Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/816187.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Peter_Hale, Isaac_Lahey, Jackson
      Whittemore, Alan_Deaton, Vernon_Boyd, Erica_Reyes, Danny_Mahealani, Lydia
      Martin, Scott_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Alpha_Derek, Bottom_Derek, Manpain, Top_Derek_Hale,
      Fluff_and_Angst, Happy_Ending, Oblivious_Stiles, Virgin_Stiles, Evil
      Peter, POV_Derek, underage_means_Stiles_is_17, Top_Stiles_Stilinski,
      Derek_Feels, Jealousy, Possessive_Behavior
  Series:
      Part 2 of Sextacular
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-24 Completed: 2013-06-01 Chapters: 5/5 Words: 17408
****** Werewolves Need Love Too ******
by sceal
Summary
     This is Sextacular from Derek's POV.
     Derek has an uncle to murder and two weeks to do it in. He needs to
     block out all distractions, especially his obsession with Stiles. So
     far, so good. The plan is solid. Even his betas are perfect little
     killing machines… Except when they're not, when certain pack members
     idiotically try to set their alpha up with an in-love-with-Lydia
     teenager.
***** Chapter 1 *****
On his morning jog around his territory, Derek races past Peter’s grave like he
has every day since the pack buried him.  He smells the hint of wolfsbane
first.
Sees the slightly disturbed earth. As if during the night a corpse tried to
climb out.
Derek smiles, his body flooding with a sense of satisfaction that feels exactly
like victory. The spring buds become fresher, soft light starts to glisten on
ridges of bark.
Soon the wait will be over.
He speeds up his run until the woods open up to a clearing. A house that was
passed down for generations is now nothing but a hulking, gray, warped
skeleton. 
Because of him.  Because of him and Kate.
Why did Scott have to fall for her niece?
Still. Without Scott, Derek might’ve never found out Peter murdered Laura.  But
with Scott’s associations, with his friends, Derek is forcibly, constantly
reminded of the one mistake he made that killed his family.
Tempted to commit that same mistake again, except worse.  Tempted to be the
predator instead of the prey.
Never. 
No matter how hungry his wolf is.  No matter how much his deluded psyche
whispers that he needs Stiles. That having Stiles in his life will make
everything okay. That Stiles will see his monsters and not care.
Derek walks into his bare living room.  Starts his training ritual with one-
armed push-ups. The pack will trickle in soon.  They only have a vague idea of
what Derek plans to do to his uncle, even Derek isn’t completely sure how
they’ll kill him.  He needs to visit someone to figure out the final piece.
But things are settling into place. In matter of weeks, or possibly even days,
there will be one less Hale polluting the world.
A car rumbles in.  Spotless and expensive running shoes pass through his
doorway.
“Do you ever do anything besides work out?” Jackson says, starting a set of
push-ups beside him.
“No,” Derek grunts.
Jackson laughs. “Right. Still. I’ll believe this the alpha-is-always-stronger
myth when I see it.”
It’s not long before Boyd and Erica arrive, followed by Scott.  And finally,
Isaac.
Derek has them fighting in a duo and trio, overseeing their form, when the
engine of a jeep overpowers the soothing hush of the forest.
Derek glares at Scott. “What’s he doing here?”
Scott winces. “I told him we could meet up. He’s afraid of your house so he
won’t come in, don’t worry.”
Not worry?  Derek almost ripped Erica’s head off last week when Stiles
accidentally received a stray punch.
Derek tries to ignore Stiles. Continues to oversee his pack’s form, but the
slam of metal is Stiles, outside, jumping out of his jeep.  The crunch of dead
leaves is Stiles walking toward the house, the jingle of keys he drops in his
jeans.
Derek knows Stiles is wearing jeans because he can hear the rough material rub
together with each tease of a footstep.
He focuses on Peter.  On his family, screaming as they were burned.  On Kate,
kissing him and then gloating about their murder. The pulsing anger is enough
to keep his desire to do unspeakable things at bay, but not to block out the
cracking twigs as Stiles- what is Stiles doing with branches?
“Scott. Show me what you can do,” Derek says, hoping for a distraction and
willing to inflict a little pain on the idiot who invited Stiles to his house.
Scott nods, stretching his neck and loosening his arms before holding them up
to protect his face, hands in fists.
Derek opens with an uppercut. The steps of his porch crack as Stiles drops
something. The branches. Stiles’ jeans scrunching up-
A slam in his stomach as Scott lands a jab. Small pain, negligible, Stiles is
right outside his house, too close-
The horror of burnt flesh, suffocating smoke in his lungs. A jab to Scott’s
chest. Another. Another.
Derek barely hears his pack, all of them chanting.  Scott is Kate-Gerard-Peter
and Derek will destroy them, he’ll make them pay-
A jab to the foundation of his house as Stiles kicks it. Kicks Derek’s home,
all that he has left of his family.
Derek abandons Scott and is outside, on the porch, with Stiles pinned to the
wall before he’s aware of making a decision.
He’s 15-years-old and the house is burning inside of him and Derek feeds the
fire, bringing back every small detail he can, desperate not to feel anything.
Not to smell Stiles. Spicy soap, bravado and sweat. Tangy, probably delicious
on his tongue. The shirt collar Derek holds slippery beneath his fingers,
Stiles' neck, right there, the skin gleaming bright against tarnished wood.
Not to see Stiles, the bruise around his eye, still discoloured, so human.
Fragile, breakable.
Furious at Kate for warping him this way, at Stiles for existing, but mostly at
himself, Derek lashes out, barely aware of what he’s saying.
His eyes stuck on Stiles’ lips.  Does Stiles even realize that, even though a
werewolf has him pinned to a wall, he doesn’t smell scared?  Does Stiles know
that he hasn’t smelled scared since the night he held Derek up in the pool?
To be so weak and forced to trust a human and to have Stiles save him.
Stiles watches him, wary and excited, all of it clear in his eyes and the
minute contortions of his face.  If Derek wasn’t a werewolf, if he didn’t have
the nose that he has, he would think Stiles is turned on.
Jackson says some joke about eating Stiles and that breaks the spell.  Derek
loosens his hold, letting go.  He’d almost forgotten the pack was here.  How
could he have forgotten his pack?
No.
It’s too much, yes he’s a monster, but not this one. Stiles needs to- “Leave.”
Of course Stiles thinks he’s joking. Derek repeats himself until Stiles gets
it, wanting the words to feel right.  He’s speaking to Stiles and to the
twisted desire inside himself when he growls, “Go. Away.”
Stiles doesn’t move, doesn’t get that he needs to leave before Derek- “We’re
wasting time.”
Finally Erica intervenes. She growls, and her, Stiles takes seriously.  Stiles
must catch the difference on an instinctive level : Erica wouldn’t hesitate to
injure him.  Not that Derek would let the act go unpunished.
Stiles slumps down the porch and Derek doesn’t feel the slightest twinge of
guilt. Shouldn’t.
“Well that went well,” Isaac says.
“Can it,” Derek says. “Back inside, everyone.”
They go into the house and Derek mock-fights with them, too restless to stay on
the sidelines.  It’s long after he hears Stiles’ jeep leaving his driveway that
he’s calm enough to propose a break.
“What?” Scott says, panting and walking into the bare bones kitchen. “I thought
we were done. I need to find Stiles and apologize-“
The rest of the pack follows Scott, all of them beelining for the sink, Boyd
and Erica trailing a little behind.
Derek’s let his feelings cloud his judgment. He’s been too lenient. “Don’t
invite Stiles to my house again.”
“After that show?” Scott grabs a glass, chugs some water, swallows. “He won’t
want to come back.”
Scott underestimates Stiles’ pain threshold and his thirst for adventure. 
Stiles has lived in Scott’s shadow for years.  No girlfriend, no mother, not
the captain of the lacrosse team, no supernatural strength… That kind of
inequality teaches a man how to be tough and survive.
Yes, Stiles complains about it all the time, but he’s all talk. It’ll take more
than a few threats to keep him at bay. Stiles might need a few days to get his
nerve up, but he’ll be back.
Unless Derek stops him.
“Wait, back up,” Jackson straightens from where he’s leaning against the
counter. “No more Stilinski? Are you serious?”
“Yes.” Derek ignores Isaac’s raised eyebrow.
“Can we write this down somewhere?” Jackson says, looking around as if to find
a pen and paper when Derek doesn’t even own a microwave. Didn’t, until Jackson
bought one, refusing to train in such “third world conditions”. “Like take an
official vote and put it in the werewolf book of rules forever and ever?
Plasticise it and tape it on his locker?”
“No.” Derek doesn’t want to break Stiles, he just needs a break from him.
“Actually I think a vote is a great idea.” Isaac crosses his arms, his posture
puzzling.
Any other member of his pack, Derek would ignore, but Isaac knows his secret.
What game is he playing?
“Oh come on,” Scott says, handing out glasses of water. “That’s a shitty
birthday present.”
What? “It’s Stiles birthday?”
“Why do you care?” Scott says. “But yeah, in 2 weeks. Whether the world’s ready
for an adult Stiles or not, it’s happening. You might want to mark it in your
calendars and stay home on April 8th.”
Stiles’ll be an adul-No. That doesn’t change anything.
“That was beautiful, Scott,” Jackson says in that condescending tone he
favours. “Brought a tear to my eye. All in favour of banning the minor, say
aye.”
“Aye,” Boyd and Erica say.
A beat later, Scott says “Aye. Only because I don’t want him to get hurt.”
“Isaac?” Jackson says, unsure.
Derek doesn’t know what to expect from Isaac either. But he doesn’t have a good
feeling about this.
“I’ll agree to it,” Isaac takes a small sip of water, puts his glass on the
counter. “If Derek’s gets Stiles’ T.V. first.”
Of course. Stiles had mentioned donating his old box to the pack.
“What the hell?” Scott says. “I would expect that kind of shit from Jackson.”
Except Jackson isn’t idiotically trying to set Derek up with a teenager. At
least Derek isn’t Isaac’s only pet project, ever since Isaac started dating
that new vet assistant he’s been matching everyone up. Almost has Boyd and
Erica believing they’re in love.
“Fine,” Derek says. “I’ll do it. You better all be practicing when I get back.”
Derek holds in his smile at Isaac’s astonished expression. It’s an easy
challenge, plus a small price to pay to get Stiles out of the picture.  He’ll
tell the pack about Peter as soon as he handles Stiles.
Derek heads to his bedroom and changes out of his workout clothes, into
something a little less ripped. He could just steal the T.V. and leave a note.
 But he might as well convince its owner to part with it in person.
While he fetches the T.V., the pack will be at his house, so no werewolf senses
will detect any arousal.
And Stiles doesn’t want him. No matter how hot Stiles makes him, Derek would
never put a move on someone who isn’t interested.
So this meeting will be uneventful and only painful for his blue balls.
 
As if to prove him wrong, as soon as Derek tracks Stiles down, which is
ridiculously easy to do when you have access to Scott’s cellphone, the first
ache he feels is located pathetically close to his heart.
Stiles is shopping in the mall with that kid, Jackson’s friend, Danny.  They
have a natural rhythm as they walk through the aisles. They’re in synch, Stiles
always leaning in, Danny backing away and then vice versa. It’s a choreographed
dance of push-and-pull, so basic and primal that Derek wants to punch a wall.
Because body language doesn’t lie.
Stiles is flirting with a man.
Stiles is gay. Or bi, or whatever, but into guys.
Just not into him.
Derek doesn’t think of childhood nightmares to conjure the anger, it arrives
without warning, accompanied by an even uglier emotion, jealousy.
Just. Dealing with Stiles’ infatuation with Lydia was annoying enough, but to
have to contend with Danny and Stiles making googly-eyes at each other? No
fucking way. The second Peter is well and truly dead Derek’s taking a vacation.
