Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/971046.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Agent_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Agent_McCall, Derek_Hale, Scott_McCall, Melissa_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Badwrong, Daddy_Kink, Rough_Sex, Rimming, Locker_Room, Jock_Straps,
      Unsafe_Sex, Comeplay, Scent_Marking, Cuddling_&_Snuggling, Implied/
      Referenced_Abuse, Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-con, Pre-Slash, Awkward
      Boners, Somnophilia, Dubious_Consent, Dom/sub
  Series:
      Part 5 of Starts_with_"F",_Ends_with_"U"
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-18 Words: 7994
****** We fuck till we come to conclusions ******
by RemainNameless
Summary
     Sequel to "You hollow out my hungry eyes"
     Now that Stiles has a plan, it's supposed to be different. He's
     supposed to feel like he's the one calling the shots, but Rafa gets
     rid of that notion. The only safe place he really has is Derek.
Notes
     HOLLA. IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE OTHER PARTS, IT WILL HELP IF YOU DO. A
     LOT. VERY MUCH.
     Anyway, for the rest of you, this chapter's got some ambiguous
     somnophilia (it's not super intense and it's ambiguous as to whether
     or not the sleeping party is actually asleep), self-victim-blamey
     stuff, references to possible child molestation, and implied/
     references to domestic violence. ALSO the consent is v dubious if you
     ignore the fact that one person is action so like heads up. Just so
     you know, yo.
See the end of the work for more notes
Finstock says cross country is a good off-season sport to keep in shape for
lacrosse, but Stiles is pretty sure it’s a punishment. For something horrible
that he did in a past life. Or maybe a year ago.
He never misses a practice.
But it’s six-thirty in the morning and he’s with a bunch of other mostly-
sleeping teenagers trying to stretch. Trying to pretend that corpse pose counts
as a stretch, if only to catch an extra minute or two of shut-eye. There’s dew
all over the field, and by the time they’ve worked up the energy for standing
stretches, everyone’s got dew soaked into their pants and jerseys. Soon, it’ll
be sweat and it’ll feel good in the cool morning air, but right now, it’s
miserable. 
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Scott hisses, and Stiles snaps up because
that’s out of character. He follows Scott’s line of sight around his knee to
Rafa, where he’s talking to Finstock. 
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Stiles asks.
Scott shakes his head, mouth curled. “Nothing good,” he says. “He came over and
bothered my mom last night, not long after you picked up your car. Tried to get
her to go to dinner, then tried to get her to let him come in. We both made it
pretty clear we don’t want to talk to him.” His eyes narrow. “He’s not here for
me, though.” 
Stiles goes cold. “Isaac?” he asks, and Scott shakes his head.
“He wants to question you. Finstock doesn’t want to let you out of a run,
though.” They both watch them talking, hands on each other’s shoulders for a
quad stretch. “Shit, Finstock caved. You can handle him, though. Just don’t let
him get to you about your dad.”
Finstock turns to them, blows his whistle sharply. “STILINSKI! Get over here!”
he yells. 
Stiles rolls his eyes at Scott and jogs over, thankful that Rafa doesn’t look
him over, doesn’t do anything suspicious.
“Agent McCall here says he needs to ask you some questions,” Finstock says.
“Sounds like it’s going to take a while, so I’m going to excuse you from
running this morning and maybe you’ll take that as an incentive to not get
arrested so you can one day make it to first line. Got it?”
“Got it, Coach,” Stiles says, giving him a little salute. 
“Good. Now get going. I’ve got teenagers to run into the ground,” Finstock
tells him, waving a hand to dismiss him. He heads over to where everyone’s
stretching, blows his whistle at them to get them up, start the run. Scott
raises a hand to Stiles before he starts off. 
“Let’s get this over with,” Stiles says, turning to Rafa. “Are you taking me
down to the station?”
“Where your dad can hold your hand? Not likely. Your coach,” he says, like it’s
something gross to him, “kindly offered his office. Let’s go.” He watches the
boys run off into the woods for a moment before heading towards the school, the
locker rooms and athletic offices.
Stiles follows behind, about ten feet behind, enough that Rafa won’t try to
make conversation. Or say something dirty. Because he’s sure that Scott would
be able to hear and that’s not acceptable. Rafa’s walking fast, though, and
it’s good to put some distance between them and Scott, at the very least.
Rafa opens the door, looks back over his shoulder fo Stiles but doesn’t hold it
open for him. His face looks sharp, and Stiles wonders if this is for business.
It very well might be. Really, he hopes so. 
They head down the hall a little fast, Rafa looking through the windows in the
doors. 
And that one would be Finstock’s office.
“Hey, that’s—” 
“I know,” Rafa tells him, heading past the janitorial closet to the locker
room. He holds the door open this time and gives Stiles a look. “Get in.”
Stiles hesitates for a moment, if only so that the group of boys can run a
little further out of range. By this point, considering the route they’re
taking through the woods and the heavy door to the building, they’re probably
safe. 
The door shuts behind them, another sound barrier, at the very least, and
Rafa’s pressed against his back. His hands slip under Stiles’ jersey, over his
stomach and hips. 
“This isn’t cool, you know,” Stiles tells him. “You can’t booty call me when
I’m at school.”
“They’re gone,” Rafa says against the top of his head. “Don’t worry so much.”
