Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/869146.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Romance, Frottage, This_is_really_stupid_oh_my_god, it's_also_really_old,
      Please_Forgive_me, written_before_season_2_even, omg_how, Alive_Erica
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-04 Words: 2896
****** Track and Trace ******
by majalikesstuff
Summary
     Stiles has like, a modicum of self-esteem left in the face of
     everyone he knows turning into godlike creatures of the moon but he’s
     aware that he’s not anywhere near on Derek Hale’s level, like,
     attractiveness speaking. What even is Derek made of, seriously, it’s
     not cool that someone can have that whole cheekbones and jawline and
     sexy dark eyes combo happening all at once on top of the bangin’ body
     and the whole awesome supernatural creature thing. How even is anyone
     supposed to compare, just, seriously.
Notes
     I don't even know if this is really explicit but the word cock is
     used a lot a lot a lot so LOOK I'M JUST A SAFETY GIRL IS ALL I'M
     SAYING. But otherwise it’s just a bit of kissing and swearing and
     maybe some over the panties action because dude it’s Stiles and you
     think Derek can resist that? No, of course not.
     Warning: I haven’t ever written fic for Teen Wolf even though I’ve
     been reading it for like a year? and um yeah. So, fair warning. Oh
     also I totally wrote this in one sitting and beta hhhaaa what even is
     that. Also because I’m writing from Stiles’ perspective (yeah that's
     my excuse), be super prepared for run-on sentences. They are de
     riguer here, baby.
     I'm actually so ashamed ugh this is so old please ignore me.
     ETA: Sorry about those doubled up bits, it should all be fixed now.
     Not sure how that happened. :/
Stiles stumbles to a stop, panting as he looks around the clearing. The far-off
sound of howling has his breath hitching, and he wipes the back of his hand
across his brow. He can hardly hear anything now, his harsh breaths obscuring
the quiet sounds of the forest: the susurrus of water close by, bird calls in
the trees above him, the rustle of leaves in the cool wind.
He isn’t sure where he is, and this whole idea was stupid; how on earth is he
supposed to outrun a werewolf? He knows where he stands in the pack, knows that
he’s just the token human, and okay so maybe he was the one who had thought of
this originally, wanting to get involved in training, excited to do something
to help that wasn’t just his usual google-fu. But, fuck, he’s only been out
here for half an hour and already he feels tight-wound and actually, okay, kind
of worried at the idea of what will happen if he’s found by one of the younger
wolves. Like, Jesus, Erica will probably just chew him up in her enthusiasm and
then he’ll be dead, or at least covered in werewolf spit, which, ew, okay, why
is it that werewolves are so up on the licking thing? Just, no.
He sits down on a mossy rock, because you know what, whatever, he isn't a
masochist like some people - or okay, you know, fine, it's just based on pure
laziness, but running isn't really his bag, at least he's honest with himself.
He props his chin in the palm of his hand, both elbows resting on his knees.
Although, he thinks, continuing his train of thought, Derek has never been very
touchy feely, not like the other guys. Not with him, anyway, he thinks,
disgruntled, and then wonders why it annoys him. Like, actually, Derek not
wanting to get all up in his business is a totally good thing, okay - his dad
had started asking awkward questions about all the weird bruising when Derek
was staying with them through the whole fugitive whateverness - which, okay,
yeah he totally feels bad about, still, even though it was like, months ago,
and totally Scott’s fault anyway - and no, you know what, okay, there is no
non-awkward way to have a discussion with your father about "being careful" and
boyfriends, which, actually, okay, what the hell, why would his dad even say
that? Stiles has had a perfectly serviceable and frankly humiliating crush on
Lydia Martin since he was like, eight. His dad has teased him enough about it.
So, okay, maybe his dad had also made some comments on the way Stiles looked at
Danny whenever he came over to study which made Stiles stare at his father with
the betrayed eyes of a puppy whose favourite toy has given its last heroic
squeak and died. And by ‘toy’ he means ‘innocence’.