Driving out of Beacon Hills and finding a man who looks nothing like a lanky,
ridiculously clumsy teen who thinks wearing loose shirts makes Derek want to do
anything other than reach beneath the cotton and touch smooth, lightly freckled
skin. 
Who’s always licking his lips like they’re in the fucking Sahara or something,
without any regard for people who might be watching and trying not to get
turned on.  Who smiles too much and has this fucking coltish grace to him
that’s just- Jokes aren’t sexy. Derek does not find jokes sexy and shit, Stiles
must’ve said one right now because Danny’s hiding a smile.
Christ. He needs to get Stiles out of his system.  The pack will survive
without him for a week.
Derek refuses to give into the temptation to listen in on Danny and Stiles’
conversation.
Even though he wants to do that and more.  He wants to storm into the store
like some kind of angry cuckold and forcibly separate them.
Derek breathes slowly through his nose.
Stiles doesn’t owe him anything. Stiles is a free agent, and Derek’s better
than this.
Stiles turns to find him, a slightly pained expression on his face.
Derek nods his head and points to a corner where they can have a little
privacy, not that they need it, he just wants Stiles far away from Danny. It’s
a stupid move, petty, it won’t change a thing.
Derek tries to calm down, assuring himself that Stiles is walking towards him,
not that it means anything, not that it means that Stiles wants him, but he’s
reached a level of pissed off that he needs to come down from no matter at what
flimsy excuse.
Stiles is within touching distance when he stops, shoving his hands in his
jeans pockets and balancing on the balls of his feet. “The pack lasted an hour
without me? ’M not surprised.  People always underestimate the mascot.”
Stiles still, like always, smells delicious.  It’s not his cologne, his soap,
his shampoo, his anything, it’s just him.
He looks lickable. His neck, pure white with a string of freckles.  Derek is
both regretful and proud of himself for not leaving any bruises this morning.
Which is not good.
They’re safe, they’re in a mall, but soon they’ll  be in be in a car together,
and then an empty house, and why had Derek thought he could do this?
He’s so pathetic. Lusting after a guy who’s forbidden and oblivious.
“Shut up.” Nice, Derek. Take out your anger on Stiles, why don’t you.
“What is it? You need me to hold you in a pool? Or, my personal favorite, cut
off your arm? I really, really regret Scott walking in when he did,” Stiles
gulps. “Not that I would’ve done it,” he gulps again. “Unless you wanted me
to.”
Even though his Adam’s apple’s bobbing, his pulse is racing, Stiles’ doesn’t
smell afraid. Doesn’t smell aroused, but doesn’t smell fearful either.  He’s a
little tense, maybe and- seriously, Derek, get a grip. Stop checking the guy
out. “You can’t come to my house anymore.”
“Well, good.  What, ever? No visits?” A pause. “Do they have werewolf shrinks?”
What? Is Stiles implying that Derek needs one?
Jesus, he probably does. Still, Derek refuses to ask what bits of his
ridiculous emotional turmoil Stiles spotted. “Stiles. Focus.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles waves his hand. “I’m banned from the premises. You better
expect a rebellion on your hands, Boyd and Isaac love me. We totally hang out
behind your back.”
“Funny, that’s not the impression I got when we voted.” A little nastiness
might be just what he needs to get some distance, to make sure Stiles never
returns because Stiles will hate him.
 “Um, what?” Stiles falters, and yeah, Derek wants to hug him- not that he
would ever go through with it- which is sick; he’s the one inflicting the pain.
“It was unanimous,” Derek says. “The “Bye Bye Stiles” motion passed.”
Stiles blinks. “Scott?”
Derek nods.
“Seriously? Seriously.” Stiles gesticulates wildly, obviously trying to hide
his hurt. “You guys want the former kanima- who killed billions of innocent
people, the entire police station!-  but you don’t want me.”
“You’re human.” Derek needs to remind both Stiles and himself. Stiles is human,
Stiles is 17 years old, Stiles is flirting with fucking Danny-
“Exactly! Jackson’s a super cool werewolf and still I’d choose me.”
Derek tries to hold onto his patience. “We all agreed.”
“I didn’t! Since when do you turn your dictatorship into a democracy? Huh? This
has been an all-around shit day. You guys are just, you guys are just a bunch
of racists!”
Why is Stiles so hung up on hanging out with them, anyways? They aren’t exactly
the sunniest bunch to be around.  Is Stiles disagreeing with him just for the
fun of it? Or-“Do you want to be a werewolf?”
“Hell no!” Stiles answers so quickly Derek feels insulted. “You would, you-
what if I’d said yes? You would’ve just given me the bite?”
Derek leans in. “Not even if you begged me on your knees.”
“Like oral sex?” Jesus.
Derek blinks. He quickly scopes the corridor, just to make sure no one in his
pack is here, because that came so out of the blue Derek didn’t have time to
focus on something that would keep him angry in order to quell his arousal.
“Tell me true now,” Stiles continues, “if I gave you a super trooper blow job,
the works, paying attention to your balls, swallowing, everything,” Stiles is
torturing him. Right here, in the mall, Stiles is trying to kill him.  And he’s
succeeding, this is worse than wolfsbane.
Stiles is not done. “You still wouldn’t do it?  Wait, is that what everyone
else had to do? ‘Cos that’s abuse of power, right there.  Like there was on the
vote. I bet it was rigged. No, I’m sure of it.”
Derek still has way too many inappropriate images floating about, and so many
thoughts- just how did Stiles gather all this expertise on giving head? Don’t
picture him jacking off to porn, don’t. But just what kind of asshole does
Stiles think he is? “That’s not what I meant.”
Sure, the selection process he went through to build his pack wouldn’t win any
Nobel Peace Prizes.  His parents would turn around in their graves if they knew
how young, how vulnerable and therefor susceptible to his offer of the bite his
pickings were. 
But especially because of that vulnerability, he’s their alpha, he would never
cross that line in a sexual manner with anyone in his pack.
Even if his purists-to-the-old-werewolf-ways parents wouldn’t have approved of
his methods, Laura would’ve.  She’d see Isaac, Erica, Boyd, even Jackson, and
she’d understand that he’d been drawn to the overlooked, the people who were
falling through the cracks, the underdogs. 
Those who were the most like him.  She’d know he’d needed to build his pack
fast to avenge their family.
“Don’t mind me,” Danny says. “Just passing through.”
Derek watches his rival and clenches his hands to hide his claws.  What the
fuck does this kid have that Derek doesn’t?
“Oh dude, it’s not what it looks like,” Stiles says, rambling off about
gladiators and their dicks. Does Stiles even listen to himself?  First with the
blowjobs and now this? No doubt all for Danny’s benefit.
Danny who is, yep, checking Derek out.
The idiot.
Stiles is hot for him and this fucking Einstein wants a werewolf who’s less
than two weeks away from murdering a relative.
“-with the Greeks?” Stiles finishes. Takes a breath, and keeps going. “I guess
it’s more of a personal thing.  So-o. Danny. Danny-boy. What d’you get?”
“It was nice seeing you again Miguel, but I have to go.” Danny smiles at Derek
and Derek feels like grabbing Stiles and saying, “see? Your boyfriend’s
flirting with me.”God, Stiles always has such bad taste. Does he, like, refuse
to be in love with anyone who might faithfully reciprocate his feelings
because-? Because…He’s some sort of masochist? It makes no sense.
Yeah, Derek realizes that this is the pot calling the kettle black, but that
does not fucking help.  Maybe Stiles and Derek should form the club of Idiots
Who Love Unrequitedly.
“Later, dude.” Stiles says, watching Danny until he’s out of sight before
facing Derek again. “Look, you want me to be quiet, I’ll be quiet, let’s just
consider this a warning. I don’t have to come and interrupt the sacred
training, but what about our plans? My dad’s old TV, movie nights.”
Right, he isn’t just here to get his heart ripped out of his chest and stomped
on by two idiot teenagers in the beginning of a mating dance.  Isaac wants him
to get a T.V. He needs an excuse, any excuse…“It would mess with pack
dynamics.”
Stiles, smart man, isn’t buying it.“After all this? I get-? I was the perfect
sidekick.  I deserve the gold medal of sidekickness.”
The. T.V. Can he still go through with it?
Spending any more time with Stiles at this point feels like walking over hot
coals. But if this works, if Stiles actually stays away for a few weeks, he
won’t get to burn his feet for a long time.   “I need to stop by your house.”
“Ha!” Stiles grins and saunters around a bit. “If I can’t go to yours, you
can’t come to mine, suckah.  Hadn’t thought of that, huh. What’ll you do when
you need a new t-shirt or a place to lie-low or some quality Stiles time?
Nothing. That’s what.”
“You done?”
“’M not even close to done. You think rich boy Jackson’s gonna let y-“
“The pack still wants the T.V.  Plan B is to send Scott.”
 
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Stiles drives them over to his place and Derek behaves, determined to get in
and out. They make it all the way into the house without incident, but then-
Stiles just has to have the last word, to push him that extra mile.  
Stiles drops his keys on the counter, the clang too loud, Derek too hyperaware
that he’s alone with a Stiles who’s turning 18 soon and is at least
unconsciously attracted to men.
In reaction to some quip, Stiles says, “In an alternate universe, I could’ve
been born the werewolf.  I would’ve been nice to puny human Derek, if he was
less of a tool than you.”
As if Stiles knows the first thing about being a werewolf. As if he’d be any
better at handling this mess, at doing things on his own with a pack to lead, a
dead family, a psychotic uncle and no one else to turn to that he can trust.
Derek just grabs Stiles’ collar and shoves him into a wall, feeling like he’s
above his body and watching himself from a distance.
“Ow, ow.  Cupboard, digging into my back.” Stiles sighs. “You’re so
predictable, dude. You need new moves. I dunno, trip me, or threaten to
dislocate my shoulder. Poison my food, if I’m hungry. Wait there’s no if about
it, just poison my food. Good food, now, it’s gonna be my last meal so the
least you could do is-”
Derek leans in, inches away from Stiles’ face, not even close to turned on for
once, just furious. “You have no idea how tempted I am.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles sniffs his breath and that breaks the weird out of body
experience.  What the hell is Stiles doing? What the hell is Derek doing? “Did
you eat cinnamon? That’s a weird spice to put on your meat.” Stiles shakes his
head. “You and your wolves are gonna perish without me.  Perish.”
Stiles is looking at Derek’s lips again. Licking his own lips like they’re
drier than sandpaper, which they are not, they are moist, and having them so
close and glistening, Derek can feel himself lose control. “Scott’s not here. 
You really want to push me?”
“Now why would I stop? Pushing you feels pretty good from where I’m standing.”
Christ.  That was supposed to be a threat and Stiles reacts like they’re
flirting?
This. This is why Derek’s wolf is so confused.  Stiles doesn’t make sense. 
Blowing cold one minute, hot the next. 
Something of his disbelief must be clear on his face, because Stiles says, “In
a completely non-sexual way. Just a relief of tension- non-sexual tension!-
kind of a figurative pushing.  I mean if I was gonna be gay, you’d be in my top
10, based on looks.  Personality, though, uh. You’d be in my top ten 10 for
looks.”
Jesus. Derek uses the same backhanded compliment technique to pick up guys in
bars.
But whatever, Stiles still doesn’t smell of anything close to arousal, so he
doesn’t mean anything by it, apparently, and Derek has already gone way too
far. 
Derek lets go and backs off.  “Where’s the T.V.?”
He needs to get out of here.
Now. What the hell was Isaac thinking? That him and Stiles would just fall into
bed and-
“My bedroom.”
No.
Stiles laughs. “It’s not like I planted it there to lure you upstairs. It is
where you tend to end up though, you gotta admit.  My bedroom.  Should I be
reading something into that? You’re pretty much the Edward to my Bella, spying
on me while I sleep.”
No matter what that just sounded like, Derek knows Stiles isn’t fishing for
some kind of confession. 
For reasons Derek doesn’t understand, everyone else in Beacon Hills has
overlooked Stiles.  Somehow, they’ve all written Stiles Stilinksi off as an
unattractive, asexual entity.