He pulls Stiles’ shirt up, tugs it over his head. As he does it, he rolls his
hips against the top of Stiles’ ass, and Stiles can feel that he’s getting
hard, can feel his dick thickening up against him. Jesus, he’s almost as horny
as Stiles is 24/7, which is really saying something.
Stiles’ shirt falls to the floor with a soft sound.
“Decided to give up pretending you don’t want this?” Rafa asks. 
“Just tired,” Stiles snaps, but Rafa’s warm and it feels good to lean into him,
into the circle of his arms. He’s supposed to go along with it more, anyway,
right? And he didn’t jerk off this morning, like he usually does when he
doesn’t have practice, so when Rafa’s hands slide over him, his stomach lurches
and drops down to his cock. 
One hand slides up Stiles’ chest to settle on his collarbone, loose around his
neck. “You’ll be happier if you just let it go,” Rafa tells him. It’s soft,
weirdly soft, and Stiles knows he has to act right now, for all he’s worth. Has
to hope that it’ll be acting when it’s all said and done.
“I can’t,” he tells Rafa. “I don’t know how.” 
It’s mostly true, like the best lies are. It’s just the intent, the motives and
the outcome, that aren’t true. And Rafa never has to know. 
Something hot and wet closes on the skin of his shoulder, and it takes a second
for him to realize it’s Rafa’s mouth. He sucks, which makes Stiles’ knees
shake, and his tongue flicks over Stiles’ skin. It’s fucking good, good in a
way he doesn’t understand all the way, but he tries to press back against
Rafa’s cock even though the angle’s a little weird. He tries until Rafa bites,
makes his knees finally go out, and catches him. Holds him up. 
“Just like that,” Rafa says. “Easy now, kiddo.” 
Stiles shakes his head, puts his weight into his feet instead of Rafa’s body.
“No. I told you, we’re done. This isn’t happening anymore.”
“Are you sure?” Rafa asks as he reaches down beneath the waistband of Stiles’
track pants to cup his crotch. He’s pretty sure that his jockstrap can’t hide
his boner, pretty fucking sure, going by the way Rafa squeezes him. 
“Sixteen, remember?” Stiles snaps. “I could probably get it up for Finstock if
the wind was blowing right.”
“You let him fuck you?” It’s quiet, low and not-quite-threatening. 
“Not even.”
Rafa huffs through his nose. “Who, then? Who’ve you begged for it, huh?” His
hand is moving in just the right way that Stiles’ hips are trying to get him
grind against it without his permission. “You have to resort to boys? Ask your
little teammates for a quick fuck in the showers? Or did you just get on your
knees for them? They wouldn’t even be surprised if they came back and found you
with my cock in your ass, would they?”
“Fuck you,” Stiles tells him. “You’re the only one I’ve ever done anything
with.” 
At once, he realizes that it’s both the wrong and right thing to say. He can
feel the way Rafa relaxes and curls around him, pleased, and settles both hands
on his shoulders. Guides Stiles further into the room. He does it for the plan,
that’s all. To gain Rafa’s trust with something that’ll look like unwavering
devotion. 
He stops when his knees are about to hit the bench, and he’s redirected to the
lockers. Rafa pushes down his track pants and they stop at his knees. It’s
weird, feeling Rafa’s body fully clothed against his when he’s nearly naked.
Weird in a way that makes his skin tingle at every point of contact. 
"Hands in front of you," Rafa tells him. "Bend over." It's a comfortable thing,
doing what Rafa wants him to. That's disturbing in a lot of ways, but it’s not
him, not really. It’s the act. That’s all. There’s no shame in it this way.
The elastic of his jockstrap snaps against his skin and there's a soft chuckle
behind him.
Rafa’s hands spread him wide. They feel like hot stars on his skin.
“You clean?” Rafa asks before breathing over his hole. 
Stiles nods quickly and, not sure if Rafa can see it, says, “Yeah. Always
shower in the morning.” He usually jerks off, too, fingers himself as best he
can. 
“Good,” Rafa says, and Stiles feels his breath from it a second before the
first hot lick of Rafa’s tongue.
“Holy fuck,” Stiles hisses. His bitten-nailed fingertips can’t get a purchase
on the lockers in front of him and fuckballs does that feel good. He knows
Rafa’s done this before, but he was pretty out of it at the time, didn’t get to
really process the fact that there’s a tongue licking his ass. Pressing into
him with just the tip, just enough to make him groan because it’s fucking
bizarre that it should feel this good. 
Rafa pulls back, rubs at Stiles’ hole with the pad of his thumb. “Your ass was
made to be eaten out, you know that? Fucking gorgeous.” He goes back in again,
holding Stiles open enough that he can really get his tongue in, and Stiles
just gives up. Just lets himself enjoy it, lets himself be shameless in it,
moans and rocks back to get Rafa in deeper. 
Did he know before this just how many nerve endings he had in his ass?
Apparently not. Because it’s pretty fucking unreal. And Rafa gets a finger in
there every now and then, sometimes two, sometimes hooks them inside his rim to
spread him for his tongue and fuck. 
“Don’t stop,” Stiles breathes, forcing himself to keep his hands on the lockers
in front of him. 
Rafa does, though, two fingers in him, and says, “If you come in that
jockstrap, I’m going to use it to gag you. Understand?”
“Come on, would you just let me—” A sharp, hot smack silences him. 
