Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/853306.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Peter_Hale, Cora_Hale, Scott_McCall,
      Allison_Argent, Lydia_Martin, Danny_Mahealani, Vernon_Boyd, Deucalion_
      (Teen_Wolf), Isaac_Lahey
  Additional Tags:
      Tentative_Allies_with_Benefits, Porn_with_Feelings, Not_the_PWP_you're
      looking_for, Everyone_Is_An_Asshole, but_they_work_it_out_in_the_end,
      Canon-Typical_Violence, Mutual_Masturbation, Hand_Jobs, Hand_&_Finger
      Kink, Fingerfucking, Finger_Sucking, Blow_Jobs, Anal_Sex, Rimming,
      Comeplay, Possessive_Behavior, Bottom_Stiles_Stilinski, Bottom_Derek,
      Rough_Sex, Frottage, Marking, D/s_themes, Non-Negotiated_Kink, Dubious
      Consent, Jossed, post_3x03, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-22 Completed: 2013-06-23 Chapters: 6/6 Words: 41088
****** The Worst Thing I Ever Did ******
by RemainNameless
Summary
     Stiles would say his relationship with Derek is about fifteen percent
     empty threats, thirty percent sass, ten percent avoiding violence
     together, and five percent eyebrows.
     If anyone asked, he would say the remaining forty percent is mutual
     orgasms.
     It’s a good thing no one ever asks.
Notes
     WARNING: this was written at the beginning of the season, so it
     contains virgin sacrifices, ooc Cora, and no Darach or Jennifer.
     Overall work inspired by this Buddy Wakefield's "We Were
     Emergencies":
     "repeat after me with your heart:
     “I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hated myself.”
     Make love to me
     like you know I am better
     than the worst thing I ever did."
     Chapter title from R. Kelly's "Remix to Ignition". (may have listened
     to it over 80 times in a row shhh)
     WARNINGS AT END.
     NOT AS MUY IMPORTANTE FOR THIS CHAPTER BUT I STRONGLY ADVISE IT LATER
     IF DUBCON IS NOT YOUR CUP OF TEA.
     Going by the idea that full consent is not only implied but
     verbalized, this fic is, overall, mostly dubcon. I will give full
     descriptions of levels of consent in the warnings. :)
See the end of the work for more notes
***** You must be a football coach the way you got me playing the field *****
It all sort of happens on accident. 
For reasons. A lot of reasons. Most of them Stiles isn’t too sure about, but he
knows that since the beginning, it’s had something to do with Chris Argent
being involved.
The problem with Chris Argent being involved is that he’s weird about Scott.
Has been from the start. Not only does he totally see through the “Oh, no, sir,
we’ve moved on” but he’s actually, for reasons unknown, starting to like Scott
now. So Scott’s at the Argents’ having the most awkward dinner ever,
considering that his texts are saying that Chris is actually trying to set him
up with Allison, which means that Scott’s spending all dinner trying to
apologize to her for it. 
And Stiles, well, Stiles is where he always is when Scott’s having
uncomfortable dinners with Allison — stuck with a sulky werewolf. At least this
time there’s no life-or-death situation. Not that anyone would know by the way
Derek’s carrying on.
“Seriously, Stiles, just go away.” 
Stiles sighs, looking up from the book Peter left for him. “Dude. I need to
read this, and you won’t let me take the book home. Your fault that I’m here,
big guy.” 
“Whatever,” Derek mutters darkly, like he’s about thirteen and pretending he
hates his mom. Who, in this situation, might be Stiles. Which is kind of an
uncomfortable thing for reasons. (Derek’s a hottie with a body, alright, Stiles
is very aware of that, and even a hypothetical pseudo-Oedipal angle is freaky
deaky.) 
“When’s Cora coming back? She was getting a pizza, right?”
“No, she said she was getting a Hawaiian,” Derek says, like this is incredibly
meaningful.
Stiles sighs, leaning back in his chair. “And what, exactly, is so portentous
about pineapple and ham?”
“It’s code, idiot,” Derek says like he’s about two seconds from throwing
himself dramatically onto some horizontal surface. “She’s not coming back
tonight.”
The look Stiles gives him is, after a good minute, enough to get him to
explain.
“It’s a…thing. For personal space. Laura made it up on accident. If we ever
needed a break from the family, we’d just say we were getting a Hawaiian. You
know, like a vacation.”
“So, what you’re saying is that I’m not getting any pizza tonight,” Stiles says
with a heavy sigh. Damn. He’s hungry. Well, he’s always a little hungry, unless
he’s taken his Adderall in the last couple hours. Right now, he could probably
put away a pizza by himself. 
“You could always leave,” Derek offers. 
“Not until I can figure out what the hell kind of thing is going after virgins,
dude. Heather…I was there, okay, I was right there and I couldn’t protect her,
so it’s my responsibility to figure out what took her.”
Derek doesn’t say anything, but he wanders over to the secondhand couch and
sprawls like he’s the king of his fucking abandoned hovel. There’s a hole in
the wall, alright, and that’s not exactly what you’d call nice digs, but he
gets so proud of the place. Whenever they’re here, he, like, struts around his
stupid werewolf territory—
Okay, so Stiles is a little pissy. He’s been reading this book (a handwritten
book with shitty script penmanship) for, like, four hours, since he left
school, basically, and he’s gotten nothing except a massive headache and the
munchies. Not even the good kind of munchies. And he’s fucking tired of doing
this. He needs a break, for his eyes and his brain. 
Derek should have let him just take the book home. Because then he could have a
Stilinski Study Break and get right back on track. But for some reason, he
thinks that jerking off within like a mile of Derek would probably be
equivalent to asking for a slow death, so he’s not going to do it. Obviously.
That would be really stupid. 
It would make his headache go away, though. And a post-jerk off snack is the
best kind of snack. 
No. There’s absolutely no way to get away with it, anyway. It’s not like he can
just duck into the bathroom for a few minutes. Derek would kill him. There’s no
way—
“Hey, how far can you hear? Like, what’s your range?”
Derek lifts his head up and eyes Stiles suspiciously. “Why do you want to
know?”
“Just hypothetically, jeez. I’m just procrasturb— procrastinating,” he says,
and no, he does not blush because he’s sixteen, and a sixteen year old boy’s
best friend is his dick, and he’s not going to be ashamed of that enduring
love. Or his Freudian Slips.
“See, and this is why you can’t take the book home,” Derek says, like this is
why you can’t have nice things. “It’s a family heirloom and I don’t want it to
be covered in jizz stains.” 
Stiles chokes and yeah, he goes a little flushed. “Hey, I have way better aim
than that, thank you very much.” He crosses his hands over his chest like he’s
not uncomfortable. “I’m a little offended, actually.”
“Well, I guess you’ve had plenty of practice,” Derek cracks and oh my God, he’s
making jokes about masturbating. And Stiles is going to pretend he’s not at all
interested in the pants area because thoughts of touching penises plus Derek
usually means a happy ending for him.
Not that he jerks off to his not-enemy/sort-of-ally.
Well, not that he’d admit it to anyone ever.
“Practice makes perfect,” Stiles says primly. “Anyway, I don’t think you have
room to talk. Your bachelor pad hasn’t exactly been put to use, has it?”
“Oh, shut up.” Derek gets up and heads into the not-kitchen. Not a kitchen
because it’s not even enclosed, it’s just, like, four feet of counter, a
fridge, shitty microwave, and a coffee maker. Stiles makes sure his sims are
better equipped than this, alright. It’s just sad. 
No, what’s sad is how Stiles watches Derek’s back when he opens the fridge and
bends a little to get something from the middle shelf, wonders if that’s how he
bends into himself when he gets himself off, or if he arches instead, which
Stiles has a great visual of, even though he’s not sure what it says about him
that he once popped a boner when someone was maybe dying. 
(It says he’s kind of fucked up, but hey, he already knew that.)
“Jesus Christ, Stiles,” Derek says as he crosses the room with a Gatorade. “You
have hands. You can just take care of that.” He waves a hand in the general
direction of Stiles Jr. Yeah, okay, Stiles looks down, just to check, and you
can’t tell that he’s mostly hard, okay? 
“How can you even tell?” Stiles ask. Does Derek have special boner senses? Do
they tingle? And where, exactly, would that tingling be happening?
Derek gives him a dry look. “I can smell you from across the room, idiot. Why
don’t you go do something about it so it doesn’t reek like horny boy in here?”
“I don’t need your permission to jerk off, you know.” He shifts a little,
adjusting himself because even though he should be totally mortified right now,
his dick is starting to throb a little. Yeah, he has a problem with fear
responses. His are broken or something. 
“Then just fucking do it so I can take a nap without suffocating.” 
“Where? I mean, do I have to go outside? Or can I just use your bathroom?”
Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “Anywhere.”
That’s totally the wrong thing to say because he’s pretty sure it makes his
dick twitch in his pants because anywhere could be right here or on your bed
and fuck, this is really messed up. This is going to be one of those things
they don’t talk about, like when they were paralyzed and Stiles totally
unintentionally (because he was paralyzed, dammit) touched Little Derek and
well, Stiles does have something of an understanding of what a limp dick feels
like, and that was not exactly soft. There were no nails in danger of being
pounded or anything, but Little Derek might have been perusing the hardware
section.
It’s been thirteen hours since his last Adderall, he has more of a boner than
he’ll ever admit to under water torture, and Derek said anywhere. 
And he didn’t take it back. 
He’s not going to jerk off in the middle of Derek’s loft. That’s way unclassy
and weird and he’s not into being murdered. Maybe shoved against a wall a
little and threatened some, but not killed. So Stiles does the smart thing and
he gets up, zeroing in on the bathroom, and very casually adjusts the goods as
he goes. 
“You better open a window!” Derek calls and Stiles takes that to heart. It’s
the least he can do. 
Only the fucking window won’t open. 
And every time he tries, the corner of the sink presses against his junk and
he’s making an effort not to just grind against it. But the fucking window is,
like, welded shut. 
“Can I just break the window instead?” Stiles yells because he’s going to
murder this window dead. It’s the one thing standing in the way of his hand and
his dick coming into sweet, sweet contact, and it’s going to pay.
“Do I have to do everything myself?” Derek grumbles and heh, Stiles has a
little image of telling him yes, and also my hands aren’t working, can I borrow
yours? Okay, but he’s not going to do that, obviously, because he values his
life.
When Derek leans over the sink to work on the window, it’s like his ass is on
display and his jeans, Christ, his jeansare painted on, aren’t they? There’s no
way a person could actually pull on jeans that tight, like, Stiles can see
musculature and fuck, okay, Derek’s back is to him, he’s not able to see that
Stiles has to press the heel of his palm into his crotch to tell his dick to
calm the fuck down. 
But Derek’s shoulders rise a little, and he says, “Seriously? Could you not
wait, like, two minutes?” 
Which means that Derek thinks he’s getting himself off right now (he’s not) and
that’s a little offensive. He’s not that thirsty, Christ. 
But that also means that Derek’s reaction to him getting himself off not two
feet away is just to complain that he couldn’t wait a little while longer, and
that is interesting. Must be a werewolf thing. They must have different
personal space rules for jerking it. Or something. 
Stiles is not going to do anything based on that theory.
He’s not.
Okay, he just thumbs open his button. That’s nothing. Everything is still one
hundred percent covered. It’s no big deal. Sometimes if he and Scott go too
crazy at the five dollar Chinese buffet, they’ll go for the zipper, too. For
breathing room.
He’s not going to go for the zipper. This is not the Chinese buffet. This is
the Derek buffet and Stiles wants a plate of that. 
Shit, he’s got no game. It’s a really fucking good thing he doesn’t
accidentally say his thoughts out loud because he would probably never get laid
for the rest of his life for that line. 
Derek bangs his hand on the window, not hard enough to break it, and makes a
noise of utter frustration. “You know what? The window can go fuck itself,” he
says, and just hangs his head over the sink. “For the love of— Stiles, can you
just put it away? I can’t—“
“Dude, everything’s in the pants,” he says, hands up defensively. Derek looks
at him over his shoulder, even though he can tell that Stiles isn’t lying. 
“Well, it doesn’t smell like you’re wearing pants.”
“So you can totally smell my dick right now,” Stiles says, smirking a little,
“because that’s good. I mean, in case I ever come home at five in the morning
and you think something’s going on.” Derek gives him a look then, just a hint
of the old Alpha eyes. 
“I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, but you need to shut up and
do something about that.” His hands grip the edges of the sink, knuckles
popping white, and Stiles just stands there. Because he’s not sure if that
means he needs to will his boner away or put his hand in his pants and he’s
really not sure what’s going on here, why Derek is still standing there, why
Derek is standing there and not looking at him, or why all of this has him so
hard he just wants to make some sort of noise. 
“Fuck,” Derek hisses, and he’s breathing deep, slow, like he’s trying to
control himself, and fuck it, Stiles has no idea what that means, but his
fingers find his zipper and pull. Slow, but even Stiles can hear the tab knock
against each of the teeth. There’s a sharp inhale, almost like a whine, and
Derek shifts his hips a little against the sink. Like it’s involuntary. 
Shit, that shouldn’t be so hot, but Stiles is pretty sure his dick pulses out a
drop or two at that. 
That’s a whine alright, and Stiles is about to say something (who fucking knows
what) when Derek spins around and yanks Stiles in by the belt loops, then jerks
his pants down. Stiles makes a stumbling noise, and he’s weirdly embarrassed
because whatever this is is happening and because the head of his dick is
poking out of the slot in his boxers. When Derek rubs his thumb against it,
Stiles groans, head dropping to his shoulder. 
Derek just slides that thumb over him, presses against the slit a little. Even
if his thumb wasn’t shiny, Stiles would know it was wet by the way it goes so
easy, slick. 
“Are you always this wet?” Derek asks, and it sounds like it’s supposed to be
rude or something, but it breaks in the back of his throat. He trades his thumb
for the palm of his hand and just coats his hand in Stiles’ pre-come. 
Yeah, that’s too fucking much.
Gasping, Stiles nods into the junction of Derek’s neck and shoulder. “You gonna
do something, or are you just gonna play with it?” he asks cockily, trying to
regain a fraction of his dignity.
“Fucker,” Derek hisses, but he pushes Stiles’ boxers down below his balls and
gives him a rough stroke that makes Stiles keen and tip forward onto his toes.
His hand is slick enough that it doesn’t quite chafe, but it’s just a little
sticky. It’s a good sort of friction, the kind that makes him get off fast. Not
that he needs any help there. 
Stiles looks down between them at his cock disappearing in Derek’s fist, fuck,
his fist.This might be a dream, a fucked up memory trick of the Alphas, but
it’s hot like burning. The outline of Derek’s dick is making his mouth water,
like, almost to the point of drooling. He’s proportionately big. Of fucking
course he is. And he probably fucks like a porn star. 
At that thought, and at Derek’s thumb smearing some more of his pre-come
around, he whines a little. In a manly way. 
His fingers are apparently twisted in Derek’s t-shirt, but he lets go and palms
Derek through his jeans. Yeah, that’s something Stiles wants to get to know a
lot better. He’s thick and hot and when he grinds against Stiles’ hand, he
groans in a beautiful way. He does everything in a beautiful way, and that’s
the worst part. He is what he is and what he is is too beautiful and dangerous
and fucked up and mean for Stiles, and even when Stiles realizes that he’s
about to come, he’s thinking about how this is never going to happen again. 
But he comes all over the chest of Derek’s shirt and all over his hand, and
Derek pulls him through it just past the point of too much, until his hand is
sticky and white and Stiles is fighting for breath against his collarbone. He
allows himself four deep breaths before he pulls away. With a little noise,
Derek wipes his hand on his shirt. 
Stiles goes for his zipper before he loses his courage or his afterglow. Hands
close around his wrists and Stiles looks up. Derek’s eyes are flickering red. 
“It’s only fair,” Stiles tells him, and Derek presses against his hands a
little.
“It’s fine.”
Stiles gives him a look. “Dude, the blue balls are gonna be murder. Let me give
you a hand.” He smirks at himself for that one. With a roll of the eyes, Derek
lets go, grabbing the sides of the sink instead. The position juts his hips out
a little. When Stiles unbuttons his jeans, the zipper ratchets down the first
inch or so on its own. Left-handed, he does the rest of the way while he licks
his right hand. With a groan, Derek’s head falls back. 
There’s a crack as the sink loosening from the wall when Stiles finally wraps
his hand around Derek’s dick. It’s a beautiful dick. Most aren’t, and Stiles
admits that as someone who’s pretty fond of them in general, but his is nice.
It’s thick, uncut, though, and Stiles has only gotten his hands on his own, so
that’s different. The way his hand slides up and down is different, but he
doesn’t get a great working knowledge of it because on the third upstroke, when
he swipes his thumb across the head, Derek comes. With a strange fascination,
Stiles jerks each pulse of jizz from him. It’s the first time he’s seen someone
else come in real life and yeah, maybe he’d like to have watched Derek’s face
for it, but this isn’t like that. It’s not a tender moment. It’s just a couple
of orgasms. 
Derek’s shirt is a lost cause. 
“You should really go change that,” Stiles tells him as elbows him in the ribs
to get at the sink. He turns on the faucet to clean his hand when Derek moves,
glances over his shoulder to see if he’s watching; he’s looking down at shirt.
Stiles moves, very casually and very subtly, to lick his hand. Derek’s come
tastes mostly like his own, but it’s a little different. He can’t risk a second
taste, even for science reasons, because he gets the feeling that’s not a
totally cool thing to do, so he washes his hands really good while Derek goes
and changes his shirt.
After, Stiles makes sure he looks normal and he gets to work; in another hour,
he should be halfway through the book, and then he’ll give himself permission
to go home. 
***** More wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck *****
Chapter Notes
     Lyrics from Panic! At The Disco's "Lying is the most fun a girl can
     have without taking her clothes off".
     Warnings at the end, lovelies!!!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles assumes that it’s a one-time thing.
For obvious reasons.
In a moment of temporary insanity, dicks were touched. It happens. Well, not to
Stiles, or at least not until now, apparently. 
Obviously, he’s not going to tell anyone about it. They’d probably think he’s
confusing wet dreams with reality again. And Scott would probably judge him a
lot for having those dreams. Because they might be more or less okay with each
other, but Scott doesn’t like Derek, not really, and he wouldn’t get why Stiles
would want to get all up on that. That would be because Scott’s straight and is
busy pining over Allison anyway, and he’s got morals. He’s not like Stiles, who
is more than willing to get all up on someone he doesn’t particularly like.
Alright, he doesn’t dislike Derek. He can be fun. Seriously. He and Peter are
the only people Stiles knows who can keep up with him, and Peter needs to fuck
off and die, so that leaves Derek. And yes, there’s usually more threatening
and goading involved in their conversations than anyone else he’s ever met, but
it works for them. 
It works for Stiles. In a boner-inducing way. 
That’s probably a Lydia thing. His response to being ignored or insulted became
arousal, and being threatened apparently falls into that category of
inappropriate-boner-friendly interactions. And to be totally honest, Derek
doesn’t really threaten him. Sometimes there’s an off-hand remark or two
that’ll imply physical harm, but it’s not like he does anything about it. Or
like he ever would.
The point is, in absolutely no way does Stiles ever think that their hands-on
fun is ever going to be acknowledged anywhere other than his special Stiles
time. 
 
So when it happens again, he’s confused, to say the least.
 