The sidekick. The friend, but never the boyfriend. The sweet, funny, nice guy
you take for granted who’s permanently ready to catch you if you fall.
Not the guy that you fucking know is so wrong for you on every level but you
just can’t stop yourself, as soon as it’s just you and your hand he pops up in
your fantasies, night after night, ever since, ever since…
If Derek’s being perfectly honest, the very first time Stiles invaded his
fantasies was a few weeks after Gerard died. He’d just been so fucking busy,
there had been no time to steal a few minutes and jack off, and then he had,
and, well, here he was.
In love with Stiles.
He hadn’t even been surprised to fantasize about grabbing Stiles’ hips and
ramming his cock into that tight ass.  Horrified, yes, but not surprised.
Because Stiles is fucking amazing. He’s fucked up, he’s lived some, he knows
what loss is but somehow he’s still funny, loyal, honest, smart, always there
for you, gorgeous.
And all of Beacon Hills is just warped in some way, because no else can see it.
Because of that, Stiles has possibly -1 self-esteem, and so, to him, the idea
that anyone might be working hard 24/7 to control any and all urges to rip his
clothes off and fuck him against a wall is so absurd it’s laughable.
Like, haha, Derek Hales wants to be in my bedroom, haha that’s so funny cos
like sex happens in bedrooms but that would tots never happen with me and
Derek, lol.
Somehow Derek isn’t getting the joke.
And apparently now Danny isn’t either, the fucker.
Stiles is looking at him, waiting for a response. Derek plays dumb. “I don’t
know what you’re talking about but it’s disturbing.”
Stiles lifts his hands, just to rub in what Derek can’t have and show off an
inch of midriff. No, not to show off what Derek can’t have, Stiles is so
oblivious he doesn’t even think he’s sexy.
Derek doesn’t know which of them is more pathetic in this equation.
“Here, how about this,” Stiles says.  “As a parting gesture, I’ll stay in the
kitchen, that way you can be sure your virtue is safe.”
Now that’s an exit line if Derek ever heard one.  He goes upstairs, searches
through Stiles’ room. Keeping things professional, only looking where a T.V.
might fit, but he’s got nothing. “Stiles!”
 “I’m busy!”
“Come here.” What did he say that for? Before Derek can say, “Actually, no,
stay downstairs and far away from me, just tell me where your T.V. is,” Stiles
is in the doorframe.
“What?” Stiles says, leaning nonchalantly against the wall.
Derek swallows and reminds himself this is the last time he’ll get to have to
see Stiles in a while.  Things are just going to get easier from here. What is
he looking fo- Oh right. “Where’s the T.V.?”
 “Under the bed.”
Good.  Great. Now Derek knows where the T.V. is.
He should be reaching for it.
Just.
Just-
Just Stiles is turning 18 in 2 weeks and his body language says he’s interested
in men. Sure, he seems to be in denial about it, and only into Danny, but could
that possibly be because Derek’s worked so hard to hide his feelings so as not
to freak out the straight minor?
So Stiles just has no clue?
That Derek is here, fucking pining away like a 12-year old girl.
In a faraway, distant place, Derek gets that even entertaining these kinds of
thoughts is a waste of time.  Even if Stiles begged him for sex, he wouldn’t do
it because…
He wouldn’t do it because…
Because?
Because.
Fuck this is bad.  Anyways, there are reasons, and he remembered thinking them
this morning when he wasn’t in Stiles’ bedroom. With him. Alone, with him, and
a bed, and no pack, no revenge, just-
Derek and Stiles.
The thing is, Derek can deal with Lydia. With Stiles liking Lydia. Stiles has
known Lydia longer than he’s known Derek, Lydia is human, a girl, plus she’s
his own age.
It doesn’t feel anything close to good to think of those two together, but
that’s life for you.
Whereas.
Danny. Still closer to Stiles' age, the right race, and obviously, Stiles’
type. But this thing those two have going on? It’s new.  They are not fucking
yet, they are very much pre-relationship.
And Derek is just supposed to respect that and tamely roll out of the way like
a submissive little bitch and sacrifice himself because…Because what?  Doesn’t
he deserve a chance? 
 “So,” Stiles says. “This is goodbye, huh? No more creeping into my house, I’ll
stay away from yours.  Sure, we’ll see each other when you need me for bait,
but it won’t be the same.”
What if… What if he just did it, if he just kissed Stiles.  A chaste, tiny
peck, very G, just to open a door.  See if there’s anything there.
A kiss should be enough to reassure him that he’s been wrong this past year,
that Stiles is in no way the one and only person in the world who’s meant for
him.
“I hate goodbyes,” Stiles says. “They suck.  You suck. Just take the T.V., ok?”
Derek walks toward him, still not sure he’s going to go through with it.
Lying to himself, because he’s already made his decision.
Stiles backs up a step. “I can carry the T.V. To the jeep or without the jeep
and just trek it all the way to your house, help set it up if you want without
using any words or my voice at all, no need to, please let’s not-”
“I’ll regret this,” Derek says.
And he just does it. Quick, fast, respectful.
Lips to lips. 
His senses pealed to detect any minute change in Stiles.
Derek more or less expects it when the only vibe he gets from the other man is
surprised. Stiles is not backing away, but that could be for millions of
reasons, the two most logical ones being he’s frozen in shock or frightened
that Derek will retaliate.
But Stiles is definitely not interested. And Derek? Derek is almost okay with
that.  It hurts, fuck yeah, obviously it hurts, but he tried. At least he
tried, and he can stop imagining things, projecting things, when Stiles looks
at him a certain way.
Derek breaks the kiss, not even that, the tiny lip rubbing, just in time to see
Stiles shut his eyes, the guy obviously uncomfortable.
 “You don’t like it,” Derek says, trying to let Stiles know that his moment of
insanity is over.
Stiles blushes. “Uh. Course I, course I like it. See?”
Stiles kisses him again, this time opening his mouth, and Derek is angry for
putting them in this situation.
He breaks the kiss again. “What exactly are you trying to do?”
“Could I uh ask you the same question?”
Yeah, “no,” Derek says. Like Derek is gonna open a vein and confess that’s he
been unrequitedly in love with Stiles for a year.
Fuck no.  Being rejected is enough humiliation for one day.
 “I, I was just really, really into it,” Stiles stammers.
Bullshit. “Uhun.  Stiles?”
“Yes, Derek?” 
“I’m leaving,” Derek should feel worse about what he’s gonna say next, but all
he can picture is Jackson’s laughing and gloating face when he hears that the
alpha got rejected, and it’s not like he’d ever go through with it, but the
sentiment is there. “ If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.”
“Seriously?! I thought we were getting somewhere, you know, to a place where
there are no more death threats.”
Derek laughs a little at how obviously inexperienced Stiles is. He still
believes sex is some kind of magic fairy dust that fixes all problems. “Sex
doesn’t make death threats go away.”
“One, scary, what a thing to say to the guy you- the guy you, two, kiss! Not
sex. Barely a kiss.”
“Goodbye.” Derek tries to back away, but can’t.  What is Stiles-? Derek looks
down to where Stiles wrapped his arms around his waist. “Let. Go.”
 “I’m thinking.”
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Shhh.”  Stiles is quiet for a moment, “You want to have sex. With me?”
 “No,” Derek lies without qualm, tense and so ready to leave.  Why is Stiles
pushing this?  For the first time since the pool, Stiles-“You smell scared.”
Derek needs to leave now, shouldn’t have accepted Isaac’s challenge in the
first place, but Stiles’ arms are still wrapped firmly around his waist and
this is it, the last time that’s ever gonna happen.
What is Stiles thinking?
“If you laugh I’ll... do something really bad,” Stiles says. “So: I’ve never
done this before.”
 “I know.” And Stiles’ inexperience, more than his age, is why Derek should’ve
left as soon as he’d started feeling jealous at the mall.
“Not just sex, but never, anything,” Stiles says, his arms actually tightening
against Derek’s waist. That feels too good. He should stop, but he should at
least hear the guy out, right?  Stiles is obviously confessing to something
important here. Only an asshole would interrupt. “And being born human,
sometimes I have to process things before- All these thoughts rush in- like,
when did you brush your teeth last, Stiles? and, What would dad say if he knew?
and well that.  Those were the two thoughts.”
“Interesting.” Derek gets this impulse. This stupid, bite-him-in-the-ass,
impulse.
Just.
If Stiles wasn’t so naive and human, he would’ve received a hell of a different
kiss two minutes ago.  So Derek takes the gloves off . “All I’m thinking about
is sucking your cock.”
 “Really,” Stiles gasps and Derek freezes.
Tries not to inhale, tries not to breathe, but, fuck.
Oh fuck this is bad this is bad, Stiles is- Stiles is turned on? No.
Derek, don’t do it. Derek, don’t-
Stiles releases his hold and sprints to the other side of the room and Derek
breathes a sigh of relief only without breathing because the room smells like
Stiles and sex. But thank fuck Stiles took the choice out of his hands, was
disgusted by being turned on by a guy or something, just whatever it was, thank
fuck he let go.
Time to leave. Now, ten minutes ago. Derek turns, makes it to the door but that
repetitive woosh of fabric behind him is the sound of buttons.  Buttons being
undone.
And Derek hates himself as he turns around.
 Stiles is undressing like he’s trying to win a race, but with his usual
awkwardness, sort of tripping over himself.
Derek tries to tell himself that Stiles looks ridiculous, but the truth is,
Stiles does not.
Stiles looks like all of Derek’s fantasies coming true before his very eyes,
Stiles is deliberately removing all of his clothes and is already down to his
boxers.
Hairless chest like Derek’s, miles and miles of muscle and skin. Derek can
practically feel Stiles’ hope and nervousness and excitement and trepidation
and he can definitely see it, in the dilated pupils and the hard-on almost
poking out of his boxers.
Derek swallows as Stiles splays himself on the bed in an awkward heap.
“Just give me a… Sorry,”  Stiles says as he sits up and removes his socks.
Stiles pats the bed.
In invitation.
And this is when Derek makes the wrong choice. The stupid choice that he knows
he’ll regret for the rest of his life but honest to fucking god, he’s not made
of stone. Very much the opposite in fact. Hell, for all he knows he might be
dead in two weeks.
Derek pulls off his jeans and his t-shirt and sits on the very edge of the bed.
Trying to tell himself it’s okay because he’s not going to start anything.  No
more talk of bjs.
Stiles has to keep making the first moves and if Stiles changes his mind Derek
is out of here in a second.
What? What is he even- Jesus.
Derek stands up, meaning to tell Stiles that he’s leaving, but what comes out
of his mouth is, “We don’t have to do this.”
 “Yeah, we do,” Stiles says. “I mean, you said. Please?”
“I can smell you.” Derek can smell him and see him and wants to touch him, but
arousal does not equal consent. He had reasons for not doing this. “I know your
dick wants to.”
Hell, all they’ve done so far is G-rated kissing, Stiles has no idea what
they’re getting into except for all that porn he’s been watched on giving
blowjobs apparently and Derek shouldn’t be thinking about that now.
“You gotta trust that werewolf sense of smell. Never lies,” Stiles says.
Right now, Stiles thinks he wants Derek to give him a blow job, no doubt only
because he’s never had one before, and-
Stiles doesn’t love him.
Doesn’t even like him most of the time.
And Derek should care about that, he really should, but…
But if Derek doesn’t do it, who will?
Lydia?
Danny?
Fuck no. For whatever reason, Stiles has offered him this opportunity and Derek
will be dammed before he’ll let it go to anyone else.
Decision made, Derek straddles Stiles and leans down to kiss him, supporting
his weight on the hands he places on each side of Stiles head. With tongue,
teeth, everything, and he’s leading the kiss for maybe the first two seconds
before Stiles gets the hang of it and reciprocates pretty enthusiastically.