“You come on my cock,” Rafa tells him. There’s not really room for negotiation
in his tone.
“Fine, then put it in me.”
Another smack, this one enough to make Stiles wince. “Is that how we ask for
things, Stiles? Or do you want to try that again?”
Stiles sighs, head thumping against the lockers. “Please, Daddy, fuck me. Let
me come.”
Rafa grabs his shoulder and turns him around. Stiles is expecting to be pushed
somewhere, but instead, Rafa tilts his head back and kisses him hard. One hand
slips down Stiles’ stomach, plays with the line of hair leading down to his
cock. His mouth tastes weird and it’s a second before Stiles realizes why,
tries not to whimper at it as Rafa’s tongue slides against his, moving like it
had in his ass. 
When he pulls away, he looks impossibly tall and imposing in a way that makes
Stiles’ stomach swim in want. 
“Bench,” Rafa tells him. “Hands and knees.”
As Stiles moves, he hears a bottle cap open and seriously? Does he always have
lube on him? Who even does that?
Well, apparently the guy who pulls him out of cross country to fuck him, so
maybe he shouldn’t really be complaining. Even though he never fucking has a
condom. And Stiles doesn’t really expect him to, not even if he brings one
himself. 
Rafa twists two wet fingers in him, spreads and pulls and curls until Stiles is
trying to fuck his hand. The third is barely in him at all, and Stiles thinks
it’s because Rafa likes him tight. Likes that it’s a little too much of a
stretch for him. That should be a sick thing, and it is, but Stiles craves it.
If only because it’ll remind him that Rafa doesn’t really care. Not enough to
take care of him. 
He doesn’t really register the head of Rafa’s cock before it’s inside him,
pushing a little noise out of his mouth with the ache. It always feels fucking
huge at first, and Stiles kind of hopes he’ll just drive on home already so he
can get used to it faster, but Rafa has other plans. Apparently. Because he
pulls out and pushes in, breaches him over and over, never going further than
just the first little bit. It almost hurts, but it winds Stiles up. Makes his
dick ache. Makes his muscles tense. 
It’s clear Rafa’s waiting for something, and it takes a second before Stiles
realizes for what. 
“Daddy, need your cock.” Rafa pushes in again, stills. “Come on, please. Please
just give it to me, just fuck me—” The words get lost in a loud moan when Rafa
suddenly buries himself in Stiles’ ass. Feels like it’s splitting him open all
the way to his rib cage, fucking deep and way too much, but Rafa’s hands grip
his hips, move him on his cock, and it’s good. 
“That’s right, baby,” Rafa says, one of his hands coming up to pull Stiles’
head back by his hair. “Take it, just like that. You make the prettiest
sounds.”
That’s enough to make him whine. It’s like being given permission makes him
want to make noise. It’s easier to just stop holding it back, stop pretending
that he’s not fucking addicted to the way Rafa’s cock feels, the way he fucks,
the things he says. It’s good, it’s everything, and he needs more, somehow.
Just that final push over the edge—
And then Rafa stops. 
“Please please please,” Stiles begs, “don’t stop. Daddy, please.” He sounds
like a kid and that’s gross and kind of a turn on at the same time, and he’s
not the only one who thinks that, given the way Rafa groans. The way his hand
tightens in Stiles’ hair before letting go.
“If you want it, do it yourself,” Rafa tells him in a rough voice. “Fuck
yourself on my cock. Show me how much you need it.”
Stiles doesn’t even think, just grabs the edges of the bench and shoves his
body back, gratified by the slap of skin on skin. It’s not easy, not the way
his body is used to moving, but he works himself up and down Rafa’s cock,
staying close enough that there’s no worry of him slipping free. The bench is
rocking on its legs, loud with the wet, dirty sound of Rafa moving in and out
of him. 
His arms and shoulders get sore before long, so he lowers himself down onto his
elbows. The new angle feels deeper, makes him groan as he fucks himself back as
hard and fast as he can. 
Just as he’s starting to slow down because he can’t keep his own pace, Rafa
hauls him back by his hips, moves over him so he can fuck the air out of
Stiles’ lungs, basically. Every bit of his cock grinds inside Stiles in a way
that has him making this choked-off noises, gripping the sides of the bench so
hard the skin over his knuckles looks like it might split. 
“You gonna come for me, baby?” Rafa asks through panting breaths. “Gonna come
on Daddy’s cock like a good boy?”
That’s it. He’s fucking gone, moaning against the slats of the bench as it
burns through him. Rafa pulls his hair, makes him whine, before slamming in
deep, hard enough to move Stiles up the bench, and just rolling his hips
inside. Stiles can feel his cock twitching through the last little clenches of
his own orgasm. 
After a moment, Rafa’s hands relax their grip on his hips. He pulls back, pulls
out, and spreads Stiles’ ass wide. Dips his fingers in and spreads wetness all
around his hole. Paints him with it. Wipes his fingers off on Stiles’ ass cheek
when he’s done. 
“You’re a fucking great way to start the day, kiddo,” Rafa says. Stiles doesn’t
have to look back to know he’s grinning. But he does, or gets up at least. Rafa
tucks himself away, wincing a little, and tucks his shirt in neatly before
doing up his pants. He fixes his tie, runs a hand through his hair, and he
actually looks like he didn’t just fuck a sixteen year old. 