Stake-outs are a neutral level of fun. Stiles is good at watching and not
horrible at waiting for things, so with some quiet music playing, he can handle
a stake-out. 
But that’s by himself. With other people, it’s a very different story.
The Alphas have a weird thing for Derek, so it’s been unanimously agreed that
he’s not to go within five hundred yards of them. Stiles is, of course, the
human, and he’s basically limited to some cool mountain ash tricks, so he’s
generally not allowed to tag along on the fun dangerous things. Not that
they’re really fun. He’d just prefer to be there and think he has a chance of
saving his friends’ lives than sitting in his Jeep with a pair of binoculars
trained on the old bank. 
And he’d really prefer to not be in said Jeep with Derek, who doesn’t need
binoculars because the fucker has special eyes or some other werewolf
bullshit. 
He’s looking at the bank. Definitely not at the way Derek’s thighs look all
splayed out because he’s slouching. Jesus, the muscle he has…Stiles wants to
put his mouth on them, wants to sit on them and feel them flex beneath his
hands. 
Nope.
He’s looking at the bank. The bank is terribly interesting. There’s just so
much going on that he can see. Wow. 
Derek’s fingers drum against the window ledge, and the noise makes Stiles look,
and there are his thighs again. Seriously, he’s gotta go through a tube of KY
to get those on in the morning. They’re like jeggings. Only sexier. Because
Derek would never ever in a million years wear jeggings, no sir. Only they’re
so tight, maybe they are. He needs to know, is the thing. For reasons. 
“I’m pretty sure it helps if your binoculars are actually pointing up,” Derek
says with a stupid sort of smugness. 
“Well, I was just…nevermind. Not doing that anymore. Nope.”
Derek snorts. “Do I get a dollar the next time you look at my dick, then?”
“I wasn’t looking at your dick,” Stiles tells him loftily. Because he wasn’t.
He’s better than that.
“Oh really?”
Stiles nods. “Really.”
“What were you looking at, then?” he asks like he’s exhausted with the
conversation and absolutely doesn’t care at all. Derek’s very good at feigning
apathy, but Stiles is good at finding people’s tells. 
“If you mustknow,” Stiles says, “I was trying to figure out if you were wearing
jeggings.” There’s this weird sound and Stiles realizes that Derek’s laughing.
Not for long, just for a second or two, but that’s a laugh. Preteen emo king
can laugh. Who knew?
“They’re not jeggings. Jesus, Stiles.”
Stiles gives him a suspicious look. “Yeah? Because there’s no way in physics
that you could put on jeans that tight without busting the seams. They’ve gotta
be jeggings. Give it up, man. I know your secret.”
“They’re not—“ He cuts off with a frustrated noise and grabs Stiles’ hand and
slaps it on his thigh, about halfway between groin and knee. And yeah, that’s
denim, but Stiles knew that. He just wanted to see what Derek would do. Which
is, apparently, dragging his hand across his jeans. “See? Told you,” he says
petulantly. 
But Stiles doesn’t say anything because his hand is still on Derek’s thigh, and
Derek’s hand is still on his, and together, they’re creeping up and towards his
inseam. 
It’s not because Stiles is sixteen. It’s not. He’s just having a very natural
physical reaction to touching the thigh of someone as hot as Derek. (Hot like
the fucking sun.) It’s totally natural, alright, and he’s not going to feel bad
about it. 
He feels a tiny bit bad about it, but when he looks up at Derek’s face, that
completely evaporates. Because that is the smuggest, most assholish, stupidest
smirk Stiles has ever seen in his life. Actually the most aggravating facial
expression he’s ever seen, and he’s had to interact with Peter on multiple
occasions. Derek knows he’s hot like the motherfucking sun, and he knows that
he really just has to look at him right to get Stiles going, and he’s so full
of himself. 
“I really hate you,” Stiles tells him as he goes for Derek’s fly. “You’re my
least favorite person, including your uncle.” He draws Derek’s dick out of his
pants and yeah, it’s just as good as he remembers. 
“Wow, talk dirty to me,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. With an annoyed sigh,
Stiles surveys the situation, sees the likelihood of carpal tunnel, and decides
that this isn’t going to work. 
When he leans over, he catches Derek’s little inhaled breath and smirks. Yeah,
Stiles isn’t stupid enough to attempt his first blowjob in a car. That’s just
asking for a dislocated jaw. But he does recline Derek’s seat a little, enough
that he can climb on top of Derek’s lap. It’s a fucking nice place to be,
alright? It’s a good lap. And when Derek shifts, Stiles can feel his thigh
muscles clenching beneath him and it’s hot as fuck. 
“Alright, werewolf super powers, you keep your eyes on the bank or I’m so
done.” It’s why they’re here, after all, and Stiles will feel bad if something
big happens and he misses it because he’s distracted by the miracle of Derek’s
body. 
Derek nods, then he’s such a stupid asshole that he thinks it’s a good idea to
take off his shirt. (It probably is a good idea. Stiles might have Wet Wipes in
his glove compartment, but he knows from experience that they don’t get jizz
out of cotton.) This just means that Stiles is totally exempt from any and all
keeping watch. There are abs and pecs in front of him that don’t exist outside
of porn, so his eyes are fucking busy. 
Derek shifts— no, fuck that, he thrusts up at Stiles, as if Stiles could
somehow forget that the Mona Penis is right there. 
Okay, so that’s not a good one. Sue him. 
“You’re going pre-verbal? Cute. Really cute. I bet that gets you allthe
action,” Stiles says, mostly to give him time to decide where he wants to put
his hands first. His left goes to brush against a nipple because Derek has nice
nipples, that’s a thing, and he spits in his right. 
Derek’s cock is hot in his hand and a lot harder than it was a minute ago.
Stiles twists his hand, getting his spit all around, and marvels at how it’s
almost the same but so, so, so, so not. The curve is different. Stiles is used
to feeling his dick curving towards him, but the angle reverses it. That, and
foreskin. It changes how his grip feels, and it’s supposed to mean Derek’s more
sensitive at the tip. He’ll have to try it. 
Except he’s going a little crazy maybe because it’s very possible that his dick
is going to burst out of his jeans like the motherfucking Hulk which might be a
little impressive but probably embarrassing in the long run. Somehow, he drags
his hand from Derek’s chest and works on getting himself out. His hand stays
steady on Derek though, and the coordination is asking a little much from him
alright and—
Fuck, that’s better. 
Yeah, he groans at it, at finally getting a hand on himself, like he’s fucking
desperate for it, but he kind of is. It’s not his fault. He can’t help but
react. Derek’s hand slips up to his thigh, but when Stiles looks, he’s still
staring in the direction of the bank. 
“How do you like it?” he asks, cursing that he didn’t spend the time becoming
ambidextrous because his left hand just isn’t quite doing it. “Not the Dick
Whisperer, here.” Derek snorts, half-smiling for a split second before he bites
his lip. Then there’s a hand wrapping around Stiles’, a little tighter, picking
up the pace.
“Like this,” Derek says. His hand is hot, not quite sweaty, but it covers
Stiles’ completely. Stiles gets the message, gets a little tighter, and when he
rubs against the head, he’s rewarded by Derek swearing and arching into him,
eyes flashing red. That does things to Stiles. His dick pretty much weeps at
it, but he lets his own needs take a backseat. With a groan, he spits in his
right hand again and keeps going.
Derek’s an asshole, so the idea of seeing him just totally come apart? Yeah,
that’s something he wants. He wants Derek to come so hard it’ll make him
stupid, wants him to lose control, just once. In a non-maiming way. 
It’s hot and Stiles should probably take off his shirt just for heat reasons,
but he’s not sure if his body will help his cause. Maybe, but he’s not going to
chance it. So he strokes Derek the way he likes, adding a little twist here and
there to hear his breath hitch. The hand he pulls away from his own dick is a
little wet with his pre-come, so he twists and rubs his palm across the head of
Derek’s. That gets him a little whimper and the hand on his thigh tightens. 
“You like that?” he asks, grinning. 
“Fuck off,” Derek tells him. Oh, that’s cute. 
Stiles hums. “Yeah? Should I stop, then?” He stops mid-stroke, just keeps his
hand wrapped around him near the tip. Derek looks at him then, glares, really,
and Stiles pops his eyebrows, a challenge. 
What he’s expecting is for Derek to ask him to continue in a very angry,
backwards way, but what he gets pretty kills him. And that’s Derek fucking into
his fist, braced against his feet and shoulders, gotta be, but Stiles doesn’t
really pay too much attention to that because Derek is lifting his full weight
up. Stiles is completely on top of him, no room for anything else and Derek is
able to lift him.
Yeah, so Stiles makes an embarrassing noise about that and Derek’s smirk says
he thinks he’s won. And okay, watching the way his abs are contracting as he
moves, yeah, he’s won. He’s won basically everything ever in the history of the
world. If there were a sex Olympics, Derek just won gold in every division. And
Stiles isn’t even going to be embarrassed about how his dick leaks all over
Derek when he has to lean over, bracing himself against the roof. 
Shit, they’ve gotta be rocking the car. Stiles’ Jeep is rocking for sex
reasons. Jesus. This is like Hanukah. This is better than Hanukah.
He shifts a little, letting out a strangled noise when he slots his dick
against Derek. Derek’s hips stutter a little at that, and Stiles gets his hand
around both of them. He’s leaking all over both of them, it’s a fucking mess,
holy God, and it’s probably the hottest thing in his life ever. 
“How long can you keep this up?” Stiles pants, rocking into Derek’s thrusts. 
“Long enough,” Derek grits out. He’s not looking at Stiles, but he’s definitely
not unaffected. And not from exertion, no he’s biting at his lips, making an
obvious effort to watch the bank. Which is what he’s supposed to be doing. But
Stiles needs him to not be able to. Just for what that would mean. So he drops
his left hand, finds one of Derek’s and brings it to his face. Derek snorts,
and fuck him, he’s not trying to be tender or some bullshit. So Stiles does
what he means to do: he sucks Derek’s thumb into his mouth. 
Derek’s eyes snap to him. “Oh, fuck,” he hisses, watching as Stiles bobs on his
thumb, then licks the web between it and his first finger, then takes that his
mouth. Derek thrusts up against him faster, harder. As a reward, he takes in
the middle finger, too, and when he knows it’ll fit, the ring finger. They’re
big fingers, and he tries not to let his eyes roll back into his head because
he’s there, he’s at that level of turned on and stupid. And it’s all totally
worth it anyway for the look on Derek’s face, like he’s about to die or come or
maybe both. 
The way he’s jerking up now is telling and thank God because Stiles is not
going to last a heck of a lot longer. Derek’s fingers stroke his tongue for a
second, then he slips them in and out, that totally gone look in his eyes, and
Stiles pulls them out before he starts moaning around them. 
“You’re supposed to be watching the bank,” he says, voice a little rougher than
he’d like to admit. He pairs it with tight grip and twist around their cocks.
The guilty way Derek’s eyes snap to the bank makes something swell in his
chest, and he mouths at Derek’s palm for a second before saying, “Good boy.”
Derek’s hips buck up and that’s apparently it for him because he shoots white
practically up to his chin and shit, Stiles can’t take that. The fact that
that’s a hair-trigger for him? It takes him a single stroke before Stiles is
there too, and he just jerks them both through it, coming in bursts all over
Derek’s stomach. 
Stiles sits there for a moment, breathing deep, while Derek catches his breath.
Because he’s out of breath. That’s something Stiles did. Made a werewolf come
so hard he had trouble breathing.
The things that are happening for Stiles’ ego right now, dear God, he’s never
felt this good.
It’s possible he might potentially be an addict. Because this is a feeling he
could get addicted to easily. Post-orgasm high and beating Derek Hale at
something? Fuck yeah. Not that he beat Derek at anything. Well, beat him
off…but sex isn’t a competition. 
If it was, he’s totally be winning right now. 
“Okay, you can get off of me now,” Derek says, totally killing the moment. “Do
you have a towel or something?” Stiles slings himself back into his seat and
pops open the glove compartment. Tosses the Wet Wipes at Derek’s face. As Derek
shoots him a dirty look and starts to clean himself off, Stiles squints into
the distance at the bank. He can’t see shit, but whatever. The binoculars are
on the dash, and when he lifts up to grab them, he drops Derek’s shirt on his
thighs. 
Nope, there’s nothing out there. Sighing, he grabs a Wet Wipe from the pack,
wipes down his junk, and makes himself look normal. He looks at the used wipe
in his hand, cranks down the window, and tosses it outside. 
They’re biodegradable, right? 
He certainly hopes so because Derek tosses two out. 
“Legolas, what do you elf eyes see?” Stiles asks, slouching into a comfortable
position. Derek pauses, shirt just over his head. 
“Nothing. And don’t call me Legolas. Of allthe characters to choose from…”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll call you Aragorn if you roll down the
window. I think it would be best for everyone if they don’t come up on us with
our windows steamed.” Derek rolls down the window with an annoyed noise, but he
doesn’t protest being called Aragorn. 
Derek uses his special eyes and Stiles uses his binoculars and all in all, they
do a very good job of pretending they didn’t just have really great, mutual
orgasms. It’s totally cool. And hey, Derek can’t ever get too bad to him
because Stiles has shit on him forever and ever. So that’s…something. 
(He’s going to jerk off later to the specific image of Derek’s face when he
says good boy and it’s going to be fantastic.)
“Okay, wait, so, if you’re Aragorn, that doesn’t make me Arwen, does it?
Because fuck no.” 
Derek gives him a look. “I like Arwen.” He looks back towards the bank. “That’s
why you’re Eowyn.”
There’s two ways to take that:
1) Eowyn is cool as shit and Stiles has looked up to her as the baddest bitch
at the ball since he was tiny so that’s a compliment and Stiles is happy
inside.
2) There’s no way in hell Derek would ever compliment him so what he’s really
implying is that Stiles has a crush on him that won’t go away until he defeats
a Nazgul and meets Faramir, that precious soul. 
“Wow, asshole,” Stiles says, trying not to grit his teeth, “because, yeah,
looks like you caught me, I have a total crush on you. I get these little
hearts in my eyes and everything. Guilty as charged.” 
“What, you want to be Arwen? Or are you forgetting the part where she gave up
her immortality for him? Pretty sure the only person you’d be less likely to do
that for than me is Peter.” 
Yeah, okay, fair point. 
“Fuck it, I wanna be Pippin,” Stiles says, squinting through the binoculars at
the absolute lack of activity outside the bank. 
“Sam. To Scott’s Frodo. He even has a little red-haired girlfriend,” Derek says
off-hand, a while too late.
Stiles grimaces. “Nah. Sam and Frodo were totally boning. Too weird.” 
Derek makes an exasperated noise and doesn’t suggest any other characters.
That’s cool. It’s not like they’re bros or anything. It distracts from the
whole I barely tolerate the fact that you’re alive thing they have going on.
Well, I barely tolerate the fact that you’re alive but I like the things you do
when my dick is in your hands thing. 
Yeah, it’s a damn good thing they have going on.
 
