Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So Derek’s the Alpha.

And Scott is pissed.

Stiles doesn’t really know why, to be honest. Sure, killing the Alpha (aka Creepy Uncle Peter, how the hell did they miss that one??) was Scott’s one-and-only chance at becoming a real boy again, but Stiles is pretty sure that it wouldn’t have worked anyway. Plus, he really doesn’t want his best friend becoming a killer. If he had killed Peter, Stiles is pretty sure that even if it had worked it would have left Scott permanently scarred and morbidly depressed. That’s just the kind of guy Scott is, though; he’d be on a guilt trip if he killed a butterfly.

Even if said butterfly is a sociopathic serial killer who ruined his life and hit on his mother, and tried to kill/turn his best friend.

Stiles is really glad that Peter’s dead.

Really, really glad.

Unfortunately, that also means that Sourwolf Hale is now the Alpha. Don’t get him wrong, Stiles likes Derek well enough. For a suspected serial killer the man has managed to save Stiles’ life twice already, and seeing as Scott will be sticking around as quarterback of the Beacon Hills werewolf pack Stiles has a feeling that there will be plenty more awkward, near-arm-chopping-off situations in their future. Not that he imagines having a future with Mr. Abs-n-Eyebrows.

Oh no.

Never.

Sure, Derek has a torso that should be immortalized in steel (confirmed Stiles’ bisexuality when the whole Danny debacle occurred, actually) and a facial structure that must have been sculpted by gods. Very generous and tasteful gods, too. But that doesn’t make up for the fact that Derek is trapped in a pit of eternal torment and self hatred he hand carved with the charred remnants of his crappy childhood and the sheer force of wolf-powered stubbornness. He is a sarcastic genius though, one that Stiles finds both invigorating and impressive for someone who supposedly only got through a year and a half of high school (although he was raised in the same house as Uncle Peter, whose sense of humor, albeit morbid and disturbing, had a spark of sardonic charm that Stiles grudgingly appreciated, despite his loathing for the man).

Anyway, none of that is very important right now, it just happens to be what’s running through Stiles’ mind as his shirtless, soaking wet body is plastered to the rough wall of Derek’s bedroom, a red-eyed werewolf mouthing his neck with a need so fierce it has Stiles moaning.

But he’s getting to that part.

 

--

 

Stiles’ leg is bouncing so viciously that it’s shaking the table, and he’s getting some threatening looks from a few kids nearby who are trying to eat their lunches in peace, and Stiles thinks this is ridiculous.

After That Night (Stiles insists on using capitals because, hello, he helped kill a psychotic Alpha and that was kind of an iconic moment in his life, thank you) Stiles spends most of his time at the hospital, watching over Lydia. Lydia, who has been in a coma since the dance almost two weeks ago. Lydia, who is neither healing nor dying, who seems to be recovering at a regular human pace. This is giving Stiles serious concerns, because as far as Uncle Peter conveyed before his very timely death, the bite either turned you or killed you. Well, Lydia is definitely not turning, and if she’s dying…

“We have to talk to Derek,” Stiles says finally, slamming his apple down on his lunch tray and looking across the table at Scott. Scott looks up at him, surprised.

“Why?”

“Why? Scott, Lydia is in the hospital, covered in wolf bites, potentially dying a slow and painful death! Is that not enough incentive for you?” Stiles demands. Not to mention that Jackson’s been MIA since that night, but Stiles doesn’t really like Jackson so that’s only a minor concern to him right now.

“Stiles, I hate to say it, but if she’s dying then there’s nothing Derek can do…” Scott gives Stiles a pitying look, and like hell Stiles is going to deal with that shit. He got more than enough of those looks when his mom died, and he doesn’t need any more of them. Especially not from his best friend.

“You know what, Scott, forget it.” Stiles stands up, picking up his tray, and Scott jumps up with him.

“Wait, Stiles, that’s not what I meant,” Scott tries to stop him, but Stiles pulls away.

“Look I get it, Scott, you hate the guy. He’s scary and depressed and probably insane considering the fact that he didn’t even bat an eyelash at killing his uncle although Peter was disturbed as hell so I’ll give him that one, but he’s the only one who might have a clue about how to save Lydia. Scott, I have to try, okay? She’s… she might be my Allison.” Stiles says. He can practically see the twist of pain and anger in Scott’s eyes as he clenches his fists at his sides and looks down at the floor.

Stiles was the first one Scott told when Chris Argent threatened to kill him if he didn’t stay away from Allison. He hasn’t spoken to her in the two weeks since, and it’s killing both of the love struck teenagers. Scott especially, since the full moon is in just three days and his instincts are overtaking him. Stiles doesn’t know what it’s like to be dragged out of reach of your loved one, but he does know what it’s like to have someone ripped away forever. And he doesn’t know if he can survive losing Lydia, too.

“You don’t have to come with me, okay?” Stiles says quietly. “I just wanted you to know that I was going to see him.”

“No. I’m coming with you,” Scott says insistently. “You’re right, Lydia is our friend, whether she wants to be or not, and we have to help her.” Scott smiles at him, and Stiles smiles back because, yeah, this is why they’re best friends.

“So, after school?”

“After school.”

 

--

 

Well, after school was a bust.

“Is he here?” Stiles yells from the bottom of the massive staircase dominating the entrance of the Hale House, flinching when his voice echoes against the blackened walls loudly.

“No,” Scott shouts from the second floor. “Keep looking!” Groaning internally, Stiles walks away from the staircase to take another look around the first floor. Stiles can tell that before the fire, the house was beautiful. He can imagine the blackened walls painted white and yellow, summer sun filtering through the now broken windows of what must have been a dining hall, or maybe even a ballroom, long ago.

Stiles walks carefully through the empty rooms, wooden floors creaking lightly underneath his sneakers as he kicks away piles of leaves, built up over the years of neglect. He wonders what it must have been like to live in a house so big, to run ramped through the endless halls of the mansion, screaming and laughing with brothers and sisters whose eyes glowed yellow in the moonlight. He imagines a tricky but playful uncle leading the children, and a mother who was strict but kind. Stiles can remember Talia Hale; he can remember Christmas caroling all the way into the woods with his mother, the door opening wide to reveal a smiling woman, holding a plate of cookies. He remembers the house smelling like cinnamon.

He wonders how Derek remembers the house before the fire.

“I can’t find him,” Scott comes romping down the stairs just as Stiles returns to the front of the house, shaking his head. “He must have gone out.”

“Gone where? He’s a werewolf with no friends and a criminal record reaching the far corners of London,” Stiles raves, running a hand through his hair and making a face. “Where the hell could he be?”

“Maybe we should come back tomorrow,” Scott suggests, shivering. “This place gives me goosebumps.”

“Fine, we’ll come back tomorrow,” Stiles sighs, taking one last look around the room. “I’d really like to figure out what the hell is happening to Lydia before the full moon though.”

“Yeah, me too.” Scott opens the door and Stiles follows him out, jumping into his jeep and turning the keys in the ignition.

They drive for all of four minutes before something fleshy and bloody comes barreling out of the forest, right in front of the car.

“HOLY SHIT!” Stiles shrieks (in a very manly way) and practically pulls a three-sixty to miss the figure. Scott looks over at Stiles, apparently impressed with his driving skills, and yeah well Stiles is kind of getting used to things jumping in front of his car so it really isn’t as impressive as it seems.

They get out of the jeep and hurriedly walk to the figure (a guy, a naked guy actually, what the actual fuck), who is now hunched over despite not actually getting hit by the car.

“Hey dude, are you all--” Stiles stops dead when the guy looks up and holy shit they found Jackson.

“Jackson?” Scott immediately reaches out for him, but Jackson flinches away, clutching his body, which is covered in dirt and yeah, that’s blood, that’s definitely bright red, shiny blood covering his body, oh man that is so gross.

“Get… get away!” Jackson says, eyes wide, and Stiles would think he’s being douchy but he’s shaking so hard even Stiles is worried.

“Jackson, buddy, are you okay?” Stiles asks, inching forward slowly until Jackson makes a sound like a pained dog and hunches down closer to the ground. “Jesus, have you been out here all this time?”

“He… he’s hunting,” Jackson whimpers, whimpers, and Stiles feels like crap for not being as worried about Jackson. The guy may be a total jackass, but that doesn’t mean he deserved… whatever the hell happened in the woods.

“Who’s hunting?” Scott asks. Jackson looks up at Scott, so low he’s practically on his knees in front of them.

“Derek,” He whispers hoarsely, and suddenly a piercing howl shakes the forest around them. Jackson falls to the ground, his body trembling violently, and Stiles shares a look with Scott  because it doesn’t matter if this is some kind of whacked out werewolf ritual or whatever, Jackson is practically dead on the road and it really warrants some good old fashioned running from the monsters in the woods. To hell with confronting them, running away is the much better option.

“Come on,” Stiles says, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over Jackson’s shoulders. He lets out a cry, but Stiles ignores it and with Scott’s help pulls Jackson over to the jeep and throws him into the backseat. Stiles jumps into the driver’s seat and Scott barely has his seatbelt on before they’re flying down the road at speeds that could give a NASCAR driver a heart attack, but hey when you’re driving for your life speed limits don’t mean much, not even to the Sheriff’s son.

“Stiles, slow down!” Scott shouts, gripping the handle above the door like it’s a livesaver. What’s even the point of that thing, anyway? It won’t save anyone in a car crash, Stiles is sure of that.

“Kind of running from a masochistic Alpha werewolf here, Scotty,” Stiles reminds him, whipping around the corner leading to the exit of the preserve.

“If you crash the car he’ll get us anyway!” Scott yelps as they swerve just in time to miss a fallen tree branch, then they’re out of the preserve and just a few minutes out of town and Stiles lets up on the gas a little bit to ease Scott.

“Hey Jackson, you all right back there?” Stiles asks, glancing at the shivering teen through the mirror before directing his eyes back on the road. “We’re gonna take you back to my place, all right? We’ll call my dad, and your dad, and they’ll send someone down here to--”

“NO!” Jackson’s shout is so loud and sudden that Stiles slams the brake, he and Scott both looking back at the blonde with incredulous expressions.

“Okay, well I guess regular guns wouldn’t exactly be ideal in this case. We can get a hold of Allison’s father somehow and--”

“No, no, please don’t,” Jackson begs, and uh. Who the hell is this? Because it sure as hell can’t be Jackson, saying please. No, Jackson doesn’t know the meaning of the word please. It isn’t in his vocabulary.

“Well, Jackson, we have to do something,” Stiles tells him, making a face at him.

“Don’t kill him,” Jackson says, and he looks down at his hands. They’re muddied and sticky with what looks like blood and something black that Stiles thinks looks almost like…

“Wait, Lydia’s wounds have the same stuff coming out of them,” Stiles says, grabbing Jackson’s hands and ignoring the noise of protest he makes while he looks closer at the gooey, black liquid. “What is this stuff?”

“My body is rejecting the bite,” Jackson says, his voice shaking. “Derek was trying to figure out why, it just kept getting worse…”

“What was getting worse?” Stiles demands. Jackson looks up at him, his eyes wide and scared.

“The Bloodlust.”

Oh, shit.

“Bloodlust?” Stiles gripes. “Come on, Scott has the same thing. Does it affect Alphas more because they’re stronger or something?”

“Yes.” Jackson grips Stiles’ hands suddenly, pulling Stiles close enough so that he can practically taste Jackson’s breath which, ew, he hasn’t brushed for two weeks and that is just nasty. “You have to keep him safe. He’s my Alpha and he can’t control himself. Stiles, please. He’s like… he’s like family.”

And of course Stiles is a sappy sadsack and feels his heartstrings being played because yeah, Jackson was adopted and apparently that left some residual feelings of rejection because at the word family his hands tighten and loosen almost imperceptibly on Stiles’ own, and dammit he’s going to have to wander through the woods in the middle of the night in search of a bloodthirsty werewolf, isn’t he?

“All right,” Stiles agrees halfheartedly. “Scott and I will find Derek and bring him back to the mansion. Safe,” He adds, because Jackson still seems uncertain about the whole situation. That makes two of them, really.

“Scott can’t,” Jackson says. “Derek won’t let another wolf near him, not unless they’re pack.”

“I am not part of Derek’s pack,” Scott seethes, looking affronted by the very notion. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“All right, all right. I’ll talk to him myself.”

“Stiles--” Scott tries to protest.

“No, Scott, I’ll be fine,” Stiles insists. After all, Derek isn’t completely feral, is he?

 

--

 

It turns out, yes. Derek is in fact completely feral. Let’s just add that to the long list of reasons why Stiles is the president of “Getting your Head ‘Almost’ Ripped Off by Werewolves” club.

The situation may have been marginally better if Stiles had been the one to find Derek, however be it the super werewolf senses or the fact that Stiles was unbearably clumsy and tripped over at least six tree branches walking through the woods, Derek had been the one to find Stiles.

Well, find. More so tackle to the ground and pin down his wrists with sharply clawed fingers and growl in his face and kind of drool on him, gross.

“Holy shit!” Stiles shouts, and silences himself immediately when the response is grip-tightening and growl-volume-increasing. Instead, he opts to respond the way one is directed to when attacked by an animal; lay still, remain calm, don’t look directly into their eyes. Especially if said eyes are bright red and said animal has claws as big as Stiles’ nose, which is terrifyingly impressive. And absolutely positively don’t talk when they are offended by the very sound of your voice, like Derek obviously is.

But eventually, the two hundred pound dead weight that is Derek Hale gets to be too much for Stiles to handle in silence.

“Uh, Derek,” Stiles says slowly, earning a sharp growl and increase in proximity of their faces, but Stiles continues to face away from the Derek and hope that he isn’t about to die.

“Derek, man, no offense, because I’m sure that all two hundred pounds of you is perfectly crafted, rock-hard muscle, but you’re kind of starting to crush my ribs and I sorta need those to continue breathing, which is pretty high up on the list of things that I would like to keep doing solo for the rest of my life.” At some point during Stiles’ tangent Derek seems to pull himself somewhat out of his feral state, and his iron-hard grip on Stiles’ wrists loosen slowly.

“Stiles?” Derek says. Well, he doesn’t ‘say’ it so much as ‘vibrate’ it into Stiles’ chest, yikes, that feels so weird.

“Yeah, Stiles here, Stiles Stilinski, the teenage boy you’re currently squashing,” Stiles reminds him, wiggling slightly to make his point. Derek’s grip on him tightens at the movement and then they’re nose to nose in a very dangerous way and Stiles’ heart kind of leaps into his mouth because Derek’s eyes don’t even look human anymore, and oh God he’s going to die a virgin, isn’t he?

“I don’t want to die a virgin!” Stiles yelps out, not really meaning to, because Jesus those are some embarrassing last words right there, aren’t they? But Derek stops growling suddenly, and his eyes flash slightly human.

“What?” Derek asks, his voice low and guttural and wow Stiles never knew that word could be used and make sense but yeah, that’s what Derek’s voice is right now.

“I said I don’t want to die a virgin,” Stiles repeats himself, not feeling awkward in the slightest, of course not, “I would very much like to have sex before I die. Yeah, sex is definitely on my bucket list. Pretty high up there, in fact.”