Which, okay, full disclosure, Danny is awesome and maybe Stiles has had a few
daydreams about him telling Stiles that he’s actually totally attractive to gay
guys and then doing that thing with his tongue that he overheard Anthony
Anderson telling a group of friends about with a kind of cross-eyed look. He’s
not sure if it was in relation to kissing or something else but he’s a curious
boy, okay, it would be interesting to find out and also maybe the idea of what
it would entail has made some of his showers longer than usual but whatever.
Point is - he struggles for a second, and then gives up, knocking his head
gently against his knees. Nope, even if he was attracted to dudes, which okay,
fine, is sort of a possibility at this point, what, he’s an equal opportunist,
but even if he was, he wouldn’t ever be attracted to Derek. Dude is like,
fucking terrifying, and he never says anything because he’s grumpy like all the
time and Jesus how boring would it be to get that sack of sour wolf into bed,
he’d just be all…intense and frowny and probably growl at Stiles if he tried to
talk which, hello, not cool, Stiles is a delight and everything he says is
hilarious, whatever.
So, okay, maybe it would be kind of hot having all that intensity just like
focused on him, and yeah okay so whenever Derek used to push him up against
walls - hello, anger management issues, seriously, dude is like, damaged -
Stiles would maybe kind of be sort of excited like, in that way because hello,
he’s seventeen, all his dick needs is for the breeze to drift by in a
particular way and it’s all like, ‘hi, hello, yeah, feeling like I should get
involved here, yup, this totally seems like an appropriate time to make Stiles’
life even more humiliating than usual, yeah, totally.’
But it’s not like even if he was attracted to Derek that anything would ever
happen. Like, dude has issues out the fucking back door, and Stiles is so not
equipped to deal with that. He’s a virgin in like, every way possible, and
there are, okay, so many people who he wants to be able to look after but dude,
he’s not even Robin, he for sure can’t be anyone’s Dark Knight. Like, no-one
even expects it because he’s just Stiles, and he tries with his dad and with
Scott but they’re - well he can’t do anything for them even though he tries, so
what possible hope could he have to do anything to make a guy like Derek Hale’s
life any easier? Because, actually, let’s be real here, he would most likely
just make everything more difficult in the sense that, hello, jailbait, also,
son of sheriff, also, annoys the shit out of, also, not even good at sex
probably, so.
Stiles has like, a modicum of self-esteem left in the face of everyone he knows
turning into godlike creatures of the moon but he’s aware that he’s not
anywhere near on Derek Hale’s level, like, attractiveness speaking. What even
is Derek made of, seriously, it’s not cool that someone can have that whole
cheekbones and jawline and sexy dark eyes combo happening all at once on top of
the bangin’ body and the whole awesome supernatural creature thing. How even is
anyone supposed to compare, just, seriously.
He’s started picking at the grass near his feet in despair - it’s totally not a
sexuality crisis if you’ve never even had sex okay, that’s just logic - when he
hears a snort of disbelief from behind him. Frankly, he’s not sure what took
them so long, he’s been sitting here wallowing for like, ten minutes, aren’t
they supposed to be super fast, what the hell, this was so pointless, they’re
going to die in like a week.
"Weren’t you supposed to be running," Derek says from behind him, and Stiles
winces because that wasn’t even a question, that sentence was as flat as a very
fucking flat thing.
He twists around, dropping his handful of grass all over his shoes. He pastes
an innocent look on his face as he meets Derek’s eyes, and yeah, dude is
pissed. But honestly, what's new. If Derek ever smiles at him, Stiles would
genuinely have a heart attack from shock.
"I’m not all superhuman-y like you, big guy," Stiles says. “I got tired, okay,
you’re talking to second string here, athleticism? Nada, nikt, niente; you’re
aware of this. My skills are internet browsing and pithy commentary on life
with bonus pop culture references. That’s what you keep me around for, dude,
don’t even lie, I make your day joyous."
Derek rolls his eyes. It’s strangely intriguing, with the whole cheekbone thing
and the teensy little pout that Stiles is so totally not going to comment on
because, hey, he likes his limbs attached.