Still, Derek breaks the kiss to ask if this is okay, but as soon as he pulls
his mouth away, Stiles whimpers in protest and actually grabs Derek’s head by
the hair to pull him back down.
Derek can’t help himself, he grins, and then his smile widens all the more when
Stiles shoves him over so that he can be on top, legs tangled awkwardly until
Stiles seems to decide he’s comfortable.  
Oh fuck. If Stiles wants to ride him like a cowboy, that is a-okay with him.
Jesus, Stiles’ hands are everywhere like some kind of frisky octopus. Stiles is
totally bossing him around and yeah, this is not the way Derek ever imagined
things would go, but fuck him if it isn’t so sexy he has to bite back a moan
when Stiles takes over and removes both of their boxers, his hands firm and
decisive, his head leading down to-
Oh, no way. No way is Stiles sucking his dick before Derek gets a turn.
“Greedy,” Derek says, rolling them around so Stiles is the one on his back in
the single bed. 
He licks his way from Stiles pecs to his bellybutton to his cock, holding the
bottom with his fist while he licks the head, Stiles moaning away like a porn
star.
Derek’s watching Stiles’ cheeks flush as he sucks his dick, Stiles grabbing the
sheets tight, and he gets this gut feeling that this is it.
The only chance he has with Stiles.  They’ve already come so far and Stiles
never admitted that he liked him or even hinted that he does and let’s face it,
this is Stiles, sure he’s unpredictable, but he’s gonna have some kind of weird
meltdown and will probably never talk to Derek again.
The realization lasts no more than a second but it’s a jolt, like a slap to the
face.
Derek feels himself crossing a line but he can’t make himself care. Mouth still
busy savouring the taste of cock, ears feasting on Stiles’ moans, Derek reaches
an arm out.
If Derek was a better person, he wouldn’t do it.
But he’s not, he’s an asshole, so he traces the sanitized smell of waterbased
lube to the bottom of the open shelved dresser.  He silently and slowly puts
the jar on the bed. Stiles watches his hand in the container, looks at Derek’s
face, and looks at the index finger Derek coats generously.
Stiles and Derek both watch as Derek slides his finger in. 
Stiles tense up, and Derek freezes, stops moving. What the fuck has gotten over
him? He’s about to ask, “you want me to stop?” when Stiles sits up and licks
his nipple, Stiles’ tongue going straight to Derek’s cock. Which is enough of a
green light for him.
Derek clenches his teeth and thrusts with a finger he soon intends to replace
with his cock. He slides a second finger in, Stiles watching him, eyes
mesmerized on Derek’s hand.
Derek puts a condom on, leans their foreheads together, and says, of all
things, “it’ll feel better if you jerk yourself off.”
Stiles’ breath hitches as he says, “you think?”
And so Derek penetrates Stiles on a smile. Which Stiles leans up to kiss, and
that feels even more intimate than fucking, somehow.
Maybe because Derek’s trying to pretend his dick is in anything other than a
tight hole because he needs to make this feel good for Stiles fast.  He knows
he gets the right angle when Stiles’ stops jerking himself off with a mumbled
word and just digs his hands into Derek’s ass to pull him closer.
Stiles keeping Derek right where he wants him. Derek feels Stiles coming
against him and watches Stiles' face, the sight sending him over the edge.
 
Stiles is tense and quiet beside him, on his side and pretty much glued to the
wall so that they aren’t touching in this tiny bed.
Derek didn’t expect anything different and knows he has no one to blame but
himself. He should try to fix this, maybe say something helpful. “Stop
panicking.”
Probably something more helpful than that. Like what, though? Should he
apologize? Would that make things worse? He wants to leave without a word but
he wants to make sure Stiles is okay which probably means he needs to invent a
time machine and erase the last half hour of his life.
King of the stupid decision, Derek is.
 “Can’t,” Stiles finally says. “Too late. Unngh. Lydia is never gonna have sex
with me now. This? This is your fault.”
That hurts and Derek deserves it.  But already, not even an hour after pretty
awesome sex, Stiles is back to Lydia?
He supposes it’s better than Danny.
 “Sorry,” Stiles says. “Bad form to you know, say that, but still, Derek,
still! Lydia of the sun-caressed hair, Lydia of the strawberry-blond locks- not
that your hair isn’t pretty, it is, actually, it’s got a kind of prince of
darkness appea-stopping. I am stopping.”
Stiles shields his face like Derek is gonna hit him or something.  Derek has
this feeling that he should feel worse than he does, but, well, he just had
pretty awesome sex, so.
Still. That was Stiles’ first time.  He probably expected fireworks and birds
singing or some shit, the dude’s gotta be disappointed.
And yeah, Derek pretty much jumped Stiles out of nowhere, so there’s that too. 
Mostly though, Derek doesn’t know what to say that will make this better
without revealing how much Stiles’ meaningless first time actually meant to
him.
“You’d rather have stayed a virgin forever,” Derek says, discovering he’s a
little more annoyed by Stiles bringing up Lydia than he thought.
“Hey! Okay, maybe Lydia wouldn’t have, you know, been the one to-“ Stiles
stops, lost in thought. He moves around a bit in the bed, still careful not to
touch Derek, before continuing. “Someone would’ve wanted a piece of this fine
specimen of male physique. You know, at college. Yeah, there. Unless I die
before I get there which will be your fault too. So. You should apologize. To
me. Right now.”
This is ridiculous. “I didn’t cut your dick off.”
 “And I’m so very grateful. Please let’s not do that.”
“You can still use it.”
“Like, right now?” Stiles is talking like he’s having a meltdown but he’s also
checking Derek out, Stiles’ cock hardening before Derek’s very eyes.
Yeah, not gonna happen, Stiles. The sex was good but your pillow talk needs
some work. Which is a total lie.  It’s more like Derek knows he’s an asshole,
but once he can sort of blame on well how shitty his life has been lately, but
twice?
Except with Stiles staring at Derek’s cock like he’s willing it to rise, twice
is starting to feel like a good idea. His cue to leave.
“With other people,” Derek says, grabbing Stiles’ chin and raising it to his
face. “What are you doing?”
 “What am I doing with other people?” Stiles says, rambling off because he
totally didn’t get the question.
“No.” Derek covers Stiles mouth for a second, just so he can get a word in. “I
meant. One fuck didn’t damage you, you can still use your dick with other
people. And. Stop checking out my cock.”
Derek is trying not to wonder what that made Stiles think about, because
Stiles’ dick actually jerked up and hardened a bit more.
 Stiles blushes but continues. “I just meant some girls aren’t too keen on
sexing guys who’ve- Once you’ve gone gay, you can’t really go back when you’re
a dude.”
“Vinegar.”
“Excuse me? That an old-fashioned expression? Like “aw shucks” or “sugar” or 
“ain’t you a fine filly”?”
“You won’t smell like me if you use it.”
“Aha. No one will know. I’ll be a born again virgin in no time. Got some
downstairs.  Be right back.” Stiles stands, dude, the guy has a beautiful ass.
He takes a step, and falls back to the bed. Derek feels guilty and satisfied at
the proof that Stiles’ body will remember him for a few days. “On second
thought, there’s no rush. Only person around here is my dad, when he finishes
his shift at like midnight.  No imminent werewolf noses to worry about.”
Stiles will remember him, yeah, but as nothing but a pain in the ass.  The
least Derek can do is get the guy his vinegar.  Derek gets up and heads
downstairs, ignoring whatever Stiles is yelling about shirts and ice cream from
the bedroom.
He finds the half-full transparent container beneath the kitchen sink and
brings it upstairs to Stiles’ desk.
No matter how fuckable Stiles looks, they are not having sex again.
Derek puts his clothes on. “Use it quickly. Allison’s on her period so Scott
might show up.”
He almost forgets the T.V., but that’s just what he needs, an excuse to
return.  He grabs the box and leaves, wondering if this is what Isaac had in
mind when he sent him out this morning.
Wondering and regretting a lot of things, and ironically, though he barely felt
guilty while he was in Stiles’ bedroom, now it’s hitting him like a truckload.
But he doesn’t have time for guilt. It’s still bright and sunny outside which
is nature’s cruelty for you, Derek just made an unforgivable mistake and the
birds are chirping.
He changes into wolf form and races home.  He’s already wasted too much time. 
He only stops by a stream to wash Stiles’ scent of himself.
 He reaches his skeleton burned out home and smells only one pack member
inside, Isaac. Derek resists the impulse to turn around and flee.
Isaac meets him at the door, takes the cardboard box out of his arms, saying
nothing.  Being so quiet that Derek says, “Nothing happened.”
“That bad, huh,” Isaac says, heading for an electrical outlet.
“Where is everyone?” Derek says.
Isaac starts setting up the wires. “After you’d been gone two hours I sent them
home.”
“That was stupid. Call them back.”
Isaac tests the T.V, gets static. “We’ll need a DVD player or something. Stiles
wouldn’t happen-“
“Oh fuck you,” Derek says. “Help me round up the pack.”
Isaac stands and faces him, obviously on his guard. “I thought you might need
some time alone.”
“Yeah? Then why are you here?”
Isaac stares at him and doesn’t answer.
 “What are you waiting for?” Derek says. “Call them.”
“If you need to talk-“
“We don’t have time for this.  Peter’s back.”
That works.  Isaac gets moving and it isn’t long before the pack returns.
Derek waits until everyone’s arrived before making his announcement. During his
run back home he changed his plan. He’d intended to threaten everyone into
joining the hunt for Peter but it suddenly feels important to make sure he has
volunteers.
Just. He doesn’t want another person regretting their association with him.
“I’ve been telling you we need to train all this time to prepare for an enemy,”
Derek says, wondering who will decide to stay. “It’s Peter.  He’s not dead. 
The substance Deaton gave me last time only put Peter in a deep sleep.  Deaton
needed enough time to find the plant that will kill Peter permanently.”
“He’s immortal?” Erica says.
“How did I not know about this?” Scott says. “You guys. I work with Deaton.”
“Why the secrecy?” Jackson says. “And the wait? Can’t we just shoot him or
something?”
“Did Deaton find the plant?” Boyd says.
“When Peter possessed Lydia, she gave him my blood.” Derek had kept this next
part from his pack because he hadn’t trusted them with the information, but,
what the hell.  “There’s a tie between us now, if he dies I die. Except with
Deaton’s plant. I don’t know yet if he found it.  We have two weeks before
Peter wakes up. I think that answers all of your questions. Now. I need to know
if you’re with me or not.”
“Of course we’re with you,” Erica says, the “you idiot”silent, but obvious.
“We’re your pack.”
“I hate to say it but blondie has a point,” Jackson says.
“Yeah,” Scott says, and Boyd and Isaac nod.
“Good.” Derek’s surprised by how easy that was. “In two weeks, our lives will
be back to normal, but right now we need to train. No distractions.”
“Pretending we all make it through?” Jackson says. “I know I will, but bets are
out on McCall.  What next? You had us prep all year.”
Once his family is avenged he’s done coercing people to stay around. “Whatever
you want.”
 
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     For those who haven't read Sextacular:
     I modified the concept of mountain ashes so that only a human can
     close the circle. Once it's closed, a werewolf still can’t get past
     the barrier but a human, any human, can.
Derek stands outside Stiles’ house.  His resolve to stay away lasted a grand
total of just over 24 hours. The cloudy night suits his mood: implementing the
first part of his plan to kill Peter was not fun.
It basically involved wounding himself, standing over his uncle’s grave, and
watching the thick red drops land on the earth with a hiss of steam. Providing
Peter with enough blood to complete the resurrection.
Derek might not die when Peter wakes up in two weeks, but just in case…
He wants to make sure Stiles is alright. Fine, his motives aren’t that pure. He
also wants to make sure Stiles hasn’t already used that complicated little mind
of his to rationalise away their encounter.
Derek has a plan to make up for what he did.  An idea that should atone for
yesterday, though he’d be lying if he claimed he isn’t excited at the prospect
of getting fucked by Stiles.