“Stiles…” Derek growls, but it’s his normal, human growl and Stiles is so relieved to hear that that he just keeps going on.

“I mean Scott’s had sex, more than once, and I unfortunately have not had the pleasure of finding my soulmate yet, so I’ve been kind of just chilling in the background, you know? Well of course you don’t know, you probably have girls literally throwing themselves at you on a daily basis, with those abs and that face and yeah. Guys too, probably. I don’t know if you swing that way, though, I mean I do, not that it matters, I kind of figured that out because of you actually, you know during the whole Danny debacle the other day, wow was that really just a few weeks ago? It feels like a lifetime. But yeah, I definitely still haven’t had sex and that kind of sucks because I would like sex, very much, actually. I think I would be pretty good at it too, actually, at least the oral parts because as you can clearly tell from how close you are I have a pretty big mouth and--”

“STILES!” Derek roars, and Stiles snaps his mouth shut as the Alpha drags him to his feet and, practically fuming, starts to drag Stiles through the woods by his collar.

“Ow! Hey, wait! Derek! This is a very unconventional running position,” Stiles gags, and Derek exchanges Stiles’ collar for his sleeve, which he grips just as hard and seems to even pick up the pace, leaving Stiles stumbling clumsily after him as the Hale House comes into view.

“Oh hey, look, it’s your house,” Stiles says, unnecessarily, but apparently Derek will waste no time to throw back a sarcastic remark or irritated glare at him, which rude, but Stiles doesn’t have much time to think about that because Derek is dragging him across the porch and through the front door and up the somehow-still-majestic-even-though-it’s-half-burned staircase and Stiles barely manages not running into the wall twice with all the sharp turns because he’s never actually been on the second floor of the Hale House. But Derek of course knows right where he’s going, and where he’s going is his bedroom.

Oh hell.

Stiles is in Derek Hale’s bedroom.

Stiles doesn’t get much time to let that sink in, exactly zero seconds actually, because suddenly Derek throws Stiles on the bed and jeez, he’s being really rude today, and then Derek’s back on top of him and Stiles doesn’t really know how to process what is happening next.

Because Derek Hale.

Is kissing him.

With his mouth.

Derek wastes no time getting his hands underneath Stiles’ sweater and shirt either and cold hands are suddenly clenching Stiles’ hips and he opens his mouth to let out a surprised squeak, but then Derek’s tongue is in the way, exploring the inexperienced and uncharted lands of Stiles’ mouth. Wow. He’s really, really good at kissing. And at that point Stiles kind of realizes he isn’t doing anything aside from laying there and being macked on, but he’s really just not sure what to do, and apparently Derek figures that out too because he sits up, looking almost surprised to see a red-faced teenager beneath him.

“What just happened?” Stiles asks, and kind of wants to hit himself for it because wow, that sounds a lot like he didn’t like it. Which he did. A lot. A lot more than he really knows what to do with, honestly.

“I’m sorry,” Derek apologizes immediately, and damn it that’s not the response Stiles was looking for. “It’s the wolf. I can’t… I can’t control myself.”

“Okay, wait, are you telling me that you also did this to Jackson?” Stiles asks, because that is statutory rape in the state of California, and if he’s laying in the same bed Jackson Whittemore was taken advantage of in that’s probably the nastiest thing to happen to him all week, and Stiles is honestly unsure of which of those two things is worse.

And apparently he said at least some of that out loud because the look on Derek’s face contorts from surprise to utter repulsion, and he scrambles to his feet, away from the bed.

To the other side of the room, actually.

Like, he literally just put himself in the corner.

Stiles finds this both amusing and disturbing.

“That’s not what I meant,” Stiles says, sitting up on the bed (which is surprisingly soft, truth be told).

“I’m sorry.” Derek apologizes again.

“That’s not what I meant either!” Stiles shakes his head, standing up and crossing the room to stand in front of Derek. Derek flinches away, as if being so close to Stiles is a personal offense. “Derek, listen, I get that your new Alpha status is messing around with your ability to act like a normal human being around the full moon, and really if you think I was unhappy with the mouth-to-mouth action that just happened then you need to visit a mirror and remember that I am a bisexual teenager with a healthy libido that, again, has never had sex, so don’t think I was uncomfortable with that. I just want to make sure that you didn’t violate Jackson while you two were having your little puppy pow-wow in the woods these past two weeks.”

“Of course not, he’s pack,” Derek says, as if the implication is obvious. Stiles stares at him blankly.

“He’s like family, Stiles,” Derek growls, his eyes flashing red. “I would never hurt him.”

“Oh, but you’d hurt me, that’s good to know,” Stiles says, rubbing his wrist absently. Derek, of course, panics and practically slams himself into the wall in his attempt to get farther away from Stiles. Stiles just raises an eyebrow and pops his hands into his pockets.

“Chill out, dude. I’m just, um… kind of wondering exactly, uh, why you just kissed me,” Stiles says. Also, are we gonna do it again? Because I would like to do that again, Stiles’ brain says, and Stiles absolutely does not want to make out with Derek Hale, that would be wrong on a multitude of levels. An apartment complex of levels. A Pac-man game of levels, in fact.

That’s a lot of levels.

“I…” Derek looks down, at the floor, and Jesus he looks like a ten year old being forced to apologize to his sister. “My Bloodlust was high, and you… you kept talking about sex.”

“Oh.” Stiles says. There is a brief pause while Stiles processes this information.

“OH.” Stiles says again, because OH. His unintentional sex-talk turned Derek’s Bloodlust into--

“--Actual lust, yes Stiles,” Derek says, looking insulted, and Stiles really needs to work on his brain-to-mouth filter because he really didn’t mean to say that out loud. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

“You mean you didn’t intend to take me into your bedroom and throw me down and take advantage of my frail, virginal human body?” Stiles asks, and the look of guilt on Derek’s face makes him take pity.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad. You stopped yourself, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Derek agreed. “And it took every ounce of self control not to make you come right then and there.”

“Oh.” Stiles tries not to let the insinuation make him all tingly inside, but it doesn’t work. “That’s… good to know.”

“Stiles, I can barely control myself and the full moon is three days away,” Derek growls, looking frustrated and, for lack of a more Derek-like word, afraid. “What do you think will happen during the full moon? What if I lose control? What if I kill someone?”

“Woah, hold on, you aren’t going to kill anybody,” Stiles tells him, reaching out a comforting hand, thinking better of it, and just putting his hands back in his pockets. “Come on, Peter was an Alpha for months and he only killed the people he wanted to.”

“Yes. He had drive and motivation. My motivation is anger,” Derek tells him.

“Oh. Well, I’m sure you can find something other than anger to keep you grounded. What does Scott use, he uses Allison, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t have an Allison, Stiles,” Derek growls, and well yeah that’s true but there’s bound to be someone out there that could at least temporarily be Derek’s Allison, at least enough for this moon so that he can find one that he actually wants to--

Oh. A ha, Stiles has an idea.

Even Stiles knows his ideas never end well.

“No,” Derek says, before Stiles even gets the chance to speak.

“No? You don’t even know what I was--” Stiles starts.

“You were going to offer yourself as my anchor.” Derek says.

“Oh. Okay, well maybe you did. But hey, come on what’s so wrong with that idea, huh? Your wolf obviously enjoys the soft, virginal body that belongs to Stiles Stilinski, and he absolutely doesn’t have a problem with the idea.”

“Stop that,” Derek spits, frowning with his mouth and his eyebrows. “Stop calling yourself virginal.”

“I will when I’m not,” Stiles says, and smiles. “And if a certain sourwolf takes said virginity to keep the town safe, then…”

“Stiles, I am not violating you, not even for the sanctity of Beacon Hills,” Derek says.

“You already did,” Stiles reminds him, and it isn’t exactly the same thing but he can tell the words still smart a little, “So you might as well put it to good use. Look, I’m even consenting. Here’s me, consenting.”

“You’re sixteen,” Derek reminds him, realizes this as fact, and drops his head into his hands. “Oh God, you’re only sixteen.”

“Hey, you’re emotionally stunted enough to be considered a teenager yourself, buddy,” Stiles informs him, “and you choose which is worse: statutory rape, or murder? Because those are your options. If I were you, I would take advantage of the more-than-willing young adult standing in front of you.”He flashes Derek a smile. Derek just looks horrified.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” Derek says, almost to himself.

“Hey, wow, you’re actually agreeing to this?” Stiles gaps at him, shocked, but gets over it quickly and beams. “Awesome! So I guess we have some sexy time to keep your Bloodlust down, and--”

“Stiles, stop,” Derek orders him, and Stiles doesn’t usually take orders from people but since this guy could potentially tear him limb from limb he decides to give it a try. “Listen, you’re human, and still a child, and as much as my wolf wants you I don’t want you to agree to anything just because you think you have to. And it won’t just be one time. If you agree to this, then you’ll have to continue to satisfy my wolf until after the full moon, when I can find a better solution.”

“So I’ll basically be your werewolf bitch for the next three days,” Stiles says, and that’s kind of freaky, thinking about that. He’s never even been on a date, much less had marathon sex, which he’s pretty sure is what Derek is insinuating, and the whole situation is crazy and awkward and Stiles honestly doesn’t know what to do in this situation.

“I won’t make you do this,” Derek says suddenly, pulling Stiles out of his inner monologue and backing away from the door, as if to give Stiles room to bolt out of there, which he realizes technically is still a viable option. But no, actually, it isn’t an option. Stiles looks over to Derek.

“Of course I’ll do this,” He says to him, giving the Alpha a huge smile. “Let’s get this thing going, Sourwolf.”

“Don’t call me that,” Derek growls in his Alpha voice, and in three steps he’s crossed the room and has Stiles in his arms, licking into his mouth and Stiles is licking right back, pulling Derek closer when he tries to move away, and really, really tasting Derek for the first time. He tastes like heat and the woods and nature and Jesus Stiles has never found nature so sexy in his life. He cards his hands through Derek’s hair because yeah, apparently he can do that now, and when his fingers gently scratch against the nape of Derek’s neck the Alpha lets out a loud moan, right in Stiles’ mouth, and starts biting along his jaw until he reaches the soft flesh on Stiles’ neck and starts sucking.

Fuck.

Stiles moans loudly and backs up, falling back when he feels his legs hit the edge of the bed, and Derek is on top of him, his mouth still all over Stiles’ neck but his hands rucking up Stiles’ shirts and feeling across his torso, which is actually very muscular, fuck you very much, and Stiles can’t get enough. He pulls weakly at Derek’s t-shirt, and Derek most definitely gets the message because he sits up (and wow he’s straddling Stiles like it’s the most normal thing in the world and Stiles doesn’t think he would be opposed to it being normal, no sir) and pulls his shirt of in the most sexy way Stiles has ever seen and gives Stiles roughly half a second to admire Derek’s incredible physique before his own shirt is being pulled up over his head and yep, now they’re both naked from the waist up and Derek seems intent on covering every last inch of Stiles’ body with bite marks and Stiles can’t say he minds. Not honestly.

“You smell amazing,” Derek growls, and Stiles almost jumps at the sound because, uh, Derek doesn’t usually talk unless he has to and Stiles didn’t expect him to be a talker during sex. But he is one hundred percent okay with talking, absolutely. It’s kind of his specialty, if that wasn’t obvious.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles says, as Derek runs his tongue along Stiles’ ribs and makes him shudder.

“Yeah. You smell like heat and attraction and fuck, Stiles, you smell like you want to be owned.” Derek’s voice is husky and deep and holy shit, Stiles has to bite his tongue to keep himself from yelling.

“God, Derek, I do want,” Stiles moans as Derek mouths his neck, scratching his fingers against Derek’s back.  “I want you all over me, I want to feel your mouth on me everywhere, I want to feel you inside of me, I want to taste you--”

Derek howls.

He sits up, arches his back, and howls so loudly Stiles has to cover his ears at the sound. When Derek looks back down a Stiles his eyes are bright red, and when he bends back down over Stiles he makes Stiles forget how to form words and instead opts to moan loudly and grab at Derek’s ass before Derek suddenly jumps off him, climbs fully onto the bed, and pulls Stiles into his lap. Stiles straddls Derek’s lap and suddenly he can feel the hard press of Derek’s dick on his and the world stops spinning for a moment while Stiles moans heavily into Derek’s mouth, savoring the feeling of his hard cock pressed against Derek’s because it’s the best feeling in the world.

Stiles puts his hands around Derek’s face and just kisses him, with raw ferocity that hopefully makes up for his lack of experience, and grinds his dick roughly against the denim of Derek’s jeans until Derek shoves Stiles down on his back and practically tears off his pants, wrapping a hand around Stiles’ hard cock like he’s been doing it for years.

“Fuck me,” Stiles swears, gasping loudly, because no one’s ever touched him before especially not like this and he never wants it to stop, never ever.

“Not yet,” Derek growls into Stiles’ ear, and Stiles only has a moment to recognize what Derek means before his hand is moving up and down Stiles’ shaft and Stiles can’t do anything but whine and keen and groan with pleasure. He hears Derek growl, and he opens his eyes to see Derek fumbling one-handed at his own jeans, and Stiles grabs the button and zipper and makes such quick work of the pants that even he’s kind of surprised. But that doesn’t matter because then he grabs the elastic of Derek’s underwear and pulls it down to reveal Derek’s massive--

He’s uncut.

Holy shit, that is hot.

The only reason Stiles can resist the temptation to bend down and take Derek’s dick in his mouth is because Derek is still stroking his dick like it’s his only job in the world, so Stiles returns the favor by grabbing Derek’s dick and pulling. The growl Derek lets out is so low that Stiles actually stops, looking up at him nervously.

 Derek’s eyes are lidded, the red tinge barely looking out at him through hooded lashes, his lips parted slightly like he can’t manage to shut it the whole way, his cheeks flush. He looks amazing.

“Keep going,” Derek urges him, “please.”

Stiles uses one hand to pull Derek into a long, deep kiss because, Jesus, how cute is it when he says please? The other hand he uses to take Derek’s dick and start stroking it, rough but slow, matching Derek’s pace until they’re both panting, and Derek falls to the side so they’re facing each other and no one’s on top and Stiles has to keep his eyes closed when he jerks Derek off because hearing him and feeling him is so much sensory overload that if he got to see him come, Stiles isn’t sure he would survive his first time.

Then, with a gasp, he’s coming, and he hears Derek howl again as he comes too, and Stiles can feel Derek’s come on his stomach and chest and when he lets go of Derek’s cock, he can feel some of it still on his hand. Stiles looks at it and brings it up to his lips to taste. Derek groans beside him, and Stiles looks up because he actually forgot Derek was there, and Derek… oh God, Derek.

Derek is staring at Stiles like he’s the greatest gift to the universe, like he’s the most precious and perfect and beautiful creature in existence, and when Stiles drops his hand from his mouth both of Derek’s come out to grasp the sides of Stiles’ head and pull him into a long, slow, deep kiss. He explores every niche and crevice in Stiles’ mouth like he’s mapping it out to save for later, and Stiles just absently touches their cocks as they kiss, like he can’t believe they exist and he’s aloud to touch them both, and suddenly he pulls away, laughing crazily.

“What?” Derek asks. Stiles just grins at him.