So, Stiles is totally cool with it being a two time thing. 
Alright, he’s very slightly less than cool with it because he’s, like, super
into post-Derek jerking off. It’s way more vivid and just generally awesome.
And in theory, it could get better. Also, Derek is hot like his balls after a
summer lacrosse game. Stiles is very much into the idea of doing something that
involves their bodies coming into contact with each other.
But it’s not like he’d be sad if Derek never wants to fool around again. Just
horny. And maybe a little disappointed. But not sad. He’s way too cool for
that.
Chapter End Notes
     Consent issues:
     non-verbal consent
     character puts another character's hand on his thigh in a sex way
     without any discussion or agreement for sex first, though no one's
     opposed
     underage
***** It's a new art form, showing people how little we care *****
Chapter Notes
     Lyric's from Lorde's "Tennis Court".
     WARNINGS AT THE END
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The third time is…well, it’s annoying. 
They’re all at Derek’s, trying to figure out what the hell the Alphas’ back-up
plan is, since Operation: Make Derek Murder-Happy failed hard. Also, the virgin
thing, which was on the back-burner for a little while, is now super important
because oh, yeah, they found another dead body. The guilt is driving Stiles
crazy.
And he can’t do anything. He’s good at research, not bad at strategy, even
though they never do what he suggests, but he’s pretty much useless right now
because they’re just arguing. And it’s everyone arguing — Scott, Derek, Peter,
Allison, Isaac, Boyd, Cora, Lydia — so there’s no escape. Stiles tries to tell
them to stop, to do something productive, but it’s all turning into an ego
thing, and he just gives up. There’s no point.
So Stiles goes to the bathroom and splashes some water on his face and doesn’t
think about how the reason the sink wiggles when he presses on it is because of
when he jerked Derek off. Not helping. He’s just angry now because he hasn’t
been able to sleep, even when he hasn’t been doing school work or trying to
dredge something useful out of Google about the Alphas, because of the stress.
And he hasn’t gotten off in thirty-nine hours, which is pretty much a record
since he was, like, twelve. It would be great for stress relief right about
now, but there’s eight people in the other room and fuck no. 
Stiles goes back out and sits on Derek’s very sad couch and tries to nap
through the argument. 
“Well maybe we should just give them you!” Lydia yells. 
“I’m not the one they want, dear,” Peter says, and Stiles’ skin crawls. Then
there’s four people yelling over each other and when Stiles looks, Cora and
Isaac are holding Lydia back. 
“Peter, leave. You’re done. Get out,” Derek orders. Everyone goes quiet for a
moment, and then Peter does as he says. When he sees Stiles, he throws him a
wink that makes Stiles want to bare his teeth, and he’s not even a werewolf. 
Everyone at the table just stands there, and then Scott says, “So, I hate to
say it, but I think at some point, we’re going to need him to figure this out.
He has information we need.”
“Yeah, and who’s been telling us that?” Lydia asks. “Oh yeah, Peter. Why do we
believe it? I think he’s give us everything he has and he’s just distracting us
so we don’t realize it.”
That gets everyone arguing again, and Stiles just can’t take it. “Guys! Guys!”
Everyone turns, realizing that he’s not among them. “Look, Peter’s too smart to
ever tell us everything. He knows that the second he does, he’s useless, he’s
back in the ground. When we’ve figured this all out, Lydia, I will personally
hold him back with a wolfsbane rope so you can beat the shit out of him, but we
still need him.”
“So what do we do, then? Because he’s withholding information.” Lydia crosses
her arms. 
“Use his sympathy.” Stiles shrugs. “I think we should pause and let Cora talk
to him. She’s the only one he doesn’t automatically assume wants him dead.”
Cora sighs, looks at Stiles. “He’s not Peter anymore. I don’t like being alone
with him.” She looks at Derek. “But I’ll do it.”
“Okay, well, obviously, we can’t do that now. So what do we do now?” Allison
asks. 
“Whatever we can,” Scott answers. “See if we can figure out what’s killing
these people on our own. Alright?” 
And that means Stiles. That means Stiles and Lydia especially. That means
they’re not leaving here until late. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. 
Like every time, Stiles wonders if this is the moment where he’s finally going
to say I’m sorry, I can’t right now, I’m burned out. But like every time, he
stuffs it down, squares his shoulders, and does what needs to be done. 
They work for four hours. Derek’s coffee maker is probably the only thing
keeping him going. It’s really just Stiles and Lydia, because they read the
fastest and after half an hour, almost everyone’s cleared out after being told
that no, there’s nothing they can do. The two of them each take a page in the
spread so they can power through the fucking useless book that Stiles has read
at least once already anyway and they read. 
Derek and Cora sit on the couch very quietly and Stiles is pretty sure he’s
never felt more useless because they don’t find anything. 
When he finally takes a break, pacing while his coffee cools, blinking to clear
his eyes, Cora calls his name, pulls him out of his head. 
“Come here, Stiles,” she says, and Stiles goes, and when she tells him, he sits
in front of her, between her spread knees. She massages her knuckles into his
neck, right where he’s getting a crick, and it all just melts away. He sits
there like someone’s lapdog, sipping at his coffee. When he finishes, she does
too, and when he stands, he feels like a new person. 
“She’s good at that, isn’t she?” Lydia murmurs. She’s stretching, getting her
blood flowing, and that’s when Stiles realizes that’s he’s not helpless over
her anymore. She’s stretching her arms over her head, enough to show her belly,
and he doesn’t feel like he’s going to fall over anytime soon.
“Huh,” he says, mostly to himself. She looks at him, ruffles his hair. 
“Back to work, kiddo,” she says, and that’s another thing. Somewhere along the
line, they got to be fond with each other. It’s nice. 
Nine feet behind him and four feet to the left, Derek sits, and Stiles doesn’t
acknowledge that he’s there. There’s no reason to: if they’re not arguing or
saving each other’s lives or jerking each other off, they don’t have anything
to do with each other. 
(That’s not true. The entire time Cora was touching him, he could feel Derek’s
presence two feet away. Just feel him. A tactile awareness that didn’t make
sense considering the space. It’s a thing that happens sometimes and he’s not
thinking about it, or what it means, or the other times he’s felt like that
before.)
After a couple hours, Lydia throws down the towel, makes her arms into a
pillow, and rests her head. She’s asleep by the time Stiles has finished
reading the page they’re on. 
He can keep going, it’s okay. If he keeps going, it’ll bring him one step
closer to finding who killed Heather. 
“Could someone take her home?” Stiles asks. “She’ll be pissed if we let her
sleep like this.”
Cora says, “Why don’t you take her home? You can keep going in the morning.”
“No, I’m good, I’ve got at least two hours in me. Take her. You can take my
Jeep if you want.” He digs his keys out of his pocket and holds them out. It’s
a few lines before she takes them, steps so quiet he doesn’t even hear. 
“Sleep, alright? You’re stressing us out.”
He’s not sure who the us is. (That’s a lie: he is.) But if he focuses, he might
be able to finish their read-through. More coffee, and then he can do this. 
There’s some in the pot. It’s burned, but that’s whatever. He’ll drink it
anyway. 
He’s grabbing the sugar when a hand settles on his shoulder. Stiles jumps.
“Jesus Christ, can you not? I hate it when you sneak up like that.” 
“You need to sleep. I’ll take you home,” Derek says, and Stiles turns around
because no.
“Not yet. I’m fine.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “Well, Ineed to sleep. And look at you. You’re running on
steam.” Derek’s hand comes up to his face, his thumb tracing the dark circle
under Stiles’ left eye. Stiles tries not to lean into it, but his hand is like
a pillow and yeah, Stiles is tired, but he doesn’t get that privilege right
now. 
He pulls away, turns back around, and stirs sugar into his coffee. It’s too
hot, but they’re out of milk, so he just smells it. He’d assumed Derek had
stalked away as silently as he’d approached, but Derek’s hand wraps around his
hip, and his nose rubs against Stiles’ neck. 
“Come on, man, I need to work.” 
Derek shakes his head, nose brushing against him. “You’re taking a break.” His
hand smokes across Stiles’ lower belly, dipping under his waistband when he
hits Stiles’ happy trail. His other hand goes to Stiles’ fly, and like that, he
gives up pretending he's not going to do this. 
“How far away is Lydia’s?” Stiles asks. 
“Twenty minutes, each way. We’ll be done before Cora’s back.” 
Stiles sighs, then wiggles his hips back against Derek. “Alright, buster. I
hope you know you’re taking the reins on this one. I’ll make it up to you
later.”
“No problem,” Derek whispers, breath warm, and he pulls back. Stiles tries to
lean back into him, but Derek tugs his shirt off first. There’s soft cotton at
his back and he rubs against it, humming.
“You, too,” he says. “Please.” 
Derek chuckles once, just once, and the warmth of him disappears. Stiles leans
forward, onto the counter, just trying to conserve his energy so he can maybe
hold himself up after. Derek shoves his jeans down until they’re around his
ankles, and Stiles struggles with his boxers, giving up at mid thigh. 
“I don’t have enough energy for you to fuck me,” Stiles says, rubbing at his
eyes. “I’m pretty sure, at least.”
“Wasn’t going to,” Derek says, flattening himself against Stiles’ back. That’s
it, and Stiles is okay with that for now. But he can feel Derek in his briefs
against his ass, the heft of him brushing against his cheeks. That’s got Stiles
pretty much hard, and he’s pretty sure that given how long it’s been since his
last orgasm, this is going to be short, but whatever. Derek can fucking deal
with it because he’s too tired to give a fuck. 
Derek spits in his hand and wraps him up in it, hot and enveloping like a good
dream. It pulls a sigh out of him, and he lets his head drop back against
Derek’s shoulder. It’s slow and just what he needs. Derek holds him up, lets
him sag against him, and he might be an asshole, but he’s great sometimes.
That thought wakes Stiles up, and he stands on his own, braces himself against
the counter and grinds back against Derek. Sticks his ass out like he’s in porn
because this is just like that. It’s real-life porn, just sex, nothing else.
Derek’s a fuck, and that’s all. 
“Jesus,” Derek breathes, his forehead dropping to Stiles’ back. He uses the
hand that’s not on Stiles’ dick to pull his hips back and get a rhythm going. 
“Actually, my name is Stiles,” he says, knowing it’s such a line, but he’s
tired and it’s the best he can come up with.
“Actually,” Derek tells him, “it’s Little Shit.” Stiles snorts and reaches back
to pull Derek’s dick out. When he lines it up between his cheeks, Derek groans.
“Still not going to fuck you tonight,” he says, and his voice is a little
breathy.
“Never said you were.” 
“Good.” He rubs himself against Stiles for a moment before asking, “Can I touch
your ass?”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure you are.”
“No,” Derek hisses, “fuck, I mean your hole. Can I?” Well, shit, that’s
apparently something his body thinks is really hot because he’s pretty sure his
dick pumps out a squirt of pre-come and he just shivers. 
“Yeah. That’s a thing you can definitely do,” he says, a little dizzy because
please. He needs Derek all over him yesterday. 
And he doesn’t even notice the hand at his hip is gone until there’s a wet pop
behind him, and then Derek’s spit-slick finger is right there, rubbing against
his hole like he’s trying to learn the feel of it by touch. Fuck. The noise
he’s making is just stupid, and Derek curls his finger, rubs his knuckle
against Stiles, pressing just hard enough that Stiles wants to whine he wants
it in him so bad.
“Fuck you, if you don’t—“
“Shhh,” Derek hisses, hands dropping away. Then, “Oh, fuck, it’s Cora.” 
Stiles stiffens, frozen. “What do we—?”
“Get dressed. Go to the bathroom. Splash some water on your face or something.
Don’t say anything. Fuck.” Derek tosses him his shirt and Stiles hurries to
yank up his jeans. Shit shit shit. If she realizes, they are so dead. So so so
dead. 
Except when he gets to the bathroom, he just wonders why. Like, yeah, okay,
Derek is actually a little bit older than him and he’s a dangerous creature of
the night, but to a werewolf in a family as weird as theirs, it probably
doesn’t matter. And they haven’t even fucked. Hell, they haven’t even kissed.
Not that Stiles wants to kiss Derek. Ew. That’s weird and really stupid and
just no. That’s not what this is. They’re not kissing and holding hands,
they’re just relieving a little tension. Filling needs. They’re screwing
around. It’s fine. 
He hears Cora come in, probably because he’s all but got his ear pressed to the
door.
“Hey, what’s up?” Derek says, and wow. Smooth. Probably the least casual thing
he’s done in his life, and that’s saying something.
“Lydia left her phone here and refused to go home without it. It should be on
the— Yep, there it is.” She pauses and Stiles can hear her looking around. “Ah,
bathroom. Sorry. You better make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep in a minute.”
“Yeah,” Derek says, and there’s a soft noise as she pecks him on the cheek. 
After the door shuts behind her, Stiles counts to ninety before leaving. He
finds Derek on the couch and looks at him with raised brows. Derek holds up a
finger for a moment, then drops it. 
“That was—“
“A close one,” Stiles agrees. “But that means we have forty minutes, right?”
He's got a nice little adrenaline buzz and he's ready to go.
Derek narrows his eyes. “If you’re up for it.” Stiles snorts and tosses off his
shirt, undoing his jeans as he walks over. He manages not to trip when he’s
stepping out of them, but it’s a close one. Derek just sits there, with one
cocky eyebrow asking him what the hell he’s doing. Fuck it, Stiles is going to
get off and then he’s going to nap and— no, he’s not going to nap, he’s going
to keep working, and that’s that. 
When Stiles, buck naked, gets over to Derek, he stops and stands there with a
hand on his hip. “Dude, at least take off your jeans. I don’t know about you,
but I’m nota fan of chafing.” Derek strips really fast actually. It’s probably
a werewolf skill. For when he turns into a fucking wolf. Which neither Stiles
nor anyone else has ever seen, but it’s definitely a thing that happens. 
“What are you doing over there?” Derek asks when he’s naked and sitting and
Jesus, Stiles has never seen him totally naked before. This is a gift. 
He doesn’t jump onto him, but it’s maybe a little eager. Whatever. Derek pulls
him in tight by his ass and it’s good. He’s not all the way hard again because,
hey, surprise sisters are boner-killers, but it’s probably going to take him
about thirty seconds to get there, tops. 
“Fuck,” Derek groans into his collarbone, the stubbeard scraping a little. “It
smells like sex in here, you know that? It reeks. I don’t know if she just
didn’t smell it or what—“
“Maybe it just smells like your usual sexual frustration, Hannibal.” Derek
pulls away and gives him a very, very confused look. “He has a really good
sense of smell, like— Oh, fuck it, give me your hand, jerkface.” 
Half a smirk spreads across his face and he lets Stiles pull his hand to his
mouth. When Stiles gets his mouth on Derek’s palm, the sight of him shutting
his eyes makes him smile into it. He sucks at it, licks between his fingers,
and he thinks he might be able to taste his pre-come and that’s a little more
of a turn-on than he thought. 
“You want me to suck on your fingers, don’t you?” Stiles asks, wiggling his
eyebrows. “Gets you hot, thinking about me sucking your cock.” He lets the
consonant sound echo out of his mouth, then watches Derek as he trails his lips
along his index finger. 
“Yeah, yeah it does,” Derek says, a little sharp. Like Stiles was accusing him
of something. 
Stiles smiles, licking just enough to slick Derek’s first two fingers up. “I’ve
been told I look good with something in my mouth,” he says as he shifts
forwards and guides Derek’s hand behind him. 
“Who told you that?” That’s pissed off, and Stiles doesn’t miss that little
flash of red. So Derek gets possessive in the heat of the moment. Good to
know. 
“Someone at The Jungle— fuck,” he hisses as Derek presses just the tip of one
of his fingers in. He arches back into it, pressing his chest against Derek’s,
head falling to his shoulder. That finger just teases, circling around a little
but never pressing all the way in. 
“Did you fuck him?” Derek asks, voice rough as his other hand goes to hold
Stiles open for him. 
Stiles shakes his head, then lets out a long, low sound as Derek presses in
slow. Fuck, it’s totally different when someone else does it, and he can get in
deeper, and he’s there, hot and solid. This is way better than trying to finger
himself. This is great. 
He finds himself mouthing at the stubble on Derek’s neck, like the way it
scrapes. Derek fucks his finger in so slow, like he knowshow much Stiles wants
it.
“If you don’t finger me like you mean it, I’m going to bake you wolfsbane
muffins and watch you eat them,” Stiles says, but it comes out in pants, his
breath wet against Derek’s throat. It gets him the gentle prod of a second
finger, and when Stiles arches back impossibly further, he slips it in. “Yeah,”
Stiles sighs, not caring enough to stop himself from licking Derek’s neck.
Derek’s hand pulls him in by the small of his back, making him spread his legs
wider as he gets in closer, then somehow makes it to the base of his hairline,
just stroking through. “You love this, don’t you?” he asks, and in response,
Stiles grinds forward against his dick, then back into his fingers. 
“I can’t mark you, can I? Even if I try?”
“No— I don’t know. I have no idea,” Derek says and for some reason, it sounds
like a confession. But Stiles latches onto Derek’s throat, sucks hard, loving
the broken noise he makes, the way he fucks his fingers in harder, the way he
thrusts against him. He pulls back, laps at Derek’s throat, then nips and sucks
and ruts down in an attempt to get some friction. Somehow, he manages to get a
hand between them, feels how wet his dick is, how even Derek’s got a drop or
two pushing out of his slit. 
If there’s one thing Stiles knows how to do, it’s jerk off. He’s an expert, and
even though the way Derek’s fingers are fucking in and out of his hole, making
him want to beg for something more, even though he’s driven to do his best to
leave his first hickey, he can jerk them off together. It’s not a good rhythm
and his hand can’t go all the way around, but it’s enough to get Derek
thrusting up into his hand, chanting fuck fuck fuck over and over. Like Stiles
has taken away his ability to speak. That’s like a gift. Everything Derek
becomes when they’re like this is a gift. 
He gives up on trying to jerk them both off because it’s not working, not with
the way they’re both trying to grind against each other. Really, Stiles should
push Derek onto his back so he can slide their dicks together right, but that’s
too much effort. Too much distraction. 
It’s fine because they’re basically humping the shit out of each other, which
is totally immature, but Stiles is at that point where the most he can really
do is moan and suck at Derek’s neck, so whatever. Derek’s not much better. He’s
making these ridiculous noises, like he’s dying, and when Stiles realizes that
he’s right at the edge of coming, he bites, right at the junction of Derek’s
neck and shoulder. 
The sound he makes is something like a wheeze. It makes Stiles grin against his
skin, and he doesn’t stop rutting against him, even though it’s wetter and he’s
going to have jizz all over him when they’re done. Fuck, if that doesn’t get
him going a little. 
Derek wraps one of his big hands around Stiles’ dick, and that’s pretty much it
for him. It’s like he’s pulling the orgasm from him. Stiles sucks at his throat
through it so he doesn’t make any noises or say anything stupid. 
For a moment there, they just breathe, sticking together with sweat and come,
and it should be gross, but Stiles has come to terms with how fucked up he is. 
It’s kind of nice, honestly, and he’s not sure if it’s because for that moment,
he can pretend that the reason Derek’s arms have settled around him is because
he is somehow loved. Not just because there’s really not anywhere else for
Derek to put his arms.
And Stiles is tired. He’s warm and mildly comfortable and he could sleep like
this. As the endorphins fade, the exhaustion creeps in and yeah, he’s going to
sleep just like this, with his face tucked against Derek’s neck. He nuzzles in
a little, getting a little more comfortable, and Derek snorts.
“Not your pillow. Come on, get up. Let’s get you cleaned up, then you can go to
sleep.” That sticks in Stiles’ mind and he pulls back, verysuspicious. 
“You just wanted me to sleep, didn’t you? You knew I’d wear myself out.”
Derek shrugs. “You weren’t doing anyone any favors by working like you were.
Come on. You can have the couch.” Maybe it’s childish, but Stiles crosses his
arms and doesn’t budge. Yeah, Stiles wants to sleep, but he’s mad because if
he’d just drunk his coffee, he’d be fine right now. 
“There’s probably jizz on it. Sorry if I’m not excited about that prospect. And
you’re evil, you know that? You’re actually a horrible person.” The look Derek
gives him is tired and done.
“Yeah, yeah, haven’t heard that one before. Now get up.”
Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll make you.”
“I’d like to see you tr—“ Stiles cuts off into an undignified yelp because
Derek is picking him up. Holy shit, he’s going to die. Panicked, he wraps his
legs around Derek’s waist, grabs his shoulders, holding on for dear life,
essentially. “You’re terrible,” Stiles tells him as Derek carries him to the
bathroom like a child. Okay, he’s not a child.He’s not. And this is all really
demeaning. 
And then there’s also the fact that Derek can pick him up and walk around with
him. Yeah, that’s going into the spank bank for sure. But also: terrible
person.
“I’m going to murder you,” Stiles says when they get to the bathroom. Derek
manages to pull him off, makes him stand while he digs around in the cabinet,
finally pulling out a washcloth. Watching him stand up to run the sink, Stiles
remembers that Derek’s not really intimidating. They’re basically the same
height, after all. It’s just muscle mass. Hot, chiseled, delicious muscle
mass. 
Okay, he’s objectifying Derek a little right now, but he’s also swaying on his
feet because he’s tired, so whatever. 
Tired or not, his dick still gives a half-interested twitch when Derek starts
cleaning him up with the warm washcloth. Not his fault. Derek totally smirks
though, and Stiles sticks his tongue out because he can’t come up with anything
witty right now. 
“Go get dressed,” Derek tells him when he starts cleaning himself up. And wow,
yeah, Derek’s a mess. Gravity may have spared Stiles a little bit, but Derek’s
filthy. 
That shouldn’t be a turn on, but it is, okay, and his mental filter isn’t
engaged enough to stop him from thinking about it. 
And then he sees something that makes him smile. “I guess I can give you a
hickey,” Stiles says, like he’s won something. Yeah, he totally won this round.
Because it’s there, fading, but there, dark and, as he stares, that’s the
impression of teeth. Derek looks in the mirror, makes sure it’s disappearing,
and snorts like it’s silly that Stiles is pleased about it. Fine. Asshole. It’s
not like it’s kind of cool that he can — at least temporarily — mark a
werewolf. 
Dressing takes about a hundred and ten percent of his energy, and alright, he
kind of collapses on the couch after. It’s remarkably free of bodily fluids,
thank you very much. Not that Derek cares, but whatever. He can suck a dick.
Stiles hums at that, smiling into the cushion. Yeah Derek can suck a dick. He
can suck Stiles’ dick whenever he wants. Wouldn’t that be nice? Mmmhmm, Derek’s
mouth, his pretty eyes looking up at Stiles, cheeks gone hollow…
“Don’t hump my couch!” Derek calls from the bathroom, but Stiles is already
asleep.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Stiles is smart, alright?
He’s got intelligence and he knows how to move through the world. His life
experience yields way more in the gratuitous violence category than the one for
teenage sex shenanigans, but it looks like the universe is trying to make it up
to him. Most people don’t get to touch people as hot as Derek, and Stiles gets
him for sex training wheels. That’s awesome. He’s living the dream right now. 
Well, not so much because of the supernatural bullshit and near-death stuff,
but whatever. 
The thing is, he can now officially say that he’s screwing around with Derek.
One’s an incident, two’s a coincidence, and three is a pattern of touching each
other’s junk when no one’s around. And also not talking about it. To anyone. At
all.
It’s not like Stiles is embarrassed that he and Derek are getting it on. It’s
just that there isn’t anyone who would get it. Because Scott has watched him
pine over someone for years, and there’s no way he’d believe that Stiles is
anything but a die-hard monogamist. Technically, there isn’t anyone else, but
the fact of the whole thing is that there are no feelings. Which Scott would
never understand. And then he’d be all like Why do you even like Derek? He’s
not the worst person in the entire world but he’sDerek. 
Because he looks at Derek and sees all of his past and future mistakes and the
way he’s barely holding it all together, whereas Stiles looks at Derek and sees
his o-face. And his abs. And his ass. And his penis. 
Alright, all things considered, if Peter had Derek’s body, Stiles would not be
trying to tap that. Peter is like if Derek were totally and completely a
terrible person, not, like, occasionally a terrible person. Well, often a
terrible person. Derek has a sense of humor, which, yeah, Peter does, too, but
Derek’s is less obvious. Probably the only thing about Derek that could ever be
called subtle. He’s not trying. He makes little jokes for himself, not for
anyone else. 
Okay, sometimes they’re pretty bad. But even Stiles isn’t all zingers. And bad
jokes can be funny, too. 
What he means is that Derek is not completely terrible, but it’s best for
everyone if Stiles just pretends he is. So they can continue with the naked
activities and it doesn’t get weird. Not that it would. It’s not Stiles could
ever have feelings for Derek. 
The very idea actually makes him laugh.
It’s an ugly noise. 
Chapter End Notes
     Warnings:
     some non-verbalized consent
     underage
     fyi next chapter's heavier
***** The sound of your loneliness like a heartbeat *****
Chapter Notes
     Title from Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams". I highly recommend the Bastille
     cover.
     WARNINGS. (not just for consent, pls read if you need)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It’s entirely Derek’s fault what happens. Because Stiles told him, made eye
contact and everything. Said, Hey, you know, if you go to that motel tonight,
the Alphas are going to rip you a new one. Derek had just rolled his eyes, and
when he’d done his stupid werewolf run towards the motel, Stiles had yelled,
I’ll find you a cozy body bag, asshole!
So when Derek doesn’t come back when he was supposed to, Stiles is surprised.
He’s pissed. Really fucking pissed. And what’s he supposed to do? He’s not even
there for backup. He’s just the getaway. Sure, he has a gun for protection,
with wolfsbane rounds, but he’s standing here, alone, and Derek’s probably
dead, which means that everyone else, who’re supposed to be using Derek’s
diversion to rescue Isaac, aren’t going to be able to help. 
Stiles looks at the gun on his dashboard, looks at the motel, and decides that
yes, he’s really that much of an idiot.
Of course, what Stiles finds is Derek losing a fight against the twin-Alpha.
Losing bad. Stiles is pretty sure he can see Derek’s ribs which is ew. 
So Stiles shoots. The twin-Alpha is big, so he’s an easy target, and Stiles
gets three in his back before he throws Derek to the floor and sets his sights
on Stiles. Stiles gives him one in the belly and two to the chest without
blinking. The recoil hurts his elbow because he’s not even holding the gun
right, but he’s afraid, and the bullets find their mark. 
“That’s wolfsbane, bitch,” Stiles says when the twin-Alpha pauses, like he’s
about to charge at Stiles. “Better run along to your keeper if you don’t want
to die.” Stiles hates Morrell, okay, for a variety of reasons, most importantly
that she’s a dirty traitor, but whatever. 
The twin-Alpha backs off, whining like a dog because he’s probably starting to
feel those bullets now, huh? Stiles stands tall, holding the gun a little too
tight, until he retreats and runs into the night. And then he looks at Derek. 
“Told you so, idiot,” he says, trying to parse out the damage. 
“What, you think I didn’t know this would happen?” Derek bites out through
gritted teeth. He gets himself to his feet, batting Stiles’ hand away when he
tries to help. 
Stiles shakes his head with a grimace. “Okay, so you’re not stupid, you just
have a death wish. Good to know. Asshole.” Derek glares, but he can’t even
stand up straight, so it loses some of its effect. “Come on, let’s get you to
Deaton.”
“I’m fine, Christ,” Derek hisses. “I’ll heal. Just take me home.” He takes a
really pitiful, limping step, and Stiles just says fuck it and grabs his arm,
pulls it over his shoulders. Derek mutters something under his breath, probably
something rude, but he can fucking deal with it because there’s no way he’s
making it to the Jeep on his own. 
“Wow, don’t rush to thank me,” Stiles says when they get there, rolling his
eyes.
“I hate you,” Derek tells him.
Stiles smiles at that. “Well, at least we can rule out brain damage, then.” He
hops around to the other side of the car while Derek gingerly gets in. And
alright, Stiles should have put down a towel or something because he’s gonna
get blood all over Stiles’ seat. Not the first time. 
He’s a bloody wreck and he looks like he’s in pain, which means he’s in a lot
of pain.
It takes all of two minutes for the adrenaline to wear off, and then when he
looks at Derek, he feels queasy. He tries not to look, but it’s hard because
he’s right there. But he can’t really tell anything. 
How bad is it? 
Can he do anything? 
Can werewolves die from blood loss?
These are questions Stiles is never going to ask because Derek would never
answer. For an alpha, he has a hell of a lone wolf complex. He’s big on private
suffering. Martyrdom. Well, fuck you, Derek, because Stiles isn’t going to give
him the satisfaction.
“What are you doing?” Derek asks when Stiles gets out his car instead of just
dropping Derek off at his place. 
“Denying you any possible morsel of happiness,” Stiles tells him cheerfully.
“Now let’s go. You can sulk and pretend to not be in pain upstairs.” 
“I’m healing, you know.”
Stiles shrugs. “That’s present-tense. I’m not leaving until you’re all done.”
He gets Derek into the elevator and tries very hard not to look at him. 
“Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?” Derek asks as he pushes open his door
with too much effort. 
“Yep. But I’m going to call Scott and tell him they’re going to have to get a
ride from Chris because this situation—“ he makes an all-encompassing gesture
towards Derek’s bloody person “—needs attention. Got it?” Derek gives him a
look like better fucking run or I’ll getyou,but Stiles is impervious to his
looks. Because he knows what it looks like when Derek comes all over himself
because Stiles calls him a good boy, and that’s something Derek can never take
back.
Stiles makes him sit on the table while he goes to get a washcloth. In the
meantime, Derek’s ditched his sad excuse for a shirt, and Stiles is pleased to
see that he is, indeed, healing. But he’s not done yet. 
Derek doesn’t move, not even a flinch, while Stiles dabs the blood off. He has
to wring out the washcloth once, and his stomach turns at the red in the sink,
but he gets Derek cleaned off. By the time he’s done, the deep gouges have
turned into the fresh pink of new skin. Absently, he traces over one line with
his thumb, feeling how smooth the skin is, before it fades into Derek’s natural
tan. 
“I don’t want to have to do this again,” Stiles says as he shoots the washcloth
into the kitchen sink. Nothing but net, baby. 
“No one asked you to do it the first time,” Derek says. He examines himself,
but he doesn’t push Stiles away, lets him in close, between his legs. Who else
do you let get this close to you? Stiles wants to ask, but he won’t. 
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. You need to not do this anymore.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “What, do what needs to be done?”
“No, look at me,” Stiles says, leaning to the side so Derek has to meet his
eyes. “I’m talking about this thing you do where your default strategy is
sacrificing yourself when you don’t need to. It needs to stop.” 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Derek looks away, shifting uneasily.
He’s so obvious. 
Stiles gives him the mother of all doubtful looks and says, “Really. Really?
That’s what you’re going with? I don’t have to be a werewolf to be able to tell
that’s bullshit.” 
“It has nothing to do with you,” Derek tells him, shooting a sharp glare. “What
do you care, anyway?”
“Because I’m the one who always ends up saving you, dumbass. And I’m not going
to just stop, so don’t even think about asking. Just don’t do it anymore. It’s
that easy. It’s literally one of the easiest things you could possibly do. It’s
less effort to not try to get yourself killed.”
Derek narrows his eyes, corners of his mouth tight. “And what’s in it for me,
exactly? Why should I?”
Well, okay, so this isn’t something he’d thought he’d ever have to do. Derek
wants him to incentivize being alive? Jesus Christ, he’s fucked up. Well,
they’re all fucked up, Stiles especially. No, Derek especially. But maybe he
can talk him into it? Except the whole do it for the pack thing is probably not
the best motivator if he thinks he’s doing it for the pack in the first place.
So really, Stiles has basically nothing. What does Derek even want? The only
thing he’s ever admitted to wanting is Stiles’ mouth, so maybe…
“I’ll blow you,” Stiles offers, because that’s basically his whole hand. That’s
it. He’s got nothing. 
Derek looks at him for a while, for a very long, strange moment where Stiles
wonders if he’s completely fucked it all up. He meets his eyes though, doesn’t
back down or shrink away from what he’s putting on the table. Which is stupid.
Hey, I’ll blow you so you don’t find an excuse to kill yourself. Jesus, who
even thinks of that?
“Okay,” Derek says slowly. “If that’s what you want.” 
The thing is, it kind of is. Well, it’s part of the larger set of sex-related
goals he has involving Derek. He’s gotten off on it, at least, and it’s not
like he doesn’t have a weird thing for Derek’s dick and all the magical
qualities it possesses. 
See, this is why it’s a problem that it’s Derek. Because Derek’s just Derek and
there’s nothing super special about him other than his whole alpha thing and
his rockin’ bod and maybe his eyes. And his weird jokes that he pretends he
doesn’t make. 
But the thing is, Stiles is fixating because this is a person who wants to get
naked with him, and that’s a serious first. He just wishes he weren’t fixating
on Derek. 
(Getting naked with him is totally cool, though.)
Thinking about Derek naked is kind of a boner-maker for him, but he’s going to
pretend it’s not. Because he’s cool. And he’s not sure if when he just offered
to blow Derek, he meant now. Or if that’s what Derek thinks he meant. Or if
that’s even what Derek wants. Because he did just get the shit beat out of him
by a mighty morphin’ alpha-hulk and he’s only just healed and—
Oh, those are the hungry eyes. 
Yeah, this is totally a thing that’s going to happen. Right now. It’s already
happening, actually. It is an in-progress event.
Okay, so, he’s really just standing here, probably making the hungry eyes right
back, and doing absolutely nothing towards the whole I’ll blow you proposition.
And he’s gonna get on that. Get his mouth on that. 
He slides his hands up Derek’s denim-covered thighs to give them something to
do. Also because Derek feels great. Just the general feeling of being in
contact with his body. It’s nice. And his thighs are museum-worthy. Stiles just
runs his hands up and down them, thinking that if they were the sort of people
who kissed each other, he might go for that. But they’re not. They’re really
not. That would be weird. 
But Derek’s neck is a-okay, so he goes for that. The way Derek reacts — rests
his weight on his hands, lets his head fall back so his throat is exposed —
it’s like the first time they fooled around, but better. He’s offering it to
Stiles. He wants it, sure, but he’s giving Stiles the knowledge that he wants
it. 
Knowledge is power, he thinks as he chases the path of Derek’s pulse with his
tongue. 
Derek’s body shifts as one of his hands makes it into Stiles’ hair and sort of
holds him there, at his throat. And then his fingers start rubbing against his
scalp, and whatever magic massage powers Cora has are apparently hereditary
because damn. Stiles is pretty sure he moans and he’s not too thrilled about
it, so he sucks hard at Derek’s neck, bites a little. 
Yeah, Derek likes that a lot. He pushes his hips forwards until he’s right at
the edge of the table and pulls Stiles in close. Not much of an effort because
Stiles is all over him. 
And when he rolls his hips, he can feel that Derek’s hard, can feel the way he
pushes up into it, and why is anyone wearing pants?Pants are stupid and nobody
likes them. People shouldn’t wear them ever. Especially not Derek. 
Stiles makes quick work of Derek’s fly, giving Derek a smirk at the way his
cock slaps against his stomach. Derek rolls his eyes, but he cants his hips up
so Stiles can drag his jeans and underwear off of him and toss them away. When
he gets back into his nice little spot between Derek’s thighs, fingers find the
hem of his shirt. It’s okay, he’s cool. He’s totally cool. Even though Derek
wants his shirt off so he’s gotta be at least kind of attractive. It might be
the best news of his life. Awesome. 
Derek’s eyes are dark and stuck on his face, flicking between Stiles’ eyes and
mouth. His lips tingle a little from rubbing against Derek’s stubble. He licks
them, if only to watch Derek track the movement of his tongue. 
Yeah, Stiles is sexy as shit. 
Fuck yeah. 
“I’ve been practicing, you know,” Stiles says as he gives Derek’s cock a
teasing pull. The edge of his upper lip quirks up, almost like a snarl. “What,
you don’t like that? That I wanted to be good for you?” 
Derek doesn’t answer, but he looks away, and that’s when Stiles thinks he gets
it. 
“Not on guys, you ass. Not on anyone else.” Yeah, that’s it, apparently. Derek
has a mid-sexy-times possessive streak to be reckoned with because he grabs
Stiles by the scruff of the neck and pulls him in close. Close enough to lean
his forehead against Stiles’, close enough that if one of them pressed forward
just a couple inches, they could kiss. For a second, Stiles thinks that’s
what’s going to happen. Derek can probably hear his heart pounding. 
“Have you done anything with anyone else?” Derek asks instead, and Stiles wants
to kick him because low blow. 
Stiles takes a shaky breath before answering honestly, if only because Derek
will know. “No one. Just you.” Just for a breath, he thinks Derek’s disgusted
or regretting everything they’ve done. Maybe he is. But his thumb rubs at
Stiles’ hairline before cupping his face in his hands and just looking at him.
It’s weird and too much. Because he’s really looking, not a glance, not just
staring at his mouth, just scanning over him. The intensity is terrifying.
Just when Stiles is about to say something to get out of it, Derek drops his
eyes. 
“Are you afraid of me?” he asks. 
Stiles snorts. “Not since January,” he says. “Don’t flatter yourself.” One of
Derek’s thumbs smooths across his lips, around in a circle, then stopping in
the middle of his lower lip. It’s practically instinct to nudge his head down
and take Derek’s thumb into his mouth and suck. 
“I can’t give you what you what you need,” Derek tells him. His eyes are on
Stiles’ mouth.
Stiles pulls it the digit out to talk. “Whatever you think I need, I don’t. All
I want is to fool around a little without complications. Feelings are a non-
issue.” 
“You’re sure?” Derek asks and fucking everything’s a challenge with him, isn’t
it? 
“If you think you can handle it.” It’s, like, ninety percent sarcasm and—
Derek’s kissing him.
Correction: Derek’s kissing the ever-loving fuck out of him. 
Stiles just grabs his shoulders and holds on because Derek’s in his mouth. And
all over his mouth. And his tongue is all up in there, which Stiles has very
little first-hand experience with. It’s— well, it’s kind of like everything
with Derek: confusing and scary at first and then just really hot. 
He doesn’t even realize that Derek’s picked him up until his back hits the
couch and wow, he’s horizontal, apparently. That’s…a development. 
But then Derek’s mouth is on his again and all he can really do is try to keep
up and not shoot like a rocket. He’s slick and tastes like mouth and really,
Stiles is usually a lot more coherent than this, but there’s some sort of weird
reality shift going on because what. And how. And why. 
That’s when Stiles realizes that he’d answered a challenge with a challenge and
this is Derek trying to one-up him. He’s trying to prove to Stiles that he
can’t do this, that he’s too much of a blushing virgin to be able to do this
without falling for him. 
Well, fuck that. 
Stiles grabs Derek’s stupid gelled hair in one hand and grabs a handful of his
ass with the other, arching up. It makes Derek groan into his mouth, and he
uses that little hesitation to fuck his tongue into Derek’s mouth. If he thinks
he can make Stiles give up like this, he has another thing coming. That’s a
fact. 
When Derek breaks the kiss, his mouth is red and wet. Stiles’ face stings, but
he’s about to come up with some zinger when Derek undoes his khakis and yanks
them down his hips. His dick joins the party like it’s part of the world’s
least family-friendly pop-up book, and he’s not going to be embarrassed by
that. No sir. Or the noise he makes when Derek rubs his cheek against Stiles’
throat. And he doesn’t stop. He rubs this stinging, teasing path down Stiles’
chest, down his stomach, and Stiles isn’t even considering the possibility when
Derek licks up the length of him. 
“Jesus fuck!” Stiles yells, biting his hand immediately because that’s
embarrassing. He doesn’t look down at Derek because that asshole’s probably
smirking that stupid smirk. There’s no need to see that. The mental image is
plenty clear and—
Derek mouths at his dick, just sort of acquainting him with his lips, and it’s
too fucking much. 
It takes him a second to get enough air to get it out, but he says, “You are my
least favorite person in the world.” The stupid smirk he gets, Jesus…
“Oh really? Then maybe I should stop, yeah?” Derek brushes his upper lip
against the ridge at the head of his dick for emphasis. Cheeky fucker. They’re
just going to pretend Stiles’ eyes didn’t flutter shut at that. 
“Least favorite,” Stiles repeats and Derek’s tongue swipes across him again.
A finger slips across him, his belly, and Stiles looks down to see Derek
sucking his finger into his mouth. He pops it out with this stupid look. 
“I didn’t even know guys could get this wet.”
“Oh my God,” Stiles groans. “That’s just what my dick does. Deal with it or
shut up about it.” 
Derek shrugs. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” Before Stiles can figure out
what that means, Derek licks at his stomach where there must have been a little
puddle of pre-come (that happens sometimes, okay?), licks all the way to the
source. When he sucks the head into his mouth, Stiles just gives up on trying
to rein himself in. It’s hot and wet and there’s suctionand Stiles is not
responsible for the noises he’s making right now. He’s not. 
He’s not going to last.
There’s no fucking way, not with this— this asshole totally destroying his
schema for all of the good things that could be felt through his dick. His hand
somehow ends up pulling Derek’s hair, but that doesn’t seem to be a no-no. 
“I can’t—“ Stiles pants, fucking determined to get a sentence out. “Not gonna—
Ah, fuck,would you just—“ 
Derek does not, apparently, possess the ability to read minds because he jerks
Stiles right at the base, and that’s it. He’s fucking done. Spine-curving,
toes-curling, stupid-noise-making done. And Jesus H. Christ, Derek just takes
it. He swallows. Stiles is pretty sure he has a second, itty bitty baby orgasm
seeing that. 
“You,” Stiles tells him when he’s caught his breath, “are a danger to
society.” 
Derek slips off of his mostly-soft dick, smirking, and stalks up his body. It’s
not a little terrarousing. Stiles doesn’t have a thing for predatory. Nope. Not
one bit.
The way Derek licks into his mouth isn’t a kiss. Not really. No, he’s making
Stiles tastehimself on his tongue, licking at him, and maybe it says something
about Stiles that it gets him going. But he’s not really normal, so whatever.
It’s not really surprising, at least. 
And then Stiles remembers that, oh yeah, he was supposed to be the one giving
the blowjay. 
Yeah, what happened to that plan?
Because he’s kind of really confused how Stiles offering a blowie in exchange
for Derek’s continued existence turned into Derek changing the shape of the
universe with his mouth. 
Stiles sneaks a hand down and Derek’s definitely still hard. Like, wow. Okay,
that’s nice. And the little sounds he’s making into Stiles’ mouth are really
nice. Because Mr. I-will-redefine-your-preconceived-notions-of-all-possible-
dick-related-awesome-with-the-sheer-force-of-my-annoying-asshole-mouth is
really not as cool as he thinks he is. No sir.
Derek chases him when Stiles tries to break the kiss—because it’s definitely a
kiss now, yeah it is—but the second try is the charm. “I don’t think you really
understood the whole deal here. I said I’ll blowyou, big guy.”
“Nothing’s stopping you,” Derek tells him. Like he’s chickening out or
something. Which, no. Stiles is fucking ready to get his mouth all over Derek
Jr. 
“You’re in my way,” Stiles tells him, looking pointedly at how Derek’s pretty
much draped over his body. Derek gets the hint and backs onto his heels, lets
Stiles get him how he wants him. Stiles has about a million blowjob positions
spinning through his head from all the porn he’s watched, but he decides to
keep it simple — has Derek just sit, spread his legs so he can get between
them. 
When Derek gives him an expectant look, Stiles bites the inside of his thigh.
He likes that, though, the asshole. 
He stops smirking when Stiles grabs his dick and starts lapping at the head.
Little teasing licks, batting his eyelashes. Yeah, maybe it’s a cheap shot to
try to make Derek feel like a creepy old man, but it doesn’t work anyway. It
just makes Derek swear, eyes flashing red, and flex his hands on his thighs,
like he doesn’t trust himself to touch Stiles. 
And because Stiles is feeling petty, he just licks. All over. Gets Derek nice
and wet. Traces the veins up from his balls, teases his foreskin. Yeah, he
likes that. But he’s getting frustrated, Stiles can feel it in how tight his
muscles are coiling. 
Just when he seems to be about to do or say something, Stiles curls his lips
over his teeth and sees how much he can take. He gets nervous at his throat,
but he reminds himself of the poor, unsuspecting bananas who gave their lives
for this moment and bears down. Barely, just barely, he manages not to gag when
Derek hits the back of his throat. 
For a moment, he stays there, breathing through his nose so he remembers that
it’s something he can do. While he’s paused Derek’s hand touches his head, a
weirdly benevolent gesture, almost holy. It comforts him more than he’d like to
admit, so he doesn’t look up. 
He bobs his head, focusing on the task at hand, and when Derek seems to like
that, he strokes what he can’t fit. Maybe with some practice, he’ll be able to
deep throat but not today.
It’s not the most pleasant thing, not for his jaw or his bent shoulders, but
every time Derek moves because he can’t help it or makes a noise, it’s good. He
likes it, that he can make Derek feel like this, like he can’t quite contain
himself. That Derek’s always a second away from losing it but he never does. 
He doesn’t say anything, really, but words come out his mouth. Most of it is
swearing or yeah or, once, Stiles, but he’d cut that off.
It’s easy to tell when Derek’s getting close because he scratches up the
couch. 
Stiles pulls off, jerking him gentle and slow. “You want to come in my mouth or
on my face? People do that outside of porn, right?” Derek makes a sound halfway
between a laugh and a groan. 
“Sometimes. Fuck, I don’t care,” he says, biting his lip pretty fucking hard it
looks like.
Holding back a smile, Stiles leans back in, licks at him and jerks him the way
he likes, a little faster, maybe, and when Derek throws his head back, he shuts
his eyes. Derek’s come hits him in hot stripes and it’s kind of everywhere by
the time he’s done. 
At least the stuff across his mouth he can lick off, but he can feel it on his
eyelids. Jeez, the last thing he wants is jizz in his eyes. He tries wiping it,
but he’s pretty sure it’s stuck in his eyelashes. Great. 
“Hang on, I’ll get you something,” Derek says, and he moves around him, gets up
and runs off. And Stiles waits, sitting on his heels, with semen all over his
face. 
Derek gets back a second later and a warm, wet washcloth dabs at his face. 
“So, I think that’s an only-in-porn thing. At least until we can work on your
aim. But I bet for a second there, it was really hot.” Derek snorts, moving
from his eyes to his cheeks. “You know, I bet if I did it to you, it would
stick in your almost-beard. That would be fun clean-up.” 
“Have I ever told you that I love your dirty talk?” Stiles does not blush at
that, and he’s not going to get weird about it either.
“Uh—“ fuck, be cool “—no. No you have not.”
“That’s because it needs work,” Derek tells him, grinning with a lot of teeth.
It’s not friendly, too harsh, but it’s almost fond. Stiles smacks his arm.
“Asshole. For a second there, I almost had a heart attack. I thought you were
complimentingme.” Stiles shudders. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Derek
rolls his eyes, but he’s still got a little bit of a smile. Stiles looks at
him, then at his chest because it’s right there. 
Not long ago, he had gashes across it. Not long ago, he was bleeding
everywhere. And now he’s fine. Really, Stiles can’t even tell. Can’t remember
exactly where the marks were. 
It’s weird to think that Derek doesn’t wear his past on his body. 
Probably good. Because there’s too many mortal wounds he’d be carrying around.
He should be dead a hundred times over, and here he is. Here he is and he’s
trying to do it anyway, to finish what his body stopped. It’s always for
someone, but it’s not, not really. It’s just an easy out. If he goes down
protecting them all, they won’t be mad. They’ll band together. 
Or at least that’s what Derek probably thinks.
“You’re wrong,” Stiles says. It’s a total non-sequitur. He’s naked and kneeling
at Derek’s feet and thinking about how he’s maybe trying to kill himself, and
it just feels wrong. It is wrong. It’s a series of edges that don’t match up. 
“What are you even talking about?” Derek asks, and Stiles gets up. He’s not
sure where to go — does he sit next to Derek on the couch? Does he get dressed?
What’s the protocol for a half-assed one-man intervention?
What he does is he sits in Derek’s lap because that’s comfortable. It’s a space
where they’re comfortable with each other.  It’s too long after to really touch
him much, but Stiles places a hand on his shoulder, feeling the muscle there
for a moment. It’s so weird, how he is. How Derek’s body is the opposite of who
he is. His body is confident and infallible and can take pretty much anything,
and then there’s Derek. Stiles might not be an expert on him, but it doesn’t
take an expert to see that Derek’s pretty fucked up. Damaged. 
“You should talk to someone,” Stiles says, really sure on this point, even if
he can’t meet Derek’s eyes. “Cora or someone. I… History is full of people
who’ve sacrificed their lives for sex. It’s a biological imperative, you know?
But I think something’s— What I mean is that you shouldn’t need sex as a
motivator to engage your self-preservation instincts. It’s backwards.” In the
look Derek gives him, Stiles can feel the second he closes off. 
“We’re done here. It’s time for you to go.” 
Stiles sighs, frustrated, but he climbs off Derek’s lap and finds his clothes,
gets dressed.
All the while, Derek just sits there. Naked and unashamed, face stony, like his
frown has been etched into it. When Stiles has all his clothes on, he stops and
looks at Derek from across the room. 
“I wasn’t trying to piss you off, alright? I just— I know what it’s like to
drive too fast at night because you almost want an accident to happen, but you
have to find something to put on the brakes for. Family, friends, whatever.
There’s no short supply of people who need you, Derek. It’s okay to need them
back.”
With that, he gets the hell out of there. 
 