Looking at him, Stiles wants to mess him up. Or something. He should do
something, though. He’s supposed to be falling in love with Rafa or already
there. He should do something other than stare.
So he does what he’d never be brave enough to do if he meant it: he buries his
face in Rafa’s chest. After a second, Rafa’s arms come up around him and hold
him close. 
They stand like that for a while, for too long. Long enough that Rafa sort of
sways with him from side to side, cards fingers through his hair. It’s nice,
and that’s the problem.
When Stiles leans away, Rafa looks down at him. He takes Stiles’ face in his
hands and kisses him too softly, lightly. 
“I can’t...not here,” Stiles says. “Somewhere else. Not here again.” His eyes
burn, and it’s got to be because this is his life. It’s hitting him that this
is something he’s doing, this is the lie he’ll have to keep telling, and the
way out is far away.
“Alright,” Rafa says, nodding. “I can do that.” 
Stiles makes himself smile. “You should get going. Don’t talk to Scott. Not
until you’ve had a shower, I can’t—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you around, kiddo.” He smoothes the wrinkles
out of his shirt and heads out. Leaves Stiles there with his pants around his
ankles.
The second he hears the door close, Stiles yanks his track pants up. Finds his
shirt, pulls it over his head. He opens all the windows, turns on all the
showers. Squirts whatever shampoo and soap he can find laying around in it.
Finds the Clorox wipes Finstock’s always telling them to use and wipes down the
bench, the lockers. 
He doesn’t have long before they come back and he can be found before he’s had
a shower or two and changed, so he grabs his bag and hustles to his Jeep. 
His dad goes to work later on Monday mornings. Not until ten. Which means he’s
home. He’ll question why Stiles isn’t just showering at school like he usually
does. 
Realizing that, Stiles swears loudly at his steering wheel. 
So he needs somewhere else with a shower, somewhere Scott won’t go without
telling him—
Derek. Fuck. 
He’s got a shower. He said he’d help. This probably isn’t what he meant, but
Stiles has negative other options, so Derek’s it is. 
 
By the time Derek answers the door, everyone else is probably getting out of
the showers. He can’t let himself think about it, about the possibility that he
couldn’t cover it up well enough, that the room’ll smell like sex still. Like
him and Rafa.
Derek looks like he’s just woken up, but he lets Stiles in.
“Shouldn’t you be at school?” he asks, rubbing his head like he’s trying to
wake up. His nostrils flare a split-second later. “Oh. Okay, shower. Please.
Just...go.” 
Stiles nods and watches Derek shake himself out for a second before heading to
the bathroom.
“Use the towel on the back of the door,” Derek calls after him. “And use the
fucking soap. That’s not going to just rinse off.”
That’s unnecessary because Stiles fucking know that, okay? He’s not stupid. And
even if he didn’t know that, he wants Rafa off him ASAP, so he would’ve used
soap anyway. 
He’s thorough, too. Which makes him feel fucking weird, honestly, and a tiny
bit horny. Because he ends up essentially fingering himself in Derek’s shower.
And that’s a weird thing. A necessary thing, but a weird one. 
Also, he may or may not use Derek’s loufa. Because just using his hands isn’t
going to do much. He needs to exfoliate. Derek will never know, anyway. Or he
might, but worst case scenario, Stiles will buy him another fucking loufa. 
When he gets out, he looks at his clothes and decides not to touch them. They
probably reek of sex and Rafa. Considering that there’s two people’s jizz on
them, probably a good idea to avoid them. He’s got other clothes in his bag,
anyway. School clothes. In his bag. Which is by the front door.
So he goes out in Derek’s towel. It’s not like it matters, anyway. Derek’s body
is perfection no matter what and there’s no reason to be ashamed that he
doesn’t quite measure up to a Greco-Roman ideal. 
Derek’s sitting on a bean bag chair in pajama pants and a white tank top with a
cup of coffee in his hand. He looks at home for a moment. It makes Stiles feel
bad for interrupting his morning. Here he is, dragging Derek into his shitty
decisions. Waking him up for it, even. It’s a jerk move. 
“There’s more coffee in the pot if you want it,” Derek says.
“I should get dressed.”
Derek looks up at him. “Wait a minute.” He gets up, sets his coffee down on the
table, and clears the feet of space between them. His eyes don’t meet Stiles
but move around his body instead. Not in a creepy way, just like he’s checking
him. For injuries or something. 
“I’m fine,” Stiles tells him.
Derek doesn’t say anything, but his fingers trace the mark on his shoulder and
the bruises on his hips. 
“It was quick, anyway. He didn’t have time for much.” He doesn’t want to
explain what he means by much, but Derek doesn’t ask anyway. 
“Are you planning on going to school today?” Stiles nods. “I need to cover up
his scent, then. You’d have to take a few more showers before you got it all
off. Masking it is easier. Faster.”
“How much faster?” Stiles asks, shifting his weight. 
“You’re missing first period no matter what,” Derek tells him. “And you’ll
probably spend the rest of the day answering questions.”
Stiles shrugs. “I’ll come up with a story of what he ‘asked’ me.”
“Not about that, about...if you smell like me enough to cover him up, it’ll be—
There’s not a lot of ways you can come to smell that much like another person.”
Derek looks at the floor somewhere to the side of Stiles’ shoulder, his hands
at his sides.