“Did we even use lotion?” Stiles asks, and then they’re both laughing, and kissing, and hugging, and good lord Stiles is snuggling Derek Hale naked in bed and he isn’t exactly sure when his life went in this direction but if he’s honest, he really really doesn’t mind at all.

Chapter Text

“You’re going to what?” Scott gags, stunned, and yeah Stiles can’t really blame him for being grossed out because if the roles were reversed and Scott was the one that had to spend the next three days with an Alpha in heat, he totally would be too. But hey, when a drop-dead gorgeous werewolf requires mind-blowing sex in order to keep himself sane and Stiles turns out to be the object of his affections, like hell is Stiles going to pass this chance up.

“You’ve got to pass it up!” Scott whines.

“Hell no!” Stiles shakes his head with fervor, stuffing a suitcase he found in the closet by the bathroom with clothes. “I just lost my virginity today and there is absolutely no way that I’m going to let the sex-hungry werewolf that took it die because my best friend is a little squeamish about imagining us sleeping together.”

“You lost your what?” Scott shrieks, looking horrified (but with just a tiny bit of baffled amazement that he can’t quite manage to blink out of his eyes fast enough for Stiles to miss).

“Oh. Yeah, I, uh. Left that part out. I guess.” Stiles tries to grin, but it feels more like a grimace, and Scott just makes a face like he doesn’t know what to do with Stiles anymore. And hey, Stiles is perfectly capable of making his own decisions on when and how he loses his virginity, fuck you very much.

“I know you are,” Scott sighs, and dammit Stiles did it again. “But, I don’t know… doesn’t it feel a little forced?”

“What, you mean the fact that this only is happening because if it doesn’t then Derek is going to lose his shit on the full moon and try to kill everyone in Beacon Hills? Because yeah, I guess if you say it like that then it is kind of forced. But it’s only three days, and after the full moon Derek’s going to figure out a more permanent solution, so it isn’t like I’m giving up my life to be Derek Hale’s sex doll or anything, dude.”

“I know,” Scott says, making a scowl so deep it looks almost like a cartoon, “But won’t it be awkward after, when Derek’s Bloodlust fades?”

“…Oh.” Stiles says, because oh, he didn’t really think that far ahead. He actually kind of forgot that he would be spending a lot of time around the Alpha for the foreseeable future, because his best friend is still a werewolf. “Right. Well I guess we’ll have to… talk about it. After.”

“Yeah. After three days of marathon sex,” Scott says, looking slightly green.

Yeah. This could get awkward.

 

--

 

“Derek?”

As far as he can tell, the house is empty. Stiles pulls his irritatingly heavy suitcase through the door, glancing around nervously and licking his lips. He wonders if Derek can hear his heart racing in his chest, from wherever he is.

“Hey, Derek!” Stiles calls again, just to be safe. “I’m here.”

“I know.” Stiles practically jumps out of his skin at the sound, whipping around to look at Derek, who is looming in silence behind the door. That’s really creepy.

“You have no idea how creepy that is, dude,” Stiles says, because that’s really something Derek should know.

“Sorry,” Derek growls, then strides forward and grabs Stiles by the shoulders and okay, apparently they’re not wasting any time with pleasantries.

Stiles stands in the hall at the base of the stairs, his hands flipping through Derek’s hair because he really doesn’t have any idea what else to do with them, and he just lets Derek ravage his mouth for a good five minutes before Derek lets him go, and Stiles would probably be embarrassed by how winded he is but god, Derek is a really good kisser okay?

“Uh, okay. So… where do you want me to put this?” Stiles asks, gesturing at the suitcase beside him but not taking his eyes off of the Alpha, who looks thankfully a lot less like he’s about to rip Stiles’ face off, with his teeth. Kissing is good. Face-ripping is very, very not good.

Bad, even.

Derek looks up at Stiles, like he hadn’t even noticed him come in, which, hello, they were just making out in the foyer and Derek was definitely present for that. But he nods curtly at the stairs, and turns away from Stiles.

“You can take it to the bedroom,” He growls, and yeah that growl is a lot less sexy and wanting than the previous one, and Stiles may still be getting over the initial shock of losing his virginity roughly four hours ago, and it’s seven o’clock and Stiles is hungry, and he isn’t going to deal with a half-pouty, half sex-starved werewolf for the next three days. Nope.

“Dude, what’s wrong?” Stiles asks, walking around Derek to get a look at his face. Like an unhappy kindergartener, Derek turns in the opposite direction, keeping his back to Stiles. Stiles, like he said, is very hungry, and doesn’t feel like wasting time, so he grabs Derek by the arm and turns him around, and the look Derek gives Stiles is murderous but you know what he’s just going to have to suck it up and deal.

“Derek I don’t know what your problem is--”

“Yes you do.” Derek gripes. “It’s my wolf. It wants you.”

“Um…” Yeah, Stiles isn’t really sure he’s ever going to be able to get past any part of Derek wanting him. “Well… isn’t that why I’m here?”

“Stiles,” Derek’s hisses at him, like actually hisses, and Stiles kind of giggles a little bit because it’s funny to hear the big bad Alpha hiss like a little kitty cat, alright?

“Okay, okay,” Stiles soothes the werewolf, picking up his suitcase. “I’m going to put this up in the bedroom, and then we’ll hunt down something to eat. But not literally! I mean, like eat actual food and not the deer that you caught earlier today or whatever. Cooked food, preferably white meat, hopefully cheap because I have like six dollars in my wallet right now and I can’t afford much. Sound good?”

Derek just stares at Stiles in silence for the moment, processing his flurry of words, until the hardness in his eyes melts into something Stiles might even go so far as to call affectionate.

“Fine. We’ll get pizza.” Derek says. Stiles beams at him, turning around and sprinting up the stairs two at a time. Thankfully, it appears marathon sex doesn’t mean skipping meals. This is a huge relief to Stiles, because he likes food, and he would like to continue eating it for a very long time.

When Stiles gets to the bedroom he immediately notices that something is different. It takes a moment to place, because he has only been in the room once and it was only for like a half hour, but there is something definitely different. He takes in the fresh sheets, neatly blanketing the mattress; the dresser in the far corner, with drawers that are perfectly in line; a desk against the wall, near the bathroom door, that has a single laptop on it and is perfectly aligned with the edge of the desk.

“Did you clean in here?” Stiles calls, although he doesn’t really need to because, hello, werewolf, but he does anyway. He picks up his suitcase and drops it on the bed, looking around uncertainly. He isn’t sure if Derek cleaned out a drawer for him, or if he’s supposed to live out of his suitcase…

 “What was that?” Derek asks from behind, and good lord he nearly makes Stiles jump out of his skin. He turns around and finds himself nose to nose with the werewolf, and god he smells fantastic.

“You smell amazing,” Stiles says to him, and Derek looks surprised.

“Um… thank you?” Derek asks, looking uncertain, and… is that a blush coloring the cheeks of the great and noble Alpha Hale? Stiles beams at him.

“Yes. You smell wonderful,” Stiles tells him, and leans in. Derek takes a step back, and Stiles just barely manages not to fall on his face (although a considerable amount of flailing  has to be used to keep him upright, unfortunately).

“What are you doing?” Derek asks, his eyebrows knitted together in a look of either discontent or distain. Something that starts with ‘dis’, of that Stiles is sure.

“I was going to kiss you,” Stiles sputtered, more hurt than he probably should be. Yes, he and Derek participated in some post-coital cuddling after that first time, but they aren’t exactly on a free kisses basis yet. This isn’t about feelings, Stiles reminds himself, it’s to keep Derek from murdering people. So… why is he so upset that Derek didn’t--

“Oh.” Derek says, and pulls Stiles in for a long, deep kiss. With Derek’s tongue performing indescribable acrobatic routines in Stiles’ mouth and his smell enveloping him like a blanket and his hands slowly running up and down Stile’s arms so softly…

Stiles goes a little weak at the knees.

“Stiles!” Derek exclaims as Stiles goes down, pulling him back to his feet and forcing Stiles to look him in the eyes. Derek’s eyes are so amazing. So light and airy, a mix of blue and silver and green that Stiles can’t describe with any finesse, accented with long black eyelashes that look as soft as the nice quif of hair on his head, and his face so angled and perfect and it looks kind of like he’s starting to grow some stubble, that’s both sexy and adorable. Sexydorable. Adora-sexy.

“You’re so pretty,” Is what comes out of Stiles’ mouth, and Derek rolls his perfect blue eyes at him.

“Okay, Stiles. Come on, you need to eat.” Derek insists, and Stiles follows him down the stairs quickly because food. Food is good.

 

--

 

Derek has fantastic taste in pizza.

“Dude,” Stiles moans, taking another huge bite of his third pizza slice and savoring every saucy, cheesy bit of it, “This is like the best pizza ever. Can I just live here? Can I just eat this pizza for the rest of my life? How the hell did you find this place?”

“My sister used to work here,” Derek says softly, and Stiles almost chokes on his pizza. He looks up at Derek, whose eyes are focused intently on the checkered placemat like it’s the most interesting piece of fabric in the world, and even though it doesn’t make sense Stiles feels kind of like crap now.

“Hey, are you okay?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah.” Derek nods, still staring at the placemat. Stiles frowns, because yeah, he doesn’t need to be a werewolf to know that that was a total lie. He still isn’t sure what their status is right now, though, so it takes almost a full minute for Stiles to gather up enough nerve to casually slide his hand across the table and place it gently on Derek’s. Derek looks up immediately, surprised but not altogether horrified, which is a relief to Stiles, and with a grin Stiles takes another bite of pizza, groaning appreciatively. Derek yanks his hand away immediately, and Stiles looks over at him with a wounded expression to see that Derek is staring at him and his eyes are turning red and oh oops that groan might have sounded a little bit sexual especially to a lusty werewolf, and makes the effort to drag his hand out of reach but it’s too late.

Because Derek has Stiles’ wrist tight in his grip and he’s growling and Stiles stands up so abruptly he almost knocks down his chair. The three other people in the pizza place look up, but Stiles is too busy being distracted to notice.

“Okay Derek time to go,” Stiles says, hurriedly pulling Derek to his feet and practically galloping out the door into the darkness, stuffing the last of the pizza into his mouth on the way to the car. Unfortunately for Stiles they don’t manage to get back to the house; they barely even make it to the car before Derek has Stiles up against the side of the Camaro, practically licking the side of his neck raw before Stiles even has a chance to finish chewing.

“Hold on, lemme swallow,” Stiles chokes, and Derek pulls back to give him a look that makes Stiles rethink his last sentence. But it gives him enough time to finish the pizza and then he grabs Derek by the collar and pulls him down into a hot, pizza-flavored kiss. Stiles licks into Derek’s mouth as the Alpha grinds feverishly against Stiles’ hips, pushing one of his legs between Stiles’ to get more traction. Stiles moans into Derek’s mouth desperately, and Derek growls in return, his hands locked on Stiles’ hips as Stiles grips Derek’s hair tightly in his hands, and god it’s so soft Stiles can barely stand it.

He fumbles one-handed for the door handle and can’t get it open, until Derek grabs it and practically rips the door off its hinges, shoving the passenger seat forward and pushing Stiles into the back. Stiles scrambles back, flipping to his back and practically dragging Derek on top of him. The door slams shut, and there is a moment of silence as Stiles catches his breath and Derek proceeds to pull both of their shirts off.

“…Derek?” Stiles whispers, and Derek’s glowing red eyes can be seen even in the dark. “Is that still you in there?”

“Yes,” Derek growls, unbuttoning his own jeans and sliding them down his thighs, and Stiles grabs Derek’s dick immediately. Derek lets out a warning growl, but Stiles gives him a few strokes and he’s practically purring, sucking and biting at Stiles’ neck with a desperation that Stiles can’t get enough of. Derek reaches down to unbutton Stiles’ jeans and although he would appreciate the relief in his jeans, he bats Derek’s hands away, because dammit he almost missed his own first orgasm with another person and he fully intends on giving it his undivided attention this time, which means taking care of Derek first.

It isn’t nearly as much of a chore as he makes it sound.

Because the tiny sounds of want and desire make Stiles all tingly inside, and he strokes Derek’s dick long and slow as Derek peppers Stiles’ neck with kisses, until Derek’s entire body trembles and his back arches and he’s coming into Stiles’ hands, and Stiles can barely wrap his mind around the fact that he did that to Derek Hale, and the very thought almost makes him come too. But he keeps himself focused and strokes Derek through the orgasm, listening to him whine into his ear, smiling to himself.

Derek sits up, looking down at Stiles with an expression Stiles can’t quite place. It kind of scares him a little.

But in a really, really good way.

“What?” Stiles asks, grinning back at him foolishly.

“Your turn,” Derek whispers, and begins unbuttoning Stiles’ jeans. Stiles laughs almost crazily, gripping Derek’s shoulders tightly, because the last time (his first time) was so fast and unexpected that he really isn’t sure if he counts it or not, but this, this definitely counts. Because Derek’s and Stiles’ undivided attention are now on Stiles’ dick, and it’s both exciting and terrifying. Derek carefully lowers Stiles’ jeans to his knees, leans over Stiles’ chest and starts kissing it carefully, like he has all the time in the world. With another crazed laugh, Stiles realizes that he does, in fact, have all night. Because it’s Friday night and Derek’s hand is wrapped around Stiles’ dick and his other one is kneading softly at his waist, and he’s going to spend the next three days with Derek all alone while his father thinks he’s spending the long weekend with Scott, and god, he’s actually doing this.

“What’s wrong?” Derek whispers, and it catches Stiles off guard because he had actually managed to forget that Derek Hale was jerking him off in the back of his Camaro, wow as Stiles a freak.

“Nothing,” Stiles says, “It’s just kind of suddenly hitting me that I’m going to be spending the weekend with you, and we barely know each other. I mean, not that I’m freaking out, I’m not, it just crossed my mind.”

“We’re going to get to know each other,” Derek informs him, although it sounds almost like a warning. “By Monday we are going to have a bond unlike anything you’ve ever had.”

“We, ah, already kind of have that,” Stiles gasps, because Derek is still slowly jerking him off, and his voice is like velvet, and he’s slowly getting faster and leaning close enough for his lips to brush against Stiles’.

“It won’t just be physical, Stiles,” Derek whispers against his lips. “That’s not all my wolf wants. It wants to scent you, and connect with you. It wants to show you things no one else has seen, let you feel a side of me that I’ve never let anyone feel before.”

“That sounds fu-fucking fantastic,” Stiles stutters, feeling wrecked and on top of the world and Christ he just wants to shove his tongue down Derek’s throat and leave it there.

“Are you ready?” Derek whispers, and Stiles doesn’t even know what he’s asking, he just nods desperately and with a final few pulls he’s coming all over Derek’s naked chest, and his own stomach, and it feels amazing to just have Derek above him, surrounding him, kissing him. Because yeah, Derek is kissing him like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do, and Stiles kisses back because if that is the case, he’s totally on board.

 

--

 

Scott is Stiles’ best friend for a reason. He listens to all of Stiles’ crazy ideas; he loves and trusts the Sheriff like his own father; on one extremely memorable occasion he even followed Stiles into the woods in the middle of the night in search of a dead body. So yes, Scott is Stiles’ best friend. He was there for him when his mother died, when he almost failed home economics and needed a tutor, and even now after he’s been bitten by a werewolf and fallen in love with Allison, he is still there when Stiles needs him most.