Still.  Stiles is practically a virgin. If Stiles accepts, it’s not like Derek
expects hours of pleasure.
The light’s on in Stiles’ bedroom so Derek climbs the wall, body pulsing with
apprehension and adrenaline.  It’s not breaking in; Stiles’ window is open. 
Stiles has his back to him, playing on the computer in his boxers.
Derek slips in, knows by Stiles’ stillness that the guy heard him. The smooth,
strong muscles below his shoulders are tense.
Derek pauses, but Stiles only seems angry.  Anger, he can handle.
A pattern of freckles runs along the pale dip of his spine, like a string of
dark stars in bright daylight.  His ratty, semi-transparent boxers riding low
on his hips. Keeping his arousal in check, Derek walks up behind him, not too
close.  “What’s the point of the game?”
Stiles turns to face him, mouth pursed in a tight line.  “I’m ignoring you.”
Derek spots the pile of pillows Stiles is sitting on.  In any other
circumstances, he would be amused, but- “I was too rough?”
“No! You weren’t too- it was great. Fantastic. I can take roughness. Not that I
want to, now.”
Even though that last sentence smells like a lie, Derek nods.
So.
Stiles is not alright and he probably doesn’t want to fuck him. No matter that
Stiles already smells like arousal.
 “Just,” Stiles waves. “Our houses are supposed to be these big no-no zones. 
You’re cheating.”
True. And Derek happens to feels like cheating a little more before giving up
and escorting his own sorry ass home.  He sits on the bed. Stiles watching him
wordlessly, smelling faintly of cum, his face impassive, his pulse rapid. 
Derek quickly removes his shirt, more than willing to show off what he has. 
What did Stiles say yesterday…  Derek was in his “Top 10 in looks” or
something? The distraction that worked on Danny all those years ago might have
a similar effect on Stiles.
It does.  Stiles sneaks a glance at his chest, gapes a little. “Did Scott give
you that?”
Shit, he’d actually forgotten about the gash. Derek eyes the cut, feels the
sting of it quickly healing. As if McCall could inflict that much damage.
“Scott?”
“Like, accidentally, of course he never woulda landed a blow on his mighty
alpha.” Stiles stares at his chest intently. The flesh heals to such a point
that Derek knows he’s no longer fascinated with his injury. Stiles’ eyes glued
to Derek’s nipples when he says, “We’re not doing this.”
Stiles smells more than ready for a good, hard fucking and has a blatant
erection, but fair enough. Once again, arousal does not equal consent, so Derek
nods.
Time to go.
 “Don’t look at my dick,” Stiles says without much conviction. “It’s not the
boss of me. Fine. Fine! But don’t you dare get smug about this.  And we’re
using lots of lube. So much lube. My ass is- you weren’t too rough for me! But
lots of –whatareyoudoing?”
Derek undresses, hops on the bed and gets on all fours, doing all this too fast
to give himself any time to question his actions.  To worry that Stiles won’t
be interested.
“Um?” Stiles asks, like Derek needs to spell it out.
Jesus. Does he need to spell it out?
If yes, that’s a sure sign they shouldn’t be doing this.
But Stiles is a smart guy, so…
When Stiles continues not to jump him, Derek growls, “whenever you’re ready.”
And that’s like a gun being shot at the races because Stiles is in motion and
immediately behind him. “Are you going to kill me if I come too fast?”
Derek smiles, knowing Stiles can’t see his face. “Yes.”
 “K. ‘M doing this.”
And Stiles does. Sliding in so slow and careful that Derek, impatient, shoves
himself down Stiles’ cock.
The fullness feels amazing.
He can picture them, a smaller man thrusting into a bigger guy whose ass is in
the air like a total slut. This is just what he needs. To surrender, to stop
thinking and planning for a second. Stiles is a natural, better than Derek
expected.
Fuck. Did Stiles just- Derek hears himself moan like a whiny bitch and quickly
buries his head down in the softness of a pillow. Oh fuck. How does Stiles know
how to do that? What kind of porn has he been watching? Jesus.
Stiles is everywhere, pumping inside him, jerking Derek off, tweaking his
nipples even. His hands, his mouth, his cock, all over him. Smelling like sweat
and cum. Derek can’t see him, but he can feel him so deep. Surrounding him.
Unlike last night, Stiles is loud, gasping and moaning, humming-? What the fuck
is he-
Stiles licks him, bites his back. Possessive, like Stiles wants Derek and Derek
is his alone, and Derek comes, he can feel it down to his fucking toes curling
against the mattress.
When he returns to himself Stiles is limp on top of him.
As soon as Derek really starts to savour his weight, Stiles pulls out. Cleans
himself up a bit and falls back on the bed.
Their hips touching, which is easy to do, the mattress is so small, but last
night Stiles managed to keep his own space.
Stiles breathes slowly beside him and it’s weird. Derek thought he could settle
for sex but he wants to hear Stiles talk. Listen to him ramble on or whatever,
just he needs to hear his voice.
 “You hummed a song,” Derek notes. “For a minute there.”
“No I didn’t.”
Derek leans up so he can see Stiles’ face. “You did.”
He looks relaxed, all loose, his hair dishevelled, cheeks still flushed.  “See
I’m pretty sure I didn’t. And it’s my vocal cords, so… Besides. You bit the
pillow.”
Stiles saw that? The sheet is carelessly low at his waist, with a teasing
glimpse of hipbone.  He has so many freckles, no scars though. “And you bit my
back?”
“What’s this? A play-by-play of my moves? I loved it, you obviously loved it,
that’s all we need to know.” Stiles reaches up to kiss him and Derek starts to
wonder if Stiles doesn’t like him a little.
God, he tastes delicious. Derek has never just made out with anyone. Stiles
breaks the kiss, but he curls his body up to Derek’s and places his head on his
chest.
Derek suspends all movement, his arms limp at his sides. 
He should leave.
He's training the pack later tonight. Jackson’s providing a bunch of blow-up
dolls, Erica’s getting the gasoline and the chainsaw, Boyd’s cutting them some
wood and Isaac’s bringing everything else they need to practise disposing of a
body.
Stiles starts massaging circles into Derek’s ribs, his breath cool on Derek’s
sternum. Ten minutes. He’ll leave then.  Derek tentatively wraps his arms
around Stiles, but Stiles just curls in closer.
Derek grins. Stiles is a snuggler.
When his time runs out, Derek sighs and gets dressed.
 Takes one last look at Stiles, who doesn’t want anyone to know about this.
 He’ll have to wash himself off in the stream again. “You still smell like me.”
 
Monday afternoon, Derek walks into the vet’s.
“I’ve been expecting you,” Deaton says without looking up from the table, where
he’s inspecting a cat with a broken paw.
“Peter’s back. I gave him the blood.”
“Then everything’s going according to plan.” Deaton lifts the hissing feline
and puts her in a small cage.
“You sure this is going to work?”
“It’s our best shot.” Deaton brings the cage into another room and returns, his
hands empty. The older man opens a cupboard and takes out a tiny vial. “Five
drops of this and-“
 “Yeah, I remember.” The vial contains a dark, thick mixture. He can barely
smell it through the glass, but that’s probably a good thing. Faintly acidic
with a tang of blackberry?
 “Tell me,” Deaton says, holding the vial hostage. “What are you going to do
after you kill Peter?”
“Cut him and burn him, professor. I remember everything you said las-”
“Kate’s dead, Gerard’s dead.  Assuming this works, Peter will be too. All your
enemies, gone.  How will you handle a future where there’s no threat to
defeat?”
What a stupid question. “There’s always a threat to defeat.”
“I see. But supposing there isn’t? Supposing-“
Derek can already tell where this is headed. “Before you say one fucking thing
about me not having enough heart or tell me I underestimate human love, let me
remind you what I did to the last asshole who tried that shit. That would be
Peter. Give me the vial.”
Deaton hands it over and actually smiles. “For the record, a blind man can see
you know more about the intricacies of love than most people grasp in a
lifetime. It’s your anger I worry about.  Yes it makes you focused, but soon
you won’t need it.  It will hurt the people you care about and make you weak.”
Deaton always knows exactly which buttons to push. “I’ve got it under control.”
“How do you think Kate was made? Peter?”
What the hell? “Are you comparing me to-? They were born sociopaths!”
“Hmm. Maybe I’m remembering this wrong, but… Wasn’t Peter your favorite uncle?
Always joking around when your parents could be quite strict-“
Derek leans in.  “Don’t.”
“All right,” Deaton nods. “Good luck.”
Derek is at the door when Deaton says, “oh, Derek, before you go.  You wouldn’t
happen to know why Stiles Stilinski needed 10 lbs of mountain ashes?”
Derek falters.
An emptiness in his chest like someone ripped something out and the sting of
acid in his throat like guilt, choking him. “No.”
He keeps walking, gets into the car, places the vial in his glove compartment,
and drives the fuck out of there.
 
Derek arrives at Isaac’s house.
Haunted by Deaton’s words.  He can’t even think about Stiles- but
Peter.
The ugly truth is, growing up, Peter was his role model.  Funny, care-free,
always with a girl on each arm.  Of course, even at a young age Derek wanted a
guy on each arm.
Peter had been the one person in his family, besides Laura, that Derek
suspected would be okay with him being gay. Not that he’d ever gotten to
telling him.
When he’d tried to tell his parents, his dad flat out stopped him, and the look
in his eyes… He loved his dad, but the man had been strict. Understandably,
though. It had been important, just for his kids’ survival.  Both of his
parents equipped their children with the discipline required to keep their race
a secret in a town full of humans.  
But his dad could be a conservative asshole at times and when Derek tried to
come out, the man went on some speech about tradition and how the bite was
wrong and procreation was key to the survival of the race. 
Which would be about the time Kate walked into his life.  He’d felt so relieved
when they’d clicked- in hindsight, probably because the manipulative, cold-
hearted bitch had basically been a guy in a girl’s body.
Kate told him to keep it a secret because of their ages, and Derek had been so
happy that maybe he didn’t have to be a disappointment in his father’s eyes
that he’d never questioned her.
Kind of like the way Stiles was so happy to find out somebody wanted him that
he’d gone along with everything Derek tried.
Derek feels the brutal sting of that thought, but dwelling in regret won’t help
anyone.
Derek gets out of his car and walks up to the entryway.
Doesn’t even have to knock. Isaac just opens the door. “We training or som-“
“That girl you’re dating,” Derek says.
 Isaac tenses. “What about her?”
“You told her you’re a werewolf?”
“You said I could!”
“Calm down. I stand by what I said. I’m here because I need to ask the two of
you a favour.”
“You…do?” Isaac says.
It was about a month ago, after a training that Stiles witnessed, trying to be
discrete, to stick to the sidelines, but smelling so fucking good and as if
Derek could ever ignore him, that Isaac walked up to him and said, “So. I won’t
tell anybody and I’m not questioning your taste, but… Stiles?”
It’s only a matter of time before another beta figures it out, but so far Isaac
kept his word. “I think Stiles set up a circle of mountain ashes around his
house.  I need you to check it out and have your girlfriend fix it if it’s
broken. Once a day, until Peter’s dead. At sunset.”
 Isaac gapes at him.
“You’ll do it?” He needs the protection in place in case Peter wakes up early,
but also so Derek doesn’t get any stupid ideas.
Isaac speaks carefully, measuring out his words like he only has a few left.
“Just what exactly did you do to hi-“
“Nothing,” Derek says, keeping his face blank. As blank as he can, knowing
Isaac can smell the lie. “This is all Stiles’ initiative. It has to stay
between the three of us, though. Can I count on you?”
Isaac nods. “But Derek?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Sure,” Isaac said. “Whatever. Quit being defensive for a second and listen to
me.”
Derek wants to remind Isaac of his position within the hierarchy of the pack,
but he sheathes his claws, hating that he has to play nice for Stiles. “What?”