"Stop pouting," he says, because he’s also lacking in a brain to mouth filter,
what, it’s part of his charm. “Come sit down, I haven’t even seen your puppies,
they probably got distracted by a rabbit. Or well, Scott probably did. Isaac is
probably wallowing or he’s decided to go back to casa de creepy - that’s your
place, if you didn’t pick up - and make cookies. I hope he makes cookies, dude
should be a baker, seriously, important skills in life man, he has them. Erica
probably got distracted by making everyone’s life more interesting and by
interesting I mean crushing all their hopes and dreams and putting her boobs in
Boyd’s face - you’ve noticed that, right, I’m not ruining something by telling
you, am I - and I reckon Jackson is, well Jackson, so he’s probably looking at
himself in a reflective surface and he’s going to die of starvation and turn
into a pretty little flower."
Derek’s mouth totally twitches, Stiles sees it, Jesus fuck, he totally made him
do the Derek-equivalent of a normal-person laugh.
"You totally just laughed, oh my god," he exclaims loudly, and when Derek just
sits down next to him without saying anything he crows loudly. “Ha, I totally
made you laugh, your robotic face has been defeated, I knew you had emotions, I
am amazing."
Derek just looks at him, but if Stiles isn’t going completely crazy he thinks
there might be something like fondness in his gaze. He smiles back at him, and
then when they’ve maintained eye contact for a suitably awkward amount of time,
Stiles looks down at his feet, blushing a bit, which okay, of course Derek can
see that, and then he’s blushing more oh god someone kill him it’s so so very
obvious that he wants to suck Derek’s cock isn’t it, oh god, Derek is going to
slaughter him.
He’s kind of still in the middle of a minor, silent panic attack when he feels
Derek’s hand settle warm and heavy on his thigh, which, okay, totally different
panic attack imminent in three, two, one…
"Stop freaking out," Derek rumbles, and yes, he’s totally smiling at Stiles,
what the hell, he’s going to be killed and left in the woods and his mutilated
body will be found by a jogger and his dad will never, ever recover.
"Seriously," Derek adds, and his hand sweeps up Stiles’ thigh which, yup, he
totally just squeaked, like a chipmunk, that’s not embarrassing at all, nope.
The hand stays there, near the crease of Stiles’ groin, reassuring and totally
arousing. Stiles settles a bit, despite every fight or flight response in his
weak, prey-like body. He's still strung tight at this very, very weird change
in events, though, and Derek leans against him with a hum of approval from
where he’s sitting on the ground, his eyes sliding closed. Stiles tries to
remember that breathing is a necessary action for survival.
"Um, are we," he begins, not really sure how he’s going to finish that
sentence, but hello, he has a werewolf practically in his lap, a certain amount
of confusion is forgivable, surely.
"Sh," says Derek softly, and starts petting Stiles’ leg. The strangled noise
that comes out of Stiles’ mouth is totally understandable especially because
god, god, Derek’s fingers have kind of moved up a little and uh-huh, yeah,
that's another person's hand brushing softly across the seam on his crotch and
ohhhh that’s not cool.
He’s totally getting hard, his cock pressing up against the stiff fabric of his
jeans as Derek’s fingers get like, seriously involved with his body, definitely
not just a friendly bro-thigh-massage (those exist, right?) anymore, yeah no,
not when that big warm hand is ohmygod kneading at the ridge of his dick, and
okay, he’s totally pressing up into it now, trying not to let the soft whimpers
that are gathering in the back of his throat out of his mouth.
He looks down at Derek and oh, he’s staring up at him hungrily, his eyes dark
and his mouth tight as he presses his fingers down hard against Stiles’ cock,
pushing out a whine. Stiles pushes his dick further into Derek’s big hand, his
eyes dropping to Derek’s crotch where, yeah, god, there’s a frankly frightening
looking erection straining against the fabric. Stiles had kind of assumed that
Derek would have to have a big dick - karma says that the way he looks is
payback for all the bad shit that has happened to him, obviously he’s a fucking
god - but that looks thick and long, bigger than any he’s seen in the boys’
locker room, definitely, not that he looks or anything, obviously, apart from
sometimes.
He has a horrifyingly arousing mental image of taking that thick cock out of
Derek’s trousers and sucking it down his throat and then Derek is growling -
god, yup, it’s so much hotter in real life - and pulling him down until Stiles
is lying on the ground beneath him. Derek looks down at him, his arms
bracketing Stiles’s head, his eyes flickering between Stiles’ mouth and his
eyes. Stiles pushes himself up a bit on his elbows and, without thinking it
through too much, presses his mouth softly to Derek’s.