And Stiles definitely needs him now, because he’s spending the long weekend sexing up a bloodthirsty werewolf that just murdered his uncle.

“He won’t hurt Stiles, he’s harmless,” Jackson says, and Scott shoots him a glare.

“Stiles is not harmless, he’s the toughest human I know,” Scott rants angrily. Jackson is sitting on Scott’s bed, now wearing a pair of Scott’s plaid sweatpants and a t-shirt that he swears to himself he’ll burn the first chance he gets. After getting him back to Scott’s house and giving him a shower and some clothes, Jackson unfortunately reverted back to his usual douchey self, and Scott can’t stand him. But with no explanation for his reappearance aside from Derek kidnapping him, Scott and Stiles agreed to keep Jackson hidden until they had a reasonable explanation for his disappearance.

Unfortunately for Scott, Stiles is now having a completely inappropriate sleepover with the cause of this problem, and Scott is stuck with Jackson.

Dammit.

“Alright, whatever. The point is he doesn’t have to worry about Derek attacking him because Derek’s wolf won’t see him as a threat,” Jackson clarifies.

“What if he smells us on Stiles?” Scott says, and Jackson raises an eyebrow.

“He still won’t kill him. He’ll know what Stiles is before he tears his head off, don’t worry about it,” Jackson spits.

“Stiles is my best friend and if he gets hurt--”

“My Alpha is out there, going through who the hell knows what, I don’t need you worrying about your little boyfriend,” Jackson sneers condescendingly at Scott.

“Do you even realize what they’re doing out there?” Scott barks. “Stiles is out there with Derek, letting himself be used to satisfy Derek’s wolf until the full moon so we don’t have to worry about Derek tearing up Beacon Hills and killing every innocent human he sees!”

“Satisfy Derek’s…” Jackson pales when he realizes what Scott means, and Scott makes a face.

“Exactly,” Scott says. “So you can shut up and help me figure out why the moon is affecting him so strongly, and why you and Lydia aren’t turning.”

“Wait, Lydia’s alive?” Jackson says, and Scott looks surprised, but nods. A look of shocked relief floods over Jackson’s face, and Scott feels a tiny tug at his heart because as nasty as Jackson is, he really does care about Lydia.

“You mean Derek didn’t know?” Scott asks.  Jackson shakes his head.

“He couldn’t sense anything outside the preserve. His senses were so strong he spent most of his time trying to block them out,” Jackson tells him, rubbing his hands absently. He looks haunted, like the past two weeks were worse than he could put to words, and Scott sits down carefully beside him. Jackson looks over at him, seemingly irritated, and with a sigh looks back down at his lap.

“Look you don’t have to say anything,” Jackson mutters, “Those two weeks were bad, but I’ll survive. It wasn’t like he tortured me, he just… he wasn’t himself. But after the full moon, everything will be all right.” Scott hears the slight uptick in Jackson’s heartbeat, the uncertainty lying below his words. Scott hesitates a moment, because Jackson is still a douchebag, but eventually he puts a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, and receiving a look from that mildly startled beta, Scott smiles at him. A brief smile crosses Jackson’s lips, like he isn’t sure if he wants to be friendly. But Scott knows now that Jackson isn’t as bad as he first seemed. At least, not as bad as he once was. They both stand.

“All right, we should get to work.” Scott says, and after a brief pause Jackson gives him a short nod, and Scott pulls out his laptop and starts searching.

Chapter Text

The next day Stiles decides that his new favorite thing is morning sex.

And blowjobs.

When Stiles wakes up, he immediately is aware that Derek is wrapped around him. Like, not spooning, actually wrapped around him like a freaking scarf. Stiles is on his side with a werewolf attached to him, and he doesn’t remember taking his shirt off when they got back from the pizza place (and after the car sex, hell yes Stiles has had car sex), but now he’s shirtless. He has a feeling this might have something to do with the wolf being super into skin-on-skin, and Stiles has absolutely no problems with that because it’s kind of nice. Derek is much hotter--temperature-wise, Stiles means, but he probably is sexier too Stiles will admit--than Stiles, but it doesn’t feel feverish. More like Derek spent more time in the sun during a long day at the beach than he should have. The image of Derek on the beach wearing floaties makes Stiles smile, and apparently it also makes his heart skip a little because Derek’s grip tightens protectively, and he emits a little whiny growl that’s so cute Stiles can’t even stand it, it’s even cuter than Scott’s puppydog pout and that shit is hard to beat.

“Aww, wakey wakey little Alpha,” Stiles cooes, stroking Derek’s head gently. Derek whine-growls again and shifts his head higher up Stiles’ chest, nuzzling underneath his neck and sighing contentedly.

“Oh my fucking god, you are too adorable,” Stiles whispers in his ear, planting a quick kiss on the tip of his nose. “I just want to play with your hair the rest of the day. God, I’m lucky you’re a heavy sleeper.”

“Not that heavy,” Derek mumbles, looking up at Stiles through half open eyes. Stiles sticks his tongue out at him playfully, although in hindsight it probably wasn’t the brightest idea Stiles has ever had, because then Derek’s taking that tongue into his mouth and yeah, now they’re making out.

Hell yeah.

Stiles enjoys the pleasures of having Derek’s tongue down his throat for what feels like an eternity and just a few seconds at the same time, and he can feel his cock twitching, and then Derek lets out another one of those whining growls and Christ, Stiles is done for.

“Holy shit,” Stiles gasps, sitting up and breaking the kiss.

“What?” Derek asks, but Stiles is already shoving him down on his back, fitting himself between Derek’s legs and sucking hard on his neck. Derek growls with pleasure, and Stiles slowly works his lips and tongue down Derek’s chest, to his stomach, and suddenly Derek tenses.

“Yes?” Stiles asks, lifting his head to make eye contact with his--his… yeah okay there’s no real good name for what Stiles is to Derek at this point, but they’ll figure that out later--and Derek’s face is the picture of fear on a plate, good god.

“You’re… what are you..?” Derek lets the question hang, and Stiles lowers his head a tiny bit farther, smiling wickedly.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since yesterday,” Stiles tells him, bending down to kiss the rest of the way down Derek’s stomach until he reaches the thicker pubic hair that slips beneath the elastic of Derek’s underwear elusively, and Stiles pulls them down to look at Derek’s cock.

Which looks fucking magnificent up close, by the way.

“Stiles,” Derek starts, but there’s no stopping him now because dammit, if he wants to give his boyfriend--wait, what?--a blowjob then dammit he’s gonna give the man a blowjob. But he doesn’t want to rush it, he wants Derek to think he’s good at this, and instead of immediately taking Derek’s hot dick in his mouth like he really really wants to, Stiles opts to lick from the tip of the head down the shaft until he reaches the balls, then back up again.

All potential protests from above die immediately, and Stiles has Derek’s full compliance now.

Stiles takes it slow, almost painfully slow by the way Derek whimpers and gasps above him, but Stiles likes seeing Derek fisting the sheets from the corner of his eye as he teases his cock gently, easily, and when he finally does take it into his mouth Derek lets out a huge gasp.

“Jesus Christ,” Derek swears, and Stiles feels a hand grab his hair like a handle as he slowly bobs back and forth, tasting the skin and using his hands to cradle Derek’s balls as he does so. He keeps his eyes closed for most of it, because dammit it’s hard to focus when Derek’s pulling on his hair like that god that feels so good, but when Derek starts taking shorter, faster breaths he risks a glance up at the man to see that he has his head thrown back, mouth agape as he gasps for air, his face flush but his cheeks bright red as he moans softly, out of breath.

“Mmmgh,” Is the only noise Stiles can manage, but Derek glances down at him and moans again, dropping his head back.

“Stiles I’m going to come,” Derek tells him, pulling on his hair a little harder, like he wants Stiles to get out of the way. Hell no, Stiles wants this. He wants to taste Derek, he wants to feel him coming in his mouth, he wants--

He can’t say any of this to Derek, of course, because Stiles has a mouth full of dick and instead he just goes a little faster, hollowing out his cheeks more and with a gasp from Derek, he feels the Alpha’s come bursting from him and into Stiles’ waiting mouth. It’s a lot to swallow, but Stiles gets most of it, and Derek whimpers when Stiles pulls off and lets go of his hair, grabbing Stiles by the shoulders and pulling him to his chest.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Derek rumbles, hugging Stiles close like he’s afraid the teen will try to get away.

“I wanted to,” Stiles tells him, wiggling his way up to Derek’s neck so he can bury his head in the side of it and just breathe Derek in. “I wanted to know what it was like, to give someone a blowjob.”

“And?” Derek asks, running a hand gently through Stiles’ hair.

“It was fantastic,” Stiles says, grinning and licking his lips again.

“Good because you are fantastic at giving them,” Derek says, squeezing Stiles closer then loosening his grip. Stiles nestles one hand underneath Derek’s back, the other around his neck, and throws a leg over Derek’s for added comfort, and they both sigh contentedly.

“Well I’ll definitely do that again sometime soon,” Stiles mumbles, kissing Derek’s neck softly. Derek moans softly, like just the idea is enough to get him hard again, and he starts rolling Stiles onto his back.

“What are you--” Stiles starts, when Derek leans in for a kiss and pulls up to look down at him with a smile.

“Returning the favor,” Derek tells him, and Stiles barely masks his surprise before Derek’s kissing down his stomach, and it almost tickles it feels so good. “Sorry I’m not as good at giving them as you,” He says. Stiles attempts to give him a few words of encouragement, but then Derek’s lips are on his dick and holy shit what are words, even?

Stiles puts his hands in Derek’s hair, his grip tight as he breathes heavily and Derek licks and sucks him like he has any business at all doing so. Because despite the treachery of Stiles’ brain while he was in Derek’s place, they were not dating and--fuck fuckity fuck that feels good--this whole thing is for Derek’s benefit not Stiles’, but there’s no way in hell he’s complaining because dammit dammit dammit he can barely breathe it feels so good, Derek’s soft, wet lips wrapped around his dick, his overwarm hands cupping Stiles’ balls as he blows him, and Stiles still can’t make coherent words when he realizes he’s about to come, and he tries to give Derek a couple of warning tugs before he comes into Derek’s mouth. HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK then, because he can actually feel Derek swallowing around him.

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes as Derek crawls back up to kiss Stiles’ neck gently. “If you aren’t as good as me then I must be a god.”

“You are,” Derek whispers, and Stiles flushes at the compliment but also grins, because it’s kind of strange to hear but also super sweet that he’d say something like that.

“You’re so sweet,” Stiles says, snuggling against Derek’s side as he falls to the side, and wraps a lazy arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “You’re so wonderful.”

“Because I blew you?” Derek says, but there’s an undertone of laughter, and Stiles grins.

“Well that too. But I just mean in general; I expected to be freaking out this whole time, you know, being in pain and crying and all the stuff they advertise during sex ed class, you know? But so far… it’s been bliss.” Derek hugs him closer, wordlessly, and they lay in silence for several minutes.

“Time for breakfast,” Derek whispers, and half asleep Stiles just nods before he realizes Derek is now getting up, and Stiles opens his eyes to watch Derek walk naked to his dresser and pull on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. No underwear though, and Stiles is in legitimate awe.

“You coming?” Derek asks, and Stiles scrambles out of bed, pulling up his underwear clumsily and fumbling around the room in search of his pants while Derek laughs almost imperceptibly behind him. Stiles stops dead, looking up to see Derek’s face stretched into a smile, and he almost falls over because Derek is smiling at him and he actually looks happy to be alive. It’s a welcome change from ‘my family died in a fire and I blame myself but won’t tell anyone why’ of course, but also unexpected.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, and Derek raises an eyebrow at him.

“What?” He asks, and Stiles makes a huffy noise at him as he buttons his jeans.

“You don’t even realize how beautiful you are, do you?” Stiles says, reaching down to grab his t-shirt, then in a fit of bravery throws it back down and makes his way to Derek’s dresser. “You have no idea how perfect you look when you smile, you don’t even know what you do to people. You honestly think you’re crap at everything you do, don’t you? Well I got news for you, you basically master everything ever without even trying, so stop being such a sourwolf all the time because dammit your face is too perfect not to have a smile on it all the time,” Stiles finishes, now wearing a black and gray t-shirt that is far too big for him but smells exactly like Derek, and he looks up to see Derek’s eyes practically flaming red, looking ready to shift. The expression unclouds suddenly and he grabs Stiles’ arm and starts dragging him out of the room, towards the exit.

“Where are we going?” Stiles says, trying to keep up.

“I want to show you something,” Derek growls, but he lets go the minute they reach the base of the stairs and he suddenly bursts through the door, sprinting out towards the forest.

“Hey, wait!” Stiles shouts, trying to keep the pace but failing miserably. He loses sight of the Alpha in just a few minutes but hurries onward, sprinting until he has to stop with his hands on his knees, gasping for air.

“Derek?” Stiles calls, looking from side to side. There’s a rustle of leaves ahead of him, and Stiles runs toward it, until another rustle to his left makes him stop. He glances over suspiciously, but follows the noise anyway. Stiles follows the sound of rustling leaves for what feels like an eternity, before eventually he stops and waves his hands in frustration.

“I don’t know what you want me to do!” Stiles shouts. “Where did you go?”

There’s another sound to his right, and he ignores it for a few moments, but eventually it gets louder and with a sigh, Stiles turns to the right and follow the sound right into an open field.

But it isn’t just I field.

The tiny clearing, barely big enough for a large tent, is covered in moss and surrounded by tall oaks, sunlight filtering down through the branches and shimmering on the stone blocks that surround one tree in particular, a bluish green one that makes Stiles think of a weeping willow, and he takes a few tentative steps forward to see more of it.

Stiles looks around the clearing in hushed awe, because there’s no sound from birds or bugs or Derek, to be heard. The only sound is the soft whisper of wind through the tree branches far above, and the tinkling of a single wind chime hanging from a branch on the willow. The place feels almost sacred, and Stiles feels clumsy and out of place.

“Wow,” Is what Stiles manages to say, because… “Wow. It’s beautiful.”

“I know it is,” Derek whispers from behind, his arms enveloping Stiles’ waist as his head slides onto his shoulder. “My grandmother planted that tree the same day my mother was born. When we were kids we called it the ‘Talia Tree’,” Derek says, and Stiles can feel the smile on his neck, a memory giving him another fleeting moment of happiness. “It’s supposed to stand for all leaders of the Hale pack, so I suppose we should have been calling it the Alpha Tree.”

“Growing little Alpha apples in the middle of the forest, what if there’s fighting between bushels?” Stiles asks, feeling ridiculous for saying it afterwards, but Derek laughs on his shoulder, so he supposes bad jokes are alright once in a while.

“What’s that wind chime mean?” Stiles asks, pointing at it. Derek hugs Stiles tighter, breathing out slowly.