Isaac firms his shoulders but delivers his message with his eyes closed. 
“Don’t think that because I’m helping you, because I’m keeping your secret, I
won’t bust your balls off if you hurt him.”
“I’d never-I couldn’t-“
 “You sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”
Derek’s wolf wakes up. “Since when do you care about what happens to Stiles?”
“Whoa!” Isaac raises his arms. “He’s all yours! Just. You’re a werewolf, the
Alpha, and he’s not. Even if he was, you’re twice his size. I won’t let you
walk around thinking that just because he’s small and weak he’s not protected.”
Derek’s eyes slide to the basement window, where Isaac could’ve used a little
protection when his dad used to lock him in the freezer.  Isaac notices where
his eyes land but he doesn’t say a word.
“Fair enough,” Derek says, over his worry that Isaac’s wants Stiles. “But for
the record? Stiles isn’t weak.”
Or small, Derek thinks with a smirk that fades as quickly as it came. Deaton’s
right. What stops him from being a psychopath? From being exactly like his
uncle?
Controlling any and all urges to possess Lydia? That won’t be hard.  Not
killing anyone? Years too late. The undeniable power of human love?
It’s why Stiles has a circle of mountain ashes around his house right now.  To
defend himself against Derek. A guy who, if only in the privacy of his own
mind, claims to love him. 
***** Chapter 4 *****
It’s been a week since Derek asked Isaac to watch over Stiles. Things are
progressing according to plan and so, after a hard day’s work, Derek lets the
pack relax with a movie while he goes for a run.
He can tell something’s off half a mile away from Peter’s grave.  The earth is
too rippled, more than this morning even. 
Oh, Peter’s still in there, he can tell that by the stench alone, but he’s
waking up fast. Going by the striations in the ground, Peter might wake up…
It’s already nightfall. Deaton said Peter could only rise at sunset. Tomorrow?
He races back home. “We’re fighting Peter tomorrow night.”
For a second no one stirs from their slouched positions on the couch.
“Finally!” Jackson says, jumping up and rubbing his hands together. “You need
us to go through the motions again? To-“
“No,” Derek says. “Go home. We’re ready but you should be with people you- with
friends.  Family.”
If anything goes wrong…Nothing will, but they should enjoy tonight.
No one stirs.
Until-
“Ow!” Scott says.
Derek stares at Erica. He saw her kick Scott in the shin.
Erica stands, avoiding his gaze.  She gets behind Scott. Derek can only see her
long hair peeking past but he can tell by the way Scott’s tripping over himself
that she’s shoving Scott towards him.
“Okay!” Scott takes a white crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and
starts reading, his voice stilted. “Derek. I am the representative of the pack.
This is an intervention. We think you have been acting weird lately, and we are
worried that-“
“This better be a joke,” Derek growls.
They all look at him, their expressions more serious than he’s ever seen them.
Boyd bursts out laughing first. “You should’ve seen your face!”
“It’s a joke,” Isaac says. “Scott’s not doing the intervention, I am.”
“Oh thank god, woulda been,” Scott mumbles. “Hard. Too much. Words? Words. And
stuff. Wait. Words… Derek! Stiles!”
“What is it?” Derek says, glaring at Isaac. “You said you checked the-“
“I did!” Isaac says. “Yesterday.”
“Stiles…” Scott says. “Mountain ashes? Protection? Why does Stiles need…” Scott
drifts off, sprawling himself on the weathered lazy boy that showed up with the
couch and the DVD player.  Isaac’s doing.
“So,” Isaac nods. “We should probably do this outside.”
No fucking way. “I’m not-“
“You are,” Isaac says, running out of the house, so sure that Derek will
follow.
Because Isaac knows about Stiles. Derek is outside, leaning against a tree just
out of the other pack members’ earshot, waiting for Isaac to begin.
But Isaac seems to be gathering his thoughts and Derek has something on his
mind. “What makes me any different from Peter?”
Isaac sighs, unsurprised, like he’s been expecting this. “One key difference is
he’s bent on survival and you seem to have a sudden death wish.”
What the fuck? “I don’t have a-“
“Save it,” Isaac says. “Last week. Why the hell did you tell us killing him
kills you? You don’t trust us that much.”
Derek sighs and wishes there was something close he could kick, surprised Isaac
picked up on that. “I…don’t know.”
“Look, I get that it’s hard.  He’s your uncle. Just don’t do anything stupid.
Keep with the self-preservation, now is not the time for self-sacrifice.”
“Me?” Derek laughs. “Self-sacrifice?”
“Yeah. Uhun. What happened with Stiles?”
Derek started to worry he dreamed the whole Danny thing up. “Nothing. The guy’s
straight.”
“He is not,” Isaac says.
Derek keeps a lid on his jealousy, barely. “You know that how?“
“Would you quit thinking I-“ Isaac sighs with exasperation. “Stiles is just
particular. Has a specific type. The way I see it, you’ve got this in the bag.
Stiles liked Lydia right?
“A girl.”
“Sure, but she also happens to be…” Isaac lifts his eyebrows.
“What?”
“You really don’t see it?”
“Isaac…” Derek growls.
“She’s a lonely insecure beauty who’s at the top of the food chain and always
treats him like shit. Sound like anyone we know?”
Did Isaac just call him “a lonely insecure beauty”? “What the hell are you-“
“She does it with guile and brains, you do it with smoldering looks and brute
strength. But you’re two of the same pair, and shoot me if I’m wrong, but I
have the feeling, you’ve already imprinted on him.  Which puts you ahead of the
game. Stiles is nothing if not loyal.”
“That’s a load of bullshit.”
“It’s not,” Isaac says. “Boyd, Scott, Erica, Jackson, me? We’re ready for
tomorrow. You. You need to work your shit out.”
“You’re out of line,” Derek says.
“Maybe,” Isaac says. “And since I am? My girlfriend’s out of town for the
weekend.”
Oh fuck no. It doesn’t smell like a lie, but, “you couldn’t ask her to stay?”
“It was sudden,” Isaac says. “Surprising.”
“I’ll bet.” There goes his daily check-up on Stiles’ circle of mountain ashes,
and just when Peter’s about to show. “You just about done?” 
Isaac nods.
Derek walks into the house where the pack is pretending to avidly watch TV.
Except for Scott, he’s not pretending, he’s taking a nap.
 “Jackson!” Derek says. “I need a human.”
He could send someone else to take care of it, but he won’t be able to sleep
without knowing firsthand that the circle is closed.  Not this close to the
end.
Jackson frowns. “Is it going to be dangerous?”
“No,” Derek says.
“I’ve got Lydia or Danny.”
The choice is easy. “Lydia.”
One day she might get pissed enough at Jackson to screw Stiles, but if Isaac’s
right and Stiles isn’t straight, Danny… Danny, if he gets his head out of his
ass, could actually fall in love with Stiles.
Derek will be damned before he helps the competition.
“Didn’t I tell you to go home?” Derek says, since his pack seems glued to the
screen.
“When the movie’s done,” Erica says.
Fine. It’s their lives. “Make sure you all get some sleep.”
Derek picks Lydia up at the mall by brandishing Jackson’s name and growling a
bit, happy to disrupt her perfect little routine.  He lets her rant and rave as
much as she wants as he drives them over, parks the car by the side of the
road, not too far.
“I don’t get why Jackson likes you.” Lydia hugs her arms together, cold in her
flimsy dress, heels clonking away on the gravel. “You better not be leading him
into a life of crime.”
To think that Isaac believes him and Lydia are “two of a pair”.
The lights are off at Stiles’ house, but he’s home.  Going by his scent and the
sounds, he’s in the living room.
“We have to be quiet.” Derek spots a hole in the circle. “Here.”
“I wouldn’t have gotten a manicure if I’d known I’d be playing with dirt.”
Lydia crouches down, keeps finding the holes and fixing them.  She actually
finds them faster than Derek, she’s using the light from her cell, but-
“Would you quit flashing that light?” Derek says but it’s too late. “He’s seen
us.”
“Then why don’t we say hi?  I don’t get why this has to be some big secret.”
She walks up to the front door.
“Lydia, don’t!” Shit.
Well, whatever. He did what he needed to do.
The circle’s fixed, those two lovebirds can do what they want. Derek heads
toward his car, Lydia and Stiles’ voices carrying.
“Hey Lydia.” Stiles says. “What’s up?”
Lydia speaks. “Whine whine whine”
Stiles speaks. “Oh Lydia, my love, let me be your knight in shining honour. 
Shall I bow down so you may walk all over me? Blah blah blah I’m gay.”
 Did Stiles just say- what the fuck?
 “He’s not,” Derek walks into the house. Stiles does not get to play the gay
card to pick up chicks on his watch.
“Oh come on,” Stiles says.  “Don’t keep me your dirty little secret.  Now is
not the time.  Wait, so Peter isn’t outside wanting to kill me?”
Derek’s going to have to have a talk with Scott about keeping his mouth shut.
“Thanks for your help,” Derek tells Lydia.
 “That’s it?” Lydia says.
“Yep,” Stiles says, “that’s it.” Walking towards Derek to-? To-? Wtf? Kiss him
so he can prove his gayness in his quest to win Lydia? Oh no fucking way. “Ow!
Ow!”
Derek might have stopped Stiles with a little too much force.
Possibly because Derek’s pulling him outside by the arm.
“Where are you going?” Lydia says.
“If I don’t show up within 24 hours tell my dad Derek ate my corpse,” Stiles
yells. “We just leaving her in my house? And ow, if you want to hold hands so
badly, do it like a normal person.”
Derek grabs Stiles’ foot and uses it to kick an opening in the barrier of
mountain ashes.  Uses Stiles foot to kick the circle closed. 
“Watch it!” Stiles says, so Derek loosens his hold.
“You aren’t leading me to Peter, right?” Stiles mumbles.
“Idiot.”
“Hey. I’m just checking. Not some kind of woodland virgin sacrifice ceremony,
either? Cos, you know I’m not eligible anymore. ”
Derek shoves Stiles against a tree.  Kisses him with the woods all around them,
Stiles kissing him back, gasping, “Derek, babe, gentle with the human.” But
Derek doesn’t know if he can be gentle, he wants to, he doesn’t want to hurt
Stiles, but- But.
“Where have you been?” Stiles whispers, pulling him close. “A week!”  Derek
barely hears him, he just needs Stiles to keep kissing him and never to stop.
“You didn’t happen to bring any lube with you?” Stiles whispers, his hands
beneath Derek’s jeans.
And Derek is so surprised the sentence cuts through the fog.
Who fucking cares if Stiles loves him.  Who cares if Stiles would ever choose
him above anyone else, instead of always seeing him as the guy who’s
conveniently jumping him so Stiles might as well let it happen.
 Stiles wants him. Stiles actually wants him, and that’s enough. That will have
to be enough.
“Um,” Stiles says. “Never mind.”
Derek feels all the tension of the last week float out of his body and laughs,
because Stiles sounded so disappointed.
“No,” Derek finally says. “Sorry.”
And this sets Stiles off in motion and Derek is more than happy to let Stiles
take charge. Stiles ramming him against the tree trunk, the force and almost
violence of Stiles’ desire a balm to Derek’s wolf.  Stiles almost rips his
clothes off until Stiles can get at his cock and then he fucking- fucking deep-
throats it? Jesus. Jeeeesus.
Derek and Stiles need to have a serious talk about the porn Stiles is watching.
The guy has no gag reflex, what the fuck, has he been practising on bananas or
something? Oh fuck.
Stiles, the geek, probably researched this in preparation and oh. Oh. Fuck.
Derek grabs Stiles shoulders because he needs something to hold onto.
Derek can feel himself getting close but he pulls out, kneels down. Holds
Stiles’ face and kisses him, slowly, still so turned on but sorry for coming on
too strong earlier. Stiles relaxes into his hold, completely trusting.