Derek lets out a soft sound against Stiles’ tongue. Stiles can hear himself
making noises as he grinds their hips together but he is so far beyond caring
right now. Until there's the sound of crashing in the bushes and then -
"Found y- oh god oh god oh god no oh god my eyes, ew, what the fuck," and yes,
that’s definitely Scott, Stiles thinks, closing his eyes in mortification, his
hands curled tight into Derek’s shirt.
"Go home now," Derek growls, and he isn’t looking at Scott, still pressing
little sucking kisses to Stiles’ neck. Scott whimpers, and Stiles is definitely
never going to live this down. He’s going to be getting play-by-plays of Scott
and Allison’s sex life until he dies.
“And if you see the others," Derek continues, “tell them that we’re done and
I’ll talk to them later. You all did a terrible job."
Scott makes a sound as if, despite all evidence to the contrary, and the fact
that this is so not the time, he’s going to try to deny that, but Derek makes a
warning sound that, unfortunately, is made into Stiles’ neck. The only response
to that is a full body shiver and a kittenish whine. Stiles dies on the inside.
Derek looks very satisfied. Scott makes retching noises, but starts to leave,
thank Jesus.
Derek makes as if to go straight back to work on Stiles, but Stiles stops him
with a hand to his mouth. “Just, just one thing," he says, and okay, he didn’t
realise his voice could go that high. He clears his throat, while Derek just
looks smug. “Just, um, okay, like this is very nice and all, don’t get me
wrong, but it kind of came out of nowhere? Like literally, bam, suddenly you’re
rubbing me off in the woods, I mean, like I said, no complaints, it’s all been
quite enjoyable, but um, just. Why?"
Derek gives him a disbelieving look.
"Like, I get it," he says, when the silence has gone on a bit long. “Obviously
I’m totally catnip to werewolves. Werenip? Whatever, I’m irresistible, is my
point, but just. I guess, why now, particularly? Have you only just now decided
that you wanted all this?" He gestures expansively at his body, throwing in a
leer for good measure. Derek rolls his eyes.
"I’ve wanted you for a long time," Derek says eventually, which, okay, cool,
that’s sort of unexpected because, well, the hatred and everything. But then he
stops talking which, not so cool, explanations are necessary.
"Stop being so uncooperative," Stiles sighs. “What bought on the sudden totally
non-bro-appropriate - non-bro-ppropriate? whatever, this yes homo behaviour?"
Derek looks at him, his thumb swiping across Stiles’ bottom lip casually.
Possessively. Stiles tries not to sigh into it, or worse, take it into his
mouth and show Derek just how talented his mouth can be. Not that he’s totally
aware if he is talented. He probably isn't.
"What was I training everyone in today?" Derek asks finally, and Stiles frowns
at him.
"How is this related to anything?" he asks, annoyed, and Derek smiles a little
at him, raising an eyebrow. Stiles sighs.
“Tracking, I guess."
Derek’s thumb stops, pressing against Stiles’ bottom lip until his mouth opens
a little and he’s breathing across his skin, hot and wet. “And what senses
would I be training in tracking? Keeping in mind I gave the others scraps of
your shirt before we started."
"You what," Stiles starts, indignant. "It better not have been my studmuff-
uhhhh."
Derek has taken the opportunity to grind Stiles' hips into the dirt and Stiles
might have kind of lost the ability to sentence. Derek quirks an eyebrow at him
again.
"Um," says Stiles, and Derek’s thumb slips into his mouth a bit. He tries to
remember the question. It takes a bit. “I - I guess, scenting?"
"Exactly," says Derek, “and I was doing that too, okay? Scenting you."
"Oh," says Stiles, remembering what he was thinking about before Derek had
arrived. “So you -"
"I’ve wanted you for a long time," Derek repeats softly, leaning in and kissing
Stiles gently. Stiles opens his mouth to him eagerly. “But this is the first
time I’ve been sure that you wanted it as well."
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