“Laura and I hung that after the fire,” He whispers, “There used to be tons of them all over the house. After the fire, that was the only one we could find that wasn’t destroyed.” Stiles imagined a younger Derek, sifting through the ashes of what once was his home, digging for one last piece of his home that wasn’t completely gone, finding tiny shards of glass and each one making his eyes fill with more tears. He and Laura finding one of the wind chimes, at least slightly still intact, must have made them both cry. Stiles found one of Derek’s hands, entwining his fingers with Derek’s and leaning back to place a kiss on his cheek. Derek straightens, walking towards the tree with Stiles’ hand grasped firmly but gently in his.

He reaches up to the branch with the wind chime, pulling it down to show Stiles more clearly. It's a delicate little item made of twirled metal strings and pieces of pink and blue glass that catch the light and glint cheerfully. Stiles reaches out, touching the biggest piece of glass, the one with a big crack down the middle. He traces the crack carefully, turning his head into Derek’s neck and burying himself into the familiar warmth, holding back choked tears.

“Why did you show me this?” Stiles whispers, feeling Derek put back the branch and brace a comforting hand on Stiles’ neck.

“Because I want you to know how much this means to me,” Derek tells him, putting his nose in Stiles’ hair and breathing him in slowly. “I need you to know. You came into this, thinking… thinking all I wanted was something physical, something detached and unemotional. But that’s not what this is. I… I think this might not just be the full moon making me want you.”

“Well I hope so,” Stiles says, his attempt at a sarcastic tone falling when he realizes it’s true. “Derek… I don’t want this to stop after the full moon.”

“Neither do I.”

“I love you.” Stiles looks into Derek’s soft blue eyes, and holds his breath for a response. Because he has no business doing this to Derek, he has no right to say that he loves him, they went on one date and that wasn’t even technically a date, just pizza, and the only reason they even got into this mess was because Derek didn’t want to hurt anyone, and Stiles barely knows the guy and he can't really love someone after a day and a half… can he?

“I love you too,” Derek whispers, pulling Stiles in for a soft, tender kiss, and when the kiss breaks apart they don’t, they just stand in the clearing with the sunlight reaching down to them and the sound of a wind chime tinkling from above.

Chapter Text

Derek practically kicks in the door, shoving Stiles across the threshold with one hand elbow deep underneath Stiles’ shirt and the other one grasping at Stiles’ hot dick. The friction of Derek’s hands pushing against the fabric of his jeans makes Stiles gasp, his lips sucked red and his hands gripping Derek’s hair like a vice.

“God I want you,” Stiles gasps, Derek growling back at him as he drags him up the stairs, barely making it to the bedroom and throwing Stiles down on the bed, pinning his wrists over his head and attacking his neck with vicious intention. Stiles whimpers desperately because he never thought he’d be into the hands over the head thing but anything is good when it’s Derek on top of him, sucking his neck and pulling his pants down with a growl like they’ve personally offended him. He pulls Stiles’ shirt off and throws it across the room before pinning Stiles down again, kissing the life out of him. His tongue runs along Stiles’ and he breathes the smell of moss and warmth in frantically, feeling like he’s about to explode. Derek gets his hand on Stiles’ dick and starts pumping madly before Stiles lets out a shriek.

“Jesus Christ, can we please use lube this time?” Stiles groans, and Derek laughs, startled, before he pulls open the drawer in the bedside table and squirts lube onto his hands, grasping Stiles’ dick again and pulling, this time with Stiles carding his hands through Derek’s hair and letting out short, wanting little gasps.

“Derek, Derek,” He whimpers, reaching up to kiss those perfect lips again. “Derek, take off your clothes.”

“Yes,” Derek grinds himself down against Stiles and then he’s standing, nearly ripping apart his shirt and jeans in his hurry. Stiles scrambles into a sitting position, watching Derek get naked and he lets out a gasp, grabbing his own dick and pulling. Derek stops dead, watching Stiles jerk himself off, and Stiles lets out a startled laugh.

“Of course you’d be into this,” Stiles breathes heavily, stroking himself and watching Derek until he realizes he’s being stared at, and then Derek reaches down and grabs himself, and with his hands still wet from the lube he starts stroking himself alongside Stiles.

“Holy fuck this is kinky,” Stiles laughs breathlessly, as Derek stands next to him getting off, just staring at each other in senseless awe, until suddenly Derek stops and grabs Stiles’ hands and starts kissing him viciously.

“Please, Derek, I’ve gotta come,” Stiles begs, struggling against Derek’s grip, until Derek drops to his knees and takes Stiles in his mouth. Stiles almost yells with surprise, curling himself over Derek and running his hands through Derek’s hair obsessively. Derek sucks him until he’s coming into Derek’s mouth, and Stiles pulls Derek up and kisses the taste of his own come out of Derek’s mouth and listens to him whimper and moan in satisfaction. Stiles drags Derek back onto the bed, straddling him and grabbing his dick and pulling on it roughly, Derek gasping beneath him. Stiles grabs more lube, practically drowning his own hands in the stuff until he’s satisfied, and covers Derek in it.

“Derek, I want you, I want you to fuck me,” Stiles pants into Derek’s ear, and Derek lets out a growl so dark Stiles is almost surprised Derek doesn’t turn him around and fuck him right there. But Derek just nods, taking Stiles’ hands and slowing him down to a steady rhythm, until his whole dick is covered in lube. Then he rolls Stiles onto his back and sits above him, shoving his hands into Stiles’ face. It takes a minute for Stiles to get what he’s trying to do, because holy fuck that’s almost too much for his innocent teenage brain to handle but he puts the fingers into his mouth anyway, slathering Derek’s first three fingers in saliva until they’re soaking, Derek growling above him the whole time.

“I want to own you, Stiles,” Derek whispers into his ear as he sucks, and Stiles lets out a desperate whine of agreement. “I want to be inside of you. I want you to feel me in you, fucking you, hard and slow, until you’re shivering, until you’re wrecked so badly you’re not sure that you’ll ever be able to stand again. I want you to tell people that you belong to me, I want them to sense it, I want other wolves to smell it. I want Scott to smell it on you, Stiles, I want him to know that you belong to me.”

“Yes, yes, I belong to you,” Stiles gasps as Derek pulls his fingers out of his mouth. “I’m yours, please, Derek, please make me yours. Take me, I want you to have me, god I can’t breathe, I want to feel you in me, please Derek, pl--AH!” Stiles cuts off when Derek puts in his first finger, and the feeling of it, the knowledge that there’s a part of Derek in him is almost enough to make Stiles hard again. Derek feels around the inside of Stiles’ hole cautiously, leaning over Stiles and pressing a soft, chaste kiss against his lips every time he finds a soft spot that makes Stiles gasp. The second finger almost hurts, and Stiles lets out a whine and thrusts himself up, and he hears Derek laugh slightly, and god it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“God, Derek, I love you,” Stiles says, and Derek growls at him, his fingers working deeper so Stiles can barely remember how to speak. But he has to tell Derek, he has to tell him how he feels. “God, you know everyone says you’re such a jackass and you don’t care about anyone, they think all you care about is power, but that’s not true, you lost everything, and I know how that feels, believe me I know, god, I was eight and I was all alone when my mom died, and I thought my life was over. But you got through worse, you fought past the loss of your whole family, your whole pack, and even after everything there’s still a part of you that knows how to feel love, that knows what great pizza tastes like, that is willing to risk his life for a stupid teenager he barely knows and god I’m in love with you. You don’t even know, I don’t think, I thought you were beautiful, Derek, so beautiful, I thought Jesus, this guy looks like he was carved out of marble, I just want to feel him, I want to know what it’s like to be with that guy. But I never considered that I might fall in love with you, with the way you’re so overprotective, and the way you whine in your sleep, and the way you laugh, and the way you remember the little things like wind chimes. And you know I remember when I was six and you were twelve and I fell off my bike, I don’t know if you remember Derek, but you had like thirty bandaids in your backpack for some reason even though Christ knows you didn’t need them, and you put them all on my knees and kissed them and hugged me until I stopped crying, and when my dad get’s back we’re all going to that pizza place and I’m going to tell him about that time. I bet he’ll remember, the way you carried my bike home for me, because he gave you some orange juice and I made you laugh so hard it came out of your nose and it got all over his shirt, and you know what we never talked after that, we only saw each other when I went Christmas caroling with my mom the next year, but then she died, and I never saw you again. But even then I couldn’t stop thinking about how delicious your mom’s cookies were and how much I wanted to kiss you under the mistletoe. Jesus fucking Christ, Derek I’ve been in love with you since I was six years old and I didn’t even remember until just now.”

Stiles looks up, because he realizes Derek’s pretty much just frozen above him completely, and Derek is gaping at him, open mouthed, his eyes glassy, and Stiles pulls himself up and takes Derek’s head in his hands as the welling tears begin to drip out, kissing him and tasting salt and sweat and come and Derek and when he opens his eyes, they’re blurry too, and he wipes both of their faces as Derek uses shaking hands to run up and down Stiles’ chest, as if he isn’t sure Stiles is even real anymore.

“I didn’t think you’d remember that,” Derek whispers, staring at Stiles’ chest as he speaks. “I didn’t think… I saw you before, riding home from school, and I thought ‘that stupid kid is going to wreck his bike and get hurt’, and I started stuffing my backpack with bandaids. Then you finally did, you flew right over the handlebars and scraped your knees to hell, and I ran over and helped you. But you just kept crying so I kissed them both and I told you, without even thinking, that I could heal you, I told a freaking six year old boy that I was a werewolf without even thinking! And when I kissed your knees I was taking some of the pain away, and at first I thought you were going to freak out and run away, but you thought it was the coolest thing ever and you dragged me back to your house. Your dad invited me in, gave us both something to snack on while he called my parents to come get me, and the entire time he was on the phone you were going on about how I was magic and when you called me a tooth fairy I couldn’t stand it. I laughed so hard, that orange juice covered your father’s work shirt, and all three of us were laughing until Peter came to pick me up. I remember you caroling at our house that Christmas, playing tag with Cora, and I was afraid to join you because I didn’t want you to accidentally tell my mom what you knew. But you have no idea how happy I was that you liked the cinnamon cookies, because it wasn’t my mom that made those, it was me. I’d never made cookies before, and Peter teased me the whole day, but then you came over and ate almost the whole batch, and I was so proud of myself. I haven’t made cookies in years.” He looks up finally, and Stiles can’t breathe he’s crying so hard, he just takes Derek’s hands and holds them and buries himself in Derek’s shoulder.

“God, Derek, I never knew that,” He sniffs, wiping his nose and looking into Derek’s red-tinged eyes, feeling sore from crying. “I never knew what I said to make you laugh so hard. You made those cookies? Please, God, Derek, you have to promise me that you’ll make them every Christmas from here on out. Please promise me.”

“I will.” Derek says, pressing his forehead against Stiles’, breathing him in and reveling in the moment, because they belong to each other now and no one can take that away. “I will, I swear. Stiles, I love you so much I can barely breathe around you.”

“I love you too,” Stiles whispers, words failing him, “I love you too.” He lays back, pulling Derek on top of him, and they kiss softly, gently, Derek wetting his fingers with lube again, and slipping them back into Stiles’ hole. Stiles gasps around Derek’s lips, and he feels Derek smile, press another kiss to his temple before leaning back and covering his dick.

“Are you ready for this?” Derek asks, even though he already knows the answer, Stiles knows he knows.

“Yes, yes, please Derek,” Stiles pleads, and Derek lines them up and pushes in. Stiles lets out a gasp, because now Derek’s inside of him, Derek freaking Hale is inside of him, and he grabs Derek’s hips as Derek rocks in farther, so deep Stiles can barely think. Then he starts pulling out, and Stiles makes a noise of protest until Derek’s pushing in again, and Stiles actually totally forgot that that’s how sex works, because he’s having sex now, he’s being fucked by Derek Hale, and it hurts but it’s the best feeling in the entire universe, he’s sure of it. Derek thrusts into him so gently at first, until he starts to get used to the feeling, then he speeds up, on top of Stiles and rutting into him, both of them gasping for air. Derek pulls all the way out suddenly, but before Stiles can manage a protest he’s flipped to his front, on his knees, and Derek’s in him again, plastered to his back as he fucks him, and Stiles doesn’t even register that he’s hard again until Derek’s warm hand is on his dick, and with a moan he grabs Derek’s hand and helps him stroke it. Derek bites at his neck voraciously with dulled teeth, but his growl is inhuman, and he pulls Stiles into his lap with one palm spread across his chest and the other wrapped around his hard dick, and Stiles just digs his free hand into the sheets and chants his name because there’s no other word in the freaking galaxy that can describe the feeling Stiles has right now.

He realizes with a start that Derek has his lips against his ear, whispering his name over and over again, and that’s what pushes Stiles over the edge and makes him come so hard it’s almost painful.

Derek drops Stiles back onto the bed, fucking him viciously, and suddenly with a moan and a shudder Derek is coming and Stiles can feel it, he can feel Derek’s come inside of him and his entire brain short-circuits and he collapses, Derek’s weight on top of him, and they lay in the blissful silence of the afterglow for what could be ten minutes or fifty years, and Stiles honestly doesn’t care which.

Eventually, Derek pulls out, and Stiles feels suddenly empty without him, but Derek rolls Stiles over and pulls him close, kissing him gently and softly until he can’t focus on anything but the butterflies fluttering in his stomach and Derek’s hands gently caressing his cheeks. Stiles kisses Derek again, looking into his eyes, trying to communicate without words because for the first time Stiles literally has nothing to say. But Derek knows what he means, because the smile in his eyes says he knows.

Chapter Text

“That’s it!” Scott shouts, and promptly falls out of his chair.

“What’s it?” Jackson asks, as Scott jumps up from the floor, grabbing the large, leather bound book from the desk and throwing it into Jackson’s lap. They’ve been in Scott’s bedroom since the day before, searching tirelessly for a key to what was happening to Derek and Stiles. Well, Scott has been searching tirelessly. Jackson scrolled through two web pages about the eating habits of Northeastern Gray Wolves, complained, and fell asleep two hours later. Scott, however, had pulled an all-nighter, and finally, at eight thirty-seven Sunday morning, he’s found something useful.

“Look, read the third paragraph,” Scott insists, tapping the page impatiently. Jackson looks down to read the old scratchy English writing, frowning deeply.

“‘A new Alpha’s senses and instincts will be heightened during its first full moon, making it much more dangerous to outside packs and Omegas. During its first moon, if it has not been prepared for the transformation, the Alpha may become hostile towards its own pack, and any newly bitten Betas may be unable to shift.’” Jackson looks up. “That’s why Lydia and I aren’t turning?”

“I think so.” Scott nods. “What else does it say?”

“‘During the first moon, the new Alpha will seek out a partner to aid it through the transformation. This partner must let the Alpha care for it, give it food, shelter and…’ yeah, um…” He looks up at Scott queasily. “‘and sexual satisfaction.’”

Scott gags slightly, because that’s his best friend satisfying the new Alpha, Derek Hale… sexually. Ewww. “Keep reading.”

“‘The peak of the full moon is most dangerous, for the Alpha and the partner. The Alpha’s instincts to kill will be the strongest, and that is when the partner will become the sacrifice--’”

“Become the what?” Scott shouts, grabbing the book. “Stiles is not Derek’s sacrifice!”

“Give it back!” Jackson protests, pulling the book out of Scott’s grasp. “It says ‘the partner will become the sacrifice the night of the full moon, giving itself completely to the wolf in order to satisfy it.’”