“Oh.” Stiles looks away, too, trying not to sound excited. “I mean, if that’s
necessary. I gotta say, I think Rafa kind of wore me out earlier, but, uh—”
Derek’s eyes are wide and he’s shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant. I
wasn’t— Do you really think I’d use this to get into your pants? Is that really
what you think of me?”
“What? No. I just thought, you know. You said there were only so many ways. I
thought you meant we’d have to, uh, bump uglies to get the job done.”
“I meant that other werewolves might think we had,” Derek says slowly. “Not
that we should. That’s nothappening.”
“Hey, I thought it was weird. So.” He looks around, says, “Anyway. If there’s
only so many ways, what, exactly, do we have to do?”
Derek shrugs. “Physical contact.”
“What kind? Like, I’m guessing a fist bump wouldn’t cut it,” Stiles says. 
“You know, the—” Derek cuts off, pinches the bridge of his nose, and sighs
heavily. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Well, you’re kind of going to have to, dude. Because I’m going in all sorts of
weird directions with it, and I’m pretty sure you’d be offended by most of the
stuff I’ve come up with.” One of them involves Derek jizzing all over him, so
that’s pretty likely. Unless it’s what he means. But it’s probably not.
Probably.
“The c-word,” Derek says, waving a hand as if that clarifies it. 
“What, chimichanga? Chanukkah? Come? You gotta be more specific there, big guy,
because you are not getting bodily fluids on me.”
Derek’s face twists. “What? No, that’s— I mean…” he sighs, gives Stiles a look.
“I hate you, you know that? You’re doing this on purpose.” Stiles laughs so
hard he almost doesn’t hear Derek say cuddling. And then he laughs harder.
“You can’t say cuddle? Come on, dude!”
“I can say it,” Derek tells him with a sharp look, “I just don’t want to do it
with you.” 
Oh. Well. 
That makes sense. 
“Should I go? Yeah, I should go.” He spots his back and heads to it, stops when
Derek holds out a hand.
“Don’t go. I said I’d help you and I will. You just always make a big deal of
things. If you can just shut your mouth and not make any stupid jokes, then
it’ll be fine. Okay?”
Stiles nods. “What do you need me to do?”
“Just come here,” Derek says, waving him over with an impatient hand. Stiles
goes to him and stands there, watching Derek’s eyes lock onto his shoulder.
“Can I…?” He nods at the hickey, and Stiles isn’t really sure what he means to
do about it until Derek’s mouth seals over it. 
“Jesus, dude, give a guy a little more warning,” Stiles tells him, thankful
that Derek can’t see his eyes practically rolling back into his head at the
feeling of his tongue. Almost as sudden, Derek draws back with a little pop of
suction. 
“If it was mine...spit, I mean,” Derek says. “It should have my spit on it.
That’s all.”
Stiles nods, eyes a little wide. “You don’t, uh, have to put your mouth
everywhere his was, do you? Because that might get a little….”
“Where?” Derek asks, eyes flicking down. Stiles shakes his head, just a little,
and glances over his shoulder. “I don’t think anyone’s going to be sniffing
around that much.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t, but, you know.”
“Yeah.” Derek nods, not looking at him. “I didn’t know he...you know.”
Stiles shrugs. “He does a lot of things.” 
He doesn’t want to talk about it, really. It feels like a weird thing for them
to talk about. Like they shouldn’t. Probably ever. 
“We should probably just get the cuddling over with, huh?” Stiles asks, trying
to change the subject.
“Good idea,” Derek says quickly. “Couch?” 
They both sit down and it’s super weird for a minute. Because it’s a weird
thing to do. Not that they haven’t, like, been forced to touch each other like
that. But it’s different when they’re doing it intentionally. 
“Fuck it,” Stiles says, elbowing Derek in the ribs. “Get up. We’re just going
to go for it. We’re gonna do this all the way. And I hope you know that you’re
only going to get to be the big spoon this once. I have to assert my spoon
dominance.”
When Derek gets up, suspiciously quiet, Stiles lays down and scoots so he’s
facing the back of the couch. He holds the towel very much in place. After a
second, Derek settles down next to him. He jerks away, at first, when they
touch accidentally, then moves in against Stiles’ back. 
And then their arms are at their sides and they’re laying there and staring
forwards and Stiles is pretty sure it’s the most awkward thing of his life. And
for no reason. He and Scott have totally spooned before. Bros spoon. Sometimes
they don’t really talk about it, but they do. 
“Howabout this?” Stiles asks, finding Derek’s wrist and using it to pull
Derek’s arm over his middle. “We pledge a vow of silence. And you do what you
need to do to get your scent all over me. We good?”
“Okay,” Derek says, and a second later, his arm tightens, pulling Stiles in
tight against his chest. His breath hits Stiles’ shoulder because he’s a bit
lower, and his arm is more over Stiles’ stomach than his ribs. He’s warm,
though, and really fucking comfortable, actually. Stiles settles into him and
lets his eyes fall shut. It was an early morning. And he’d had to be athletic.
He’s earned a nap. And Derek is comfy enough to make it possible. 
He catches the rhythm of Derek’s breath and slows his own down until they’re in
sync. Derek’s forehead tucks in against the nape of his neck, and it’s not long
until Stiles is drifting. Peaceful enough to feel time stretch, but not really
asleep enough to dream, thank God. 