===============================================================================
 
When Stiles corners Danny, he’s met with immediate suspicion, which is totally
fair. Stiles may have accidentally been the face of the Break-Up-Danny-and-
Ethan movement. And they may have succeeded. And it might have been without
explaining werewolves or whatever, so Danny’s suspicious as hell because he
knows that Stiles, especially, is hiding something. 
“No,” Danny says as soon as Stiles opens his mouth. “Whatever it is, no.” He
side-steps Stiles easily.
“Dude, come on! I’ll do anything! I need your help,” Stiles tells him.
Danny stops. “Anything?”
Well, fuck. 
“Yeah,” Stiles tells him with a sigh. “Consider me your bitch.”
Danny looks over his shoulder at him. “Alright. Meet me at Starbucks after
school. We’re getting coffee and we’re going to negotiate. I’m not promising
anything until I know you can deliver.”
 
===============================================================================
 
 
“So here’s the thing,” Danny says when they sit at a table in the corner. “You
messed a lot of things up for me. Ethan and I were good. I didn’t need to know
that he wasn’t real.” 
He’s talking about the fact that neither Ethan nor Aiden legally exist,
something Stiles slipped to him, and whatever happened after that is the topic
of some hushed speculation between him and Scott, but they don’t know for sure.
What they know is that Ethan and Aiden dropped out of school to be “home-
schooled” and Deucalion was apparently mega-pissed about it all. 
“We could’ve been happy anyways. That’s your fault. Mostly. Do you— do you know
why they weren’t…in the system?”
Stiles shrugs in the least committal wait possible because he has no idea what
he told Danny.
“You do, don’t you? Because of Scott.” Yeah, Stiles isn’t going to touch that.
“Well, so after he told me about the whole fur thing, there was no way we could
be normal.”
For a moment, Stiles just stares at him, then asks, “Wait, he told you?”
“What, about the fact that half of everyone I know is a werewolf? Yeah, Stiles,
he fucking did. Which is better than any of you did.” Danny glares at the cup
of coffee in his hands. “And the thing is, I knew. I figured it out back in
February. I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on with Jacksonfor a while, but
I figured that out too. What, you think you can talk about the full moon all
through chemistry and no one’s going to notice? Seriously?”
Awkward and a little guilty, Stiles laughs. 
“So here are my terms: I want in. I want to know everything that’s happening.
And I need you for something. Don’t read anything into it, alright?” Stiles
narrows his eyes. “Look, nothing actually sexual, but I need to use your dick
to make someone jealous.”
Stiles chokes, coughs for a minute, like he’s dying, then says, “Sorry, what
was that?”
“You’re packing, Stiles. Everyone knows that. After Finstock’s—“
“No, dude,” Stiles says, holding up his hands. “That condom wasn’t even mine,
alright? It was just the only one I could find. I mean, Idon’t have any
insecurities about my size, but I don’t think I’m about to make anyone
jealous.”
Danny sighs. “Crap. Fine. Well, the other stuff, then. I expect to be clued
in.” 
“You can be our Bobby,” Stiles says, and he gets an annoyed look.
“I don’t know what that means and I don’t care.” Danny takes a sip of his
coffee. “What did you want from me anyway?”
“I…” Stiles looks at his hands. “It involves a purchasing decision. I need to
buy something, but I’m not really sure exactly what, and I think you can help.”
“I am not helping you pick out a dildo.” 
Stiles’ throat maybe closes up a little and he shakes his head. “No way, dude,
that’s not even— Do you really think I’d ask for your help with that?” Danny
raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, okay, well, I’m not. It’s…well, it’s underwear. The
only kind I’ve worn since middle school are boxers, and they’re not exactly
sexy, you know? I just wanted to find something a little more…mature, and I
don’t know how to start.”
“You’re trying to get laid,” Danny says with something like a smirk.
“Well, not exactly. I have someone, I just want to impress him, I guess. He’s a
little older and the superhero boxers are a little embarrassing, you know?”
“Wait, you have a boyfriend?” Danny shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Come
on, why am I the single one?”
“It happens. Will you help me, though?”
Danny looks tired, but he nods. “Yeah, fine. I’ll help you seduce your
boyfriend.”
“Well, he’s not really my boyfriend,” Stiles says, wincing. “It’s a lot more
casual than that. I just use him for sex. And his body is a lot better than
mine, so I’m trying to compensate a little.”
“How hot is he?” Danny asks. He’s leaning forward, hands cupped around his mug,
like Stiles has some great gossip. And maybe he does. It is kind of juicy, even
though Danny doesn’t really know that because he doesn’t know who Derek is. 
“Well, let’s just say I’m disappointed when I watch porn now.”
Danny makes a little jealous noise. “Not fair. I mean, it took you long enough,
so maybe it is. Is he good-looking? His face, I mean.”
“Oh yeah,” Stiles says, nodding hard. “He’s got this sort of not-quite-a-beard
thing and his jaw could probably cut marble, like, whoa, and—“
“Wait, are you fucking your cousin?”
“Uh—“ shit, cousin? Who’s his— Oh. “No, he wasn’t my cousin. But that’s the
guy.”
Danny raises his eyebrows. “So you’re fucking Derek Hale?”
“Well,” Stiles says with a wince because of course Danny knows who Miguel was.
“That’s— Technically, there hasn’t been any—“ He makes a crude penetrative
gesture. It gets his point across, that’s for sure, going by Danny’s
understanding nod.
“That’s chill. Some guys don’t.” 
“No, I do. I think. I’m pretty damn sure. I think he does? He likes…well, I’m
pretty sure he wants to.” Stiles frowns, thinking about it. “Does he?”
“Have you talked about it?” Danny asks.
Stiles shrugs. “We don’t. Talk about it, I mean. It just happens sometimes. We
didn’t even kiss until, like, a couple days ago, so it’s not really that kind
of thing. A relationship, I mean. We’re just there. And then things happen.”
“Dude, it’s a relationship. You and me? We have a relationship. Every two
people who’ve met have a relationship. You may not be dating, but you have some
kind of relationship. And a relationship involving sex needs rules.
Communication. Fuckbuddies don’t work unless you talk about it. If you’re not
on the same page, sooner or later, it’s going to get messed up. Trust me.” 
“We communicate. Kind of. Sometimes. Usually in the middle of things. We’ve
agreed that it’s a purely physical relationship. And he knows that he’s the
only one I’ve done anything with. He asks before doing stuff, if I’m not the
one who brings it up.” Stiles shrugs. “It works for us.”
“Is he a, you know. Werewolf?” Danny asks quietly. 
“Well, technically, he’s the werewolf,” Stiles says. “The alpha. Well, there’s
him, and then there’s a bunch of them.”
Danny nods. “Ethan and Aiden and their pack.” He says the word like it feels
weird in his mouth.
“Yep. But for everyone else, he’s the big guy.”
“They’re good, aren’t they?” Danny asks. “I mean, Ethan had some stuff that he
was into, but so does everyone, I guess. But he was very attentive.”
“I mean, I think he gives good head, but I’m not exactly drawing on a wealth of
experience, so…”
“Fuck you, I don’t wanna hear that. I’ve seen him shirtless — I’m already
jealous.”
Stiles nods, thinking about Derek’s glorious body. “Yeah….”
Danny throws a sugar packet at him. “That’s gross. We’re in public. I hate
you.”
Stiles grins, but a weird thought comes to him: why is Derek fooling around
with him? It’s pretty obvious why Stiles is, but Derek? Not so much. It’s not
like Stiles is mega-hot. He’s not experienced either. What does he really have
to offer?
“What? You just got really mopey all of a sudden.”
“I don’t know why Derek’s hooking up with me. I have absolutely no idea why.”
“Dude.” Danny gives him a really serious look. “I’m going to say this just the
once because you’re really not my type, but you’re, well, you have a look. A
very specific kind of look. There’s a lot of guys who’ll go for you, I
promise.”
Stiles frowns. “What kind of look?”
“Like…well, innocent. Pure, I guess.” Danny seems to be unsatisfied with that,
though, because after a second, he says, “But in a really specific way. I’m not
saying I think this, because I know you too well, but you look kind of like you
could be the chaste boy-next-door on the outside but a real freak in the sheets
underneath. It’s a thing some guys like. A Lolita thing, I guess.” 
“So you’re saying that I’m some kind of fetish?”
“Well, that’s a strong way to put it. Type, maybe?”
Stiles blinks, trying to reconcile that with his view of himself. “Should I be
concerned, then? That Derek wants to fuck me? Or at least I think he does. I’m
pretty sure. Should I be worried?”
Danny shrugs. “Dude, I don’t know Derek. I have no clue. You asked me why
someone would be attracted to you, and I told you. That’s all I got.”
“Okay. Well. Thanks. I guess.” Stiles frowns into his coffee. He’s going to
have to figure out if that’s what Derek’s into. If he likes that Stiles is
young and inexperienced and underage. Shit. What if he’s, like, an ephebophile?
Is it a good idea to be sleeping with an ephebophile? 
This is way too confusing. 
He felt a lot better about everything before talking to Danny. Fuck life. 
“Oh, here,” Danny says. “Let me text you a couple links for some sites with
good underwear because you look sad now. Also, um, just a tip? Invest in some
good lube. That’s all the sex advice you’re ever going to get from me. We are
not that kind of bros.”
And with that, Danny departs in whiff of good cologne. 
Chapter End Notes
     Consent stuff:
     character uses sexual acts as an incentive, enjoys it anyway
     underage
     Other stuff:
     discussion of Derek's self-sacrificial tendencies as possibly
     suicidal
     canon-typical violence
     gore
***** Hate is spitting out each others' mouths, but we're still sleeping like
we're lovers *****
Chapter Notes
     Title from Daughter's "Still".
     Yeah, uh, don't forget the WARNINGS AT THE END. If you want. I won't
     tell you what to do.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles is wearing a pair of underwear that he just got shipped in yesterday
when the forest fiasco happens. 
It’s not wishful thinking or anything. He just wants to get comfortable in
underwear that don’t have cartoon characters all over them. They fit different.
Less bunchy under his jeans, and they feel good. (He did not base his underwear
choices on the fact that Derek also wears briefs, though his have a little more
leg than Stiles’.)
Stiles isn’t even supposed to be there for the forest fiasco. 
He’s under very strict orders from three different people to be at home, safe,
in his room. That’s where he starts the night, when everyone else goes to do
their big scary werewolf thing. It’s also where Lydia finds him.
“I hate hanging behind,” she says, standing in his doorway. “It’s not safe. For
us or them.”
“I hear you, but what are we supposed to do?”
She pulls a crossbow from her oversized purse. “Go help them, of course.”
Stiles grins. Yeah, he liked her for a reason, that’s for sure. 
“Give me a second.”
Chris Argent is good for a lot of things, including guns he shouldn’t have and
ammo and holsters for the guns he shouldn’t have. 
Stiles’ dad is downstairs, so he grabs Scott’s oversized red hoodie. It hides
the shoulder holster pretty well and the pocket is big enough that if he holds
himself right, he can hide a second gun and a thigh holster. His khakis aren’t
the best for running, but he still feels a little weird about changing in front
of Lydia, and his track pants are dirty anyway. He does go for the Nikes
instead of the Converse, though. 
“You ready?” he asks, and Lydia nods. He realizes then that she’s wearing
leggings and Pumas. Shit, she must mean serious business if she’s ditched the
heels. 
“Let’s go kick some ass,” she says with a glossy pink smirk. 
She’s got GPS on her phone, thanks to Danny, and they’re tracking Scott’s
phone. He’s too deep in the Preserve for them to take the Jeep right to him, so
they park in one of the little lots at the edge. Stiles straps the holster
around his thigh, makes sure both guns are loaded, and ditches the sweatshirt.
When he gives Lydia a nod, they head out into the woods. 
GPS makes it look like they’re half an hour away, but it takes them at least
twice that because of the lake. 
It’s a careful maneuver, edging up to where Scott supposedly is. If any of
their see them too soon, it could ruin everything. Supposedly, this is neutral
ground for a confrontation between the Alphas and everyone else. Well, everyone
else minus Stiles and Lydia, because they’re vulnerable. Weak.
Yeah, fuck that. 
Luckily, they see Allison and Chris, which means that they can totally sneak
up. Unfortunately, it also means they’re probably going to be heard or scented
by the others pretty soon. Oh freaking well. 
Allison turns first, her hearing a little sharper than her father’s. Her eyes
go wide and she makes a sharp gesture at them to leave. That gets Chris’
attention and he’s pissed. They’re silent, though, as Stiles and Lydia
approach, and hold their fingers to their lips. 
They’re on something of an embankment, looking over everything. The werewolves
are all below, in a clearing, and as Stiles scans them, he meets Derek’s eyes.
Fuck. 
Yeah, he’s going to get chewed out when they’re done here. Derek had, in no
uncertain terms, ordered that all untrained humans stay behind. Meaning Stiles.
And Lydia. Because apparently he doesn’t get that if you tell Stiles to do
something, he’s absolutely going to do the opposite. 
The thing is, the other Alphas sense Stiles and Lydia, too. 
Stiles can’t hear what anyone’s saying, but going by their body language,
things are getting tense. Shit. They start moving, start getting aggressive,
and then Scott looks up, and Stiles knows that he’s upset. He looks at Lydia
and she sees it too, that maybe they’ve caused some trouble. 
“Look,” Stiles yells, “we come in peace! We’re pretty much the opposite of
threats!”
While all the werewolves look at him, Allison asks out of the side of her
mouth, “Stiles, you guys don’t have ammo in those weapons, do you?” It’s super
quiet, but they probably hear it below. And the thing is, if he lies to her,
they’ll know. So he shakes his head instead of answering out loud. But
apparently they pick up on that lie, or maybe they can just see the weapons,
because suddenly things are looking a lot more wolfy. 
“Well, fuck,” he says as it turns into a full-on brawl. Chris reaches around
Allison and grabs Stiles’ arm.
“Do you have a second gun on you? Give it to me.” Stiles pulls the gun from his
shoulder holster and hands it to him. “Go for the big one. It’s too far for you
to risk any of the others.” Allison grabs the crossbow from Lydia and crouches
down to take aim. Cursing, Stiles pulls the other gun and tries to aim at the
twin-Alpha. 
The first time he shoots, he misses by at least ten feet. The second shot is
worse, and when he looks to make the third, he realizes that there’s no way
they can win. They can’t walk away from this intact. The Alphas are too strong.
They’ll overwhelm the pack in a matter of minutes. 
“Wait,” Stiles says, grabbing Allison’s shoulder. “Stop firing. It’s not going
to help. Let me see if I can do something.” He looks at Allison first, then
Chris, and they seem to agree, lowering their weapons.
There’s no way to walkdown the embankment, it’s too steep, so Stiles runs.
Charges into the fray, skidding to a stop in the fallen leaves. He’s maybe a
couple yards from where Derek and Deucalion are battling it out. With a swift
look around, Stiles grabs for the chain around his neck, pulls out his whistle,
and blows.
All of the werewolves stop, ducking their heads and covering their ears. In a
second, all eyes are on him. Stiles drops the whistle and looks at Deucalion,
specifically. 
“Stop this. It’s my fault. Do whatever you want with me, but don’t kill them
just because I crashed your party.” 
Deucalion stands tall, face turned towards him. “Ah. Stiles. I’d know you
anywhere.”
“I’ve been told I have a certain charisma.” Everyone’s dead still, but he can
feel Scott, behind him, trying to lean towards him.
Deucalion shakes his head. “No, it’s the scent of your fear. It has a very
particular bouquet. And that heartbeat. So fast, I don’t think I could dance to
it.” The corner of his mouth lifts, teeth showing. Sharp, not full fangs. 
“You could kill me in about a second flat.” At that, Derek tenses like he’s
about to move, and Stiles raises his hand to him. “I’d be stupid if I wasn’t
afraid.”
“And yet…here you stand. You move towards the things that frighten you, have
you noticed that?” Stiles doesn’t know what he could possibly say to that, so
he keeps his mouth shut. “And you’re young, strong.”
“Sweet of you to notice, but you’re not my type,” Stiles retorts.
Deucalion nods with a weird sort of eagerness. “And that, that spark. You’re
not the type to roll over and take it. You fight back. You don’t like following
orders.”
“Look, I’ve heard this pitch before, but I don’t want to be a werewolf,
alright?”
“What about an alpha?” 
Shit. 
The way the tension level around them shoots up at that gives him goosebumps, a
sharp shiver. 
Jesus, no one’s breathing. 
“Only one way to do that,” Stiles says with only a slight tremor to his voice,
“and I don’t think your pack will take to kindly to me killing one of them for
my initiation. 
“Don’t pretend to be stupid, Stiles. You’ll be killing Derek, of course.” 
The air that leaves Derek’s body is too much like a sigh of relief. 
“Do it, Stiles,” Derek says. “Agree. End this. For everyone.” 
Stiles looks at him, sees how much he wants Stiles to do it. Because it’s not
really about them. This is about Derek being Derek. 
“We have an agreement about you sacrificing yourself for everyone. That you’re
not supposed to,” Stiles tells him with a stern look. “Or did you forget?”
“If he’s willing…” Deucalion says with a little smirk. 
Stiles shakes his head. “Yeah, well, I’m not.”
“Stiles—“
“Derek, if you try to tell me to do this, so help me…” Jesus, Stiles is
probably going to get himself killed, isn’t he? “Dude, what do you even want?
Your pack has been here for, what, eight months? What are you even doing here?”
“I’m building a pack, Stiles. I should think that would be clear.”
Stiles huffs a sigh. “Look, Derek’s not going to join you. Scott’s not going to
join you. I’m not going to join you. And even if you could convince someone to,
you couldn’t ever trust them. Whatever you would have to do to get one of us to
join would make us hate you too much. We’d always be a threat. There is
literally no way for you to get what you want from one of us. So why don’t you
just leave?” Deucalion frowns and doesn’t quite stare at Stiles, but it feels
like it. It feels like he’s looking into Stiles’ brain and combing through it. 
For a ridiculous amount of time, it’s dead quiet. 
And then Deucalion raises an eyebrow, shrugs. “The human has a point.” 
Holy shit.
Everyone can probably hear Stiles’ heart pounding right now because holy shit
did that actually work?
“Derek’s useless to me, Scott’s loyalties aren’t able to be corrupted, and this
one’s…well, I think I’d like him to come for us on his own. When he’s ready.”
He focuses in on Stiles again. “I hope you consider this an invitation. If your
circumstances change, I trust you’ll be able to find us. You’d make a
remarkable wolf, boy.” 
He has a line in his head, but he bites his lip to hold it back. Wouldn’t be
good to fuck this up. If this is even happening. Fuck. What?
“Come on,” Deucalion says, “it’s time to make that visit to Georgia.” He holds
out his arm and Ennis, the nearest, takes it and they just leave. They just
fucking walk away. 
Stiles stands there with an open mouth. 
Because they’re going. They’re just…done. Months of stupid dangerous bullshit
and they’re just over it. 
His gape turns into a grin, like he hasn’t grinned in ages. 
“Guys, did you see that?” He looks around and everyone’s dumbfounded. “I just
defeated them with words.” He turns to Derek. “Wait, does this mean that I get
to be alpha now? Because that was awesome!” 
That breaks the silence. Scott’s the first one to whoop and throw himself at
Stiles, tackle him to the forest floor. Stiles is grinning and laughing when
Isaac jumps on, then two more impacts, and they’re just in a laughing pile of
sheer relief.
It’s when he’s spitting out leaves that he sees a pair of boots, the one
werewolf not joining the I love Stiles club. 
Derek’s just staring at him with this stupid, inscrutable look. 
Well, not that inscrutable, actually. 
Because Stiles knows Derek’s pissed face really well, and this its a close
relative. At least a first cousin. Maybe a brother. 
It’s not that hard to crawl out from under the puppy pile, actually, because it
somehow turned into something resembling a tickle fight and everyone’s moving
around. So Stiles gets out, gets to his feet, just in time to see Chris,
Allison, and Lydia running into the clearing. Allison and Lydia are grinning
and Chris looks like he’s actually been able to take a shit in the past week,
so he must be fucking overjoyed. 
Lydia surges forwards and hugs him tight, almost too tight. It’s kind of
sudden, but he pats her back while she squeezes him like a sponge. 
“Wow, uh, I love you too?” he says, and she pulls away. 
“Thank you. For not letting everyone die partially because of me.” Her eyes are
serious and wide and he nods because he gets that. Gets it really well. 
“You’d do the same for me,” he tells her. “That’s what friends are for.” Her
grin at that is contagious and she hugs him again, not quite as suffocating and
far shorter. This time, she gives him a peck on the cheek when she draws back. 
“You’re okay, Stiles,” she says with a nod, and it’s final. 
Scott’s up by then, brushing dead leaves off his shirt, and he says, “Alright,
can we celebrate or something?”
“Howabout everyone goes home and gets a good night’s sleep?” Allison offers
with a smile and a quirk to her brow that her father can’t see. 
“Yeah,” Scott says, nodding. “That’s a really good idea. Let’s do that.” He
joins her, running a hand through his hair and very pointedly not touching
her. 
“Or we could always kill Peter,” Lydia says with a shrug. “That sounds like a
celebration to me.” 
“No,” Derek says. “I’ll grant a vote on it, but not until tomorrow morning.
Allison’s right. We’ve been running too hard for too long. Everyone go home and
get some rest. Got it?” 
“Aye-aye, sir,” Isaac says with a jaunty salute. 
Cora pops onto her toes to give Derek a peck on the cheek. “See you tomorrow,
big bro.” She chases after Isaac, butting against his shoulder. Boyd rolls his
eyes and follows after them.
“We have ground rules, Allison,” Stiles hears retreating behind him. Lydia
touches his shoulder and when he turns, she gives him a calculating look. 
“I think Derek wants to have a serious talk,” she says, slipping his keys out
of his pocket. “If you survive it, you can find your car at your house.” He
opens his mouth to say something, but she already dashing off after the others.
Stiles watches them disappear up the embankment, their steps fading until he
can’t hear them over the sound of his own breathing, and then he turns. 
Derek’s looking at the dark sky, not at him, but when Stiles opens his mouth,
he holds up a finger. For what feels like two hours, they stand there, Stiles
with half a word formed in his throat. 
When Derek’s finger drops, Stiles’ mouth closes and he’s really not sure what
he was going to say anyway. 
“I guess you’re my ride,” he manages. It brings the full force Derek’s
attention on him, and suddenly, he’s not so sure if that’s a good thing. Derek
takes one step towards him, then another and another, and his face is so set
that Stiles retreats. Retreats until his back hits a tree and Derek’s in his
face.
“That was stupid,” Derek tells him. 
Stiles nods. 
“That was a gamble.” 
Again, he nods.
“It was good,” Derek says. “Never do it again.” 
“What, am I supposed to—“ Derek kisses him, cutting him off completely with a
tongue in his mouth, a hand in his hair. Really, it’s less of a kiss and more
of a tactical silencing maneuver. He opens Stiles up like a box and pulls the
words out. 
Derek’s mouth is rough and a little too forceful to be spot-on, so his stubble
scrapes all over Stiles’ mouth and cheeks. With the bark at his back, it’s
painful in a good way. The kind of way that makes him think he’s alive and
awake. It’s not a dream, they’re alive, and what it comes down to is them in
the woods in the middle of the night. It feels like this moment is supposedto
happen.
Stiles gasps for breath when Derek pulls back.
“I’m serious, though. Never again.” He ducks in and nips at the underside of
Stiles’ jaw. “Never again,” he repeats. His stubble rubs against the little
bite, intense enough to draw a little noise from Stiles.
“What was that?” Stiles asks, grinning. “Do it next time I’m in trouble? Yeah,
got it—“
“I’m going to kill you myself,” Derek tells him, making eye contact now. He
pushes Stiles’ shoulder against the tree a little. 
Stiles smirks. “Let me guess: you’re so mad you just want to tear my clothes
off.” 
Derek narrows his eyes, then his expression turns nonchalant. He shrugs. “I
dunno…” he says, and Stiles almost doesn’t notice the hand slipping around to
his ass. It slides over him, down, coaxing Stiles’ leg up and around him. “I
think I kind of like the look of a thigh holster on you.” His fingers sweep
across the back of Stiles’ thigh, right where the holster sits, edging
underneath it. 
“I can’t help that I’m hot and dangerous,” Stiles tells him with a wild, messy
smile. 
He’s thinking about the look in Derek’s eyes and how he wants whatever Derek’s
willing to give him, but he’s trying something here. The idea is positive
reinforcement — when Derek does something Stiles likes, he gets a sexual favor.
That had been the idea behind suggesting he blow Derek in the first place, and
if Stiles benefits, well, that’s mutualism at work. The idea now is that he’s
trying to get Derek to connect letting Stiles handle shit and keep him from
throwing himself onto his sword with good sexy things. It’s totally going to
work.
“So, I’m thinking I want you to fuck me,” Stiles says casually while Derek
gropes his thigh. “As a reward for me saving your ass. I think I earned it.”
Derek’s hand creeps up to Stiles’ ass and he stares Stiles’ mouth, like he’s
having trouble understanding his words. It’s a long look. “If that’s okay with
you, I mean. If you don’t want to, that’s a-okay.”
“No,” Derek says, nodding. He ducks in and rubs his face against Stiles’
throat, a little sharp and strange. “I want to,” he breathes against Stiles’
neck.
“Awesome. Well, it’s not happening in the middle of the woods, big guy, so what
do you say we get out of here?”
Derek pulls away, letting Stiles’ leg fall. “It’s only a fifteen minute run,”
he says and wow, eager much?
“Dude, I am not running. Especially not at your pace. I mean, if you want me
topass out, dude, yeah. But I’d rather be conscious, you know?”
“I could carry you,” Derek offers. 
“Um…” Stiles scratches the back of his head. “So, I have this weird little
thing called dignity,and it won’t let me be carried like your captured bride.”
“I meant on my back.”
Stiles sighs. “That would just be a really inappropriate boner, okay? Come on.
Your dick’s not going to fall off.”
“I know that,” Derek says with a sharp look. “Forget it. If you want a long,
awkward walk, then that’s what you’re going to get.” He starts tromping off
through the leaves. Jesus. He’s the moodiest, weirdest dude. 
He sure walks fast, though, because he’s already almost to the bottom of the
embankment.
That won’t do.
Making up his mind, Stiles chases after him, laughing a little as he leaps and
crashes into Derek’s back with an oof! Derek catches him fine like that,
grabbing onto Stiles’ legs. Even though Stiles can’t see his face, he thinks
there might be a little smile there. Maybe. He feels like he’s smiling.
“I thought this was an inappropriate boner?” Derek asks, shifting Stiles up a
little so he can hold on without an choking going on.
“Yeah, well, I did a risk-benefit analysis. I figured that the secret joy of
knowing that you once gave me a piggy back ride would outweigh any possible
embarrassment. Besides, it’s not like me getting a stiffy around you is exactly
new.” 
“I don’t know why I keep you around,” Derek says with what sounds like a
grimace. “Hold on.” 
When he starts running, Stiles holds on tight, unable to keep a grin off his
face. But in his mind, he’s thinking about Derek admitting that he keeps him
around. That there’s some intent there. That’s…well, that’s awesome, actually.
Because as much as Stiles is glad he’s appreciated for sex purposes, being
appreciated for not-sex purposes is kind of nice. Really nice, actually. 
To be perfectly honest, Stiles does not specifically dislike Derek. He dislikes
some of Derek’s choices, especially the stupid ones that would end up with him
dead if Stiles didn’t intervene. And the ones that involve Peter being around,
but at this point, he thinks of Peter as something like an abnormal mole that’s
probably skin cancer but it’s shaped like the bat signal so he’s hesitating to
ask a doctor about it. They’ll get around to killing him eventually. Just not
exactly now. 
Anyway, the point is that he’s kind of cool with Derek as a dude and the idea
of Derek being cool with him as a dude is pretty sweet. 
Theoretically, they could actually become friends with benefits. Which could be
pretty awesome. 
Or something. Derek probably doesn’t have a lot of practice being friends with
people, so maybe it wouldn’t be, like, the best. Like, Derek is never going to
be Scott. Ever. But that’s good because the idea of getting naked with Scott is
bad-weird. Especially the things he wants to do to Derek.
Nope, bad thoughts. Bad thoughts for running around in the woods.
It looks like Derek parked in a totally different place than Stiles, which is
totally for the best, but then his car isn’t in the parking lot that he slows
at. That hot-ass Camaro is nowhere in sight. 
There is, however, a soccer mom car. 
Did Derek commit grand theft auto? Shit, if Derek gets arrested again, that’s
bad. Really bad. 
But he stops at the car, drops Stiles’ legs, and gets out a set of keys. The