“That sounds a lot like Derek’s going to try and eat Stiles during the full moon,” Scott growls. “He isn’t going to lay a claw on Stiles, or I’ll kill him myself.”

“What are you going to do, walk into an Alpha’s domain and kidnap his sacrifice, literally the only thing keeping him from tearing apart Beacon Hills?” Jackson asks dubiously. “The full moon is tomorrow night Scott, do you really think you can take on a new Alpha all by yourself?”

“Aren’t you going to help me?” Scott asks, and Jackson frowns slightly, looking back down at the book.

Scott’s fist tightens at his side, because he knows he can’t take Derek by himself. He can’t. He’ll try, but he won’t be able save Stiles from an Alpha in Bloodlust alone, and can he really expect Jackson to go against his Alpha for someone he doesn’t even like? But when Jackson looks back up at him, Scott stares back him with wide, pleading eyes. Jackson meets his gaze, still doubtful, then sighs.

“Fine, McCall,” Jackson whines, dropping the book at his side and standing up dramatically. “I’ll help you save Stilinski.”

“Jackson, I… thank you.” Scott says, honestly surprised as he reaches his arms out. Jackson flinches away, uncertain, but Scott is adamant, pulling him in for a bear hug. When Jackson hugs back, it’s almost too tightly, then he shoves Scott away, making a face at him.

“What the hell, McCall? Don’t do that again!” Jackson complains, but Scott knows he didn’t mind.

“How are we going to fight an Alpha, anyway?” Jackson asks, and Scott frowns, because he has no idea.

“Deaton?” Scott says eventually, then nods to himself. “Deaton. He’ll know what to do.”

“The veterinarian?” Jackson scoffs. “How the hell would he…?”

“Just come on!” Scott groans, walking out the door with Jackson in tow.

 

--

 

Stiles sleeps until late in the afternoon, and when he wakes up, there are rose petals all over the bed.

That’s… unusual.

But not unwelcome.

Stiles yawns quietly and takes great care to get out of the bed and work his way to the bathroom without disrupting the petals. It’s been a few days since Stiles has had a shower and although he likes the smell of Derek all over him he’s starting to feel kind of gross. Plus now he can try out Derek’s shampoo, which will be an important item to share if this is to be a regular thing.

That makes Stiles pause, because oh, he never thought that maybe this would turn into a regular thing.

Well, obviously the staying over will be. But will it be every full moon? Or less often? More, maybe? Stiles wouldn’t mind more. He’ll have to talk to his dad of course, moving in with a twenty-six year old dude is no small matter for a teenage boy, but he’s sure that once he explains the situation… well his dad might not be a big fan of him moving out at sixteen, but--

Wow he’s probably over-thinking this.

Also Derek’s bathroom is gorgeous.

It’s like a marble masterpiece, spirals of yellow and gold circling the wall and silver linings on the sink and mirror providing a subtle and classy contrast. The toilet is a pristine beige that matches the towel racks (two puffy white towels on each shelf) perfectly. Bronze tiles encase the shower itself, frosted doors pulled half open invitingly. But the real eye-catcher is the bathtub, in the middle of the room and pretty much taking up the entire floor, looking more like a Jacuzzi-meets-power-washer than a tub. It’s massive, and although it looks like it hasn’t been used in a while there are two containers sitting beside the faucet, one containing shampoo and the other, liquid bubbles.

Hell. Yes.

The tub fills up in relatively no time at all (apparently the jets help to fill it, going slowly until they’re covered then shooting full blast) and Stiles dumps in enough bubble bath to overflow, but it’s only bubbles coming out so he jumps in excitedly. The water feels almost boiling at first, but he soon gets used to it, and settles comfortably down so the vanilla-scented bubbles reach up to his neck. Stiles lets out an automatic groan of pleasure when one of the jets hits the small of his back, softening the skin with a hard spray of hot water and practically massaging his spine. The experience is orgasmic, and Stiles almost doesn’t realize that he’s stroking himself before he remembers that he really needs to give his poor dick a break and just get clean. He picks up the shampoo bottle and reads the back disinterestedly, when suddenly he hears a loud thump, and shrinking into the water like he’s being caught doing something wrong Stiles watches the bathroom door burst open and Derek walks in, looking absolutely livid.

“Oh hi, Derek,” Stiles says, licking his lips. Derek’s eyes zero in on Stiles’ tongue as he runs it across his lower lip and he realizes, oh, Derek smelled him touching himself. In the bathtub. Soaking wet and soapy; practically pre-lubed. Stiles wonders dazedly (because yeah, he still can’t get over the fact that Derek Hale gets turned on by him) if he’s about to have sex in a bath tub.

He doesn’t have to wonder for very long because then Derek is taking off his clothes, but to Stiles’ surprise he doesn’t tear them off violently and attack him like a piece of juicy meat. No, he does it slowly, taking off his shirt and flexing his abs and triceps experimentally before slowly undoing his belt, staring at Stiles the entire time as he pulls down his jeans and underwear, standing over Stiles in all his naked glory (because Derek’s nakedness is certainly glorious, oh yes) and allowing Stiles a few moments to enjoy the view before he sinks into the water so deep only his eyes are above, peering at Stiles with an almost casual hunger.

“Soap?” Derek asks, and Stiles stares at him for a full thirty seconds before he can even process that Derek said something.

“Uh, what?” Stiles croaks, his voice husky and his hands twitching under the water, eager to touch, to roam over that body again.

“Do you want soap?” Derek repeats, raising from the water like freaking Poseidon out of the sea, holding a bar of soap in his hands and offering it to Stiles. Stiles resists the urge to make a ‘don’t drop the soap’ joke because it would ruin the moment, and he takes the bar out of his hands and before he realizes what is happening Derek turns his back to Stiles and sits between his legs, resting his hands on Stiles’ thighs under the water calmly. Stiles tries to act as casual about the situation as Derek is, staring at Derek’s perfectly formed shoulders as they sit in front of him invitingly. Stiles licks his lips again, and starts to lather Derek’s shoulders.

It’s almost completely silent as Stiles washes Derek, the only sounds the occasional slosh of water and soap and the light growls and hums of encouragement coming from the werewolf, and honestly if he wasn’t making them Stiles would be freaking out right now because he’s giving his werewolf lover a bath and he isn’t sure if that’s kinky or what but he’s pretty sure it is. It feels kinky. But good kinky, like, they should do this all the time kinky. He likes Derek’s shoulders. Derek has nice shoulders. He also has a nice neck, and Stiles isn’t about to ignore the fact that Derek is sitting, exposed and (more or less) defenseless, pretty much in Stiles’ lap, and that his neck is very clearly exposed, and Stiles is pretty sure that’s against some werewolf code of conduct or something. But yeah. Apparently Derek trusts him. Which, ironically, is even more important to Stiles than the fact that he loves him. He wonders if Derek trusts him enough to let him top. He wonders if that’s what Derek wants, what he’s inviting Stiles to do, right now. He wonders if maybe he should stop covering Derek with soap before he gets pruny (can werewolves get pruny?) and yes, Derek looks clean enough to be rinsed off now.

Stiles reaches back and grabs the washcloth on the faucet, dipping it in the warm water before sliding the soft fabric over Derek’s pale, clear skin. It’s practically glistening in the bathroom’s dim light, and before Stiles can think he leans forward and places a soft, gentle kiss on Derek’s shoulder. Derek says nothing, but he tilts his head just slightly farther to the left, and Stiles lands another chaste kiss on the werewolf’s soft skin. He kisses Derek’s shoulder gingerly, working his way across his back to his other shoulder, Derek moving his head to give Stiles more room to work. Stiles holds in a moan as he feels the muscles move beneath Derek’s skin pleasurably, and he sneaks a soft lick on Derek’s right shoulder. Derek’s hand tightens slightly on Stiles’ thigh, but it feels more like he’s being egged on, and he adds more tongue while he kisses Derek’s back, breathing in his warm, clean scent.

Stiles drags his tongue from the middle of Derek’s shoulder blades up to the nape of his neck, and he feels the rush of goosebumps as Derek shifts beneath him, letting out a soft but definitely noticeable whimper. Stiles is more than careful while he works on Derek’s neck, cautious to avoid any teeth touching the skin, breathing lightly, until Derek turns enough to look Stiles in the eyes.

“I want you to bite me.” Derek tells him, and Stiles almost reels back in surprise, but he doesn’t refuse. Instead he leans forward and presses a kiss to Derek’s lips, then works down his jaw and nibbles faintly at the neck muscle, then sinks his dull, harmless human teeth into the junction of Derek’s shoulder and his neck. Derek’s back arches and he lets out a howl, his head falling against Stiles’ shoulder as Stiles continues to lick and bite, now running his hands across Derek’s sides and chest, mapping it out as he goes. Stiles feels Derek suddenly begin to attempt a turn, like he wants to face Stiles, but Stiles clamps his hands down on Derek’s hips and pulls just close enough for Derek to feel Stiles’ hot erection brush his backside under the water.

Derek freezes immediately, and after a moment of stillness, relaxes back into Stiles’ hands. Stiles rests a smile onto Derek’s shoulder, and moves closer, so his dick slides along Derek’s crack curiously, pulling back and pressing forward, but not entering. Derek’s hands grip Stiles’ thighs almost bruisingly tight, and he taps them warningly.

“Careful Sourwolf, don’t forget that I’m a delicate little human,” Stiles whispers, feeling Derek shudder beneath him as his breath curls over Derek’s ear.

“Not delicate,” Derek grits out, his words barely audible, like he’s holding himself back. “Not little.”

“No, I guess you’re right,” Stiles agrees, as his hands travel absently along Derek’s hips and thighs, occasionally brushing his cock and making Derek let out a little gasp before pulling away again. “I’m not very little. But I do like to go slow. How does that make you feel, Derek? I bet you expected me to be fast, to rush, needy and inexperienced. I’m inexperienced, I’ll admit, but I want this to be good. I want you to remember this, I want you to feel it for a long time. That I got to have you. What do you think, Derek? What do you think about me having you right here, right now?”

“You, always have me,” Derek gasps, and Stiles heartbeat quickens, and he presses a quick set of kisses onto Derek’s neck and speeds his movements slightly.

“Oh god, you really can’t say that to me when I’m trying to be all sultry and dirty,” Stiles says, his fingers coasting over Derek’s nipples and making him keen. “I’m really not all that good at it in the first place.”

“Very, good,” Derek says, rubbing Stiles’ thighs wantingly. “Very, very good.”

“God, you just want me in you so badly don’t you?” Stiles moans, finally reaching around and taking Derek’s hard, pulsing cock in his hands.

“Yes,” Derek gasps, thrusting into Stiles’ hands before Stiles stills him with a kiss on the back, “Please, Stiles.”

“Oh, Jesus, please say my name again,” Stiles says, taking one hand away to search for Derek’s hole feverishly. “Derek, just keep saying my name. Don’t ever, ever stop. It sounds so perfect, so right, god.”

“Stiles, Stiles,” Derek begs, as Stiles pulls him firmly and slowly, finds his hole and pushes in, and they both let out a simultaneous, shocked gasp as Stiles’ finger enters Derek for the first time.

“Fuck, Derek, you’re so,” Stiles mutters, but can’t finish the sentence, because his finger is inside Derek Hale, and Derek is practically writhing against him, desperate and starving and turned on and Stiles just wants to own him, he just wants to take Derek over and dominate him and he never realized he had a dominant side before but now, yes, he’s sure of it now. He wants to feel what it’s like inside Derek, to feel Derek around him and it’s all he’s ever wanted, nothing else matters. He sticks in another finger, and Derek growls viciously, but Stiles isn’t afraid because Derek may be the Alpha but Stiles is the one in charge now. He pulls out both fingers and lines up his cock with Derek’s hole, and he goes in so smoothly it takes a moment to realize that that’s Derek clenching around him, moaning his name, hands groping for some kind of hold in the water and Stiles grabs it with his free hand, locks their fingers together as he thrusts, slow and hard, and Stiles can feel Derek shudder as he comes in the water, and Stiles comes quickly after, tightening his grip on the Alpha’s hands and kissing him feverishly on the neck and shoulders and back, pulling out when his dick becomes too soft and sensitive.

“Stiles,” Derek growls as Stiles lays against Derek’s back, breathing heavily and noticing that most of the bubbles are now gone.

“Yes?” Stiles asks, his voice quiet and pleased and yeah, he just fucked Derek Hale.

“I didn’t get to wash you.”

Stiles peers over Derek’s shoulder, and Derek smiles at him, his eyes shifting from Stiles to the shower and back. Stiles grins, because yeah, in a bathtub with Derek Hale isn’t really the best place to try and get clean. Derek climbs out of the tub and turns to help Stiles out, and Stiles grins at him when he winces slightly as he leads them to the shower.

 

--

 

Derek leaves after he and Stiles shower, although it really didn’t happen as heartlessly as that.

“I have to go,” Derek says into Stiles’ ear, as he leans against the marble tiles of the shower, his legs like jelly, feeling wrecked and out of breath. Derek’s now soft dick brushes against his back and he shudders welcomingly, but Derek places a kiss behind his ear and starts to back out of the shower. Stiles tries to turn and stop him, but he just came twice in like an hour and a half, and Derek barely catches him before he crashes down onto the floor.

“Please don’t leave,” Stiles gasps, “I mean I know you’re trying to keep your werewolf thing under control right now so don’t feel like you need to stay away from me because I trust you completely not to accidentally rip me in half or whatever if that’s why you’re--”

“Stiles.” Derek says calmly, and Stiles looks up at him, to see his expression completely at ease, almost cheerful, and the son of a bitch has obviously already fully recovered from the marathon sex, the stupid werewolf-healing-powers son of a bitch. “I’ll be back. I just need to take care of a few things.”

“What things?” Stiles asks as Derek props him up against the wall of the shower and kisses him vehemently.

“Things.” Derek tells him, and leaves. “You should get dressed.”

“I should recover in the shower for a few minutes first,” Stiles shouts at him, and pulls himself back into the warm water after he’s lost view of the amazing sight that is Derek’s naked ass walking into the bedroom and shutting the door. Stiles leans against the metal rod intended to hold washcloths or something like that and just stands under the almost scalding water until he can stand on his own two legs again, then grabs the shampoo. It’s in a blue bottle, and Stiles snaps the top open to sniff it. It smells like vanilla and Derek, and he smiles, squirting an unnecessary amount into his hands and scrubbing it over his head diligently. He remains in the shower for a good fifteen minutes because Derek’s water pressure. Is. Amazing. He wonders when Derek renovated the place, because it looks beautiful; the bedroom and bathroom are literally the only parts of the house that aren’t still completely destroyed from the fire, and they seem almost new. Stiles wonders what motivated him to completely redo the bathroom, what it used to look like. He wonders if Derek had to tear anything down in order to fix the rooms up. He tries not to wonder if Derek found any of his mothers’ jewelry while sifting through the ashes.