 
When he pushes himself back into full consciousness, he knows it hasn’t been
too long. He’s not ready to get up yet, but they should soon. Either way, he’s
too comfortable to move much. Just scoots into Derek more, sinks against him so
the curves of their knees match up. Derek moves into him, warm and perfect, and
they totally need to make cuddling a regular thing. Because it’s good. 
They should probably do his front, though. Just for safe measure. So he tries
to flip over, but he feels skin on skin where the towel slipped down, Derek’s
stomach and waistband against his ass, and that’s kind of nice. In a very
inappropriate way. But hey, he’s not awake-awake, right? And he’s not really
grinding against Derek, just adjusting. He wouldn’t. That would be—
Is that a boner. 
He stills, remembering that technically, Derek arranged them so that Stiles
wouldn’t be anywhere near in contact with his dick region at all. That could be
for a million reasons, but Stiles wiggles a little and yep. Those sweat pants
aren’t hiding a thing, goddamn. 
He can’t be super obvious about it, can’t really get a feel for him without it
being pretty clear what he’s doing. And he’s not really sure if Derek’s asleep.
It would certainly explain the situation in his pants if he was. More than
certainly. He’s probably dreaming about someone super hot. Not someone who’s
only attractive to his best friend’s dad. 
Whatever. He’s going to leave that thought and Derek’s not-Stiles-caused boner
alone. Maybe he’ll go back to sleep. Yeah, just a quick, ten-minute nap. 
Alright, so it’s fundamental human nature to poke at things with sticks, so
it’s really not his fault that he can’t stop thinking about it. Because what if
it is Stiles-caused? And, more importantly, what are the specific qualities of
Derek’s boner? What is it like? Stiles isn’t on it-on it so he can’t get a feel
for size or if it’s a half-chub kind of situation. 
The next time he moves is purely for fact-finding purposes. It gets it lined up
in a nice way, though, so if that’s what he was trying to do, he might be able
to get Derek off like this. But that’s not what he’s doing. He just wants to
get to know it a little. After all, this is a somewhat mystical penis. It’s
apparently an evil bitch magnet, so maybe there’s something—
“I’m going to punch you in the head,” Derek says very quietly and very quickly.
“It’s a natural, physiological reaction, and you’re not helping.” 
Stiles smirks at the back of the couch, if only because Derek can’t see him and
smack him for it. “You know, if it helps—”
“Don’t finish that thought. Don’t even think it.”
“I was just gonna—” Derek’s hand comes up and covers his mouth and really,
Stiles has Rafa to blame for his reaction. Fuck. 
Derek’s hand is over his mouth and Derek’s breathing against the back of his
neck and it sounds loud so close and his dick is still pressing against Stiles'
ass with only a single layer between them and there’s no way Derek can’t smell
what this is doing to him. His dick twitches against the soft towel in a way
that’s a little too good, and it's about to get ugly.
And then Derek releases him. All the way, actually, because he’s not on the
couch anymore. Stiles twists to see what he’s doing without showing him the
route to Boner City, population: maybe two. Derek’s got his back to him. It’s a
nice back, and Stiles needs to stop, but Derek’s got his hands on his hips and
his head down, breathing. 
Is he talking to his boner?
Everyone does it sometime. It’s not that weird.
Derek might not be that weird, though. It's hard to tell, really.
But Derek relaxes, shakes his shoulders out, and turns around, boner-free. “You
should get dressed. You have other clothes, right? The others...I’ll wash them
for you. You don’t want to have those with you.”
“Okay. Cool,” Stiles says because he has no idea what else to say. “Just give
me a minute.” Derek nods, and Stiles can’t stop himself, says, “So about just
now—”
“I’m no longer on the couch. The vow of silence is in effect and we’re not
talking about it.” Derek shrugs like that’s all there is to it, and maybe it
is. “Do you want coffee?”
“I’m good. Haven’t taken my Adderall yet, so there’s no point.” 
He thinks about Scott walking in on him with Rafa, really pictures it, and his
dick goes soft pretty quick. So he can get up and get his clothes, and, when he
sees that Derek’s completely facing the other way, get dressed. 
When he’s all done, he finds Derek leaning against his counter, coffee mug in
hand. He waves Stiles over so he can stick a hand under his own shirt and rub
the material all over Stiles’ front. 
“There you go,” he says before taking a sip. “By the way, I think we both know
you owe me brownies.”
Stiles smirks. “Sorry, they’re boyfriend-only brownies. I don’t make the
rules.”
“Everyone but us is going to think I’m your boyfriend, which is almost as
bad so I expect my brownies within the week. It’s only fair.”
“In that case, I’ll give you a dish of brownies in front of everyone and take
them away when they leave,” Stiles says. “How’s that for fair?” 
Derek gives him a withering look for a moment before flicking him on the nose.
“Get to school, loser.”
“You’re the loser,” Stiles tells him. “Using poor, defenseless teenagers for
their brownies.” That strikes a nerve and Stiles wants to punch himself in the
face for killing what they had going. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I
wouldn’t. Sorry.”
It doesn’t help, though, because Derek just looks like he feels like shit even
more.
“I’m a jerk, okay? I’ll bake you some goddamn brownies to make up for it.”
Derek grins, and Stiles whaps him in the shoulder.