Derek grabs their cocks and jacks them off. Stiles falling against the tree
trunk, the graceful arch of his back, the fucking flushed cheeks, miles of hard
chest and tight nipples, his x-rated moans, it’s all too much.
His face is beautiful as he comes and Derek finally lets go too.
Stiles, spent and sated, nudges Derek until he’s lying on the ground and
plasters himself on top. Derek grins and wraps his arms around his bossy
partner.
“So,” Stiles speaks into Derek’s neck. “Was Peter the one who cut you? Sunday?”
“Duh,” Derek says. “Lydia fixed your circle.  There were seven weak spots.” 
Which is roughly on par with what Isaac’s been reporting all week.  There
wouldn’t be a circle left if Derek had let Stiles to his own devices.
“Yeah right. I spread those ashes like a pro.  You just wanted to flirt with
Lydia.  If the circle was broken, why would you wait until tonight to fix it?
Ha! Admit it, you saw an opportunity and you shamelessly-”
Oh fuck no. Not this again. “Are you jealous?”
“Are you changing the subject?”
“Answer the question.”
“Fine, maybe.  Maybe I’m jealous. Happy?”
Derek knows he should just let it go but is Stiles blind? Derek’s not a great
catch or anything but, seriously. “You don’t think it’s about time to move on?
You’ve liked her since what, birth? Has she once done anything that hints she
sees you as more than a doormat? Needing a shoulder to cry on when Jackson is
an asshole only proves my po-”
“That’s not what I meant, stupid. I’m jealous of- just, back to me for a
second. Why wait until tonight to show up?”
Oh.
What?
Did Stiles mean-? Did Stiles-?
Derek can’t make himself ask because what if he’s projecting again and Stiles
doesn’t mean to make it sound like he enjoys Derek’s company.
What could be a reason why Derek showed up tonight? He’s not about to tell
Stiles that the pack held an intervention. “Scott only told me about the
mountain ashes today.”
Stiles is quiet for a while, his body relaxing on top of Derek’s.
Oh Stiles is- Is he mumbling that children’s song about trees and kissing?
“What are you humming now?”
“Nothing,” Stiles says, stopping his jaunty little tune. “Since I’ve got you at
my disposal, what’s with Scott? Have you been torturing him?”
Scott doesn’t seem any different than usual.  Derek shrugs.
Stiles doesn’t say anything else, his breathing slowing down as he drifts off.
“Stiles.”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t fall asleep.”
“Why not? ‘M comfy.”
“I have to go.”  He still has to prepare a few things for tomorrow.
“Would you quit saying that? Just no. You need to sleep, I need to sleep,
you’re my pillow.”
“Stiles…”
“Stay.”
So bossy. Derek should leave now, but a few hours won’t make much of a
difference.  “Fine. But only for a little while.”
“Cool,” Stiles mumbles.
Derek doesn’t intend to fall asleep, but he knows he screwed up when he starts
awake and the night sky shining amid the branches is blue-tinged.
“Wake up.” Derek nudges Stiles wherever he can reach him.
 “Stop it,” Stiles mumbles, “the ice cream, no, don’t.  Derek, shhh. Five more
minutes.”
“No. Get dressed.”
Stile sits up, blinking.  Derek hadn’t thought Stiles had enough hair for it to
look weird in the morning, but it does, spiked up in strange places and flat in
others. “Yeah, okay.”
They dress.
Well, Derek dresses. Stiles shoves his damp jeans on, but opts not to zip
anything, slides his shirt on inside-out, unbuttoned and flying wide open over
his torso, puts on his shoes.
And stands there, impatient, waiting for Derek to finish.  Stiles’ socks and
boxers, still lying on the ground.
In honor of Stiles trying to use their relationship to score points with Lydia
last night, Derek keeps his mouth shut and hopes the Sherriff will be awake and
sitting in the kitchen when Stiles gets home.
Derek escorts Stiles to the circle, where Stiles carelessly creates a hole when
he walks past the barrier.
Derek grabs Stiles’ sleeve. “Close the circle.”
 “Later.”
“Now.”
 “You know something I don’t? Like, is Peter coming after me?”
“I’d tell you if he was.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
“Because you don’t trust me?  He’s not coming after you. But if Peter sees the
extra protection, he’ll assume it’s guarding something important to me so he’ll
try to get in. Close it.”
 “I can’t. You’re holding my shirt.”
Derek lets go.
Stiles doesn’t move. Frowns. “I’ll do it if you kiss me. You know, a proper
goodbye. From one dude to another.”
Derek can’t believe the man he loves just called him ‘dude’, but he leans in to
kiss him.
“Your mouth tastes awful,” Derek lies.
“Your mouth tastes awful.”
Stiles grabs Derek’s shirt collar and pulls him in, and Derek will never get
tired of a forceful-Stiles.
But today’s a big day.  The day he kills his uncle.
Derek pulls back. “I have to go.”
“Hey, last night, or this morning, remember? Stop saying that.”
“I have to…What am I supposed to say?”
“I dunno, just not that.”
“You’d rather I leave without a word?”
“How about we use a code, like, whenever you have to leave, you say…Oreos.
It’ll soften the blow.”
“Bye Stiles.”
“Fine, I’ll say it. Oreos. Tons of important,” Stiles yawns, “important stuff
to do.”  Stiles kicks the ashes back where it’s supposed to be. “That was our
code word.”
“Yeah, I got it. Just don’t forget the vinegar.  And Stiles? Stay home
tonight.” 
***** Chapter 5 *****
“Isn’t the bastard supposed to be awake already?” Jackson says later that day,
rising from the couch for the fifth time in two minutes.
The sun is setting in half an hour.  Derek and the pack are in his house, about
to set out, so everyone’s a little on edge. But they all showed up.
Boyd, Erica, Jackson, Isaac, Scott. All of them.
“If he was awake,” Derek says, “our plan would be screwed. Everyone remembers
their position?”
They all chime in with a variant of “yes”.
“Tell me again,” Jackson says, fiddling nervously with the converter, “why we
can’t just dig him up now?”
“Derek dies,” Isaac growls.
Jackson frowns. “But can’t we-“
“Deaton said Peter has to wake up on his own for the poison to work,” Erica
says. “And you know that. Stop chickening out.”
 “We can do this,” Derek says. “Erica, when you hear my sign-“
The front door slams open.
“Well isn’t this nice,” Peter says, “cozy, almost-“
Fuck.
“Run!” Derek yells, charging for his uncle. Intent on bringing the man down so
that his pack can get away.
Just when Derek’s about to hit him, Peter attacks.
Throwing Derek across the room. The wall cracking as he hits it. Derek ignores
the pain, he doesn’t have time for it. 
Peter lifted him like he weighed nothing at all. Deaton never said anything
about Peter being this strong.
And the motherfucker woke up early.
But it doesn’t matter, the pack made it out.
“Miss me?” Peter says, kneeling down, looking like he’s been on a vacation in
the tropics rather than buried six feet underground.
Derek spits out a mouthful of blood. He needs to lead Peter to the forest,
where they set up a cage and left the vial.  Call him sentimental, but Derek
hadn’t wanted another murder to happen in his house.
“Is what I heard right?” Peter says. “If you kill me, you die?  I don’t suppose
the opposite is true.”
Derek glares at his uncle. “Yes.”
“Well isn’t that interesting,” Peter says. “Where’s the poison?”
Derek keeps his mouth shut, trying to spot an opening, a weakness, anything
that’ll give him an edge.
“Come on, Derek. Don’t be that way.  We’re family. I heard Erica. Where’s the
poison? How does it work?”
“I’ll never tell you.”
 “Pity,” Peter says. “But I think your pack will.”
No fucking way is Derek letting his uncle anywhere near his pack. Derek rises
up and launches himself on Peter, teeth first.
A punishing blow to the stomach blocks him. Derek lands on the floor with a
crash. Peter moves too fast.  More than werewolf fast.
Before Derek can rise, Peter slaps a cold manacle on his wrist, one of two
pairs that lead to the wall.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon,” Peter says, and he’s gone.
Derek can’t tear the manacle out of the wall, it’s too reinforced. But he has
the keys in his fucking pocket, because sentiment or no, plan B had been to
lock Peter up here.
Derek frees himself and heads out, hoping the pack made it to the stream and
camouflaged their odour. Not wanting to waste a second, Derek removes his
clothes and scatters them to spread his scent. 
Peter’s trail heads west.  Derek follows it for what seems like hours. It’s
already dark out and Peter’s always just out of reach.
“Boo,” is all Derek hears before the light goes out.
He wakes up with a start, frozen drops of water hitting his face. Back where he
started, in his house, chained.
Fuck his pockets are empty.
Peter smirks, lifting the keys.
Did his uncle kill his pack? Is he the only one left? Derek opens his mouth to
ask but breathes in vinegar and freezes, horrified.
No no no no.
Stiles you fucking idiot you better not be here.  Oh fuck.
You better not be dead if Peter touched you I’ll-
 “Oh, Derek,” Peter says. Does he have the vial? Has he already poisoned Derek?
Surely Derek would feel it. “It’s adorable that you truly believed you and your
pack of angst-ridden teenagers would win.  How many times do I have to come
back to life for you to get it? I can’t die.”
Yes! Yes! Over the scent of vinegar Stiles you idiot, there’s that acid
blackberry mixture, barely detectable, but that must mean at least someone in
his pack is nearby, ready to close in.
 “You can still join me.” Peter says, and Derek can smell the vial getting
closer. He just needs to distract Peter. “Sure I have my quirks, but who
doesn’t?  Honestly, think about it for a second. And hasn’t there already been
enough death in the family? It’s a pity about Laura... You know, tearing her in
half was surprisingly easy, but then she still trusted me.”
A bang from upstairs- a shot? Derek doesn’t care, Peter’s taken off guard. 
Derek jumps to the end of his chain but Peter’s too far-
Isaac, Boyd, Jackson, and Scott, coming out of nowhere, charging Peter. Peter
fighting back, viciously, shit, shit, they’re too far for Derek to help.  Erica
shows up, gives the pack an edge, they have him!
They pin him. Erica opens the vial and pours it down Peter’s throat and the
pack lets go, all of them gagging at the stench but Peter falls.
His foot landing just close enough. 
Derek grabs it and pulls. Given Peter’s weird power the poison might not be
enough. Derek uses teeth and claws to sever anything he can reach, to rip and
tear.
He smells Stiles upstairs, hears him walking closer, alive! but that just makes
Derek more determined to ensure Peter never returns.
“Stiles?” Scott says. “I smell Stiles, right?”
“Yes,” Jackson growls. “He stinks.”
“Is Derek okay?” Stiles says and Derek stops.
He drops Peter’s corpse and turns to see upstairs. Stiles is-
Stiles is fine.
Thank fuck Stiles is fine.
“Come on,” Erica says. “We have to cut Peter up and burn the body.”
“Please could someone turn on a light,” Stiles says. “Derek’s alive?”
Jackson flicks the switch.
Stiles’ face, shocked and relieved as he takes in the scene. Stiles falls to a
sitting position, with a gun. So he is the one who- Stiles is staring at
Erica’s breasts.
Derek lifts his manacled hands. “Erica’s right. Get the key for the chains.”
The pack walks up to the corpse, everyone except Scott doing their assigned
job.
“Anything I can do to help?” Stiles says, his face so pale like he’s going to
faint.
“I’ll stay and keep guard,” Scott says, when he was supposed to be the one
wrapping the tarp, but it’s best that someone stays with Derek and Stiles.
Isaac looks at him and Derek nods his permission.
“Chicken,” Boyd says.
“Can I ask why you’re all-“ Stiles waves his hand.
“Naked?” Erica smirks.
“Earth covered,” Stiles says.
“We had an orgy,” Erica says. “Is little Stiles sad he wasn’t invited?”
“As if I would touch any of you,” Jackson says.