car beeps at them, lights blinking. Which means that Derek has keys that unlock
it. 
“Dude, is this car yours?” Stiles asks, scratching his head. 
“Yes, Stiles. Get in.”
That’s when it clicks.
“Wait,” Stiles says, “so Scott wasn’t joking a few weeks back when he said you
traded in your sex car for a Toyota. That’s— Holy shit, dude. Are you settling
down?”
“What? No, Jesus—“
Stiles shakes his head. “No, you’re living in place with electricity, you have
this car, and Isaac tells me you helped him with his homework the other day. I
think you’re becoming Papa Derek. It’s a slippery slope, dude. Next: throw
pillows.” 
“I’ll throw some pillows,” Derek grumbles, getting into the car. 
“Dude, that’s not even a threat. That’s a slumber party. You’re describing a
slumber party. Who are you?” 
Derek rolls down the window, leans over. “Look, either get in the car, or I’m
leaving you here.”
“You’re so touchy,” Stiles says, yanking open the door. As he gets in, he
checks out the back. “Oh, that’s why. You could probably fit a threesome back
here. You sly dog you.” 
The look Derek gives him could melt glaciers. He’s pissed in that Derek way
that means he’s probably also a little bit horny. The thing about them having
sex is that Stiles thinks Derek’s body is starting to confuse being annoyed
with being about to get some. He’s given Stiles looks, when he speaks and
they’re with everyone else. Those times suck because those looks are pretty
much all Stiles needs to get him going, but if they’re, say, at school, he
can’t do anything about it. Not if he doesn’t want any of the others to know.
If they don’t. He just kind of assumes they don’t.
“Hey,” Stiles asks when they’re on the road, “does anyone else know about
this?” 
Derek glances at him, hands shifting on the wheel. “No. I don’t think so.
Should they?”
“Um, no, man. Scott would probably try to kill you. Or me. He’d be pissed, I
mean. Like he doesn’t hate you, but I think it’s a little soon for you to be
boning his best friend. And fuck Isaac. He’s a little shit, and not the way you
are. He’d give me so much shit about it. He’d give you so much shit about it.”
Derek nods, drumming his thumbs against the wheel. His eyes flick up to the
rear view mirror. His body moves in little twitches and shifts, like he’s
uneasy. 
“I think Cora might suspect something,” he says at last. “She didn’t seem to
care, though. For some reason, I think she likes you.” 
“Okay, when you say suspect, what do you mean, exactly?” 
“She…” Derek sighs. “Alright, she knows. When you fell asleep at my place that
one time, I think she started wondering, and when she found out that the reason
you skipped out on being the getaway was because you were with me, she asked me
about it.”
“You told her?” Stiles asks, gaping. 
Derek shakes his head. “Not really. It’s just— it’s hard to lie. She knows my
tells. She said…she said she wouldn’t tell anyone until we were ready.”
Stiles rolls his eyes, grimacing. “Jesus, that makes it sound like we’re
dating.”
Dead silence. 
“You told her we’re dating?!” Stiles asks, grabbing the arm hold for emotional
support. “Oh my God, you are the dumbest dumb person I’ve ever met.” Derek’s
hands tighten on the wheel, but Stiles doesn’t give a fuck if he’s pissed.
“Look, it’s not like I meant to give her that impression, but she said I wasn’t
forming healthy relationships, so maybe I implied that it wasn’t what it was. I
didn’t want to risk her stepping in or telling anyone else because she didn’t
like it. So I told her we weren’t ready to share with anyone else just yet, and
she promised to keep it to herself.” 
Stiles huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, but really, that’s probably
what he would’ve done. If Scott asked him? Yeah, he’d be pleading secret
boyfriend for sure. Something tells him it wouldn’t be a good idea to admit
that it’s just physical. For Derek, at least. 
“Wait, is she going to be weird about it, then?” Stiles asks. “Like, is she
going to do weird eyebrow stuff or make any weird comments? Because I did not
sign up for this.”
“Well, no one’s making you,” Derek snaps. “I can just take you home.”
Stiles gives him a look. “Not what I meant.”
Derek goes into full sulk mode and Stiles is pissed because, okay, if anyone
has a right to be be pissed, it’s Derek, but some weird little part of him
wishes he wouldn’t be. Like, maybe it would be cool if the idea of people
thinking that he’s dating Stiles isn’t completely repulsive to him. Sure, if
anyone has something to lose here, it’s Derek. Stiles is obviously not the
catch in this equation. But for some stupid, stupid reason, he wants Derek to
think he’s at least mildly acceptable. 
For self-esteem reasons.
But Derek’s being a major buttface, and he doesn’t chill out when they get to
his apartment. He looks like he wants to punch through a wall, actually. With
his face. 
“Maybe I should just go,” Stiles says when they get to Derek’s door. 
Derek still looks pissed as fuck, but now he actually turns it on Stiles. “I
don’t care. It’s not like I can’t get it somewhere else.” 
Stiles gapes at him, holding himself back because he does not need to break his
hand on Derek’s face right now. 
“You’re such a bastard,” Stiles tells him.
“Yeah? Then why don’t you leave?” His face has this weird look to it,
underneath the anger, and Stiles knows how to read Derek. He’s good at reading
Derek. 
“Because I think you’re being an idiot right now.” Stiles sighs. “You’re
pissed. I’m pissed. But I’m here because I want to fuck you, and I think you’re
at least kind of into that idea. So why don’t we sublimate our anger into good
sex instead of yelling at each other?”
Derek looks at him for a second, then hauls him in by his shirt. He doesn’t go
for the kiss — he gets a hand in Stiles’ hair, pulls his head back, and bites
his lip. It’s not quite unexpected and it hurts, when Derek tugs a little, with
his teeth, but it gets Stiles hard in a heartbeat. Yeah, he’s fucked up. Who
fucking cares. And if he makes a pathetic noise when Derek releases him, only
the two of them hear it. 
For a second, Stiles thinks he’s done, but Derek’s just getting the door open,
moving him inside like he’s something to be moved. 
“I want you to know, I’m not going to hold back,” Stiles tells him as he kicks
the door closed. 
“Good,” Derek says and then he’s in Stiles’ space, crowding him against the
door. Stiles bites Derek’s mouth, maybe too hard, but the noise Derek makes…
His fists are in Derek’s shirt and it feels so natural to just yank, to rip it
apart. Derek’s eyes go red for a second there and he jerks his hips against
Stiles. Yeah, he feels like a fucking badass, but only for about a second
because Derek’s shoving his thigh between Stiles’, and it feels so fucking
good, for a blind moment, he almost thinks he’s coming. 
Derek shrugs off his ripped shirt, apparently taking it to mean that Stiles’
clothes are all fair game. When Stiles bites his jaw, he flicks up a claw and
slices his shirt from collar to hem. He shoves the holster down over Stiles’
shoulders, and there’s a sound like it’s tearing, but Stiles really can’t bring
himself to care. It’s too much and he’s pressed against the door too hard, and
he wants to yell or something, so he sucks hard at Derek’s throat instead. 
Everything’s cold and somehow weightless for a moment, but that’s just Derek
flipping him around so his chest is against the door. Stiles doesn’t have much
room for movement, but he can shove his ass back, grind against Derek in a way
he can’t ignore. 
He undoes his own pants, cursing when he realizes that he can’t get his khakis
down because of the stupid fucking thigh holster. Derek gets that, though,
undoes it a little too rough. Rough enough that he’s probably a little bruised,
but he doesn’t give a fuck. He can get his pants down and that’s all that
matters. 
“Jesus, what the fuck are these?” Derek rumbles against his back. One of his
hands holds the back of Stiles’ neck, pressing his cheek agains the door. The
other slips down to Stiles’ underwear, feeling his ass through the material. 
“New, dumbass,” Stiles grits out. “I thought the red was fitting.” 
“You could say that.” The hand on his ass slides underneath the waistband,
going in to press a dry finger against his hole. It would be a dirty lie to say
Stiles doesn’t groan at that, but he’d deny it anyway. That finger just rubs, a
little too rough to be good, a little to soft to be enough. 
Stiles draws a shaky breath. “We doing this right here?” Derek’s finger presses
inside, just the tip, and Stiles keens. 
“You’d let me, wouldn’t you? You want it so bad, you’ll take it wherever I want
to give it.” His dick twitches at that, but in his head, he knows it’s wrong,
that it’s so fucked up. His body just won't get the message.
“Not your whore,” Stiles hisses. He has to clamp his mouth shut when Derek
crooks the tip of his finger, just rubbing at the rim of his hole from the
inside. It’s too fucking good and he’s sure as hell not going to let Derek know
that. 
Derek’s stubble rubs back and forth against shoulder for a moment and then he
licks. “I never said I was paying you,” he breathes, hot against Stiles’ ear.
“I probably would, for you, like this. But you’ll let me have you anyway.”
“I hate you,” Stiles tells him, but it comes out with the edge of a moan. 
Derek doesn’t call him on the lie. 
“Say it,” he says instead. His teeth graze Stiles’ ear. “I need you to say it,”
he repeats. Stiles shuts his eyes, afraid of what Derek wants him to say.
Because he’s pretty sure that right now? An I love you wouldn’t be a lie. 
“What? Say what?” 
His mouth feels numb and cold until Derek finds it. The angle is wrong, but
Derek’s lips brush over his, open and breath-hot. It’s not really a kiss, and
it makes Stiles want to beg or fight, but he holds still. Lets Derek’s teeth
scrape against his mouth until he can’t stand it anymore. 
“What do you want me to say?” he whispers. He won’t open his eyes. He won’t
look at Derek. Doesn’t want to see if his face is hard or soft. Both feel
right. 
“I need you to say you’ll let me have you.” His rough chin rubs against Stiles’
lips. They’re sensitive and it hurts, but he feels like he’s missing something
when Derek pulls his face away. The hand on the back of Stiles’ neck releases
him, trails down his back, almost too warm. “Please,” Derek says, and it sounds
like he’s far away. Like the word is too small for his mouth and the inches of
space between them. 
“Yeah,” Stiles says, because it’s the please that gets him. “You can have me.” 
His mouth opens when Derek slips his finger out of Stiles’ ass, and Derek’s
turning him around.
“Shoes,” Derek says, and Stiles scrambles to toe off his shoes, letting Derek
push his pants down. It puts him on his knees, and maybe Stiles goes dizzy for
a second at the sight of Derek on his knees in front of him. He rubs his cheek
against the top of Stiles’ thigh as he lifts his legs out of his pants. When he
looks at the wet spot at the front of Stiles’ briefs, he smirks and stands. 
When Derek cups the backs of his’ thighs instead of his ass, he gets what that
means and holds onto Derek’s shoulders so he can jump, wrap his legs around his
waist. The easy way Derek carries him turns him on and pisses him off in equal
measure. He deals with it because Derek squeezes his ass like he can’t not. 
“You gonna take me to your bed? Gonna spread me out and call me beautiful?”
Stiles asks with a sharp grin. 
“Shut up,” Derek tells him, and Stiles feels it when his knee hits the bed,
pretends he doesn’t notice that Derek’s arms stop him from dropping too hard.
He unhooks his legs, lets Derek kneel between them in his jeans. Fuck, he looks
like the best kind of dirty dream. The line of his erection makes Stiles’ mouth
water a little, and, shamelessly, he runs a hand over his own dick. Derek’s
eyes track his hand, and he’s just staring, really. 
“Draw me like one of your French girls,” Stiles teases and Derek rolls his
eyes, getting up. He digs under the pillow, pulls out a bottle of lube and
tosses it next to Stiles. While he kicks off his shoes, Stiles grabs it,
squirts a drop on his finger just to feel it. “Do we need a condom? I mean,
obviously, I don’t have anything, but I don’t know if werewolves can get
venereal disease so…”
“Nope.” Derek pauses. “I got a box, though. If you’d rather me use one.”
Yeah, Stiles isn’t going to overanalyze that one. Not good for his emotions.
Not good at all.
“Prepared, aren’t you?” Stiles asks with a cocky smirk. Yeah, okay, it’s a
little bit fake. He’s a touch nervous. For obvious reasons. But Derek bought
him condoms he doesn’t need and maybe that makes him feel a little bit better
about all of this. Like he’s in good hands. 
“Would it kill you to not be an asshole for two minutes?” Derek asks,
unbuttoning his jeans. 
Stiles shrugs, reading the label on the lube. “Nah, but I’m pretty sure if I
was nice, you wouldn’t be able to get it up.” While Derek snorts, Stiles
catches something on the label. “You got chocolate flavored? Dude. Come on.
That’s too much. Just too much. I never got why they flavor it, anyway.”
Derek stops, hands on his zipper, one stupid eyebrow cocked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, I mean, you’re making things slippery, you’re not putting your mouth—
Oh. Oh.” Stiles feels really hot all over and he’s probably blotchy red but
that is a thing he’s going to think about sometime when he’s alone. “Nevermind.
Good purchasing decision. Wait, is it—“ Stiles licks the little bit on his
fingers. It’s sweet and obviously artificial, but probably better than the
alternative. “Could be worse,” he decides. 
“Well, I’m glad you approve.” Derek’s hands are still at the top of his jeans.
“Do you want me to…?”
“No!” Stiles regrets that instantly. “I mean, you don’t have to? I was kind of
unprepared for that, mentally. I mean, I’ve seen some good rimming in porn, but
I was kind of focused on the main event tonight. If you don’t mind.”
“Yeah, alright. I don’t mind,” Derek says and he looks supremely uncomfortable.
Just standing there. And Stiles is just laying there and they’re kind of
looking at each other and it’s weird. It’s really weird. Danny was totally
wrong about the communicating thing because this is an awkward moment Stiles
could live without ever having. 
“You’re an asshole and I always make better decisions than you, so you should
listen to me more and stop being a martyring little shit,” Stiles says, and
Derek’s eyes narrow. He shoves his jeans and underwear down in one go. 
As he gets on the bed, he says, “You’re a cocky idiot who doesn’t know when to
shut up. Even when you’re wrong. Which you are. You just can’t admit it.”
“Out of everyone I’ve ever met, I hate you the most,” Stiles returns. He grabs
Derek by the ears and pulls him down to his face. “You’re the worst person I
know.” He arches up, catches Derek’s lower lip in his mouth and sucks. When he
releases it, Derek licks his mouth, like all he wants is to get him wet. Their
bodies press together, chest to groin, and Stiles is pretty sure that at some
point, he knew how to close his legs, but he’s forgotten somehow. 
“I wish I never met you,” Derek pants against his mouth.
The best part is, Derek can probably tell he’s lying, but he doesn’t know how
much. Can’t prove that Stiles means the opposite of everything he says, pretty
much. (He wants to think Derek’s doing the same, but he won’t let himself.)
“You want me so bad, don’t you?” Stiles asks. A little thrust of his hips is
all he needs to confirm it. “You act like it’s just me, but it’s not, is it?
You want me even though you shouldn’t. Even though there’s no reason to.” 
Stiles is pretty sure he doesn’t imagine that little whimper, but it might be
that he’s scratching lines across Derek’s back. 
“If you want me so bad, then why don’t you fuck me already?”
Derek lifts up his chest up, caging Stiles in with an arm on either side of his
head. “Don’t say unless you mean it.” Stiles grabs his ass and grinds up, hard.
It feels so good he almost doesn’t see Derek’s mouth fall open. “I want to
wreck you,” Derek says, catching himself, and it’s almost like a plea. 
“Dare you try.”
With a little smile, Derek pulls back. His warm fingers graze Stiles’ sides as
he drags off Stiles’ briefs. The slap of his dick against his stomach is loud
over the barely-audible sound of their breath. As is the pop of the cap to the
lube. Derek grabs a pillow and tosses it to Stiles.
“Flip over,” he tells him, and Stiles throws him a wink as he does, wiggling
his butt in the air a little as he gets on his hands and knees. A warm hand
settles on one cheek. The bed sinks as Derek closes in behind him between his
legs. 
“Don’t spank me,” Stiles says softly as Derek smooths a hand over his backside.
“I don’t like being hit.”
The hand withdraws and there’s a squirt somewhere behind him. He times it in
his head, visualizing Derek smearing lube on his fingers and reaching forward.
Only the slick touch doesn’t come. 
“What is it?”
“I’ve never actually done anal before,” Derek says. It’s very quiet, and for a
moment, Stiles thinks he heard wrong. 
He turns so he can look Derek in the eyes. “Dude, what, are you straight?”
Derek shrugs. “I’d blown a couple guys, a while ago, but that’s it. And
I’ve…there was a woman. A long time ago. That’s all.” 
“You’re nervous,” Stiles guesses with not a little awe.
“I don’t know what it’s like to not heal. I could hurt you. I’d rather not.”
His face is drawn tight and he looks extremely uncomfortable. Stiles feels a
tiny bit bad, but he’s also weirdly fascinated by the topic of Derek’s sexual
history. Because if he looked like that? He’d probably fuck anyone willing. 
“Okay, so that other time…was that the only time you’ve fingered a dude?”
“Other than myself, yeah,” Derek says, and whoa, Stiles has to shut his eyes
for a moment because damn that’s a good visual. Yeah, Derek jerking off,
shoving his fingers— “Look, if it’s a problem, we can do something else.” His
tone is sharper, annoyed, maybe, or embarrassed. 
Stiles shakes his head. “Nope. We’re good. I trust you with my life — I think
it’s safe to say I trust you with my butt.”
Derek snorts at that, but he asks, “You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?”
“Dude, when have you known me to be quiet? Come on. Give me a little credit.”
Stiles flips over, presenting himself a little. “Go for it, big guy.”
One of Derek’s fingers finds his hole and Stiles forces himself to be calm.
Derek rubs circles around his rim, a tease, really, until it’s easy for him to
push in. Stiles hums at it. When he does this himself, he can never get in far
because of the angle, but Derek’s finger sinks in until his knuckles are
against Stiles’ ass. He twists a little, experimenting, and it’s nice, but
Stiles really wants more than this.
“Gimme another,” he says, ducking his head. 
He can see Derek’s thighs between his. There’s never going to be a time when
he’s not a little bit flabbergasted that he would— 
“Ah, fuck,” Stiles pants as Derek presses another finger in. Derek stills at
that, and Stiles shakes his head. “No, that’s good, yeah,” he says. “Don’t
stop.”
Derek rocks his fingers gently before pulling out a little so he can push back
in. They’re bigger than Stiles’, that’s for sure, because Derek’s hands are
huge, and it’s way better than what Stiles can do on his own. The way they fill
him, get deeper than he ever could, it’s enough to make his dick drip onto the
bedspread.
When Derek’s rough cheek rubs against his back, he gasps, more in surprise than
anything else, and unconsciously clenches around Derek’s fingers. That’s
fucking great. With a little noise, he presses back, trying to get a little
more. What he gets is Derek’s fingers spreading and twisting and—
“Oh yeah,” he moans. It’s embarrassing because he’s pretty sure the way it
comes out is like a really bad porn actor, but he’s pretty sure that Derek hit
the edge of his prostate. Damn. 
Derek repeats the motion, curling this time, down a little, and the whine that
comes out of Stiles’ mouth is, unfortunately, one hundred percent real. He’s
pretty sure he has half an orgasm, actually, and his dick is leaking like a
broken faucet, Jesus. 
“I— fuck, Jesus, do that again!” Yeah, he’s going to die. Death by fingering.
Fuck. “Wait,” he says, and Derek stills immediately. “I need to come. If I
don’t do it now, I’m not going to last two seconds with your dick in me,
okay?” 
For a moment, Derek doesn’t acknowledge that, but then he says, “That’s a good
idea. I think I might— yeah, me too.” Shit, okay, Stiles shouldn’t think that’s
hot, but he does. The idea of Derek not being able to last makes him feel
awesome. 
Derek’s fingers start moving again, finding his prostate easier and just
rubbing.
He barely hears the slick sounds of Derek jerking off over his little whimpered
fucks. 
One touch to his dick and he comes so hard he thinks there might be a tear or
two. He’s not sure because he’s trying to remember who he is, what it feels
like to have a body, and when he remembers it’s because of the hot splatter
across the small of his back. 
“Dude,” Stiles sighs. “Really? That’s gonna be so gross in a few minutes.”
But Derek starts rubbing his come into Stiles’ skin like he’s fucking finger
painting or something. It’s weird, but it’s not bad-weird yet, not until it
dries and Stiles has to deal with it. He’s willing to overlook it if they start
fucking sometime soon. 
That’s not really Derek’s plan, apparently. 
His fingers are still in Stiles’ ass, but he adds a third. It slips in easy,
maybe because he’s stretched or relaxed as shit after coming. It’s easy, but
it’s not enough. The fullness is more than he’s ever had, and it’s so sweet.
Maybe his ass is just sensitive right now, but the push-drag of Derek’s fingers
makes him hot all over. Like he has a fever. His skin is sensitive, and when he
lowers himself down, onto his elbows instead of his palms, the soft bedspread
is almost too much. 
“I could do this forever,” Derek tells him, twisting a little, enough to make
Stiles’ breath hitch in his throat. “You just open for me. Like you needit.”
His thrusts turn a little rougher and Stiles can’t close his mouth anymore. He
feels so fucking alive.
“Don’t pretend you don’t,” he manages. 
Derek leans over him, chin rubbing against Stiles’ shoulder blade, and his dick
presses against the curve of Stiles’ ass. He’s getting hard again, shit, that’s
hot. The scrape of his face across Stiles’ back is maybe a little bit too much
for his nerves, but he’s so distracted by the fingers fucking into him that he
can’t say anything. Maybe doesn’t want to. 
He presses back, trying to get a little deeper, and Derek bites his shoulder.
Sucks, licking his skin, and Stiles is trying to lean into that too much to
realize that Derek’s pinky is pressing at his rim. Waiting for him to let it
in. When Derek’s teeth graze over the hickey he’s left, it’s enough and fuck. 
Derek leans back, one hand coming to rest over his spine. He’s probably
looking. He’s probably watching. 
“I wish you could see this,” he says, soft, and his thumb strokes at Stiles’
rim. It makes him shake, it’s too much tension for his body and not enough. 
“Please,” Stiles begs, and he’s not proud of that. “I’m ready, just give it to
me, fuck.” 
Derek’s fingers draw out slow until he’s closing around nothing, and for a
second, Stiles thinks he’s finally going to get what he needs. But Derek’s a
bastard, just presses his thumb in, twisting. 
“You’re so open for me, Christ. I don’t even…” He trails off like he’s in awe,
and Stiles can’t take it, so he reaches back, just to see, and yeah. He slips
three fingers in next to Derek’s thumb and his body just accepts it. He’s so
wet. Derek groans at that, a low, needy sound. “Can I? I need to—“
“Yeah, fuck, do it,” Stiles says, pulling out. 
There’s a squirt of more lube and a soft shlick as Derek coats himself and then
that’s the head of his cock. Right there, rubbing over his hole, catching on
the rim because Stiles body is trying to pull him in, needs him in. 
Stiles looks back, jaw tight. “I said do it, not play with it.” That’s enough
to get Derek to push in, just enough to get the head inside, and Stiles is
fucking done, so he braces himself on his elbows and shoves back. Until his
cheeks hit Derek’s hips and goddamn. He’s— It’s not like anything. It’s just
this bizarre, perfect fullness, like he just found his missing piece. Like he’s
whole now. 
Derek’s fingers clutch his hips a little too tight and he’s not moving. The
tension in his body leaches into the air. 
“If you’re holding back, I swear to God—“
That’s all Stiles gets out because Derek pulls out a little and shoves back in
and its enough to make him reach out and grab the covers. He does it again and
Stiles fingers grip the comforter tighter, knuckles going white, and
everything’s just so right. It’s slow and hard and Stiles bites his arm to hold
back the whimper he wants to let out. Derek holds onto him like he’s afraid
Stiles is going to fall, even though that’s impossible. 
The drag of Derek’s cock tethers him to his body. His skin feels too small, his
pulse too big, like something’s trying to scratch its way out. But Derek’s
keeping him together. And when he leans over Stiles’ back, arms wrapping around
his middle, it’s like he’s keeping Stiles inside of himself. 
His chin reaches to Stiles’ shoulder as he pumps in with short, spaced thrusts
that force Stiles’ breath from his lungs. 
“I wish I could have you like this forever.” It’s quiet and rough, close to
Stiles’ ear, and he shivers, even though he’s too warm. “I wish I could keep
you here and fuck you until we fall asleep. I never want to be outside you.”
Stiles maybe whines at that, but he nods, fast. 
Yeah, he could do that. 
Just fuck until there’s nothing but Derek’s body crashing into his like a
wreck, like it’s going to break them both apart. Until he can’t remember when
they were separate people. Until he can feel Derek’s body like it’s a part of
his own. 
Derek licks the skin over his shoulder, tongue a little rough, but soothing. 
“You taste so good,” he murmurs, lips brushing Stiles’ skin. “I don’t ever
wanna forget how you taste.”
He shifts a little and it’s terrifying, like he’s going to leave, so Stiles
grabs him by the back of the neck, just holds him there. Derek makes a noise
like a purr, sweet and deep, and Stiles can feel it all the way inside. Can
feel the vibration of it through his cock where it’s buried inside him. 
It’s…well, it’s too much. It’s too tender. His body is overwhelmed and he feels
like he’s loved, and that’s not safe. Not for him. Because he could fall in
love for this. Maybe he already has a little. 
“Harder,” Stiles tells him, afraid of himself. “Fuck me like you mean it. Like
you need to.”
“Yeah?” Derek asks, punctuating with a sharp thrust that punches the air from
his lungs. One of his arms releases Stiles’ ribs, and for a moment, the
abandonment hurts, but then Derek’s fingers are pushing into his mouth. Stiles
sucks on them instinctively while Derek picks up the pace. The sound of their
skin slapping is a dirty, wet sound that would probably get him hard if he
wasn’t. Because he is, God, he is. His ass is a major distraction from it and
honestly, he doesn’t need to pay attention to it. The way Derek’s pounding into
him is enough to make Jesus weep. 
Derek moves him a little, makes him arch his back a little and stick his ass up
more, and he’s pretty sure he sobs. The angle makes Derek’s dick drum against
his prostate and fuck, he’s grateful for those fingers in his mouth because
otherwise he’d probably be saying something he’d regret later. 
“That what you need? Gonna come from just my cock? I bet you can,” Derek says
right at his ear. There’s a weird strain to his voice, like he’s barely keeping
it together. 
“Make me,” Stiles tries to say, but it comes out garbled around Derek’s
fingers. Maybe his meaning is clear because Derek groans and manages to fuck
him faster, faster than Stiles would’ve thought possible. Jesus, he’s so
fucking lucky Derek’s a werewolf because this is fucking ridiculous. 
When Derek bites his shoulder again, it’s all over. His brain shoots out his
dick and his vision goes sort of grey and for a second there, it’s like he
doesn’t exist. 
It takes a while for him to come back, and then all he’s aware of, really, is
Derek’s body moving his. Too fast, rhythm irregular, and he’s panting hot and
wet against Stiles’ skin. His fingers have slipped from Stiles’ mouth, gripping
the covers tight right in front of his face. Stiles feels his hands again,
finds one in Derek’s hair, tugs a little.
“That’s it,” he says, tilting his ass up. “I want you to come in me. I want to
feel it leak out and I want you push it back in and—“ Derek lets out a growl
that’s only barely human. As his hips stutter, it fades to a whine. He drags
his face over Stiles’ back, pulling out, and when Stiles’ hole flutters at the
emptiness, a hot pulse hits it. Before he can really register what’s happening,
Derek’s fingers push at his hole and there’s another couple drops. He fingers
that in, too, smoothes his thumb over him, and collapses next to Stiles on the
bed. Maybe a little bit on top of him. 
Stiles lets his legs stretch out behind him, a little sore, and totally lays in
his own wet spot. Gross. But he’s too lazy to move, so he ignores it and turns
his head to look at Derek. 
His eyes are shut and his face is pink and he just looks fucked. 
Considering that he’s pretty sure that he came hard enough to lobotomize
himself, Stiles can relate. Like whoa.
“We need to do that all the time,” Stiles says. His voice is a little raw.
Huh. 
Derek just nods. Like he can’t form words. 
Jesus, Stiles might be human, but apparently his ass has some sort of
supernatural powers. 
“Why did we wait so long to have sex? We could’ve been doing this for months.”
Derek shakes his head, a little frown line forming between his eyebrows.
“Couldn’t. Had to wait. Had to be older than me.”
Stiles snorts. “Um, dude, hate to break it to you, but you’re definitely still
older than me.”
“No,” Derek says, burying his face into the covers more. “Older than I was.
With K—“ Derek’s eyes snap open and his mouth snaps shut. “I don’t want to talk
right now.” He closes his eyes again.
“Yeah, no problem,” Stiles says, but he’s got this cold feeling in the pit of
his stomach. “Can I touch you? Not in a weird way, I swear.” Derek nods and
Stiles wiggles a little closer, throws his leg over the back of Derek’s thighs,
an arm over his back, and listens to the sound of Derek’s breathing until he
falls asleep. 
 