“You’re unbelievable,” he says. “I felt bad and everything, you asshole.”
“I like them with chocolate chips,” Derek says, still smiling as he raises his
mug and takes another sip.
Stiles snorts. “I’ll bring you fucking Cosmic Brownies. Taste the
disappointment, fucker.”
Derek’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you trying to imply that Cosmic Brownies are
bad? Because if you are, the door’s over there,” he says, gesturing with his
coffee hand. “We don’t do that in this house.”
“Seriously? You should get a sign to let people know how lame you are. Thou
shalt not dishonor Little Debbie’s snack cakes. Big black letters with little
rainbow polkadots.” 
“I feel so bad for you,” Derek says, and for a weird second, Stiles wonders if
he’s said that to anyone since he was a teenager. “Now stop stalling. Go to
school. I can’t wait for Scott to yell at me for keeping you.”
“I can’t wait either,” Stiles says with a smirk. “He’s going to yell at you all
the time now. It’s going to be great.”
Derek gives him a look. “I hate you. Get out,” he says with almost no
inflection. “And I’m completely serious about the brownies. Or I’ll tell your
dad we’re dating.”
Stiles shrugs. “I don’t really think he’d care, honestly. You’re not within
five years of him. I think you’re good.”
“Stop it,” Derek tells him. “Don’t negate my threats. And go.” He points this
time, and Stiles makes sure to roll his eyes at him before heading out.
 
“Dude,” Scott says with something like horror when Stiles sits next to him in
second period. Then, with something more like surprise or satisfaction, “Dude.”
Stiles grins at him, wiggles his eyebrows. 
“Good job, man,” Scott tells him. “Don’t ever tell me any details ever, but
good job.”
“Yeah it was,” Stiles says with leer, and that’s enough to freak Scott out. To
get him to never want to ask anything about it again. It’s easier that way. 
While he’s pretending to pay attention to their math teacher, he finds himself
thinking about getting a box of Cosmic Brownies and leaving it on Derek’s
doorstep. And how Derek would totally smile when he saw them, the way he smiled
this morning.
Maybe roadtrips are a good thing for Derek Hale’s psyche. He’s been...freer
since coming back. Maybe Stiles will ask him about his trip. Maybe he won’t, in
case that’ll jinx it. 
He’s got to be careful, though. Because he’s starting to like Derek. Well, he’s
liked Derek for a while. But he’s at that point where he can see the road ahead
and he can see a version of himself that’s in love with Derek. It’s a
possibility. That Stiles could exist and maybe even be happy. Maybe. But it
would be safer to not, to push it away before it takes ahold of him. 
There’s too much to worry about right now for it to be a good idea to add
feelings for Derek into the mix. 
It could just be easy, though. He’s halfway there already without even trying.
If he lets it happen…. Derek already knows a lot of him. More than Rafa,
probably. So it could be easy or it could be horrible. Because Derek knows
things he can’t take back. He probably wouldn’t use it against Stiles, but if
he did, if he wanted to, then game over.
 
Wednesday night is the only time everyone’s schedules coordinate, so everyone
ends up at Scott’s for what Stiles calls a Cub Scout Meeting. Kinda like that,
but with more weapons. Though Melissa has everyone who can leave theirs at the
door. There’s chips and dip and everyone looks about as uncomfortable as they
could possibly be. 
Well, unless Peter caught wind of it and showed up. Or Rafa. 
Derek’s super awkward when he gets there, a little after everyone else, and
Stiles has to drag him inside to where everyone’s standing around the dining
room table. 
His dad eyes Stiles’ hand around Derek’s wrist as he crunches on a chip but
doesn’t say anything. He might later, but it doesn’t really look like anything.
Anyway, he’s got Lydia on his other side. So who knows what his dad thinks. 
Melissa comes into the room with a stressed-out look on her face. “Alright, so
I ordered pizza, and it should’ve been here ages ago, so I’m going to go see
what’s up. Is everyone alright here? Scott will tell you where the drinks and
bathrooms are.”
“Why don’t I go get the pizza, Mom?” Scott asks, squeezing Isaac’s shoulder as
he moves around him. 
“What? No,” she says. “You’re the alpha, right? That would be silly. Do your
thing. I’m fine. Might need an extra set of hands, though.”
Stiles’ dad lifts a hand, saying, “Well, I could—”
“You’re the law enforcement. Can’t have you gone,” she says quickly. “I’ll just
take Stiles.” 
“No problemo,” Stiles says, glancing between his dad, Scott, and Derek.
“Great! Let’s go!” 
He follows her out of the house and to her car. It always, since forever, feels
weird to be in the front seat with her driving. Like he should be in the back
with Scott. It’s weird without Scott. 
Before she puts the keys in the ignition, she pulls out her phone and types
something before passing it to him. 
How far is out of range for them?
He pauses, wondering what’s up, before erasing what she put and typing in One
mile in the city. That’s enough to be safe, for sure. 
They drive for a little while, for long enough, more than a mile, for sure.
They do, in fact, stop at a Papa John’s. But he gets the idea that she’s not
really here for the pizza, so he doesn’t get out of the car. 
“I’ve been thinking long and hard about whether I should say something to you
or not,” she says, “but I think after everything you’ve been through, you
deserve to be aware. I know you like to know everything that’s going on. That’s
all. I just—” she shakes her head, leaning into her hand “this is just
something I never thought I’d have to tell you.”