Derek is relieved to hear all his pack members joke around but he’s still on
edge, won’t feel like this is done until he sees Peter’s ashes.  He resists the
impulse to hurry everyone up, they’re almost out the door.
“It’s impossible anyways,” Stiles says. “You have to be 8 people or more and
you’re only-“
“We were trying to disguise our scent so that Peter wouldn’t find us,” Isaac
says.
“Uhun?” Stiles says. “What did that entail, exactly?”
“Mud,” Boyd says.
The door shuts as his pack leave with Peter.
“Clothes!” Stiles says. “I can get you two clothes.”
 “I want my mom,” Scott moans.
“As soon as the pack’s back,” Stiles says. “That’s where we’re headed. We’ll
tell her it was all my fault, that I dared you into doing something stupid.”
Stiles races upstairs, first making noise in Derek’s bedroom, then in the
bathroom. Derek hopes the pack isn’t having any trouble with Peter, fuck he
wishes he was with them, he should be the one doing the dirty work.
Stiles returns, giving Scott Derek’s clothes. “You put these on only when
you’re ready.”
Stiles turns toward him.  Derek isn’t allowing himself to deal with Stiles
until Peter is settled but jesusfuck Stiles could’ve died.
Stiles throws Derek some clothes.
Like Stiles hasn’t seen him naked before. Why the sudden shyness?
Stiles mouths some words at him.  What the fuck is he trying to say?
 “Could you rinse the-?” Stiles says, waving around his face. “Just a little?”
What-? Derek hears the pack. Alive. They come in, dressed, Erica has the key.
“That was fast,” Stiles says. “Was that fast? I mean, a whole Peter corpse…You
did kill him, right? Before cutting and burning?”
“Isaac’s really good at body disposal,” Boyd says.
Erica unlocks the chains and Derek runs out of the house. Until he reaches the
graveyard where his family is buried.  Everyone that died in the fire, his
parents, Laura, and soon Peter.
His ashes, all that evil, contained in a glass jar. The jar standing on a plot
of earth, just like the pack agreed. Boyd had asked why Derek wanted the
psychopath buried with the rest of his family.
Peteris was family. A murderous part of his family and he had to be eliminated,
but Derek also needs the reminder.  That if he isn’t careful, he could become
the next Peter.
Derek digs a hole and drops the jar in, covering it with earth.
He walks back to the house slowly, in no rush. Just glad to be alive.
He happens to glance at his reflection in a puddle and jesuschrist he looks
like an ax murderer. No wonder Stiles wanted him to clean up. Oh fuck.
Damage control, now.
Derek races up to the house, glad to see Stiles’ jeep is still there, smells
him in the house. He runs in, hopefully too fast for Stiles to get a good
glimpse of him. Heads upstairs to the half of his house that still has a roof,
that used to still have a roof.
Derek spots the hole in his bedroom ceiling. Sees all of Stiles supplies. The
gun, vinegar, a baseball bat, mountain ashes.
At least he came prepared. Doesn’t make him less stupid, but- Oreos? Stiles
brought snacks?
Derek shakes his head and grabs some clothes. Brings them to the bathroom sink
and hops in the shower. The bathtub soaking red with blood. Derek, a tip, next
time you’re trying to win over a human, don’t rip anyone apart in front of him.
Derek soaps himself up and washes every inch of skin he can reach, doing all
this as quickly as possible.  As soon as he’s done and the water is clear
again, he gets out, pats himself off with a towel and dresses.
So that he looks like a human.  It’s only a disguise and it’s probably too
late-
Why the fuck is Stiles shirtless? He’s standing downstairs in the middle of the
living room, the pack gathering all around him.
“The orgy’s over, Stiles,” Erica says, from where she’s lounging on the couch.
“Only in your dreams did that ever happen, Erica,” Boyd joins her, like Stiles
is about to give some speech, or, what’s that piece of paper in his hands?
Fuck no.  This better not be another intervention.
“Ew,” Jackson says. “Get dressed.”
“Quiet everyone.” Stiles clears his throat again and reads,
“Dear Scott,” Thank god, the letter’s not for him. “If you send me one more
animal or musician or food item, I will plant an arrow in your stomach, another
one in your liver, and a third one in your eye. Best wishes, Allison.”
Derek winces, looks at Scott, still beaten up. That’s gotta hurt.
“Sorry, bud,” Stiles says.
“YES!” Scott jumps up. “She still loves me!”
“Uh, Scott…” Stiles looks at his friend like maybe Scott needs to see a shrink
but Derek can’t help but sympathize with McCall.
Except Stiles…Came. After Derek ordered him not to, Stiles came over to his
house.  Why?
Because of some kind of saviour complex or-
Only one way to find out.
Derek walks to Stiles.
“Didn’t you hear?” Scott grins. “She likes the flowers! And she didn’t put any
arrows in my heart!”
“True,” Stiles says, and Derek gets into position. “She loves you, man. It’s
fate. Hey!” Wraps his hands around Stiles’ waist and lifts him.
“Oh good,” Jackson says, “I was wondering when we’d get to dealing with
Stilinski. Perfect timing, I’m starving.”
Derek changes his hold so that he can see Stiles’ face and keeps walking, his
destination? The nearest wall.
 “Uh,” Stiles says, his eyes on Derek’s chest. Licking his lips again. “This is
a really really bad idea.”
Derek keeps walking, no way is he stopping or letting go. “I banned you from my
house.”
“Uhun, you totally did, I’m super sorry, just don’t-Not the wall! What we need
now is distance, lots of space.”
Yeah, no. “You hid in my bedroom?”
“I can’t really explain that one,” Stiles says. “Except you do it all the time!
Look, it seemed like a good idea but it won’t happen again, I promise.” Stiles
tries whispering, “let go, I know you love the shoving, but trust me you won’t
like-“
“You shot my roof!”
Stiles winces. “In my defense- though I have no clue what happened tonight
because you stupidly kept me in the dark about everything!- I’m pretty sure
that turned out to be a helpful distraction. For ripping Peter to shreds.
Notice how I’m not freaking out about that? How about you let go and I leave,
right away, gone, everyone’s happy.”
Stiles’ back hits the wall, his light brown eyes worried, the pupils dilated.
His tongue peeking out and licking his lips again.
And suddenly, right against his waist, Derek feels it. The nudge of an
erection, budding against his hip. They’re in a crowded room!
“Hey.” Stiles blushes. “This is your fault. So much your fault.”
“I think Peter broke my nose,” Scott mumbles. “The odours aren’t working right.
Doesn’t matter though. I wonder if Allison likes lilies.”
“I can’t believe your stupid face isn’t dead,” Stiles says, and Derek wants to
kiss him but he knows Stiles doesn’t want anyone to know about them, knows he
should back away because in a matter of seconds everyone will know, actually
it’s probably too late-
Maybe if he kicks them all out right away?
Derek lets go, wincing when Stiles falls to the floor.
 “Out!” Derek growls.
“Seriously?” Stiles says, getting up and shaking himself off. “Oh my fucking
god. That’s it. If you come by my house again I’m telling my dad to shoot you
on the spot.”
Derek realizes Stiles didn’t understand, but he needs to get rid of the pack
fast. He turns to face a room of incredulous faces.  Yeah, it’s too late. “I
don’t want to see any of you before Saturday.”
“Stiles?” Jackson says, obviously doubting Derek’s taste and sanity.
“At least you get to come back Saturday.” Stiles is walking out, shirtless, and
Derek knows he’s pissed Stiles off but good because he’s forgotten about his
Oreos.
“Stiles,” Derek confirms. Jackson can laugh all he wants when Stiles rejects
him, Derek is done pretending- what the hell?
Stiles just leapt over a pool of Peter’s blood and chained himself, chained
himself! To Derek’s house. In Stiles-talk that’s practically a declaration of
love.
Still. That’s a shitload of blood to be standing in. “What the hell are you
doing?” Derek says, ignoring Isaac’s wide-mouthed grin.
Stiles shrugs, goes to sit down but then eyes the floor and stays standing. “I
just really like your house, dude.”
“Idiot,” Jackson shakes his head. “Our Alpha prefers this scrawny idiot to us.”
“They’re the ones who are leaving,” Derek says. “I already want you to stay.”
Derek holds his breath.
Stile’s eyes widen, his mouth drops open.  He points at the pack, points at
himself. Starts smiling, then frowns.  “What about the stay-off-my-lawn,
trainings, all that?”
All the pack turns to Derek, but the answer is easy and obvious. “When you’re
here we train outside.”
 “Fucking A!” Stiles crows, doing a victory dance, because he’s happy. Happy to
be with Derek.
“Someone kill me now,” Jackson says.
Stiles lifts his arm. “I volunteer!”
“Oh, shut up,” Jackson says. 
Derek glares at Jackson.
Jackson rolls his eyes. “I mean, what a great idea, Stiles, please kill me
whenever you feel like it.”
Derek walks up to Stiles and kneels at his feet, unlocking the chain. “Why
don’t we head over to the other side of the room? Isaac, before you go, could
you-”
“I’m on it,” Isaac says. “Boyd, grab the mop?”
Derek rubs Stiles’ back, tracing the pattern of freckle-stars, while Isaac and
Boyd clean up. Scott is still sitting on the sidelines, with a happy-dazed
expression on his face. Oblivious.
Isaac is approaching Stiles with a towel. Derek approves of his initiative,
Stiles needs to get out of those bloodstained jeans, but it's still too soon
for Derek to watch other guys encourage Stiles to undress. But whatever, it's
just a towel. This is Isaac.
And because it's Isaac, the guy somehow senses Derek's discomfort, so he
doesn't even try to give Stiles the towel, just hands it to his alpha with a
knowing smirk. The guy's going to be insufferable for the next few weeks but
right now Derek can't make himself care.
 “Your jeans, off,” Derek says.
“Right, Peter’s blood.” Stiles takes off his jeans and wraps the towel around
his hips.  “If it makes anyone feel better. I think Derek’s sex with me makes
your pack smarter. Just saying.”
“Ah, what?” Scott says. “Is going on?”
 “More like contact with a human, any human, is good for us,” Jackson says. “If
Derek’s lets me or Scott actually have free time to spend with our girlfriends,
we could eat Stiles.”
“No. Nooo.” Stiles shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure it has to be the alpha.”
“Of course you’d say that,” Jackson says.
Derek likes seeing Stiles interact with the rest of his pack, but-“Why are you
still here? All of you-I still mean except you, Stiles- leave, you have the
night off.”
Derek kisses Stiles, still barely able to believe that Stiles chose him.
 “Um Stiles,” Scott says.
“It’s okay, I promise,” Stiles says, turning to his friend. “Remember, tell
your mom it’s all my fault.”
“K,” Scott says on his way out. “But you need to explain this soon and I
somehow have this feeling I’m gonna have to kick Derek’s ass and possibly make
sure your dad never finds out or there will be murder which means I’d have to
be the alpha.  She’ll never forgive me if I’m the alpha.”
“Sure, bud,” Stiles says. “But yeah. I’ll call you. Tomorrow?” Stiles looks at
Derek questioningly. Derek tries to channel all his intent, every dirty thing
he wants to do to Stiles in his smile.
It must work because Stiles swallows. “No. The day after.”
Scott shuts the door behind him.
Derek has Stiles and a house to himself. But first- “Don’t ever do something
this stupid again.”
 “Aww, I missed you too. For the record though, you were way stupider.  I’m
your biggest asset- stop laughing! I don’t mean it like that, though I mean it
like that too- and with a psychotic uncle on the loose you, you just, we have
so many many many things to work on.  We need to find you a new T.V. so we can
watch Oprah together. With you taking notes.”
“Uhun. Stiles?”
“Derek?”
Derek kisses him. “It’s “more stupid”.”
“Ha, funny. See? Sex with me does make the pack smarter.”
“Impossible.” Derek unfashions his belt buckle. “It makes you stupid.”
“Not true. But hey, that’s a sacrifice, mmm, willing, to…”
                                        
                                    The End
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