===============================================================================
 
 
When Stiles wakes up, his limbs are pretty much tied in knots with Derek’s. 
And he has to pee.
A lot. 
He really fucking has to pee.
But it takes him a stupidly long amount of time to get free because he’s trying
not to wake Derek up. And then he’s glued to the comforter with dried jizz.
Lovely. 
When he’s made it, he ends up standing there, just staring. Derek’s octopusing
on the bed the wrong way, one foot and one hand hanging over the edge. His
tattoo rises and falls with his breathing and he just looks so at ease. Like
there’s not a trace of tension in his body. 
It might be the first time Stiles has ever seen him fully relaxed.
Also, his ass is glorious. Like, damn. Stiles kind of wants to bite it because
it’s just—
He needs to pee.
Yes, good idea. Because if Derek wakes up to Stiles jerking off over his ass,
he’s probably not going to hesitate to kill Stiles dead. Really dead.
After Stiles has possible one of the best pisses of his life, he catches
himself in the mirror.
A little bit of pride swells up in his chest, but he’s also a teeny tiny bit
pissed. Because he has hickeys. Multiple hickeys. All over his neck. 
When—? 
Oh, yeah, that would be the woods. 
And his face, and most of his neck and shoulders, looks rubbed raw. His hair is
standing up in every direction. His mouth is a little swollen.
Shit, it doesn’t even look like he got laid. He looks like he got mauled. By a
sex bear. 
Not that kind of sex bear.
But he seriously looks like some kind of victim, shit. He can’t see anyone
today. There’s no way to hide this. Holy shit. 
This is awesome. 
When he walks into the kitchen area, there’s a little swagger in his step.
He’ll be honest about that. Because he got laid. Like a fucking pro. And it was
awesome. 
He makes coffee because he’s cool and because caffeine is an essential part of
his body’s chemical make-up. And then he just kind of leans against the
counter, buck naked, and grins. 
Aw yeah.
He’s a bad ass motherfucker. 
If he were a little bit more awake, he might do a little victory dance. But
he’s not. He’s really not. It’s still kind of early, too, judging by the time
on the microwave. If he hadn’t put on the coffee, he could go back to sleep.
But then in all likelihood, he’d probably wake up Derek, and he’s pretty sure
cuddling is a fuckbuddy no-no if it’s not post-coital. Maybe also when it’s
post-coital. Who knows. 
Kind of sucks because Stiles is a little bit of a cuddle monster. Cuddles are
awesome. But Derek isn’t exactly cuddly, so that sucks. 
At least Stiles doesn’t think he is. Can’t really be sure.
The coffee’s almost done, the machine gurgling, and the sound covers up the
noise of a key turning a lock enough that he doesn’t hear it at first. 
When Cora pushes the door open, Stiles has just enough time to cover up his
junk. 
She freezes, but there’s a noise, and it’s Derek, waking up and scrambling
around. It would’ve been funny if Stiles wasn’t so sure he was about to die of
embarrassment. 
“I am literally going to kill you,” Derek says, and for a moment, Stiles thinks
he’s talking to him, but he’s not. Cora’s hands fly to her face, one over her
eyes, the other pinching her nose shut. 
“I left my phone here yesterday,” she says in a high-pitched, nasal voice as
Derek leaps to his feet. “I’m sorry. Shit, do you think if I clawed out my
eyes, I’d be able to get these images out of my head?” 
Derek snatches her phone up off the coffee table and hands it to her. “Take it.
Go. And forget that you were here.” Fuck, yeah, that’s a great view of his ass.
Shit, bad time. 
“But the smell, Derek,” she whines. “Jesus, were you trying to mark your
territory? You know that if anyone else comes over here—”
He shuts the door in her face.
Derek groans loudly. For a second, he stands there, scrubs his face with his
hands. But he takes a deep breath and turns around. He’s wearing this look he’s
really good at, like he regrets each and every second that lead to the present
moment. Stiles has never met anyone who can manage it to the degree he can. 
It’s probably the eyebrows.
“That coffee better be almost done,” Derek says at last. He pads over to the
kitchen and he just looks so comfortable naked. Granted, if Stiles looked like
him, he’d probably be comfortable naked too. 
Well, minus the dried jizz flaking off of him.
Fuck.
“Yeah, it’s just about ready,” Stiles answers, a little late. Derek gets a
couple mugs out, and this is nice. Moving around a kitchen space with him,
shamelessly nude. Weird, but nice. Stiles dumps some sugar into his mug while
Derek gets out the milk, but when he looks up, Derek’s staring at him. Well, at
his back. 
Stiles twists, trying to see, but it’s useless.
“How bad is it?”
Derek makes a non-committal noise, but he reaches out and brushes his thumb
against a spot on Stiles’ shoulder that twinges a little. His eyes don’t leave
Stiles’ back, dazed, until he makes a little noise. Derek drops his hand,
shrugging like that’ll convince Stiles that he’s totally not into seeing him
all marked up.
Curious.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
In the end, they don’t talk about it. Or about anything at all.
Stiles goes home in one of Derek’s shirts because his is in pieces. Derek lets
him out down the block like a dirty secret and Stiles doesn’t lean over the
console to kiss him goodbye.
This is not the kind of thing where they kiss for non-sex reasons. 
He reminds himself of that twice before he’s out of the car. 
Of course, his dad is home. Because Stiles’ life sucks. And there’s no way he
can climb up to his window, so he has to go through the front. Has to duck,
walking fast, but his dad is in the kitchen and calls out when Stiles passes by
the doorway. 
“Hey, where’d you go last night? Lydia dropped off your car, but I didn’t see
you.”
Stiles is already halfway up the stairs, panicking a little, and shouts back,
“I was at Scott’s!” He gets to his room in record time, strips off Derek’s
shirt and rushes to the dresser for one that’s actually his.
“Hey— Woah,” his dad says from the doorway and Stiles goes very still. “Uh,
something you want to tell me?” Stiles yanks on a t-shirt, spinning, and offers
him an innocent grin.
“What? Nope. Got nothing.”
His dad gives him a look that calls his bullshit more clearly than words could
ever express. Stiles winces.
“Don’t worry about it?” he offers. 
“Son, is this why you’ve been so spacey lately? You know that you don’t have to
hide anything from me. It’s totally fine with me if you have boyfriend.”
Shit, this is so awkward. “I thought I wasn't gay?”
“Stiles,” his dad says, narrowing his eyes. “You have hickeys and beard burn
all over your back. Are you trying to tell me a girl did that?”
“No?”
“It’s fine, son.” His dad shrugs. “I just hope you’re being safe. And I would
like to meet him. You don’t have to keep secrets from me, you know.”
Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
“Why don’t you have him come over for dinner tomorrow night?”
“Uh, I don’t know if that’s—“
His dad holds up a hand. “I know I made it sound like it was a request, but it
wasn’t. I want to meet him. And maybe get him a muzzle. Jesus.” Stiles chokes
and he’s pretty sure he’s tomato red and that he also wants to die, like, a
lot. 
“Oh my God, Dad, please never say anything like that again. I’ll do anything.”
“Introduce us and we have a deal.” His dad gives him the sort of look he does
sometimes, like he’s utterly confused about how Stiles came to be who he is.
“Well, I’m gonna head out in a minute. You need anything? Aloe vera? Icy-Hot?”
Stiles shuts his eyes. “I swear to God— Please please please just go away so
that I can die in peace.”
“Alright, then. I’ll see you later. And don’t forget dinner.”
When Stiles is sure he’s gone, he opens his eyes.
Welp, looks like he has a bit of a possible shit storm on his hands. 
Chapter End Notes
     it starts off as hate sex and it's pretty rough at first, but consent
     is requested and given and re-affirmed
     possibly triggery language during sex? it's different for everyone so
     just be aware that some intense things are said
     heat-of-the-moment codependency like whoa
     blink and you'll miss it reference to Kate
     a little bit of violence (before the sex, way before)
***** I was prepared to love you and never expect anything of you *****
Chapter Notes
     AHAHA SO I WASN'T GOING TO POST THIS TONIGHT BUT I COULDN'T SLEEP
     SOOOO
     Title from "Weights and Measures" by Dry the River.
     This is the chapter where I looked at the meta of Derek and Stiles
     needing to become, like, ascended individuals before having a
     relationship and I started cackling maniacally.
     READ THE WARNINGS IF THERE'S ANY SHADE OF DUBCON YOU DON'T LIKE.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
What Stiles does, because it's all he can think to do in the situation, is
basic damage control: shower and de-Derek himself as thoroughly as he can. All
of his clothes go in the laundry. Googles how to get rid of beard burn and
hickeys, makes a Walgreens run, and rubs all of the moisturizing shit and
toothpaste and makeup he can find all over him. 
It’s not until all of his visible skin is its normal color that he texts Scott:
SOS crisis imminent chances of death v high come over pls
That gets Scott over pretty damn fast. He doesn’t knock, obviously, just barges
into Stiles’ room. He’s a little out of breath, actually, and looks around to
suss out the threat.
“I thought you were getting murdered,” Scott says, relaxing. 
“Nah, dude, that would’ve been a much shorter text. I am, however, considering
harakiri.”
Scott frowns, flopping into Stiles’ desk chair. “What’s up?”
“Well,” Stiles says with a wince, “I might have accidentally given my dad the
impression that the reason I’ve been so obviously hiding shit from him is
because I have a secret boyfriend. So I need a secret boyfriend.”
Scott scratches the back of his head. “Uh, well, I’m sure Isaac…”
“Nope. Isaac looks like a cherub. I need the kind of guy who might possibly one
day have some form of facial hair.” Scott gives him a really weird look. 
“You know a fake boyfriend doesn’t actually have to be your type, right?”
“Yeah, no, totally, but I scraped my shoulder the other week and he thought it
was beard burn, so I need someone who isn’t, like, pristine marble. And I need
him tomorrow. For dinner,” Stiles explains.
“I know it’s not ideal, but what about Derek?” Scott suggests and Stiles has a
very hard time not acting super sketchy. “He’d do it, if you asked. And he’s,
you know. I don’t think he’s…whatever, but you, uh. I’m pretty sure you do.”
Stiles has to force himself to calm down and not overreact for a second before
he’s able to shoot that down.
“My dad arrested him once. I’m pretty sure he’d kill me if I brought Derek
home.” Also, Derek would kill him. Or maybe withhold sex as punishment. Which
is possibly worse. 
“So what are you gonna do, then?”
Stiles gives him the best puppy dog look he can manage. “Well, bro, I was
thinking maybe you could do it?”
Scott looks at him for a second, then shrugs. “Sure thing. What do you need me
to do?”
“Just show up for dinner and look like we’re dating. It should be a breeze.”
“So you don’t need me tonight?” Scott asks, and Stiles shakes his head. “Good,
because I have a date with Allison. Soon, actually. Hey, did we have plans for
today?”
“Uh, I don’t think so. I mean, I’ll never say no to bro time, but—“
“No, like pack stuff. I think you must’ve seen Derek last. Are we actually
doing anything? I mean, other than looking the other way when Lydia totally
kills Peter?”
Stiles shakes his head, staying calm. “Nah, I don’t think so. He didn’t say
anything to me about it, at least.”
“Cool. Well. I’ll see you later? Text me when you need me to come over
tomorrow.”
“Will do, buddy.”
When Scott leaves, Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. 
Crisis averted. 
And then his phone rings.
Derek.
“What are you doing right now?” he asks before Stiles can so much as say hello.
“Uh, nothing. Why?”
“How fast can you get here?”
Stiles smirks. “Dude, you’ll be okay, I promise. No one’s ever actually died
from blue—“
“Peter’s here and he just told me that there’s been another murdered virgin.”
Shit. 
Well. 
“Okay, hold tight, I’ll be there as fast as I can.” 
 
