Chapter Text
It’s quiet in Beacon Hills, a rarity Derek is taking full advantage of. With the Betas at Stiles’s place and the loft quiet, Derek sets out on a mission. He scrubs down his bathroom – the one connected to his bedroom that the betas don’t know about – and lights citrus-scented candles to get rid of the bleach smell. It’s an hour wait, but Derek spends the time reading some thriller Stiles had recommended.
With the bathroom clean, smelling warm and summer-like despite the howling winds swarming the town, Derek plugs the stopper into the drain of his tub. He lets the water rise a little, relishing in the steam, before he drizzles in lemon oil and drops in a bath bomb. He smiles as it fizzes, watching the oranges and yellows bubble and swirl into nothingness. He hums along to the soft music he has playing – Hozier, because Derek will always support a fellow werewolf – as he strips of his clothes, piece by piece.
The water is perfect by the time Derek sinks in, engulfing him to the neck in warm, zesty comfort. Stiles would love this, Derek thinks. He’d love the colorful, shimmering water and the dim lighting; Derek would love the feel of Stiles’s freckled back pressed to his chest, the boy’s head leaning on Derek's shoulder.
And then Stiles would turn, spilling just the slightest bit of water over the tub’s edge. He’d nestle into Derek’s lap, wrap his legs around the man’s waist, And Derek would take. He’d take and give and take and give until he was empty, wrung out from Stiles’s heat. They’d lay there, dirty, until the water lost its warmth. Derek would make them shower, then. Stiles would whine, but he’d listen. And they’d kiss, soft and sweet, like real couples do. And Derek wouldn’t have to fantasize, wouldn’t have to dream.
Derek sighs, sitting up. His self-awareness has ruined his fantasy, and Derek sees no use it trying again. He’s draining the tub, ready to take a real shower, when someone knocks on the door. All the expression drops from Derek’s face when he takes a deep breath. Scott. Derek lets out an annoyed growl.
Derek answers his door in only sweatpants, shimmer trapped in his chest hair. His arms block Scott’s instant attempt to rush into the loft. Scott growls but doesn’t try again.
“What do you want, Scott?”
Scott paces back and forth in front of the door. “What did you do to me?”
Derek raises an eyebrow. Apart from adding Stiles into the pack a few months ago, Derek hasn’t made any contact with Scott. “Scott, I didn’t do anything to you. I haven’t seen you since last school year.”
Scott lets out a bratty huff, and Derek can’t help but think of how easy it would be to just wring the little asshole’s neck.
“Well, something’s wrong with me,” Scott whines, “I-I can’t keep control or, or think straight. I growled at my mother.”
Derek winces; he doesn’t feel sorry for Scott – Scott’s an unappreciative, whiny asshole who refuses to take responsibility – but Melissa doesn’t deserve this. And as much as Derek is appreciative for all Melissa has done for him, Scott isn’t pack. Scott was never, and never will be pack. If anything, he’s a danger to Derek’s own pack; helping him would upset everyone. So Derek shrugs, tells Scott to go see Deaton, and closes his door before Scott can start whining again.
The pack comes over long after Derek has finished his shower and has tucked himself into his reading chair. They bustle in, talking about God knows what, but Derek hears the word college get thrown around a bit. He stands, dropping the book onto the seat, and stretches.
Isaac is the first to hug him, tucking his face into Derek’s neck and scenting him. Derek scents him back, nosing at his hair. Jackson, surprisingly, is next. They’ve gotten close over the past few months with Derek stepping in as the father figure Jackson doesn’t really have. Derek’s happy with the progress. A year ago, this wouldn’t be happening; a year ago, Jackson didn't even want to be in a pack. Derek knows that this wouldn’t be possible without Stiles and the thought makes him look up.
There’s Stiles, in that damned red hoodie, with a Pyrex container of what looks like sugar cookies. Derek smiles, and Stiles smiles back, and Derek feels so warm inside. Erica ruins the moment.
“Quick question: why does it smell like Scott at the door,” she askes, plopping down onto the couch.
“Yeah,” Boyd agrees, patting Derek’s shoulder in lieu of a greeting.
“He was here earlier.”
Stiles raises an eyebrow at Derek – proof that the man’s mannerisms were rubbing off on him – as of he’s waiting for Derek to elaborate. Derek sighs, sitting back in his chair, and begins to retell the events of this afternoon.
“Is he going feral,” Stiles asks.
“He might be. He doesn’t have a pack, especially if you don’t count Lydia, Allison, and his mother. But I’m not completely sure.”
“Can a ‘wolf be in an all human pack,” Isaac asks from his place next to Stiles.
“I’m not sure. I’ve always had ‘wolves in my pack, even when it was just me and Laura. I know that humans can be pack members, but I might have to ask Peter.”
Shit, Derek thinks, I might have to ask Peter.