Stiles leaves the bathroom very pruny, and still dripping, but he doesn’t mind. He pulls on a pair sweatpants from Derek’s dresser, and takes a moment to appreciate that they smell very much like Derek, and he can totally wear Derek’s clothes now and that’s cool, it’s normal. It’s kind of cute, really. Adorable. The pants are loose and soft and they hang off his hips like they’re threatening to come down without a moment’s warning, but Stiles doesn’t mind because they’re really comfortable and even if they did come down he doesn’t think that anyone in the house would really mind all that much. He also pulls out a t-shirt, but doesn’t get the chance to pull that on because he’s suddenly being dragged backward and shoved against a wall, his neck being mouthed by a red-eyed werewolf with a need so fierce it has Stiles moaning…

…Which brings them to where they are now.

“Derek,” Stiles moans as the Alpha sucks his neck viciously, his hands skimming Stiles’ soaking wet torso and pinning him against the wall as his hips move in vain to get closer. “Derek, god, keep going, guh.”

“Mmmmm,” Derek rumbles, making Stiles shudder underneath him, pull at his hair and gasp his name again. “We should have dinner.”

“God, I just, I want to do this,” Stiles whispers, “I just want to do this forever, Derek, just pin me here and leave me, I won’t go anywhere. I’m stuck here, I’m yours, can you just keep me forever?”

Derek pulls away from Stiles’ neck, noses up his jaw and kisses him softly on the mouth, slowly, until Stiles’ shudders recede and they’re left kissing, slow and steady, not dispassionately but comfortably, smoothly, and Stiles drops his head onto Derek’s shoulder and lets out a long, contented sigh.

“Yeah, you can definitely keep me,” Stiles murmurs again, kissing Derek’s neck chastely and hearing the werewolf hum approval, leaning close enough to pin Stiles against the wall and wrap his arms around the teen’s body. Stiles settles into Derek’s firm, familiar grip, and thinks to himself that his life is the most ridiculous thing ever and he hopes Derek really will decide to keep him and he also realizes now that Derek’s said something that it is in fact almost six p.m. if the clock on the bedside table is correct, which he’s pretty sure it is, and he is very hungry.

“Dinner.” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s shoulder. “Dinner sounds very good.”

“Let’s do that then,” Derek agrees, pulling away and Stiles stumbles after him, his arms draped over Derek’s shoulders insistently. Stiles can feel Derek’s laughter, and suddenly he’s being lifted, and carried out the door, and Stiles starts laughing because he’s being carried around like some kind of Disney princess, in a pair of ratty old sweatpants with a t-shirt balled up in his lap, by an Alpha werewolf who is still naked, good lord.

“Derek, you’re still naked,” Stiles laughs, “Get dressed.”

“As you wish.” Derek says, putting him down gently. Stiles looks at him with a smile, and in Derek’s eyes is a kind of unquestionable, raw devotion that gives Stiles’ stomach butterflies.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll wait downstairs,” Stiles says, and Derek stops him as he turns, pulls him in for a warm, safe hug.

“Wait here.” Derek whispers, and after Stiles nods curiously, disappears back into the bedroom. Stiles, being Stiles, never listens, and as soon as the door shuts he’s hurrying quietly down the stairs, because whatever surprise Derek has waiting has got to be something good.

When he reaches the base of the stairs, the smell of cheese makes him tilt his head, and he follows the delicious scent through the house, to the back door, which stands propped open by a broom handle, and Stiles slips past to stand in the back yard and stare in awe.

There is a gazebo standing by the house, made of wood and ancient. A set table sits in the middle, with candles glinting on and around it. Tiny lights like the ones on Christmas trees hang from the top, and Stiles approaches it, like he can’t really believe it exists. There are two plates with slices of pizza on each, and a wine bottle labled “Sparkling Grape Juice” sitting between two glasses. Stiles covers his mouth to stop the laughter from escaping, and suddenly Michael Bublé starts playing from behind and Stiles turns to see Derek standing in front of him in a three-piece black suit, an iPod in his right hand and a white rose in his left.

“Oh my god,” Stiles laughs almost hysterically, and Derek hands him the rose and places the iPod onto the table.

“Care to join me?” Derek asks, his voice deep and calm. Stiles makes a fish face at him for a few moments, before sitting in the chair and letting Derek push him to the table.

“I’m dead.” Stiles decides, as Derek sits down across from him and raises an eyebrow. “That’s the only explanation. I’m sitting in a gazebo with Derek Hale, eating pizza and sparkling grape juice, listening to Michael Bublé. I have literally had dreams about this exact scenario.” Stiles looks down at himself. “Although I expected to be in a suit too, not sweat pants and a Gorillaz t-shirt.”

“I think you look amazing,” Derek tells him. Stiles looks up from his clothing, trying (and failing) not to blush.

“Thanks.” He says. Derek smiles at him, and picks up his slice of pizza. Stiles does the same, sinking his teeth into it and almost gasping because holy shit, it’s the pizza from the pizza place they first ate at together. It’s possibly the sweetest, most romantic thing that’s ever happened to Stiles in his entire life, and he can’t help but smile. Derek picks up the bottle of grape juice and pours it into their wine glasses, and Stiles watches him and tries to wrap his brain around how this has become his life.

“Do werewolves have mates?” Stiles asks, without thinking. Derek looks up, surprised, and shakes his head.

“Not like wolves do, no. We can fall in love, and profess that love with romantic gestures and celebrations, but we generally call that dating,” Derek smirks at him, and Stiles nods slowly.

“Okay, so this isn’t, like… since we slept together we have to be together? I mean, you aren’t stuck with me because we had sex or anything, are you?” Stiles asks, and he almost slaps himself because Derek looks horrified and suddenly very sad.

“No, Stiles. I’m not stuck with you. I’m choosing you.” Derek whispers, and Stiles nods fervently.

“Yes, no, I mean that’s not what I meant!” Stiles raises his hands, and pauses. “Wait, you’re really choosing me?”

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek says, a small smile reappearing on his face. “What did you mean?”

“Well, I mean, I wanted to know if you chose me willingly, or if since your wolf needed me now you just kind of have to keep me. Like, you’re in love with me, but it’s because your wolf is… um…” Stiles looks down at his plate, trying not to feel sick. “Oh god. Because… Derek, you’ve been getting really affectionate with me lately.”

“Yes, that’s because we’re dating,” Derek tells him, looking upset and confused. Stiles shakes his head, because no, that wasn’t what he meant.

“No, Derek, I mean… it’s like, with the full moon getting closer, you’re falling more and more in love with me. What if it’s the moon that’s making you feel like this? What if you aren’t really in--” Stiles chokes on his words, swallowing dryly and blinking his eyes. “What if you only feel like this because of the moon?”

“Stiles,” Derek starts to protest.

“What if you don’t feel the same way about me like I feel about you?” Stiles asks.

“I don’t.” Derek tells him.

“What?” Stiles looks up, his stomach dropping, because of course he can never fall in love with someone that loves him too, oh god, but Derek’s smiling at him, his eyes are still glowing with unbridled affection, like he really does…

“Stiles, we don’t feel the same way about each other. I will always love you more than you will ever understand. I will love you for the rest of my life, and even when you move on and find someone worth your love--”

“Stop, stop it,” Stiles exclaims, reaching over the table and knocking his glass down, but he doesn’t care, he grabs Derek’s hands. “I will love you forever, you don’t even know, okay dude? I love you so much, I’m never going to get over you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I want to marry you--”

He stops, and they both stare at each other in surprise, as Frank Sinatra sings a love song in the background, and Stiles grips Derek’s hands tighter.

“You want to marry me?” Derek asks, his voice small and breakable, and Stiles nods, a few tears escaping and sliding down his cheeks.

“Yeah, man, I want to marry you,” Stiles laughs at himself, swallowing his fear, “I want to marry you so hard.” Derek laughs, and leans over the table to meet Stiles’ lips for a soft, promising kiss, because yeah, they’re totally a thing now, and that’s awesome. That’s so, so, so awesome.

“Come here,” Derek says, pulling Stiles to his feet and leading him back to the house. He grabs the iPod on his way past, and Stiles isn’t sure but he thinks Derek might have just winked at him, and he isn’t sure what’s happening until they’re back in the house, in the room with the broken windows that Stiles thought was a ballroom. But it doesn’t look nearly as sad now; the floor has been swept and glass shards removed, the light bulbs have been replaced and cobwebs dusted. A speaker system is set up in the corner, and Derek walks across the wooden floor and plugs the iPod in.

 “I knew it was a ballroom!” Stiles says with a cross between a gasp and a laugh, as Nat King Cole starts to play and Derek sweeps Stiles up in his arms, pressing their foreheads together and leading Stiles in a dance.

 

“When I fall in love,

It will be forever.

Or I’ll never fall in love.”

 

Nat sings as they waltz across the floor, Stiles resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. He can feel the soft, silky fabric of Derek’s suit on his cheek, hear his heartbeat slow and steady under his skin.

 

“In a restless world like this is,

Love is ended before it’s begun.

And too many moonlight kisses

Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun.”

 

“Can you hear my heart beating?” Stiles asks Derek quietly.

“Always.” Derek says. “I always keep my ears open for it, to make sure you’re all right.”

 

“When I give my heart,

It will be completely.

Or I’ll never give my heart.”

 

“Really?” Stiles asks, opening his eyes and looking up to meet Derek’s eyes.

“Yes. Even before this happened, I always wanted to keep you safe. It’s like there’s a part of me that will do anything to keep you safe.”

“I love you, Derek.” Stiles says.

 

“And the moment that I can feel you feel that way too

Is when I fall in love with you.”

 

“I love you too, Stiles.” Derek whispers.

 

“And the moment that I can feel you feel that way too

Is when I fall in love with you.”

Chapter Text

“The full moon is in two hours and we still haven’t found anything about new Alphas in heat!” Scott shouts at the ceiling, throwing the leather-bound book in his lap on top of the stack beside him.

“How fast are you reading those?” Jackson demands, looking almost affronted by the massive tower beside Scott compared to his meager pile of just two mythology encyclopedias, that hadn’t even mentioned werewolves, by the way.

“Fast enough,” Scott growls, and Jackson shuts his mouth; unfortunately, although he as of yet has no awesome werewolf super strength or speed, Jackson did develop the intensely irritating habit of avoiding conflict with his superiors--and apparently, his wolf decided that McCall is one of those. Fantastic.

Jackson couldn’t berate Scott too much, however; although most people didn’t realize it, he would sprint into hell and back for Danny. He imagined, since he had almost five times the friends Scott had, that his love for Danny was incomparable to the bond Scott had with Stiles. He wouldn’t say so aloud, but he was impressed with McCall’s dedication. He’d never seen Scott read anything faster than two words a minute, and that was only with small words. But there he was, already a quarter of the way through his twelfth book and Jackson had only just begun his third.

“Find anything?” Dr. Deaton asks as he walks through the door, carrying a silver laptop in his hands. No fair, why couldn’t Jackson look for information on the laptop?

“Nothing,” Scott barks, snapping the book shut so hard a cloud of dust shoots into his face, making him cough. Jackson hides a smirk, although not very well, and receives a silent look from Deaton before the veterinarian--or who Jackson once assumed to be a veterinarian, who seems to now be some kind of secret magical witch doctor or something--places a soothing hand on Scott’s shoulder.

“I did my own research. It seems, Derek doesn’t plan on killing Stiles.” Deaton explains, and for a moment Scott looks almost hopeful. “Unfortunately, his natural instinct is to turn any ‘sacrifice’ he receives into one of his pack, which means he’ll try to give Stiles the Bite.”

“But Stiles doesn’t want the Bite,” Scott protests, and Deaton nods.

“That’s the problem,” Deaton agrees, “And unfortunately with the full moon approaching he’s almost incapable of listening to reason.”

Scott, still holding his face in his hands, lets the tension in his shoulders ease slightly, letting out a long, despairing sigh.

“I’m going to have to fight him, aren’t I?” Scott asks, looking up at Deaton. Deaton says nothing, but the look of sorrow on his face makes Jackson sure that someone’s going to die tonight. The only question is who exactly it’s going to be.

“You’re a brave, loyal friend Scott,” Deaton tries to reassure him, “I have total confidence that you will figure out some way to get Stiles out of there before it’s too late.”

“You can’t kill him,” Jackson protests, and he really hates how the bite suddenly gave him some sort of dependence on the safety of his Alpha. Despite what happened in the woods, he’ll always be a loyal Beta. And no, nothing really traumatizing happened in the woods, it was just… creepy. Killing animals with his bare hands and eating raw meat and not bathing, creepy. Jackson wouldn’t relive that week, not for a million dollars. Not for two million dollars.

Maybe three million.

Actually, not even three million.

“We’re not going to kill anyone,” Scott growls, although he doesn’t look as certain as he usually does. But, Jackson tries to reason with himself, it’s Stiles. Stiles is Scott’s Danny. Stiles is Scott’s brother. Actually, Jackson was convinced they were secretly dating for the entirety of freshman year.

“It will be all right, Scott,” Deaton says.

“How can I fight off an Alpha in heat all by myself?” Scott asks, looking every bit like the kicked puppy that he is. And his unbelievable adorableness will eternally frustrate Jackson to no end.

That aside, Stiles and Scott are kind of… inseparable. In a very platonic way (Jackson knows now) they are soul mates. And Jackson can’t help but feel kind of… like he can’t let anything happen to Stiles.

“…You won’t be alone.” Jackson tells him, and finally Scott looks at him, a glimmer of hope back in those stupidly adorable brown eyes he has.

“You’ll help me?” Scott asks, almost awed.

“Someone has to keep you from getting yourself killed,” Jackson snaps, “And Stilinski is actually improving his lacrosse skills this year and we need him alive this season. Don’t ever tell him I said that.”

“How are you going to fight him?” Deaton asks, looking like they’ve kind of missed the point, and Jackson frowns because honestly he’s just hoping that they’ll be able to keep Derek away from Stiles until dawn.

“I’m just hoping we’ll be able to keep Derek away from Stiles until dawn,” Scott says, and great, Jackson thinks, at least they’re on the same page.

“You won’t be able to make a mountain ash line,” Deaton muses, and Jackson has no idea what that means, but whatever. “but perhaps this might come in handy.” Deaton pulls a bottle of bright purple dust out of his coat pocket, and Jackson has the sneaking suspicion that Deaton knew exactly what he was going to have them do the minute he walked in the room, and he just wanted Jackson to pledge his soul to the mission before showing off his powder. The asshole.

“What is it?” Scott asks, looking amazed.

“It’s crushed wolfsbane, you’ll have to be very careful with it,” Deaton warns as he hands the bottle to Scott. Scott holds the tiny container gingerly, as if he’s afraid he’ll crush it, and looks up at Deaton.

“There’s enough in that bottle to knock him out all night; the trick is getting close enough for him to inhale it. Once he’s had enough to knock him out, give him more each hour. As long as you don’t overload his system, this bottle should last until morning.”

“So we’re having a sleepover at that wreck of a mansion?” Jackson pouts. Deaton looks at him very seriously.

“If you fall asleep, he’ll probably kill you.” Deaton says.

“Oh, fantastic. And what if the bottle runs out?”

“It would be best to tie him down with something.”

“Like what?” Jackson whines. Deaton gives him a ‘why do I have to do all the work?’ look, and gestures to the door.

“I have a decent length of rope in the trunk of my car,” Deaton says. Jackson makes the decision to not question that statement.