“Are you dating my dad?” Stiles asks, hoping to spare her.
She jumps so hard she smacks her hand against the steering wheel audibly and
has to shake it out. “Dammit, no, I’m not dating your father. Why would you—
Has he said anything?” Stiles smirks to himself for a moment because wow.
Scott’s mom might totally be into his dad. This is their seventh grade dream
come true. The twelve year old in him who tried to switch places with Scott
without either of their parents noticing is jumping for joy. But if that’s not
what this is, then what’s she talking about?
“I don’t know for sure, I just got kind of a vibe, you know?” he says. “But,
uh, what were you talking about?” 
“It’s,” she says, pausing with a wince. “So, I heard from Scott that his father
interrogated you the other day.”
There’s no question in it, none at all, but he answers, “Yes. Yes he did.”
“Right, okay, and that was...sorry, it’s just— Do you remember when we got
divorced?” She looks horribly uncomfortable right now, and he’s kind of
starting to worry where this is going. A lot, actually.
“I mean, yeah. It was, like, seven years ago, maybe?”
She nods, presses her hand to her mouth for a second before saying, “I have
some idea of what it was like from your perspective because I know what Scott
thinks about it. He saw his father becoming angry and violent, and that’s true.
I tried to keep it from you two because you shouldn’t have to deal with that.
You were so young. And I told myself that I did a good job, that you never had
any idea, but I couldn’t always be there. I tried not to leave you with him,
but sometimes, I couldn’t—”
“He never hit us or anything,” Stiles says quickly. “We would’ve told someone
if he had done anything.”
“I know,” she says, looking out the window. “Unless you felt you couldn’t.”
“I’m serious. He left the two of us alone,” he tells her, touching her arm like
that’ll help her believe it.
“He wouldn’t have done anything to Scott,” she says firmly. “He always said he
drew that line, but you...I tried to ask you when you were younger, but I don’t
think you understood. But you’re older now. You know how much darkness people
can hold inside of them, and I think you understand that no one deserves to be
a target for that darkness.” She takes a deep breath and looks him in the eye.
“Did he touch you?” 
Stiles pulls his hand back into his lap, feeling a little cold. “He didn’t do
anything to me.” It doesn’t sound like a lie, but it doesn’t feel true either.
But it’s not like he can explain it to her, not like he should. 
“You never did anything that made me really worry,” she tells him with
something halfway to relief, “but I couldn’t be sure if you were hiding it. I
didn’t think he’d go after you now, anyway. People like that tend to prefer a
certain age, and you’ve grown up so much. But I needed to make you aware. If
something doesn’t feel right, trust your instincts, okay? He’s not a good man.”
“Does Scott know?”
She shakes her head. “I couldn’t tell him. I don’t know how. And if something
had happened with you, he would’ve blamed himself. You know how he is.”
“Yeah.” The fact that she knows or at least knows some of it, that’s fucking
terrifying. If she tells Scott, that’s going to be a problem, though. “Don’t
tell Scott. I mean, do what you feel is right, he's your son and all, but he’s
just got so much to worry about right now. I don’t want him to feel like he has
to be my bodyguard or anything. I’ll be fine.” 
“You should have someone with you, just in case." She looks at him out of the
corner of her eye. "Derek looks pretty intimidating, doesn’t he?” 
He smirks. “That he does. That he does. I’ll keep him around.” 
“Good,” she says, “and maybe you can do something about his—” she frowns and
gestures at her face “—you know. He always looks like he’s been sucking a
lemon. I mean, I know the boy’s had a really hard time of it, but he needs a
little light in his life.” 
“I’m working on it,” he tells her, then remembers that they're in a Papa John's
parking lot and just kind of sitting there. “We should get the pizza probably.”
“It’s been waiting for a few minutes. I called for pickup instead of delivery.
It was the only way I could think of to get you alone.” 
He smiles because he does appreciate her looking out for him. “Does my dad have
any idea?” he asks, wondering just how far it goes. 
She shakes her head. “Just me. I never had proof, but sometimes, you just
know.” 
“I totally understand,” he says. “Ask Scott about the kanima’s master. Totally
knew that guy was a douche.”
She laughs, rolls her eyes. “Get out of the car, you.”
It feels almost normal after that, but he can see it, lurking under the
surface. Like when the light catches just right, it shows something beneath.
It’s different from Derek knowing because he knew on Stiles’ terms. He knew
because of Stiles. Scott’s mom is unpredictable. It makes him nervous. 
Later, after everyone’s come to a weird sort of agreement about who’s Scott’s
pack, who’s an omega, and the fact that Scott’ll let in anyone who wants in (as
long as they swear not to kill anyone), after everyone’s gone home, he texts
Derek. 
What happens if everyone finds out?
After a moment, Derek’s reply comes. Then they find out. Some will understand,
some won’t, but the people who matter will. Eventually.
He reads that and something about it makes him angry. The idea that there's a
chance some people could hate him forever for it. Even though he was fifteen
and two drinks in and still doesn’t quite know how he got from point a to point
b. Even though it wasn’t the first time Rafa looked at him and wanted him.
It’s not my fault.
After he sends it, he looks up at the ceiling of his room and starts to believe
it, just a little.
End Notes
     gonna be more this weekend yoooo :)
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