===============================================================================
 
 
It only takes twenty-two minutes (fuck traffic) and Stiles is somehow the last
one there. 
Derek’s changed his sheets. It’s pretty much the first thing he sees because he
can’t help but look. Good thing, too, because that would’ve been awkward.
And the windows are open. Hopefully no one’s wondering why.
Well, Cora doesn’t have to wonder. 
“We need a plan,” Scott says. Everyone’s around the table and Stiles moves in
next to him. When he glances up, Derek’s eyes are drilling into him. In a bad
way. Yeah, a pretty darn bad way. Jesus, he’s not that late.
“I think it’s time to go on the offensive,” Peter says.
Isaac nods in agreement, saying, “The best defense is a good offense.”
“We don’t even know where these psychos are,” Stiles points out. “We just know
that they like to kill virgins right after the full moon. That’s not much to go
on.”
“But it is enough to lay out a trap,” Peter says. “Isn’t it?”
“Too bad we can’t just use you as bait,” Lydia snaps.
He shrugs, smirking in that creepy-annoying way he does. “But we coulduse
someone.”
“Who?” Stiles asks, frowning. 
And then he realizes that everyone’s looking at him. And no one’s saying
anything. They’re just looking at him. Well, except for Cora. She’s looking at
the table. And Derek’s glaring at the air over his head.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
“We would be right there,” Peter says. “It’s very likely that no harm would
come to you.”
Oh Jesus. This is bad. There’s no possible way he could just pretend. It
wouldn’t take. He can’t draw them in if he’s not…
Stiles takes a deep breath, wincing, and says, “I can’t.”
And he thought it was quiet before. 
Apparently, the news that he’s not a virgin is shocking. Like, beyond shocking.
That’s a little offensive, actually. Because screw everyone, he’s banging the
hottest person at the table. And it’s great. Like, damn.
Not that he’s about to say that.
“Dude,” Scott says, elbowing him. “Why didn’t I know about this?”
Stiles laughs a little awkwardly. “Well, you know, there was a bunch of stuff
going on and it wasn’t a good time, and then I sort of forgot about it, and can
we not talk about this right now? We need a new plan. One that does not involve
me as a sacrifice?” 
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Their bait, as it turns out, is Greenberg. And Stiles draws the short straw (it
was rigged anyway because he probably knows Greenberg best) so he ends up being
the one who lures him into the woods. For “night practice”. Good God.
The whole thing makes him really uncomfortable, but Stiles has a gun under his
jacket so he’s pretty sure no one’s going to get murdered on his watch. 
Only he’s wrong. He’s really wrong.
It’s just that Greenberg isn’t going to get murdered. Because he, apparently,
runs faster than Stiles. 
Must be all those suicide runs that Finstock makes him do.
When Stiles pulls out his gun and shoots at the hooded figures, it seems to
piss them off because then they’re closing in on him. And they’re menacing.
What is it with cloaks being so scary all of a sudden? Harry Potter wasn’t this
freaky.
“Not a virgin, guys,” he says because he’s out of ammo. “I promise. The deed
has been done. I have had genital contact with another person. I swear. And
it’s been really good, so.” 
Yeah, they’re pissed. They don’t seem to care a whit that he’s been de-
virginized. 
One of them grabs his hair and another wraps a rope around his neck and he
doesn’t have time to scream. Just shuts his eyes, hoping it’ll be over quickly.
It burns and he can’t help but claw at the rope, because he can’t breathe and
it’s way more terrifying than he ever thought.
But then there’s this roar and he’s released. 
When Stiles opens his eyes, Derek’s ripping the shit out of them. Scott and the
others get there just a second later, and by the time Stiles has stopped
gasping for breath, all the cloak people are dead. Jesus. That’s…good? Is it?
Yeah. He’s alive. Everyone’s alive. So it’s pretty fucking good.
“Remember when we said that no harm was going to come to me?” Stiles rasps.
“Because I seem to distinctly remember those words being spoken.” 
Everyone’s panting, and Derek steps over a body to grab Stiles’ shoulder. His
mouth is bloody, as are his hands when he lifts Stiles’ chin. It’s very quiet
while Derek inspects him, and Stiles wants to tell him to lay off because, hey,
if he’s talking, he’s probably fine, but the words aren’t coming. Derek’s other
hand is wrapped around the back of his neck and it’s hot and wet. Blood. Ew.
Stiles is probably going to have a bloodstain on the collar of his t-shirt. 
“Is he okay?” Scott asks. 
It’s been too long since Derek first touched him. They’re going to start to
suspect. Shit. 
“I’m fine,” Stiles says because Derek’s too staring to answer. “Seriously, I’m
okay.” This is mostly for Derek, who doesn’t pull his hands away until Stiles
removes them himself. 
“Um, cool. I…We should go,” Scott says. “Now.”
“Yeah, bro, no problem—“
“I didn’t mean…” Scott mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean— Yeah. We
should all go. Stiles, you came with Greenberg, right? I’m sure Derek will give
you a ride. I would offer, but I’ve got Allison and Isaac and Boyd and Cora,
and really, it’s just packed.” 
Scott, you are the least smooth person in the entire history of human
existence, Stiles wants to yell. 
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Isaac agrees, and Stiles is going to punch him in
the face. Stiles is going to punch all of them in the face because they’re all
nodding, the little shits. 
Stiles sighs, looks at Derek. “Only if you don’t mind,” he says, eyes dropping
to the ground. “Or I could go with Scott and you could take Cora, Boyd, and
Isaac home.”
“Actually, I left some stuff over at Scott’s,” Isaac says. He visibly elbows
the others.
“Yeah, me too,” Cora says after a second.
Boyd just gives Isaac a pissed off look and nods.
Wow.
Stiles is going to kill all of them. 
“I’ll take you,” Derek says. He’s looking at his shoes like there’s something
fascinating on them. 
By the time they all make it to their cars, Stiles has a message from Isaac on
his phone. 
We’re all meeting at Derek’s tomorrow morning so don’t stink the place up. 
Yeah, they’re dead. They’re all dead. 
“I hate the pack,” Stiles says when Scott’s car is a little ways ahead of them.
“They’re all horrible. Can we ditch them?”
Derek glances at him. “You want me to take you home?”
“Didn’t say that. Just saying that they’re awful. I can’t believe Scott thought
that was subtle. Seriously.” 
“He didn’t know, though,” Derek says. “Earlier. He didn’t know we’ve…”
“No, he has no idea,” Stiles assures him. “I think he’s smelled me around you,
though. He said something earlier. I think he was trying to be a good friend
and set us up.” He snorts at that, at the fact that Scott has no idea. It’s not
like that, anyway. And really, Stiles isn’t opposed to the idea. He’s…well,
he’s not going to think about it. It’s better if he doesn’t.
Derek nods, maybe a few too many times. 
He’s probably really uncomfortable with the whole thing. Obviously, he could do
better. And, hell, he probably doesn’t even want a real relationship with
anyone. Least of all Stiles.
“Are you sure you want to come over?” Derek asks. 
Stiles looks out the window, thinking about it. “I don’t know? I’m worried that
if I do, he’ll know. It’s easier if he doesn’t. He’ll think it’s something it
isn’t.” It’s a hard decision, weighing that against his libido, but when he
thinks about his shower earlier…. “I think my ass needs a day to recover,
anyway. Could you just drop me off at home?” 
“Yeah.” Derek’s hands twist a little on the steering wheel, and after a moment,
he says, “If you want, we could always…I mean, I’m just saying, it doesn’t have
to be exactly like that. Position-wise. Or…” His grip tightens and Stiles can
practically hear his molars grinding. “Nevermind. Forget it.”
“You’d let me top?” Stiles asks, a little bit breathless because he’s not sure
if that’s what Derek’s saying.
After a long, quiet moment, Derek nods. Just the once.
“Yeah. I mean, sure.” Stiles’s heart’s beating way too loud. “If…are you sure?
You’re, like, the alpha.”
Derek looks at him, piercing. “What does that have to do with anything? If you
don’t want to, just say you don’t—“
“I want to.” 
Derek sits up a little, nods. “Alright. Do you want me to take you home still?”
“Yeah, it’s for the best. But I’ll take a rain check? I should diffuse the
situation before it gets bad.”
Stiles pulls out his phone, stares at the blank message screen for a minute or
two before sending: I h8 u. U are the worst. That was the worst car ride of my
whole life. So awkward. Never leave me alone with derek again. Did I mention u
suck? Bc u do. 
A moment later, he follows it up:
He told me I’m a good kid but he wasn’t interested. This is ur fault. I didn’t
even say anything to him. He legit rejected me without prompting. So thx.
After a minute, he gets a response:
So sorry, bro. I swore he was finally going to make a move.
Stiles is trying to figure that one out when he gets a text from Isaac.
Sorry derek’s an asswipe man. That cost me $20 so I hate him right now too :( 
Wait, what? Isaac bet on them?
Before he can muster up the correct amount of righteous anger, he gets a text
from Lydia.
Boys are assholes, hun. Want to come over? I’ve got The Notebook. I’ll eat ice
cream with you and tell you you’re still pretty when you cry? 
Oh Lord. 
“Okay,” Stiles says as they pull up to the curb at the end of his street. “I
have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
“Either.” 
Stiles grins. “So, good news: I apparently have a support system. Bad news:
everyone hates you now.”
Derek frowns, gives him a heavy-browed look. “And why does everyone hate me?”
“I told Scott you rejected me and he apparently told everyone. It looks there
was a pool of some kind? I’m not sure, but I think you owe Isaac twenty bucks.
And now I have to figure out a way to avoid the emotional trauma of The
Notebook.” 
While Derek stares straight ahead, apparently in a mild form of shock, Stiles
responds to all of the texts with appreciation and the reassurance that he’s
okay, he just needs to be alone right now. What a joke.
“Bets?” Derek asks like he’s straining to understand. 
“I guess so. I didn’t realize we were such a hot topic, you know?”
Derek snorts, shrugs, and looks at him. “Are you going, or are you staying?” he
asks. Because Stiles hasn’t gotten out of the car. Shit. That’s awkward.
“Going, sorry. Catch you later.”
“I’m sorry,” Derek says right before Stiles closes the door.
Stiles stops, leans back in. “What for, dude? It’s Scott’s fault.” Derek shakes
his head. He doesn’t make eye contact.
“You weren’t supposed to get hurt. I thought they’d pass right over you.”
“It’s fine,” Stiles tells him.
Derek shakes his head. “It’s not. I should be able to guarantee you’re safe.”
“You can’t,” Stiles says. “No one can. For anyone. It sucks but that’s the way
it goes. And I can take care of myself, anyway. Most of the time.”
“Liar,” Derek says, and Stiles shuts the door on him. Heads down the street
with his hands shoved in his pockets. Fuck it, he’s pissed. He’s not going to
pretend he isn’t. Because Stiles wants to say it’s almost like Derek cares
about him, but it’s not almost anything. What it is is against their rules. Or
at least against the rules Stiles has in his head. Because if Derek keeps on
like this, Stiles is going to admit to something stupid. He’s not going to be
able to pretend he doesn’t care anymore. 
(He’s basically always cared. 
From the second Derek put an electric bone saw in his hands and trusted him to
amputate, Stiles has cared. When Derek looked at him with mossy eyes and a cold
sweat, scared and weak and trying to hold it together, and he needed Stiles.
Need is a dangerous thing for him. It’s intoxicating, and from then on, he’s
craved it.
It’s also the exact moment Stiles stopped being afraid of Derek.)
When he gets to his room, Scott’s there. Sitting on his bed. He takes one look
at Stiles and pulls him into a tight bro-hug.
“I’m really sorry, dude.”
Stiles shrugs. “It’s fine. Nothing you can do.” He’s not sure why his throat
feels tight, but it probably has something to do with the fact that he’s
thinking about how he’s going inevitably ruin one of the best things he’s ever
had. By caring too much. That’s just like him, isn’t it?
“What do you need?” Scott asks, a hand on his shoulder.
“Can I just get out of here for a while? Go to yours or something? I just need
to get out of my head for a while. You know?”
Scott nods. “Yeah. I’ve been there. Don’t worry. We can play video games until
our brains melt.”
And that’s what they do.
They play until it’s early, early morning, just like old times, like before.
And they squeeze into Scott’s twin-sized bed and Stiles sleeps for longer than
he’s slept in a long time.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
When he wakes up, it’s to his phone ringing. His dad. Shit.
“Yeah?” he answers, rubbing his eyes. Fuck, it’s afternoon already.
“Where the hell are you? I haven’t seen you in over twenty-four hours,
Stiles.” 
“Sorry,” he says honestly. “I’m at Scott’s, okay? I’ll be home for dinner. I
haven’t forgotten.”
“Good. And text me next time. I want to know where you are.”
“I will, don’t worry. Okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Don’t be late for dinner.” 
When Stiles hangs up, Scott flips over onto his back.
“Dad?”
“Yep. I forgot to tell him where I was going.”
Scott yawns wide. “When you tell him I’m your boyfriend, he’s probably going to
be pissed that you were here.”
“Probably,” Stiles agrees. “But I can’t really do anything about that now.”
“True. You want first shower?” 
Stiles nods. “Yep. I’ll be quick.”
“I know. Don’t expect me to be awake when you’re done.”
“I would never.”
He does shower quick, in just a couple of minutes, and he’s tired, so he crawls
back into bed. His hair isn’t that wet, but Scott groans, rolls over. 
“I guess it’s my turn,” he says with a heavy sigh.” Stiles nods, stealing
Scott’s blankets. He could probably sleep for a few hours. Scott takes slow
showers anyway. 
But when Scott’s in the bathroom, Stiles feels wide awake. He lays there,
listening to Scott turning on the water, and just breathes for a minute. It
feels like the end of a long, long week. 
They have an agreement, him and Scott, since they were thirteen and fessed up
to their first boners. Namely, that sometimes, erections happen, especially in
places they don’t want them to. If something needs to be done, they go to the
bathroom to take care of it. Or, if a bro is in the bathroom and it can’t wait,
be quick and clean up after yourself. 
Stiles hasn’t acted on their little agreement since the whole werewolf thing
because every time they’re been with each other for any length of time, there’s
been some sort of supernatural crisis. 
And now there’s not. 
Well, unless you consider Stiles’ sex life to be a supernatural crisis.
(It might be. A little bit.)
Scott’s showers average at twenty minutes, Stiles knows. 
Stiles’ average get-r-done jerk lasts about six minutes from full chub. 
That gives him plenty of time to get rid of any evidence and maybe even open
the window. 
It turns out he lasts about three minutes, imagining the promise of the majesty
of Derek’s ass. His wondrous, wondrous ass. One of these days, Stiles is going
to learn guitar so he can play Derek “Your Body is a Wonderland”.
Stiles knows he’s sick, okay. He knows it’s a bad situation. He knows he’s
fucked in a bad way. 
Funny, he never thought he’d be the kind of person who fell for the person he
lost it to. 
Not that he’s technically fallen. Not really. He’s not in love with Derek. No.
Lord no. He just has some feelings. Little ones. About cuddling. And Derek’s
post-bone face. And some of the things he does. Not just the sex things. 
It’s unfortunate is what it is. But it’s not quite a tragedy. Not until he
cries about it.
He’s never going to cry about it. 
What he is going to do is toss his jizz-tissue into Scott’s trash and hope it’s
not the only one there for scent reasons, and then he’s going to work on
getting Scott’s window open. There’s a chance that he Stiles-proofed it. Which
sucks a little. 
Yeah, that thing’s not gonna budge.
When Scott comes in, wearing a towel around his hips, he gives Stiles a look. 
“Dude.”
Stiles just rolls his eyes because it’s not like Scott doesn’t know that he
jerks it an average of, like, three times a day. He’s just being an ass because
his werewolf powers let him. He doesn’t mean it anyway. 
While Scott gets dressed, Stiles lays on his bed, tossing a lacrosse ball in
the air. “So, your dad’s really going to believe that we’re dating?” Scott
asks, tugging on a fresh t-shirt. 
“I think so,” Stiles says. “I mean, we spend a bit of time together, especially
since every time we have werewolf stuff, I tell him I’m here. He’s probably
wondered about it, at some point in his life. I think he’ll believe it.” 
“Alright, then. You’d know better than me,” Scott says. “Wanna embarrass
yourself at Super Smash Bros?”
Stiles grins. “Oh, it’s on.”
 
===============================================================================
 
By the time his dad texts him to be home in the next half hour, Stiles has
gotten himself kind of nervous. 
Well, he’s a teeny bit terrified. 
Because the plan has to work. If it doesn’t, if one little part of it fails,
he’s in a really bad situation. His dad needs to believe it’s Scott and not
suspect that it could be Derek and Scott needs to believe that it’s all a cover
for werewolf business and not suspect that it’s totally Derek. 
So he’s freaking out a little.
Scott squeezes his shoulder, though, and offers him the kind of smile that lays
a cozy blanket over all of his fears. “It’s going to be fine,” he says. “I’ll
be the best fake boyfriend you ever have.”
“Hopefully the only fake boyfriend I ever have. I might like to have a real one
some day.”
“Baby steps,” Scott teases.
A moment later, Stiles gets a text from Derek: Busy?
Stiles glances at Scott before replying.
Not until tonight. Important stuff right now.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
When Stiles walks through his door, he hears his dad in the kitchen. 
“And here I was, thinking you weren’t gonna show,” his dad says, coming into
the living room as he wipes his hands on a dish towel. He looks at Scott, then
gives Stiles a stern frown. “You could’ve told me to set the table for four.”
“No, uh,” Stiles says, glancing behind him as Scott takes his hand. “Just the
three of us.”
His dad looks at him for a long, long time. 
“We had an understanding,” his dad says. “I wanted to meet your boyfriend. I
cooked.”
“No, Dad, this…Scott’s my boyfriend. I’m dating Scott.”
Scott’s smiling, a little awkward, and Stiles wonders if this is how he smiled
for Allison’s parents that first time.
The three of them just standthere until the timer in the kitchen beeps. 
“Well, go sit down, I guess,” his dad says. “I’m just going to get the rolls.
Sorry, I just…” He peeks out of the kitchen. “Really?” Scott touches Stiles’
back, nods.
“I’m sorry, sir. We just felt weird about telling you. Because you and my mom?”
Stiles frowns and oh. Shit. That’s weird, if that’s a real thing that’s going
on. Cool, but weird. He and Scott could maybe totally be brothers!
Awesome…well, not if they’re fake-dating? Shit, this is weird.
“Wait, has Melissa said anything about me?” his dad asks and oh God. His dad
has no game, apparently. 
Scott ducks his head, smiling a little. “Well, she’s been trying really hard
not to, but she’s singing in the shower again, so…” 
Stiles looks at him, configuring his eyebrows into a series of shapes to convey
Dude, why didn’t you tell me that our parents like each other? Scott has the
decency to look a little sheepish. 
“Oh. That’s…well, I mean, that’s…oh, nevermind,” his dad says, and he’s
flustered. His dad, Sheriff and hard-ass extraordinaire, is flustered. And
flushed. What the hell? What episode of the Twilight Zone did Stiles walk
into? 
It’s super awkward when they all sit down. 
The three of them have eaten together before, probably at least a hundred
times, but it’s never been this weird. Ever. It’s the most awkward thing ever
and he and Scott aren’t even dating. That level of awkward has not even been
reached and Stiles wants to stab himself in the face with his fork. Because no
one’s talking. They’re just eating, trying not to look at each other, and why? 
“So, uh, Scott. I have to say, I was a little afraid you’d be some old,
leather-jacket wearing biker-type with tattoos and an arrest record.”
Stiles chokes because he got four out of five, really, but Scott shrugs, says,
“Well, actually, I do have a tattoo and a motorbike. But no leather jacket. Not
really my thing.” Haha, yeah, Stiles is going to stab himself in the face. It’s
happening. “You’d know better than me about the arrest record, but I think it’s
just that restraining order from April.”
This is actually the worst.
No wonder Scott had trouble with the Argents. Rule number one of meeting the
parents is to not admit to the tattoo. Or the bike. Or the restraining order.
Granted, he had none of these things before Allison, so maybe Stiles is just
panicking and trying to place the blame for the fact that he wants to die
somewhere. It’s really not Scott’s fault at all. And it’s not like his dad
doesn’t know that Scott’s a decent guy.
“Good,” his dad says, chewing. “Because I thought I was going to have to file a
restraining order when I saw those hickeys all over Stiles’ back.”
Oh fuck.
“Hickeys?” Scott asks, eyes wide, and he totally looks at Stiles. Shit. And his
dad totally saw. 
Fuck fuck fuck.
“Um, yeah,” his dad says. “I thought he got mauled for a second there.” Holy
God, his dad knows it wasn’t Scott. Stiles is so dead. He’s so so so dead.
“See, funny story,” Stiles starts, but he has no idea how he’s going to finish
that sentence.
“Hickeys? I thought you said it was just a scrape,” Scott hisses.
Stiles’ dad looks between the two of them. “So I take it Scott’s not the
vampire I should be after. Care to explain, Stiles?”
The look on Scott’s face is totally betrayed, and it hurts. The way Stiles
sighs isn’t fake, not a bit, but his brain is spinning trying to come up with
something he can use to pull them out of this.
“Look, I— this in not…I cheated, okay? Just once.”
Stiles is looking down at the table, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees
Scott’s jaw clenching and his dad’s frown deepening.
“Seriously?” His dad looks totally unimpressed, and he’s totally going to say
something awful, like I thought I raised you better. 
But he doesn’t. 
What he says is, “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you would ever
cheat on Scott? Scott?”
Stiles meets his eyes, stomach going icy. 
“After how long you’ve known each other? You’ve been friends for years, and
you’re trying to tell me you would cheat on him? How stupid do you think I am,
Stiles?” He smacks his hand down on the table and Stiles jumps. “Why couldn’t
you just do what I asked? I just wanted to meet him, Stiles. I just wanted to
know who was a part of your life. But you couldn’t even trust me with that,
could you?”
Stiles looks down, and he’s about three second away from crying. The lump in
his throat is dry and sharp and he can’t swallow.
“Does Scott even know who he is? Do you trust him at least?”
A single glance at Scott tells him everything: Scott knows. He knows exactly
who it was. 
“So he does.” Shit, why does his dad have to be freaking law enforcement?
“Scott, will youtell me who it is? I wouldn’t ask, but I can’t believe a word
that comes out of his mouth.”
“Yeah,” Scott says. “He’s…” Scott sighs, sharp. “His name is Danny. He has a
boyfriend.” Scott turns to Stiles, who’s trying to not freak out because Scott
is literally saving his life right now. “You promised you wouldn’tafter they
got back together. You said you would stay away and respect Danny’s choice.”
Holy shit, Stiles could kiss him right now. He really could. 
Or just cry all over him for saving Stiles’ life.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles tells him, his voice cracking in his throat, thank God. “I
couldn’t help it. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how.”
“Christ,” his dad groans. “I’m too old for this shit.”
Stiles twists his hands in his lap, feeling like he’s spinning in every
direction.
“You’re excused, Stiles. Go to your room. We’ll talk when I get my hands on a
polygraph.”
That stings, but Stiles gets up, runs to his room. Scott’s just behind him, and
he closes the door too gently behind him. The look he gives Stiles stabs him
deep, twists in. Right between his ribs. 
Stiles feels like falling over, maybe, or like setting himself on fire. This is
the worst feeling he’s ever had.
Desperately, he wonders when he started thinking it was okay to lie to his best
friend. 
“I don’t deserve you,” Stiles chokes out. “I really don’t.”
Scott shrugs, but his jaw is tight. “I hope you’d do the same for me.”
“I would,” Stiles tells him, nodding. He wipes his face when a hot, angry tear
slips out. “I really would. I’d do anything. I’m sorry. I never meant for any
of this.”
“I just…Why? Why couldn’t you just tell me? I’m…Stiles, I’m your bro. I just
don’t get why you felt you couldn’t tell me,” Scott says. The look on his face
is more sad than angry and Stiles wants to die. He’s the worst friend in the
universe to make Scott feel like that. He’s absolutely the shittiest friend.
Stiles sits on his bed, heaves a wet sigh. “I’m sorry. It all just sort of
happened, and I didn’t want you to hate me for it. You’ve never liked him. I
didn’t want you to think I’d picked him over you.”
“Have you?”
“What?” Stiles gapes at him for half a second. “Are you serious? You think I
would do that to you? You?”
“I have no idea, to be honest,” Scott says. “You didn’t use to keep secrets
from me. Used to be, you would’ve told me if you kissed anyone, let alone lost
your virginity. I don’t even know how long it’s been going on. I have
absolutely no idea how long you’ve been lying to me.”
Stiles shakes his head. “Not that long, okay? Just a couple weeks. It…it’s
complicated and it was really stupid and I didn’t want you to be disappointed
in me. I shouldn’t have been screwing around with him, him of all people.”
“Dude, my problem isn’t that it’s Derek,” Scott says. “I mean, I wasn’t the
first one to notice, but I know you two have this thing. Like a weird
connection thing. I don’t care about that, okay? I care that you thought I
would judge you for who you liked. Stiles…I’m in love with a girl whose family
tried to kill me. I know you don’t get to just choose who you love.”
“It’s not like that,” Stiles insists. “We’re not…I don’t love him. It’s not
about that.”
Scott gives him a look. “I can hear you heartbeat.”
No.
No, see, that’s the thing — Stiles doesn’t. 
He. Does. Not. Love. Derek. 
Not a chance. Because then this would be so much worse than it is.
The bed shifts as Scott sits down next to him. His hand is warm when it settles
around Stiles’ shoulders, and Stiles leans into it, feeling very, very numb. 
“Do you want to talk about it?” Scott asks, because he’s the best. He should be
ditching Stiles, cutting him off entirely, and yet here he is. Being the friend
Stiles wishes he was. 
“It’s a sex thing,” Stiles tells him. “We were just trying to relieve some
tension.”
“Uh, over the past couple weeks? Because I can promise you that there’s been,
like, at least five times as much tension lately. I mean, you guys generally
have this want to bone thing going on, but lately, it’s been more like need to
bone even though there’s innocent bystanders all around. There’s been a couple
close calls, let me tell you.” 
Stiles rolls his eyes, elbowing him. “Shut up. It’s not that bad.”
“You don’t have my nose, bro. Trust me.” Stiles tries not to smile at that, but
it makes him a little smug. “I just don’t get why you’re saying it’s a sex
thing. Like, I know you. And I pretty much know him. I don’t believe it for a
second.”
“I…” Stiles sighs. “I might. Have feelings. But it’s not like that. He and I
agreed it wouldn’t be.”
“That’s stupid,” Scott tells him. “Not just because you’re smart enough to know
that you fall hard for people. It’s…I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way
he looks at you. You’re the only one who’s ever been able to make him listen to
you. And I swear, last night? I’ve never seen him so freaked as when he thought
they’d killed you.”
Stiles’ heart is beating too fast and too hard. 
Not in a good way. 
In a possible panic attack way. 
Because he can’t handle this. Scott may think he’s helping, but hope? That’s
only going to hurt him. It’s only going to rip him apart. No, Derek doesn’t
like him. He tolerates Stiles. He’s attracted to him, likes to fuck him. But
never for a second has he ever actually liked him. 
“You don’t know him like I do,” Stiles says. 
His organs have shrunk to little raisins. His veins are dry.
“Are you sure?” Scott asks. “Because I’m pretty darn sure. And I think you
should maybe talk to him about it. Like, if you need to, I’ll cover for you.
With your dad.” 
When Stiles looks at him, all he sees is real, earnest belief. This is Scott.
Scott, who will forgive him for the worst he’s done. Scott, who’s never
actually wished anything bad on anyone in their life. Scott, who would never
send him off to dash his heart against the rocks. 
“Okay,” Stiles says. “Yeah, okay. Will you?”
“Yeah. You’d do the same for me, dude,” Scott says, and Stiles just hug-tackles
him. 
Somewhere, someone has a really shitty life, the worst of all lives, because
Stiles has the best luck in the world to have a friend like him.
“Alright,” Scott says when they break apart. “You hop out the window, I’ll tell
your dad you’re sleeping and grab your keys. We good?”
“We’re good.” 
Outside, a few scrapes later, when Stiles sees Scott, he can’t hold back a
grin. His keys dangle in Scott’s fingers. 
In the car, he says, “He totally bought it, don’t worry.”
After Stiles drops him off at his house, he wishes him good luck. Yeah, Stiles
is gonna need it.
 