“All right then.” Jackson stands up, scowling, as per usual. “But we’re taking your mom’s car.”

 

--

 

When Stiles wakes up, he’s not alone.

This would have been much less terrifying if it had been Derek in bed with him.

“Holy fucking fuck!” Stiles shouts, practically braining himself on the nightstand as he scrambles out of bed, the dead eyes of an antelope staring at him blankly. He tears himself out of the bloodied sheets, his heart pounding in his chest, staring at the body helplessly. What the fuck? What the actual, dead deer carcass in bed with him, fuck? Slowly picking up his boxers and pulling them on, Stiles creeps out of the room is quietly as possible, although he highly doubts the deer will be waking up any time in the future.

“Derek?” Stiles calls as he walks through the upstairs, hearing no sound but the rustle of wind. Even the birds are quiet, fuck, even the birds. “Derek?”

“Stiles,” an animal growls from the shadows behind him, and Stiles lets out a yelp, turning to look down at the shadowed form. Derek sits, crouching, staring up at him with blood red eyes, predatory like the first day when he’d pinned Stiles to the grass and drooled all over him.

“Derek, what are you doing?” Stiles asks, trying to calm down his racing heart, because fuck Derek’s really scaring him right now with that threatening glare that he really thought they were past at this point in their relationship. “You’re really freaking me out, dude.”

“Stiles,” Derek growls, slowly moving forward, and Stiles sees the hint of fangs underneath his upturned lips and yeah, now would be a good time to run.

Stiles turns around and manages to take a full two and a half steps before Derek is on top of him, or rather surrounding him, gripping his wrists and dragging him back to the wall, nosing roughly at his neck. Stiles tries to shove him away, but it doesn’t work, because fuck Derek is a werewolf and Stiles couldn’t pull out of his grip if his life depended on it, which at this point he really isn’t sure if it does or not.

“Derek I am not having sex in the same bed as a dead antelope!” Stiles shouts, kicking Derek square in the groin. Derek lets out a grunt, releasing the teen, and Stiles sprints down the stairs, out of the house, to his car, which hasn’t moved since Friday, and he jumps in, slams on the gas and flies down the road, his heart thundering in his chest.

Shit, shit, shit. Derek’s gone feral. This is very bad. Very, very bad for Stiles. Scott was right, he’s in over his head. A relationship with an older man, sure. A werewolf, no problem.  A werewolf in heat, however, was a problem. A huge problem. A problem Stiles hadn’t even realized was a problem until today, which, oh, right: it’s a full moon tonight. Shit.Shit, shit, shit.

 

--

 

Stiles passes Scott’s mom’s car while speeding down the dirt road that leads back in town from the preserve, and slams on the breaks so fast he almost launches out the windshield.

“Stiles!” Scott yells, jumping out of the car and sprinting to Stiles’ car.

“Scott!” Stiles shouts back, and then Scott is on top of him, his arms wrapped around Stiles’ neck like a fuzzy werewolf scarf, and Stiles hugs tightly back, the sudden realization that he hasn’t seen Scott in almost three days hitting him. He breathes in the familiar, cookie-like smell of his best friend and blinks away the tears threatening to fall out of his eyes, just reveling in the comfort of a friend. Because his werewolf boyfriend is trying to kill him.

Right.

“Oh my god, Scott,” Stiles pulls out of his friend’s grasp, looking at him with wide eyes. “Derek’s gone totally feral, dude, he’s lost his mind! I woke up to a freaking antelope carcass this morning, Scott! I’ve never been so scared in my life! Well maybe getting kidnapped by creepy Uncle Peter or that one time I walked in on dad when he was in his underwear but--”

“Okay, okay, Stiles,” Scott hushes him, nodding fervently. “He’s not trying to kill you. He wants to give you the bite, and make you a part of his pack. But don’t worry we’re here to help.”

“We..?” Stiles looks past Scott, because the only person he can think that knows about Derek is--

Oh look, there’s Jackson.

Why the hell is Jackson there?

“What?” Stiles mouths, trying to express his concern and total confusion to Scott. Scott just bobs his eyebrows in a face shrug, and okay, apparently Jackson is on their side now. Well isn’t that just stellar.

“Okay, whatever. The point is Derek’s gone full rage-monster and--”

“Don’t worry, Stiles. Deaton told us exactly what we have to do. We’ve got this.” Scott assures him, smiling dopily. Not to downgrade Scott, because his heart really is in the right place and sometimes he does actually have good ideas… but Stiles has been best friends with the kid for far too long to know when one of Scott’s plans is about to go terribly, terribly askew.

“Uh, does this plan involve a lot of, you know… planning?” Stiles asks.

“No, we just need to set it up and then we can--”

“Because I’m pretty sure Derek followed me from the house and he’s probably going to get here in like three seconds,” Stiles says, and as if on cue there’s a howl from down the road, and Jackson and Scott look up immediately.

“That was him, wasn’t it?” Stiles asks frantically as Scott directs him back to the Jeep. Jackson runs to the car, throwing the trunk open and rummaging through it hurriedly. “That’s got to be him. What other psychotic fuzzballs would be running down the road at six in the afternoon?”

“Get in the car, Stiles,” Scott tells him, turning to help Jackson, who pulls out a mass of thick, black rope out of the trunk, looking pained. Scott searches purposefully in the front seat until he pulls out a vial of brilliant purple powder, which he grins at triumphantly before pulling his sleeves over his hands and helping Jackson drag the rope across the road.

“What exactly is the plan?” Stiles shouts at them, his natural sarcasm helping to cover up his stifling fear. His heart is beating so loudly, he can imagine Derek running down the road, eyes raging red, following the sound hungrily. “Please tell me you aren’t going to try and lasso Derek with that, Scott, you know you’re a terrible aim.”

“Stiles, get in the--” Before Scott can finish the sentence, Derek is there. He jumps over the McCall car, fully shifted, without a sign of effort, and runs at Stiles faster than anything Stiles has ever seen.

“Stiles, GET IN THE CAR!” Scott shouts, and Stiles snaps himself out of his stupor just in time to scramble into the Jeep and slam the door shut. Derek throws himself at the door, rocking the car violently, and Stiles cracks his head off of the dash painfully.

“Fuck!” Stiles shouts, seeing stars, and he knows that Scott can sense his sudden pain because with a vicious bark he jumps on top of Derek, both of them reeling backwards towards the woods. Jackson is scrambling near the car with the length of rope, his sleeves pulled over his hands and making it all the more difficult to tie the knots. Derek throws Scott off, momentarily forgetting his prey hiding in the blue Jeep to his left, and attacks Scott mercilessly. Scott cries out and Stiles shouts with him as he watches Derek’s fierce claws rake down Scott’s back, and Stiles really needs to work on his sense of self preservation because before Scott has even hit the ground he’s getting out of the car, and pulling his shirt off.

Because Stiles has an idea.

And Stiles’ ideas always top Scott’s.

 

--

 

Derek’s claws drag down Scott’s back like knives, tearing through his shirt and ripping open the flesh. For a moment Scott thinks his heart has stopped, that he’s about to die. His first thought isn’t about Stiles’ safety, or Jackson’s, or Allison, who he hasn’t seen in so long; it’s about his mom, and how he’ll die without her ever knowing what happened to him. He hopes that somehow, she’ll find out how he died. He hopes that she’ll be able to get on without him, not go back to dad…

Suddenly, Derek’s presence is gone from him, and Scott shakily props himself up on his elbows, turning to look back to Derek, who’s--

Who’s facing Stiles, now out of the Jeep, standing shirtless on the dirt road and staring unblinkingly at him. With a low growl, Derek slowly circles Stiles, and Stiles isn’t moving.

“Stiles,” Scott whimpers, but his strength is gone, and he collapses into the dirt, unconscious.

 

--

 

Derek growls.

Derek growls, and Stiles can’t just hear it--he can feel it.

Derek growls, and Stiles feels the ground rumble beneath him, shaking him to his core, his heart stuttering with trepidation, his mouth sandpaper dry and his forehead soaked in sweat.

“Fuck,” Stiles mutters aloud, and Derek growls again.

“Derek?” Stiles asks slowly, carefully. “Do you understand me?”

Derek doesn’t respond. He does, however, slowly begin circling Stiles with his lips pulled back to reveal sharp, dangerous fangs and his claws extended, his back arched in preparation to attack at any given moment.

Stiles is in such deep shit it isn’t even funny anymore.

“Derek, it’s just the moon doing this,” Stiles tells him slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the werewolf as he drops the shirt on the ground, a puff of dust rising around him as it lands. He watches Derek’s eyes rove over his body, zeroing in on the bruises and red marks he’d left from the night before. Literally, less than twenty-four hours ago, they were together, lips locked, tongues twisting, bodies clashing perfectly. Derek’s eyes flash red, like he can hear Stiles’ thoughts, and Stiles lets his hands roam over a hickey near his hip, still sensitive, and can’t hold back a tremble of pleasure at the sensation. Derek seems even more riled at that, pacing in place, as if he can’t decide whether he wants to take Stiles right at that moment or let the show continue.

Stiles lets his hands wander from the mark and unbutton his jeans, the sound of the zipper sliding down loud and obvious. Jesus, Stiles sure is glad Scott’s down for the count right now because that would be just too embarrassing. Derek stops circling him, moving instead closer, ever closer, and Stiles lowers his jeans to the ground and steps out of them, keeping his eyes focused on Derek’s, keeping the werewolf’s attention to him.

“You know you don’t have to do this,” Stiles whispers as Derek backs him against the Jeep, and the metal is cold against his bare back, as Derek leans over him and smells his neck, his eyes glowing. “If you were in your right mind you wouldn’t do this. Derek, I don’t want the bite. Do you understand? I don’t want the bite!”

Suddenly a puff of bright blue powder smacks them both in the face, and Derek howls and whips his head backward, and Stiles watches as Derek collapses on the ground, back in his human state, unconscious.

“Holy shit!” Jackson crows, pumping his fist in the air. “I did it!”

“Derek!” Stiles shouts, and he’s too worried for the sanctity of Derek’s safety to care about how shrill his voice was. He kneels down beside him, cupping his face. Derek twitches in his grasp, like he can sense Stiles’ proximity even subconsciously.

“Stiles, are you all right?” Scott asks, and Stiles looks up to see Jackson helping him to his feet. He jumps up, feeling awful, because that’s his best friend right there, who had to wait for Jackson to help him out of the dirt as he heals slowly from Derek’s Alpha claws.

“Dude, I’m fine, are you--”

“I’m good,” Scott nods, smiling tiredly at him, and he looks down at Derek. “We have to get him back to the Hale house.”

“And do what, exactly?” Stiles demands, looking down at Derek’s unconscious body, full of concern like he hasn’t been in a long, long time.

“Jackson and I will stay with him. You can go home and see your dad,” Scott says.

“See my dad…?” Stiles blinks, surprised, because he hasn’t thought about his father all weekend. What kind of son doesn’t think about his father for three whole days? Maybe the kind that skips out over the weekend to have rough, hot sex with a dangerous over-age werewolf, Stiles’ head supplies, and yeah, Stiles is definitely going to hell.

“He’s been working undercover for the last few days,” Stiles says, and god, he doesn’t even know if his dad is okay. He should be, Stiles knows, it wasn’t a major life-or-death mission, but still. He hasn’t seen his dad for three days and didn’t think about it until Scott brought it up. He really is a terrible son. “He’s getting back tomorrow night.”

“Okay,” Scott nods, and suddenly, Derek shifts beside them, growling.

“KEYA!” Jackson shouts, throwing another capful of powder into the Alpha’s face. He falls back into a dazed sleep. Scott and Stiles glare at him.

“What?” Jackson whines.

 

--

 

When Derek wakes up, his head is spinning. Nausea sets in, and he resists the temptation to open his eyes for fear of what he may see. He can tell it’s daylight now, the warmth of the sun hitting his face, which should make it difficult for Derek to tell if he’s inside or not. But it isn’t. The entire bottom half of his house is still wrecked.

But he can still smell, and the smell is something he hoped he wouldn’t wake up to, not again, not ever, ever again.

Blood.

Derek is surrounded in blood.

“Stiles,” Derek whispers, a choked back, broken sound. He’s dead. He’s got to be. During the full moon, Derek ki--he can’t think it, he can’t, he’s caused so much death before, he can’t think about it. He remembers when Laura found out about Kate, the betrayal in her eyes. He was the reason she went back to Beacon Hills, not the symbol. It was his fault. He caused the death of his entire family, he killed his sister, and now Stiles, now Stiles is…

“Derek,” Stiles’ voice whispers gently in his ear, long fingers gently caressing Derek’s jaw. “I’m here, Derek.” With a choked, uncontrolled sob, Derek sags into Stiles’ arms, his head falling heavily onto Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles pulls him in close, unhesitating.

“I’m so sorry,” Derek whispers, “I’m sorry, Stiles…”

“It’s okay,” Stiles tells him gently, running fingers through Derek’s soft hair. “You’re okay now. I’ve got you. Everything is going to be all right.”

“I tried to hurt you,” Derek whimpers, his voice cracking, and he’s so weak, he feels so broken. “I tried to kill you. Stiles, please, don’t let me hurt you…”

“You can’t hurt me,” Stiles teases, “You don’t have the claws.” Derek laughs weakly into Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles presses soft, gentle kisses on his forehead, wiping away tears that stray from Derek’s eyes onto his cheeks like he knows, like he knows the pain of hurting others, and Derek hopes Stiles doesn’t blame himself for something he isn’t to blame for.

“Stiles, I’m dangerous,” Derek says, pulling away to look at Stiles for the first time, and his eyes are puffy and red like he’s been crying himself, and his smile is small and tragic, kind in a way Derek hasn’t seen in a long, long time.

“So’s cookie dough,” Stiles reminds him, shrugging with a grin. “Doesn’t stop me from eating it. I love cookie dough. Especially pumpkin chip cookie dough, oh man you haven’t lived until you’ve had the McCall family pumpkin chip--”

“I could lose myself,” Derek interrupts, grabbing his hands firmly. “I could rip you apart without even trying.”

“I don’t care,” Stiles tells him, and Derek almost wants to shake him, beg him to get away while he has the chance.

“I could kill--”

“I trust you.” Stiles says. Derek halts, his breath catching in his throat. It’s the truth. He knows it’s the truth. He can feel it, deep within his soul. Stiles trusts him.

“I’m not worth you,” Derek starts, but Stiles will have none of it, rolling his eyes with a huff and pulling Derek into a soft, silencing kiss. His lips are chapped, and Derek’s are ice cold, and the ground is uncomfortable and his shirt is full of leaves, but it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect.

“No one’s worth anyone,” Stiles says after they break the kiss, and Stiles rests his forehead on Derek’s and stares into his eyes with the bright adoration Derek remembers from when they were kids, that same sparkling wonder that made Derek collect hordes of band-aids. “But I belong to you. And I hope you’ll belong to me, too.”

Stiles squeezes Derek’s hands softly. Derek squeezes back in return.

The birds resume their song in the outside world.

“Um… Stiles? What is this black rope around my wrists?”

“Oh, uh, that’s… that’s a long story, uh, I mean if you’re into bondage we--”

“Stiles…”

“It was Scott’s idea!”