrist. Derek wasn’t sure Stiles was aware he was doing it
anymore. It was possible he was just trying to keep Derek there. “You think we
aren’t going to do this again.”
“We aren’t.” It was no good arguing with Stiles, Derek knew that, especially
when he was tingling from the touch of Stiles’ fingers on his skin and his dick
was stiff in his jeans. Stiles tugged on his wrist again, bringing Derek’s hand
down between them. He made a hiccuping noise when Derek allowed it, then pushed
Derek’s palm against his jeans. Derek’s erection was hot and obvious. Derek
cupped it, not rubbing through his jeans, but hissing when Stiles moved his
hand to do it for him. The burn was almost immediate. Derek wanted to slide the
zipper down and free himself and couldn’t.
Stiles was starting to breathe hard again, so damn eager that Derek shut his
eyes.
“I’m not touching you, not like that.” Stiles argued technicalities with him
when Derek wasn’t saying a word. Derek choked, not exactly laughing, and then
pressed forward into his own hand. Stiles gasped anyway, probably staring
between them. “Even though I did it before,” he complained, disgruntled but
quiet. His hold was loose enough now that Derek could angle his hand to pull at
his fly, free his cock, feel some kind of relief. He didn’t. Stiles almost
howled at him, and Derek felt the heat of satisfaction curling deep inside him.
“I bet if I was a wolf you would. Nice fucking trust issues, Derek. Nice,”
Stiles bitched. Derek opened his eyes. Stiles was shaking and jittery, upset
and turned on at the same time. Looking at him let Derek take a breath and
eased, very slowly, back down. Stiles was still talking. “Well I’m not turning
for you, Derek, so forget it. I don’t care if I’m the only human left in Beacon
Hills, no.” Stiles said it like they both didn’t know Derek could take the
choice away from him. Derek inhaled his scent .
“Stiles,” he said after a while of being glared at by an unhappy teenager. He
spoke like an Alpha. He would protect his pack to the end, even from himself.
Stiles went still at his tone and looked up. “I have a two year plan,” he
insisted.
Derek pressed down, turning his wrist to push Stiles’ hand to the floor and
hold it there. There was never a way to win against Stiles that didn’t involve
at least a little physical intimidation. “Stiles, in two years I probably won’t
be a--”
Stiles exhaled something. Derek didn’t think it was a word, it didn’t sound
like one. It was more of an exclamation telling him to stop. Derek stopped.
Stiles stared at him, losing heat with every breath, some of his exhaustion
finally showing in how he had stopped wriggling. A two year plan wasn’t going
to work, but Stiles had to have a goal. Derek couldn't take that away from him.
“Stiles, listen to me,” Derek started then stopped to swallow and rethink his
words. One bite. One bite and he could better protect Stiles. One bite and
Stiles could better protect Scott. He swallowed again and held back every
howling demand his body was making. He let go of Stiles’ hand. “Things are
going to change.”
He knew it wasn’t what Stiles expected him to say from how still Stiles went
and the short, hysterical laugh that escaped him, but he knew it was right when
he could imagine Laura telling him to say it. “You understand what pack is.
Things are going to get worse. You have to stay close to Scott. ”
“What about you?” Stiles made a noise, but his heart rate was skittering back
to alarmed; he knew Derek was serious. For once he was actually listening.
Derek pulled in a long breath, then let it leave him.
“I probably won’t be able to protect you.” It was the truth, even if Stiles was
no longer measuring Derek’s pulse to look for lies.
“How much worse?” Stiles wondered after another moment, focusing on the problem
to be dealt with. Derek frowned. He wasn’t the one to ask. Deaton might have
had an answer, or Peter, if his answer could be trusted. Derek honestly didn’t
know, so he said nothing. Stiles didn’t remark on his stoic silence this time,
or accuse him of holding back something crucial. If anything, he just looked
like he wished Derek would say anything at all.
He scrubbed his hands through his hair then squeezed his eyes closed.
“Someone told me once that if you’re going through hell, keep going,” Stiles
said in Derek’s general direction, then reopened his eyes. “Though what do you
even get for going through hell? How much of you is even left if you make it
through?”
It wasn’t something Derek saw any point in thinking about. Stiles was
different, he wanted life, not survival. It wasn’t too late for him. Stiles’
body was like the engine in that shit Jeep of his, it would run and run well
for a long time if he took care of it. His mind was the same. But there was
only so much each could take.
Derek looked down at Stiles’ smooth skin and the streak of drying semen that he
could almost taste. He wanted to drop his head and lick at it until it was
gone, though Scott and Isaac would still know, even without seeing the
evidence.
“What do you want to get?” Derek asked to distract himself, though his
confusion was genuine. Stiles was a mystery, though his dick was out and his
mouth was wide open.
“What do you want?” Stiles tossed back at him, guarding his answer. He yanked
at his shirt, like he’d seen Derek looking at him and had suddenly gotten shy.
Derek held his breath to better listen to the movements of his family’s house,
the movements that were just the wind now. Stiles’ heartbeat drowned even that
out. He shook his head. He didn’t make two-year plans. There was no point.
Stiles frowned. “When we get to the other side, remind me to explain how much
trial by fire is bullshit,” he ordered flatly, then scraped his fingers through
his hair again, dislodging ash onto his shoulders. His shaking hands tried to
brush that off too, before he straightened and looked back at Derek. He licked
his mouth, the one place Derek had wiped clean, and swallowed.
Derek was surprised into a laugh, a short, bitter, bark of a sound.
Stiles looked at him like he was crazy right as his phone started to ring in
his pocket.
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