===============================================================================
 
Derek’s door is unlocked, so he just lets himself in. It’s not like they have
normal boundaries anyway. It’s not like Derek hasn’t totally appeared without
warning in his room before.
(It’s been months since he last did that, but that’s not the point.)
“Oh, yeah, Stiles, just come on in. It’s not like there’s a social convention
to ask people’s permission before you enter their home,” Derek says. “Oh wait:
there is.” 
Stiles expects that his sarcasm means that Peter’s here, or someone else, but
the thing is, Derek’s half-naked and there’s no one around. No, it’s just
Derek. And he’s being an asshole tonight. Apparently. Not like he isn’t most of
the time. 
“Wow. Sorry to intrude on you doing absolutely nothing. Or, what, you’re just
sitting here brooding? Yeah, I know you to meet a daily quota of frowny faces.
Don’t want to get in the way of that.”
Derek gets up, crosses the floor to him but doesn’t touch him. He stands there,
nostrils flaring. It’s when his eyes flash red that Stiles takes a step back.
“Okay, creeper, glad to see you’ve been making progress towards normal social
interactions.”
Derek snorts, almost like a bull in a ring. “Fuck you,” he bites, pulling away.
“Jesus Christ, is it asshole day? Did I miss the memo?” Stiles asks. “Because
if I remember correctly, you were the one who wanted me to come over.”
“I thought you had something important to do,” Derek says, not meeting his
eyes. “I didn’t realize that what you meant was that you had to roll around in
bed with Scott.”
Stiles’ eyes narrow. “What?”
“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re fucking him, I guess.”
“What the fuck?” Stiles ask, completely confused. And wow, fuck you, Derek. 
Derek turns on him, eyes hard. “Does he fuck you better than I can? Does he
tell you he loves you more than his girlfriend?” He looks like he’s about two
second from throwing something. 
“Dude, I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You smell like him,” Derek accuses. “Like sweat and Scott and come. I
shouldn’t be surprised that you need his dick so bad. You’re so fucking greedy
for it.”
Oh, he did not just—
“Fuck you, Derek,” he says. “Yeah, fuck you. What does it matter, anyway? It’s
not like we’re dating. It’s not like you’re the only one who gets to fuck me.
Hate to break it to you, but you don’t get to be pissed at me.”
“Then why the fuck are you even here?” Derek asks through his teeth. 
“Maybe I felt bad for you, huh? Think of that? Maybe I wanted to come over and
fuck you because it’s not like you have friends. It’s not like people come over
to hang out with you. It’s not like you have anyone but your crazy-train
psycho-killer uncle. Maybe I just thought you needed a pity-fuck.”
Derek shuts down, all his anger gone. He’s wearing a pair of sweat pants and
that’s it, and he slips them off, steps over to Stiles. His eyes are down, not
really looking at anything, and it’s like he’s not even there. He stands in
front of Stiles like he’s waiting for instructions or a blow, like he’d take
anything Stiles gave to him. Like he’s just completely given up.
Fuck.
What the fuck did Stiles do?
How the hell did it turn into this? All he did was walk in the door, and now
they’re standing here. Derek, like he’s broken, and Stiles, like he’s the worst
person in the world. Because he just might be. 
Because Stiles knows how to lie without someone like Derek being able to tell.
He knows that if he edges away from absolutes, if he can phrase things as
hypotheticals, his body won’t think he’s trying to lie. The anxious spike to
his heartbeat won’t come. 
It wasn’t meant for this.
He’d tried it out so that, if asked, he could deny jerking off to Derek. Months
ago.
But Derek had hurt him, so he’d lashed out, and now Stiles is trying to figure
out how the confession spinning in his head had turned into this. How he’d said
almost the worst he could possibly say.
Derek stands in front of him like he’ll do anything Stiles wants because he’s
given up having a stake in himself, and it’s too much. Stiles touches his
shoulder, light, and Derek twitches but doesn’t move away. Like he isn’t giving
himself permission to. Like this is a punishment for something. 
Well, fuck that. Stiles isn’t going to be that for him. 
“I’m sorry,” he says, and Derek nods once like he absolutely doesn’t believe
him.
He probably wouldn’t believe anything Stiles could think of to say to him. So
maybe words aren’t the thing here. Maybe it’s actions. Maybe he can convince
Derek he’s sorry, that he loves him, by doing. 
Derek follows him to the bed like he’s on a leash. 
He sits when Stiles touches his shoulder, lays down when he gives a little
nudge. He’s totally soft, which is weird. It’s possible Stiles has never seen
him completely soft. He can’t remember if he’d been the other morning.
Derek’s eyes shut when Stiles gets onto the bed. All of his clothes are still
on and it feels weird, but he’s not going to think about it. It’s not about
sex. 
It feels weird to think it, but weird in a right sort of way. 
Because it’s not. It never was. It was about need, maybe, and part of that need
is sexual, sure. But that’s not all it is. Everyone Stiles knows is attractive,
but he’s not drawn to them the way he’s drawn to Derek. He doesn’t want to read
them like a book or crawl inside of them or find a way to make them live
forever. Not the same way. 
Stiles kisses him.
Soft.
Like the first kiss they probably should have had. A press of lips to lips,
breath to breath. With one hand, he combs through the hair at the side of
Derek’s head. Nudges against his mouth. 
When Derek opens, it’s obedient, and Stiles hates it. Because of why. Obedience
because of trust is one thing, but this is apathy. This is Derek not caring
what happens to him and going along with it anyway. 
“What do you want?” Stiles asks, begs.
Derek doesn’t answer. Like he doesn’t get that Stiles means him. Like he
doesn’t get why he’d be asked that.
“I’m not going to do it like this. I can’t, alright? I need you to tell me what
you want and I’ll do that, but I can’t just do this. I feel like I’m taking
advantage of you. Like I’m using you. You’re not a tool, Derek, you’re a
person. So tell me what you want.”
Derek opens his eyes, and in a move too quick to track, he flips them, settles
himself over Stiles. His knees press in tight against Stiles’ sides, hands on
either side of his head, and before Stiles can get a good look at his face, he
drops in and takes Stiles’ mouth in a bruising kiss.
Their teeth scrape together, painful and wrong, and Stiles just can’t. He can’t
do this. It’s ugly.
He yanks at Derek’s hair, gets him to pull back, and there’s blood in Derek’s
mouth. It’s not Stiles’, and that just makes him mad. 
“Stop this,” Stiles tells him. “I don’t want to watch you hurt yourself.” 
He searches Derek’s eyes, unable to read whatever’s there. They’re blank.
That’s the problem. 
“I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean it. I— Nothing happened with Scott, okay?
He’s like a brotherto me. It would be gross. I was just mad because you hurt
me, but I didn’t mean it. I’ve never pitied you. Not once.”
Derek’s head tips down and he presses his face to Stiles’ neck, just breathes.
His weight holds him in, but it’s good. It feels like he’s needed. 
“Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”
There’s no response at first, then, “I want to see what you’ll do with me if I
let you.”
Stiles goes very still.
What he’s asking for is proof. Proof that if he gives Stiles his trust, it
won’t break him. That Stiles won’t hurt him even if he has the opportunity. Has
permission. Which means that it’s an opportunity to do something good.
“Are you sure?” Stiles asks because he has to know. Has to be clear on this
point.
“Yes.”
That’s all he needs.
“Let me up,” Stiles tells him and Derek does. He sits on the edge of the bed
and he waits. Patiently. 
Stiles grabs both pillows, stacks them in the middle of the bed. Then decides
that he’s going to get warm, so he kicks off his jeans, throws his shirt over
his shoulder, and Derek’s just waiting. He doesn’t look up, even when Stiles
stands in front of him, not until Stiles tilts his chin up for a kiss. 
He keeps it slow, but wet and open, tasting a hint of metal. He tastes like
electricity, really, like something powerful and dangerous and beautiful. 
Derek’s response is even, exactly matching him.
No more, no less. His hands stay on his knees, but when Stiles guides him, he
allows himself to be moved. To bare his throat and spread his thighs to
accommodate Stiles’ body between them. To be leaned back until he’s flat
against the bed. 
His throat is sensitive, Stiles knows that, and he sucks and licks and rubs his
mouth raw. A light pinch of a nipple draws a breath from him, the swirl of his
tongue, another. When Stiles reaches down, he can feel that Derek’s growing
hard. It’s enough encouragement that he sinks to his knees. Without prompting,
Derek spreads a little more. 
His skin burns under Stiles’ hands. Beneath them, the muscles of Derek’s inner
thighs tense, jump at the press of his mouth. Just little kisses, edging in
towards his cock, but slow. Letting him wait for it, yearn for it. His skin
tastes a little like soap and lot like Derek, that particular hot-blood taste. 
By the time Stiles’s nose is nudging against his balls, Derek’s hands are
clenched tight on his knees and his dick is laying hard against his belly. 
At the first lick, air whistles out of his mouth. 
Stiles kisses the vein lancing up the underside of his cock, presses his lips
to it to feel a pulse. It’s fast, the way it thuds against his tongue. Very,
very lightly, Stiles runs his teeth up the length of Derek’s cock, satisfied at
the whine he makes.
“I should warn you,” Stiles tells him, “that I’m going to try to make you come
with only my mouth.” 
Derek doesn’t seem to react to that, but his eyes open when Stiles stands. 
“I’m going to need you up on the bed,” he says. 
It’s almost immediate, his movement, but Stiles has to guide him how he wants
him. On his knees, in front of the pillows. Stiles slips in behind him, kisses
his neck while he rubs a peaked nipple. Derek breathes through his mouth, deep,
calm breaths. Almost like meditation. 
There’s no resistance when Stiles bends him over so his ass is in the air, hips
supported by the pillows. 
When Stiles lays a palm on each of his flanks, he can feel Derek tremble.
“Is this okay with you? Can I do this?”
The yes he lets out is rough, like its been kicked around some, but Derek nods,
too. 
“Thank you,” Stiles tells him, sweeping his thumbs in soothing arcs. 
He starts at Derek’s back, kisses the notches of his spine, tongues the dimples
above his ass, presses his mouth against each cheek before he pulls Derek
open. 
His hole looks so unsuspecting, and Stiles wants to taste him. Wants it bad.
Wants to see what it’ll do to him. 
He doesn’t lick at first, just breathes over him. Hot and wet. A shiver runs
through Derek’s body. Stiles presses a kiss to the little pucker, feeling it
tremble beneath his lips. He pulls back, spreads Derek a little more, glances
up to see the sheen of sweat across his back.
When he first slicks his tongue against Derek’s hole, he jerks away with a
little noise. Stiles rubs a soothing hand over his side and tries again, laps
at him in little licks until Derek’s shaking. It’s fucking beautiful, feeling
him losing it, but Stiles pulls away because he has to see. Has to see him, wet
and pink and fucking begging for something more. 
Stiles drags his teeth over him, dick twitching in his briefs at Derek’s whine.
He tastes like soap, and that means he’s prepared for this, at least a little,
that he’d planned on Stiles getting familiar with his ass. Fuck, yeah, that’s
hot, alright. And he likes it. When Stiles licks him again, he presses so
gently, right at the center of him, and there’s just a little give. Just enough
that Stiles can wiggle just the tip of his tongue in, twist against his rim. 
Derek keens, and then his hand is right there, reaching back to hold himself
open. His fingers are digging into his flesh so hard there’s pale dimples
around each of his fingertips. Stiles touches his hand, rubs his thumb over the
back of it, and turns his attention back to his hole.
When he sucks at it, he hears a muffled, “Oh fuck please fuck don’t fucking
stop.” It’s like music, and like he’s conducting, Derek cuts off neatly the
second he manages to push his tongue all the way inside. The way he trembles,
so sweet and tight around Stiles’ tongue, he’s a second away from rutting
against the mattress. It’s secondary, though. What he needs more is for Derek
to fall apart so Stiles can show him that he wants to put him back together.
Stiles pulls back to spit on him so he can get inside easier. It’s slicker,
lets his tongue twist and curl and drag moans out of Derek. When he thrusts,
Derek makes this noise like a sob, so Stiles does it again and again and
again. 
Derek shakes, muscles coiling tighter, and he’s pressing against Stiles’ face
like he needs it, drawing away like he’s ashamed. It’s a little bit of an
effort, so Stiles draws out to lap and suck at Derek’s rim. Holds him open with
his thumbs to kiss dirtily inside. 
And when Derek begs, there aren’t any words to it, just this raspy whine. 
It’s a pretty noise, so Stiles slips his tongue all the way in, fucks him with
it, hard and fast and driving like he wants to fly over the edge. Derek rocks
back against him, chasing every inch of him, and the only warning Stiles gets
is this rough half-howl that sounds like it hurts. Then he’s clenching around
Stiles’ tongue and his spine caves. 
Stiles just licks him through it, drawing out slowly, in circles. It’s not
until he’s pressing a last kiss to that pink, twitching hole that he hears
Derek whimpering. Real soft, like he can’t help it but he’s trying to hide it. 
“Shhh,” Stiles says, kissing up his spine. That quiets him. 
Stiles’ mouth is a little numb, but it’s like he’s addicted to Derek’s skin. He
settles next to him, rubs his back in little circles. Just watches him with a
lazy smile because he did that. He made Derek come on his tongue. That’s
fucking awesome. 
All of his hours spent watching porn have paid off.
After a while, Derek turns his head, looks at him. “Aren’t you going to fuck
me?” Stiles’ eyes widen. 
“Uh, well, I hadn’t— I mean, I don’t not want to, but I’m kind of…good, I
guess? I hadn’t really thought past getting you off, to be honest.” Derek
frowns, and it’s thoughtful at first, and then it turns kind of pissed off,
actually.
“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t pretend that’s not what you’re here for. I
promised you, didn’t I? And that’s why you’re here.” Before Stiles can even
think of what to say to that, Derek’s over him, pushing down his underwear,
there’s a hand on his dick, and suddenly that’s not a hand. 
“What the—“ 
It gets cut off when Derek lifts up and slams down, too hard against his hips
and it’s all too hard, really. Derek’s so tight it almost hurts, and Stiles’
dick is definitely longer than his tongue. It’s completely overwhelming and
Derek’s bouncing on his lap, and fuck, yeah, that’s too rough. That’s not the
good kind of friction.
“Derek, what—“ 
The words die in his throat when he sees the way Derek’s biting his lip.
“Stop,” he says, maybe begging. “Derek, stop. Please, don’t.“ 
He scrabbles at Derek’s thigh, digs his nails in so that he takes notice. “This
is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Derek pants, and his voice sounds like it’s
scraping on the way out. 
Stiles shakes his head desperately. “No, it’s not, it’s really not.” When Derek
slows to a roll, grimacing, Stiles grabs at his hip, saying, “Please, Derek,
this isn’t fair. Don’t do this. I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t make me hurt
you.”
“It always hurts, Stiles. What the fuck did you think this was doing to me?”
What.
What the fuck is he talking about?
What has Stiles done?
By the time he’s able to think enough to ask, Derek’s not on top of him
anymore. He’s turning the corner into the bathroom and Stiles is up on his feet
chasing after him.
Only to be met with a closed door.
“Derek?” he calls, resting his forehead against the door. “We need to talk. I’m
not really sure— We need to talk about this.”
There’s no answer. 
Stiles touches the door, strokes the wood like that’ll soothe Derek on the
other side. 
“Please, Derek. I won’t touch you, just let me in.”
He’s…
He feels like an abuser. Like the worst sort of human being. And he’s not even
sure how. He would never, ever, in five gazillion years hurt Derek on purpose.
Well, he said that shit today, and the other day, they’d been kind of rough,
but…
Fuck, what did he do?
“I’m sorry. For everything. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I won’t do it again, but
I need you to tell me how.”
And Derek’s not gonna fucking let him in. Shit. This is all fucked. He’s just
totally fucked it all up.
On a whim, he tries the doorknob.
It’s unlocked. Of fucking course it’s unlocked.
Should he go in? Is that bad? If Derek left it unlocked, is it okay?
Fuck it, it’s not like he can fuck up more.
Derek’s sitting in the corner made by the wall and the side of the bathtub. His
knees are pulled to his chest. Somehow he’s drawn himself in so small.
And he’s just staring.Right ahead. Blankly.
Stiles approaches very, very slowly. A few feet away, he sinks down, scootches
until there’s some space between them but he’s leaning against the same wall,
legs out in front of him. 
Derek doesn’t move. 
So Stiles doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t say anything. He waits. Stares ahead.
And waits for Derek to break the silence when he’s ready.
When Stiles’ butt starts going numb, he figures the whole silent waiting thing
isn’t really working.
“I’m sorry,” he offers, looking at Derek out of the corner of his eye. 
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” 
Stiles almost jumps, he’s so startled. 
“But you said I hurt you. I didn’t mean to do that. I wouldn’t have, if I’d
known what I was doing. I know that doesn’t make it okay, but for what it’s
worth, I’m sorry.”
Derek shakes his head slowly. “You didn’t. Do. Anything. It was my fault. I
made a mistake. I should’ve told you in the first place that I can’t— I’m not
built for this. I don’t know how.”
“Derek,” Stiles says, trying to keep his voice even and gentle, “I don’t know
what that means.”
There’s a very quiet sigh beside him and Derek pulls his legs in closer to his
chest. His jaw works, clenching and unclenching. Stiles can feel him winding
tighter and tighter. It’s terrifying because he has no idea what’s going on. 
“Why the fuckare you even here?” Derek snaps, making Stiles jump. “I’ve tried
so hard. I don’t go to your house so you can feel safe there. I don’t touch you
in front of other people. I’ve given you plenty of reasons. I just don’t
understand. No one’s made you come here, but you’re here and I don’t understand
why.” 
Stiles inhales sharply. “You don’t want me coming over. Okay. Sorry. I can do
that, I can go—“ He starts getting up, but Derek’s hand flashes out and grabs
his shoulder.
“I don’t want you to go. I want you here.” Derek pulls away, scrubs his face
with his hands. “That’s the problem.”
“What?”
Stiles goes cold and hot all over, and he’s shaking, he knows he shaking, and
he’s not sure what’s really going on. If Derek’s saying what he thinks he’s
saying, and he can’t, he just can’t—
“I told you it was my fault,” Derek says. “But I can’t do it. Every time you’re
here, I feel like I’m being torn apart, but I can’t stop. I tried to make it
easy for you to leave, but I’m terrified that you will. And I need you to go.
Because you’re not safe with me, Stiles. As long as I love you, you’ll never be
safe with me.”
Stiles digests that. It takes a moment. Because he’s catching on the I love
you, but the general tone is…well, it’s not good. And he’s confused about
pretty much everything and it feels like he’s caught up in contradictions.
“I came here to tell you that I have feelings for you,” he says, mouth forming
words strangely. “I…Scott knows. My dad, well, he knows something. He saw the
marks on my back and he knew there was someone, so I told him it was Scott.
I…he didn’t believe me and he doesn’t trust me, and now Scott knows. He told me
to tell you how I felt, so here I am. A little late on it, but there it is.”
Derek looks at him, frowning. “But you were the one who said it wasn’t like
that. You said it was a non-issue. I’ve been…it’s been driving me crazy. I
can’t not do feelings but I couldn’t not do you, either. I just don’t get what
you’ve been doing.”
“I think I was so convinced that you could never even like me that I made it
into a competition,” Stiles says slowly, feeling how stupid the words fall off
his tongue. “I thought that if I could keep myself from having feelings, I
could win. But I don’t think it really works like that, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Derek says heavily. Then, “What do you want?”
Stiles huffs, thinking about it. “You?” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Whatever
you’ll give me.”
“No,” Derek says, shaking his head. “I didn’t ask you what you’ll take. I asked
what you wanted.”
“A lot of things,” Stiles says, frowning. “I want my mom to be alive. I want to
fall asleep next to you more often. I want my dad to like you. I want everyone
to hate us because we make them sickwe’re that great of a couple. I want to
never see you bleeding or broken or just empty. I want to play ‘Your Body is a
Wonderland’ for you. I want to kiss you for no reason. I want to kiss you for
reasons. And I want to make you smile. All the time. I want your face to hurt
you do it so much.”
Derek looks at him like it’s too much to take in, which makes sense because it
was maybe too much to put out there. There’s an acceptable limit for honesty,
but Stiles doesn’t have enough practice to know what that is. 
“What do you want?”
“I just want you to love me. And I know there are things we both want that
can’t happen, but that’s all.” He stretches his legs out in front of him,
wincing a little and bending them to get the blood flowing. “I know I can’t
expect it from you. That’s okay. I just want to know what it’s like. But if you
can’t, it’s alright.”
Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “Can I ask you something? And you’ll give
me a true answer?” 
Derek nods.
“If I said that I couldn’t love you, would you have sex with me again?”
For a moment, Derek’s very still, and then he ducks his head. “Yes. I would.
Until you stopped.”
They’re not okay. 
They’re just not. And Stiles can’t make it all better, at least not
immediately. 
He reaches out towards Derek’s hand, then looks at him. “Can I?”
It’s okay, so he takes Derek’s hand in his own, really holds it.
“I’m pretty sure I love you, but I’m going to ask you not to believe me. For
now, at least. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything for that. But
I do need you to promise me one thing. Just one. And then I want to try doing
this whole thing the right way, if you don’t mind.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Stiles squeezes his hand. “I need you to promise me you’ll never use me to hurt
yourself again.Well, to never hurt yourself again in general. But it’s…Derek,
tonight? That was not okay. I don’t want either of us in that situation again.”
“I’m sorry,” Derek says, turning Stiles hand over. 
“It’s…well, no, it’s not really okay, and it was scary and I’m still worried
about you. But I hate seeing you hurt. Just because you can heal doesn’t mean
it’s nothing, okay? You’re just as breakable as I am. You just don’t take as
long to fix.”
“Okay,” Derek says, nodding. “Alright. If…alright.” 
They sit there for a moment and Stiles rubs his thumb over the back of Derek’s
hand. Derek moves his leg over a little so their feet touch. 
“Can we go to bed?” Derek asks. “My ass is numb.”
Stiles grins. “Yeah. Thank God. I don’t think I can feel anything in the lower
half of my body.”
When they get up, they both have pins and needles and the first steps are
embarrassing. They look like old men. It’s silly, and Stiles laughs at it for
no reason, really. 
In the other room, Stiles looks at the bed and sighs. “There’s jizz all over
your pillow, dude.”
“Yeah. Yeah, there is.”
They stand there, staring at it, until Derek moves, pulls the pillowcase off
and throws it in the corner.
“Can we just sleep?” Stiles asks. “I mean, not to assume you’d want to do any
not-sleeping, but I’m kind of wiped.”
“Me too.” He arranges the pillows neatly at the head of the bed. “For the
record, the…” he jerks his head at the pillowcase “that was nice. Maybe some
other time I could do that for you.”
Stiles smiles as he gets into bed. “Oh, dude, yeah. I mean, however you
wanna…I’m game is what I mean.” Derek pulls him down next to him, draws him in
close with a hand around his back and a small smile curving his mouth. With a
little sigh, Stiles wiggles in closer, almost until their chests touch. 
“I don’t know what to do with you. You’re too much for me,” Derek says, and his
breath is warm against Stiles’ face. 
“It’s okay,” Stiles tells him, eyes falling closed. “You’re too much for me
too.”
 
===============================================================================
 
 
When Stiles wakes up, Derek’s sitting at the table with a box of donuts and two
cups of coffee. He’s dressed, but barefoot. 
Stiles walks over to his pants, digs out his phone, and joins him. The stool is
cold through the cotton of his underwear, but the coffee’s just the right
temperature. 
“I have, let’s see, seven missed calls from my dad. Two from Scott. Which means
my dad probably also called him. And maybe put out an APB.”
Derek’s eyebrows shoot up and he swallows. “Should I be worried?”
“No. I mean, I shouldn’t have stayed here last night, but I don’t regret it.
Can’t win everything. And we’ve been having trouble. Basically since the start
of everything. I’ve had to lie to him a lot, to keep him safe, but he doesn’t
know that. He still thinks he’s the one who has to protect me.”
“What are you going to do?” Derek asks, taking a sip of coffee.
“Talk to him. He threatened me with a polygraph. I’m tempted to do it just so
we can be okay again. I don’t really know what to do, to be honest.”
“Well,” Derek says, “if you need me to, I could maybe talk to him. He can’t
actually kill me.”
“I’ll have to see. But I should go. I…” he presses a kiss to Derek’s cheek,
maybe flushing a little, and gulps down half of his coffee before pulling on
his clothes. He’s out the door in a minute, stomach churning, but it’s
necessary. It’s going to have to happen.
It’s a Sunday. 
His dad is off this morning. Which means he should be at home. It’s not late or
anything. He’ll be home. And Stiles will be able to talk to him. 
 
===============================================================================
 
 
His dad is sitting on the couch when he walks in. Like it’s three AM instead of
nine. 
“So, I found this Danny fellow,” his dad says. “Through his arrest record.
Scott confirmed it was him. And Danny confirmed that you were nowhere near his
house last night or any other night. And here we are. You’ve lied to me, what,
three times now about your mystery boyfriend? So I need you to answer me
something, and I need you to look me in the eyes when you do it.” Stiles steps
forward, hands shaking, and looks him in the eyes. “Tell me: are you selling
your body?”
Stiles chokes, shakes his head. “God, Dad, no. It’s not like that, I swear. I
can explain—“
His dad holds up a hand to cut him off. “That’s the first true thing you’ve
told me in months. So this is how we’re going to do it: I’m going to ask you
questions and you’re going to give me a yes or no. And if you lie to me, I
swear to God, I will arrest you. Do you hear me?” Stiles nods.
“Are you with him against your will?”
“No.”
“Are you with him because he’s threatening you or someone else?”
“No.”
“Has he ever hurt you?”
Stiles bites his lip. “Not on purpose. And not the way you’re thinking.”
“Yes or no, Stiles: Has he ever hurt you?”
“Yes.”
The lines on his dad’s face deepen. “Is he the reason I run into you at crime
scenes?”
“No.” That’s technically true, thank God.
“Does he know why I run into you at crime scenes?”
“Yes.”
“Do I know him?”
“Yes.”
“Have I ever arrested him?”
Stiles winces. “Yes. But he was never charged with anything.”
“Are you ever going to tell me why you’re involved with whatever the hell it is
you’re involved with? Or are you waiting for me to walk into something you
can’t explain?”
“Both. Maybe. I don’t know.”
His dad sighs, rubs his face.
“Look, Dad, I came here to tell you. I want to tell you. But it’s really
complicated. And I don’t know how to tell you in a way that you’ll believe. But
I’ll tell you who he is, if it helps.”
“Honestly? I don’t even know if I want to know.” He shakes his head. “No,
strike that, I do. I just don’t want another lie. And I’m worried about what
I’m going to do to him.”
“He’s never hurt me on purpose,” Stiles says. “He’s a good person. He’s just
had a lot of bad stuff happen to him. And I don’t know him all the way, not
yet, but I know what kind of guy he is. I know that he’s done a lot to protect
me. I feel safe with him.” 
His dad looks at him, looks away. Looks back. 
“I am going to make you this offer just the once, hear me?” he asks, and Stiles
nods. “You can introduce us today. Lunch. At wherever he lives. And you’ll tell
me everything that’s going on. You will tell me the truth. And if you do all of
that, there will be no consequences. So long as you never lie to me again.”
Stiles nods. “When? Eleven? Noon?” he asks, pulling out his phone.
“Noon is a good time for lunch. On the dot.” His dad sighs so heavy it hurts.
“Stay here until we leave. I’ll check on you. Regularly. You won’t like it if
you run.”
Swallowing thickly, Stiles nods again and heads upstairs. 
It’s not a brave thing, he doesn’t think, but he cries then. Gives himself
three minutes to sob very quietly into his pillow. And then he decides that
he’s going to be strong.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
His dad doesn’t like the look of the building Derek’s loft is in. 
Probably because only about a third of it is occupied. 
It’s not classy, and Stiles made that point over the summer. About the hole in
the wall and the fact that he’s six floors above the nearest person. True, it
makes it a better secret lair place, but he’s pretty sure that one of these
days, some undercover cop’s going to think they’re running drugs out of the
place.
He doesn’t tell his dad any of this, just gets into the elevator, hits the
button for the top floor. The elevator lurches and hums and it’s the longest
this ride has ever felt. And Stiles has had some long rides in this elevator.
When he knocks, he doesn’t think about the fact that he’s been pressed against
this door. (Much.)
“Just a minute!” Derek calls, and Stiles tries not to freak out. His dad is
probably judging really hard but maybe he doesn’t recognize Derek’s voice.
That’ll give Stiles another few seconds of mercy, at least. 
When Derek answers, his dad stiffens, hand unconsciously going to his belt,
where his gun would be.
All in all, it’s not fair to Derek.
Because Derek looks nice. Weirdly nice. Like, he’s wearing a collared shirt.
With a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder. And it looks like he’s taken a
trimmer to his face. It’s still stubbly, but a little less mountain man. 
“Hale,” his dad says, and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s an accusation or
acknowledgment.
Derek lets them in and Stiles tries not to show his surprise. 
Because there are throw pillows. 
And cloth napkins on the table.
And magazines. 
And a stovetop. 
What the hell.
Stiles’ mouth is open, and when he catches Derek’s eye, he mouths Peter. 
It’s fucking weird is what it is.
Derek serves them pasta and Stiles tries not to brain himself on the table
because what the fuck. All of the silverware matches. The plates aren't the
chipped ones from Goodwill. 
It looks like Derek’s actually a functioning human being.
His dad isn’t impressed, but he should be. If he’d known…well, it’s for the
best that he didn’t.  Because he looks almost not-murderous when they all sit
down together.
“So, Derek, how do you feel about statutory rape?” his dad asks, and Stiles
chokes on his tortellini.
“Are you going to arrest me?”
Stiles’ dad shrugs. “Probably not until after lunch, at the very least.”
“Hopefully, by that time, you won’t find a reason to.”
“Doubtful. Very doubtful. Unless, somehow, my son ages a year and a half during
the course of our conversation. And he stops being my son.”
Derek nods, then looks at Stiles. “I know it’s not my place to tell you to do
this, but I think you should tell him. I’ll help you.” His foot nudges Stiles’
ankle affectionately. 
“I…” Stiles can’t look at his dad and he’s afraid and he doesn’t want to do
this. “If he knows, he can’t ever unknow. He’ll be at risk. I don’t want that
for him.”
“This is the first time this year that we haven’t had a threat hanging over us.
If there’s a time, it’s now. He has time to prepare now. You can ask Chris for
help.” He reaches over the table, where Stiles’ dad can see, and squeezes his
hand. “You won’t have to protect him anymore. You won’t have to worry anymore.”
Stiles shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, then looks at his dad. At the
wrinkles that’ve gotten worse over the past year, at the permanent frown, at
the question in his eyes. 
“Dad,” he asks, holding tight to Derek’s hand, “what do you know about
werewolves?”
===============================================================================
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Chapter End Notes
     CONSENT ISSUES HERE ALRIGHT
     one character is consenting through action but obviously not mentally
     -- this character is kissed before they give verbal consent and
     mentally consent
     one character initiates in a sexual act that is physically painful
     for them, not achieving consent of the other party (who is not
     harmed, but is emotionally distressed) and at first ignores their
     objections
     unhealthy levels of dependency
     mentions of suicide in a stupid teenage boy way
     ableist language
End Notes
     Consent issues in this chapter:
     non-verbalized consent (at first)
     underage character
  Works inspired by this one
      (podfic_of)_The_Worst_Thing_I_Ever_Did by factorielle, neverbalance
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